Some days you just need some encouragement.
Since that is one of my primary strengths/gifts, I wanted to focus on that today. 😊 And I hope you’ll feel like sharing encouraging words with the people you’re around today and this month.
If you’re writing, yay! Keep going! Enjoy what you’re creating. It never existed…until you wrote it. That’s amazing!!
If you’re editing, yay! You had words on the page and now you’re making them better. Your readers are going to love what you’re doing today!
If you’re marketing, yay! Keep going and don’t despair! John Wanamaker, U.S. business/religious/political leader, said, “Half the money I spend on advertising is wasted; the trouble is I don’t know which half.” 😂 So hang in there. Even people richer and more successful than you wish there was a better way to find your audience.
If you’re stuck…well, not yay, but…choose to take a deep breath, phone a friend, take a walk, write some nonsense, read a book, watch a movie, do something ridiculous for fun. And then, hopefully, yay! You’ll start to move again.
If you’ve got health issues…again, not yay, but I bet it could be worse. If you’ve got extreme health issues, I’m very sorry because that probably didn’t make you feel better. But there is always something to be grateful for. A friend’s brother fell in his assisted living apartment and was in the hospital for a week, and then has to be in a different care facility and can’t go back “home” to his assisted living apartment until he’s better. He’s very upset. Of course! But I couldn’t help but think, thank God he was able to afford an assisted living apartment where someone checks on you every couple hours. Thank God he had good enough insurance to get proper hospital care for a week. Thank God it will cover extra care for a while. Thank God he has friends and family in the same town to be with him and support him! Soooo many things to be grateful for, even though sometimes you really have to look.
My own health issues have improved — thank God!! But they bring about new problems I have to learn to deal with. My hormones have regulated (due to HRT, and probably less stress and better nutrition and exercise and rest) and I feel at about 90% of where I was ten years ago before it all started changing. YAY!! But now I try to push myself to 110% to try to make up for lost time. And then the next day, depending on how hard and how long I overdid it, I’m down to 80% or 50% or 20%. 😢 It’s hard to accept that I’m doing this to myself so I’m the one who has to change my actions. But I thank God that I’m paying attention enough to see what’s working and what’s not and keep trying to create a schedule that works for me.
By the way, did you know — October is Menopause Awareness Month, at least in the U.K. And October 18 specifically is World Menopause Day. The aim is to “to break taboo and improve women’s health and wellbeing by raising awareness about the symptoms of menopause and the support options available.” https://menopausefriendly.co.uk/world-menopause-day-2024/
I am thrilled to say there is a growing amount of support material — books, videos, groups, medical supplements and medications — far more than I could find no matter how much Googling I did a couple years ago. If you have any friends or relatives who seem particularly crabby or down and they’re the right age and gender, think of something encouraging to say to them today. Keep in mind, the vast majority of people still find the subject taboo and embarrassing, so choose your words with care. Let these women know you care and let them decide how much they want to talk about it with you. Maybe just send an email or text with the above link.
In any case, wherever you are, whatever you’re doing, whatever you’re going through in life, good and bad, ups and downs, I wish you well! Find something to be grateful about today, and help someone else find something to be grateful for as well. Maybe you’ll laugh at feeling grateful for each other! And laughter is the best — and most fun! — medicine! I’m praying for you! Big hugs from Sweden! 😃
About Jina Bacarr
I discovered early on that I inherited the gift of the gab from my large Irish family when I penned a story about a princess who ran away to Paris with her pet turtle Lulu. I was twelve.
I grew up listening to their wild, outlandish tales and it was those early years of storytelling that led to my love of history and traveling.
I enjoy writing to classical music with a hot cup of java by my side. I adore dark chocolate truffles, vintage anything, the smell of bread baking and rainy days in museums. I’ve always loved walking through history—from Pompeii to Verdun to Old Paris. The voices of the past speak to me through carriages with cracked leather seats, stiff ivory-colored crinolines, and worn satin slippers. I’ve always wondered what it was like to walk in those slippers when they were new.
