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Reflections of a Grateful Man
From the Heart of a Grateful Man
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I love this post, its humor, and lessons so much that I’m re-blogging it. Thank you, Diana.
Sometimes you find that you already have what you need…
Well I pulled another Diana. Sometimes I wonder where my head’s at.
For weeks I’ve been driving around without windshield washer fluid. I know, I know, it’s not the smartest thing to do. In fact the other morning I barely saw the man who ran across 17th Avenue as I was driving to work with the sun in my eyes.
So finally on Thursday, I stopped in at the gas station to buy some windshield washer. I popped the hood, filled up on the fluid and opened the trunk to store the rest. And what to my chagrin did I see? A half jug of windshield washer fluid already neatly stored in the right-hand corner of my trunk.
Quite the metaphor for everyday life too. Sometimes we put off doing something because we don’t feel qualified, or we can’t do it because we’ve never done…
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During a visit by our son Ben and grandson Thomas this afternoon the four-year old asked My Beloved , “You’re a real teacher, right Mama?”
She replied, “Yes, and so were your Mama and Papa Okano before they retired. Do you know what your Papa Towne does?”
Thomas nodded his head, smiled, and said, “He hangs around with me!”
I’ve received feedback from readers that the covers and titles of two of my books are so similar they’re causing confusion. Many people think they’re the same book:
Reflections of a Grateful Man and From the Heart of a Grateful Man.
Please take a look at the cover photos above next to each other and you’ll see what I mean. While I love both cover photos, I agree they’re too similar, especially with the titles being so similar as well.
Thanks to the encouragement and efforts of graphic designer Julie Pruitt I’ve decided to change the cover photo for Reflections of a Grateful Man to the first photo shown above. I love the new photo and it will make it much easier for readers to differentiate between the two books. Thank you for all the time and effort you devoted to this project, Julie! Gail Nelson is completing the effort and the book should have the new cover shortly. If you prefer the old cover you might wish to buy it now. Who knows, maybe it will some day be a collector’s item. Did I just type that out loud?
Gail is also checking to see whether a new cover will require new ISBN’s (that can be especially expensive considering the two or three different book formats in which it will continue to be available.) I’m also concerned as to whether the book will lose the current Amazon star review rankings when the cover changes. I’d love to be able to keep the ones it’s already earned.
What do you think of the change? Do you have any information regarding my concerns mentioned in the last paragraph?
It was a particularly tough football game, and nerves were on edge. The home team had been the victim of three or four close calls, and they were now trailing the visitors by a touch-down and a field goal. When the official called yet another close one in the visitors’ favor, the home quarterback blew his top.
“How many times can you do this to us in a single game?” he screamed. “You were wrong on the out-of-bounds, you were wrong on that last first down, and you missed an illegal tackle in the first quarter.”
The official just stared.
The quarterback seethed, but he suppressed the language that might get him tossed from the game. “What it comes down to,” he bellowed, “is that you STINK!”
The official stared a few more seconds. Then he bent down, picked up the ball, paced off 15 yards, and put the ball down. He turned to face the steaming quarterback.
The official finally replied, “And how do I smell from here?”
I dedicate this show to my dad who was a roofer. So dad, if you’re up there…
I’m a happy, hopeful, and grateful man as I sit outside at about 9:45 PM, watching what appears to me to be a full moon ascend. It is silohuetting a redwood tree that is perhaps seventy-five feet tall. I’m smiling at the sight while crickets serenade me in the pleasantly cool evening air.
On a table in front of me my laptop screen glows. I’ve just finished typing a climactic part of my fiction story, It Was Her Eyes. It is now 10,363 words. To my understanding that makes it my first novelette-length story. It is not yet finished. I have quite a number of chapters to go.
At this point, I believe it will end up growing into my first novella at between 17,500 and 40,000 words, though it is unlikely to become a 40,000+ word novel. I’m satisfied by what it is and what it is becoming. Actually, I’m more than satisfied. I’m downright proud of it.
I look forward to the day I can share my finished story with the world. Until then, my story and I will grow together, and my characters will keep teaching me about the world and about myself, as I bring each of them to life, experiencing along with them as they grow, love, bleed, suffer, struggle, hope, dream, doubt, overcome, fear, celebrate, and sadly, sometimes die. I die a little when one of the protagonists dies. That is also true when I finish a story or book. A part of me has ended. Only readers breathe new life into what would otherwise merely become lonely words on a page or screen.
One day, I will send this story and the characters that inhabit it out into the world, and hope they can touch, inspire, and entertain others, making readers feel a closer connection to their own hearts, hopes, desires, and dreams.
I expect much from my beloved characters and trust that if every word is written from my heart that they will be up to the task of touching the hearts of others.