Tag Archive for: Debra H. Goldstein

Happy Dancing – With Our Bellies Full and the Fire Dying

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Happy Dancing – With Our Bellies Full and the Fire Dying by Debra H. Goldstein

I’m happiest writing when I’m sitting in front of a toasty fire or positioned to stare at a body of water. Both are calming to me. The result is that the words tend to flow.

Sometimes, though, a roaring fire may simply be a means to create heat or a makeshift dinner. That is the fire’s purpose on the cover of my recently released short story collection, With Our Bellies Full and the Fire Dying. The story that the title and cover photo are from is called “So Beautiful or So What.” It originally appeared in Paranoia Blue: Crime Fiction Inspired by the Songs of Paul Simon. My story involves a tent city, homeless people, and undercover policemen. It is one of the two grittier stories in the book.

Most of the stories featured in With Our Bellies Full and the Fire Dying are lighter fare. For example, “Thanksgiving in Moderation” tells what happens at a Thanksgiving dinner when a member of a family’s fifth groom-to-be keels over during the meal. Rather than showing the underbelly of humanity, this story highlights humor.

I was excited when White City Press, a division of Misti Media LLC, opted to publish this collection of eighteen of my older stories that, for the most part, either won writing competition prizes or were finalists for the Agatha, Anthony, or Derringer awards. Many people know me for the seven novels published during the past decade but aren’t aware that more than fifty of my short stories have appeared in periodicals, anthologies, or online.

That’s why it is a joy to share this collection with readers who are familiar with my work and those who are new to it. Whether you ask your library to obtain a copy of the book for you or purchase one yourself, I hope you will enjoy reading these crime fiction tales.

Buy Links:
White City Press (publisher giving a print discount and free shipping): https://whitecitypress.com/product/fire/MM/8
Amazon: https://www.amazon.com/Our-Bellies-Full-Fire-Dying/dp/1963479688
Barnes & Noble: https://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/with-our-bellies-full-and-the-fire-dying-debra-h-goldstein/1146836374?ean=9781963479683

 

 

My Mother’s Slippers

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My Mother’s Slippers by Debra H. Goldstein (This is a reprint that I like to run every November – but even after ten years, I still haven’t gone through all the slippers)

At this time of year, I think about my mother. She was a driving force in my life until her unexpected death in 2014. There are still times when I want to pick up the phone and share good news with her or ask for her advice, but I can’t. What I can do is keep a part of her with me – her slippers.

Not the pair she wore, but one of twenty or thirty pairs of the identical slippers that she hoarded. My mother was an atypical hoarder. Everything in her house was always perfectly in place and her kitchen floor was so clean that one could eat off of it. Newspapers and magazines were thrown out once read; finished books, except for ones I wrote, were loaned to friends, or donated; and clothes were stylish but took up no more than a closet.

Her hoarding fetish involved shoes. She loved them. Because she had a hard to fit foot (super narrow and only a six or six and one-half), if she found a pair of shoes to fit, she bought them — in every color. If she found something she loved was going to be discontinued, she stocked up on them. The thing about my mother was that she wore all of those shoes. Each one matched an outfit or a mood and while she kept them carefully boxed on shelves in her closet, she believed in wearing and enjoying them.

After she died, my sister and I relished the memory of her cute outfits and her shoes. I was only saddened by the fact that while we had the same shoe size, our feet were just different enough that the last that fit her didn’t work for me. What did work were her slippers. She had found a pair of step-in flower-patterned slippers that she loved because they were narrow enough to stay on and soft enough not to rub her foot. She wore that particular brand for years and when she discovered they were being discontinued, she bought up every pair she could find. When she passed away, there were twenty plus pairs that had never been worn. I tried one on and they were perfect. Although I didn’t take them all, I brought several pairs home with me. Seven years later, morning or night, I think of my mother as I step into a pair of her slippers. The wonderful thing is that I know she will still be with me for years to come because of the ones I have yet to begin using.

Do you have anything passed down from a parent that reminds you of them regularly or that you have that may give someone continuing memories of you?

