A Father’s Day Tribute: Daddy’s Last Ferry Ride

Melvin Spaur

Daddy was dying. The bone cancer,  now complicated by pneumonia, had sent him to the hospital again. I stayed in a hotel nearby for three days.  When the doctor said he had stabilized, I returned home to work on some writing deadlines.

A day later, my brother Tom called. Daddy had taken a turn for the worse. You’d better hurry, he said, if you want to see him.  Bob cancelled his meetings in Seattle so he could pick me up at the dock after the ferry delivered me to the mainland.

As I rode across the waters of Puget Sound, the irony of taking a boat to get to Daddy’s bedside was not lost on me. He loved the water and the ferry represented for him the fun of rivers and oceans and his greatly anticipated summer vacations.

Except for a brief stint at the Grays Harbor Chair Factory, Daddy spent his whole working life at the Graystone Company. Sometimes, when he got home from the day shift, the plant boss would call, asking if he could fill in for someone that evening,  and he would go back to work the graveyard shift. I never heard him say, “No.”

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The School of Mr. Puffer: Lessons in Life

Mr PuffersAs I write this post, our dear Mr. Puffer has been gone from our lives for two days. A special needs cat with a unique personality, Mr. Puffer kept bobWP and I busy in the last three months of his life.

But through it all, we felt honored to be his caretakers in a setting that in the end resembled hospice care.

He found his way to our doorstep after he had been attacked by a wild animal in the woods beyond our house. He lost one eye and eventually became blind in the other. He bumped into things and sometimes needed a little help to find his food bowl or litter box.

I cancelled the BlogWorld/New Media Expo Conference Bob and I were both to attend because I couldn’t leave him by himself. So, yes, I was invested in this cat.

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Characters in Memoir: ‘If Mama Ain’t Happy’

If Mama Ain't HappyOnce, in kindergarten, I drew a crayon picture of me with my parents. I was small, as I should be at 5.  In the drawing, Daddy was a little taller than me. He looked like he could be my brother. Mama towered over both of us, hands on hips, like a stick-figure Amazon woman.

It could have meant that Mama was more important to me. But I think that by drawing her that large, I was showing her inner strength—and the power she had over our family.

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Self-Defense Against Fresh Fruit: John Cleese on Storytelling

john cleese

If I could choose any living person in this world to have dinner with—anyone—it would be the British actor John Cleese. As a writer, I am in awe of his understanding of the human condition, his willingness to push the envelope and his brilliant use of humor to first catch our attention and then to connect us to each other.

A writer is always in search of the original. We pick up existing ideas and hold them up to the light, looking for the glint of something new in them. We ponder: starting, stopping, thinking some more.

But in this hurry-up world of ours, we are not rewarded for pondering. We must come up with ideas quickly.

“Come on now. Spit it out!”

It has become unacceptable to stop and think first. And yet Cleese’s whole take on creativity and storytelling is to give yourself the time and space to play with ideas, to ponder, to not go with the very first idea that comes to you.

For instance, in sketching out Mama’s character in my memoir, I am asking myself, “What is Mama’s worst nightmare?”

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‘To Thine Own Self Be True’: What’s Your ‘Heartsong’?

013771027 william shakespeare period cloThis line from Shakespeare’s Hamlet first squirreled its way into my brain in 10th grade English class.

But why does it take so long to learn it? And what does it really mean?

The full quote is:

 “To thine own self be true. And it must follow, as the night the day, Thou canst not then be false to any man.”

 For me, it goes way beyond the “be yourself,” “be authentic” advice.

For me, it’s about following my passion. About doing the thing in life my heart is telling me to do, regardless of whether the world sees my work as a commercial success. It’s about not sitting in an assisted living center wondering what would have happened if I had written that book that was my life’s dream.

Your heart will tell you if you just listen

This week, I had an interesting conversation with someone in the book publishing industry. This person told me that I shouldn’t write a memoir. That it won’t sell because I am not a celebrity. That I should consider writing it in some other format.

And I knew in my gut that this person was wrong. That I had to do this.

“There are people out there who tell you you can’t. What you’ve got to do is turn around and say, ‘Watch me.’”

To the kiddos in my elementary school classroom, I used to say, “Do the thing you didn’t think you could do” and “Figure out your own way to show me what you have learned.” That philosophy spilled over into every part of the classroom. For a social studies project, one student wrote a rap song, another created a short play with historical figures as the main characters. Someone else used mixed media to make a visual arts exhibit.

They did it their way.

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Why Am I Here?: Navel Gazing for Writers

Why Am I Here?: Navel Gazing for Writers

We writers have grand plans. Getting an A-list agent. Selling 250,000 copies of our first book. Scheduling our appearances on The Today Show and Good Morning America.

We know we have to do a lot of work—writing the book and promoting the heck out of it—but sometimes it can feel that our end goal was merely publishing a successful book.

The book is not the end goal

Now, if you know me, you know I am not into the woo-woo stuff. I’m kind of a practical girl.

But I just started an eye opener of a class. It’s a six-week online intensive course called  Build Your Author Platform from Dan Blank of wegrowmedia.com.

I’m not here to sell you on the program (so far, it’s been wonderful), and I’m not an affiliate or anything. But, rather, I wanted to share with you an epiphany I had during the first week.

