P.J. Colando's Blog

I recently posed the question above on social media. For TGIF fun and to promote engagement among my plentiful group of friends. Because, as you may know, writing is a solitary, often lonely occupation, and I am undeniably outgoing—a solid extrovert.

Further, the protracted and monstrous case of Samantha Guthrie’s mother being abducted from her home has weighed on my heart, along with the numerous calamities occurring in the world. I wanted to lighten my burden, not even equating the two events until now, as I write. This happens often, I find. Writing helps me process my feelings and make things right in my heart and mind.

My friends’ various responses were instructive and enlightening, often revealing the era in which they’d been born. Among my writer friends, the genre each favored was revealed:

SupermanGandolfReacherHubbell GardenerJamie from OutlanderJesus ChristSpark

The last response came immediately from my husband’s mouth, showing his awareness the fierce loyalty that’s alive in our dog’s heart. Of course! Spark, when given the scent, would lickety-split to hidey house to which my husband had been absconded. Perhaps waiting for police backup. Perhaps not. Process complete within hours.

Here are my guys, safe and sound, in our family room, sharing their just desserts. They are my heroes. Though my jocular reply was Hubbell Gardner, this duo would rescue me, no holds barred, without expectation of reward except for my safe return. Thus, my heart is filled with peace, joy, and love.

Who would search for you, no matter what, to the ends of the earth? Who’s your hero?

P.S. to the person (who shall remain unnamed) who either neglected to read the prompt closely or is not a believer. Jesus Christ is not a fictional character. Though He lived several thousand years ago, He remains prominent now, as then. He’s the best Savior.

 

The Insecure Writer’s Support Group

A database resource site and support group for writers and authors. Featuring weekly guests and tips, a monthly blogfest gathering, a Facebook group, and thousands of links – all to benefit writers! #IWSG

Purpose: To share and encourage. Writers can express doubts and concerns without fear of appearing foolish or weak. Those who have been through the fire can offer assistance and guidance. It’s a haven for insecure writers.

Posting: The first Wednesday of every month is Officially Insecure Writer’s Support Group day. Post your thoughts on your own blog. Talk about your doubts and the fears you have conquered. Discuss your struggles and triumphs. Offer a word of encouragement for others who are struggling. Visit others in the group and connect with your fellow writer – aim for a dozen new people each time – and return comments. This group is all about connecting!
Be sure to link to this page and display the badge in your post.  And please be sure your avatar links back to your blog! Our Twitter handle is @TheIWSG and hashtag is #IWSG.   

Let’s rock the neurotic writing world!
Our Twitter handle is @TheIWSG and hashtag is #IWSG.

The awesome co-hosts today are PJ Colando, Ronel Janse van Vuuren, and Natalie Aguirre!

Every month, we announce a question that members can answer in their IWSG post. These questions may prompt you to share advice, insight, a personal experience or a story. Include your answer to the question in your IWSG post or let it inspire your post if you are struggling with something to say.

Remember, the question is optional

March 4 question –

– What elements do you include in your book launch? Or what do you have in mind for your future book launch? Or what advice do you have to offer to others planning to launch a book?

I was a recent participant in an indie publishing panel, tasked with sharing my expertise. I opened my portion with a revised moniker from ‘expert,’ defaulting to sharing my ‘experience.’ I did this for a couple of reasons: 1. I was a peer, a member of this writers group, and one is never a prophet in one’s own land, and 2. I don’t believe that anyone is an absolute expert in marketing. As my co-host contribution this month, I’ve decided to share my Marketing Busy B’s

