The Gift of My Dad

I wasn't sure what to write in response to this month's topic: What one event in your childhood had the greatest affect on your writing career? Then I read all of the other great posts, most talking about memories of their fathers or family and their support.

There wasn't "one event" that affected me and led to my writing career. But there was a man. I was blessed with the gift of being the daughter of Jack Linus Tolliver. He was interested in anything and everything. And seeing the "what ifs" about so many things in turn allowed me to see them as well.

He was never afraid to try something that most people would think a bit odd...okay, borderline nuts. One of my favorite memories comes from the time when he was focused on the "magical" abilities of pyramids. He made a small pyramid to put his razor blades under so they would re-sharpen themselves. Bizarrely, they actually did. Then he made a pyramid big enough to set on his head like a hat, this was supposed to make him smarter (or something, I can't remember the outcome he actually wanted). He was always smart to me, so I don't know if that changed at all. But the picture of him wearing the hat is a family favorite.

My imagination runs wild at times and always has. From the childhood days of covering a table or a group of chairs with a blanket, then sitting underneath it and being in a world of my own making. To wearing a ruffly slip over my head, so that I could become a beautiful young woman with long hair. To spending time on my back, staring up at the ceiling, and imagining a whole different setting to the world around me.

Those childhood experiences have only allowed my imagination to continue running along the "what ifs." After all I have published 41 novels and novellas and 6 anthologies. I've created all kinds of settings and more characters than I can even remember. And, most imaginatively, I've created a romantic/daring cow (Blossom) with a bullfriend (Ferdinand).

Thanks for sharing your gift of a wild imagination, Dad. Your memory will stay with me always.

I'll Do Some Caroling

Here is my gift to my fellow WARA members and any other of our blog followers at this special time of year: A new Blossom story. Also, here is a picture of the "Blossom" Christmas tree in my office.

“Rockin’ around the Christmas tree,” Blossom moo-sang in her loudest voice, swaying her flank—which, she admitted, could stand a little trimming down—from side to side. “At the Christmas party hop.”

For Elsie’s benefit, Blossom did a fancy little hop, first the front legs and then the back legs. Something she’d perfected in the last few days. Much, of course, to Elsie’s continual eye-rolling at her practicing.

Elsie gave her typical harrumph and turned the other way in the field. No “party” mood for Her Highness, Blossom thought with a smile. The cranky Jersey paid as little notice to the whole holiday season from Thanksgiving through New Year as possible. Same thing every year. But not Blossom. Oh no. She loooved holidays, especially Christmas.

“You will get a sentimental feeling when you hear voices singing.” Happily singing away, she strolled off toward the corner of the field where Ferdinand would, hopefully, be waiting to greet her. To heck with Elsie and her sour mood. The same went for the foolish dozen other cows who she knew yearned to be happy and heart-free like herself, yet who were wary of crossing Elsie. She could hold one devil of a grudge. Most cows didn’t want to risk facing it day-in and day-out, but Blossom didn’t mind at all.

“Let’s be jolly.” She did another zippy little hoof two-step, bopping her head around in pure delight. “Everyone’s dancing merrily.” Okay she didn’t know all of the words to the song she’d heard Farmer Sam’s daughters singing occasionally, but did it matter. No.

“Let the Christmas Spirit ring,” she mooed and picked up her pace. The wind really was kind of biting this morning as it blew across the snow-free field.

She shivered and breathed in the cold air. Instinct told her there would soon be snow covering this land. Most of the herd—including Elsie the opinionated—hated snow. Blossom didn’t particularly like being cold when she made her daily round about the field, but she would venture forth in rain, sleet, hail, snow… Well, in most any inclement weather to go see her beloved Ferdinand.

Thinking of her handsome one-ton prime bull had her almost skipping now. “We sing a love song…Your nose is a chilling…We’ll frolic and play…walking in a winter wonderland.”

She hesitated and blinked. Were those words right? Had she combined songs? Did it matter? Nope!

A familiar deep bellow pulled her from her wandering thoughts. Warmth curled through her. Ferdinand.

