Terry L. White's Book Blog

300 Posts

2012-02-04T06:28:00.001-08:00

A couple of years ago a friend suggested I start a blog to drive more traffic to my work. During that time I posted daily - and sometimes skipped days and weeks. I wrote about my work, current events, and sometimes things that were going on in my world.

In a way, all of those 300 posts are the journal I never managed to keep up. Something always got in the way of those private books where one puts all of his or her ideas, prayers, thoughts and dreams. Someone read my journal once. Once was enough.

So while I write personal things in my blog, at this point in my life there is nothing much to hide. It seems to me 300 posts contain a lot about me and the world in which I live. I know that posting has sustained me when I hit the dire writer's block and felt alone in the world - even though no one might read what was written there.

My blog allows me to speculate on the future, and that is a good thing as we create our own reality. If we look at possible endings for a situation, writing down the bones of us allow us to look for that silver lining and happy endings. Or not. It is up to each of us whether we decide to buy into the bad news or to walk on the sunny side. You choose.

Wonder

Sometimes I wonder what is the real news
And what the reporters, trying to keep their jobs,
Have cooked up to go with our morning coffee.
It is all so disturbing – the threats and talk of war,
The disease we bred by hand, irradidated now.
If we don’t watch out, all those old monster
Movies will come to pass and twenty foot lizards
Will lurk in the grass near the birdbath out back
Waiting to eat your cat and take off your head.
Sometimes I wonder what people think is all right
When the sky is red with volcano dust and the seas
Spit up strange species upon the strand for us to taste –
And the spoiled mouse with two heads is the last one –
And the cow’s milk has gone bad and the meat spoiled.
How can all that come to pass when God promised
That there would always be enough to feed each Mother’s child,
But now we watch the surge of wildest sea and ask
If our children will have a world to run after all.
Sometimes I wonder what happened to our birthright
That now we find each evening, dark with fear and
Dreams plagued with mud and fire on hill and marsh
Destroying Eden in their miserable march to the leaden sky
When what we crave is a good night’s sleep spooned
With love and trust while the stars waltz about the sky
And the Northern lights track friendly fire from desert bands
Bent on their particular translation of holy word,
And wonder why the Creator allows it all to go on.

On Being Poor

2012-02-02T06:31:00.001-08:00

Yesterday presidential candidate Mit Romney said that he is not concerned with the poor because the government already has programs to see to their needs. Please!

I wonder if this man understands America at all. A good many of our citizens came to the continent to exercise one freedom or another and most of them arrived pennyless. As soon as things got organized, the more affluent guys in the new community hired the folks with fewer assets to work at starvation wages.

Admitedly, things have improved over time and employers must hire people at what our legislors select as 'a living wage.' Children no longer work 12-hour days in factories. Company stores no longer charge their customers more than they earn all week in The Man's mines and canneries just to buy food for their children. These are good things.

But there are poor folks - and poor folks. Basically, it seems to me that earning less than one's necessities cost could indicate poverty on some level. Often, however, the people I know in this category consider debt a shame and work at some side hustle to pay the light bill. Some of them eventually break down and ask for heating or other assistance, but they absolutely don't care to think of themselves as 'poor' - although they do without a whole lot and work far into their old age.

There are poor folks who are sick, and the government sees to their care, although I experienced a period of disability for a couple of years - so I know whereof I speak. It is not easy to get disability and it is not easy to take. I had to be certifiablely sick to collect, but I am getting over that and working on a way to provide for myself. I don't like being sick in the first place, so I set about improving my health and otherwise doing things that could provide an income for my future. Like my favorite boss once said, "Terry, you have to learn to work with your head."

My goal is to earn enough money so that the government doesn't have to continue to subsidize my old age. I don't care if I am still poor, as long as I can pay my way.

I have written 20 books, have a line of unique jewelry and composed a couple of CDs. I appreciate the disablility funds that gave me time to develop these other talents -any one of which could free me from the need to draw government funds to pay my way.)Also: I have a friend who is 93 percent disabled and she works for her living. I think there is a lesson about poverty right there.

It is plain to see are just about as poor (and as sick) as we want to be. There are folks on government programs that never work at all their entire life. The paradox is plain to see and begs the question: If all one's needs are met, is he or she still "poor?"

But then there are poor folks who lost their living when the fisheries died and who are learning to be carpenters and lawyers. There are poor moms who leave the kids with Gramma while they go get a degree in business management. There are poor dads who lifted package of hamburger to feed their kids and ended up in a prison where they teach the prisoners a trade. Again the question: once educated, is this individual then rendered no longer poor? I think you may assume this, but poverty is not a country easily left behind.

Poverty is one of American's biggest challenges and it seems to me that we each need to look at our individual responsibility to pay our own way. Perhaps we need to look at the problem and see our place in its resolution. Perhaps we need to think of ourselves in other ways? Perhaps we must stop thinking 'poor.' The rain is done and I am going for a walk to help keep me healthy while I enjoy the view on the sunny side.

Honor Mother and Father

2012-01-28T05:31:00.000-08:00

As many of my friends know, I recently published my 20th book and the sixth in what I like to call the Chesapeake Heritage series. The story of a soldier who came to the Eastern Shore to guard German prisoners of war during WW2 picks up where my novel Vienna Pride left off. Each of the tales puts the spotlight on her-story, an area sometimes neglected by the historians who did their best to tell the story as they saw it!

When I wrote Chesapeake Harvest, the first in the series, I thought it was going to be a stand-alone book, but the yarn took over and five books later I seem to have come to the end of my journey.

I have to thank my publisher and Snow Hill artist Dawn Tarr for the great covers that spotlight the first five stories surrounding the lives of one family of women through the maze of his-story, but when I came to the last cover, I went astray and chose a photo of my mother and father for the cover of First Waltz. I am getting some good feedback on the cover image - proving perhaps that a book can be judged by its cover.

My mother died when I was very young, but my father was always pretty proud of his daughter the writer, so I am fairly sure they are together up there in heaven looking down on the book and the cover image of Bob and Hazel White when they were young. I can't think of a better way to honor them.

You can find my historical novels on Amazon, Barnes and Noble and online vendors who sell e-book files. Check them out if you would like to know a little more about the her-story of the Eastern Shore, and keep on the sunny side. Love, Terry

Thinking Ahead and the Golden Years

2012-01-25T06:55:00.000-08:00

As I wander through what is sometimes termed my golden years, I wonder how I am going to face my old age with dignity.

I have always been what some people term "poor" and always worked hard to earn a living and pay my bills even though there was never any extra for things like health insurance,reliable cars or trips to the beauty shop. I did not, however, count on health problems or the need to greatly augment what Social Security can afford to dole out to old folks who will certainly have any number of health issues as time goes by. I for one was so busy in the present problems that I didn't have time or energy to give much thought to my old age.

While I understood the importance of work and being responsible for myself, both in finances and good health, I also spent some time writing, which turned out to be the one true love in my life. People say they like my books, but the trick seems to be selling the output when royalty checks come in single digits.

