Richard Podkowski's Blog

Don’t let the title fool you. It’s not a typo.

I know 2023 will linger for a few more hours, like stale cigar smoke or a half-eaten holiday party casserole from the first week of December. It’s a flash forward. 365 days to be precise.

Why? Well, I’m a little down after what‘s effectively been an ”up” year for me.

“Happy New Year 2023! Live your life to the fullest!” were the last words I posted…and I didn’t follow my own advice. Failed.

Yes, I lived the dream of publishing my debut novel The Walk-On. 2/23/23 is a day I will never forget. Since then, it’s been an unending and often exhausting learning curve of social media, marketing and developing materials which will hopefully help bring the story to the screen. I thought writing the book was supposed to be the hard part!

Yes, I was fortunate to have a few whirlwind trips to catch up with family and friends. Unfortunately, one of those trips was to say good-bye to a dear friend. I think of you often, Jeanne.

Technically not complaining, but there was little time for what I want to do: travel to Europe; explore California outside of metro LA and San Francisco; write my crime story; revise a holiday rom-com screenplay; and figure out what my next zip code will be, which is a blog entry on its own.

I’ll be realistic right now and acknowledge it’s not likely I’ll complete everything I wanted to do in 2023 in 2024. But I absolutely will strive to live my “life to the fullest” to a significantly greater degree than in 2023.

Haven’t binged “How I Met Your Mother” in a long time, but in the infamous words of Barney Stinson, “Challenge accepted!”

How about you?

Wishing you and yours a Happy, Healthy New Year!

In early December, Patty and I were fortunate to make our annual pilgrimage to Chicago’s venerable Goodman Theater to see A Christmas Carol. We were welcomed to Chicago by a plunge in temperature and gusty wind blowing through the jetway as we deplaned at O’Hare. However, that shock to our California-acclimated systems was easily offset by the joy of kicking off the holiday season with old and dear friends at our “pop-up” open house. We’re big on Christmas tradition, so it was hard to let go of serving Portillo’s beef, sausage and pasta. But last year’s delivery fiasco (the second in two years) forced our hand. Thankfully, Volare’s food was on time and so delicious that I’m guessing they picked up some new customers.

Charles Dickens’ tale of the transformation of the miserly and bitter Ebenezer Scrooge, beginning with the unexpected visit of the ghost of his former business partner Jacob Marley, takes place over the course of one Christmas Eve night. One might say old Scrooge experiences a benevolent change of heart, getting a new lease on life and living out his remaining days doing good for others, much to the shock of those around him. For me, Dickens’ lesson hits its mark every time the curtain falls.

Now with Christmas 2022 in the record books and 2023 hours away, the change of heart story I want to share is about someone here in Los Angeles. I have to admit I was a bit starstruck, several years ago while I was still living in Chicago, when Jonathan, a Hollywood producer, reached out to me regarding a reality TV project of his that potentially involved private investigators. I didn’t end up working with him, but we stayed in touch and have become friends.

I admire people with perseverance, determination, and an iron will to succeed. Their lives inspire me and put me in my place when I need a kick in the ass if I’m feeling sorry for myself or when I hit a professional or personal roadblock.

Earlier this year, Jonathan faced dire health and physical challenges. Bottom line — he needed a new heart. I watched his condition progressively worsen over a few short months. After a drastic downturn, he was hospitalized and moved to the top of the transplant list.

It’s amazing how fast it all transpires when a donor match is made. After waiting and waiting and waiting — hoping to survive — in an instant, someone’s tragedy becomes your lifeline.

I’m humbled by Jonathan’s will to live and face seemingly insurmountable odds, overcome overwhelming obstacles, and then resume a productive life. In a few short months, the sparkle in his eye is back, his voice is strong, and he continues to regain his physical strength.

I believe Jonathan’s actual change of heart planted the seeds of a spiritual awakening in me.

With Christmas behind me and January 1, 2023, a stone’s throw away, I began thinking about setting New Year’s resolutions, the annual quest to change shortcomings and failures into personal victories through perseverance and determination.