Donning her most beatific smile, she sped toward him. Her hunka-hunka burning love had already nudged down the weak part of the fence so that she could join him. He stood watching her, proud head held high, anticipation dancing in his large brown eyes. Heat, too. Naughty, naughty bull. She knew just what he was thinking, wanting.

“You should play harder to get.” Elsie’s words of disgust so often spoken to her crawled through her thoughts. “He only wants you for one thing.”

Not exactly true, although Blossom knew he really did enjoy that one thing. So what! So did she. But she also knew he really liked spending time with her. How many times had he stood patiently letting her babble on—and she did have a tendency to babble at times—about this or that? Did he ever make fun of her spinning tales of fancy? No. Did she manage to get him past his stoic, too serious moods with a bout of teasing or tickling that special spot just behind his ear with her tongue? You betcha!
“Last Christmas I gave you my heart…I gave it to someone special,” she sang, her heart fairly bursting with love. Her hoofs danced over the rest of the distance between them.

“Ah, my sweet Blossom,” Ferdinand rumbled, tenderness lighting his eyes. “You own my heart as well.”

As she stepped carefully over the downed fence and snuggled next to him, he heaved a relieved sigh. “Merry Christmas, my love.”

She tucked the words inside her and playfully nibbled at his ear. All was right with her world. “Back at you, my love.”

The Kick-ass Badass Love of Her Life

When I first thought about writing about something one of my characters held near and dear to their heart, I panicked. Oh my gosh! My characters don't ever do that!

And then I remembered Holly in Holly's Big, Bad Santa, one of my Christmas stories last year. Jared had been her high school sweetheart, the boy she'd hoped to marry after graduation. But he'd left town fifteen years ago, two days before Christmas, and hurt his parents and crushed her dreams. He'd left a note for her in a small box with a sprig of holly. "I have to go. I love you, but I've got to go." She still had that crumpled, tear-stained note after all these years. Now he'd returned. Now he wanted her back, but forgiving the town's bad boy wasn't all that easy. Even if the "bad boy" had returned as the sexiest, hottest badass with a wounded heart that was hard to resist.

Reading further into the story, I realized what a keeper of mementos Holly was, a heroine so much like myself. While searching for socks in a dresser drawer, she found the necklace Jared had given her their senior year in high school. A delicate gold chain with a small green, holly-shaped charm. He'd been so excited when he'd found the necklace in a catalogue and ordered it especially for her. She remembered how she'd sobbed in happiness as he'd ever so carefully put it around her neck. In truth, she hadn't gotten rid of anything he'd ever given her. It was all packed away in boxes in the attic, except the necklace. She'd always needed it closer to her than the attic.

Next I remembered another touching (at least to me) scene in Bah Humbug, Cowboy, a Christmas story published a couple of years ago. Lacey and Devlin had been married for a number of years. Like so many couples, they were both busy and went in different directions much of the time. She often traveled to give private barrel racing lessons and had been gone longer than expected this last trip. Devlin had missed her and looked forward to her return, but her best friend had shown up to wait with him for Lacey's return. Somehow they'd ended up hugging one another in comfort, and then she was kissing him right when Lacey walked into the kitchen and caught them. He'd been maneuvered into a compromising position by the "friend" who'd gotten too interested in him. His guilt was crushing, especially when Lacey looked so angry and so hurt. His precious wife wasn't ready to listen to his flimsy excuses and drove away. He knew they needed some time and space to get past this blow to their marriage. But darkness surrounded him, tore through him as the light that was his life drove away from him. Somehow he'd have to mend fences and get her back.

Christmas had always been a special time for them, with Lacey going all out in decorating. She'd decided to go back to him on Christmas day, determined to make things right. Going home was hard now and she wasn't positive she could get him to forgive her for being so stubborn about what had happened that awful day. Her friend had confessed she wanted Devlin and trapped him when she'd seen Lacey driving up. Her former friend. But that hadn't been all of their problems. Hopefully, they could work through issues within their marriage they'd both been ignoring. She just didn't know what to expect today and she was anxious about it.

