In Praise of Late Bloomers

 

A few weeks ago, I had breakfast with a friend whose balcony overlooks Mobile Bay. The sun was shining, the day warmer than usual, the cloudless sky a clear blue, and the bay water an intense blue glinting with diamonds of sunlight. Although it was hard to leave the pleasant scene, there were things to do, so I pulled myself away from the beauty of the morning and made my way toward town. As I passed the park along the bay, I caught my breath at the sight of a large flower bed near the road. Hundreds of red tulips were in full bloom in a stunningly glorious display. Although our weather had been unusually warm for several days, it was quite a surprise to see the riot of color. But errands called, so I made my way toward the bank. As I waited in the drive-through line, the loveliest music played on NPR: Beethoven’s Symphony No. 2 for Violin. The sight of the tulips and remembering the music carried me through the rest of the day and into the rest of the week.

When I rode by the park a week later, I was dismayed to find no blossoms in the large patch of tulips. A few days earlier, we experienced heavy rain and high winds. I suppose the downpour or the wind had stripped every petal and blown them away. The stems were a sad reminder of what had been so lovely only a few days earlier.

One day last week, I passed the same park again. Much to my delight, a single red blossom stood among the bare stems. One lone late bloomer. It didn’t have the mass of surrounding blooms from before, but something about the single tulip, one flower shining on its own, seemed almost more impressive than the luxuriant mass of earlier blooms. So here’s to late bloomers, flowers, or people. What a joy you are!

Twenty Minutes of Fame?

 

We've probably all heard the expression "fifteen minutes of fame." So why am I suggesting that I might have five extra minutes - or any minutes - of fame? It's just a play on words that I'm using to hopefully catch your eye and invite you to a presentation I'll be part of on Thursday night.

The Fairhope Public Library hosts a Local Authors Night program six times a year. Three local authors present their books, and the community has an opportunity to meet the authors. Some authors are self-published and may be new at this; others are well-known, maybe even veterans of the best-seller lists.

Friends and fans gather in the Giddens Conference room for the hour-and-a-half program. Each author has about 20 minutes to talk about their book or being an author. The audience then has about 10 minutes to ask questions. Books are available for purchase; if sold, the author contributes a small portion of the sales to the library. However, it is also acceptable to come to hear the presentations without feeling pressured to buy. Come to support the presenters, have a chance to talk with them, and meet others in the community who enjoy the benefits of the library.

One look at the library schedule and see why it is such a vital part of Fairhope. It offers many programs for every age participant besides the books on the shelves. I want to put in my plug here: I'm so grateful that during the pandemic, while everything was closed, I could download dozens of books to read while at home. And even though I now participate in an in-person discussion book club, I still download books. A "real" book is still a joy, but for the longer books, it is sometimes more comfortable for my old hands to hold an e-reader rather than a 500-page bound volume. The library offers both!

Back to the fame bit. No, it may not be 20 minutes of fame for me, but this week's program should be fun. I've met one of the other authors and know she will be interesting. In addition, the event will allow me to meet the third author for the first time. I hope you'll join us.

Local Authors Night

 featuring Deborah McDonald, Willie Taylor, and me!

January 19, 2023. Fairhope Public Library. 6:00 – 7:30 PM

Those Writing Butlers!

 

The times we gathered with the Butler side of my family were always interesting. It seems that all of us liked to talk – a lot. Conversations varied but usually included family stories or anecdotes, some repeated so often that one uncle began holding up fingers for how many times he’d heard it. So I suppose it was inevitable that some of us would decide to write about ourselves, each other, or other interests.

I’m not sure how far back the literary legacy goes, but our great-grandmother, Carrie Campbell Butler, wrote short stories. Her great-granddaughter, Carrie Campbell, compiled and published “Carrie Campbell Butler Remembered,” which includes memories written by her son and granddaughters and a couple of the short stories. 

Carrie Butler’s grandson, J. Warren Butler, wrote a brief autobiography, “One of the Twins,” that detailed his time in WWII. He made copies for family members but declined to publish it formally. However, he was interviewed and recorded for the Library of Congress. That interview is still available: John Warren Butler Collection (AFC/2001/001/05562), Veterans History Project, American Folklife Center, Library of Congress.

His son, Craig G. Butler, wrote an article, “Twins from Cotton Fields in Louisiana,” which appeared in The AF News in March 2012. It talked about those ‘famous’ Butler boys in WWII. His son, John Butler, wrote about a different battle, cancer, in his book, “Envying Job,” published in 2014. Finding out about his book made me think of family history.