A New Beginning that Feels Like Groundhog Day

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A New Beginning that Feels Like Groundhog Day by Debra H. Goldstein

I’ve started a new work in progress. I’m only nineteen pages into it, but I’ve rewritten those same nineteen pages at least five times. My initial goal was to write 1000 words a day while I was at the beach. For the most part, I think I was close to making that goal. The only problem was that each day, I tended to delete six hundred to seven hundred when I revised what I had written.

A friend, another author, said “Stop it! Simply write the first draft and then go back and fix it.” That sounded like a great idea, but my brain doesn’t work that way. I’ve often said that I only write when the muse strikes me. That’s true for me staying stuck in the chair, but not for the way my mind works on what I’m trying to write. Quite a bit of my writing process is subliminal. The ideas work their way through me until they come to a point where they can’t be contained. That’s the moment of the muse taking control.

But then, I need to revise the paragraph, chapter, or complete manuscript that was created. I’m back to the bogged down aspect of my writing. In the end, what I produce, I hope, is the best work product that I can achieve. But, who knows?

What process do you use?

Reviews that Sink Authors

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Reviews that Sink Authors by Debra H. Goldstein

Traditionally, authors are told to ignore their reviews. Maybe some can, but most can’t. In fact, many writers can’t help focusing on anything except the bad ones.

I read reviews. Sometimes I totally agree and learn from the point being made, but more often, I’d love to respond (authors are also told not to respond). For example, when Maze in Blue was published, the reviews and ratings were all favorable – mostly 5’s and an occasional 4. And then, someone posted a one star on Amazon. The rationale was that I had gotten a main road in Ann Arbor wrong. The reviewer went on and on about how the road didn’t go straight and that if the character had really driven the route, they’d have run into a building.

The reviewer was right for the way the road presently runs, but the book was set in the 1970’s. The road and building mentioned were neither moved nor built until a year after the story occurred. I desperately wanted to respond with a choice comment, but happily, the next review, which was a five-star, pointed out that fact and noted what great and exact memories Maze brought back because the reviewer was a professor’s daughter who had lived on campus at that time. I was thrilled.

Talking to other authors, I’ve discovered they also have received one-star reviews that were a little out-to-lunch. One reviewer didn’t like the cover, another stated she didn’t read the book upon learning the name on the book was a pseudonym for an author whose last novel she didn’t like, and a third said the book, while enjoyable, wasn’t anything to write home about.

If you are an author, tell me about your “worst” review. A reader, have you ever left one you realized was an oops?

By the way, when it comes to being a writer or any profession, I think a sign I recently saw, says it all:

I Hate Packing

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I Hate Packing by Debra H. Goldstein

Although I love traveling and have been cherishing the times that I once again have been able to get-together with family and friends, I hate packing. For me, it is a tortuous process.

First, I make sure everything I might possibly want to take is back from the dry cleaners, has been washed, or, if necessary, purchased. Then, I sit with pen and pad and contemplate the trip, so I can decide what outfits I need – from how many pairs of underpants to will there be any formal attire events. Once I address my clothing – indicating what should be worn on any given day – I add miscellaneous items to my list ranging from medications to computer cords. I stare at the list and decide to pack tomorrow when I’m not as tired or busy (this depends upon if I make the list at night or during the day).

The time to do the deed arrives but first I need the right sized suitcase. Am I carrying on? Do I have a dress I don’t want to crush? Am I going to a conference where I need to take extra books, bookmarks, or other swag? I choose a suitcase, but I’m so worn out from the process, so I take another break.

Finally, there is no way to put off packing. I pull everything out of my closet, drawers, or wherever. That done, I stare at the stack on my bed or the couch and decide to watch a TV show or allow myself thirty minutes of reading time before I tackle putting things into the suitcase.

An hour later, especially if the clothing is on my bed, I pack. It takes five to ten minutes.

Relieved, I soak in a long bath. I am exhausted. How about you? Do you have a packing ritual?

Life Changes and the Life Cycle

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Life Changes and the Life Cycle by Debra H. Goldstein

Lately, my life has been taking a 360 degree turn-around. Some of the changes are wonderful; others, not so much. Any way I look at it, it is quite a ride.

