March Newsletter

Spring is definitely on the way...at least that's what the Robins tell me. I hope everyone made it through the winter with only minor mishaps. We had a mild winter here until February and then it sunk us into the deep freeze. So, I for one am very glad to see spring come. I'd like to take a moment to welcome my newest subscribers and thank you for signing up for the Newsletter. Don't forget to enter the contest on my site for Newsletter members only. The prize is a reader's gift basket.

Senior staff writer for Writing Edge Magazine, Australian author Debbie Stevens has many passions. After losing her mother to ovarian cancer, she became a tireless crusader to not only raise public awareness about this devastating disease, but to push for an early detection test. A rising star in the world of writing, her poetry and short stories are full of honest emotion that tugs at the heart. Her newest collection, Dust Packs, has just been released and a new book will be coming soon from Rockpool Publishing. For more on Ms. Stevens you may visit her on the web at http://debra2760.tripod.com/

Born Emily Elizabeth Dickinson on December 10, 1830 in Amherst, Massachusetts, she was pretty much unknown in her lifetime. Miss Dickinson has since become regarded as one of the quintessential American poets of the 19th century. Living the life of a hermit, she wrote, at last count, 1,789 poems. Only a handful of these poems were ever published during her lifetime, all anonymously and maybe even without her knowledge. Miss Dickinson's poetry has an easily recognizable unique lyric style with extensive use of dashes and unconventional punctuation and capitalization. This and her idiosyncratic vocabulary and vivid imagery combine to create her individual and unforgettable style. Although Miss Dickinson didn't mind being critiqued, she hated to be edited, quickly losing interest in having her poems published when it was suggested they be edited. At the time of her death on May 15, 1886, her family discovered four bound volumes of her poetry containing over 1,700 poems. Some of these were severely edited (for punctuation, grammar, capitalization, even the rearranging of words) and published, gaining instant popularity. One would have to consider that Miss Dickinson would not have been pleased by this turn of events. Thankfully today her poetry may be read in its unedited state and has become the preferred reading for her numerous fans.

He placed a note beneath her desk
She would read it after school
His heart would skip a thousand beats
But he would play it cool
He carved their names inside a heart
For all the world to see
Her face would blush with sheer delight
How she loved that big old tree
He finished the poem he would give to her
The first he'd written in his life
She read the words and cried with joy
He had asked her to be his wife
He placed the ring upon her finger
Their love had now been sealed
She would give the same in return
Before God their love revealed
He left a message with her friends
She would need to call his phone
Covered her eyes then handed her the key
She opened the door to their new home
He held her hands tightly as she grimaced in pain
She fought but managed him a smile
He whispered "I love you" then broke down in tears
She had given him their first child
He sent in the flowers he'd chosen himself
She would smile as they were placed in water
This was a time neither one would forget
Their eyes gazing at their baby daughter
They would clock up some memories
While they grew old together
They would always be as one
Their stories passed onto children & grand-kids
Of the days where it all had begun

He placed the rose upon her grave
She would watch approvingly from above
His heart would ache forever more
But he would never lose their love

'Tis so much joy! 'Tis so much joy!
If I should fail, what poverty!
And yet, as poor as I,
Have ventured all upon a throw!
Have gained! Yes! Hesitated so —
This side the Victory!

Life is but Life! And Death, but Death!
Bliss is, but Bliss, and Breath but Breath!
And if indeed I fail,
At least, to know the worst, is sweet!
Defeat means nothing but Defeat,
No drearier, can befall!

And if I gain! Oh Gun at Sea!
Oh Bells, that in the Steeples be!
At first, repeat it slow!
For Heaven is a different thing,
Conjectured, and waked sudden in —
And might extinguish me!

As most of you know, my family and I purchased a home a couple of days before Christmas. Our vintage home is ca.1939 and we were thrilled to be able to get it. Unfortunately it has turned into quite an adventure, which would be okay except for the financial end of things.