Last week I received the first copies of my 20th book. I always hoped that the extra work I did over the years would help me take care of my bills in my old age. It has not so far, but my life isn't over yet. Which isn't to say I don't get frustrated. It is hard on the ego to realize one's work is not desirable.

Nor does it help when the printer gets half the sale price and the publisher gets half of what's left, and the writer is stuck with the smallest piece of a pie that wouldn't even be there if the writer didn't trust them with his or her work.

One think I know: If my work, all those 20 books, would support me then I would no longer look to the government to help pay my bills. I just wish I could figure out the combination so I can spend the rest of my days on the sunny side. If you know the secret, please let me know. Terry

Happy Whaaaaa???

2012-01-19T06:45:00.000-08:00

WOW! Today is my birthday and I already have 50 greetings on Facebook before 10 o'clock (and a cake from Elliott Island!) Every decade or so one gets to experience a really outstanding birthday, and I have a feeling this is going to be one of them.

Yesterday I attended a meeting about creating tourism opportunities for Dorchester County as we enter a world that needs new solutions to old problems. Turns out Dorchester has to blow its own horn. It already has all the ingredients for day trippin' in a season where fuel use is a factor in how people spend their leisure.

As a pre-baby boomer I am now in the position to sit down and wait for the grim reaper, travel around in an RV as big as a house, or lie about my age and buy a red car. Any one of these things will keep me busy for a little while. But what is left to hold me until the end?

Suddenly the world is populated by jillions of folks who are sliding, slipping, squeaking, and stampeding our their old age. I know people like to call these their golden years, but some of us never had any gold to compare them to.

So what is going to happen to us? It is pretty clear the Social Security nirvana we were promised as adults turned out to be another urban legend. Many of us have retired from commercial work and find ourselves with scads of time on our hands and holes in our bank accounts. Some of the guys putter in their shops, the women take their granddaughters to the beauty parlor. Lots of people volunteer - doing their old job for free. But what about when you get to be really old? What will keep you interested in life?

Some folks enjoy poor health while others are getting around to the profession they always wanted to enjoy with an new significant other. I have an idea that choosing something difficult to learn may be the key to a good old age. Who wants to die with things undone, anyway?

I'll tell you a secret. All I ever wanted to do was to write, and if I get a birthday wish today, I would like to ask that my work is noticed and provides me with a comfortable decline and enough income to enjoy the view. If you would like to give me a present go to Amazon.com or Kindle and type in my name: Terry L. White

Special Thanks to my fans who stay up all night to find out what is going to happen next.

In the meantime, friends are coming to call today, there will be a dinner out on Friday and who knows what on the weekend. I am so blessed to have landed in this place where people are nice and they know a famous author when they see one. I have a feeling I am going to be walking on the sunny side today and I hope you do too.

One more thing: Thanks to the folks who read into the small hours just to find out what happens next. You rock!

On Learning to Sit Still

2012-01-16T04:52:00.001-08:00

I don't know about you, but there are times in my life when I wonder just exactly what is going on and if I am making any progress at all. This is an especially frequent occasion when winter grips the land with icy fingers and the trees clatter and clack to a music I cannot hear.

The thing I often forget to take into consideration is that the world continues to turn, despite what may seem like a dismal lack of progress. It is only after the fact that I realize the time that seemed so empty was in reality full of things to be noticed from my place of immobility.

My cat, who has surely superhuman intelligence, knows the value of sitting still and he does so at every opportunity. He understands, you see, that sitting upon his person affords us both a bit more warmth in a chilly world. For Shadow, sitting still rules!

On warmer days, sitting still allows me to trace the progress of seeds I plant, a task I enjoy very much. Plants grow quickly - and slowly at the same time. One cannot see the progress as the tiny seedling bursts out of the seed and reaches for the sun, but the little plant grows nonetheless.

With this realization I have come to understand that all things are possible given faith and inner stillness. As such, I wish you a good day and a walk on the sunny side. Love, Terry

On Learning to Sit Still

I have spent all my life
Hurrying to get things done:
There were dishes and papers,
And cakes decorated in tiers.
I have spent all my life
Waiting for things to happen:
There were births, and deaths,
And fireworks on rainy nights.
I have spent all my life
Trying to understand:
There were people, and ideas,
And dogs that ate shoes.
I have spent all my life
Looking for answers:
To questions, and mysteries
And why my son won’t call
I have spent all my life
Watching for signs
Like falling stars, and clovers,
And letters from sadder times.
I have spent all my life
Working to stay alive:
And sold my breath, my youth,
And jewels made of glass.
What’s next?

The Word Tree

2012-01-15T05:38:00.000-08:00

Several years ago I was persuaded to join a group of artists who meet each week to explore the world of marketing our various arts. As a writer, I was not at all sure I belonged in the group, although I was pretty sure that I worked every bit as hard as the other (sometimes well known) artists in the group. It was a good thing to do and over time I have explored other art forms that I might not have tried otherwise.

It is a great group. We meet each Wednesday morning over coffee to discuss what's happening in the world of art, where to hang the images we capture with brush and camera, what charity we support and who sold a piece - despite the depression.

Cambridge, a town of rich history and present poverty, is working with the Main Street initiative to breathe life back into the once-busy downtown. Every second Saturday sees a constant flow of visitors to Race Street where a number of art galleries open their doors to spill light on the sidewalks and welcome visitors who come to see the art we shape and weave and paint.

Usually I sign my books, which are mostly historical fiction, but I do other things as well. Sometimes I even paint, as in the case of the photo for this post. Oddly enough, words got in the mix. Look closely and you'll see what I mean. I guess a tiger can't really change its spots, the words are there despite my best intentions.

I hope you enjoy my words and that you always walk on the sunny side. Terry

Tree Words

There are words in the trees,
The branches scribble them
Across the sky
While God trims the deadwood
And the wind blows hot
On summer mornings before
The rain falls to water
The grass; and my prayers
Rise to heaven on the
Wings of jays and cardinals
As I plot my day
Through moments of
Inspiration and regret.
What words are these
That scroll the dreams
Of common man who fails
And falls on his way to
Understanding love?

First Waltz, The Beat Goes On

2012-01-10T04:37:00.000-08:00

The new year has started in a good way for me! I am happy to introduce First Waltz, the sixth in my series of historical novels focused on the women of the Eastern Shore.

First Waltz is based on the true story of a young soldier who was ordered to serve in Cambridge to guard the German prisoners of war who spent the balance of the second world war in a field where the Little League games are now played.

Henry Snyder falls in love with nursing student Susie Snyder at their first meeting at a church dance. Susie, who wasn't supposed to attend the dance, vows she wants nothing to do with the handsome lumberjack from upstate New York, but Henry is persistent and won't give up his suit. When the war ends, Henry returns to his mountain home, but he can't get the lovely Susie off his mind - nothing will do but that he return to Cambridge to claim his bride.

But how will Susie fare in the lonely, snowbound mountains when Henry goes off to work in the lumber camp? How will the couple face the winds of change during the 1950s as they nurture their growing family?

First Waltz is a love story that reminds us it takes two to make a successful marriage and life.