Not only did I pass a special birthday with a month long friends and family celebration, but we’ll be doing it again because this is a special birthday for my husband and anniversary for us. In the past, when we had these five year milestones, I’d throw a big bash. One year, it was taking friends and family to a basketball game, another year was a baseball game where my husband got to throw out the first pitch, and there was the Mexican food with a wild band playing event. For a few years, we celebrated by traveling to far-away-places with a couple we adored, but knew their health issues would limit our time as friends —- we were able to visit Italy, China, and the beach with them — good memories of good people. Perhaps, the best celebration though, was an open house we threw that not only celebrated our milestones, but commemorated the twins graduating high school and introduced our local world to our first grandson, who was three months old.

This year, other than the whirlwind month I’ve just had, we’ve opted to keep things low key and family oriented. The special highlight that we’ll all remember happens tomorrow: our sixth grandchild, the second boy, is coming to town to have his first haircut done by the same person who gave his mother her first haircut. A life cycle event.

Do you have little things like this that reinforce the concept of the life cycle for you?

Is it Worth it?

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Is it Worth it?    by Debra H. Goldstein

Recently, I lost interest in writing. It wasn’t a matter of writer’s block. Plenty of ideas constantly swirl in my head. Those ideas exist right next to my excuses for not writing. The latter include having two new grandchildren and babysitting requests from their parents, medical issues with my husband, the need to play Wordle or solitaire, the promise to blurb a book which meant the book needed to be read, or the desire to simply read a book for pleasure.

Somehow, the excuses took precedence over putting my ideas on paper (or into the computer). The problem, as I diagnosed it, was a case of periodical motivation. The symptoms were simple: the excuses I already mentioned coupled with an almost non-existent urge to sit still and write.

There were limited bursts of writing energy. In fact, three short pieces will be published in 2023. Unfortunately, the energy dissipated quickly. Instead, there were hours of meditating whether writing was important enough to continue doing it. Did the worth of seeing my words on paper outweigh the isolation and time demands actual writing necessitates?

Frustrated, I started listening to a Master Class. An hour into the course (taught by James Patterson), something clicked. Although he was talking about plot, conflict, research, and other mundane writing topics, his words excited me. They shouldn’t have, but they did. That’s when I realized that writing is still a relevant part of me.

I don’t think I’ll ever be a wake up and write a few thousand words a day person, but I firmly believe that whether it is a letter expressing my beliefs on a topic, a short story, or a novel, I am condemned to spend the rest of my life playing with words. Tell me, if you are an author, have you ever undergone a questioning period of time in your life like this? If you are a reader, have you ever second guessed the path you seem to be following in life and concluded that it is where you are supposed to be (or not)?

 

 

My Mother’s Slippers by Debra H. Goldstein

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My Mother’s Slippers by Debra H. Goldstein

At this time of year, I think about my mother. She was a driving force in my life until her unexpected death in 2014. There are still times when I want to pick up the phone and share good news with her or ask for her advice, but I can’t. What I can do is keep a part of her with me – her slippers.

Not the pair she wore, but one of twenty or thirty pairs of the identical slippers that she hoarded. My mother was an atypical hoarder. Everything in her house was always perfectly in place and her kitchen floor was so clean that one could eat off of it. Newspapers and magazines were thrown out once read; finished books, except for ones I wrote, were loaned to friends, or donated; and clothes were stylish but took up no more than a closet.

Her hoarding fetish involved shoes. She loved them. Because she had a hard to fit foot (super narrow and only a six or six and one-half), if she found a pair of shoes to fit, she bought them — in every color. If she found something she loved was going to be discontinued, she stocked up on them. The thing about my mother was that she wore all of those shoes. Each one matched an outfit or a mood and while she kept them carefully boxed on shelves in her closet, she believed in wearing and enjoying them.

After she died, my sister and I relished the memory of her cute outfits and her shoes. I was only saddened by the fact that while we had the same shoe size, our feet were just different enough that the last that fit her didn’t work for me. What did work were her slippers. She had found a pair of step-in flower-patterned slippers that she loved because they were narrow enough to stay on and soft enough not to rub her foot. She wore that particular brand for years and when she discovered they were being discontinued, she bought up every pair she could find. When she passed away, there were twenty plus pairs that had never been worn. I tried one on and they were perfect. Although I didn’t take them all, I brought several pairs home with me. Seven years later, morning or night, I think of my mother as I step into a pair of her slippers. The wonderful thing is that I know she will still be with me for years to come because of the ones I have yet to begin using.