BEST BOOKYou love and believe in your book (and yourself) = you can sell it!professionally edited (content and copy) and formattedgenre-specific, eye-catching coverBRANDPrepare a cohesive story around your author persona and journey and why you writeAs a person, I am ardent, authentic, and undeniably outgoingAs a writer, I write humor and satire with a literary bentThus, I write Contemporary Women’s Friendship FictionTwo series: “Faith, Family, Frenzy” and “I Am…”BEGIN: 6 months before release dateLogline, blurb/description: adjust as needed to include your selected Amazon keywordsAuthor headshot and bioAuthor websiteBlog/Substack – share your personal journey, your book’s keywords, and related topics. (People will buy your books if they like you and are legit. We don’t buy from strangers, do we?Newsletter using magnets: free content such as a short prequel, bonus chapters, or short stories tied to your book to build an audience/fansThe holiday gift shopping season is prime sales season, btwBENEFIT and BONDWho is your book’s target audience? Research their interests and likesWhat social media platform are they on? YouTube, Facebook, Instagram, TikTokConsistent engagement: reliable and reciprocal, not just dump-and-goBlog/Substack/Newsletter: the trifecta of reader engagement and interactionFind readers where they are and give them what they’re looking for

BROADCASTFrequent engagement with meaningful content true to your brandMaster your logline and clear plan of action to tell everyone everywhere you goBlog/Substack/NewsletterGet reviews: ARC to fellow writers, friends, and services like Kirkus, NetGalley, Publishers’ Weekly, ReedsyBook Launch Party – note that this is only one component of your book marketing campaign, not your solo forayPresentations to Community and Writer GroupsBook clubs and Blog hopsWide: D2D, Book Funnel, BookShop, IngramSpark, Bookstoresvs Amazon only – 3 categories and 7 keywords to enhance search visibility. Change/updateBookBub (best yet very competitive) and other giveaways = massive reach @$.99 or free: Book Gorilla, Facebook Readers Groups, Goodreads (FB for readers)Don’t stop at 1; stack promotions; monitor and adjustengage with influencers on Bookstagram or BookTok (or hire someone to do it)Awards: Reader’s Favorite, Chanticleer, and othersBookmarks and other book ‘bling’Book trailer and/or create short-form videos/reels (like joy of unboxing books) to postTake Bryan Cohen, Jane Friedman, and Kindlepreneur ‘how-to’ courses

6. BUSINESS

Commit; Patience; PersistenceMarketing works best as a learning loop: test what readers respond to, then use those insights to make your next campaign stronger

 

 

“Everyone needs to know their life matters” is a statement I’ve uttered often throughout my adult years.

Because I believe it, I’ve adopted an Appreciator role, dispensing compliments openly and frequently.

Everyone craves a life of consequence, of significance, of purpose. To know that our daily lives, then years, then decades, mattered to someone, somewhere, somehow. To enact change, an alteration in the course of life is a higher calling, a challenge to be realized. Few people aim that high, but all, I feel, wish to avoid loneliness and diminished societal worth.

The state that retirement slams us into.

Aging tends to shrink social circles, so my urge to connect outward to strengthen my sense of mattering has accelerated.

Baby Boomers – my peers – amassed sufficient wealth to offset the minimalism of Social Security for ease in retirement. Further, we’ve fostered good health with potions and lotions, pills and procedures, and good lifestyle practices to realize the ultimate Boomer goal: to have fun!

My husband and I have accomplished the above, but we went beyond. We each prepared for an equally essential aspect of retirement: how to continue to feel seen, heard, and valued.

I stepped away from my compulsion for community service that, while fulfilling, ran me ragged, pulling me close to burnout in addition to my one percent giving forty-year career in speech-language pathology. I pursued an elegant hobby: writing, then honed, crafted, and polished my skills enough to publish books, win awards, and accolades. I proved myself worthy, I made myself matter. To me and to many, as compelled to do by upbringing and inclination.

To put thoughts and feelings on paper for posterity, a singular occupation rather than a social one.

My husband delved deeply into relationships: with a nephew and a cluster of male friends. He matters to the core with his active listening and ability to cajole and advise. He’d applied those talents to advantage during his sales and marketing, but the business relationships were expedient and of the moment, not lasting.

Now my husband is cherished beyond the walls of our home, by others more than our dog and me. His life matters.

