Mandy Haynes's Blog

Readers and Book Lovers: Stay in the Know of book releases and author interviews with this online magazine! Editor Mandy Haynes of Reading Nation Magazine. Welcome Readers, Book Lovers, and Authors My name is Mandy Haynes, and I am the creator, designer, editor, and publisher of READING NATION MAGAZINE. I’m also the Executive Director of The International […]

Reading Nation Magazine for Book Lovers and Book Readers!

This year started off a little bit crazy, but I’m going to stick to the positive things that have happened in my writing life and start off with The International Pulpwood Queen and Timber Guy First Virtual Girlfriend’s Weekend. Y’all, it was so much fun and a huge success. Over seventy authors shared their stories, and book reviewers, bloggers, book club members, booksellers, and literary geniuses, joined in for a four day slumber party that will go down in history. I could write about it until my fingers bleed, but I’ll share the link to Robert Gray’s (Shelf Awareness) post instead:

Shelf Awareness for Friday, January 22, 2021 | Shelf Awareness (shelf-awareness.com)

“Although 2021 got off to a rocky start and retains its myriad challenges, there are a few signs of hope, including the Pulpwood Queens Girlfriend Weekend Zoomathon Slumber Party, that have begun to restore my faith in the possibilities for a new year.” –Robert Gray, editor

This also happened:

Last day of Girlfriend’s Weekend 2021

The Pulpwood Queen Announces Author, Mandy Haynes our NEW Executive Director of The International Pulpwood Queens and Timber Guys Book Club Reading Nation and our other AWARDS! (thepulpwoodqueens.com)

I’d reached out to Kathy a few months before Girlfriend’s Weekend to volunteer to help with anything she might need. Well, once we started working together she realized that she could use an extra hand. Once we started doing more together, we realized how much fun we were having and on the last day of the event she asked if I would consider being the Executive Director.

What exactly does that title mean? I’m not exactly sure, but it’s keeping me busy and that’s a good thing. So far lots of reading, helping put together new events like PWQ/TG Writer’s Group, Coffee Talks, and Wine Downs, connecting with PWQ/TG members to make sure they know how much we appreciate them. Writer’s LOVE readers and we want to make sure they know it! Making graphics for advertisements, answering emails and messages from both authors and readers – whatever comes up that I can help with I’m here.

If you’d like to know more about the great community Kathy started over twenty years ago, here’s the link to her website that will fill you in on everything about The International Pulpwood Queen and Timber Guy Book Club Reading Nation:

The International Pulpwood Queens and Timber Guys Book Club – Starring the Pulpwood Queens and Timber Guys

Y’all, we haven’t stopped working since Girlfriend’s Weekend. One night we were on the phone for seven hours… but to be fair it’s not all work and no play. We laugh a lot and keep each other moving forward with our other creative endeavors. We are working together on some really fun and unique art projects that will keep our muses awake and us moving along…

Kathy’s Alcohol Ink My nunofelted piece still drying Happy Accidents They look like they were made for each other!It all started when Kathy saw one of my first light sculptures and commented on how it looked like one of her paintings…

I guess that’s about it for now! Thanks for stopping by and stay tuned for more…

Each felted piece is unique and filled with stories. Felting is what I do when I need to step away from the computer and let the words settle.

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Felted Cowls

Each piece is one of a kind. Please let me know which one you'd like by referencing the number.

7% tax and $2.50 for s/h

$45.30

Felted scarves

Wool, silk, bamboo - you never know what you'll see

7% tax and $2.50 s/h

$66.70

Silk felted wraps

Wool, silk, bamboo felted onto silk gauze.

7% tax + $2.50 s/h

$109.50

Felted jewelry

Beautiful felted flowers and leaves attached to a necklace of organza ribbon and waxed linen thread. 19" long.

7% tax +$2.50 s/h

$39.95

Please feel free to contact me at puplucyblue@gmail.com if you have any questions.

