Everyday Woman Radio Show with Vicki Hinze

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Mistakes We Make #11 & Vicki Talks Writing on TV Tonight

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Note: Vicki will be appearing on WSRE (PBS) tonight at 7 PM talking about writing.

A Message from Vicki Hinze

Vicki's website: www.vickihinze.com

Dealing with the Holidays

Holidays are supposed to be happy times of celebration. Times when friends and families gather and share the joys of the season.


So why then are holidays the most stressful times of the year? Why do suicide rates soar? So many suffer depression and others are absolutely miserable?


In part, the very thing that brings us together--holidays--also brings to bear the greatest stresses.


Here are a few of the substantial stressors that magnify during the holidays:


Additional tasks.


There are more obligations and social events to host and/or attend. Gifts to buy, special meals to shop for and prepare, trees, houses--inside and out--classrooms, offices, stores or other workplaces or additional places (church, lodge, club) to decorate, presents to wrap, cards to send and a multitude of other preparations to make. Social obligations/engagements require extra preparation time (program practices, dishes to make, clothes to wear selected or shopped for, haircuts and so on).


If others are “coming home for the holiday” to your home, as glad as you’ll be to see them, that’s more tasks on your To-Do List. If you’re going home, there are travel plans and packing, making sure the car is ready for the trip or tickets to purchase and schedules to coordinate, and much more.


Holidays--even when we are looking forward to them--break routines and place extra demands on our schedules. They require preparation that demands extra efforts from us. If your schedule is normally hectic, during the holidays it can become frantic.


What can you do? The extra work isn’t going to minimize just because you wish it would. That means you have to act to make the effort less stressful. Here are a couple tips:    READ MORE...

ATTENTION READERS AND THOSE BUYING BOOKS TODAY

CODE #: 18391243

If you are buying books at Barnes & Noble online

or in the store today,

please use the code number above.

BN will send a portion of the net proceeds to

Edge Elementary School.

It costs you nothing,

it can provide the resources

to really help the little ones attending this school.

Blessings,

Vicki

Edge Tigers

Stork Alert!

The stork has landed...

I'll be out a few days! :)

Blessings,

Vicki

Important Note

Effective today, I will be posting my blogs on my website as follows:

Writing: Craft, Art, Business and Life: My Kitchen Table

Spirituality: Faith Zone

The "Vicki Hinze on Writing" blog will be incorporated into the MY KITCHEN TABLE blog.

The website url, should you have link challenges or desire to paste into your browser is:

http://www.vickihinze.com

Blessings,

Vicki

P.S. If you're viewing this via reader, you'll need to visit the www.vickihinze.com website to view any updates.

I apologize for any inconvenience, but I'm paddling as hard as I can, and I just can't keep up, so I'm having to consolidate where and when possible. Appreciate your understanding.

For your convenience, I will still notify you of new posts here.

Vicki Hinze
www.vickihinze.com

TAGS: Vicki Hinze, hinze blog, CREATIVE WRITING, feature article, writing craft, books, novels, readers, authors, emerald coast writers, novelists, booksellers, book reviewers, everyday woman radio, romance writers, thriller writers, suspense writers

TIME DOES NOT HEAL--BUT TWO LITTLE MIRACLES...

Two years ago today, my beloved sidekick, Alex, died. It was a year before I could think about her without tearing up, and nearly another before I could speak of her without choking up.

We both worked at home and she was my constant companion for fourteen years. Her tags still remain on my personal altar; I see them and I remember all of her endearing and adorable qualities. The thousand things she did that made me smile--and shake my head. Experts say dogs have limited vocabulary and understanding. Extremely intuitive and sensitive, Alex understood more than many people--even spelling.

My darling husband would say, “I’m going to take Alex for a walk.” She’d get so hyper, eager to go, that he started spelling (versus saying) “walk.” If he was a letter off, she’d ignore him. If he spelled “walk” correctly, she’d get hyper, eager. So he started spelling “walk” backward. Again, a letter off, she’d totally ignore him. But if it was spelled correctly, forward or backward, she went into high gear.

She loved Milk Bone “cookies.” And when she wanted one, she’d lift her paw--her standard “please.” If that worked, great. If not, and she really wanted a cookie, she’d go get a sock--always dirty, always white--bring it to me and put it in my lap. That worked every time. Her no-fail get me a cookie method. (An FYI for anyone contemplating coercion. Spare yourself. This ONLY worked for Alex.)

