Inspiration

Being Inspired

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Never doubt it; there’s a lot goes into your beloved book getting into the hands of the reader who will cherish it. There’s writing, illustrating, and otherwise creating the book itself, and then promotion and sales.

And here’s one of the great results – at the Tinicum Arts Festival, I sold seventeen books in two hours! How did that happen? First, we have the gorgeous illustration of Stella Mongodi to draw one in. Then, the lovely new cover design, wrapped around a magical story (if I say so myself.) Lastly, we have someone who loves talking to people about her book … me.

All of that sells a book, but I think it’s the last one that “closes a sale.” When I’m talking about reading, writing, how the book came about, etc., it’s not sales — it’s just undeniable enthusiasm. I realize that not everyone is as outgoing as I am, but if the frame can be shifted from the “job” of selling one’s book to the sharing of excitement about it, that makes all the difference.

While Where Do Butterflies Go at Night, 2nd Edition was one of a handful of picture books available, it was a big draw for parents, grandparents, and even teachers looking for something to read to “their” kids. I was thrilled that Butterflies checked off so many boxes of what these lifelong readers sought in a book for little ones, and that was quite inspirational in me wanting to seriously get back to the book waiting on my desk.

My major purchase at the festival? a pair of earrings with the traditional Japanese Maneki Neko, literally, Beckoning Cat (or lucky cat), which is a symbol of good luck for its owner. I’m grateful for all the help I can get!

Is luck involved in selling our books? Maybe, but I think a genuine appreciation of our own talents, what we’ve accomplished, and the enjoyment of sharing that with others goes pretty far.

Find more photos of the 2025 Tinicum Arts Festival here.

A Very Best Friend

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Growing up in a house with a very anxious mother wasn’t easy. It affected everything and everybody. While I understand as an adult why things were the way they were, it was difficult as a child living with someone who needed to control just about everything. I didn’t consciously know it then, but I longed for someone in the house I could just `be’ with … without intrusion, always accepting, always comforting, and who’d never give up a secret. And my dog became that someone.

When I was 5, my brother 9, our parents decided we were old enough to have a dog, so at Christmas they gave us a beautiful Boxer puppy. I don’t think either of us quite `got’ the concept of having a dog at Christmas when there were still so many other exciting presents to open and play with. But Tinkerbell, as she was named, was not to stay with us very long. Within a few months she developed epilepsy. I don’t remember seeing the seizures my mother described Tink having on the kitchen floor, with blood and foam spewed all over the room. Perhaps I willed myself to forget. There were no cures for epilepsy back then, and Tinkerbell’s only option was to be returned to spirit. I was so young, and hadn’t become very attached to her yet, I don’t think I completely understood what had happened.

Then our parents got another dog. She was sold to them as a Boxer, 6 months old. I recall my mother being so happy that she didn’t drool like other Boxers whose faces were pushed in. There was a reason for that … she wasn’t really a Boxer. At best, she was a Boxer/pit bull terrier mix. My obedience trainer, when he looked at my childhood photos of her, told me that she was pure, and that was how they bred American Pit Bull Terriers back then. It didn’t matter … she quickly became the best friend and confidante I longed for. Her name was Dutchess. My mom had `officially’ named her Dutchess Von Wiggles because she had a butt that was constantly in happy motion.

Dutch couldn’t sleep with me as she wasn’t allowed on the second floor, so I slept with her whenever I could downstairs. We watched TV together, me resting my head gently on her side; and we curled up in sleep on the living room floor. Dutchess learned all the tricks a dog learns, and loved to go for walks or play outside in the yard. I can honestly say, in a way that only a dog or animal lover would understand, she was everything to me … she was my best friend. I did have a human best friend – happily, I always had friends — and I had my big brother to play with and taunt, but Dutchess was different. She was just what I needed – another soul in the house that simply loved me straight out, no matter what. And I adored her for that.