When the time came to choose a cover for this book, I went through some old photos and chose a portrait of my parents during the latter part of the 1940s. I think they would be pleased.

And I hope you enjoy the book and always walk on the sunny side. Terry

Keeping Christmas

2011-12-20T04:10:00.000-08:00

I am so thankful for my life here in Cambridge, which is an award-winning town with lots going on and people are good to each other.

As you may know, I am a member of the Wednesday Morning Artists, a great group that meets each Wednesday morning at the Creek Deli for coffee and conversation - not to mention planning for lots of good projects under the leadership of Nancy Snyder, who has enough love for everybody! It is a wonderful, supportive group and I know it has made a difference in my life.

For the past several years I have put out a call for members to help me gather gifts for the participants at Pleasant Day Medical Adult Day Care Center. The response has been overwhelming. My living room is full of wrapped gifts to be delivered.

And so my thanks go out to all of those good people who went out of their way to purchase and wrap gifts. Most of the people I asked brought more than one gift, astonishing when one considers that the people who helped with the project do not know the recipients and that they brought more than one gift!

You are all wonderful! Many thanks to those who donated gifts, transportation and good will. You are my heroes! I wish you the happiest of holidays and that you always walk on the sunny side! Love, Terry

As Time Goes By

2011-12-01T04:41:00.000-08:00

This summer I took a trip out to Toddville with my friend Ann Foley. Our objective was to talk with some residents of the area to add to a book we are working on called A Dorchester Scrapbook. I took my camera and snapped some shots of various buildings along the way.

Scattered across the marsh country are any number of small country stores with their doors shut and signs fading into soft pastels. One person Ann talked to said there were six of these little mercantiles in a two-mile area. As such, it became evident that people could walk to the neighborhood store and pick up what they needed. A good many of these little places offered credit - the customer could charge their purchases and settle up the tab on payday.

Today, in our era of technology and instant gratification we have to pay for the goods before we can cart them home. If we don't have the cash, no problem. Simply put the charge on your credit card and you are off! Don't even think about the huge interest the card company will add to balances not paid off each month!

So much has changed from the day of the neighborhood store, and having grown up in a similar community in the Appalachains of Pennsylvania, I think of our little grocery store with nostalgia. I would love to see the place again, to check out the big wheel of cheese near the cash register and the candy counter where dreams were spent and fingerprints were left on the glass barrier between the shopper and the sweet.

The old days have a certain charm, but we have to live in today's world of computers, cell phones, and flat screen TVs. I have an idea all the technology that has blossomed during my life is both good and bad.

Sure, we can get things done in the wink of an eye. Just send an email!

I think we miss the community where people greeted passers-by from porches and husbands went down to the store to discuss cars and ball games around a potbelly
stove.

The world is changing - as the world has done and I sometimes wonder if we are not all stuck in the starting position. When it all gets to be too much, I try to get outside and take a walk on the sunny side. I hope you do too! Love, Terry

Terry L. White's Book Blog: What Can I Do?

2011-11-20T06:02:00.000-08:00

Terry L. White's Book Blog: What Can I Do?

What Can I Do?

2011-11-20T05:56:00.001-08:00

What can I do, Lord?The world is a mess. We are bombarded by news of unrest and war, and yet I have the notion that we are being tested – as the children of a benevolent spirit.When I hear of war delivered daily and hourly through advanced technology, I look back through the history of our species and see that evil often triumphs over good and boys scarce out of childhood fight for the ideal of freedom and peace. I cannot help but ask how can this be the path to harmony?We live in a society where it seems evil-doers are blessed with plenty and those born in poverty and despair live day to day in fear for their very existence. And yet it is the poor who work to change the world while many of the well-to-do struggle to protect their precious wealth. We are bombarded by schemes that promise riches beyond counting delivered largely to those who climb on the backs of others in order to increase their supply. How can this be when there are those whole families who sleep homeless on the streets and small children comb the city’s dumps in order to find just one morsel of food, one pair of shoes? Ancient Mayan prophets have written the end of the world next year, but the prophecy remains unclear: Will our race fall to the rage of war? Or will mankind claim peace and harmony and create an entirely new civilization based on love and responsibility? If anyone knows, they aren’t telling. I would like to see the latter.I have come through a lifetime of struggle, a battle that taught me faith and gave me the belief that there is a higher power ready to provide when all seems hopeless. I have known poverty, and the wealth of knowing my needs will be met – even when that end does not seem clear. When I reach the end of my strength, I turn my problems over to that power and offer myself to the resolution. And so, today, looking at the hoards of individuals lobbying for peace in the cities of our land, I see a replay of the unrest the poor have rallied to ask for a more even distribution of not only wealth, but opportunity; and I see this across the world. I have but little in the greater things, but I have this: I can ask what spirit requires of me to tip the balance. What is required of me, one single person in a world of billions of souls? I am not a healer, I deal with words. I am not a lawyer to fiddle with the law, turning it to the protection of the rich and criminal – and sometimes to the woes of the poor – if the settlement looks large enough. I wrestle with ideas. I am not a politician, who promises much and votes for the very thing they promised to protect. I look for truth in the reflections of the past and carry hope for the future.I do not care what god you worship. All gods are good who raise humanity. All I ask is to be given a task, one thing I can do to improve the world …. And one thing more. I ask that each soul in this place ask the same. Just think what millions of good acts could do!What can I do?At the very least Friend, look on the sunny side. You might be surprised in what you see. Love, Terry

Vitamin D Testing

2011-10-30T06:49:00.000-07:00

The other day I got a bill for over $200 in the mail for a test to measure my Vitamin D levels. Medicare says the test is medically unnecessary and that I have to pay for it!

Wait a minute! My doctors at the local clinic have always told me my Vitamin D levels were just fine and I take a daily supplement, so I am wondering just why the test was ordered in the first place. I get it that the government has to save money, but not that I should have to foot the bill for unnecessary testing. Surely every doctor in the world got a notice that the test was no longer covered?

Apparently Medicare is weeding out unnecessary testing, and I am fine with that - but it might have been nice if I had been given the information that this test is no longer covered.

I live on a severely restricted budget and paying this bill will be difficult. I am writing my doctor to ask that I no longer have to have this testing done, and hopefully I will remember to remind her not to do it again as I have been tested for various other conditions twice a year. Four hundred dollars is more than my mortgage payment!

I urge others who are on Medicare to talk to their physician about the cost of the tests they order. It is apparent that doctors do not know what costs are incurred and order tests without thought about the impact on the life of the patient.

Just saying - in the meantime, it is a pretty day so take a walk on the sunny side and collect some natural Vitamin D!

Love, Terry

A Day at the Wharf

2011-10-23T04:22:00.000-07:00

Yesterday I joined Ann Foley, Andy Nunez and other local writers for a day at Long Wharf in Cambridge where the Richardson Museum hosted their annual schooner rendevous.

What a beautiful day it was! There was a hint of chill in the air, but it was beautiful in the sun and many came to get a closer look at the tall ships that gathered on the Choptank River to demonstrate our living history.