More recently, we’ve volunteered lead a small group in a somewhat difficult and introspective life study at our church. Our task is to shepherd ten others to believe their life matters in the same way that we know ours do.

Our perpetually purpose-driven lives matter to God, the best value and proof of a life well-lived. We believe.

 

The word “resilience,” a notable word, has a bit of sparkle to it. It’s a soft word, at odds in a sense with what it means: to be tough, to bounce back from challenging circumstances, to forge a new life path after a perilous and fraught period. To hold onto hope as you look over a horizon that might seem bleak, but feeling confident, despite yourself, that there will be brighter days ahead.

I’ve been told multiple times I’m resilient.

In fact, both my husband and I declare ourselves resilient – either by default or by necessity. There have been grave illnesses or other daunting circumstances in our path in the past 50 years we’ve shared. For example, everyone in the world shared COVID-19. And before that, the flu, small pox, and polio.

There’ve been deaths – metaphorical and literal – of friends and frenemies – and each of us has lost a sister. To escape would have required shrink wrap or the uncommon life of the bubble boy. https://www.cbsnews.com/pictures/bubble-boy-40-years-later-look-back-at-heartbreaking-case/

Full disclosure:  my husband marketed shrink wrap in his career, so we know how apt the analogy is.

We are facilitating a small group at our church, fielding discussions centered on life with God’s help. A common theme resonated – figuring out how to deal with what you have in front of you because there really is no choice. And what you learn in those moments. While each group member agreed with the notion that, as we experienced life, we could more accurately rely on our guts. As one member put it, “Maybe I knew that in a sense, but during that challenging time, I think I really learned to be on my own, trust my decisions, understand that I wasn’t going to just fall apart or fall through a crack or just disappear. Importantly, however, I knew in my gut that God had my back… and that He’d love me no matter what.”

In God we trust. He bolsters our personal resilience.

Full disclosure: the first paragraph of this blog post is a copy-paste from Wikipedia –

“A slow dance is a type of partner dance in which a couple dance slowly, swaying to the music. This is usually done to very slow-beat songs, namely sentimental ballads.[1] Slow dancing can refer to any slow couple dance (such as certain ballroom dances), but is often associated with a particular, simple dance style performed by middle school, high school, and college students.”[1]

Apparently, as is typical in my life, I’m a reverse trender,

Beginning in 4th grade, when I speed-walked home from school to watch American Bandstand on TV, I’ve always preferred – and excelled (in IMHO) – fast dancing. Throughout the rest of my school years, up to and including a masters degree and a half. Music has always buoyed my spirit, especially rock-and-roll with its infectiously toe tapping beat.

I was the envy of my peers in the years post-schooling, too. My husband and I cut quite a rug as we danced, danced, danced through our adult years. At every opportunity, every venue we could, we danced with brio. Our verve-filled endeavor broadened our smiles and helped to keep us lean.

But senescence has arrived and arthritis has become an undesired dance partner.

I think that slow dancing will be our best dancing from this point forward, even if the tune is rocking and fast-paced. My husband and I agree on this new phase in our dancing career. It’s one of the benefits of being together over fifty years. We can still smile and… dance in our heads like the visions of sugar plum fairies in the Christmas poem.

I’m also an energetic chair dancer, wiggling my butt with the best of them on the dance floor.

We have several weddings to attend in the summer months of this year. I won’t mind merely snapping my fingers to the tunes… none of which I’ll likely recognize anyway – wink-wink. Not being able to dance to the new tunes won’t destroy my self-esteem,

My memories dance in my head.

YouTube has an abundance of dance videos to watch and dream and imagine. I’ve cached one here in case I’m feeling glum and you’re welcome to watch, too: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=00ezoTnw1HM&list=RD00ezoTnw1HM&start_radio=1

 

I’ve long known I live in a favored place. My husband and I moved to Southern California from the blizzard-prone states of the Midwest, beckoned by the sunny day bliss of the Rose Bowl and our frequent vacations to the locale. Orange County, where we reside, is sandwiched between LA and San Diego, so it’s convenient to travel to either city for events and recreation.

