Menopause Rage Can Be Funny by Kitty Bucholtz
November 9, 2024 by Kitty Bucholtz in category It's Worth It by Kitty Bucholtz, Writing tagged as It's Worth It, Kitty Bucholtz, new release, Perimenopause, romantic comedy
A year and a half ago I finally found out what was wrong with me. Problem: middle age womanhood. Bigger problem: this part of life is apparently such a freaking big secret that no one except ONE friend bothered to say a word about it! Not my mom, not my grandma, not my older sister. I literally thought I was losing my mind. In fact, the GP I finally went to see immediately wrote a prescription for HRT (hormone replacement therapy) and another one to make an appointment with a head doctor.
Great. That’s just…great. I guess she was covering all bases.
I’m better now, but partly because now my craziness has a name. Still, I feel like a lunatic half the time. I don’t want to leave my apartment. I don’t like to go to church. (Used to be one of my favorite things, but now there’s just way too many people and too much putting on a smile when I want to say, “That song sucked,” because it probably didn’t suck and I shouldn’t rain on other people’s happy moment.) I do still like going to the library — whew! — but I’m eating too much and drinking too much and swearing way too much.
And even though my problem has a name and I’m trying to find better solutions for me, turns out a lot of my friends don’t have nearly as many problems as I do. That definitely makes me feel alone. And stupid. And like I’m not a nice person because I just want to yell F*** a lot!!
So when my friend and fellow author Maggie Nash told me about a new book that was on sale on Amazon for 99c (it’s still only $2.99!) about a woman going through menopause, I bought it without even reading the description!!!
I just finished it last night. It. Was. Marvellous!!! Even though I’m not divorced and don’t have kids, I felt like I completely related to the main character, Heidi, who almost gets herself fired in the first chapter! I normally don’t like many books with women my age as protagonists because their lives are so unlike mine as to have nothing in common.
But Hot (Not Bothered) by Harper Ford is a super fun book I think you might love!
One other book about a middle-aged woman that I immediately pre-ordered book two the minute I finished book one is Tess Gerritsen’s The Spy Coast. I don’t want to say too much but she’s a retired spy who gets sucked back in!
Some of my friends know I’ve been wearying of writing about 20-somethings falling in love. I’ll finish the two series I started, and maybe I’ll get my mojo/joy back as I do. But the two books above are making me feel like “people like me” aren’t at all boring, and maybe I should write something like that! I’d have to get a pen name if I want to write f*** half as much as I’ve been saying it lately, but it could be worth it!
I hope you check out both of these books! And remember, if you’re going through tough times right now due to brain and body chemistry, you’re not alone! Don’t despair! Talk to a friend, or even a stranger. I went off on a menopause rage rant about the disappearing messages at my credit union the other day and made the middle-aged woman answering laugh out loud, she told me in one of her replies. Yay! Two more women who know they’re not alone! Go read Hot (Not Bothered) and laugh instead of cry!
0 0 Read moreOn the Wing
October 30, 2024 by Dianna Sinovic in category Columns, Quill and Moss by Dianna Sinovic, Writing tagged as birding, flash Fiction, short fiction, writing
The post promised an autumnal birding phenomenon not to be missed. Steph wasn’t really a birder—she could never tell one sparrow from another—but she did like birds. The local nature site urged anyone interested to show up just before dusk at a reservoir in the hills of Bucks County. There they would watch as a large flock of starlings swooped and tumbled in a remarkable, unified movement called a murmuration.
She reached out to several friends, but no one could make it. And Claire was gone; Claire, who had given Steph a rudimentary lesson on birds several years before. Steph didn’t know if Claire had ever seen the starling flock. She would go, alone, in memory of her friend.
When she arrived at the nature center, a tangerine sun sat on the horizon. A handful of cars filled the lot, and a knot of people stood outside the building entrance, which was flanked by several large pumpkins and a scarecrow. Steph made her way to the group, adjusting her binoculars around her neck. The center director, a woman in a blue down vest and a wool watch cap, was already talking.
“We’ll take the boardwalk to the lake shore,” the director said. “That’s the best place to see the birds. They’ll start arriving within the next fifteen to twenty minutes.”
Intimidated by what she thought of as “true” birders, Steph hung at the back of the group as they set off toward the lake. The slight October breeze made her zip her fleece jacket and pull out her mittens. It carried a faint whiff of fireplace smoke and moldering vegetation. Dried leaves scuttled along the wooden planks and crunched under hiking boots, and a handful of crows cawed overhead. Claire would have been at the front of the line, pulling Steph along, making her feel at home and welcome despite her limited knowledge of avian life.
