Wherever you go, go with all your heart. – Confucius
Amalfi coast hike
Sacre Coeur in Paris
Magical doesn’t begin to describe my first trip through Europe and here’s why:
best friends on vacation,
free upgrade to business class,
flight out of Washington D.C. at sunset,
Halley’s comet and Northern Lights on display from our plane’s windows, and
Paris at sunrise.
Then we embraced Paris—in April. Hello world…and good-bye comfort zones.
The Orient Express
For a month’s travel, we committed to a backpack each and public transportation while staying at mom-and-pop lodging along our route. The only reservations we made beforehand were for Parisian arrival and departure sleepovers. That’s been my travel mode ever since.
Enjoy this pictorial view of our trip through Europe.
What was your first trip outside your comfort zone? How did that affect you? Do you still travel?
Ecopsychologist Dr. Margo Updike loses herself in a shadow life after her daughter’s tragic death. When a century storm deposits a young girl on Maggie’s secluded beach in Puget Sound, a miraculous renewal begins. Then the apparent orphan exhibits signs of neglect and worse, prompting Maggie’s vow to protect and heal her—no matter the cost.
The arrival of a mysterious man claiming to be Sorcha’s father upends Maggie’s life. She finds Morrissey strangely irresistible even as her friend Sheriff Ajax Smith questions the man’s motives and odd behavior. As a serial killer’s victims begin surfacing in Seal Cove, Jax must curb his suspicions to enlist Maggie as a profiler.
Will Jax and Maggie find the murderer before he strikes again? With Morrissey’s secrets trapping Maggie on destructive shoals between reality and legend, can she grasp his true nature before losing her chance to rebuild a life worth living? To what depths—and heights—will she go for a daughter, a beloved man and, ultimately, her humanity?
Title: Soundings: Water Elemental
Author: Janine Donoho
Genre: adult paranormal suspense/thriller
Publisher: Booktrope Publishing
Excerpt from Soundings: Water Elemental –
Maggie leaned toward Kaci and, keeping her voice low, said, “Let’s go out to the deck.”
They dressed for damp cold in the mudroom, and after checking Sorcha and shushing the dogs, they let themselves out through the sliding door. The friends headed for the covered space around the hot tub. With Kaci’s help, Maggie removed the locked cover.
“Remember?” she asked Kaci.
“Your dad’s old tub? Of course, silly.” When they were girls, for the important talks they gravitated toward Ephraim’s tub, then built of cedar staves.
“Well, that old thing’s slated to be plumbed for a water feature. This is Mom’s state-of-the-art spa. I think it’ll do.”
Peeking from the hoods of winter coats, they traded conspiratorial looks before stepping out of their mules and clambering onto the top platform. With a controlled slide, they occupied the dry space. Wriggling her wool-clad toes, Kaci said, “Comfy, Mags. You could fit six adults in here easily.”
“I know. Mom wanted to modernize. She intended this for scads of grandkids.”
“Oh, Mags.” Kaci reached a gloved hand toward Maggie, who gripped it for comfort. “Now. Tell me what happened this morning.”
First Maggie told her friend about the early morning swim, finishing with, “She didn’t even seem cold afterward. I was practically blue and the dogs were exhausted. How can a four-, maybe five-year-old girl swim that far?”
Glancing through the glass doors toward the sleeping girl, Kaci’s mouth formed a silent wow. She said, “No wonder she’s tired. But kids have faster metabolisms than adults, don’t they?”
“Well, yes, but Zoe certainly couldn’t have… Anyway some other bizarre things are starting to surface.”
“Like?”
With a sense of relief, Maggie leaned forward and said, “Kaci, she didn’t know how to use doorknobs. And the bathroom seems like foreign territory. I caught her squatting in the mudroom before you came. She thinks it’s a fine game when I set her on the toilet. Just laughs and giggles. And she hasn’t put three words together.”
Kaci’s regard wandered over the quiescent girl. “She understands you, though. And didn’t I hear an accent? Plus Sorcha’s not a common name. What is it? Russian?”
