The story of quality. This from a twelve-year-old who will make the world a better place some day.
(please go to telltalesnotlies.com as this site will expire thanks)
This story about a story is wonderful! The book and likely the series sounds very interesting and worth the look.
There’s Reflection: The Stranger in the Mirror on top of the stack!
Two years ago, I dropped off a copy of the first edition of my book, Reflection: The Stranger in the Mirror, in the Little Free Library that stands beside the local bike trail. (See the original post from August 2015 here.) I wrote an inscription on the inside in the hopes of one day hearing from someone who happened to pick up the book. Weeks passed, then months and years, and I assumed that the book must have disappeared somewhere along it’s journey.
And then–just last week–something amazing happened. This appeared on Instagram…
You can imagine my surprise at seeing one of the few original copies of my book make an appearance after so many years. But this wasn’t simply one of the originals…
…it was the copy I left in the Little Free Library. And…
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Starting this blog is like stepping onto a rickety bridge in a fog. You know there’s a safe way across the river, but there are also broken and loose planks. Can you make it? I decided to write when I realized all the stories I had flying around in my mind were bumping into each other and had to leave. So I learned and wrote and rewrote and rewrote and then some more. Finally I collected rejection e-mails. Then came the rejection that wasn’t. Suddenly, instead of seeing a bridge across that rejection river, all I could see was fog. The same imagination that spun the yarns, poked holes in the bridge.
“This is stupid, I’ve never done this before, (duh) I’ll make mistakes, (really?) I’ll botch the whole thing and everybody will hate me (nah, not everybody, just love story readers).” Of course you’ve never thought anything like that, right?
Then I pulled out the fog-lights and even a couple of fans. First of all, I signed up for this class so I could learn and all I was doing was accumulating each day’s worth of lessons. So, I got my “round-tuit” fog light and clicked on day one. Then my “you can read” light illuminated the tools and tips section. Finally, my writer’s block curing fans of “put seat in seat” and “move fingers” showed me that there are more intact planks than holey ones.
So, besides a ‘fraidy cat who prefers dry feet, who am I? My name is Nola Stam, I am a Special Duty School Nurse working with medically fragile children who need nursing care at school. I grew up in a small farming town in Southeastern Idaho where there are plenty of bridges, sound and rickety, spanning the Snake river. I live in Kearns, Utah with my husband Ron, daughter Evelyn, and Jack Russell terrier mix Spud. (Well, when he was a puppy, he resembled an Idaho potato, fuzzy with legs, yeah, and he loved potato salad.)
Standing on the other side of the river is my kid sis, Norma Jean Morris, who shares the “not a rejection” for our short story collection, “Aspects of Love”. She’s likely been there for a while, patiently waiting for me to clear my foggy brain and come across.
Starting this was like stepping onto the bridge so I guess finishing it is like stepping off. Ahead of me is a new country, new paths to hike, new hills to view the landscape from the tops and yes, new pits to fall in. But everywhere are new stories, flying around, perching on limbs and rocks, waiting to be caught. Guess I better kick a couple more out of my mind so there’s room.
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