Full Circle Moments

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By Saralyn Richard

Once in a while in the writers’ journey, serendipitous moments occur, and they seem magical. I’ve had three such moments recently and will share them with you.

First of all, I’m writing an historical mystery that takes place in my hometown, Galveston, Texas, after the 1900 Storm, which is still the deadliest natural disaster in the history of America. In the information-gathering stage, I invited newsletter subscribers to send me names and/or stories of relatives from that place and time.

While I waited for responses, I worked on making burial arrangements for my cousin, Jill Jacobson, a Hollywood actress who grew up in nearby Beaumont, Texas. The plan was to bring Jill’s remains to Beaumont for burial in the family plot.

One of my newsletter subscribers sent me an email saying that I would be hearing from her friend, Betty, who had some 1900 Storm stories. Betty and I ended up chatting on the phone for more than an hour about her family’s experiences in the storm. During the conversation, Betty mentioned growing up in Beaumont, so I asked her if she knew my cousin Jill, and I told her what I was setting up with the cemetery.

To my surprise, and Betty’s, we realized that Jill is Betty’s cousin, too, on the opposite side of the family. So Betty is going to come to the memorial service, which she wouldn’t have known about if not for my work-in-progress.

The second full circle moment occurred last week at Then and Now Bookshop during ArtWalk. I was selling books at a table in the bookstore, when a mother and her nineteen-year-old daughter came over to look at my books.

The cover of Naughty Nana, the children’s book narrated by the real Old English sheepdog puppy, Nana, caught their eyes. “Oh, we remember Nana! We’re big Nana fans!” the mother said. “We were at the library when you brought Nana there to do a reading a long time ago, and we’ve followed Nana ever since.”

They were sad, but not surprised, that Nana crossed the Rainbow Bridge two years ago, but we reminisced about Nana’s many appearances in parades, on tv, at schools, etc. They purchased some of my other books, signed up for my newsletter, and left. The next day, I sent the mother an email with pictures from that long-ago library event they attended. Something made me include a drawing that one of the children did for Nana that day.

The next day I received a return email. The daughter was indeed one of the children in the picture, and she was the one who drew that treasured note to Nana. Thirteen years later, I still have the original!

The third full circle moment happened that same day at the same bookshop. One of the customers came up to my table asking if I was a local author, and if I was “BOI” (born on island). Being a BOI locks you into an immediate fraternity of special people. In fact, there are pregnant women who insist on delivering their babies in Galveston, so the babies can attain that status.

Turned out that customer was also a BOI, and she mentioned her connection to Dominican High School, a Catholic girls’ school here. I said, “I’m sure you knew my dear friend, Father Frank Fabj.”

That opened up a squealing that galvanized the entire bookshop. Yes, she knew Father Frank well. He was important to her and her family through several life cycle events. She was astounded to see that I dedicated A Palette for Love and Murder to him. She clutched the book to her chest, the same way I do sometimes when I think of and miss Frank’s presence.

The two of us, complete strangers moments before, bonded over the dedication in a book, and we ended up shedding tears and hugging together.

Recently, an interviewer asked me what surprised me most about becoming a writer, and I answered something about the network of readers and fellow authors I’ve met and the friendships I’ve made. The books that I’ve published are only the vehicles. The transmission of thoughts and feelings and ideas that comes from being a writer and a reader is what really counts—that is the basis for these magical, delightful, and, yes, thrilling connections with others.

I’d love to hear about one of your full circle moments.

 

Saralyn Richard writes award-winning mysteries, including the Detective Parrott mystery series, Bad Blood Sisters, Mrs. Oliver’s Twist, A Murder of Principal, and Naughty Nana, a children’s book. An active member of International Thriller Writers and Mystery Writers of America, Saralyn has taught creative writing and literature. Her favorite thing about being an author is interacting with readers like you. For more information, check https://saralynrichard.com.

My Accidental Career

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Have you ever bluffed your way into a job?

In my ongoing task of digging through the overwhelming amount of my family’s old photos and papers to form some semblance of an organized archive, I’ve recently encountered episodes of my life that I haven’t thought about in years. Including the one that turned me into a professional writer.