Maggie said, “I’m thinking Celtic. But Kaci, everything seems foreign to her. She played at opening and shutting cabinets and drawers until the salmon distracted her. I’ve put the pots and pans away twice now—with her helping me. She’s so bright and aware, I’m afraid that at the very least, she’s been secluded to the point of abuse.”
“No kidding. Some strange cult, you think?”
Maggie laughed then. “This from a woman who worships the earth as Goddess and has tattoos covering nearly every inch of her body.”
Want more? Go to EVENTS to join the fun! Don’t be shy about commenting, since I always try to respond to all.
We had a day this last week: Soundings Release Day Book Bash. Or as I dubbed it, ‘The Great Be-Staunch-Launch.’ Three other illustrious authors participated and offered great content. Camela Thompson’s character sketches, Patricia Eddy’s studmuffin, Shay West’s woo-hoo face amplified our event, while I tacked the stiff breezes on this, my maiden voyage. There be dragons, indeed. To revive, I downed a home-brewed double shot Americano afterward. Then I stared at the ceiling late into the night as caffeine kicked my lagging system into overdrive.
Overall? Four hours gone in a flurry of connectivity. Early into this, I committed to sharing authentic content, which took a lot of prep. Yet, I discovered fun and excellent companions—virtually, yes, but it feels more substantial than that.
Would I rather share an Americano face-to-face? Of course. Yet as my exemplary publicist Vanya urges me into the social seas, I realize we go to launch with the vessel we have. Thank you to all who participated. I’d pit this team against Ellison’s Oracle Team USA anytime.
Now I’m going to indulge in being the shy woodland creature I am and read for an hour—or two.
What works for you in social media? How do you engage and still keep your daily page count high?
Before this last thaw, a flash of tawny muscle caught my eye as a cougar stretched to full run and flowed down a ravine. This is why natural events and wild critters play such a central role in my stories. Life in these rural areas carries different risks than those experienced by urban dwellers.Rather than business schedules and public transportation timetables, organic and inorganic cycles govern. That flicker in my peripheral vision? Either a thing of beauty or a threat—or both.
My attention stays in the moment. Which means no walking while texting or talking on a Smartphone—and not because we have so little coverage in the outlands.Instead the focus settles upon spangled Fritillary butterflies, a colony of shaggy mane mushrooms, wild tiger lilies, a moose cow and calf. From there it’s not a great leap to slip into the ancestral viewpoint of those who created our rich mythologies, legends, and other origin stories. Our minds tend to build constructs in order to make sense of the greater world.
Since I don’t live as close to the edge as those ancestors, I dabble with the supernatural. That’s why my body of work grows to include selkies and sea life, coydogs and witches, at risk forests and dryads, cursed dragons and curio shops. And if there’s a basis of fact in those stories? Well, blame it an insatiable curiosity and my study of life.
Besides, nothing I create can possibly exceed the singular combinations found in nature.
How do your environs figure into your story? Or do they?
Last night I finally watched Hallmark’s prerecorded Away and Back. Don’t judge me. I resisted for a time because I intensely dislike attempted emotional coercion and that’s been Hallmark’s modus operandi for too long.
Still, trumpeter swans… Then appealing characters and storyline charmed me into staying. Gone the silly and soapy scrum of recent Hallmark movies in celebration of the return to story and true sentiment. Okay, a few glitches, but more on that later.
Flawlessly cast adult protagonists delivered on story as battered widower Jack Peterson and truculent swan conservationist Ginny Newsom. Empathetic and gritty 10-year-old Frankie emerged as the fictional daughter I’ll never have. And saving Cygnus buccinator—balm to a conservation biologist’s heart.
The cinematography stunned me to tears with trumpeters silhouetted against the sun or harvest moon. Sweeping scapes of other natural beauty and even a subtle message of hope amid the human interactions lifted me. Mostly.
Now a lesson for all of us conduits of story. Hallmark engaged me until the last twenty minutes, when they imploded into the black hole of clichéd sentimentality. At that point, I forgave them—this time.