I can’t believe it’s almost over. I knew that 2019 was going to be a good one, but I had no idea it would go out with such a bang.

Y’all. Walking The Wrong Way Home has sold over 300 copies since the publishing date of 11-26th.

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I had my first book event at Story & Song Bookstore Bistro on 11-30th and was blown away by the number of people who came out. Before everyone was seated, chairs had to be added three times. The final count was forty-five people in the audience. I still can’t believe I’ve had to restock the supply of books at the bookstore three times since the event. Let me tell you – there is nothing that compares to seeing strangers carrying your book around a bookstore.

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Except this. When one of your all-time favorite authors, one of your idols – plugs your book on his Facebook page. Y’all, I’m still pretty goofy over this. Not going to lie – I printed out a copy and stuck on my office wall. Mark Childress – the author of Crazy in Alabama (a book I’ve given away I don’t know how many copies to friends and one stranger, because it is THAT good) posted this to his page.

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Walking The Wrong Way Home has received great reviews, I’m grateful for every one. Writing a review for an author is the best way to support us. Here’s a few for Walking The Wrong Way Home:

Click to view slideshow.

On January 28th I’ll be making a trip to Fairhope, Alabama. Y’all know how much I love that place – and this time I’ll be going as an author.

I have a book event at Page and Palette scheduled at 6pm. I’m so excited I can hardly stand it. If your in the area, stop by – it’s going to be lots of fun. It’s Sonny Brewer’s birthday which makes it even more special. Sonny was the one who gave me the push I needed with these four words – YOU ARE WORTH IT. How lucky am I that he’s going to introduce me to the audience in Fairhope? Life – it’s always an adventure, isn’t it?

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I hope everyone is happy, healthy, and feeling loved this holiday. Life might not be perfect, but it’s pretty dang good. Remember – we cain’t all be saints, but we can all be kind.

Walking The Wrong Way Home takes you inside the extraordinary lives of ordinary people.

About the Book:

Walking The Wrong Way Home takes you inside the extraordinary lives of ordinary people. Where hidden secrets are brought to light and burned with past regrets in brush piles in the mountains of East Tennessee or used to set fire to the mass produced tall and skinnies taking over East Nashville. Between the pages you’ll meet Penny, an eighty-seven year old widow who sleeps in her red shoes, Jimmy, a quiet auto mechanic whose memories are never silent, Jewel a young girl who sees beauty everywhere, even though she’s lost almost everything, and Willie, a thirteen-year-old who faces his worst fears only to find out that the truth is scarier than any haint or ghost story he’s ever imagined. There’s Elma and Roy, a couple who’ve been married for over forty years. Elma realizes on her sixty-third birthday that it’s not too late to live her life, but it takes Roy two weeks to notice. Spanning nearly twenty decades, the struggles and victories these characters face are timeless as they all work towards the same goal. A place to feel safe, a place to call home.

About the Author:

Mandy Haynes has spent hours on barstools, at backstage venues, and riding in vans listening to tales from some of the best songwriters and storytellers in Nashville, Tennessee. She now lives in Fernandina Beach, Florida with her three dogs, a turtle, and a grateful liver. Walking the Wrong Way Home was a finalist for the 2017 Tartt Fiction Award.

Mandy worked for twenty-six years for Vanderbilt University Medical Center before deciding to run away to Amelia Island. She started as a clerk, working in the mailroom and making thousand of copies of patients medical records – but worked her way up to finish the last sixteen years as a pediatric cardiac sonographer at Monroe Carroll Jr. Children’s Hospital.

Some of her favorite memories include her time as a receptionist/administrative assistant in Addiction Psychiatry, break-room antics with her fellow refund clerks, and of course all of the families and children she met in cardiology.

Fans of Fannie Flagg, Sue Monk Kidd, Wiley Cash, Rick Bragg, Harper Lee, and Harry Crews might enjoy her writing style. These stories are for readers who like to chase their stories with a shot of whiskey while burrowed under a hand stitched quilt.