Once, early on--she was about 2 or 3, I sat at the computer writing and she went outside then came back in and dumped a dead frog in my lap. No cookie, but I wigged out on her. She never brought me a frog again, though I’m sure she considered it a high form of compliment and me a dense twit for not understanding that. Then is when she started with the socks.

She loved to ride in the car--and at 110 pounds always, always wore her seat belt. We’d get odd looks, but hey, safety first. And she loved to eat ice. So much so, she earned the nickname, “Slush Gut.”

Once, during a hurricane, after the storm passed and we were out of the safe room, where we’d spent five long hours, she went to the fridge and tapped the ice-maker (her equivalent of having a much needed drink after a harrowing experience (tornado ripped across our front yard). She expected ice. She’d always gotten ice when tapping the ice-maker. But we had no power and no ice fell. That time, she kind of wigged out on me. I’ll never forget her, “What is up with this?” expression. Hilarious. And of course we gave her ice from the ice-chest.

Many, many wonderful memories...

Today definitely would have been a difficult day. Memories, even great ones, really crowd a body on anniversaries, especially because the body stares them in the face knowing there will be no more new memories made.

But as fate would have it, instead I’ve had two very good days--little miracles, actually--and they’ve balanced my emotional scale in ways I can’t begin to explain. My granddaughters have been with me. We’ve played games, played dress up, complete with jewelry and headgear and handbags (and it seems the gaudier the better--which deserves an article on gift-giving all of its own). We’ve created art, giggled ourselves into side-stitches making silly-face photos, built and demolished block designs, baked, had a bubble blowing contest (eldest angel won) and we did some computer artwork and lots of other “fun” stuff. It’s been a very full, very active two days--and I’ve loved every second of every minute of it.

The eldest angel remembers Alex and we talked about her today. With laughter and fond memories and twinges of missing her plucking at our hearts. But something significant was absent. That overwhelming sense of sadness and the heretofore inevitable tears. Gone, but love remained.

The girls were supposed to be with me to receive care. Instead, bless them, through their blunt and honest dialogue, their laughter and contentment at just being, they gave it. And I am grateful. Now, on future anniversaries, I’ll remember the gift I received on this one from them and Alex’s loss, which won’t be so stark because never again will it be standing alone. Memories of today will stand with it.

And a universal awareness emerges. Time doesn’t heal. Sometimes it does help. A little distance, a little life crowding now empty space that someone beloved once filled. But my angels’ gift was humanity personified. And I experienced its power firsthand. So time can’t heal. But humanity can dull the edges of grief, stand with it and make its burdens bearable.

A few days ago, I posted on faith my belief in holiday magic. Today that faith proved well placed.

Laughter and Alex... experienced together again... magical... thanks to two little miracles.

Blessings,

Vicki

Stealing Religion

This one of those “can you believe it” days.

In the news this morning, there’s a report on a thief that has me shaking my head and wondering, “What is s/he thinking?”

Stealing isn’t a novelty; unfortunately, it happens with monotonous regularity. So what made this theft, or this thief, noteworthy?

The objects stolen. A nativity scene from a family’s front yard. Statues of Mary and Joseph and more. Not only did the thief steal these things, s/he also trashed other items in the family’s display--including bells and trees.

People have fought wars over religion throughout recorded history. They’ve corrupted religion, and hidden behind it when it suited them. They’ve committed all manner of crimes to all manner of people and dragged religion into it to justify their actions, regardless of how inappropriate or insincere they were in citing them. We’ve seen these type actions often--Saddam Hussein is a prime example, and there are many, many others.

It makes one wonder how a thief can twist and rationalize his/her actions to make stealing, much less stealing these types of things, acceptable.

The majority of us find stealing morally repugnant. We find stealing religious symbols representative of significant events to the owners even worse. Our disdain is palpable, our empathy with the targeted family engaged.

And then we learn that this family suffered this flagrant violation not once but twice. In a single week.

Twice they’ve been violated, had their boundaries trespassed upon and their property stolen. Twice the thief or thieves had no regard for the family. And twice the family was left with the rubble in their yard and with the task of cleaning up the mess the thief/thieves had left behind.

As I think of this family this morning, I wonder if they’ll build their display again--a third time. I hope that they do--and that they consider using electric fencing materials. A little shock could make a would-be thief stop and think. A shame that’s legally considered entrapment when it could spare a soul.

