© Shelley Steinle, illustrator.
A year ago I lost my purr.
At the time, I didn’t think of it that way. I was suffering the side effects of a concussion. All summer long I’d been unable to enjoy the activities that helped me feel fulfilled.
- Limited screen time, which meant little to no computer/TV/Kindle/phone usage.
- Reading was difficult because of eye strain and blur.
- I mean, really, even thinking was a chore.
What’s a writer-woman to do? Continue reading
For years I’ve wondered why the best part of the year is called the “Dog Days of Summer.” Most dogs I know (and I’m close to many) aren’t enamored with summer. Too hot for their heavy fur.
My granddog Charlie loves being outside, but on a “dog day of summer,” he buries himself in the dirt (usually in my daughter’s well-loved rose garden) and hangs out there until he’s discovered and chastised. Continue reading
May I rest on my laurels a little here? It’s still summer . . . the season to be outside inhaling the ocean air, embracing every sunset, following the sunflowers, laughing with the hummingbirds, basking in the sun.
And, to sit on a laurel or two. Continue reading
One of my most enthusiastic readers.
We writers aren’t allowed to be introverts anymore.
Back in the day, a writer was a man most times (women were home frying the bacon and changing the diapers) with thick dark hair that he pulled with one hand as he wrote down his words furiously on paper with his special pen.
Then that man walked dejectedly to the local pub or bar and drank away his creative problems. Somehow, he produced a masterpiece with a good editor, and then his publisher made sure the book sold tens of thousands of that hard-earned tome.
Those were the good ole days.
Now men and women write on fast-paced computers, editing with a keystroke, and banging their heads against the monitor between washing the sheets and emptying the dishwasher. Continue reading
© Shelley Steinle, Birds of Paradise
I never would have guessed that the third stage of publishing a kid’s picture book – the stage in which I actually read said book to kids, would produce knocking knees and sweaty palms.
But last week I found myself at my grandson’s elementary school, nearly ending my children’s book career at the front desk. Continue reading