If you’d like a signed copy ($19.05 includes tax and s/h) send an email to threedogswritepress@gmail.com and I’ll get one to you.

So many things going on here! I’ve been busy, so I’ll catch you up.

First – I’ve received 237 pre-orders for Walking The Wrong Way Home. Thanks everybody for supporting me! You helped more than you know. The money received helped pay for artwork for the book, marketing, mailing supplies and books for the event. It also helped reimburse the cost of watercolors, paper, new brushes, etc. so I could paint the thank you gifts. And boy, have I been busy! I’ve painted over 200 little landscapes and bookmarks – I’m almost caught up…

 

The next exciting news is that I’ll be having my first book event at Story & Song Bookstore and Bistro this coming Saturday at 4pm. There will be refreshments – tea cakes in honor of Jewel (the main character in the story Something More) and mulled wine. If you’re in Fernandina, I hope you can make it!

Books will be going in the mail this week, so if you’ve ordered be on the lookout!

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Okay, I’ve got some painting to do before I go to work so I guess that’s all for now. Thanks for following my adventure and supporting my dream – and HAPPY THANKSGIVING EVERYBODY!

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If you’ve read my older blogs, you know that I toyed with the idea of starting a Patreon account to help with the costs to publish my book.

I just couldn’t do it. I know other authors who have and they have fun doing it. And lots of success. But it just wasn’t for me.

I buckled down, checked under my couch cushions, cleaned out every nook and cranny, and found the finances to hire a cover designer. Her name is Robin Locke Monda and she’s great. I’ll attach her information at the bottom.

I was also very fortunate to have three wonderful, well established authors to read my manuscript and offer advice. After a few minor edits I decided it was ready.

I am blown away by all of the support. Thanks to everyone who has pre-ordered their copy.

The count is at one hundred and thirty eight as of a few minutes ago.

If you’d like to get on the list it’s not too late to receive a signed copy along with a few fun extras. Just send me an email to threedogswritepress@gmail.com. if you’d rather pay by check instead of online-that’s no problem! If you’re wondering, the total after tax and s/h comes to $19.05

http://www.robinlockemonda.com/

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I’ve missed you guys. So many things going on in Fernandina Beach.

I started a job as a bookseller at a beautiful spot here called Story & Song Bookstore and Bistro. Actually two jobs – I’m in the Bistro as a chef about fifty percent of the time. So learning two new jobs and working on the manuscript while keeping up with three spoiled terriers has made blogging disappear.

And I turned fifty somewhere in the middle of all of that…

But I’m back with great news!

IT’S HAPPENING! All my hard work is paying off!

Website almost finished.

Cover picked, thanks to Robin Locke Monda for a beautiful design.

Just a few more kinks to work out and WALKING THE WRONG WAY HOME will be in print! Target date is mid November, but…

If you’d like to preorder a signed copy and get a digital download of one of the stories now (plus some fun extras-maybe a little piece of art or a beach treasure sent with your copy) I’m taking orders!

Send me an email at threedogswritepress@gmail.com

Let’s have some fun! Spread the word – it’s happening!!

So, I survived the storytelling event last weekend. Two sold out shows – can you believe it? There were eight storytellers total, six had performed with Live Ink Theater before, one was a newbie like me. Everybody killed it.

Me, well, I froze at one point at Saturday’s show. Yep, I forgot what I’d said and what was next – complete blank. I had nothing and the quiet was deafening until one lady yelled out, “That’s okay! We love your accent!” When everyone laughed, I was able to pick back up where I was. Thank god. I made it through Sunday’s show without any hiccups, surprising myself more than anybody else. I’m thankful that Live Ink Theater gave me the opportunity to prove to myself that I could.

I’d forgotten how much I loved the feeling of sharing your story with strangers and seeing the looks on their faces when they connect with your words. So many people came up afterwards and thanked me for sharing my story. I met more than one person who’s survived the same situation, and a few that are still trying to get there. You never know what others are going through.