Many birds are like people. They prefer to hang out in groups. That was a bit of Claire wisdom Steph dredged up as she walked. But Steph was more of a loner. More like a heron, she decided, preferring to watch the world by herself. Except. She missed Claire.
“Everyone!” the center director shouted. “The starlings are starting to gather across the lake. Keep an eye on the small flocks. They’ll merge into bigger and bigger groups.”
Focusing the binoculars at the far shore, Steph swept them up and around, listening as others in the group called out. Sure enough a small flock dipped and turned in the distance. Another flock appeared to the left. Yet another materialized. Soon the flocks became one—a large swirling mass of dark birds dancing to their own feathered rhythm.
“Oh, Claire,” Steph breathed. If only she could have seen this magical phenomenon.
As if in answer, the now-large flock swooped upward as one entity and curved to the right. The trailing birds formed a line, and the complete symbol became the letter C.
In a whisper on the wind, Steph could have sworn she heard Claire’s voice: Even herons need companionship. Don’t be afraid to reach out.
More of Dianna’s Stories
High School Reunions
October 15, 2024 by Renae Wrich in category Writing tagged as Childrens Lit, dreams, high school, High school reunion, Mac and CheeseThis year signifies that it’s been 20 years since I graduated from high school. I can’t believe it’s been two decades since I sat in English class dreaming of someday becoming a writer. There are so many things I’d tell my 17 year old self, but the most important thing would be that the best is absolutely yet to come.
So of course when a 20 year milestone is upon us, we are faced with the decision to either attend the reunion, or to sit at home and wonder what it would have been like to attend the reunion. I weighed the decision carefully, but ultimately I decided to put my brave girl pants on and drag my husband with me to the townie bar in my hometown to face my high school classmates.
I’m glad I went for a number of reasons, the biggest one being that it was honestly really nice to talk with people I hadn’t seen in a very long time and to make some new connections. But imagine my surprise when I walked in and discovered that reunion organizers showcased the various businesses and crafts of our class, including my book! I was so touched to see that they had purchased a copy of Mac and Cheese, Please, Please, Please to display at the event.
A big thank you to the 2004 Student Council for giving M&CPPP some love at the reunion. It seriously meant so much to me. Go Cougars!
In other news, Mac and Cheese in Outer Space is in the final stages before its release. IT’S GETTING REAL PEOPLE! I have my ISBN number, the book is currently with a layout designer, and I have my beta readers all lined up as we prepare for launch. I seriously can’t wait to share this story with the world.
0 0 Read moreThe Beaufort Sisters are at it again: the long awaited sequel to ‘Sisters at War’ is here SISTERS OF THE RESISTANCE
October 11, 2024 by Jina Bacarr in category historical fictoin, Jina’s Book Chat, Writing tagged as historical fiction, Jina Bacarr, Paris, Resistance, womens fictoin, world war 2 fictionWhoever thought writing a sequel would be so difficult? I had the characters, backstory, I knew the ending… so what was the big deal? I never thought I’d get it right, but I did. Here are some videos for you to celebrate the publication of SISTERS OF THE RESISTANCE.…
2 sisters at war with the Nazis and each other…
The Wartime Paris Sisters 2-book series
I want to mention that everyone’s back in the sequel including that awful Gestapo man… but will Eve and Justine finally get some loving with the men they adore? It’s touch and go… especially for Eve.
Not to mention there’s a surprise for everyone at Maison Bleue when a Nazi general requisitions their home for his headquarters…
And of course, little Ninette is adorable… just love her. But then something happens…
Find out in Sisters of the Resistance!
Amazon Series Link:
https://www.amazon.com/dp/B0CLGLTCMG
PS — Sisters of the Resistance, the sequel to Sisters At War
Wartime Paris Sisters series https://www.amazon.com/dp/B0CLGLTCMG
‘2 sisters at war with the Nazis…. and each other.’
=====================
SISTERS OF THE RESISTANCE (sequel to SISTERS AT WAR) and it’s a wham bam finish even I didn’t see coming… thanks to my editor’s fabulous edits and notes. Thank you, Isobel!
Keep you posted…
The Beaufort Sisters are at war with the Nazis… and each other
‘A must read for anyone’
‘Hard hitting and heart breaking’
‘An absolutely gripping, powerful story’
Who are the Beaufort Sisters?
They’re beautiful
They’re smart
They’re dangerous
They’re at war with the Nazis… and each other.