The earlier glow carried me through this misstep. They dished up the real deal for much of the movie and maybe next time around, they’ll persist with honest emotion and storytelling.
Until then? I’m reading and writing. Plus launching SOUNDINGS, WATER ELEMENTAL into the world—a novel brimming with story, impactful characters and yes, true sentiment. Or at least that was my intent.
How do you feel about sappiness and overt attempts to influence us? Where do you draw the line as viewer? As reader? As writer?
Consider yourself a natural phenomenon and Elemental to my writing. With my latest paranormal romantic thriller SOUNDINGS, WATER ELEMENTAL, scheduled to launch from Booktrope on February 27, 2015, I’d like to invite you into my worlds.
If you’d like to be an Elemental, please join my exclusive social marketing team. As a member, you’ll not only receive an e-copy of the book before it’s available to the public, but also gain special access to me and Team Janine via a private Facebook group. In return, all we ask is that if you like SOUNDINGS, you commit to FIVE things to help get the word out about SOUNDINGS:
Leave a short review on Amazon no later than 03/10/2015,
Share the release date and your feedback with everyone and anyone you may know,
Provide ideas via our private Facebook page on how to reach a wider audience,
Vote for SOUNDINGS on Goodreads Listopia or talk about it in one of your Goodreads groups and add it to your bookshelf.
Go to janinedonoho.com and signup for my newsletter, which only shares noteworthy mentions about the state of the author and her latest opus along with chances to win truly fantabulous stuff. You’ll immediately receive my free short story collection Boundary Crossings.
Interested? Send an email to vanyad@booktrope.com by 02/11/2015 with your name, email address, and a brief description of why you want to join Team Janine. Those selected will be notified via email on 02/12/2015 and receive their advance reader copy of SOUNDINGS.
Thank you in advance for your interest and time! Your support is greatly appreciated.
“The spirit is willing but the flesh weak” translated into Russian, then back to English transmutes into “The vodka is good, but the meat is rotten” (водка хорошая, но мясо протухло).
So goes this writer during each translation into author, then back to writer. For now, when I really want to work on new drafts of novels, I need to transform into Social Beast. To put this into perspective, I’m at best an introverted extrovert and adequate in public—once in a while. The rest of the time? Well, situations matter. Visualize a gazelle outrunning the lion or possibly a woman facing down a cougar. I just never know.
As you may realize from my various biographies, I’m a dancer and choreographer, too, and have been known to dance publicly, so long as I have the right costume. Today I’m outfitted in flannel bottoms proclaiming “Life is Good”, ribbed turtleneck, and wooly socks. Because I’m going for festive, I topped it all off with my favorite earrings, a birthday gift from Intrepid Guy before we launched him to Japan—again.
Getting to the gist, this is about social networking… In today’s electron cloud of a world, that’s where we writers discover our readers—and hopefully develop a relationship with them. With that in mind, consider yourself invited into my alternate universe as an Elemental.
To morph into an Elemental and also qualify for contests, you do need to sign up for my newsletter. Not the loathsome spamalicious kind, but actual noteworthy mentions about the state of the author and her latest opus along with chances to win truly fantabulous stuff. Once you sign up, the gifts begin to flow. You immediately receive my free short story collection Boundary Crossings.
Well, to become one of my Elementals, simply click on the link to the top right, fill out pertinent information that will never, ever be shared outside this hallowed electron cloud and wait for the manna to fall from the ether. Really, that’s it.
In the process, you will help make this writer a lot less wobbly in her efforts to reach out to her glorious readership. I love hearing from you, too. Within me resides a fertile place for readers who like my work enough to write a review and even recommend my stories to others.
Now I’m going to switch costumes into my snow trekking gear. I leave you with a self-portrait and more thanks for taking the time to connect with me. Oh, and a puppy. Who doesn’t love a puppy?