Several people back in Tennessee have asked to read the story. It’s a very personal story, but after my friend told me she was approached by two women at her bridge club who wanted her to thank me for sharing, I decided to put it here. The theme was Hope for The Holidays. Here’s my story –

BULLSHIT

Mandy Haynes

This time last year my pups and I were freezing our tails off in an empty old farmhouse in Adams Tennessee.

Everything I had was on loan or gifted from friends. The air mattress we slept on and the space heater we ran nonstop – even the silverware I ate with was a gift from my friend Mary Beth. Or actually a gift from her mother who had turned into a kleptomaniac in her last year at the nursing home.

My friend Lisa gave me a soup pot just so she could say, “Well at least you’ll have a pot, even if you don’t have a window…”

How did I get myself into that situation?

Four months before that, without any planning what so ever, I decided to put my house in East Nashville up for sale, by owner. I wrote a resignation letter just for fun and started downsizing just in case.

Well – I got an offer on my house in just a couple of weeks. We signed a contract, set a closing date and quit my job. I gave away everything that wouldn’t fit in my van. My plan was to start fresh with good karma. Thanks to the housing market in Nashville, I was going to be just fine.

But two days before closing, the offer fell through.

A second offer came through just when I was about to cry uncle. But that one fell through in a couple of weeks. I didn’t know anything about selling a house myself – obviously. And at that point I could’ve called and asked for my job back, but I called a realtor instead and drained my savings account to do some repairs on my house. I knew it was a huge risk, but I had no intention of turning back.

My dad, god love him, was convinced I was making the worst mistake in my life. See, I’d left home at the age of fifteen, but somehow, I’d gotten a job at Vanderbilt University Medical Center. A job where I’d worked my way up from the mailroom twenty-six years before to a position in pediatric cardiology as a cardiac sonographer. I worked with some of the best doctors in the nation, where I did ultrasounds of some of the most complex congenital heart defects imagined—a pretty sweet gig for a high school dropout. My dad couldn’t understand how I could I give up such an opportunity.

But working for the Children’s Hospital had taken its toll. I’d never learned how to separate myself from the patients or their families. In reality – I’d only taken the job in the mailroom to use the tuition benefits to put my son through college. He’d graduated years ago – was a married man now living his best life – but I was still there.

No offense, but I was supposed to be living in a hippie communion somewhere – raising goats, making art and writing fiction. That had been my dream anyway. I was not cut out for such a high stress job. I’d always thought of Vanderbilt as a temporary thing – but somehow twenty-six years had passed.

“The definition of insanity is doing the same thing over and over and expecting different results.” Right? Well, I’d spent the last few years of my life completely batshit crazy.

Letting go of that fat paycheck and all the stuff I’d bought that was supposed to make me happy was the first step to taking back my life.

A friend offered me a place to stay while my house was being worked on, so that’s how we ended up at RockARosa farm freezing our butts off and eating from stolen silverware. I actually had a house – with a mortgage – I just couldn’t live in it.

I had no plan B. I was running on pure faith that things would work out.

But there were no new offers on my house. And it was getting colder every day. The pups stayed around the electric heater at my feet while I worked, lying on a heating pad I’d put on their beds because those old wood floors were as cold as ice. I closed off all the rooms we weren’t using and rationed the propane in the furnace.

I had a lot of time to sit and worry and doubt my choices – not just recent choices but every single one I’d made in the last forty years.

Then I got a message that turned everything around. My seventh-grade science teacher had been following my adventures on Facebook. Ms. Nita Heilman said she was proud of me for doing what I was doing.

She asked if I’d like to give her a hand at her church the next time they hosted a program called Room in the Inn. It’s a great program where churches open their doors during the cold months to give people a warm place to sleep and a hot meal when there’s no room in the shelters due to overcrowding. I assumed I’d cook and serve dinner – but Nita had other plans.