You can follow Jina on social media:
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Jina also has a column here on the 11th of every month: Jina’s Book Chat.
Paris, 1942: Two sisters in Paris had their lives torn apart. Now they must choose – save themselves, or fight the Nazis to the very end…
I’d given up everything to fight for the Resistance. But nothing prepared me for discovering my sister was a traitor. Kept by a Nazi SS officer, outwardly she barely resembles my beloved Justine anymore.
But I guessed her secret. About her beautiful, fragile little child. The baby she’ll do anything to protect. And I believe that deep down she still knows what is right.
As the Nazis threaten everything we ever held dear, I know I have one chance. I must convince her to betray the evil she seems to have chosen. I need her to find her true self once more.
Because I need her to join the fight…
Could you choose your country – and what is right – over the person you once loved more than anyone in the world?
Unmissable, heartbreaking, gripping WW2 fiction, perfect for fans of Soraya M. Lane, Ellie Midwood and Jean Grainger.
A Few of Jina’s Other Books
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.
A California native, novelist Tracy Reed pushes the boundaries of her Christian foundation with her sometimes racy and often fiery tales.
After years of living in the Big Apple, this self proclaimed New Yorker draws from the city’s imagination, intrigue, and inspiration to cultivate characters and plot lines who breathe life to the words on every page.
Tracy’s passion for beautiful fashion and beautiful men direct her vivid creative power towards not only novels, but short stories, poetry, and podcasts. With something for every attention span.
Tracy Reed’s ability to capture an audience is unmatched. Her body of work has been described as a host of stimulating adventures and invigorating expression.
One of the most enjoyable things about writing historical fiction is falling down the research rabbit hole.
Yes, I know authors of contemporary fiction have to do research also. Not disrespecting other writers. Just saying that historical research is, in my view, lots more interesting.
I especially like to read memoirs, and collections of letters. I have a couple of print books in my memoir collection, and more that I picked up from Google Books and Project Gutenberg. Though social norms and societal expectations might have changed, people’s wants and desires haven’t changed that much.
Another print book recently came into my collection, from my sister who was shuffling her collection of books for a cross-country move. It’s our grandmother’s geography text from her school days:
I’m up there in years, and as I was the second youngest of all the many grandchildren, this book is also old. In fact, it’s from the century before last. It was copyrighted in 1897, and that’s the year Grandma received it, inscribing it with her name and “her Book, Dec. 26, 1897.”
What I love is that, like a kid from my generation, the grandma who I knew as a very old, very proper octogenarian doodled and scribbled on the interior and exterior covers. In one place there are her initials in a pin-point design; in another, a penciled flower drawing; and a math problem when she maybe ran out of scrap paper.
Remember me early
Remember me late,
Remember me at
The Golden Gate
And this one:
Dear friend,
Love me little
Love me long
Love me when
I’m dead and gone
And:
These few lines are tendered
By a friend sincere and true
Hoping but to be remembered
By an honest friend like you
And this last:
Dear Sister
When on this page
you chance to look
remember it was
your sister that
wrote this in your book.
That one is rather poignant, because grandma’s sister died the following year.
Grandma was seventeen when she acquired this book, and she went on to become a country schoolteacher before marrying, having six children, and carrying out her share of the responsibilities of running the family farm–gardening, canning, cooking, cleaning, clothing everyone, etc. Her only water was pumped from a cistern, and she cooked on a wood stove. It makes me tired thinking about it!
Do you have any old treasures like this in your personal collection? Share in the comments, please!
Have a wonderful autumn, and I’ll see you at my next Quarter Days post.
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Being nearsighted in Regency London isn’t a crime—but it feels like one to a lady in disgrace.
More info →Stories about winter, spring, summer and fall, and seasons of life, seasons of love, and even seasons of discovery.
More info →A Slice of Orange is an affiliate with some of the booksellers listed on this website, including Barnes & Nobel, Books A Million, iBooks, Kobo, and Smashwords. This means A Slice of Orange may earn a small advertising fee from sales made through the links used on this website. There are reminders of these affiliate links on the pages for individual books.
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