It started with accepting an emergency assignment for a job I knew nothing about.

One Friday morning in L.A., a friend called me at work to ask if I could fill in for a journalist who was scheduled to cover the opening of a new tennis camp in Lake Tahoe over the weekend. Apparently, the designated reporter fell ill at the last minute, and the magazine was desperate to find a replacement.

Would I take the gig?

I knew zero about the game of tennis, but the magazine didn’t know that. They hadn’t asked. That’s how desperate they were.

The job meant a few extra bucks for me, and I had no weekend plans. So, that evening, I borrowed a racket from a friend, packed a bag and boarded the next puddle jumper from L.A. to Tahoe to cover the event.

This was in pre-Internet days, so there was no way for me to access information about the game of tennis or the new camp, a reality that hadn’t sunk in until I was on the plane. I told myself that a reporter’s job was just to ask questions, which helped calm my nerves. After all, I’d written lots of reports in high school and college. What could be so hard about writing this one?

By the time I arrived, it was almost midnight. I’d already missed the welcome dinner and any chance to find out anything in advance of  tomorrow’s Opening Day’s activities.

The first thing I learned when I arrived at the courts the next morning was that the camp’s purpose was to teach tennis professionals how to teach tennis. All the attendees were accomplished players. All fifteen or so of them were there to get certified as tennis pros at various country clubs around the nation. Since they were already seasoned athletes, the training was sure to be exceedingly rigorous. And I was expected to participate.

After a long and excruciating first day on the court, I was ready for bed as soon as the sun set. When I woke the next morning, my legs were completely in spasm. I rolled off the bed onto the floor and belly-crawled to the bathroom, then hoisted myself into the bathtub. After a few minutes of soaking in warm water, the cramps relaxed just enough for me to hobble to the courts in time for a second round of torture. All the pros were already warming up, practicing their sleek forehands, twisty backhands, powerful overhead smashes, cunning lobs, and the rest of the words in my new sports vocabulary.

I returned to L.A., turned in my report, and collected the check. The next month, Tennis Illustrated  published the article. A few weeks later, they called to ask if I’d be interested in being their editor. The offer was almost twice what my job as Assistant to the Director of Production at The American Film Institute paid, so I accepted.

And then I really panicked. I wasn’t really sure what an editor did. And all I knew about the tennis world was from those two days at the resort. How could I possibly run the magazine?

Luckily, the friend who had loaned me his racket came to the rescue again. Not only did he know tennis, but he’d also been the editor of his college newspaper. He gave me his extra racket along with a manual of editorial squiggles (which I came to learn were called “proofreaders’ marks”) so I’d know how to mark copy.

That is how, while I was still in my twenties, my life as a professional writer began. After a couple of years of covering big tournaments and interviewing tennis greats, I moved on to the masthead of a lifestyle magazine, where I earned a national journalism award. And then I turned to writing novels, which also happened to me out of the blue. But that’s a story for another time.

Today, with my multi-award-winning Samantha Newman Mystery Series—and beloved writing colleagues all over the country—I’m thrilled to be part of the publishing community. And I’m working on another book. But that is another story for another time.

To all the aspiring writers out there, keep writing. You never know when good luck might lead you to your best life.

Gay Yellen’s award-winning writing career began in magazine journalism.  She later served as the contributing writer for the international thriller, Five Minutes to Midnight (Delacorte), which debuted as a New York Times “Notable.”

Her multi-award-winning Samantha Newman Mystery Series is packed with suspense and laced with touches of romance, heart, and humor. Available on Amazon or through your favorite bookseller. 

What Ever Happened to …?

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Whatever happened to the classmates in your old school yearbooks?

What happened to their dreams? And what happened to yours? Are all the memories tucked away in a box somewhere, or proudly displayed on your bookshelf? Have you looked at them lately and reminisced? Or were those years best left to be forgotten?

In my continued slog through what remains from my mother’s storage unit, I came across a boxful of her college yearbooks, plus one from her high school, and one from my father’s high school, too. Together, they weighed fifteen pounds, and were large enough to overwhelm my already over-burdened  bookshelves. So I wondered…

… What to do with these old books book now?