But honestly, how do I flip the switch on habitual and ingrained behaviors, character and personality flaws, bad habits, biases, and poor choices the moment the ball drops in Times Square? Can I magically experience a change of heart in the wee hours of one single night like Scrooge? It seems unlikely. However, for me, thinking about New Year’s resolutions makes me reflect on the past and gain a better understanding of what I need to change in the future. Although I’m well aware thinking and doing are not the same.

Reflecting on 2022, my good fortune and dream come true is the February 23, 2023 publication of my debut novel, The Walk-On. Similar to Scrooge, life’s circumstances had hardened my heart the last few years as I struggled to get a literary agent interested in my manuscript. In the blink of an eye, similar to Jonathan, my life changed. I’d like to think it was perseverance, determination, and an iron will to succeed that finally resulted in becoming a published author. But timing and a little luck certainly helped.

Serendipitously, first up on Patty’s list of “birthday week” activities, in honor of my April Medicare eligibility, was a visit to the LA Times Book Festival, where we met Holly from Acorn Publishing. And that was the beginning of the end of a very long journey for me and my first protagonist, Mike “the Steelman” Stalowski.

Recently a ’60s Sonny and Cher song came up in conversation. The Beat Goes On. And so it does. Jonathan’s new heart. Turning the page on 2022 and trying to be a better person in 2023. Life moves on.

Happy New Year 2023! Live your life to the fullest!

Hands down, the most patriotic Fourth of July fireworks display I’ve ever experienced exploded over the Washington Monument while I was on the South Lawn of the White House.

The longest stretch of my Secret Service career was spent working in Washington D.C. with assignments including the protection of President Ronald Reagan and President George H.W. Bush. One year, there was a patriotic picnic at the White House. Costumed founding fathers were milling about. I’m getting to the point in life where some details are fuzzy, but I will never forget Benjamin Franklin enthralling patriots, young and old, who were waiting in line to get ice cream.

Today, like many of you, I’m gathering with family and friends to enjoy a barbecue and wait for fireworks to light up the night sky.

For many years, although I should have, I never really thought about how our nation’s founding fathers set this great country on the path to independence almost 250 years ago. A nation that has long been a beacon of freedom and prosperity to people around the world.

Admittedly, we are far from perfect and face challenges. We must always look to the future and work to resolve our differences, but today we should look back and honor the Stars and Stripes that represent the United States of America.

My mind mostly wandered during history classes, so I was compelled to do a little research to get my facts straight. We celebrate the 4th of July because it represents the signing of the Declaration of Independence. 13 colonies declaring their independence from England and ultimately becoming the 50 United States of America.

-We’d been fighting the American Revolution since April 1775.
-Thomas Jefferson wrote the first draft of the Declaration of Independence in June 1776.
-The Continental Congress agreed to declare independence on July 2,1776.
-On July 4, 1776, the Continental Congress approved the final wording of the Declaration of Independence. (As someone who spent five years revising a manuscript, I’m impressed a group could agree to all of the edits in two days.)
-The Declaration wasn’t delivered across the pond until November 1776. (Talk about snail mail.)
-In 1817, John Adams complained that America seemed uninterested in its past.
-The deaths of both Thomas Jefferson and John Adams on July 4, 1826, may have helped to promote the idea of July 4 as an important date to be celebrated.
-Over the next several decades, 4th of July celebrations became more common.
-In 1870, almost a hundred years after the Declaration of Independence, Congress decreed July 4 to be a national holiday as part of a bill officially recognizing several holidays, including Christmas.

So here we are…July 4, 2022…hopefully enjoying today’s festivities with a look back to the past…and our eyes and hearts focusing on the future of this wonderful nation’s next 250 years.

As Lee Greenwood so eloquently sings… “God Bless the USA.”

#4thofJuly #fireworks #benjaminfranklin #thomasjefferson #americanhistory #godblesstheusa #whitehouse

I’d planned for months to write an engaging blog showcasing a lifetime of acquired wisdom. How long a lifetime? Well, the most popular Chevrolet model ever, the ’57 Chevy Bel Air, and I have a lot in common.

