RFO-Relinquish, Fight, or Overcome

Last night as I dreamed, I realized that everything that happens to us depends on the way we perceive it. We can react in one of three different ways: 1) relinquish control even though we could affect the outcome, in other words, the cowards’ way out; 2) fight what's going to happen or 3) we can overcome it. Now I don't know about you but I would much prefer to overcome my obstacles than to relinquish control or fight against them. Think of it as making lemonade out of lemons.

How does this relate to our writing? How many of you have written for years, learned your craft, then submitted time and time again, without anything really to show for it? Stop for a minute. Maybe you’re doing the same thing over and over again but not elevating your craft in such a way that it's piques the editor’s curiosity and enthusiasm. Maybe it's time to try something new. Isn't a new year a great time to implement new strategies?

So, today fellow readers I challenge you to try something new in your writing, whether that be a new genre, writing a book in a different tense, or in first-person instead of third- person, identify something new to try with your writing and see if you get a better response than you have in the past.

I'm a firm believer that with enough determination and drive, anything can be accomplished. My mother used to tell me that I had more determination than anyone that she had ever met. I took that as a compliment and proceeded to be as determined as possible towards meeting my goals. I haven't always succeeded in what I want to do, but I believe truthfully that I’ve gone farther as a result of believing in myself. Only when I began to question whether or not I could do something that I falter.
My parting advice to you is to believe in yourself, constantly try to make yourself better, and never give up.

Thanksgiving Prayer or Mantra?

As turkey day approaches, I have made out my Thanksgiving prayer, which I will use as a mantra while the day progresses:

Dear Lord,

Grant me the strength to get up and begin boiling eggs, giblets and vegetables in broth and dunking a twelve pound bird in water in my sink because it’s still partially frozen, all before my morning coffee.

Give me the perseverance to keep from killing my dog when I discover she has hunted down something “off limits” in the family room to eat as an appetizer before she receives her morning food.

Bestow upon me the humor to laugh at myself when I overcook the bird and my husband says he thought we were having ham.

Allow me the graciousness to overlook the fact that, even as my husband eats his second plate of food he said he didn’t want to begin with, he still holds on to the remote control tightly and his eyes remain glued to college football on TV.




Control my rising temper as I try without luck to fit the leftovers in the refrigerator and am interrupted by my husband asking if he can have another plate full.

Be still my beating heart as the dog chokes on the wishbone hubby left on the side of his tray and finally coughs it up.

Grant me a few moments to myself to write madly on my computer in an attempt to quell my nerves, thereby writing at twice the speed and making half my normal sense.

Provide me with the energy to wash all the pots and pans and fill the dishwasher while my husband snores in his recliner and the dog sleeps in a curled ball in my chair.

For all in all, I should give thanks for what I have and that I am not destitute, without food, warmth, a shelter over my head and the knowledge that I am secure for tomorrow. For many do not have that.

You see, dear reader, my troubles are really few and my trials are nothing more than the normal ones of the harried married writer.

First Gifts Blog Hop

Learn all about my first gift from my now hubby of twenty-seven years and hop arund to see other blogs on this tour of first gifts.

What’s Better than Practical?

Christmas was just around the corner and my new boyfriend, soon to become my fiancé had gotten me a present. By the glint in his eye, I knew he really liked his choice. He was forever chiding me about how much I’d love it.

Now, mind you, though he was a very loving soul, to date in our relationship he’d brought only steamed crabs, oysters, beer and wine to my apartment. It was obvious he believed the way to my heart was through my stomach. I, on the other hand, was the starry-eyed romantic, thinking of jewelry, perfume, even lingerie. What had he picked that gave him such glee?

I need to also tell the reader that my boyfriend, now husband of twenty-seven years, was a real outdoorsman. He still is, but physical issues have slowed him down. My hubby was the kind of guy who climbed poles for a living, did high-wire splicing, biked nine miles over steep hills to go to work and still wanted to play tennis when he got off. He was the kind of guy who felt at home in a muddy duck blind, hunting.

My cousin lived with me back then and knew I was curious about the gift. She’d badger hubby to tell her what it was, but he wouldn’t say. That is, until the day he was going to give it to me. She called me at work. “Don’t get real excited about your gift.”

“What’s the matter? He wasn’t cheap was he? He’s not the kind of guy’s who’s cheap.”

“Oh, no. The gift is quite expensive, but let’s just say it isn’t exactly you.”

I thought about her statement for the rest of the afternoon. I was a city girl. I wore three-inch heels to work, liked long hot bubble baths and massages. The thought of trudging through the dense woods in search of wild boar or mucking it up for the sake of one scrawny, greasy duck did not and still doesn’t appeal to me.

