Liz Flaherty - Romance Author

Class Reunion

2008-08-03T08:08:00.000-07:00

It was my high school class reunion. My 40th--yikes! About 70 of us, including 42 classmates from the original 92, met at the local museum (Would that be the museum of ancient history? asked my daughter Kari), where we ate and drank and talked and talked and talked. (Actually, if you want to see where we met, it's here www.miamicountymuseum.com)

I was not a mover or a shaker in North Miami High School's class of '68. I was more of a sitter and talker. But 40 years after the fact, when most of us are a little heavier and a lot grayer--well, some are grayer; many use a lot more hair color, myself included--it doesn't really matter who moved and shook and who didn't. It was just fun to see each other and finish each other's sentences because even though our lives have gone off in a starburst of directions, our beginnings were the same.

The subject matter of conversations was different than it used to be. We used to talk about our kids and now we talk about their kids. We used to talk about beginning new jobs and now we talk about winding down the ones we've had for a long time. Many of of have retired. Many more of us are thinking about it. What will you do? we ask each other, and we are pleased that no one plans to be bored or go quietly into that good night. We made noise and had sometimes raucous fun when we were young and I believe we intend to continue that into our old age. With somewhat less agility, of course.

Do you still write? people asked me. And I shrugged and mumbled and said I didn't know if I really did or not. But I do. Of course I do. Writing's like breathing to me, so I'll always do it. And I want to go to college--which I've never done--and volunteer at this place and that one. But I'm not sure, I told my friend Patty who has suffered such great pain in recent years and still looks wonderful, what I want to be when I grow up.

Some of us know. Nan is going to play more golf. Call me, I said. I'll go along and ride in the cart and drink. No one wants me to play golf--I'm godawful--but I'm a good rider-alonger and I'm fond of margaritas. You know, the frozen kind with very little booze but a lot of delicious slush. Marsha's going to play bridge. Jim's wife Becky, who is not a classmate but is funny and puts up with Jim :-), doesn't know what she's going to do, only that it will be whatever she wants. Many will travel more, will do more on ebay, will spend more time with the kids' kids.

And in five years, we'll meet again. Someone asked if our next gathering would be in the nursing home and Jeann said, No, probably the retirement center--the one after that will be in the nursing home. And that'll be fine. We'll talk and talk and talk and hug each other hello and goodbye and discuss what we want to be when we grow up just as we always have.

Wasn't it Dickens who started a story with, "It was the best of times. It was the worst of times..." I'll cut that a little short in reference to the the class reunion. It was just the best of times.

Summertime, and the living is...busy

2008-06-24T16:37:00.000-07:00

Someone mentioned that I don't blog much, and she was right. I'm sorry, I moaned back, but the 24 hour days just aren't long enough anymore. And they're not. I'm just so tired all the time, I whined to a friend recently, and she said yes, everyone is. We are.
I remember summers of going to 40-some baseball games when my sons played on two different leagues. I remember the summer I sewed dresses for two flower girls, three bridesmaids, and my daughter the bride. I remember when we had a garden the size of--oh, I don't know, but it was way too big. If memory serves, there were only 24 hours in a day then, too, but somehow they lasted longer.
Well, complaining aside, it's a nice summer here in North Central Nowhere. The days are lovely and warm and the nights are lovely and cool.
I saw Mari, my oldest granddaughter, graduate from high school. I sniffled through the whole thing and I am so proud of her.
My daughter Kari and I went to Shipshewana, Indiana to the biggest flea market I've ever seen. We walked around until my feet were falling off, but I got two sets of sheets and we ate some truly excellent chicken and noodles for lunch.
My third grandson, Connor, played T-ball this summer. He played for the Yankees, and my husband said the Yankees were a big team from New York. Connor gave him a disapproving look and said No, they were from kindergarten.
I hung hummingbird feeders on the front porch as I always do, and was disappointed not to draw the usual crowd of the little birds. Until I realized we'd drawn another crowd. Two pairs of orioles feasted on hummingbird nectar for several weeks. They left as suddenly as they'd come.
Deer congregate in our 3-acre yard. They drink water from the low spot and chomp on whatever deer chomp on. (Last year it was two new trees; they apparently don't like the ones we planted this year.) We sit on the back porch and watch them. They stare up at us once in a while, then go back to whatever they were doing.
Oops, I need to throw a reading commercial in here. Kathleen Gilles Seidel's Keep Your Mouth Shut and Wear Beige is a splendid addition to the keeper shelf. Likewise Pamela Morsi's Last Dance at the Jitterbug Lounge.
As I read this, it seems as though I'm spending these summer days watching life rather than participating in it. And maybe I am. But I'm enjoying it, every single too-short day of it, no matter how much I complain.
I hope you are, too.