I agonized over where to start this neat package of words reflecting on my past and looking to the uncharted waters of my alleged golden years:

-grew up in a blue-collar environment on the South Side of Chicago…blah…blah

-bungalow belt…fabulous fifties…socially turbulent sixties and seventies…blah…blah

-early eighties into the new millennium revolving around my career as a U.S. Secret Service Special Agent…some good stories..but nah

-family, faith, friends, my strict Catholic upbringing…still nah

About a week before the milestone birthday, the pressure was getting to me. Tough assignment I gave myself. I was very perturbed I couldn’t even get my creative energy out of the starting blocks.

“Have faith,” I told myself. Easy to say.

That’s it, Rich. Have faith!

-Don’t get down, get inspired.

-Surround yourself with positive people and things.

-It will get better.

-It’s writer’s block…just sit down in front of the keyboard and express your thoughts.

-You’ll be inspired. Have faith.

Sounds good, but in reality, not so easy.

I personally have a deep religious faith…going way back to my strict Catholic upbringing…but that wasn’t the intended topic. Prayers to Saint Anthony wouldn’t help because I didn’t lose words…although technically I couldn’t find them. Couldn’t call on Saint Joseph because I’m not currently a homeowner, so no need to bury his statue upside down in the front lawn of the house I’m trying to sell. And if I knew the patron saint of inflated California real estate prices I’d like to have a word with them about the lack of divine intervention advising me back in 1999 to keep my place in Glendale and rent it out.

So I turned to the dictionary and thesaurus for inspiration. Not at all helpful. Quite the contrary. Couldn’t get the ideas in my heart to words in my head onto paper. So I gave up.

Let it be known that didn’t help my aging mood at all. Here I was failing at writing again.

About fifteen years ago, I began my journey as a writer and have experienced a full gamut of emotions: inspiration, motivation, creativity, self-doubt, writers block, and defeat. Navigating the shark-infested waters of writing, revising, editing, composing query letters, and pitching endless literary agents has been a true test of faith.

Despite much frustration and a lot of rejections, I continue to rely on the tenets of my own personal faith and life experiences to guide me through this roller coaster journey of publishing. Now on the shady side of sixty, I still have hope for the future.

Recently, my journey as a writer took a right turn on life’s highway. I finally have a publishing co-pilot. Stay tuned.…

Back to this blog I intended to post in late April, blew past Mother’s Day and Memorial Day in May, and here we are mid-June ready to honor our fathers. With the gift of time, I found my “neat package of words” and they are surprisingly simple.

Have faith!

Throughout the struggles of life – the twists and turns, ups and downs, taking two steps forward then three steps back – have faith. In yourself, your family, your friends, your doctors, humanity, your God if you believe in one.

I’m not saying you sit back and let life happen or pass you by. But have faith that you can persevere, that you will eventually succeed. Have faith and you will have hope. Hope for a better future for all.

Looking to the future, I’d like to say Happy Father’s Day to all fathers and those who have taken on the responsibility of being a positive male role model for kids who needed one.

Thank you for carrying on through good times and bad. It’s not always easy. Especially now.

But the next generation depends on it. For them and for you, keep the faith!

Sometimes, that’s all we have.

I learned the words to Santa Claus is Coming to Town when I was about five years old. As one of over 75 million baby boomers born between 1946-1964, I recall Christmas images began to appear after Labor Day, but the day after Halloween, businesses and homes exploded in displays of red and green. I rely on holiday classics I’ve come to know and love to put me in the right frame of mind in the weeks leading up to Christmas, one of my favorite days of the year.

Classic movie characters (in the order I like to revisit them) are Clark Griswold, Ralphie, George Bailey and his guardian angel Clarence, Ebeneezer Scrooge in the really old A Christmas Carol with Reginald Owen, and Kevin from Home Alone.

I proudly admit to loving almost all of the multitude of Hallmark Christmas movies my wife and I watch, probably 345 days per year. Some of you may know I finally finished the first draft of a manuscript I would love to see made into a Hallmark movie. Fingers crossed for a Christmas miracle in the New Year!