My thoughts went into orbit. My cuz must have overreacted--after all the gift was for me and he loved me. Although it might not be a great as what I expected, it couldn’t be that bad. Could it?

That night he presented his present, a huge wrapped box complete with bow. Staring at it, I wondered if it were one of those tricks with a box within a box within a box to look like something larger than it really is. But when I picked it up, the weight convinced me otherwise. What did he give me?

Just look below:



Identical to his so we could go into the woods matching. You know what they say: "You can't always get what you want, but you get what (he thinks) you need."

Interview with Sunny Frazier

Sunny Frazier is an author of astrology mysteries. Her newest work WHERE ANGELS FEAR is available from Oak Tree Press. What is the name of your latest book? And how did you come up with the title?

WHERE ANGELS FEAR completes the phrase “Fools rush in where angels fear to tread,” from Alexander Pope's “An Essay on Criticism.” My first book is titled FOOLS RUSH IN. People think it comes from the Elvis Presley song. Alexander Pope is not as famous.

What is WHERE ANGELS FEAR about?

My shy astrologer Christy Bristol is asked to find a missing person using her skills with the horoscope. It leads her to the Veterans hospital, three homicides and a sex club. Christy also has a office job with the sheriff's department and her investigation steps on some major toes.

I pulled from my background as both an astrologer and 17 years in law enforcement. The story is built around a real sex club we investigated, a candy-cane striped building that we thought was a fruit and vegetable stand. I contend that in Fresno, where I worked, we can't even do sex right.

What books have most influenced your life most?

The absurdity of CATCH-22 had a big influence on me, especially since I was in the military when I read it. There was a book years ago called THE CRAZY LADIES that gave me an irreverence in my writing. Right now, Chuck Palahniuk is a factor. Wish I had the courage to write as boldly as he does.

If you had to choose, which writer would you consider a mentor?
J.A. Jance. She has taken me under her wing on a number of occasions. Very early in my career she took me seriously. She even made two trips to Fresno upon my request to speak to Sisters in Crime. I have the utmost respect for her and proud to call her a friend and mentor.


What are your current projects?

I'm acquisitions editor for Oak Tree Press, so I'm building careers for other authors. I'm also working on my next Christy Bristol Astrology Mystery, A SNITCH IN TIME. I speak on marketing and short story writing and I've been asked to fly to Puerto Vallarta (all expenses paid!) for a conference. I'm also going to Canada next year for Bloody Words. In two weeks I have Mystery on the High Seas, a conference I was asked to plan. We are sailing down the Mexican Riviera for a week with three days of conference. There's a Hollywood agent on board for pitches.

Is there anything you find particularly challenging in your writing?

Since I retired, I feel I'm being drawn away from my law enforcement ties. It makes the books harder to write. On the other hand, I think Christy may find herself on a longer leash away from the office more and more. I plan to send her to Mexico and Puerto Rico. Let's see what kind of trouble she can get into!
I also set very tough challenges for myself with the astrology. Right now I'm trying to demonstrate astrology as a profiling tool. I'm not sure it's really possible. I also want to explore the universality of astrology by going to foreign countries. I've lived in Puerto Rico, so that's a start.

Do you have any advice for other writers?

“You can't promote what doesn't exist.” Get something out there. Publishing has never been easier with small presses, Kindle, e-books. Cyber-socialize and get name recognition before publication. Don't keep sitting on that finished manuscript. Take a risk. It's not the only book you'll write. Gotta start somewhere!

And, never use the word “it.” I hate to see that in novels. “It” is a nothing word. You can do better.

Here's Chapter One of WHERE ANGELS FEAR:

The slate sky and the last of the autumn leaves drifting to the gutters gave Christy Bristol a chill that had nothing to do with November. Being unfamiliar with the city of Kearny, she drove slowly through the section known as the Tower District looking for Harvard Avenue. All the streets she passed had Ivy League names, so she knew she was in the general vicinity.

"Why did I ever agree to make a house call?" she chided herself. All she needed was the date of birth to do a horoscope, and maybe the time if the customer knew it. In fact, meeting face-to-face only muddied the astrological waters. Without meaning to, she often picked up impressions which slanted her interpretations. No, voice contact was definitely safer.

Geneva Anders was a hard woman to refuse. "I need to meet you," she'd insisted. She offered to pay travel expenses from Coronita to Kearny, a distance of twenty-eight miles. She offered to pay the full fee, even if she decided against the horoscope.

The money was tempting--charting horoscopes on the side barely supplemented Christy's salary from her office job at the Central County Sheriff's Department. But she felt guilty doing astrology for cash. The people who needed her services the most were often the ones who could afford it the least.

The homes she passed were tidy, with neatly groomed gardens and wide verandas. Vassar, Princeton, Yale--and Harvard.