The twins suggested that my mother write her autobiography. At the time, she was losing her eyesight and could no longer see to write. She made a few attempts to record information on cassette tapes, but unfortunately, changes in her health did not allow her to complete the task. Time elapsed after her death before I finally decided to transcribe that information and add to it to complete the book “V. B. R.: My Mother’s Story,” published in 2014. Some excerpts are also in “Alalitcom” 2004, 2007, 2015, and “Listen Up: Alabama Women Speak” 2019.

Lest you think we only write about ourselves, my cousin, William B. Butler, published “The Fur Trade in Colorado” in 2012. Extensively researched, besides the fur trade, it’s a look at what life in the American West was like on the frontier. And though I usually write more in the memoir genre, “Bugs, Catalpa Worms…and Murder” is my undertaking in the cozy mystery area.

I hope I haven’t left anyone out. If so, all you Butler kin need to let us know if you’ve written. Scattered across the country, we haven’t kept up. As is usually the case, the older generations are no longer with us, and we of the younger generation don’t seem to get together or keep in touch. We need a family reunion!

 

 

Clarifying the Name thing

It has come to my attention that I've confused some of you. Am I Carol Ann or Carol? Carol Robbins, as in my pen name, or Carol Camp, (my first married name and the name of my biological sons and three grandchildren,) or Carol Hull, my subsequent married name and the name of my step-sons and three more grandchildren?)

On July 23, 2013 I participated in a class "Blogging for Beginners." on the third day of the class I had to name my blog, and give the name I'd be writing as author. I hold all of my names through the years in deep affection. All have been important to me, and each one fit at the time. 

The following is from the blog that I wrote on July 28, 2013. My reasoning remains the same today.

"My parents gave me the name Carol Ann Robbins at birth and, as was the tradition in the South at the time, I was always called the double name, Carol Ann. However as a teenager I thought it would be more sophisticated to drop the Ann, so when we moved to Montgomery and I began a new high school, I told teachers and new friends that I did not use my middle name. When I married I became Carol Robbins Camp, and signed all art I produced in that name. After many years I was divorced, but kept my married name. After several years I remarried and became Carol Robbins Hull. Subsequent art was produced under that name, but the question of how to make known that the work under different names arises often. In preparing to publish my first book, I have decided that I will publish it, and any future writing, under the only name that has been constant for me, Carol Robbins."

As to the blog - well I've been awful at keeping it going. Some of the entries from the first year or two are some of my favorites if you'd like to take a look at them.

Is there such a thing as writer's remorse?

 We've all heard of buyer's remorse, that condition of buying something, often on a whim, then questioning or regretting the cost, action, or the item. I have personal experience with that but won't revisit those events at this time. 

I also admit that my mouth has gotten ahead of my brain at times and I've said things that later I wished I'd phrased differently or not said at all. Once words leave our mouths they cannot be unsaid. But what if the words were unspoken, but written? Oh, the implications! Yes. on at least one occasion I've written something in a letter, and when said letter slid through the slot at the post office it was too late to change my mind about the contents. What if the words were not in a letter, but in a published work?

As I mentioned in my last blog, I've been working on a cozy mystery that I started ten or so years ago - that I unearthed it and began the task of editing it again. I soon found editing to be not only tedious but seemingly an unending process. Checking for spelling, word usage, and grammatical errors can be one thing, polishing the story another. Then there was the decision to search for an agent and publisher or self-publish. My decision to self-publish may be what triggered my possible writer's remorse.

Had I decided to seek an agent and publisher there would have been someone not only to decide if the story were worth publishing but also to assist me in making possible changes. In choosing to self -publish I did not have that guidance from the pros. However, I did not do this entirely alone. I had help in formatting and cover production, for which I am very thankful, but they could only work with what I provided. Then came the next part: uploading it to KDP, ordering proof copies (which showed that I had errors to correct) making changes, and ordering more proof copies, which I am awaiting as I write this. So there could be more problems before this thing is actually published, and several chances to back out of the whole thing.  

But here I go, doing it anyway. It seems important to hold the actual book in my hand or see it on my e-reader. Perhaps this is a holdover from my school days when deadlines had to be met for turning in term papers or finishing a project. But self-doubt has reared its ugly head, whispering to me in the wee hours, "Are you sure this isn't going to be an embarrassment that you brought it to the light of day? Should you have just left it in the drawer and chalked it up to just writing practice rather than publishing it?"  

One thing I can say is that it wouldn't be the first time I've been embarrassed over something and that I usually managed to move forward afterward. So I'm giving it a go. Good, bad, or in-between, I'm putting it out there - soon I hope. Let the remorse fall where it may. 