Getting back to my vivid childhood Christmas memories of living on the blue-collar South side of Chicago, I longed for things that weren’t in my folks’ budget. I cherish a yellowed photograph of me in the early 60’s (about six or seven years old) sitting on Santa’s lap at Prospect Federal Savings on West 47th Street in the Back of the Yards neighborhood.

You probably know Ralphie was desperate for an Official Red Ryder carbine-action two-hundred shot range model air rifle. My obsession when I was eight or nine was the Mattel Hot Wheels loop- the-loop two-lane orange plastic track and a couple of miniature hot rods to race down the track clamped to the living room coffee table.

Like Ralphie, some of my gifts were hidden near the live Christmas tree. It probably cost $10 or $15 and was decorated with multi-color big-bulb and bubble lights, inexpensive plastic ornaments, and real lead tinsel. Unlike the current flimsy, shiny plastic, the weight caused the shimmering strands to hang like icicles, filling in the bare spots between tree branches. Tossing gobs of tinsel was not allowed. It was a painstaking, but worthwhile process.

I still love cars, especially late-60’s and early-70’s muscle cars. Beta readers may remember a midnight blue and white-striped 1970 Chevelle SS454 LS-6 from The Walk-On. I vow to own one with matching serial numbers one day. If you aren’t a car aficionado, that translates to rare and expensive.

When I was eleven, my creativity began to emerge and I decided I needed the technically advanced Polaroid SX-70 Original Chrome Instant Camera. I probably took mostly pictures of cars. The film was expensive, especially considering you got about ten photos that really smelled from chemicals that developed the instant prints…which then had to be coated with an even smellier stick to preserve them. Lol…no digital features, no cellphone camera edits and filters. You could take selfies — although you couldn’t preview/adjust your angles.

I wish I still had those two presents to list on eBay. The proceeds might have made a dent in this year’s inflated prices for gifts.

For decades as an adult, I dragged decorations out of the garage or basement and checked innumerable light strings for dead bulbs and fuses before carefully winding them around trees, bushes, pillars and windows. Pretty much anything stationary on the property.

One of the things I do not miss about being a homeowner in Chicago, is when half the light string goes out due to one impossible-to-locate bulb. Invariably, it was under 20 degrees and the wind whipped my hands and face. I felt every sub-zero degree of the windchill factor.

Despite the collateral damage of numb fingers, I do miss the satisfaction of finally replacing the wayward bulb or fuse and returning the front yard to its blaze of glory. Hallelujah! Clark Griswold would be proud. I truly look forward to the day I hear Rusty Griswold’s infamous words from one of my kids. “Dad, you taught me everything I know about exterior illumination.” No, I’m not holding my breath.

Over the last say twenty years, we’ve been inundated with strategically positioned retail store displays leaping from summer merchandise closeouts and back-to-school sales, to holiday mode before cool temperatures even have the chance of transforming the trees to blazing fall colors. More than ever, social media assaults remind us we are behind holiday schedule weeks before Black Friday and Cyber-Monday. I’m not immune and think about Christmas earlier too, but I at least try to wait until after Halloween.

Holiday lights these days are almost all LED and can be synced to twinkle to music. Internet Christmas shopping has seriously impacted malls and small business owners, particularly the past two years. Christmas cards with family photo collages (guilty as charged), and e-cards have replaced actual signatures, an enclosed photo and brief handwritten note.

For almost forty years, with only a few skips, Patty and I have seen theater productions of A Christmas Carol. Starting at the Goodman in Chicago to Ford’s Theater in Washington D.C. then back to the Goodman. Our kids are well into double-digit attendance themselves. Back in July, on the first day of Priority Sales, likely in the first ten minutes, Patty, hopeful we could continue our beloved tradition, bought tickets.

So the weekend before Christmas, we left the City of Angels — where our 5-foot Christmas tree cost 3X what we paid for an eight-footer in Western Springs in 2017 — to take our favorite seats, Center Stage Row E, at the Goodman Theater. Cast members and director interpretations continue to change, but ultimately, Charles Dickens’ story remains timeless.