0 0 Read moreDoor Knocker
September 30, 2024 by Dianna Sinovic in category Quill and Moss by Dianna Sinovic, Writing tagged as flash Fiction, short fiction, writing
The staircase is steep, a small hill of thirty-five steps to ascend to reach your room. This was not in the description you read of the quaint New England hotel when you did your research. You realize quaint has more than one definition. The stairs are only the first of several aspects of this lodging that were omitted in the details provided. The second is that there are only three rooms in the hotel, because the first floor houses not only a podiatrist’s office but also a small gift shop (with only intermittent hours). The third omission is one you will come to realize as the day slips into night.
Room One overlooks a winding creek and a stand of white pine. You are glad for the quiet until the innkeeper informs you that you are currently the sole guest. When you push for a reason, she explains with a shrug that it’s the off-season in this tourist town. She also informs you that she leaves at five o’clock and then entrusts you with the security code for the hotel’s entrance.
The room has a coffeemaker, so you brew a cup and unpack your suitcase—only half full because you are only there for two days, the more important day being tomorrow, when you will give a presentation to a potential client.
At a table big enough for only your laptop and the cup of coffee, but with a serene view of the creek, you review your slides—which ones to edit and which to scrap. Tomorrow’s pitch holds the key to your future and that makes your hand shake as you raise the cup to your lips.
After a dinner down the block of grilled chicken and a side salad—you are trying to lose ten pounds!—you read in your room until nearly midnight. It’s after you turn out the bedside lamp that the noises begin.
First, a bump against the far wall of your room. Then a crackle. More bumps. Muffled voices arguing. This is the off-season; you’re the only one here this week. The innkeeper had told you this conspiratorially. Now you wonder if she somehow forgot about the guest next door.
You put a pillow over your head to block the noise, but the commotion seeps into your subconscious, putting you into an uneasy sleep with dreams of your PowerPoint slides disappearing as you click on them before a room full of people who frown.
Finally, at two-thirty, with the noise unabated, you pull on clothes and march to Room Two. The hallway lights flash on with your movement.
Taking a deep breath to steel yourself, you give a polite knock. No response, but you can hear sounds of laughter, clinking glasses, the thrum of a bass beat. A stronger knock. You consider how tired you will be by morning.
You raise your fist to pound on the door, and the noise ceases. The only sound now: a lone cricket chirping in the hallway behind you. The latch clicks and the door slowly swings open. The dim interior is illuminated only by a nightlight on the opposite wall. Beyond the doorway is silence—no movement, no whispers, nothing. And you remember that you are alone in this building.
The next morning, all is quiet next door, and as you splash water on your face, you wonder if what you remember was just a bad dream. After all, you are stressed: The success of your business hinges on how well you do today.
The crisp black slacks and stylish silk shirt hide those extra pounds, and you approve of the young woman looking back at you from the full-length mirror. Sipping coffee, you check your bag for the files you’ll need, then touch up your lip gloss. You’ve masked the circles under your eyes as best you can; you are not a night person, as much as your friends want you to be.
Checking your watch, you slip your laptop bag over your shoulder and open the door to leave. You have enough time to drive to the interview, stopping at Starbucks on the way. More coffee will either energize or frazzle you. So much for a good night’s sleep.
In the hallway, precisely centered before you, sits a white bakery bag, the top folded closed. You look left and right, but the hallway stands empty. Cautiously, you pick up the bag, noting that someone has written your name in neat script. A perk from the hotel?
The bag opens easily, and nestled inside is a frosted muffin: scents of butter, cream, and brown sugar waft up, and you dig out the treat. Along with the muffin, your hand catches on a slip of paper, which flutters to the floor.
Now ravenous, you bite into the muffin, then pick up the paper. Another bite finishes the muffin. Delicious, maybe the best muffin you’ve ever had.
You unfold the paper and read the words written in the same neat script:
Our apologies if our party disturbed your sleep. Please accept this peacekeeping gesture. You will get the job.
No signature, but you assume it’s from the innkeeper.
Oh, well. You crumple the bag, hoping at the truth of her positive message.
When you arrive at the appointment, the client job offer is waiting for you; no presentation needed.
Back at the hotel, you thank the innkeeper for the morning muffin and share your good news.
“Muffin?” she says, her eyebrows raised.
Some of Dianna’s stories are in the following anthologies.
Featured Books
PIVOT
Three friends, each survivors of a brutal childhood, grew up together in foster care. Now as women, they’re fighting for their lives again.
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