Until she walked into the disaster that was her kitchen. Flour and goo covered nearly every counter space. Dozens of cookies sat cooling and there were two big pans of gingerbread cake. Her Christmas recipes! He'd tried his hand at making the foods she usually made for the holiday. How sweet. And what a mess! She grabbed a sugar cookie and followed the sound of Devlin singing in his rich baritone to "Grandma Got Run Over By a Reindeer," his favorite song.

Then she stopped to stare at the living room. She'd forgotten all about decorating her home with all of their problems. She'd thought of that on the drive here and felt awful. Devlin hadn't had a happy childhood and hadn't celebrated Christmas until she'd met him. Now he loved that time of year. She'd worked hard every year to make the season special for him, going all out with decorations and baking. Evidently he'd taken over for her this year. All of her large Santa collection was displayed on the mantle, on the bookshelves, and on the end tables. Most surprising, though, was the eight-foot plus tree standing beside the fireplace, fully decorated with the ornaments they had bought together over the years. Devlin had just placed the angel on the top. He looked at her from where he stood on a stepstool and grinned like a young boy seeking approval for something special he'd done. She burst into tears.

The First Books I Fell in Love with (Penny Rader)

When I was in first grade Sister Mary Renee told us we were going to read. I must confess that my heart kind of stopped because I thought that meant they were going to give us big books and expect us to read them right then and there. Fortunately, it wasn’t nearly that scary. While I don’t remember the process of learning how to read, I do know that I haven’t been able to get enough of books since.

I used to ask for books for my birthday and Christmas (still do, actually!), but most people looked at me funny when I said that. Finally, when I was nine or so, someone gave me a book as a gift: Little Women by Laura May Alcott. My dad’s mom gave it to me for Christmas. I still have it.

As I was growing up we spent a great deal of time at the Westlink branch of the public library. I read most, if not all, of all the orange-bound biographies in the kids section, starting with the ones about women. Whenever I hear the names Virginia Dare and Amelia Earhart, I flash back to those orange books and remember scenes from them. I also enjoyed mysteries, such as the Boxcar Children and Nancy Drew as well as stand alones.

One book I checked out more than once was the pioneer story Miss Charity Comes to Stay by Alberta Constant. Next time I visit the library I'll see if it's still there and if I still like it.

The Scholastic book orders available from school were a great source of inexpensive books, once I started to buy my own. One that sticks out for me is All-of-a-Kind Family by Sydney Taylor. I loved this story of five young sisters and Jewish traditions and how the mother used buttons to make doing chores more fun. While working on this post I discovered there were several more books about this family. Can’t wait to find them.

I wish I could remember more of the titles that I ordered from Scholastic. Most of the ones I read had romantic and/or mystery threads. Another fave was Calico Captive by Elizabeth George Spears, which was based on the true story of a family abducted by Indians in 1754. The dressmaking scene still pops into my head when I think of this book.

When I was in the 5th or 6th grade the school librarian handed me The Long Winter by Laura Ingalls Wilder. It wasn’t until I was almost finished with the book that I found out it was part of a series and toward the end of the series at that. I couldn’t wait to go back to the beginning of the Little House books and read them all. As my thirteenth birthday approached I told anyone and everyone I wanted the series. I was convinced I would get the boxed set for my birthday. Didn’t happen. I was crushed. It took me quite a while and a lot of babysitting to save up the money to buy it for myself. I still have the boxed set. Well, all except the very last book of the series. My baby sis loaned it to a friend and she never returned it.

Not too long after that I bought Where Are My Children by Mary Higgins Clark. I probably drove my mom crazy that day because I read it all in one sitting. She’d call me to do something and I’d say “Just a minute, Mom. I want to finish this chapter.” You know how it goes. Before you know it you’re sucked into the next chapter. I still love women-in-jeopardy stories. (My mom says my baby sis learned "Minute, Mama" from me.)

The summer between eighth and ninth grade I discovered Harlequin romance novels at J.C. Penney’s. I think I still have the first Harlequin I read, The Wilderness Hut by Mary Wibberly, somewhere. A lady from our church gave me a whole bag of Harlequins, which I happily devoured throughout the summer.