“You just be you.” She said. “Dinner is covered. I’d like you to get our guests to open up and feel comfortable. I think that’s where you’d do the most good.”

I showed up that following Friday raring to go. I made my way out where the guests were gathered and tried to start a few of conversations, but nothing worked.

I made coffee but had no takers, except for one guy. I was so excited when he walked up. Finally – someone to talk to. But as I was asking him how he took his coffee, he pointed at his throat, shook his head and fixed his own cup. He obviously couldn’t talk, and I felt like an idiot.

Then I spied two guys playing cards at a table in the back, so I made my way over.

“What are you playing?” I asked.

One of them half whispered, “Bullshit.”

“Bullshit?” I laughed – he didn’t.

In a very serious voice he explained the game to me. “It’s a liar’s game. Anyone can call bullshit on you. And if you are bullshittin’ you pick up the stack.”

“Deal me in.” I said.

In a few minutes we were deep in the game, laughing like kids every time someone whispered the word bullshit or some four-letter word when they had to pick up the cards. We were in a church after all.

I’d notice others watching and ask them to join in. The same people who didn’t trust me to make their coffee a few minutes ago, were sitting at the table accepting the cards I dealt.

I noticed the man who couldn’t talk was watching us from across the room, so I pulled out the chair next to me and motioned him over. A guy named Billy, shook his head. “Jeffrey won’t play.”

Jeffrey answered back. “I ain’t gonna play a game where I have to lie in church.”

I yelled out. “I call Bullshit Jeffrey.”

Everybody burst out laughing – Jeffrey included.

After a few minutes, someone asked what was for dinner. I didn’t know the answer. Then someone asked if there were any extra blankets. I didn’t know the answer to that either, but I said I could find out.

“Hang on a second.” Billy said, really looking at me. “Are you on this side,” he asked (pointing at the group at the table) or that side?” he asked (pointing at the volunteers busy in the kitchen).

I laughed which is always my first response, but it hit me. I could easily be on their side if my house didn’t sell. And I’d done this to myself.

Billy was suspicious of me then and asked, “What kind of work do you do?”

“I’m not working anywhere right now,” I said. “I quit my job a few months ago.”

Billy let loose. “What?! Why? How could you do that?”

Everyone was staring, waiting for an answer. I felt like such a jerk.

Everyone there was looking for a job, any job, that would pay enough to get them out of the shelters and off the streets and I’d quit a career to live in my van IF my house sold.

“I don’t know.” I said and at that moment I had no idea how I could’ve done something so stupid. I’d never been so irresponsible in my entire life. I started to tear up.

Billy reached over and touched my wrist. “Hey now, it’s okay. I’m sorry.”

Then he took my hand and gave it a squeeze, “I shouldn’t judge you, I don’t even know you.” He said.

That was such a powerful thing. I’d been judged all my life but had never heard one apology. Any girl that has a child at fifteen knows what it’s like to be judged. No matter what you accomplish or how good you are or how far you or your child goes – there will always be someone who thinks they know your story.

After dinner we played more games of Bullshit. What had started out as two people playing cards had turned into twelve.

When I stood up to leave Billy asked if he could give me a hug and wished me luck. Before I knew it, everybody was hugging me and thanking me for making their night fun. They asked if I would come back.

I spent Thanksgiving and Christmas with my new friends and heard so many stories and met some incredibly smart people, including an angel named Ms. Brenda.

She was a tough nut to crack, but once she felt comfortable that lady was a card shark.

And talk about calling bullshit on somebody. Brenda knew there was more to my story. She wasn’t fooled by my corny jokes and funny stories and she wouldn’t give in until I explained why I had decided to get rid of everything I owned and run away.

So I told her.