While in town, we managed to pull off a version of our annual Christmas open house, even though we are technically homeless in Chicago. The Podkowski Pop-Up Christmas Open House took place at our kids’ high school Alumni Hall. It was brief, but fun. Always good to catch up with old friends.

It was great to see old landmarks, too. Here’s a shoutout to the downtown Magnificent Mile and the city Christmas tree near The Bean. Wouldn’t even have minded a bit of snow, but it was actually warmer in Chicago than it was when we left Los Angeles!

The one trend I can’t quite get onboard with is Christmas lawn inflatables which get bigger and more animated with each passing year. I’m too old school, I guess. Still like the old plastic Santas, reindeer and angels. However, I got quite a kick out of a newsclip recently that showed a couple of small brown bears attacking an inflatable Rudolph on the front lawn of a house in a foothill community above Los Angeles. They pounced on it, but couldn’t break through the heavy plastic with their claws. I laughed and rooted for the bears who ultimately got frustrated and ambled away.

In closing, I hope you were able to share quality time with family, friends, and loved ones. The kids were both MIA this year thanks to Covid. But we were blessed to celebrate a traditional Polish Christmas Eve with a family we met on our first Los Angeles tour of duty. Greg is LA-based again, Sarah was in from Germany and their daughters from London. A good time was had by all! Christmas morning we delivered leftovers to the kids and we will celebrate together in the New Year.

“The times they are a-changin,” sang Bob Dylan. Enjoy your own Christmas Classics but embrace some new ones, too. I encourage Millennials and Gen Z to give the instant messaging, selfies, social media and video games a rest. Actually turn the paper pages of Twas the Night Before Christmas, The Gift of the Magi, How the Grinch Stole Christmas or The Polar Express. Sit down with a loved one in front of the twinkling tree or roaring fire…reminisce about the past, plan for the future. Talk, laugh, maybe cry…but live and love in the moment. Add hot cocoa ala Hallmark and maybe it will magically snow!

Finally, remember the reason for the season. I believe the baby in the manger we celebrate is the Light of the World. Light will overcome darkness.

Merry Christmas and Happy New Year!

It’s been six long months since I last posted. A lifetime ago during this unexpectedly creepy year. This very unsettling 2020 creeped forward like a suspense-filled horror story. First it broke bad with the pandemic, or plague, as I prefer to call it. Then came the summer of social unrest, unprecedented since the late 60’s for those who were around to live it. Then came the election and regardless of which side of the fence you’re on, turned a national event into a real creep show.

Today is finally New Year’s Eve, December 31, 2020. The dawning of the New Year, 2021, brings hope and promise, including a vaccine many won’t take, and the familiar image of a fat baby in diapers wearing a 2021 sash and party hat. The New York Times Square ball will drop. Amen.

Following two years of discussion, during the (initial) height of the pandemic in California, we finally pulled the trigger for another social experiment. After leaving our home of almost twenty years in the western suburbs of Chicago for a vintage apartment near the lakefront, we were ready to return to California. Plenty of people wondered why.

We made it to LA at the end of July without too many dents and dings. I won’t count my partial retinal tear outside of Denver, that’s another story. Our timing was good. The raging wildfires were nearby, and a few weeks after getting settled, there was a 4.3 magnitude earthquake at 11:30 on a Friday night. The damn epicenter was only six miles away and ten miles down. I heard and then felt the ground rumble underneath my feet as the shockwave rolled from north to south. For hours, eyes wide open, I lay in bed waiting for the aftershock. It never came. Now this creepy year is coming to an end. No more shocks. Amen.

We’re back living in southern California after twenty-one years. Back near the kids, whether they like it or not. Back to the land of the golden sun and the Hollywood sign. An inspiration for my writing and even bigger dream of elevating my manuscript, The Walk-On to another medium.

I have always been intrigued by the Hollywood sign. It started out spelled as Hollywoodland, a 1923 temporary advertisement for a local real estate development. It became popular and representative of Hollywood, and now its rich history in the entertainment industry symbolizes different things to different people. To me it’s always spelled out the dream that film actors, writers, directors, producers, and other entertainment folks all hold dear.