My freshman year a classmate loaned me Caroline by Cynthia Wright. This story about a heroine with amnesia took place just after the Revolutionary War. I was in heaven. Romance, history, and sex. Holy cow! What more could a teenage reader want? ;D Thus, began my years-long love affair with historical romance novels. For my sixteenth birthday my brother gave me another historical romance I’d been yammering about. I saw it mentioned in a magazine. The Proud Breed by Celeste de Blasis, a multi-generational sage of California. I had no idea my brother had been listening until I found the book under my pillow.

Thanks to the person who suggested that we blog on the books we read as kids. It's been a great trip down memory lane. I love giving books as gifts, even to non-readers. There’s something out there for just about everyone. My family pretty much knows that they’ll be getting books from me. Do you like to receive and/or give books as gifts? Do you have any childhood faves you'd like to revisit?

Feeling the Crunch...And I Don't Mean Snow

I wish I could hear the crunch of snow beneath my winter boots. I think it might put me in more of a Christmas spirit.

I've always loved the holidays and have never understood people who dread them. I would teasingly refer to them Scrooge or Grinch. This year I'm trying very hard not to put myself in that category. In looking back of 2009, it's easy to see why I might not be so elated with greeting what is supposed to be a joyous time of year. It's been a difficult year. I won't go into detail because I've dealt with a lot of the same issues most everyone else has at one time or another: divorce, sickness, death, unemployment. It all tends to suck the life out of a person, even someone like me who has rightfully earned the reputation of the optimistic, care-free, look-on-the-bright-side Pollyanna.

I've stayed away from malls and stores this Christmas. I don't have the money that I've had in previous shopping seasons. I thought it would be too depressing to be in a mall when I can't buy anything. But the other day I had to go to a certain store for a non-Christmas related purchase. You know what? I should have gone sooner. The beat of the cheerful Christmas tunes restarted a holiday rhythm in my soul. The glitter and twinkle of bells and balls made me smile. The wonder in the eyes of children searching for Santa warmed my heart.

Later that day I stopped by the grocery store. In the parking lot was a rusted out truck with a cardboard sign taped to it. It read: "Homeless vet needs work of any kind. Job in California. Just need the gas to get there." I considered that message with more compassion than I used to. I was embarrassed at what my inner reaction would have been just one year ago. But with the lesson the last year has taught me, I understood better. How many of my friends were not too far away from being in a similar situation? It's been a hard year for a lot of us.

I was asked this week what was the best Christmas gift I ever received. I thought of my favorite book on my shelf. It's a leather bound notebook filled with my father's handwritten stories and poems. A few years ago he gave identical books to my two sisters and me. He must have worked on these gifts for months. It cost him nothing but time and maybe a few bucks for the notebooks. But it truly is the best gift. He gave me a part of himself.

So how does this all tie together? Because as writers, you know we have to tie it all together, right? I think when I'm 90, I will look back on this Christmas as one of the most memorable. Not for what wasn't under the tree or stuffed in a stocking, but for what filled my home and heart. I've been given a most amazing gift. The wonderful part is that it is something I can give away, too. The gift is one of an ever-expanding heart. The hurts of this past year have increased my capacity for understanding, compassion, and love. Without the losses, I couldn't have gained so much. It's priceless.

And I have another gift, as well. It's the gift of words. Like my father gave to me, I can give a piece of myself to others. Because even though the past year has had it's hardships, there has been support and love, too. Won't those friends and family members smile when they see their gift from me: A long letter to my 90 year old grandma filled with all the stuff I meant to write all year long but didn't make the time. A thank you to my parents for their unwavering support and abundant love. A fun poem to my best friend who finalized a divorce this year, too and helped me find something laugh at almost every day. A list of really useful advice (like how to catch an escaped hamster) to my corporate-ladder sister who lives in a world SO different from mine but asks for my opinion all the time anyway. And I'm-Proud-of-You-Because letters to my children because I really am so proud of them. It will cost me nothing but time and few bucks for paper. I'm guessing these gifts will be remembered long after the others have been forgotten.

Remember your true gifts this Christmas and share them. I promise, it will put you in the Christmas spirit.

Merry Christmas,

Deborah Macias
www.roaringmoms.blogspot.com