Enjoying The Second Act

The first time I heard that phrase was out of the mouth of Frankie Heck, the mother on "The Middle."  I love that show - a show about an average family with average kids who have quirks and ego and the ability to blend into the wall paper (Sue Heck reminds me of me except she has the guts to try out for everything and I tried out for nothing.)  In one recent episode Frankie is let go of her car sales job and is faced with figuring out what she should do, "What," she asked, "should I do for my Second Act?"  A second act, the chance to do something completely different, a frightening prospect or an opportunity? 

I was faced with the same decision about five years ago.  Due to an unfortunate set of circumstances, I resigned from my position with our local school district and was faced with the question, "What next?" For me, the question wasn't dire.  I am fortunate to have a family situation that allows me to indulge my creativity.  I had time to test the waters, paint, draw and write.  The truth is, if asked, I always wanted to write a book.  I was not unfamiliar with the "writing" world having worked for various publications in the 80s and 90s before shifting to the world of elementary education (which, by the way, has the schedule most conducive to parenting).  I have written pieces on point of purchase advertising, the benefits of end cap displays, unique sales incentives and many a piece on Nuclear Power.  Is your mouth dry yet?  That was NOT what I wanted to go back to writing.  With some gentle prodding from my youngest child (who told me to get off my ass and write a book), I took the intrepid step.  

My first book is a series of humorous essays based on my life and observations.  It was an experiment.  If I could float that, then I could go for what I really wanted to do. . .write fiction.  Is It Just me? or Is Everyone a Little Nuts not only floated, it sailed and still continues to enjoy numerous sales each month.  With that under my belt, I endeavored to write a novel.  In The Name of The Father was inspired by an incident that occurred while on vacation in Virginia Beach and it blossomed into mystery/thriller.

My latest novel, No Such Thing, is a fictional account of a child killer based on events that happened in Michigan on the 70s.  It is both dark and sad but there is a healthy dose of redemption as well.  I am proud of all of my books but, this one, in particular came from deep within.  Amazon chose No Such Thing out of 10,000 entries to be a quarter finalist in its Breakthrough Novel Award.  I am proud of that, too.  The letters I have received from readers along with reviews are remarkable and evidence that I hit a nerve.  Sales of late have been so-so. I'm ok with that.  The feedback I have received has more than validated that I have done a good job.

So, my second act?  I can now say with confidence, I am a writer.

If you have any interest in my books, click on the covers and they should take you to the Amazon links.

My Big Secret

You might have noticed that I haven’t paid much attention to my blog lately. . .then again, maybe you haven’t.  I’m not sure which is worse.  

Most of you know that I have written another book and spent the summer getting it ready to launch.  I have had exciting feedback on this new book - and in case you haven’t heard me talk about it ad nauseum, it’s called In The Name Of The Father.  This book is 180˚ out from the first book.  It was intentional.  If I may speak confidentially, may I?  I wrote the first book because I knew it would be easy for me.  That’s right, I said easy.  It’s not tough to comment on the human condition when it comes to the differences in men and women, they smack me in the face every single day.  Or, to ruminate on my aging body, and justify why I believe wine should be covered by health insurance (that should be a no-brainer!) or share my mishaps with a bag of pot.  So, yeah, in the big picture. . .it was easy.  The big question was, would it sell?  As a control freak, this looming question mark mocked me at every turn.  But, it did. . .and well.  I am proud to say it is still in the Amazon top 10 in humor, parenting and marriage - even after a year.  I learned a lot writing that book, putting it together, marketing it and figuring out what works and what doesn’t.  The one thing I learned was the best thing a writer can do it to write another book.  Luckily, I had one on the back burner of my brain with some haphazard starts on my hard drive.  People would ask, are you writing another book?  I’d answer in the affirmative and they’d just assume it was volume 2 of the first book.  They plied me with stories, suggestions, and ideas and I would listen, all the while knowing I wasn’t writing humor this time.  They were busy regaling me with funny and I was busy killing people off.  

So, on August 10th, a year to the day that I released Is It Just Me? or Is Everyone a Little Nuts!, I released In The Name Of The Father.  I am proud of both books, but this one is where my passion has always been and, I am here to tell you, it is a better book.   As I said, the feedback has been phenomenal.  There’s sex, drugs, language, murder, and even a love story, not your general humorous fare, right?  So, imagine my reaction when, among all of the obvious "thriller" comments, I get a reader who commented, “I thought it was a cute story.”    Cute? 

Huh.

http://www.amazon.com/Name-Father-ebook/dp/B005H0XM4E/ref=sr_1_3?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1316284598&sr=1-3

http://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/in-the-name-of-the-father-judi-coltman/1104814593?ean=2940013120273&itm=2&usri=judi%2bcoltman

Thanks A Lot Harold Camping

In case you weren’t aware of it, the Raptured was scheduled to occur last Saturday, May 21 at 6 p.m.  There was some confusion as to time zones and all, but I think they finally settled on Pacific time.  If you are still here, apparently you weren’t included in the massive rise up.  

Me? I was pretty sure I wasn’t going to be drawn up to the Heavens leaving nothing but the clothes I was wearing in a pathetic heap where I was standing either. So sure was I that I would still be around, I made plans for the evening.  I was going to go looting.  I don’t mean just any old appliance store for a big screen tv or a blu ray player looting, I mean I was gonna amass me some major works of art, architecture and the occassional piece of bling.   