"I want to be sure you're the right one," Mrs. Anders insisted over the phone. "I can't waste my time on a fake." Not very diplomatic. Christy wasn't sure she wanted to be the "right one" but she confident enough as an astrologer to bristle at the suggestion she might be a fraud.

Coming out of the closet, astrologically speaking, had been difficult for Christy. Working in law enforcement and doing horoscopes on the side wasn't a good mix. But astrology simply acted as a conduit for something even stranger--an inherited psychic ability.

Other families passed down the fine china or good silver; in Christy's clan, maternal members handed down the DNA for ESP. And they'd been doing it for centuries.

Blessing or curse, the trait passed from grandmother to granddaughter, always skipping a generation. Grandma Dolly Good had been a formidable psychic in her time, but now her visions were blurred. Christy's sister, Celeste, had exceptional talent, but she hid it behind a habit of the Dominican order of nuns. She believed that visions and the ability to transmit her thoughts were gifts from God to do His work.

And Christy did horoscopes. The chart was a tool which opened her up to a universe of premonitions. The past, the future, swirled like a galaxy through her subconscious when a chart was strong. Astrology acted as a guide for this knowledge, good and evil, as it found its way to her. And it brought all sorts of people into the orbit of her life. Like Geneva Anders.

She turned on Harvard. The branches of the Chinese Elms on either side of the avenue grew toward each other high above the street, forming an arbor tunnel. It must be beautiful in the spring, she thought, like a lacy mantilla shading the lush avenue. But on this November afternoon, it looked like skeletal fingers intertwined over her head. A scattering of leaves clung to the limbs, fighting the inevitable.

Even on a street of dwellings that could vie for the cover of Better Homes and Gardens, the Anders' place stood out. It looked French, or what Christy expected she'd see in France if she ever made it to Europe. Blue tiles shingled the mansard roof, which angled sharply downward until it seemed within reach of the ground. Windows glittered with diamond patterns of multi-colored panes. French doors on the second floor backed a rounded balcony. Despite all its beauty, the house lacked warmth and charm.

She parked her car along the curb and walked up the flagstone pathway. She wrinkled her nose at the perfectly trimmed hedges. It looked too planned out, that's what was wrong. She'd take her apartment in Coronita over this place any day. The three-story, butter-yellow Victorian where she lived wasn't classy, but house had character. And characters. Her seventy-something landlady lived on the ground floor, and prissy Mr. Maciel resided in the attic. The roses were overgrown and the lilac went unfettered in spring. Even on the bleakest days, the house radiated warmth.

Out of the corner of her eye she caught the slight movement of the lace curtain as she approached.

Mrs. Anders took her time answering the knock, although Christy felt sure she'd been the one playing peek-a-boo at the window.

"You must be Ms. Bristol." The woman was small and in her mid-forties. Like her house, she was coolly turned out. Her blond hair folded into a French twist; not a wisp dared to escape. Her flawless makeup looked professionally done, and she appeared as comfortable in a silk pantsuit as Christy did at home in her comfy old robe. Until a few minutes ago, Christy felt appropriately dressed in good pants and a chenille sweater. Now she felt downright dowdy and ten pounds overweight next to Mrs. Anders' svelte frame.

In a living room that went beyond formal, Christy perched on the edge of a sofa that must have belonged to a Louie. The antique furniture had to be the real McCoy. Anders' money wouldn't settle for less.

"I don't normally go in for this sort of thing," began Mrs. Anders as she poured tea from a silver teapot into wafer-thin teacups. "But you come highly recommended."

Christy knew her reputation as an astrologer had grown in the ten years she'd lived in Coronita, where it was easy to be a big karmic fish in a small, liberal pond. Coronita, unlike the rest of Central County, was populated by artists and scholars and people who eagerly embraced New Age concepts.

In Coronita, Christy fit in almost too well.

She knew her reputation was by word-of-mouth, but exactly which cultured mouth recommended her to someone of Geneva Anders' ilk? She flipped through a mental Rolodex of client names, but none were monied folks. At least, not on the surface. Unlike Los Angeles in the south and San Francisco up north, wealthy people in the San Joaquin Valley were harder to spot than quail in season. Their dirt-caked boots might cost a thousand dollars, their plain ranch houses worth a half a mil. One family, the Newsome's, owned a spread so large they used the family helicopter to monitor fields of cotton, melon and alfalfa; they used a beat-up truck to shop at the Canned Food Warehouse.

The tea didn't taste like Lipton. It had a bitterness that made Christy want to reach for three more sugar cubes. Mrs. Anders drank hers straight. I bet even money she's a Virgo, thought Christy.

"Do you make your living from astrology?" Mrs. Anders asked, settling back into the damask of the armchair.

Feeling as if she were being interviewed, Christy said, "No, I work at the Sheriff's Department."

