What Two Oceans Cannot Divide

She was born on a family farm in a remote town in Calabria, Italy.

He lived on the farm next door.

From childhood into adulthood, they saw only each other, promises unspoken by word, but made by love.

Then war came, and with it, roving bands of soldiers, looking to impress young men.

And they found him. Took him away to fight a war he didn't want, didn't believe in. Whatever food the soldiers could steal, they did, leaving the families hungry. Only unharvested potatoes, still in the ground that the soldiers refused to unearth, were left.

Away they took him, but he promised to come back to her. And she promised to wait for him.

So she worked the farm, struggling with her family through those desperate times, wondering where he was, if he was still alive.

He fought in Africa until the Allies caught him. And made him a prisoner.

The war ended. Seeking a better life than the desolate farm, he journeyed to Canada, finding work in Chrysler  Automotive plant.

He didn't forget her, but there wasn't enough money to send for her. But he could marry her--by shortwave radio. While she stood in her white wedding dress on the arm of her brother in Italy, she spoke her vow of love till death. From Canada, he promised his love.

She waited. Two years. Then came the day there was enough money for a one way journey to her new world. Leaving behind the wedding gifts, and all she knew, knowing there was little chance she'd see her family again, she traversed the ocean, not in First Class, but freighter.

Soon there was a baby girl. Eighteen months later, a baby boy, their family complete. Five years of happiness.

She ran to the hospital. His last words spoke of his children.

Alone, she emigrated to the States where she cleaned houses, worked in hotel laundries, babysat other people's children to feed her own.

For 51 years she mourned her Tomasso, keeping her vow of no one but him till death.

On a quiet day, she rejoined him and renewed their vows of love forever.


This is the story of Gilda and Tomasso, my in-laws. And I will write their love story.

Wishful Thinking...

If Sirenz ever made it to the movie/TV screen, and became only a quarter as big as Twilight, or The Hunger Games, this is what I'm going to get:

http://www.chevrolet.com/camaro-special-edition/

But make it a convertible, electric blue, black interior, only-I-have-the-keys edition.

Char

Do I Have To Finish It?

Am I talking about my mom making me eat yucky vegetables?

(As if she could in my own home. And yes, I hate artichokes, kale, collard greens, broccoli-rabe, eggplant and okra.)

No, it's a book. I hate starting books and not finishing them because I want the story resolved, even if poorly. But, now I'm in the middle of a book, and it's gotten good reviews... and I hate it. I'm 3/4 through and I'm still waiting for the major conflict. It's all building, albeit snail-a-bly (my word) s    l    o    w.  When it takes me two months to finish a book, on the 'hate' heap it goes, to be given away.

I'm not going to reveal the book because maybe it's just me. We've gotten one 'awful', a few 'not my type' and several 'meh' reviews. Understandable because Sirenz is humorous and humor is subjective, some people have no sense of humor, and some people prefer angst/zombies/vamps/despair/whatever. Not every book is for everyone. But if a book is bad enough where I don't finish it, then I'm sorry, but the editors missed this. And the cover is 'everyone's doing it' girl with flowing hair in a long dress (because we women all go around in flowing dresses and hair). There is nothing about this book, from the characters, to the cover, to the plot (is one going to reveal itself, I wonder?) to whatever ending there may be, to compel me to finish it.

And you can't make me.

Char

I Love To Hate-

Now that we got Valentine's Day/week out of the way, let's talk about Hate.

It's okay to hate. Don't gasp and look horrified and hide your face. Here's a list of things it's okay to hate:

1- Cruelty- in any form, disguised or overt, it's never cool.

2- Eggplant- I mean really, it's a purple, nutrient and vitamin free, tasteless vegetable.

3- Those ugly shoes that look like skeleton feet- They are uglier than almost any fashion accessory I have ever seen. Even zombies think they're ugly (I asked one.).

4- Cold feet. Mine are always cold. And my hands and nose. I HATE being cold! Where's summer?

5- Mini-Coopers- can you just get out of the clown car and into a real one? For that much money to buy that dumb-looking, not as good on gas as it should be death-trap, you can almost buy 2 American cars.

I'm going to stop at five- I'd hate to go overboard.

Char

497, 498, 499...

Shoes? No.
Cats? Never.
Diamonds? I can dream.

But no. Those numbers represent the overly repetitive use of the word 'just.' Natalie was editing her latest manuscript and found the word used over 500 times.  Yikes! So I did a check on the word 'had' in Sirenz Back In Fashion, which I'm editing now. It was used 297 times.

Did we need all of them? No.

Some of them? Yes.

Over the course of 60,000+ words, that's barely a bump. But where I deleted it, it made the sentence stronger because had is a helping verb. I like to think of it as 'helping ' water down the action (I jumped vs. I had jumped.  Both are past tense, do you really need the 'had'? No.)

I'll get back to you and let you know how many I took out. Maybe you'll want to look at your manuscripts and see which words you overuse and get rid of them. Keep a few, but dump the rest. If you're looking to reduce your word count, this is a great place to start.

Char

Checking In

And checking right out.

Because I'm sick.

Manana... Maybe

Char

A Little Self Indugence

When we renovated our house, it was toward 'What do we need?' More space. 'What will give us the best return on our money?' Not doing anything crazy or trendy or overpriced.

But in all the practicality (that master ensuite will lure buyers in when we're ready to sell. really), I wanted something unique, just for me, that didn't have to be practical.

So I begged, pleaded, cajoled, whined and demanded my library. The old dining room became my book sanctuary:

Why yes, that's Sirenz in the middle, waiting for her sister, Sirenz Back In Fashion. I hope to add many more siblings.

Char