I pored over the pages of Mom’s books, looking for her familiar young face and checking out her class activities. Most of them were familiar to me: French club, a campus play or two, a modeling job, a social club, etc.

My Dad had saved only one annual from his small town high school. Seeing his teenage smile was a moment to savor.

But, hidden among the pages was something truly wonderful, something I had overlooked when I was hurriedly packing them up.

The dreams of a young man from a small town

I finally decided to call our city library to ask if they had any interest in old school yearbooks. Yes, they replied, but only if they didn’t already have them in their collection. So I took them there, and just as I was about to hand them over, I had a last minute urge to check them again.

And that’s when I found the clipping from an old newspaper.

You see, my father once told me that his first ambition in life was to become a pro baseball player.

He was a Dad who shared his love of the sport with this lucky little girl. He taught me the rules of the game, and how to throw and catch and bat. Took me to local community games, where he coached a local team. And he was among the first to buy season tickets when our town got a pro baseball franchise.

After he died, I remembered seeing an old newspaper clipping with the headline “Ace Yellen Does it Again.” I don’t know what happened to that article. I hope it shows up someday. But for now, I’m planning to frame the one I rescued from his yearbook that day as I was about to leave the books there.

In case you can’t read the fine print, the article reports that in this game, he’d pitched an 8-0 shutout and hit a home run. And a double, too. No wonder he loved baseball. Apparently, he was pretty darn good at it.

It’s funny what happens when you start to see your parents as young people, after they’re gone. As a writer, I’m suddenly getting an urge to merge parts of their stories into something I’d like to write. Who knows? Perhaps Ace Yellen will spring to life in one of them and hit a walk-off homer.

Have you looked through your old yearbooks lately? 

Gay Yellen’s award-winning writing career began in magazine journalism.  She later served as the contributing editor for the international thriller, Five Minutes to Midnight (Delacorte), which debuted as a New York Times “Notable.”

Her multi-award-winning Samantha Newman Mystery Series is packed with suspense and laced with touches of romance, heart, and humor. Available on Amazon or through your favorite bookseller. 

 

A Journey to the Past (and the Present)

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by Paula Gail Benson

Riverview Holiday Inn from Website

Last week, I made a trip to Charleston, S.C., for an appointment scheduled early on Wednesday morning. I live about an hour and a half to two hours away, so I decided to go down the day before to be on time and not have to fight the traffic.

Years ago, on perhaps my first visit to Charleston, I stayed with my family at the Riverview Holiday Inn, an octogonally shaped hotel on the Savannah Highway that overlooks the Ashley River. I made a reservation to stay there. I remembered that the top floor restaurant offered a wonderful view of the marina and the city.

When I arrived, I learned that the stay included breakfast in the restaurant and that a shuttle was available to take me to my appointment, so I didn’t have to figure out directions or navigation. Breakfast was either a buffet or order from the menu. I thoroughly enjoyed the buffet. The phenomenal views were still available, and this time included the Ravenel Bridge in the distance.

Here are a couple of photos I took.

View of the Marina

View of the Bridge

Following my appointment, I called Lamont, the shuttle driver, who came directly to retrieve me. I had been thinking about going somewhere I had never been to in Charleston, the Bowens Island Restaurant, noted for its excellent seafood (particularly the oysters) and its shabby chic atmosphere. A few years ago, the restaurant burned down, but its owners rebuilt, and I had heard plenty of people brag it was the place to go.

After consulting with Lamont, who agreed it was an excellent choice and advised me to go before 3:00 pm to avoid the traffic, I headed to Bowens Island. As you can see from the photos, it is a relaxed setting that focuses on great food and customer comfort and service.

When part of my order was missing, the server brought me a full extra plate, which was absolutely delicious. I definitely will be returning, and Lamont gave excellent advice about the traffic.

Have you ever returned to a place you visited in the past and been delighted to find it still as charming as you remember? If you haven’t been and want to create a new memory, I recommend Charleston, S.C., and Bowens Island Restaurant. I predict you’ll love both.