It’s also a blessed destination in the writer world—famously famous writers often headline conferences in my city. I’ve gotten to meet – and kibbitz – with Kristen Hannah about her first book, Debbie Macomber about her many, and my idol, Fannie Flagg, about her last. I’ve met Robert Krais, Chris Bohjalian, and Michael Connelly. Joe Ide has become a dear, huggable friend…I’ve even beta read for him.

Jealous yet?

Hollywood isn’t that far either, and when Julie Andrews penned a children’s book, her publicist scheduled a read-and-sign-book appearance mere miles from my house. She’s well known for The Sound of Music, Mary Poppins, and The Princess Diaries. Further, in the annals of my career, she became an reknowned example to not have one’s vocal nodule excised from one’s vocal cords. Because she lost a good portion of her four-octave vocal range, she was a walking proponent of the vocal therapy that I was trained and licensed to provide.

But I digress. (Yes, I adored my pre-writer career)

In 2010 – long before I became a writer and met the famous peeps mentioned above – Julie Andrews penned a children’s book, among the many in her catalogue. Though I was dedicated to my yoga practice, provided in a facility at the same shopping mall as the children’s bookstore where July Andrews, I made a choice one Saturday morning.

I attended Julie Andrew’s book event, awed by her new endeavor and her resilience.

I’m truly not bragging, though, I do admit that all of these author opportunities validate my choice to move to Southern CA. Just as the weather does every winter day! (wink-wink)

https://www.insecurewriterssupportgroup.com

 

 

After several years postponement, I finally succumbed to knee replacement surgery in early September.  While it hasn’t been my favorite procedure, it wasn’t the worst and it was necessary.  Post-procedure pain management was mostly effective and reading a dozen books as distraction from the rest helped me to pass the time while I reclined with my knee iced and elevated.

Rigorous rehab helped me to advance from an ungainly walker to a stylish cane, with a four-footed stable base, in two months – a time that seemed interminable because, with our hilly terrain requiring constant braking, my ability to drive a car was deferred as well.

Holy crap!

There was neither a drum roll nor applause from my husband, who’d helpfully driven me to my PT appointments, but I felt like an independent adult again… as thrilled as I had been at age 16 when I got my driver’s license.

I’m feeling that surge of refreshed pride and independence again, now that I no longer require a cane to stabilize my gait. While my cane was snazzy and stylish – and assured that I walked well rather than capsize – it was the looks of pity and the piteous thoughts I read on people’s faces – “that lady is old and feeble” – that tested my forebearance.

Holy crap!

Further, even as it propped me up, the cane undermined my ability to carry things around. Consider attempting to carry a full cup of tea steady enough without sloshing half before I reached my desk. At least we already had a stylish and solid stool in the master bath to assist me when I dressed each morning!

As soon as feasible, my husband and I resumed occasional outings: the movies, a night club, church, and dining out. Once seated the cane became an awkward accoutrement, angling to trip others as it leaned against the table or crashing to the floor, All of which got on my nerves, especially with the tinny, noxious sound.

While I prevailed this time, I know that old age dependencies will make me seek the cane’s assistance again – holy crap!

 

My husband and I love to entertain. As gregarious people, living in a open plan house on an ample lot with an expansive view, we feel compelled to share.

Our home embodies our spirits of peace and joy.

But some invitees have tresspassed on our goodwill and brought hate and spite and (gasp – ?) envy into our home.

My husband thought this sign was too direct, demanding, too on the nose, so I camouflaged it behind an entry area plant. I didn’t get rid of it, I explained, because some invited guests let politics override their polite upbringing and were disturbing the peace of our home.

Our happy home needed house rules and the rules needed to be blunt.

Too many guests of our hospitality have been losers and/or louts. Mean-talking, on-sided political crap designed to create adversity and obliterate the peace we’ve cultivated in our home.

It’s our turf.