The Saturday before Christmas dawned bright and sunny, but very cold. We drove over to pick up the rental truck and after leaving my older son and husband at our old house, my younger son and I headed to the new home to unload the car of belongings we'd packed the night before. We hadn't been there but a few minutes when my cell phone rang. It was my son. The rental van had gotten stuck in the middle of the highway because it sit too low to make it up our very steep drive. They'd called a tow truck and needed me to come back with enough money to pay him. As I approached the drive to my house, my mouth dropped open. There were police cars, a tow truck... and people standing everywhere taking it all in. The back of the rental van was in the middle of the highway (a major state highway) and it had buried itself about four inches into the pavement, (and this was empty...imagine had it been packed full of our furniture). It might have gone straight to China. It seemed to take an eternity to get unstuck while my face grew redder and redder...both from irritation and embarrassment. Finally it was free. I called the rental company and explained that we'd be unable to use the truck. Their answer was that they could do nothing except rent us another truck, a smaller one. I lost it, (and believe me when I say I can get pretty heated). I threatened to file a complaint with my credit card and stop payment. After speaking with 10 different managers across the country, I finally was able to get a small amount of money refunded and after dishing out more money to the tow company, we proceeded to move using my car and a pickup truck. Hallelujah!

Unfortunately that is not the end. We'd been here for a couple of weeks when a torrential rain system moved in. It rained for a week straight. On the third day of rain, I went to the basement and found myself having to swim back to the stairs. Well, not quite, but there was a lot of water. There are no cracks in the basement, so we were stumped in trying to find out where the water was coming in. My husband finally found the problem, We have two window wells on the house...one front, one back. Someone years ago had the bright idea to cover them with plywood and tin. Maybe a good idea at the time, but they'd obviously gone unchecked for fifty years and the drains had clogged and allowed the wells to fill up with water, which had been there for no telling how long. That water was NASTY! Being full of water and with so much rain, the water had nowhere to go and was making its way in through the basement windows. My poor husband spent two days dipping out the water and cleaning the drains. Next time it rained...no problems yet.

Oh, but we aren't done. I plugged in my lamp one morning and the end of the cord exploded in my hand. Sparks danced across the hardwood while I stood there holding onto the melting lamp cord and jiggling like Jell-O from the charge I got. I had all the receptacles changed and found out that the reason for the meltdown was that the receptacle was broken, which allowed a metal on metal contact. Hummm...I wonder if the electrical charge to my brain could account for the writer's block I've been suffering from. Nah, I've had writer's block before. After this I thought, okay, what could possibly happen next? I found out a couple of days later. Early that morning I was working on my newest book and going gangbusters when the most horrible noise intruded into my world of romance and suspense. Jumping up from my chair...I darted through the house wondering where this hideous monster was hiding. I didn't have to look far. It was in the furnace. It yowled and moaned and groaned in pain for about twenty four hours before it finally died on the coldest day of the year. I sat up all night feeding the fireplace...waiting for the repairman who came the next day around noon and was kind enough to charge me $500 to replace a tiny little piece on the furnace.

The rain has come again and now the ceiling in my dining room is leaking all over my built in china cabinet. I see dollar signs every time a drop of rain falls on that cabinet...knowing how much a roof is going to cost. The lights flicker on a daily basis and sometimes even go off and on rapidly many times in succession. Since this also happens in the rest of the neighborhood, we called the electric company. They haven't found the cause yet, but say they will. Oh, the joys of buying a vintage home. I love this house and I'm determined to give it the love and care that has been so sadly neglected over the past few years. My husband on the other hand is ready to re-sell. Hopefully I can convince him that our little cottage needs us. I've ragged on the house in this article, but this is a very charming house and in extremely good condition structurally. The upkeep has simply been neglected and as with any home, repairs and painting and such need to be done on a regular basis. Hopefully in a year or two we will everything in top shape again. You can see photos of the house on my site: http://egparsons.com

I have taken a job writing articles for a newspaper, The Capitol News. My new book Black Rock ~ A Time for Love is presently being reviewed by a publisher...keep your fingers crossed for me. I was invited to an author event at Barnes Noble at the Washington Square Mall in Evansville Indiana On March 17, 2007 from 9AM - 4PM. I'm presently working on several new books and should have one ready to submit soon. It looks like a very busy summer ahead. I just hope I can find time to pump up the tires on my old bike and ride with the wind in my face. Love that! I'm sorry I didn't get to Amanda Quick this time, she will be in the next issue. Until next time, take care, Elizabeth

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