Coulda, Woulda, Shoulda

  

 I’m sorry about neglecting this blog for so long. My excuse? There isn’t any good one, but there are some. Yes, I did go through a major move. Unfortunately, I wasn’t smart enough to hire a moving company that packs everything; I didn’t hire a moving company at all. I’d carted most anything that would fit in my small SUV to my new condo in south Alabama during my many trips back and forth. After all, I planned to keep both places for a few years, using the condo as a get-away place until I decided to make Fairhope my permanent home.  

My definition of insanity is putting my house on the market before I was ready to see if there was any interest in the property, thinking it would take months to sell. It sold the first day it was listed. And the buyers insisted on closing in precisely one month. I went into a tailspin. A cousin was pressed into service, helping me transport multiple loads of treasures to any place that would take them. She and a friend also helped me pack, pack, and pack some more. As the deadline approached for closing and the chips were down, there was nothing to do but hire a rental truck and driver to take everything else from the house (and there was way more than any of us thought) to a rental storage unit in my new town. The driver transported it all on the first Saturday of March 2020. Does that date ring a bell? Yes, it was about a week before Covid became an issue, and we all went into “stay at home” mode. 

It should have been an easy decision to get my condo organized, unpack all that was there, or perhaps go to the storage unit to go through things there and make more complicated decisions on what to do with all the extra stuff. Shoulda, coulda, woulda, or whatever that saying is. But none of that happened. I went into Covid mentality of “it can wait until tomorrow since I can’t go anywhere anyway,” so I didn’t take care of any of that. 

Fellow writing friends all said it might be a good time to write a lot. But I found that very few did. Although, in my defense, I did read. A lot. My library card was gold because I could download e-books without venturing from the sofa. Since my brain was more or less addled, I often selected cozy mysteries because they were a faster read than some of the heavier non-fiction. I fell in love with the characters in the cozies, just as I had some years ago, to the extent that I’d attempted to write one myself. As things began to lift, I finally pulled out that old manuscript determined to clean it up and publish it. 

I took a workshop, “How to Publish Your Novel for $100.00,” at the senior center. After all, I’d already done most of the work, right? Wrong. Editing is one of the most tedious jobs in the world. But I had to do the preliminary work before turning it over to someone else to do the final edit. 

Covid exposure caught up with me. I have not had it, but my friend tested positive, and I’d been around him several days that week, having dinner together, riding in the same car, and sitting together talking at my house. I immediately went into self-quarantine and canceled all upcoming social events. This time I decided to use the time at home for something other than sitting on the sofa. I’m happy to report that the book is being formatted and will be ready to download for publishing soon! I hope I’ll let you know soon – before the end of summer because it might be a good read for your trip to the beach.    

 

Life Lessons Learned When Disassembling a Daybed

1. Reconsider ever buying any piece of furniture that has to be assembled.

2. Should you weaken and buy such an item and manage to successfully put it together, for goodness sakes, keep the assembly instructions and the allen wrench that came with it. Trust me, when you decide to take it apart fourteen years later you will not remember the sequence, nor do you know what you did with said allen wrench. By the way, these are also called hex wrenches - with good reason. And I don't mean because the ends are hexagonal.

3. One of the most useful phrases to remember when getting anything apart is "righty tighty, lefty loosey." Keep repeating it to yourself over and over, because the whole thing is so trying that after a while your brain no longer functions without this reminder. 

4. Every woman needs a basic tool kit if she is crazy enough to try to do things herself, especially of she is over seventy-five. Through the decades, your fingers won't be as strong and the screws, bolts, etc. will be much harder to turn, so some locking pliers are essential to turn the little hex wrenches. Who designs a tool with such a short handle anyway? 

5. Have a plastic baggie handy for all the little washers, screws, and bolts. If some of them are small, it might be a good idea to put a piece of white paper under where you are working because if some of the things drop, finding them in the carpet - or where they bounce to on hard surfaces - can be an added aggravation.

6. You probably won't remember if you assembled the piece by yourself when it was new or not, but trying to figure out how to hold sections as it comes apart by yourself can be dangerous, especially when something is heavy. I narrowly missed an injury when a section fell and almost got my foot - the same foot I've broken twice in the past. So my advice is: enlist help. Or better yet, get someone to do all the disassembly.

7. Remember item #1? If you are smart enough to take my advice listed there, you won't need to know any of the rest of it. 

P.S. It used to annoy me to no end that some girls or women played the "helpless" routine. Now I wonder, "why didn't I take lessons from them."