"Really?" The woman's source hadn't filled her in completely. "Are you a deputy?"

"Office assistant. I work at the Coronita substation."

Mrs. Anders had trouble hiding her disappointment. "I see. My husband and I are avid supporters of Sheriff Nolan. We contribute to his campaigns."

"I've never actually met the man, but I see him on the news a lot. I hear he's a great guy."

That was the only name Geneva Anders dropped. She got down to business and grilled Christy on her knowledge of astrology. The woman apparently did some research to prep for their chat. She came off sounding like the Spanish Inquisition. Christy fielded questions about rising signs and planetary conjunctions with ease. She even considered bull-shitting to see if Mrs. Anders understood her material. Finally, tired of the game, Christy put down her cup of tea and edged forward on the couch. "Mrs. Anders, do you want your horoscope done?"

"No, but I would like you to cast my husband's chart." A note of cream-colored, monogrammed stationery rested delicately on the coffee table next to the silver tray. Geneva Anders guided it to Christy with a manicured nail. "Here's his birth date."

"Is there any particular area of his life he wants me to look at?"

"No." Mrs. Anders' face broke out in a mottled blush which clashed with the neutral tones of her outfit and hair.

She wants to know if he's having an affair. The thought shot true like an arrow to the bullseye. Christy knew she was on target.

Normally, she backed off from horoscope requests with ulterior motives. She saw herself in the same role as a lawyer, doctor or priest. Her clients asked for her services and she kept what she found strictly confidential. Even when she did gift horoscopes she sealed them before handing them over, often to the disappointment of the person paying for the gift. Her only exception to the rule were horoscopes done on children. Those she gave to the parents. Raising kids was hard enough; more power to them if astrology could help.

She would make an exception for this horoscope. Not because Mrs. Anders was rich--she'd still charge a standard fee of thirty dollars--and not because she was flattered to be noticed by a classy client. Christy knew she would cast Avery Anders' horoscope because the minute she touched the page of stationery, she felt an urgency emanating from the paper. Her sixth sense picked up something she couldn't afford to ignore. Christy felt the familiar prickle of danger.

"I'll contact you when it's ready." She got up to leave.

"There's a bonus if you get it done quickly."

"If I rush, I might miss something important. But I'll make it a priority over others I'm doing."

Later, in the car and heading out of the city, the ominous feeling continued. Whatever trouble Avery Anders was in, it was beyond his wife's expectations. Christy had no doubts that it would show up in his chart--she just wasn't sure the horoscope would do any good.

What the Elderly Can Teach You

I've worked with elderly people my whole life,both in my career and in volunteer work. As a writer, I appreciate the lessons they have taught me over the years. Here's my short list of ten important things:
1. "Eat right live right and never fret." This saying comes from my now-deceased Great-Aunt Eva, who lives to be 100 years old. Think about it, what makes you sick or chronically ill? Primarily what you put into your body, Living a life filled with wrongdoing and negative feelings, and stress. Great advice, Aunt Eva!
2. Never stop working-You know what they say, "an idle mind is the devil's playground," and its name is Alzheimer's. Even if you retire from your chosen profession, you need to work just as hard at a new interest or volunteer endeavor. I know my second cousin Lewis was like that. Almost as old as my grandfather, he fell off a ladder painting his house at ninety-five. he broke his arm but not his spirit.
3. Enjoy nature-Have you ever noticed that the people who spend time outside admiring what nature has provided and exercising there, breathing in clean air, have a better outlook on life and a sharp mind?
4. Remember to take time for yourself every day-Life goes too fast. Take a breather every day. If you want to start with it, that's fine. I remember Granddaddy took time out after breakfast to read is Bible and pray. I discovered my husband's did also, as did his stepfather. Perhaps you prefer something in the middle of the day. Go in your office, close the door and lower or turn off the lights and meditate OR at the end of the day, go home and take a bubble bath. You'll find your own way.
5. Never stop learning-Your mind was built to be exercised like a muscle. Learning provides the fuel for the mind to operate and will also invigorate your creativity.
6. Sleep at least eight hours every night-This is the time for brain and body renewal and also allows you to delve into your subconscious. Some of the most creative people I know get their answers when they're asleep.
7. Loving others is exponential-The more you love, the more you're loved. But it has to be real and without expectation of a reward. Which leads me to . . .
8. Giving without expectation of reciprocation is its own reward-At least once a day, do something for someone, especially if it's anonymous, and feel the sudden onset of endorphins. It's exhilarating.
9. Have a regimen-When people retire and stop their routine, they risk stagnating. If your regimen changes, okay, but make sure to have one. Wake up at the same time, eat at the same time, and sleep at the same time. You'll feel better.
10. Always be grateful-The universe will bring those grateful thought back to you.