Today, December 31, 2020 – New Year’s Eve, on a 65 degree day without a cloud in the sky, we got some exercise socially distancing on a trail in Griffith Park. We hiked toward the Hollywood sign, rounding the Griffith Park Observatory. You may remember it from a scene in the movie LaLa Land when Ryan Gosling and Emma Stone dance under the stars.

Robert Frost wrote of the Road Not Taken. I reflect on the one taken as I evaluate the results of our move. The fires were controlled and the air cleared. Christmas has come and gone, and 2021 waits in the wings.

What’s next? Nobody really knows but I hope the new vaccines will finally return some normalcy to our plague-upended lives. I’m no sage here, just one of millions of people around the weary and burdened globe praying for a little respite.

We got pretty high up on the Hollywood sign trailhead this afternoon. I looked out over the diverse sprawl of Los Angeles, the City of Angels that ends west at the Pacific Ocean. I glanced back at the Hollywood sign representing decades of those who came before me to write, to film, to star. Some succeeded and some failed. I think about that every time I see the sign in the distance. I’m rooting for success. Maybe we will laugh together – in person – again in 2021. Maybe we can go to the movies again. Maybe Disneyland will open again. Tonight I’m happy it’s New Year’s Eve. Goodbye creepy 2020.

No, not in Memphis where Elvis lived and is buried, but just north of Wrigley Field, home of the Chicago Cubs. Graceland Cemetery has provided peace and quiet for notable Chicagoans since 1860 when it was chartered as a certified arboretum. The ornate tombstones and mausoleums are a veritable Who’s Who of Chicago aristocracy, politicians, architects, titans of industry, and even a championship boxer from the early 20th century, Jack Johnson. Ernie Banks, the iconic Mr. Cub was buried in 2015, less than a mile from the baseball field where he played in scores of games — just shy of seeing them finally win the 2016 World Series.

Today Graceland continues to provide an idyllic setting. The green and hilly landscape, designed long ago to create a park-like sanctuary with prized trees, birds, and wildlife for the deceased, is a popular refuge for locals and tourists. Perhaps, it’s needed now more than ever.

I found it bike riding during pandemic quarantine after the mayor shut down the lakefront trail. I was tired of looping the parking lot at Lincoln Park Zoo. Even though I thought I learned where all the potholes are, I still popped two spokes to the tune of $50 bucks. So I took off north and west through the neighborhood to change gears. By chance, I discovered I could ride in Graceland Cemetery.

It’s been a little crazy the last couple of weeks to say the least. Graceland has become my refuge. There is no social unrest amongst the long-passed inside its concrete and brick walls. I’m not too worried about the pandemic because it’s not crowded and everyone naturally social distances, including its residents if six feet below counts as six feet apart.

I see a lot of individuals, couples, families with kids, and people from all walks of life taking self-guided tours with the informative brochure, walking, running, biking, playing, or sitting by the pond and taking a break. I think we’re all looking for the same thing right now — to resume our “normal” life activities. Isn’t it ironic we find that in a cemetery in the middle of a densely populated part of the city?

I certainly hope things normalize as we head into summer: restaurants and the lakefront will re-open, professional sports can be played, maybe 4th of July fireworks, and kids will actually return to classrooms. I decided I will continue to ride through Graceland when I can. I’m grateful for this refuge and will say a prayer — for those who are eternally enjoying their peace and quiet — and for all of us during these uncertain times.

I’m somewhat of a WWII buff, dating back to my parents’ stories about their experiences. Recently, I saw a human-interest news clip about a WWII veteran in his 90’s whose wife of almost 70 years is in an adult care facility, isolated due to COVID-19. The staff arranged a golf cart “drive-by” set up like a parade review, with residents and other socially-distanced well-wishers waving banners and flags.

For the first time in almost two months, he was able to get within 20 feet of his wife who was seated in a wheelchair outside the facility. No surprise there was quite an emotional exchange of waves, words and wishes. The veteran wore an embroidered military cap. Veterans who proudly wear these cherished hats are heroes. Their fellow servicemen who didn’t make it back are honored the last Monday of May on Memorial Day.