I always love being able to go out with my books and say howdy to the many friends I have made in the community over the years. It really warms my heart to catch up on news and collect hugs. (I like to gather as many as I can!)

Cambridge is a town with great spirit, and it hosts many gatherings over the course of the year. In addition to the hospitality of the warm-hearted locals, we are seeing an increase in growth in the arts with several galleries open to show off the accomplishments of the art community.

The Cambridge downtown is gradually coming back from the economic decline that it suffered from the early 90s when I first came to the community. That year, almost every store on Race Street closed and it was a sad thing to go downtown - especially during the holiday season. There was even a movement for non-proft groups to decorate the empty windows on Race Street.

But times have changed and despite the slump our country is experiencing Cambridge is coming back! Many of the downtown storefronts are filling up and people are out and about. Much of it is due to the work and dedication of Jim Duffy, who has been thee coordinator for the Main Street project in Cambridge. It is heartwarming to see, so if you are feeling down, take a walk downtown and check out the change. It is definitely a walk on the sunny side! Love, Terry

The End of the World?

2011-10-18T08:31:00.000-07:00

Everyone seems to be searching for a place of calm while the world fights the same wars over and over again. It seems as if we all believe in some sort of God, Creator of heaven and earth, or overseer, but it seems like something is getting lost in the translation.

According to the ancient Maya calendar the world will end in the year 2012. Boy! That sure makes it difficult to believe in happily ever after when the ghosts of the French Revolution stalk the shadows of Wall Street bankers. What’s up with that?

I believe poor folks have a point. It is pretty clear that not even one millionaire got there without the sweat and toil of lots and lots of little people who live on the verge of poverty. Again, we can look to history for a parallel – but where is Robin Hood when we need him?

I realize I am spitting into the wind, but what if everyone took a minute to think positive about the proposed world’s end and pondered the great WHAT IF?

What if people started being nice to one another? What if every guy on the street picked up one piece of garbage? What if every mom took a day off to love her child, instead of telling that youngster that he or she is bad, and then skip the yelling because a little milk was spilled. What if everyone turned down the heat a couple of degrees? What if people sat on their porches and passed the time of day? What if everyone with a vacant lot allowed people with no land to plant a garden and grow some of the food they need? What if every employer in the world gave his employees one dollar more each week?

There are so many opportunities for people to do good, one wonders why there is so much strife in the world.

Could it be? Is it possible? What if the end of the world could be the end of the world as we know it? What if the end of the world was the beginning of peace on earth and enough for every child to be fed? I believe it could happen….

Do you?

If not, take a walk on the sunny side and you might see the possibilities! Love, Terry

Who's Watching the Store?

2011-09-08T05:38:00.001-07:00

Earlier this week out lovsl TV station ran a story about the United States Postal Service saying that it has reached a $15 billion debt ceiling and that if it cannot come up with a $5 billion payment soon, the United States Postal Service will close its doors this winter.

What?

I am sorry, but who is watching the store? We have an appointed Postmaster General who supposedly watches over the business and has a great deal of freedom in supervising that operation. Or am I wrong? I did a little research.

Supposedly the Postmaster General is appointed by the president to make sure the postal service operates in an appropriate fashion. This person is an employee of the nation with a $263,575 annual paycheck enhanced by another $135,041 in benefits as of the year 2009. No doubt there has been a COLA or two since then, but my question is ‘what do the taxpayers get for all their money? More debt?

Is that right? Think about it.

When I was a little girl trying to sell boxed greeting cards to my neighbors many of the older prospects said that the price of stamps was going up from two to three cents and they couldn’t afford to buy the cards. The price of stamps has gone up every couple of years since then, and while service at the local Post Office (which underwent costly and extensive renovations this past year!) has always been good, one wonders how so much debt has piled up.

Who’s watching the store? And why haven’t the bills been paid all along?

Seeing the state of the nation, which is also deeply in debt, one wonders where accountability has strayed. One wonders how administrators can allow a business to continue to borrow with such ridiculous limits. Who is watching the store?

There are millions of poor folks out here who can’t make house and car payments, who have no insurance or pension plans because there has never been any extra money to save for the future, let alone survive the present. It would seem to me that the government could take a page from the poor individual’s guidebook: cut back, do without, pay your bills.

Demand accountability.

And walk on the sunny side. Love, Terry

Who Are the Angels?

2011-08-30T10:20:00.000-07:00

Well, we had an interesting few days in the summer of 2011!

One good thing. Everybody called everybody. They touched bass, they made peace.
It was awesome!

I was pretty much alone while the shaking and rocking went on, if you don’t count the adolescent black cat named Shadow. He’s pretty cool, but when he saw that rain blowing uphill, he let me know that he wasn’t going out in that kaka.

As luck would have it, I happened to be in the middle of some fine copper ombre yarn that had gotten tangled because I couldn’t find the end… sometimes it happens. One thing, I found I didn’t mind something immediate to occupy my hands and the left part of my brain so that I could cope with the flying bricks and a category one hurricane fussing around the door. I untangled that huge knot for hours on end… and now I can make Lisa a shawl.

Which brings me to the point of this post. Being alone in a storm is a good way to take stock of one’s life and the angels who have claimed a dance along the way. Lisa is one of my angels. She has a good and helpful heart and has done me many a good turn.

So, she will get a scarf done in a difficult stitch. It is a good thing to make a shawl for a sister, no matter how long it takes.

Who were the others? Angels – oh, there are always a few more. There was Fred Smith who opened my ears to the miracle of true storytelling. There was Dorothy Morford who believed I could work with my head (even though she warned against starvation in my old age….) She paid me well.

Arline Chase was another angel. She honored my work as a writer. OH… and Jackie Vickers – she kept me employed for as long as I could stay listening to the old folks spin their tales. Who else? Well, Lyle Cameron – village idiot and champion racer… he’ll give you a life saver and remind you to have a good day.

There are so many angels in my life – the gals from the Main Street Gallery and Wednesday Morning Artists… The musicians who let me join the jam….

I could go on and on for there are surely more, but I thought you might want to join the conversation. Tell me about your angels and keep on the sunny side! Love, Terry

Wha... Happened?

2011-08-24T04:02:00.000-07:00

Yesterday the Eastern Shore joined the eastern seaboard as we experienced a rare earthquake centered in Virginia. I knew what it was as I had been shaken awake by a similar shake in the Adirondacks. The piano was playing itself and I woke to the jangle of strings.

My piano remained silent yesterday, but it brought back memories of an odd time that culminated in my move to the Eastern Shore. You pretty much know an earthquake once you have lived through one. Of course, the west coast has events like this all the time, but we tend to think the Atlantic seaboard is more or less safe from earthquake, which made this recent occurrance a real shock even though damage was fairly minor.

An odd point is that we are on the cusp of the arrival of a heavy storm coming up from the Caribbean at this point in time. Let's hope that Irene moves out to sea and leaves us alone - or more likely - just waters our gardens.

