Hi and Happy Memorial Day Weekend!
Here is a teaser for my soon-to-be released novel St. Anne's Day. Hope you enjoy it as much as the first grilled burger of the summer season. Enjoy and thanks for stopping by. Also, you can read a sample chapter of St. Anne's Day on my website at www.janicelanepalko.com.
While you are there, sign up for email notification of when St. Anne's Day is available.
“Please don’t tell my mother I hired you,” Gerry said. “She thinks Medicare provided you. She’d have another heart attack if she knew I was paying out-of-pocket for a private-duty nurse.”
“My lips are sealed.” Anne noticed how he glanced at her lips for an instant as if to see if she should be taken literally. The predatory gaze that passed over his face made her heart beat irregularly, and flustered, she bent and picked up her bags.
The Morning Star Is Now Available!
Sunday, May 27, 2012
Thursday, May 24, 2012
Some Great Info on Self-Publishing
For those of you considering self-publishing, here is a link to Catherine Howard's blog, Catherine, Caffeinated. It is a wealth of information on The Taleist report.
http://catherineryanhoward.com/2012/05/24/wait-until-you-hear-this-the-taleist-self-publishing-survey/#comment-9518
http://catherineryanhoward.com/2012/05/24/wait-until-you-hear-this-the-taleist-self-publishing-survey/#comment-9518
Sunday, May 20, 2012
Six Line Sunday
Here's a sample from my soon-to-be released novel, St. Anne's Day. Enjoy!
“Why did you invite her anyway? You say she’s just an employee. Oh, I know, you invited her so she could change water into wine for you!” Claudia said.
In the other room, Peg slapped her knee, laughing silently.
The argument continued for a while. Everyone at the party sat staring, their ears straining to hear more.
“Why did you invite her anyway? You say she’s just an employee. Oh, I know, you invited her so she could change water into wine for you!” Claudia said.
In the other room, Peg slapped her knee, laughing silently.
The argument continued for a while. Everyone at the party sat staring, their ears straining to hear more.
Monday, May 14, 2012
Random Act of Kindness BLITZ!
A smile. An encouraging word. A thoughtful gesture. Each day people interact with us, help, and make our day a bit brighter and full. This is especially true in the Writing Community.
Take a second to think about writers you know, like the critique partner who works with you to improve your manuscript. The writing friend who listens, supports and keeps you strong when times are tough. The author who generously offers council, advice and inspiration when asked.
So many people take the time to make us feel special, don't they? They comment on our blogs, re-tweet our posts, chat with us on forums and wish us Happy Birthday on Facebook.
To commemorate the release of their book The Emotion Thesaurus, Becca and Angela at The Bookshelf Muse are hosting a TITANIC Random Act Of Kindness BLITZ. And because I think KINDNESS is contagious, I'm participating too!
I am randomly picking my longest-lasting critique partner, Judy Burnett Schneider. Her books, time and talent have helped to improve my writing not to mention my life. She is the co-author of the Frantic Woman's Guide to Life, has hosted numerous writing camps for children and is one of the brains behind Fat Plum, a writer's service. She is always ready with great ideas and motivation. She also introduced me to my other "bestest" critique partners, Julie Long and Mary Patioullet. All of these writers have helped me along the way and I am truly grateful. I owe you all a coffee!
Do you know someone special that you'd like to randomly acknowledge? Don't be shy--come join us and celebrate! Send them an email, give them a shout out, or show your appreciation in another way. Kindness makes the world go round. :)
Becca and Angela have a special RAOK gift waiting for you as well, so hop on over to The Bookshelf Muse to pick it up.
Have you ever participated in or been the recipient of a Random Act Of Kindness? Let me know in the comments!
Take a second to think about writers you know, like the critique partner who works with you to improve your manuscript. The writing friend who listens, supports and keeps you strong when times are tough. The author who generously offers council, advice and inspiration when asked.
So many people take the time to make us feel special, don't they? They comment on our blogs, re-tweet our posts, chat with us on forums and wish us Happy Birthday on Facebook.
Kindness ROCKS!
To commemorate the release of their book The Emotion Thesaurus, Becca and Angela at The Bookshelf Muse are hosting a TITANIC Random Act Of Kindness BLITZ. And because I think KINDNESS is contagious, I'm participating too!