Let it be spring...

2008-04-04T15:26:00.000-07:00

PLEASE!!!!

In all honesty, winter in Indiana didn't start in earnest until after Christmas--they need to let me do something about that calendar--but I swear it's lasted for years.

In all other honesty, not much is going on. My job keeps me busy, plus I allow plenty of time for the blahs. I've never watched much television, you know, because I don't like anything that's on the 250 channels we are alloted by our satellite provider. (You can only watch all the movie renditions of Jane Austen books and "Murder, She Wrote" so many times.)

However.

When it's winter for months and months at a time and your current WIP seems to be indefinitely stuck on Chapter Six, it's amazing what you can watch! I watch M*A*S*H reruns, "Reba" reruns, "Andy Griffith" reruns--do I detect a pattern here?

That being said, it's time for all you romance and women's fiction writers out there to turn from the TV screen to the computer one and get going on an entry to PASIC's Book of Your Heart contest for 2008. The contest is a winner every time. Here's the link http://www.pasic.net/contest.html
Don't miss your chance to have your entry judged by booksellers from every corner of the country.

Well, there's a platter of brownies in the kitchen calling my name (I can hear it--"Hey, chubby, come on down..."). I wish you all a happy spring.

Happy Valentine's Day

2008-02-13T13:35:00.000-08:00

Hello! I'm sorry I'm not a better blogger, really I am! However, the truth is that I'm lazy. Anyway, I hope you're all having a great February and that you particularly enjoy Valentine's Day. I also hope you love somebody special and that they love you back.

Basketball's all over Hoosierland these days. Our high school teams are doing especially well. The girls won their sectional--GO WARRIORS!--and now it's on to regional.

Snow's all over, too, and it's been cold, but at least in February, I get hopeful that spring will come.

Speaking of reading, if you get a chance to read Kristin Hannah's newest one, FIREFLY LANE, don't miss it. She's never written a word that wasn't worth reading.

Have great days and God bless you.

Romantic Times Nominee!

2008-01-12T18:39:00.000-08:00

Well, I'm excited. THE DEBUTANTE'S SECOND CHANCE is a 2007 nominee for a ROMANTIC TIMES VIEWERS CHOICE AWARD for best Silhouette Special Edition. Oh, sorry--I know I'm probably shouting, but...well...I'M EXCITED! You can go here and check it out.
http://www.romantictimes.com/books_awards.php?type=book&level=1&year=2007

I hope everyone had wonderful holidays and that you're not having too much trouble getting into the swing of 2008. We got to spend a few days with the Utah branch of our family and it was a great time. (There was a small matter of spending most of a day in O'Hare Airport on the way home that I could have done without, but it was a small price to pay.)

Till next time.

Sweet December

2007-12-09T10:49:00.000-08:00

I don't remember her name.

She was young, blondish, a wife and mom, a schoolteacher. She was only one of the horde of customers who braved the post office last week. I'm a window clerk there, or a retail sales associate, depending on your correctness quotient, and I almost flinched when I saw her. My feet were already falling off, my smile at half-mast, and I didn't think I could say, "May I help you?" one more time without a mid-afternoon shot of caffeine to get me through. I didn't think I could face a customer with seven boxes, two of which were huge, all of which required clumsy customs labels. As luck would have it, though, I got her at my window.

The parcels were for her brother in Iraq, she said. She hoped the customs labels were okay. Her students had helped her fill them out. Helped her pack the boxes. It had become quite a project.

Seven boxes. Uh-huh. That was quite a project, all right. My back was starting to hurt.

Yes, the boxes were for her brother. And his friends. There were individual boxes inside the boxes that he was supposed to divide up. Wow, I said, how many of his friends are you sending to?

Thirteen, she said.

My eyes watered.

Except for these three, she went on, pointing to three smaller boxes. Those three were sent to three individual soldiers. Because they never got anything. They didn't have wives or moms or girlfriends, evidently, and she wanted them to have their own parcels this time.

My eyes overflowed and I sniffled. I'm sorry, I said. I'm a watering pot. Oh, me, too, she said.