I decided this would be an excellent opportunity to do some decorating.  My first acquisition?  The Last Supper.  I have a wall it could fit on and even if it doesn’t, I could remove the frame and wrap it around a corner. It might class the joint up a bit.  I’ve also always had my eye on the Venus De Milo.  She’d be a nice addition to the front yard. I was thinking I could hang a bird feeder from her somehow or, wait. . .how about some plastic flowers?  Wouldn’t that be cute?  I’ve always admired the colosseum in Rome but without a place to put it, I had to give it some additional consideration and then it dawned on me.  The Byron Football field, duh.  Maybe rename the thing Coltman Stadium.  As for the bling?  I’m not asking fro much there.  The jewel stash of the royals in appealing, however, there is a diamond and emerald bracelet up at Zavius Jewelers that I’ve always coveted and I might just have to go snatch that baby before my spree ends. This opportunity was just too good to be true.  But first, I had to make sure I wasn’t accidentally confused with one of the saved people.  So, I waited it out through the Eastern Daylight Savings Time zone.  To test the waters, I even Facebooked a message to my east coast friends asking if they were still around.  I received no response.  Hmmmm.  Perhaps, I wondered, this is happening by time zone like a sweep across the world.  

Moondoggy and I decided that waiting around for the Rapture was a waste of time, and besides the view would be better out in the open, so we decided to take a walk.  It was a beautiful evening.  The weather was warm, the sun was shining and we headed off on the bike path.  At six o’clock Central Time, we paused.  We waited.  We looked to the sky.  Aaaand nothin’.  Nada.  I was getting a little ticked off because I saw Harold Camping on tv and he PROMISED this was going to happen.  He was adamant and I kinda made my plans around his assurance.  At the very least, I wanted the emerald bracelet and now it didn’t appear that would be happening either.  The Last Supper and Venus would have to stay safe in Paris and my bracelet locked away in a case on Perryville road.  Huff and pouty face.

It was at that moment the church bells started ringing at the United Church like they do every night at six o’clock.  The Tune? “He Arose.”  I think they must have a sense of humor there. 

A Kindred Spirit

Have you ever come across someone who reminds you so much of yourself, you think you may be in a parallel universe?  I recently read Diana Estill's "Stiletto's No More".  Diana has written a column for a number of years but clearly shares the same point of view that I have on the whole aging and parenting thing.  Here is my review:

Stiletto’s No More, by Diana Estill, is a funny, down to earth commentary on the realities of aging. It’s not easy facing the physical changes that occur, without permission I might add, to our bodies when middle age and menopause invade, but Estill faces these occurrences with a wicked wit that any woman will identify with (if not openly then secretly) and embrace. From underwear, to shoes, to the utterly ridiculous and hilarious protocols of local government and the pomp and circumstance involved in the smallest of decisions Estill’s commentary will produce a wry, knowing smile and, in some instances an inappropriate guffaw of which I no longer feel obligated to apologize. 

Diana Estill, author of several humorous books, has written an engaging read perfect for the beach, an airplane or a quiet afternoon. My only wish was that Estill spent more time elaborating, ergo, I wish there was more to read as I was finished too soon.

In case you are looking for something to read. . .just sayin.

Life's a Beach

I recently returned from the best vacation spot I have ever known.  The beach.  Not a drinkable blue Caribbean beach, or a sugar white sand Florida beach or even a palm tree dotted Hawaiian beach.  My beach, the beach to which I have faithfully always returned is Sandbridge in the southernmost coastal tip of Virginia.  I've been going there since I was 8 years old, sharing a week with 4 other girls, all of whom are as close as sisters, and our parents.

This year, my father celebrated his 75th birthday by inviting extended family as well as his own childhood friends to stay in a mammoth house on the beach.  What began in 1968 as 4 adults and 5 girls has, over the years ballooned into Twenty-two what with spouses and children and all.  That plus the additional family and friends turned into thirty-three this summer; an interesting mix of ages, personalities and politics.

Politics.  Let's just say that a lot of "tea" seemed the popular topic.  You'd recognize me at these points in the day because I was the one trying to bury myself in the sand.  No, my idea of vacation includes very little political brain exercise - especially when the topic is Newt (For which my father proudly shares his nickname) Gingerich.  The only Ginger rich things I was interested in was the delectable bread that one of the guests brought with her ( 12 loaves!)

Our oldest guest was hovering around 80 years old while the youngest, a set of twins were going to be 8 years old soon.  It is safe to say that in our house the majority of guests were mid 70's.  This house had a pool which, for hardy beach girls like myself, is a whimps way to swim.  I mean where is the challenge in a pool?  There are no waves to negotiate, no jellyfish to avoid, crabs to step on or dolphins to chase (nor are there any cute boys to discover, oogle and fantasize about.)  On the first morning at the beach, one of the young twins stood by the pool gate shaking his head.  "Why do we have a pool at the beach?" he asked.  I had to tell him the truth, "It's for the old people.  This house is FULL of old people and you know what THAT means."  He dramatically rolled his eyes and replied, "I sure do!  It means I havta stay off their lawns!"

Considering the political climate of the group we were spending the week with, I think the 8 year olds advice was probably the wisest.