When I was little, my parents would cover her eyes and ears and I would hide. Then they’d let her go … “Find Jeanne!!” And Dutchess would search every nook and cranny downstairs to see where I was hiding, just bursting into wiggling, wagging joy when she found me. What child doesn’t live for those moments? She made me feel safe in a childhood where feeling emotionally safe wasn’t easy. Dutch was the heart, soul, and embodiment of unconditional love. She was both my rock and my wings, my compass and stars; she was my comfort and confidante. She was one little girl’s very best friend.

* This story was originally posted in 2007, and has been edited and updated.

Gardening Glow

/ still a dreamer / 13 Comments

Finally! A bright, sunny day! We’ve had so much rain lately, and there hasn’t been much inspiration or sunshine to even go walking, let alone take pictures.

I grabbed the opportunity one dry morning and walked, admiring all my neighbors’ landscaping and planting efforts. These are my favorite photos among those I took.

There are a fair amount of gardeners here who know what they’re doing with perennials and shrubs. They plant creatively and with great timing so there is always something blooming throughout the summer. I consider this a true art.

What I also appreciate is the appearance of entire gardens growing wild, even though how these areas are planted, in most cases, was carefully planned.

I did a fair amount of gardening at the first house I moved into on this side of the state, almost entirely with annuals. Admittedly, it looked very pretty, and complemented many perennials already in place, but my humble efforts still left me in “aspiring gardener” status (in my opinion.)

Cheers to all the gardeners in my neighborhood and beyond for their contribution to making this world a lovelier place.

Music Makes It Better

/ still a dreamer / 4 Comments

It can’t make it all better, but it definitely does make it better.

In the morning, when I settle down to do some follow-up on my recent posts on Instagram; add a couple stories; check in and read recent updates of those I follow; it is largely a very positive experience. Often, in these meanderings, I find new music, posted through one avenue or another.

It’s hard these days to read much, though, without running headlong into posts on IG or Threads of the chaos that is consuming this country. It’s deeply disturbing, beyond saddening. And then I came across this song, Sand Drawing. A beautiful respite.

Judah Earl is a young American composer, arranger, and producer. He plays the cello, and in this song has woven in strains of calm and peace, a refuge from the daily assaults we are now subjected to. I dare say that it has something almost holy about it.

Music somehow always makes it better. I know, because a lifetime of leaning on its shoulders, bowing my head into notes that are timeless, tell me so.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . .

“To be creative means to be in love with life. You can be creative only if you love life enough that you want to enhance its beauty, you want to bring a little more music to it, a little more poetry to it, a little more dance to it.”
~ Osho

Tinicum – the Difference of A Year

/ still a dreamer / 6 Comments

I am very grateful to be invited to be at the Tinicum Arts Festival Author’s Table again this year. I was first invited to participate in July 2022, a month before my book was even released. I had a lighted canvas made up, bookmarks, and handouts to encourage book sales the following month. My wings, of course. And one lone sample book marked “Please do not remove”. It was all I would have for a while.

I loved chatting about my book with all who stopped by, as I did again in 2023. But 2024, invited once more, was a bit of a different story.

Last year’s event was preceded by four months of Jazzy’s slow fall into increasing neurological issues that could not be identified through endless amounts of tests. This culminated in my needing to say my last goodbye to her on the Friday right before my Sunday appearance at the arts festival.

I didn’t want to go. Didn’t know how I could possibly face discussing anything, even my book, with strangers considering the loss of this small, steadfast companion I’d adopted at three, and known and loved for eleven years.

But I went. It was a wonderful distraction. For an hour or so, I lost myself in talking about my book with so many lovely people. When my time was up, I wandered among the vendors, and found these:

No sooner had I paid, than the sky blackened and thunder rumbled in the west. I gathered my book-ish things and made a run for the car, sitting there for 15 minutes in a torrential downpour.

Jazzy was a very opinionated girl. Perhaps she left me with a small token of her love and a farewell to remember.

But the Tinicum Arts Festival … I am completely looking forward to greeting folks, signing books, and talking about writing, butterflies, art, and more on Saturday, July 12th. Please stop by if you’re in the area.