Oh, the rarefied air we artists breathe. Cogs in the greater wheel or isolated hermits toiling in a cave? We’re trying to figure that out even when everyone’s a “creative” and art has transformed once again into a craft populated by artisans.
With the upcoming launch of my latest novel Soundings, Water Elemental, the necessities of social media have inundated me. I’m ensnared by the current model for artists who’ve morphed into creators whose daily work and lifestyle require processing for consumption. Remember the pink slime of hamburger fame?
C’est moi. Yet since I feel privileged to have such an excellent team at Booktrope, this definitely counts as a whine. Thank goodness for book manager and publicist exemplar Vanya’s practical voice calming my wildly oscillating sine wave before it flips to completely erratic.
After reading a provocative article in The Atlantic, I realize what overwhelms me—and possibly you, dear reader—is the latest obligation to be a creative entrepreneur versus an artiste. And Gladwell’s 10,000 hours toward proficiency? Evidently networking, high concept, and branding trump that in today’s world. Yes, the cult of personality triumphs.
Yet do we allow despair to suck us into its vortex? Absolutely not—resistance may not prove futile. Still the idea that creatives exist solely as corporate brands? That’s cynicism at its dankest depths.
I know a few of the writerly 1% who’ve become brands, whose stories translate into tours of economically challenged towns featured fictitiously in nudge, nudge, wink, wink their “breakout novels.” I salute them and their successes. If one of my stories rescues a town or my preference, an endangered species, I’d go for it.
You see, those 1% writers I unabashedly love did their 10,000 hours, absorbed craft, and now? Well, they’re professionals who support families, small towns, and the new corporate paradigm of “producerism.” The destructive force of a fully operational death star—er—marketplace has been brought to bear.
As our culture tracks Jane Austin’s “aha” moments, then equates them to “yo quiero taco bell”, I wonder which of my favorite writers would fail to publish today. Which undiscovered voices will be lost in the rush toward “producerism?”
Now I’m dragging my sorry artist’s butt to the kitchen for breakfast, then out to clean both cat box and pup yard. Today’s odyssey? The cupboard’s bare and I actually do live in a remote, yet plush “cave.” On, on.
After I penned Rise of the robot writers?, Intrepid Guy conveyed the Love Hound and me to a Posh Canadian Resort for my birthday: Lindt truffles, whirlpool workout space, and plush quiet. Visualize doggie treat bags on the door knob—twice. This was most likely due to the Hound, Goodwill Ambassador personified. We even enjoyed a celebratory dinner while a pup sitter, Ms. Doubtfire without the gender confusion, rubbed the Hound’s belly.
Shortly after this holiday, we stayed at Hyperbola 7 for a work related event. This stopover offered none of the opulence at a third of the rate. Please don’t take this as an indictment of our lodgings—they match our resources. Still the contrast made me wonder: what distinguishes a great novel from, well, schlock? As a keen reader, I know the differences fall beyond production costs.
Come with me while I revisit a once favored writers’ conference outside of Vancouver, British Columbia. One particular year ended my attachment to this particular gathering. As with many such offerings, the information and networking opportunities shrank disproportionate to my outlay.
That year I attended a seminar offered by a prolific writer who claimed he never, ever edited. Ever. His addendum seemed to be that writers who did were chumps, and he had the money to prove it—kaching, kaching. Since I’d never read any of his novels, I remedied that once I returned home.
My library system supplied a work for hire piece based on a television series. It quickly became obvious that he never edited. Ever. I suspect he’s one of the hirelings that a robot soon will supplant.
Yet deny a wordsmith the chance to make a living? Not me. Plus I enjoy the works for hire of other writers. The difference? Could it be respect for process?
Many write well, even lyrically. They surprise me with reversals and apply craft to the finished product. Despite integrating segments into an ongoing storyline, grace and heart suffuse their works. I deduce that they even—gasp!—edit.
These principled writers take me elsewhere and deliver on story. Begging the question: what separates hack from storyteller? Perhaps more importantly, who among us will be replaced by robots? Let’s start a conversation.
best friends on vacation,
Janine Donoho 