We prepared the packages, putting on the customs forms and Priority Mail stickers and massive amounts of postage. My students said I must be rich, she said, to pay all this postage. I'm not, though; it's coming out of my kids' Christmas money. They're little, two months and five years, and they won't know it's a little on the slim side.

I blew my nose and I said, But they'll know when they're older, and they'll be so proud, because it's such a good thing you're doing and such a great thing you're teaching. They'll be proud to have been a part of it.

I gave her the postage total and took her check and wished her and her family a Merry Christmas. After she left, we re-weighed the parcels so that I could pay the oversize fee that had come up on the computer screen, the one I'd seen but she hadn't. But it didn't come up this time, and my big contribution ended up being 55 cents.

I thought over and over of three soldiers who never got any mail and who would get those three boxes, of the students who learned about loving and giving and addition and filling out forms, and of the pretty young teacher . The one I didn't want to wait on. The one whose name I can't recall.

But I'll never forget her.

Happy Thanksgiving...

2007-11-21T17:53:00.000-08:00

I hope you all have a great Thanksgiving, doing what you want to do. The boyfriend and I are going to be on our own and our dinner will be comprised of what we want: one turkey--which equals just tons of turkey sandwiches--and one pumpkin pie. I have to work Friday, and then we're going to spend the weekend with two of our kids' families, eating lobster and shrimp. This is a tradition of theirs that I'm anxious to get used to.

I'm thankful for many things this year: family, health, writing. I lost a dearly loved aunt in September, but she lived a long and--I think--happy life, so it's hard to grieve too much. The year contained the hardest six month I've ever spent in the work force, but I survived and so did the women I work with. I feel like singing "we are the champions, my friends" really loud, but no one ever wants me to sing.

I hope you have a great holiday. Till next time.

2007-11-06T17:49:00.000-08:00

Well, our high school team didn't win sectional, but I went to the championship game and it was--I can't believe I'm using this word--AWESOME! Those kids were so good, so dignified in their loss. As the mom of one of the coaches, I wasn't quite as dignified, maybe, but I was certainly proud of them. So let me have a little moment here to just say GO WARRIORS! and then we can just go on with our conversation. Oops, sorry, I do need to say GO COLTS! first.

I wrote an essay for Senior Women, one of my favorite websites in the world. Go visit if you have a minute to spare. http://www.seniorwomen.com/articles/flaherty/articlesFlaherty30.html

Not much going on here these days, other than it's getting COLD and I still have summer-thin blood. Oh, and we changed times again, which makes me cranky. I'm one of those Hoosiers who was perfectly happy never having to go through the house changing 47 clocks every spring and every fall. I still feel that no matter how many times you change the clocks, there are only 24 hours in a day and in the months of November through January, only two or three of those hours are daylight! However, that's only one of the arguments I've lost in this lifetime.

Speaking of politics, I'm reading journalist Connie Shultz's memoir ...and His Lovely Wife and enjoying it immensely.

Have a good week. Till next time.

The goblins'll get you...

2007-10-23T11:44:00.000-07:00

...if'n you don't watch out! Anyone else remember James Whitcomb Riley? Nothing feels more Halloweenlike than having someone read "Little Orphant Annie" aloud to you. Of course, it probably helps if you're in the fourth grade like I was the first time I heard it, but it's never too late.

Even though I'm not that big on Halloween, the boyfriend and I always buy a couple of bags of candy and turn on the porchlights on Halloween. Then, when no one comes except the three grandkids who live fairly close, we proceed to turn off the lights and eat the candy.

Have a howling good time!

A little of this, a little of that...

2007-10-09T11:21:00.000-07:00

If you're not doing anything this Saturday, the 13th, from 1-3, I'll be signing copies of THE DEBUTANTE'S SECOND CHANCE at Waldenbooks in the Logansport Mall. If you don't want the book, store manager will have cookies on hand, as well as lots of other books...

Speaking of books, I just finished the last of J. K. Rowling's Harry Potter series. Wow. I have no clue how many hours I spent reading the seven books, but not one little bitty minute of it was wasted. Ms. Rowling is--as Henry James notably said Louisa May Alcott was not--a genius. I thank her for the pleasure.

Just a reminder--October is Breast Cancer Awareness month. Don't forget--let me repeat that--DON'T FORGET to get your mammogram. If you can't afford it, call your doctor's office and tell them you can't. They'll help. Or go to www.thebreastcancersite.com/ They'll help, too. Do it.