And I find my thoughts veering to the thief and, for the life of me, I can’t imagine how s/he has justified to him- or herself these actions. Stealing a religious display. It’s as warped as stealing religion itself. Will s/he recall the theft with each glance at the stolen nativity scene? What sickening baggage will s/he attach to the theft? Will s/he even grasp the magnanimity of what s/he’s done to him/herself?

You know, the sad truth is s/he probably will not. Anyone twisted enough to highjack religious displays is likely too twisted to know the truth when it’s staring them in the face.

Which is not to say that there won’t come a time when the scales are lifted from the eyes and the thief sees his/her true self with all the veneer stripped away. The truth shall set you free, right?

But first it’ll be a long look into a harsh mirror in which nothing is hidden and all that is true is exposed. Then the thief will learn the penalty of his/her actions, and then s/he will suffer the utmost consequences. Because in the very symbols stolen are promises that remain intact: you reap what you sow. And from that, the thief cannot hide.

I wonder. When the thief sows, feels the full weight of the consequences of his/her actions, how will s/he feel about stealing then? Because the truth is, the thief(s) might have stolen and damaged and destroyed that family’s property. But s/he did far more lasting damage to him/herself. The kind self-inflicted that requires far more than mere repayment to be satisfied. It requires forgiveness, and that requires divine grace.

Do you think, stealing a nativity, that this thief will have the courage to ask for divine grace?

Only s/he can answer that. But one thing is certain, while the family returns to its life of joy and peace, the thief or thieves will experience the absence of joy and/or peace and will experience the question being called over and again--in a year, five years, twenty or thirty years--until s/he does answer.

Knowing that, one has to ask: In stealing, who--the family or the thief--has and will suffer the greatest loss?

Blessings,

Vicki

P.S. After completing this post, I googled the article title “Christmas Vandals hit again.”
There were over 41,000 related stories...

GIFTS FOR WRITERS

I’m shopping today--late this year due to two weeks of flu knocking me to my knees--and I’m reminded of Christmases past--and faux pas committed on behalf of well-meaning family members (not mine, but those of other writers).

There’s the writer wife who left hints--some subtle and some bold, including a sale circular taped to the refrigerator door--and still ended up with a lovely piece of crystal when all she’d yearned for had been a fax.

There’s the writer husband who left hints--including an explicit, written addition to a shopping list--and still ended up without the gift card from the office supply store he wanted because his darling wife “wanted to surprise” him. She did, of course, but not in the way she’d hoped.

Then there’s the writer who wanted books--novels to read--and got Quick Books, so the writer could do the spouse’s business’s bookkeeping. (Yeah, that went over well. :))

And the spouse who got a trip to Italy when the sole item on her wish list was to attend a writer’s conference--which now, she could not attend because of the expensive trip to Italy.

For those of you shopping for writers. Here’s the thing. Writers are very easy to please. If you want a cannot fail gift, give them a card for an office supply store. The writer will feel they’re in heaven--and that they’ve got the most thoughtful person in the world shopping for them. Why? Because of the thought, the acknowledgment that writing is important to the writer--and you know that and place value on it.

If you want something more personal, consider a special pen or notebook. Flag tapes, post-it-notes, banker’s clips. None of these are expensive items, but you would be amazed at how many times on writer’s chat loops they’re discussed. A specific type of paper. A specific pen. Pastel or neon post-its. A little organization caddy for these tiny things. Anything related brings smiles to the writer’s face and warms his or her heart.

And if you’re flat broke and cannot afford a gift, there are heart-warming things you can do:

1. Have you read an author’s book and loved it? If so, go to amazon.com or bn.com or another online store and post a review.

2. Write a fan letter. Listen, these are so treasured by authors. And they don’t care if they’re emailed or written on a paper towel. It is the thought--hearing what you have to say--that counts.

3. Give the writer the gift of time. Watch the kids for an hour so s/he can write. If you are the kid, then give the writer a coupon.

Years ago--and this remains one of my most favorite gifts ever--my daughter gave me 20 coupons. She’d handwritten them on squares of paper she’d cut. Each was good for her to bring me a cup of coffee. Considering my office was upstairs and the coffee was downstairs, this was a really, really thoughtful gift. I loved it--and to give it, boy, she loved me. :)

Office supplies and coupons. For writers, it just doesn’t get much better than this!

Blessings,

Vicki