Our hospitality has extended beyond invited guests for parties we’ve hosted throughout the forty years we’ve lived in this house. We lived in two other places prior our longtime tenure here and, because we’ve moved from the Midwest to southern CA fifty years ago, a place with many tourtist attractions as well as a slew of sunny beaches, we’ve had hundreds of overnight guests. Most were awesome, supportive, and super good fun, but some were the bad apple type, for whom I wish I’d had the sign. Here’s a blog post from a dozen years ago, when I was irritated at amalgamated inconsiderate and/or stupid remarks: https://www.pjcolando.com/house-guest-3/

Let me query you, Constant Reader, what would you do if your patience were tried, if your hospitality was flouted, and guests threw mud in your eye? How long before you’d snap? What measures would you take, what solutions would you ply?

The new year is nigh and, with it, ways to amend and new means to resolve. What do you propose?

 

My inability to thread a needle, a task simply accomplished throughout thousands of hours of sewing tasks, is harassing my patience. Thank goodness I have little need to do it other than replace the occasional button or repair a garment’s hem loose threads.

Don’t attempt to be helpful and suggest that I don cheater reading glasses on my corrected cataract eyes in the comments, please and thanks. I’ve done that after thirteen failed attempts to thread the needle.

Should I blame the thread?

My husband, the semi-craftsman, who formerly reveled in yard and household chores, has hired a handyman recently for simple chores that had nagged him (Not me – he’s a self-starter who doesn’t need needling).  He merely decided that the checking account was plump enough to override his frustration and amplify his retirement leisure.

I believe I need to tag onto his inclination and hire partime assistance for tasks like threading a needle. Disclaimer: this isn’t a modern day application of Jesus’ famed statement in several gospels that it was easier for the rich to pass through the eye of a needle than to get into the Kingdom of heaven. Remember that the crux of the matter is that 1. I have difficulty with threading a needle, 2. I’m not a camel, and 3. I feel assured that I’m heaven bound.

Would you like to apply for this dismaying, disheartening, distressing but necessary task, Constant Reader?

If you do, then I can go read a book and/or take a nap, as retirees are wont to do…

 

Writing is an esteemed, yet difficult endeavor, a craft to be admired when well done. Via pen or pencil, people bled onto the page, pounded typewriter keys or computer keyboards, stared at walls for inspiration, and chewed nails in deadline desperation. Some took a walk to be re-inspired if blocked. The best authors scribbled words into a cohesive story to emotionally impact readers. (And, I’ve aspired with a little help from my friends, this group)

But along came ChatGPT.

Bada-Bing! AI has officially become the world’s most prolific author. More over Nora Roberts, James Patterson, and Stephen King.

Its fingerprints are ubiquitous, even in students’ assigned papers, to their English professors’ dismay. Worse, in inspirational coffee shop notes insisting that your latte is “woven into your life’s rhythm.” One used to visit coffee shops to commune with friends or dose caffeine while you stared at your laptop hoping to be inspired. Not to receive unbidden psychological boosts along with the physical.

What’s most unsettling isn’t that machines learned to write, It’s that they learned to write in the same voice.  Despite being fed famous authors’ work to learn the task, perhaps emulate their deathless prose, for which said authors sued. a distinctive author voice is prized among us human types.

Machines, in an obsessive desire to write right, now overwrite everything they’ve ever been fed and ended up homogeneous rather than distint. Ha!

According to my English professor friend, AI text is easy to spot once you know the signs:

Em dashes — yes everywhere.The “It’s not X, it’s Y” formula — constantly.Softly humming metaphors — unsettlingly blindly frequent.The word “delve” — enough to bury us all.Meticulous attention, meitculously described

My friend related that she asked ChatGPT to sound casual and it replied: “Here’s a meticulously crafted casual remark—woven with quiet intricacy.” Apparently, if you ask it to be funny and it gives you “tickling.”

Thank goodness, resonant, effective comedy, distinctive voice, and soulful writing remain human turf –