It's church summer time in these parts. Even if you don't attend services, be sure to attend church suppers. The proceeds go to help those in need, and the food its outstanding!

Till next time...

Fall Colors...

2007-09-29T06:14:00.000-07:00

If you've never lived here in North Central Nowhere, where Nothing Ever Happens and there's Nothing To Do, well, hey, I'm sorry. We're slippery-sliding into autumn right now. Even though the temperatures are still climbing into the 80s on a lot of days, they're also diving headlong into the 40s at night. This means that if no one was looking, some of us would run the air conditioning during midday hours and turn on the furnace when we get up in the morning. (I can't do this because the boyfriend always notices things like that.)

But the colors here--I'm writing this in only one of them--defy description. I remember being so surprised that Vermont in October really does look like calendar pictures. So does Indiana. Plus I'm pretty sure our entire state smells like apples and cornfields and burning leaves. (There's a pig farm down the road that distributes an entirely different smell, but that's only certain times of the day, thank goodness--and carnivore that I am, I do really love ham and pork chops. Sigh.)

Well, I see I'm wandering here, when all I really wanted to do was brag about fall in the Midwest, where it truly is glorious. It sounds like Friday night high school football and crunching leave and feels good. Even though the truth is that things really do happen here and there really are things to do, those of us who were born here love the reputation we have. I think we like knowing something the rest of the world doesn't.

Except that I just told, didn't I? Oh, well...have a good day, everybody.

Cheryl St. John

2007-09-16T17:31:00.000-07:00

I'm so excited! I'm off to visit Cheryl St. John's blog this week. There'll be a drawing for a few books (including my first one, Always Annie, published a looooong time ago), plus some good conversation, so stop by at http.//cherylstjohn.blogspot.com/ and join in.

In other news, my favorite son-in-law, Jim, is an assistant football coach at our local high school--where Duane's and my children and I all graduated--and the Warriors are now 5-0, having broken an 11-year standoff by a regional nemisis.

Have a great week.

Hello to Marion, Indiana

2007-09-08T19:46:00.000-07:00

I'm playing around with color a little here, maybe because it's late and I'm sleepy.

I'm going to be signing books at Waldenbooks in Marion, Indiana on September 15 between 2:00 and 4:00 PM. I'll be glad to see you if you come!

It's going to be a busy day, too, because some friends and I are going to see Gary Puckett that night. Anyone else remember him from his Union Gap days? What a voice he has!

I'm also going to visit Cheryl St. John over at her blog as soon as I can get over there. It's been a hectic week here. Hope you're having a good one!

Thank you...

2007-08-26T09:59:00.000-07:00

Last week, a boy from the town where I work was killed in Iraq. The words look so stark as I type them. They look, I guess, the way it felt when I read it in the paper. I didn't know him, don't know his family; the grief I feel at his loss is only a pinprick compared to what those who love him feel. And yet...

Signs of support and gratitude showed up in front of churches and stores and homes this, the flag at our office flies at half staff, other flags--usually out for the 4th of July and Memorial Day--have come out now. It makes me think of the weeks following 9/11, when we all flew them not only as an "in your face" gesture but also because our grief was unspeakable. Symbolically, we dried our tears with the flag. We were all changed in that week.

And now we are changed again, those of us who stood alongside the street to help escort a dead boy to his final resting place. Veterans stood straight and saluted as the hearse drove slowly past. The procession of vehicles seemed to go on forever. It included at least 100 motorcycles that rode in a pack, their drivers staring straight ahead.

We cried as we stood in silent support. The mail carrier across the street, those among us who are mothers and know the worst thing possible has happened to one of us, the fathers who know it, too, even the children who waved tribute flags as the dark, sad cars passed.

There is nothing I can do, nothing I can say here, that hasn't been done and said before. So I will only say Thank You to all who serve, and hope that those families who lose their loved ones will find their grief lessened by the knowledge that we all share it.

2007-08-12T16:28:00.000-07:00

The boyfriend Duane and I--okay, we've been married for 36 years; I'm just trying for a little excitement here--took a trip down memory lane this weekend. His memories, not mine.

We went 250 miles to Rhodelia, Kentucky to the picnic at St. Teresa's Catholic Church. This is the parish where my father-in-law grew up, across the hollers from where my mother-in-law's family lived. We like to go to the picnic because Mom can't anymore. We call her while we're on the road and she visits "back home" vicariously, reminding us where to place flowers on the graves of family members long gone.

