P.J. Colando's Blog

Commonplacing is a centuries-old practice of compiling knowledge – quotes, ideas, observations – into a personalized repository, sort of a scrapbook for one’s mind. It helps improve memory retention, sparks creativity, and organizes information. Famous peeps like John Locke and Virginia Woolf commonplaced. Joan Didion, a more recently famous writer and an icon of mine, did, too.How to Start and Maintain a Commonplace BookSelect a Format: Choose a physical notebook/journal or use digital tools like Notes, Evernote, or a blog.Gather Information: Actively record interesting quotes, facts, or observations from books, podcasts, or conversationsOrganize: While some use chronological entries, others categorize by theme or use indexing for easy retrieval. Sticky notes may be ideal.Review Regularly: Periodically review entries to make connections between ideas and spark inspiration.

Common Uses and BenefitsWriting Aid: Serves as a treasure trove of inspiration for writers (me).Learning Tool: Helps to retain information from reading.Personal Growth: Curates wisdom for self-reflection.Organization: Functions as a central repository for scattered notes.Commonplacing differs from a personal diary as it focuses on external knowledge rather than internal, day-to-day reflections.It’s also not the Book of Common Prayer.Here’s a blast from the past about blogging: https://www.pjcolando.com/blog-as-virtual-diary/

In the sixties, I sewed my own clothes.  Before that, my mother did. There was no onus to wear home-sown clothes. It was the pattern, the habit of the times.

Everyone did it. It was the norm in the Midwest. We’re weren’t odd or considered poor. Further, we lived in small towns in Indiana, far from department stores to purchase the clothing we desired. Thank goodness we purchased – and didn’t have to sew  – our winter coats.

Neither did my mother attempt to sew my dad’s and brother’s pants and shirts.

My sister recently shared this photo of our family, likely taken in the ’60s. I’m in the middle back, my hair still strawberry blonde and not yet lightened by the California sun. I recognize a dress I’d made, another in my favorite shade: blue.

I vividly recall the crowning achievement of my homemade clothing era, the high school years before college, when I had time and inclination to sew. Jackie Kennedy was our style icon, our cherished first lady of Camelot. I emulated her A-line style dress with a hip-skimming jacket to match. Only I chose the color that most flattered me: teal. The fabric my mother and I selected had a knobby texture, and it was wool, perfect for dressing up for church each Sunday in style, come winter and fall.

While fall was my favorite, winter seemed to last forever in the Midwest, then as now.

Perfection was prime in my 4-H days, so my dress, with its matching jacket, won first place at the county level, earning the opportunity for placement at the Indiana state fair. The 4-H club leader suggested that I enter the dress review, too. Sort of like being a runway model in Paris or New York. a big opportunity.

The August heat cooked me good inside the wool, and I felt as if I couldn’t breathe. But breathe I did, in time with my careful steps. I didn’t often wear two-inch pumps.

I won grand champion ribbons at the Indiana State Fair for my sewing and my sashay. My style equaled Jackie’s in middle America.

Even my freckles were proud.

 

“I love to sit in front of you and hear your voice. I feel like a ‘we.'”

To which I replied, “Thanks for the compliment. My parents would be so happy if they could hear you.”

That church lady’s interaction was/is remarkable and delightful, welcome as a balm for my parents’ passage. It occurred recently, but it’s locked in my heart forever.

My voice is my heritage. Music stirs my soul. It lights up my life.

Reading and writing are my heritage, too. My college-educated parents modeled both, though math was my father’s forte. Mother had an English degree, but in the ’50s when husbands ruled the roost, she wasn’t allowed to work. My writing, which has evolved from a hobby into an encore career, honors the gifts I inherited from them: my mother, the word nerd grammarian, and my father, the mery prankster/comedian

April 1 question – If you have a playlist (or could put one together) that either gets you in the groove to write or fits with one of your books, what is it? What type of music or what songs?

My husband and I are rockers, schooled by the Beatles, Eric Clapton, Fleetwood Mac, Bruce Springsteen, and U2 – all of whom I’ve had the pleasure of seeing in concert. (yes!) We also delight in symphonic selections, along with the Blues of Stevie Ray Vaughn, BB King, and Buddy Guy.

However, I don’t have a playlist for the literary fiction flavored with humor and snark that I write. I require silence to enter the world that I re-create, that of small towns, centered around church life. I need silence to let the various characters speak. I remain silent to ensure the word count is precise, with proper proportions of show vs. tell.

I often feel that I’m living the life my mother craved, which my dad would applaud now.

I feel like a ‘we’.

My husband is a sheet wrestler. In the morning, when the bed-making task inevitably falls to me, the aftermath of his good night’s sleep looks like a war zone.

He pummels his pillow – the special one, with its cooling qualities, that we paid over a hundred bucks for – as if it were an enemy. The fitted bottom sheet has hiked up like a hooker’s skirts, both sheets’ ample evidence of his tossing and turning. Throughout the night, he throws back the top sheets when he reportedly feels too hot, then pulls them back up when he feels chilled. All without wakening, so all is accomplished in stealth.

How do I know? Like all older peeps, I wake up a couple of times to pee, so I witness the sheets’ state.

He doesn’t report having bad dreams, so deploying pillows as weaponry against foes can’t be the cause. Additionally, we have just purchased a premium mattress that’s as “just right” as the one Goldilocks requisitioned from Baby Bear, so that potential source of sleepaches is obviated.

While our doodle likes to jump up on the bed for pre-sleep cuddles, he soon jumps down to his “just right” mattress nearby our bed on the floor.

Meanwhile, I remain inert in a single patch of mattress while my legs deploy themselves in involuntary muscle spasms due to my partial stiff person syndrome. My knees are the prime culprits in the apparent autoimmune war my body has fallen victim to. Except for the depression my head has made on my “just right” pillow, my body has made little imprint on our sheets.

As they say, opposites attract. Who knew evidence would surface in how we sleep each night?

Here’s my sign… in addition to an end to my uncommon muscle spasms.

Sadly, neither will happen.

 

verbicideMEANING:
noun:
1. The deliberate distortion or destruction of the meaning of a word.
2. A person who deliberately distorts the meaning of a word.ETYMOLOGY:From Latin verbum (word) + -cide (killing). Earliest documented use: 1826.NOTES:Verbicide thrives in political slogans, press releases, and corporate memos, where words like freedom, choice, reform, and family are repeatedly assaulted until they contort into meanings they never had.Verbicide occurs in every Trump stump speech.

I would never voluntarily listen to his speeches, tirades, or blather. Still, because he’s the prez, his sound bites and bits are reported, dissected, and/or lamented ad nauseam, especially because he followed Netanyahoo (deliberately misspelled) off the plank and blundered into another ill-considered war. Billions of dollars, ordinance misused, and bodies of Americans sacrificed to his ego-driven blame-shifting and responsibility avoidance.

My anxiety has burgeoned as the war creeps beyond the Middle East, with rumors of attacks in California. Even the gentle, repetitive surf we visited to watch the sunset fall over the Pacific didn’t calm me as the ’70s song, as our country’s ill-considered war in Vietnam took American soldiers’ lives.

I am a positive person… and I’m positive he’s a blight.

Listen: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ztZI2aLQ9Sw&list=RDztZI2aLQ9Sw&start_radio=1

Trump’s shenanigans wore out their welcome in my heart and mind before his term began.

Thus, I’m symbolically turning in my citizenship in his world and have adopted a new daily survival strategy. Here’s its sign:

Escape – that’s what reading and writing foster for me… Good God, y’all.

 

 

 

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