It may be coincidence, but I wrote the following poem recently. Maybe it was a message... you never know. At any rate, I hope you enjoy and that you keep on the sunny side. Love, Terry

Earthshake and Rain

There was an earthshake the other day
And that brought on a grief reaction
That reflected our puzzlement and anger
That the planet should do us that way.
We all know perfectly well that
When buildings fall, it is not the fault
Of the sand on which we build ….
Or the men who draw the plans.
Consider this:
The fault is the fault!
A fissure deep in the ground
That moves and turns so
Things go out of plumb and
Building blocks fall like rain.
And then the rain falls three states away
Flooding the flatlands,
Washing away houses and frogs,
Carrying new topsoil to cover
The croplands and meadows
Where the grasses grew for time out of mind
And we try to say that a flood is wrong
When all of this is normal
All day long.

What Shade Democracy?

2011-08-21T07:07:00.000-07:00

I will admit I have found the view of my world rather unsettling lately. I can’t seem to figure out why there is so much prejudice when it comes to our population and even our decision-making.

A couple of years ago the nation was congratulating itself on electing a president who represented a non-white race. There was a huge infusion of pride and hope for our country. We had cracked the race barrier at last!

Then President Obama went to work on the colossal mess he inherited from past presidents and Congress. He was a man with a plan, and realization of that plan put him squarely in the cross hairs of bigots and nay-sayers who knew without doubt this was an evil man. I do not doubt that prejudice is a heavy hitter in what is going on right now. I hear it every day on the street – and I wonder what sort of public opinion I would hear if our nation’s leader did not also represent another race.

Who, I ask, has the education, courage and stamina to stand up to the problems our president faced from day one? I know for sure I wouldn’t want the job, but if I did have to do it, I would like to hope I would have time to see the plan come to fruition and have the support of the men and women who helped elect him.

I understand that prejudice has a huge role in this drama in which we are enmeshed. And it is a drama that goes back as far as mankind. If someone is different, has a different skin tone, a strange religion or an exotic dietary law, they have to be bad. It is automatic, and cause for discord, disharmony and war.

The real problem is we don’t learn. We didn’t learn from the Holocaust, when millions died simply because they had a different belief system. We didn’t learn from the near-genocide of the American Indians who welcomed European visitors with open hearts and were massacred and pushed aside for their trouble. We don’t learn.

Over time, we have excoriated the Jews, the Irish, the Chinese, and recently Hispanics – pushing them into ghettos and forcing them to work for sub-standard wages – just because we can.

The truth is we are all of us immigrants. I proudly claim a Native American ancestry, and yet when looking back, I see that even they struck out from another continent, walked (it is a theory anyway!) across the Bering Straits and took over a world that may or may not have been empty. Today it is all right (maybe even stylish) to be Native American, but go south a ways and our cousins in Mexico and points south are not all right at all.

If I remember my high school history correctly, we are a country that supposedly endorses that familiar legend on the Statue of Liberty welcoming the poor, the tired, and huddled masses. Makes you wonder, doesn’t it?

I hope you think about it… and stay on the sunny side!

Terry

Where Can You Get Some Happiness?

2011-08-17T04:15:00.000-07:00

When I wake up each morning, I let the cat in for his breakfast, brew a cup of coffee, and crank up the internet in case someone is emailing to say my novel Drama Queen Rules is gonna be made into a movie! Then I switch on the morning show on TV. They have these young folks reading the news so it is usually interesting enough for me to stop fooling around with some computer solitaire in order to see what’s gone wrong in the world while I was asleep. I am often less than pleased with what I hear. There just isn’t that much good news any more, although I sincerely wish there was.

Sometimes I notice things when I’m not up to my ears in the romance of my next book because writing is both compelling and isolating. I have noticed that when people are nice to you (like the waitress out at Kay’s Restaurant over at the airport), you then tend to be nicer to the other people in your world later on. Nice spreads, and isn’t it a blessing?

If you can, do me a favor and please don’t forget to be pleasant to your waitress: her feet hurt, her back is out, the fool she is living one is lazier than a pet cat, and she makes less than a dollar an hour after taxes. She needs the tips, but an encouraging word is priceless.

Another thing I have noticed is that people seem to have too much stuff. Too much stuff isn’t good. For one thing it pretty much screws up your feng shui. For another, stuff isn’t what we are after in the first place. We are looking for something else.

I have an idea that the solution to too much stuff would be to either barter or give it away. Money’s scarce, the government spent it all. The secret is that if you need or want a piece of my stuff, then maybe we could swap – or I could give you a thing that you admire that really doesn’t mean much to me. That sort of transaction doesn’t take any cash money for the government to worry about – and your feng shui gets better.

All the stuff you hate gums up your environment and your peace of mind. Sometimes you just gotta get rid of the what-nots, and old books, and table sweepings from your beading hobby. It is amazing how much good our junk can do if we simply put it out there. Take old cars for instance. How many dead cars are there lurking in back yards or huddled around old barns? Oh, and don’t forget the fenced junk yards. There’s an awful lot of iron out there that could be used for all sorts of things. What if everyone with more than one dead car took it to a recycler and just give it to them? The view of your barn would get better at the very least.

About a year ago my friend Sue gave me a very elegant set of heavy gourmet cooking pots to replace the enamel pans and Farberwear I had collected from here and there over the years. I washed the old cookware and put it out on my stoop knowing that young people walk the street a lot – and that some of them just setting up housekeeping for the first time.

Then I closed the front door.

I love my new kitchenware gift and that is a blessing that keeps on giving because every time I take a pan out of the cupboard I remember the woman who gifted me with such a costly and beautiful gift. Back in Appalachia, they didn’t have nice pans to cook in. All the enamel was chipped and all the pots were burned from sitting on the wood stove before the fire died down.

It seems like the happiest people I know don’t take life too seriously. They learn to laugh early in what some might call difficult lives. They know without a doubt that laughter is indeed good medicine, and they offer it to all comers, understanding the responsibility that comes along with the gift.

I like a good laugh myself. There’s nothing like a one-liner to break up the tension. I think as much of our lives as possible should be spent laughing. For one thing, laughter is much cheaper than all the drugs we are supposed to need in order to live longer than ever before. What on earth are they going to do with all the old farts they keep alive when we live in a world where kids can’t get work and rock and roll reminds us of our tender youth?

Happiness isn’t that hard to get. It comes with an encouraging word, a gift with no strings and a little good news. Hope you have a happy day and keep on the sunny side! Terry

A Good Review!

2011-08-13T04:59:00.000-07:00

Last night I happened to check my email and found this wonderful review for Drama Queen Rules by Martha Cheves. Check it out here or at http://marthaskitchenkorner.blogspot.com/)

Drama Queen Rules – Review by Martha A. Cheves, Author of Stir, Laugh, Repeat and Think With Your Taste Buds – Desserts

‘When I saw Skip wheel out of that parking lot in Paradox, I knew for sure I was going to break up with him. I have known girls who had men in prison and I wasn’t about to spend every Saturday afternoon waiting for a thirty-minute visit with some con. That wasn’t my idea of a good relationship at all. I wanted better, and I had a plan. All I had to do was to save up some money and enroll in the community college over to the county seat and get a degree in social working so I could help people I never should have told anybody about it though. All I got was a hard time. People don’t like to think you are getting too big for your britches, and they won’t hesitate to say so.