It was suffocatingly hot and humid, we were both tired from a week at work, and I wasn't prepared for anything special. Except for the food, of course. The food at St. Teresa's is superb.

But when we got there, we walked through the museum in the old school, seeing Flaherty cousins in class photographs and in a big writeup from a 50s newspaper when Duane's grandmother had only 84 grandchildren. We saw pictures of the priest who was my husband's namesake.

We laid down dimes for the cakewalk and I won within fifty cents, choosing macadamia cookies. It took the boyfriend more than a dollar, and he took a pan of brownies. We put our names on our prize sweets and left them on the front pew of the church where it was cool. When we went back to get them, someone had taken my cookies, and I wondered if God was reminding me gently that I did just join Weight Watchers--again.

There were reunions with cousins so long unseen that Duane didn't know them until someone took him around and introduced him. And reunions with cousins seen more recently but not on this common ground where they could say, "Remember when?" and they all would. Remember, I mean.

It was a lovely day despite the heat; the friendliness of the little parish made it so. As we drove away, we called Mom again, telling her who we'd seen and that there are no fresh graves in the little cemetery down at Ammons. I mentioned a name and she said, "Oh, my, I was in love with him," and she and I laughed long and loud in a way that women understand and men never will.

Duane and I talked about the day as we headed north, about the pleasure and sometimes the pain that nostalgia can bring. We laughed about the macadamia cookies and I ate one of his brownies.

And the memories? They're mine now, too.

Happy Birthday

2007-08-02T03:08:00.000-07:00

...to me. Not that birthdays thrill me a lot, but having the book coming out soon is making this into exciting time. And while we're talking about birthdays, my oldest granddaughter Mari turned 17 the other day. It kills me seeing her grow up, but her first 17 years have been much easier on us than her dad's were. :-)

We've had a really nice summer here in Indiana, and we're paying for it now. It's HOT and it's MUGGY. This is the way I remember August being when I was a kid. It's better now, with air conditioning everywhere, but it's still hot.

Oh, have you been over to the eharlequin website? I'm featured in the authors' section. It's so cool!

Oops, need to go to work. Have a good day, everyone!

Emotional eating

2007-07-28T12:11:00.001-07:00

I'm on the high side of the 30 pounds I've gained and lost at least 10 times in my adult life. I blame it on work, which has been extraordinarily stressful, but I wonder if I'd be doing food overload even if work was going okay--in which case would I say I'm just fat when I'm happy?

Counting down...

2007-07-25T17:31:00.000-07:00

It's getting down to excitement time for the book and me. I got my free copies in the mail day before yesterday and have been like a kid on Christmas morning every since. Now the site's up--isn't it pretty?

The book won't be out for a month or so. It's kind of like when the kids were little and it didn't seem as though time moved along very quickly (you remember, when you didn't sleep through the night for something like 17 years), but then all of a sudden they were grown and gone. I'm anxious to see this "kid" on the shelves, but not anxious to see it gone!

Hope you're having a good summer!

Oh, my gosh, a blog

2007-07-21T09:21:00.000-07:00

All I've ever done is send in comments, and then only after I misread the security code a couple of times and had to start over.

So, what would you like to talk about? Husbands? I have one of those, have had for 36 years. I've about decided I'll keep him, though there are still days I wouldn't mind loaning him out--a feeling that is entirely reciprocal, I might add. Duane was and is my hero, the father of my kids, a wonderful grandpa to our six grands (stick around--I'll send pictures!), and a musician whose voice and guitar give me heart's ease whenever I hear them.

Or maybe you like cats. I do. We have two, Gabe and Jessy, or maybe I should say they have us. Since I'm housekeeping challenged anyway and don't want to mess with either a litter box or cat hair on the furniture, the cats live outside. This means that the front porch is required to give them all the comforts of home. They have a nice insulated house out there (it's a doghouse, but we haven't told them that), several sets of feeding dishes, toys, and brushes. They also have the porch swing (it's a people swing, but we haven't told them that, either), an entire set of lawn chairs, and a glass-topped table that Duane insists they don't sleep on. (We have told them that--they don't listen.) The cats have long hair, so naturally the front porch does, too. It's a nice porch, really. Just don't go out there wearing black and for heaven's sake, don't sit down!

We can talk about writing if you like, about what it's like to try to start a new career when you're 56 and kind of tired. But mostly, we can just talk. So get comfortable and tell me about your day--I'd love to hear it.