Interview with Tanya Mills

http://www.tanyaparkermills.com/wednesday-writer-m-ann-rohrer/

It was great fun responding to Tanya's questions. If you want to read it, click the link above.

To Me, On Your Birthday

For my birthday my husband bought himself a present and gave it to me. An array of knobs, numbers, letters and arrows on the 4 x 6 inch box indicated it was a miniature radio.

“This little technological wonder,” my husband offers proudly, “operates many hours on a battery that re-charges every second that it’s plugged in.”

I force a smile. If I had been able to choose anything I wanted for my birthday, it would not have been a radio, not even a technological wonder.

“It’s expensive,” he continues, “but, the cost is justifiable because this little item serves dual purposes—your birthday present, and a great addition to our 72-hour emergency kit.”

I’m not impressed.

He’s thrilled.

So for his birthday, one month later, I  buy me a gift and give it to him—a freestanding Hammock. 

He doesn’t pretend to smile. If he had been able to choose anything for his birthday it would not be a hammock.

I can’t justify the cost—the price of my firstborn—and it’s extra-large and weighs 2000 lbs., hardly able to fit in a 72-hour emergency kit. No dual purpose. And he has to assemble it.

He’s not impressed.

I’m thrilled.

Birthdays are coming up again. I can hardly wait.

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TO JUNK OR NOT TO JUNK

My son’s car stalled on the way home from work on a long lonely road. He and my husband spent days diving into the darkest recesses under the hood finding several problems and fixed them.  Another couple of days and it was all back together.

It wouldn’t start.

Back under the hood they went, taking the thing apart again, layer at a time exposing those nether regions, tweaking this, tweaking that. Then, with greater care, it went back together, bolt by bolt.

It started. It leaked oil.

Refusing to haul it to the junkyard, however tempting, my son went online looking for solutions. The engine must get hot to seal the gasket, he discovers. He lets the car idle. No leaks. He drives it around the neighborhood. No leaks. He takes it on the freeway. No leaks.

Success. We celebrate.

A week later, it stalls on the same road coming home from work. Disappointment is putting it mildly. He arranges to have it towed. What could it be? Timing chain? Water pump? Valves?   

Nope. It was out of gas.   

WHAT'S HAWAII COMPARED TO A BOOK SIGNING!

Our fortieth anniversary, we spent the morning at Barnes and Noble, who hosted my first book signing for my newly published novel, MATTIE.  It was a sellout requiring additional orders. For lunch, we drove forty-five minutes to eat at the Green Spoon. In the heart of old town, and like all the other businesses on the street, the restaurant was skillfully renovated, maintaining its quaint charm. I ordered a delicious Rachel Sandwich—as opposed to a Reuben. My husband ordered grilled salmon.

We came home to laundry.

John said I let him off easy. He expected a hold out for Hawaii.

Add popcorn and a late night DVD, I say the day was perfect.

Some things are just worth it.

Along with fuel and food, my visit to California cost me a two hundred dollar traffic ticket and a hard fall in the tub.  I hazarded the sixteen-hour drive for the grandchildren.  In one week, we celebrated three special occasions, attended three performances, and just hung out, sometimes talking, sometimes dancing to cool music, flashy light thingies, and swirling fog.

Well worth the cost!

Chic-lit Romeos

Clichés are poison to good writing and nothing is more cliché than the hero with broad shoulders, narrow waist, and rippling muscles. It never fails that his shirt stretched across his chest, his arms were hard to the touch, his form filled the doorway. And what in sweet heaven is a cute butt?  Do men want cute, except to look at? (He has cute abs. Aren’t his pecs cute? Oh, look at his biceps. Aren’t they cute)? And we’re lead to believe the male paragon is unaware of his Adonis status.

Yeah, right! A mirror is a weight lifters best friend.

I watched a movie where an unremarkable, skinny man with thinning hair unexpectedly became the Romeo. He had no dazzling smile, piercing blue eyes, or wavy blond hair to recommend him. A delightful sense of humor, cleverness, confidence, and a deep sense of others were his redeeming qualities. As the story progressed, who he was overshadowed what he was not. By the end, the female protagonist was not the only one in love with him, so were the women in the audience.

Imagine revolutionizing chic lit romance with the Cyrano de Bergeracs and Colonel Brandons of the world as the idols of happily even after? Imagine revolutionizing the Bergeracs and Brandons. 

“Anyone who imagines that bliss is normal is going to waste a lot of time running around shouting that he’s been robbed.  The fact is that most putts don’t drop, most beef is tough, most children grow up to just be people, most successful marriages require a high degree of mutual toleration, most jobs are more often dull than otherwise.  Life is like an old time rail journey….delays, sidetracks, smoke, dust, cinders, and jolts, interspersed only occasionally by beautiful vistas and thrilling burst of speed.  The trick is to thank the Lord for letting you have the ride.”  (Gordon B. Hindkley, 15th President of the Church of Latter-day Saints)

WINTER

I don’t like winter.  I don’t like cold, I don’t like snow, other than to look at it from the inside, and I despise long nights, which I fear will be even longer if I don’t try to appreciate something about the enduring dark season.

There’s Christmas with jingle bells, silent night, and a good excuse to eat.  Saturday morning is free to do something other than mow the lawn, and weeding is only a memory.   Long sleeved tops hide old-lady arms and a serves a convenient place to tuck a tissue at the wrist. Crystals, hanging in the south-facing window, scatter a myriad of rainbows that grace the walls and flounce on the floor. There’s the moment before the sun slips behind the mountain when a long finger of sunshine reaches through the window diagonally across my room, through the door, down the hall, and shines directly into a dark room lighting it up as if by magic.  Best of all, each winter day is one day closer to summer.

Winter feels shorter already.