“What makes you think you are smart enough to go to college?” Emma Grace sneered and turned up Judge Judy when I told her what I was going to do. “Ain’t you the one who had to do seventh grade twice?” She took a big swig of her diet cola and burped loudly. Emma Grace always thinks she is so smart, but she always acts so ignorant.’

Lainey Cook was just standing in line when the “big robbery” took place at Bailey’s Market in the Adirondack town of Paradox, killing the owner Hop Bailey and the store’s bag boy. Turns out that the customers in the store stuck together and beat the heck out of the robbers by throwing everything from bricks of lard to frozen vegetables at them. This detained them until the police got there, which wasn’t too soon or the robbers just might have been found beaten to death with food. No one seemed to know who these men were nor where they came from but Lainey knew who turned out to be the getaway driver as he steered the car from the back of the store. It was none other than her boyfriend Skip Boyer. That was also the day that Skip became Lainey’s ex-boyfriend. Which was ok too because Skip left town in hopes of avoiding the police and being hauled in for armed robbery and accessory to murder.

Lainey put her foot to the ground and started working even harder on her dream to go to college. She was determined to bring herself out of the trailer park she had lived in her whole life no matter what her sister Emma Grace and their mother might say. And all was going well until Skip showed up, took what little money she had, as well as her car and Lainey herself.

I can describe Drama Queen Rules in two words – seriously funny. The trials and tribulations that Lainey finds herself going through would “seriously” put most of us under or at least make us give up. Lainey, on the other hand, handles her kidnapping by Skip with tolerance and humor. She has a determined mind that won’t give up its dream no matter how hard times become nor what hardships might come her way. Author Terry L. White has a way of telling her story in a style that reminds me of one other writer – Louis Grizzard. She turns a back woods life into a success. I loved every page I turned and when the book ended, I wanted more!

2010
155 pages
Xlibris

Drama Queen Rules is available from me or at Amazon, etc. See you at the Annie Oakley festival today - keep on the sunny side! Terry

Festival's Coming

2011-08-11T11:45:00.000-07:00

This Saturday I will be down on Race Street with several local authors. The Annie Oakley Festival has invited the literari and artists to their festivals in Cambridge and I had a great time last year when the event was held at Sailwinds Park.

This year, the festival will take place on Race Street in Cambridge. There will be all sorts of things relating to the Annie Oakley experience. Miss Oakley lived with her husband Frank Butler in Cambridge for several years. Legend has it, she often stood on her porch roof to shoot ducks on the Choptank River. I don't guess they enforced zoning laws so much back then!

At any rate, Mary Handley will be dressed as Annie Oakley and there will be music all day, vendors, food and lots of fun. The weather even promises to be good. I can hardly wait to be there with Ann Foley, Andy Nunez, Joyce Reveal, Diane Marquette! I will have copies of my latest short story collections, as well as the Chesapeake Heritage series.

I understand Seafood Feast-i-val will be busy at Sailwinds Park, and hope that many of the visitors to Cambridge will come downtown to share the fun. I hope you will stop by to see me and my friends in front of the Hunts Insurance building...and that you keep on the sunny side!!! Love, Terry

Random Apples

2011-08-03T04:08:00.001-07:00

Great News! My new short story collection is in print! This is my 19th title, and I am so grateful that my life has allowed me to continue with what has turned out to be my life's work. Random Apples is a collection of short stories based on some of my experiences and offers a series of short reads for the busy reader.

I am looking forward to offering Random Apples at the Annie Oakley Festival in Cambridge, but if you can't wait, you can download the book on your Kindle or Nook.

A dozen years ago, I was just getting into e-books and it was pretty hard to believe a writer would be doing business in that arena, but you know what? It works! Many of my books are avaialable as e-books as well as in print and I am hoping that all you good people who like my work will take advantage of the sustainablity of book files that don't use paper or petroleum products to move information and diversions with the click of a mouse. (I never thought a mouse would be a good thing either.)

At any rate, I am proud of the work, and like the old woman who lived in a shoe, I am looking forward to more blessed literary babies as time goes on.

I hope you like my work and will continue to enjoy the stories I have to tell. The weatherman says it is going to rain, but I hope you walk on the sunny side, Love, Terry

PS: Random Apples is dedicated to my publisher Arline Chase and to the Wednesday Morning Artists for many encouraging words!

What Was it Like?

2011-08-02T13:15:00.000-07:00

When I was a child, I would read a book and wonder what life was like in the olden days. I wanted to know what it was like to pound clothing on a rock to render it clean. I wanted to know what dimity looked like. I wanted to touch Queen Victoria's garment and see the delicate feather stitching that finished the sober seams of grief. I wanted to know how things used to be.

What was it like, I wondered, to give birth alone, or with just your wide-eyed and frightened husband on hand to cut the baby's cord. What was it like to hear the howling winds of winter come through the chinks of a log house where food was running out and the children stayed under the bearskin and wept for their summer dreams. I wondered what it was like to walk the prarie and hope to reach the promised land before winter turned the world white and the wolves of hunger descended. I wondered.

And I wonder today when I realize that my childish curiosity led me to try to show the olden days to those who would like to who they are. My people left some records and I can pretty much follow their progress into the twenty-first century - a fascinating story indeed! I am doing my best to leave a record of what I have learned in the world and still affirm the goodness in life. If you would like to know what some of the olden days were like, you are sure to find some hints in my stories. You have to remember, though, that our stories go in different directions, follow different stars, and sing different songs. Vive la difference! It all makes for better stories.

Maybe someday you will tell me yours.

Cheers! and walk on the sunny side! Love, Terry

Angels Among Us

2011-07-30T07:54:00.000-07:00

A few days ago I accompanied a friend to a doctor's appointment in Washington. Judy drove, and I got the job of navigator. We got to the hospital on time and Judy got good news about her condition with a 'wait and see' prescription from the specialist.

We were pretty happy on the turn-around, but somehow lost the route. Try as we might, we couldn't find the route out of town - although we did see some pretty nifty neighborhoods.

After a while it became clear that we were hopelessly lost. We stopped for directions, and although each person we asked seemed pretty clear about where we had to go, we continued to find new vistas, but no trail to home!

Finally, Judy stopped at a you-pump gas station where she struck up a conversation with a wonderful woman who went out of her way to lead us to the right route! What a relief. Not only was my friend relieved about her health problem, we were on the way back to the Eastern Shore! What a blessing.

It gave me reason to think. A total stranger went out of her way to help us! She must have been an angel for she had been there to help in a city of strangers. God surely blessed us that day! And He kept the promise that we would be safe...

It occurs to me that there are angels among us and that they will appear when trouble threatens. Both Judy and I were so thankful for the woman who helped us and we both wished there was a way to thank her.