I am randomly picking my longest-lasting critique partner, Judy Burnett Schneider. Her books, time and talent have helped to improve my writing not to mention my life. She is the co-author of the Frantic Woman's Guide to Life, has hosted numerous writing camps for children and is one of the brains behind Fat Plum, a writer's service. She is always ready with great ideas and motivation. She also introduced me to my other "bestest" critique partners, Julie Long and Mary Patioullet. All of these writers have helped me along the way and I am truly grateful. I owe you all a coffee!
Do you know someone special that you'd like to randomly acknowledge? Don't be shy--come join us and celebrate! Send them an email, give them a shout out, or show your appreciation in another way. Kindness makes the world go round. :)
Becca and Angela have a special RAOK gift waiting for you as well, so hop on over to The Bookshelf Muse to pick it up.
Have you ever participated in or been the recipient of a Random Act Of Kindness? Let me know in the comments!
Friday, May 11, 2012
A Mother's Love
My article on a wonderful mother I knew appeared in the May issue of Northern Connection magazine. In case you missed it there, here it is. Happy Mother's Day to all the moms out there.
Most everyone thinks that his or her mom is wonderful, which is how it should be. In this month’s issue, we feature some exceptional mothers like Lacie Spagnolo. As I was writing about them, I began to think about some of the remarkable moms I’ve met during my lifetime. As I was going over the roll call of mothers, there was one who stood out among the crowd. That mom was Olive Argentah, and she was a neighbor who lived the street behind me in West View, next door to my best girlfriend, Marilyn. Olive was her real name, but the neighborhood kids knew her as Aunt Tootie.
I don’t remember when I first met her, but I do remember when I first met her son.
I used to take my 45s up to Marilyn’s, where we would sing and dance to records in her bedroom like The Rolling Stones’, “Honky Tony Women” and The Archies’ “Sugar Sugar.” One day during the summer while the windows were open, we were debating our next musical selection when I heard a strange sound outside.
“What’s that noise?” I asked.
“Oh, that’s just Kenny,” Marilyn said nonchalantly.
“Who’s Kenny?"
“Aunt Tootie’s boy. He has something wrong with him.”
I knew Aunt Tootie’s daughter. She was gorgeous and worked downtown and wore beautiful suits and had black hair like That Girl. She had once given Marilyn a whole rainbow of mini lipstick samples from Avon that I would have traded all my issues of Tiger Beat magazine to own.
For the next several years, Kenny was sort of a Boo Radley in my life—a mystery person. Then one day when I was probably about 10 or 11 when we were out playing in Marilyn’s front yard, Aunt Tootie asked us if we wanted to come in and visit with Kenny. Marilyn had been in a number of times to see him, and she said sure so I tagged along.
Aunt Tootie took us into her small home and guided us to a first floor bedroom. There lying in a special bed dressed in kid’s pajamas was a man/child. Kenny was about the size of a 12-year-old boy, but he had the face of a young man. It was one of those moments where you stop breathing; I’d never seen someone like Kenny before.
Aunt Tootie smiled, rubbed his hair and said so lovingly, her kindness pierced my shock, “Here’s my handsome boy. Look, Kenny, Marilyn and Janice have come to visit.” He just glanced our way and made a noise. “Sit with him a minute, while I get his lunch.” She returned and spoon-fed him his meal.
As I’ve grown older, I’ve met other mother’s with children like Kenny, but Aunt Tootie stands out in my mind because of her love and pride for her son and for bearing what some would have found so burdensome with great joy, even when it seemed that life was out to break her.
Her husband, coincidentally was named Ollie, and they were madly in love. She once told Marilyn and me that the day this “handsome lumberjack walked into my high school, I knew I was going to marry him.” As long as they had each other, it seemed they could handle whatever came there way, including a profoundly handicapped child. They played games together, played their organ and bought a backyard pool so they could take stay-cations. Cruelly, Ollie, died suddenly while in his forties.
But I never once heard Aunt Tootie complain. She was funny, generous and loved a good time. She kept right on loving and caring for Kenny and seeing beauty where others may not have.