I wondered if this couple had a similar greeting some 75 years ago when he didn’t use a walker and she didn’t need a wheelchair.  Were they apart two years instead of two months? Did they run to each other and lock in an embrace when he returned from overseas? Did they immediately get married and have kids? Settle in one of the new post-war suburbs in an affordable starter home? What kept them together for 75 years? How did they commemorate Memorial Day and honor his comrades who died in battle? 

Their moving story evoked distinct memories, three decades later, of my time as a Special Agent assigned to the Presidential detail. I was honored to witness several commemorative U.S. military celebrations up close: at the 40th Anniversary of the D-Day Invasion, standing on a bluff in the cemetery overlooking Omaha Beach; at the USS Arizona Memorial in Pearl Harbor, at the Tomb of the Unknown Soldier wreath-laying in Arlington National Cemetery; and a host of special events at the WWII, Korean War, and Vietnam Wall Memorials on the National Mall.

It sounds cliché, but I truly believe the freedoms we enjoy today came at the expense of those who made the ultimate sacrifice defending our democracy and its ideals. Pain, suffering, loss, and death have always been associated with human conflict. Today, we fight another global battle, an invisible medical scourge that is yet to be defeated. There are heroes who have already paid, and will pay, the ultimate price to free us from the pandemic.

I’m compelled to encourage you to enjoy the holiday weekend, maybe at a socially distanced gathering or barbecue, but please remember those who served in past conflicts, who fought battles we can’t even imagine. This year they can’t be honored with familiar neighborhood parades, although American flags will still fly and virtual memorials will occur.

Never let us forget those who fought to keep us safe and free. Let us also pray for those who are fighting right now to release us from the iron grip of our invisible enemy.     

Pandemic reality hit us all in mid-March! A few days into the stay-at-home order, I got a kick out of a tweet about the week having only three days now: Yesterday, Today and Tomorrow. Still true as of this writing. Two months later, like most of us, I’m ready for some normalcy again.  Unfortunately, we can’t predict what the “new normal” will be or when it will finally arrive.

Looking on the bright side, which is not generally my strong suit, COVID-19 has been a blessing in disguise for my writing. Suddenly, I have all kinds of time to write. No schedules to follow or tasks to complete. No excuses not to hunker down in front of my computer, located in my tiny office in the maid’s room situated in a remote corner of our vintage apartment. Slightly larger than Harry Potter’s quarters under the staircase in his Muggle home.

My first fiction manuscript, The Walk-On, took eleven years to complete. Family and career responsibilities allowed only fits, starts, and spurts of creative writing. Actually, complete isn’t accurate. I’ll be revising the query and manuscript until I find the agent who believes in the story like I do.

My work in progress, written with Crown Media Publishing and the Hallmark Channel in mind, was supposed to be completed for their February 2019 open submission. The manuscript wasn’t even close. I plodded along, aiming for open submission in the fall. I was disappointed, and a bit relieved, when they didn’t have one. I thought constantly about Matt and Shelby, but couldn’t get their Christmas story on paper. A paragraph here, some dialogue there. Rinse, repeat! Lots of frustration, but no real progress. I had to keep my nose to the security consulting grindstone to pay the bills.

Now, with so much time and nowhere I have to (or can) be, my page count has exploded from 120 to 245. I’m writing most of the day — maybe too much some days and late nights — and only have about four chapters to go until the trademark Hallmark kiss in a gazebo somewhere under a starlit sky.

My new goal is to finish the first draft before I return to the day job working under new, and not so normal conditions. Will I make it? Stay tuned…stay healthy…stay safe! 

I confess to being a technological and social media dinosaur. For years, I was actually proud to not know – or care about – the difference between a tweet, snap and post. Facebook, Snapchat, Instagram and Twitter were all the same stupid thing that would lead to the downfall of civilization. And what the heck are blogs and podcasts? I’m still confused about most of it. But it’s pretty clear to aid my transition from “writer” to “published author” I need a “platform” and a website. Challenge accepted – welcome to my world!

#zerotohero #writer