I hope you find the angels in your life and that you keep on the sunny side. Love, Terry

On Writing The World

2011-07-23T04:59:00.000-07:00

The world of publishing is undergoing the greatest change since Gutenberg devised moveable type. Before that, books were copied by hand - on papyrus scrolls, on animal skins, clay tablets and parchment - often in aid of one religious order or another. Only rich folks could afford books, which helped them to understand what came before and how to wield the power of knowledge over their inferiors.

Once books could be reproduced rapidly, though, more people could afford to purchase and own books - they could even subscribe to newspapers, and the race for understanding was on!

Books were pretty common when I was a kid - my folks belonged to the book-of-the-month-club and they left whatever they were reading lying around for their offspring to pick up if any of us were interested. Dad went way out of pocket to buy the Encyclopedia Brittanica, which I did my best to devour - along with my textbooks, the Saturday Evening Post and the printed matter on catsup bottles and cereal boxes.

As I grew older, I came to see that even the crappiest fiction has a secondary role -the writers of such dreck recorded a huge array of different worlds. Books did, for most of my life, however, remained products made of paper if you don't count radio and movies as forms of literature.

About 20 years ago something astounding happened. Personal computers became commonplace, people from around the world could converse in real time, and whole manuscripts could be forwarded across continents with the press of a key or click of a mouse.

I got dragged into the fray kicking and screaming. Fortunately, I was writing for a little daily newspaper at the time, so there was no way around it! What a revelation. You could write a story and have it on the page in an hour. You could correct your errors as you went along, and so could your copy editor.

You have to know those novels I had been working on at home were suddenly portable. I could approach a publisher and get a rejection slip in only a few days - versus weeks, months, and in some cases as much as a year! You could also produce a clean manuscript as fast as you could write it down.

What to write? Everything. I have come to understand that much of what I write is history - maybe not the sort you find on the evening news, but stories about people, places and things told from my unique perspective. I write my experiences in Appalachia, the days I spent in an antique shop, the hours blessed with music, and the beat I worked, which included everything from boat races to garden club teas.

I try to write a world people can see, and hope the words I find touch your heart. It is hot out there today, so keep cool - and walk on the sunny side! Love, Terry

Google Treasures

2011-07-18T03:50:00.000-07:00

In the interests of shameless self promotion I google my own name pretty often. I was surprised to see that the State University of New York had published my biography. Google rocks!

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Terry L. White Submitted by admin on Thu, 2011-02-10 12:17

FM’s Renaissance Woman

Terry L. White had been working as a waitress in the Fultonville truckstops and about to turn 40 when she finally heeded the call for a higher education. Already a folk musician and would-be writer, she sold her kitchen table and chairs to find the funds to send her application to Fulton-Montgomery Community College. Accepted, she found help through grants, the support of her friends, and with a great deal of faith, she completed a course of study resulting in an Associate’s Degree with high honors.

Today Terry has published more than a dozen books. “I remember one of my friends at FM telling me one day over coffee that she had dreamed she would someday have a whole shelf full of my books,” says Terry. “I wanted to believe that dream would come true, but I didn’t have a clue how to make it happen.”

After graduation from FM, Terry wrote a letter to Skidmore College’s University Without Walls, outlining her accomplishments at FM and asking for help in completing her education. She was welcomed with open arms, and the skilled counseling staff at the University Without Walls helped her not only fulfill her goal of earning a Bachelor’s degree in American Studies, but by also giving her experience with local editors who read and critiqued her work.

Upon her graduation at the Saratoga Performing Arts Center along with Lena Spencer, proprietress of the famed Cafe Lena, Terry followed her heart to the International Womens Writing Guild conferences hosted at Skidmore each summer, where she taught a “song as story” workshop for a dozen years, meeting writers and publishers from around the world. It was at the first guild conference she attended that Terry met Arline Chase, her publisher and longtime friend.

“I had collected more than two hundred rejection slips from traditional publishers who were being very careful about supporting the work of new writers when Arline called me and told me about ebooksonthe.net, an Internet publishing company that was distributing books in electronic formats. She said I should submit one of my novels. The idea seemed very risky and foreign, but the editor not only liked my work, she asked for more.”

Terry said she felt a new excitement about her work, even though electronic publishing was still very much a thing of the future. “I burned those rejection slips, though,” she said. “All I needed was a chance to make my dreams a reality.”

Internet publishing has come a long way since then, and Terry’s books are available in both electronic and paper editions, some at Amazon.com and all at ebooksonthe.net, which Mrs. Chase purchased a couple of years ago.

Terry has served as the president of the Adirondack Fiddlers, and on the board of directors of the New York Folklore Society. She has written stories and articles for a number of newspapers and magazines where she earned several writing awards for the excellence of her work. She has also performed at many local events in Cambridge, MD, where she has made her home for the past 16 years. She has been an event organizer for several organizations including the Harriet Tubman Coalition, and creates beautiful jewelry and dolls for the designer market.

“I remember my years at FM as difficult and wonderful,” Terry said. “I had no idea what I could do with my dreams when I started, and a few years later I was doing what I had only dreamed I could do with my life. I can’t thank FM enough.”

School:

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It was a neat thing to see someone noticed my struggle. I appreciate it no end and hope you walk on the sunny side! Love, Terry

Forgotten Dreams

2011-07-16T03:57:00.000-07:00

Ever since I moved to the Eastern Shore I loved to go out into the country to enjoy the peace and quiet of the farm fields and marshlands.

One feature of the marshes that leaves a lingering sadness in my heart is the decaying hulks of houses that, condemned when environmentalists decreed the ground would not perk and that human wastes had to be processed in above-ground tanks that were often far out of the means of the old folks who lived in those dwellings - even though these hardy folks have lived in good health in those same houses for time out of mind.

I always feel such a sadness when I notice a decaying marsh house. I wonder about who lived there, what children played in the yard, and the face of the bride who came there as a new wife full of hope and love. I especially wonder about the hope - the expectation that a life might be full of the goodness God promised.

Writers have such thoughts.

An amazing thing is that sometimes (but not always) when I see one of those old abandoned houses I find my head swimming with a grand new idea for a story or book.
It is as if I have been given what might be called a cosmic assignment to tell that story as best I can.

Writing is a task I can't seem to put down, although I sometimes feel as if I have perhaps timed out like those sad rotting houses sinking into the marsh. And then the dictation starts in my head and I find myself still at the keyboard writing a history that seems to come from the very heart of love.

I hope that you have found your bliss, and that the world talks to you about beauty, hope and love - and if that isn't enough, I hope you keep on the sunny side. Love, Terry

Random Apples

2011-07-15T04:34:00.000-07:00

I had an email from my publisher at Cambridge Books saying that my new book of short stories called Random Apples is on the cusp of going to the printer.

This will be my 19th book published either in print, as an e-book, or both. You might think the experience would grow old over time, but each of my 'babies' is special to me and I am excited to hold that first copy in my hands. I guess you could say that holding that new book is bliss - and you know what people say about following one's bliss - that goodness will follow.

You might think that such an impressive output might be noticed in the greater scheme of things, but so far the sales have been modest. I was, however, surprised by a young fan Saturday evening at the Taste of Cambridge event, who said she had read all my books and asked to have her photo taken with me! I was touched.