Thirty years ago this coming August, I invited her to my wedding. While most guests are concerned with receiving thank you notes for the wedding gifts they had given, not Aunt Tootie. Upon my return from my honeymoon, there was a thank you card waiting for me from her. In it she thanked me for inviting her to my wedding, said I looked beautiful, praised my parents, the food and the music and hoped that I would be as happy in marriage as she had been.
Nearly 20 years ago, my brother and his wife bought Marilyn’s old house and some years after that Aunt Tootie passed away, but not before loving and taking care of Kenny until he reached middle age and then passed away.
Her house was sold and the new owners told my sister-in-law that when they pulled up the old carpeting, they found notes under it that read: “This carpet was put in with love by Ollie and Tootie.”
Aunt Tootie need not have worried about leaving notes behind as a mark that she had lived. Her example of selfless, motherly love made a greater impression than any note or monument could ever have.
A Mother’s Love
I don’t remember when I first met her, but I do remember when I first met her son.
I used to take my 45s up to Marilyn’s, where we would sing and dance to records in her bedroom like The Rolling Stones’, “Honky Tony Women” and The Archies’ “Sugar Sugar.” One day during the summer while the windows were open, we were debating our next musical selection when I heard a strange sound outside.
“What’s that noise?” I asked.
“Oh, that’s just Kenny,” Marilyn said nonchalantly.
“Who’s Kenny?"
“Aunt Tootie’s boy. He has something wrong with him.”
I knew Aunt Tootie’s daughter. She was gorgeous and worked downtown and wore beautiful suits and had black hair like That Girl. She had once given Marilyn a whole rainbow of mini lipstick samples from Avon that I would have traded all my issues of Tiger Beat magazine to own.
For the next several years, Kenny was sort of a Boo Radley in my life—a mystery person. Then one day when I was probably about 10 or 11 when we were out playing in Marilyn’s front yard, Aunt Tootie asked us if we wanted to come in and visit with Kenny. Marilyn had been in a number of times to see him, and she said sure so I tagged along.
Aunt Tootie took us into her small home and guided us to a first floor bedroom. There lying in a special bed dressed in kid’s pajamas was a man/child. Kenny was about the size of a 12-year-old boy, but he had the face of a young man. It was one of those moments where you stop breathing; I’d never seen someone like Kenny before.
Aunt Tootie smiled, rubbed his hair and said so lovingly, her kindness pierced my shock, “Here’s my handsome boy. Look, Kenny, Marilyn and Janice have come to visit.” He just glanced our way and made a noise. “Sit with him a minute, while I get his lunch.” She returned and spoon-fed him his meal.
As I’ve grown older, I’ve met other mother’s with children like Kenny, but Aunt Tootie stands out in my mind because of her love and pride for her son and for bearing what some would have found so burdensome with great joy, even when it seemed that life was out to break her.
Her husband, coincidentally was named Ollie, and they were madly in love. She once told Marilyn and me that the day this “handsome lumberjack walked into my high school, I knew I was going to marry him.” As long as they had each other, it seemed they could handle whatever came there way, including a profoundly handicapped child. They played games together, played their organ and bought a backyard pool so they could take stay-cations. Cruelly, Ollie, died suddenly while in his forties.
But I never once heard Aunt Tootie complain. She was funny, generous and loved a good time. She kept right on loving and caring for Kenny and seeing beauty where others may not have.
Thirty years ago this coming August, I invited her to my wedding. While most guests are concerned with receiving thank you notes for the wedding gifts they had given, not Aunt Tootie. Upon my return from my honeymoon, there was a thank you card waiting for me from her. In it she thanked me for inviting her to my wedding, said I looked beautiful, praised my parents, the food and the music and hoped that I would be as happy in marriage as she had been.
Nearly 20 years ago, my brother and his wife bought Marilyn’s old house and some years after that Aunt Tootie passed away, but not before loving and taking care of Kenny until he reached middle age and then passed away.
Her house was sold and the new owners told my sister-in-law that when they pulled up the old carpeting, they found notes under it that read: “This carpet was put in with love by Ollie and Tootie.”
Aunt Tootie need not have worried about leaving notes behind as a mark that she had lived. Her example of selfless, motherly love made a greater impression than any note or monument could ever have.
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