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My 10 Most Popular Posts in 2012: Want to Find Yours?

My 10 Most Popular Posts in 2012: Want to Find Yours? My friend Gini Dietrich over at Spin Sucks recently shared her most popular blog posts of 2012.

The cool part, aside the links to all the intelligent (and entertaining) posts,  is that her friend Adam Singer, who now works at Google, has created an analytics dashboard that makes the process simple. (Follow the link at the bottom of this post to get stats for your own blog.)

First, let me say that this was a refreshing exercise because it did not use number of comments as one of the measures. Instead it plotted the more important reader behaviors, things like pageviews, unique page views, unique visitors, social shares and average time on page.

And guess what? The posts I thought were my most popular ones, in some cases, didn’t even make the list. Read on for the ones that did.

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A Holiday Wish from the Dunns

Bob Dunn Judy Dunn Kellye Rowland

Mama was Swedish through and through, so Christmas Eve was big at our house. Dinner was always lutfisk, the most disgusting of the Swedish Christmas Eve traditions. It had a smell all its own: a cross between rotten fish and the Borax soap Daddy washed his hands in after a day’s work at the cement plant. I learned that breathing through my mouth would ward off some of the stench.

Mama said good Swedes pronounced it “loot-uh-fisk,” which I figured must be Swedish for poison. When it was done cooking, it resembled a big hunk of slimy jello. Mama sprinkled some allspice on top, which she said brought out all the good flavors.

Lutfisk is aged in lye, which the Encyclopedia Britannica said was a chemical used to make cleaning products. It said it burns the skin unless people use goggles and gloves. And that, it should be stored in air-tight containers, with a skull-and-crossbones picture on it. (Except, I supposed, when you were soaking lutfisk in it.)

I guessed that Christmas traditions were okay, but why couldn’t ours match the rest of the planet’s or the kids in my second grade class—or at least the Jones family across the road?

I first began to notice the differences at about age four, when Mama read ‘Twas the Night Before Christmas to me.  It was clear from this poem that Santa was supposed to arrive on the night before Christmas, not a week early, like he did at our house. This seemed a little suspicious to me.

When I asked Mama, she brushed my question aside, as if our slightly off-kelter traditions were not open to debate. And besides, she said, it’s clearly impossible for Santa to deliver those presents to all those houses in just one night. This way, he can spread them out.

When I was small, this made perfect sense to me, though, still, I wondered how he kept all the houses and times straight—and how he knew ours was the Swedish house.

Early one Christmas season, when I was eight, I confronted Mama. “You know, ” I said, twirling a lock of hair until it bounced back, like it was spring-loaded, “some kids open their presents on Christmas morning. We could try it for a change. Just this year?” I studied Mama’s face.

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Stuff that Matters: A Blogger’s Creed

Stuff That Matters - A Bloggers CreedI threw out a question on Facebook this week that brought some very interesting responses. I asked, “ Do your values come into play as a blogger? As an entrepreneur, biz owner or author?”

What I really wanted to know was whether their values have ever played into a decision, either on what to post about on their blog, what partnerships to form or which clients to take on.

My friend, social media star and transplanted Scot Danny Brown said:

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When Words Kill

When Words Kill

It’s a timeless problem: humans who use words to belittle other humans. It happens in the schoolyard with kids and it happens on the internet with (seemingly) adults. It even happens with presidential candidates and their families.

Sticks and stones may break my bones
But words will never hurt me.

You may be too young to have heard that little playground ditty. We repeated that line when someone said something mean to us. But, in our hearts, we knew that we chanted it precisely because words can hurt us. We knew it back then and we know it now.

Words can even kill.

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September 11, 11 Years Later: Why Stories Still Matter

September 11, 11 Years Later: Why Stories Still Matter

We tell stories to process a devastating event. So we can feel what people inside the event must have felt. To hold tight to a little piece of what makes us connected as humans.

We tell stories so we never forget.

Sometimes we tell stories in what feels like a vacuum. With a blog, we don’t always know who is reading our posts. Who we will connect with.

Until it happens. That the daughter of the fallen firefighter I profiled in my 2010 9/11 post found the story on my blog and took the time to leave a comment is astounding—and something I never would have predicted:

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The Surprises of Guest Posting

 The Surprises of Guest Posting

There are a bazillion bloggers who have talked about benefits of making guest appearances on other blogs. One of the best reasons to write guest posts is to reach new audiences and grow your own blog.

But sometimes when you write a guest post for another blog, things happen that weren’t even in your brain. You see, the thing is, you never know who is reading your post. And that makes guest blogging unpredictably fun.

For instance, just this week, my guest post for Write to Done showed up on the Holy Caw! All the topics that interest us page of Guy Kawasaki’s mega-popular site alltop.com. (If you didn’t know, alltop.com is now the authority in sorting through the flood of blog posts and articles that are published daily. Their goal is to filter through all the stuff and aggregate the best for you.) Because of the Holy Caw appearance, my guest post was shared on Twitter a whole bunch of times and got tons of traffic.

The next day, I got requests for an interview from a national magazine for writers and for quotes for an e-book. So what’s my point?

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