Do you have anything passed down from a parent that reminds you of them regularly or that you have that may give someone continuing memories of you?

A New Anthology by the Bethlehem Writers Group: An Element of Mystery

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by Paula Gail Benson

The Bethlehem Writers Group holds a special place in my heart. My first short story appeared in its online publication, the Bethlehem Writers Roundtable. At that time, the monthly Roundtable was a nonpaying market, but I remember how thrilled I was to be selected as the February featured story and asked to write a top ten list for the issue. I compiled my favorite romantic musicals, including Sound of Music, 1776 (remember the songs between John and Abigail Adams), La Cage aux Folles, Bye, Bye Birdie, and Hello Dolly!

Since that time (2013) and that story (“Nectar of the Gods”), I had two additional featured stories in the Roundtable, “Long in the Tooth,” which received third place in the 2013 short story contest (that year judged by Hank Phillippi Ryan) and later was reprinted in the Bethlehem Writers Group’s winter anthology, Let it Snow, and “Cosway’s Confidence,” which placed second in the 2020 short story contest. My tale of interspecies mediation, “Apple’s Lure,” appeared in the 2014 July-August issue.

During pandemic times, the Group began meeting by Zoom. I felt privileged when along with Debra H. Goldstein I was asked to join.

This year, Debra’s “Death in the Hand of the Tongue” and my “Sense Memory” appear in the Group’s An Element of Mystery: Sweet, Funny, and Strange Tales of Intrigue. The anthology contains twenty-three stories, all by Group members except for the two by contest winners: “Good Cop/Bad Cop” by Trey Dowell (the 2021 short story winner, judged by Charlaine Harris) and “The Tabac Man” by Eleanor Ingbretson (the 2022 short story winner, judged by Kate Carlisle). Members of the Group whose stories appear in the volume are Courtney Annicchiarico, Jeff Baird, Peter J Barbour, A. E. Decker, Marianne H. Donley, Ralph Hieb, D.T. Krippene, Jerry McFadden, Emily P. W. Murphy, Christopher D. Ochs, Dianna Sinovic, Kidd Wadsworth, Paul Weidknecht, and Carol L. Wright.

While many of the stories involve crimes, the required element was mystery, so some focus on puzzles rather than unsolved offenses. With expert editing and selection of cover design by Marianne H. Donley and Carol L. Wright, the anthology was released in September and is a perfect gift for the holidays. By purchasing An Element of Mystery, you’ll be helping to support a Group that is developing and supporting writers. Please give it your consideration.

Hacked and I am so Hacked!

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Hacked and I am so Hacked! by Debra H. Goldstein

I woke up recently to a flood of e-mails from friends telling me that my Instagram account had been hacked during the night. Great! I’d wanted to sleep late and now I had to handle the aftermath of being hacked. It was such a little thing. They took my official Instagram name and added a _. I was hacked about being hacked.

Several people wrote that they had reported the hacking. For that, I was grateful, especially because I didn’t know what to do respecting an Instagram hack. Frustrated, I went to the Help section and typed in “Fake accounts.”  Wrong!

Although the articles listed were close, they weren’t on point to someone impersonating me. Figuring the impersonation was key, I typed that in and found directions I could follow. I filled in the form, as required, but balked at having to send a government ID with my picture (what if it was another hack?), but finally did — with my thumb strategically placed to block my driver’s license number (which didn’t keep anyone from learning my address). Having to provide this ID made me almost feel more violated than the hack did. Steam was coming from my ears. Oh, was I hacked!

Then, I realized it was the weekend. I had no idea what time it was where whomever was going to review my report was nor when they would get to it. Being resourceful I went to my Instagram account and tried to post a comment about being hacked. Zilch luck doing that. I needed to post a picture. Okay, next step was typing a hacked message in word, taking a picture of it with my phone, uploading it to my account. TMI and Too Much Time, but it was done.

Messages started coming in that people were appreciative of knowing about the hack and were removing themselves from the new account and taking the hacker, who they now found following them, off as a follower. What an annoyance for all.

I’m hacked at being hacked. Have you ever been hacked? How did you handle it?