I told her how my only son and his wife cut me out of their life six years ago. And somehow – this had become normal for everyone else, but it would never be normal for me. Seeing pictures of my grandchildren – who don’t even know my name- displayed in my mother’s house – is not normal. Walking into my sister’s house and realizing that there are no pictures of me in her big family collage, even though I’d been a part of her daughter’s lives. I’d been erased so she wouldn’t have to explain to my grandchildren who that lady in the picture was? Or maybe I’d never been included. Either way – it’s not normal. Having panic attacks on the way to work because you’re closer to your patients than you are your own family and you’re afraid you’ll be the tech that has to take the last pictures on a patient that’s not going to make it– is not normal.

How spending almost every waking moment of your day, grieving for people you lost – especially for the ones who are still alive – was not normal.

Six years was too long to wait for a change that’s never going to happen.

Selling my house and getting the hell out of dodge was more than some fun adventure. I couldn’t go on living that way – and I probably wouldn’t go on living that way. I’d been telling my family for years, but nobody was listening.

Ms. Brenda listened to every word.

“I’m going to pray for you.” She said. “Promise me you won’t give up. You cain’t give up hope, baby. You are worth it.”

Volunteering for Room In the Inn saved me. I was supposed to be there for them, but they gave me so much. These gifts from strangers. To be accepted for who I was – just as I was. To be heard.

I’d walk in the door and everybody would yell. “You playing cards tonight?”

“Deal me in!” I’d say, and we’d be laughing – real laughs – before I even sat down.

Every one of us able to forget our troubles for a little while. And every single one of us glad to be alive.

Like Ms. Brenda told me, “Hope, baby. You ain’t lost it – it’s perched in your soul.”

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I’m rewriting my story for the storytelling event that’s less than a week away.

At the first practice my original story was a hit – but it’s too long for the required time and structure of a good storytelling story.

At the second practice it was decided that I actually had two stories there and needed to pick one – either the exciting story of packing up and running away, or the reasons behind why I ran away -not both. It was decided that the reason I ran was a better fit.

But it’s so hard to tell one without the other.

Every one of us has a story.

Our lives are a puzzle – made of so many different, odd shaped pieces.

Those weird ones with the sharp angles, dark red or deep blue, that look more like someone else’s bad dream than a piece of your puzzle.

Those pieces don’t look like they’ll fit, but without them, it doesn’t work.

No matter how hard you try to squeeze in a bright turquoise or shiny yellow one in their place, the dark ones are needed to complete the puzzle.

Your puzzle. Your story. Your life.

Embrace all the colors and tell your story. Let the dark pieces fit without fighting them. Put them where they go, as a background to the bright ones so they can shine.

And maybe, just maybe, you’ll help someone else do the same.

I went next door last night to deliver a piece of mail that was dropped at my house by mistake. Wasn’t expecting to stay more than a minute or two-Kati and her girls were cleaning house, getting ready for company. Her oldest girl was wearing a wig to make the job more fun.

An hour later we’re still talking, laughing and crying over pictures.

Kati is an amazing woman. Twenty years ago she was in the Peace Corps, traveling all over Africa making friends and teaching kids.

This sweet single mother of two-a quiet, humble, bookish, gal showed me pictures of her and her friends in Dumibia where the women in the tribe took them in and made them family.

We laughed ourselves silly at the pictures of twenty-something year old Kati and her friends completely naked, except for rags tied around their waists and the coat of red mud that started at the tops of their heads all the way to the tops of their feet.

In one picture a lady had tied her baby to Kati’s back. The juxtaposition of Kati’s blond hair and brilliant blue eyes against the dried mud and that sweet baby’s face was beautiful. Tear worthy.

Then we were crying at a memory Kati shared. They were on a bus and traffic had stopped, her friend noticed a man lying on the side of the road-too sick to move. Her friend got out of the bus and sat beside him. When she realized how close to death the stranger was-she fed him candy and laid beside him.

Her kids-ten and thirteen years old-had never heard these stories or seen the pictures.

I am so grateful to have been there when they heard them for the first time.

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It was pure magic.