It is small incidents like meeting that young woman that give me that little extra push to keep working - the work is the blessing after all. And yes, I am working on the sixth book for my Chesapeake Heritage series. I'm not talking about it much yet, but it is keeping me grounded in the dream and I am thankful that the stories keep knocking at my door.

I hope you have a dream and are making it come true and that you keep on the sunny side today and throughout your journey. Love, Terry

A Thank You Gift

2011-07-10T06:01:00.001-07:00

Yesterday I was privileged to take part in Cambridge's Taste of Cambridge event. I saw many old friends and had a wonderful time despite the heat, which seemed a bit more than predicted.

All that didn't seem to quench the spirit of community that brought hundreds out to enjoy the best in crab cuisine.

As a writer and historian, I was reminded of the heritage inherent in such a festival. Today there are fewer watermen than ever and we should all take our hats off to these hardy souls who work the local waters.

Also to be congratulated and celebrated are the wonderful women who once waited for their men to come home with their catch, which they cleaned with nimble knives and gospel song. As such, I am including one of my best (I hope!) poems as a gift to everyone who remembers the waterside culture and wonders where it went:

Mom Mom

She sits, her hands in her lap at rest,
Fingers bundles of broken twigs,
Brown and knotted, scarred,
Big-knuckled from long hours with the knife
Worrying the sweet meat
From horny red shells that cut to the quick.

Her dress is clean,
Faded at shoulder, breast, and thigh,
Patches over patches
Covered with a familiar apron
Of clean, dim rose print.

Her hair is pulled back each morning
Anchored against the wind –
The constant wind.
Fine lines fan out from
Eyes once as blue as bay and sky,
Now faded into pearly haze.

She was always there
In the house beside the water
Where the fiddler crabs
Clattered their shells
At break of day,
Annoyed at her steps
As she tended the goat,
The chickens, the pig.

She doesn’t need much now.
The neighbors look in on her.
She smiles, says she is fine.
And they leave, shaking their heads
At her presence at all.

Her voice is now an echo
Of the persisting wind
As she whispers her prayers
Over sourdough batter
Started years before and
Stirred with a tarnished spoon.

Her children live on
In faded photographs ranked
By size and age on the mantle shelf
Where the flu is cold
In the summer damp.
They rarely call.

Her man was heavy of hand.
His shoulders as strong as
Trees from the tongs.
She loved him when
The two were young,
But he lay down to sleep
One night, and did not breathe
In morning’s light.

There was a time she waited
On the bridge near the water’s edge
For the sight of a well known sail;
And now for the Maker’s call …
There’s nothing more.

Her world has passed,
And soon her memories will be
Found only in a tattered book
That once fell into the green water
So that the ink ran
And the tales were lost.

I hope you enjoyed the poem and have a wonderful day, and keep on the sunny side!
Love, Terry

The poem Mom Mom is found in my book Myth to Me: Songs From the Inner Light.

Taste of Cambridge

2011-07-09T03:55:00.000-07:00

Later today I will be on Race Street for the huge Taste of Cambridge event. This event has been building for the last couple of years and is growing like the proverbial weed. Congratulations to Jim Duffy and the Main Street board for all their hard work on behalf of the community. They sure have done Cambridge proud.

I will be sharing a booth with the Wednesday Morning Artists and will offer the complete collection of my Chesapeake Heritage books, which are based on the history of the Eastern Shore. The art for the covers are unusual as they were done by Snow Hill artist Dawn Tarr so they are truly a local product.

Starting with the story of Mary, an indentured servant who marries her master in Chesapeake Harvest; the series follows Heron, who is half native; Jane, who waits out the Revolutionary War to find love; Jewel a blind plantation owner at the end of the Civil War; and Mary, who finds herself in peril when a stalker haunts the cannery where she works as World War One ends.

Stop by the Wednesday Morning Artists booth on Race Street during the festival and register for a chance to win a copy of Vienna Pride.

I love to write and feel it is my calling in life. Today, I am waiting for my 19th book to arrive in print and hope to have some copies of the new book of short stories called Random Apples for the Annie Oakley festival on the second Saturday in August. My book of poetry, Runaway Hearts was read on Radio for the Blind and I have been given awards for my poetry, short stories and news articles. Books are available from me, or from Amazon.com and Kindle.com.

Please stop by to see me, Dale Booth, Nancy Snyder, Kay Jones and others near the Hunt Insurance Office on Race Street... and keep on the sunny side. Love, Terry

Signing Books at Taste of Cambridge

2011-07-03T09:44:00.000-07:00

Weather permitting, I will join the fun at Taste of Cambridge on July 9 during Main Street's Taste of Cambridge event. I will share the booth along with a number of artists from the Wednesday Morning Artists group and signing books throughout the festival.

To date, I have published 19 e-books and novels. My work is available through Amazon.com, Kindle, Barnes and Noble, Bay Country Shop and Write Words Inc. of Cambridge..

My Chesapeake Heritage series is based on the history of this area, beginning with the arrival of an indentured servant who married her master and founded a line of strong women who live on the same plantation during each tale. The series goes through the growing pains of a new nation, poverty, prejudice, slavery, sickness and world wars.

I arrived in Cambridge 18 years ago to write for The Daily Banner and readily admit I fell in love with the area. Over the years I have earned a number awards for my short fiction and journalism. My short stories and poetry were chosen to represent Dorchester County in the Artscape Festival at Baltimore in 1994. My volume of narrative poetry Runaway Hearts was recently read on Radio for the Blind.

Shoppers will have the opportunity to win a copy of Ms.White’s latest novel Vienna Pride, the tale of a cannery girl in peril at the end of the first world war.

Please stop by my booth to say hello and keep on the sunny side! Terry

Everyday Angel

2011-06-30T04:31:00.000-07:00

A couple of years ago I asked my friend Dawn Tarr if she ever painted angels. She didn't answer, and I quite forgot about asking.

Dawn is a rising young artist who is not taking no for an answer. She's going to paint come hell or high water. You can see her art on the walls of the sets of popular television shows - shows like Bonnie Hunt, Ellen and the Animal Planet star Shorty Rossi!

Ms. Tarr and I met over a chafing dish full of mashed potatoes and we were in the process of feeding a room full of senior citizens at a medical adult day care center. I knew immediately this was a very special person, and as time went on I found this to be true.

Dawn paints with a bold palate and peoples her world with mermaids, male nudes and recently pit bulls! Search Dawn's name and you will find her work across the internet.

It makes me really proud to know Dawn - for her drive and talent stand out wherever she may go. As for the painting you see at the top of this post - this was Dawn's Christmas gift to me that year. Dawn has also painted the art for the covers of my four Chesapeake books, so if you like her art you can purchase a painting, a t-shirt, a mug - or a book with her art!

It is my opinion that Dawn Tarr is a rising star and that we will be seeing lots from her in the future. If you are interested, you can find Dawn on Facebook so look for her there and keep on the sunny side! Love, Terry

Dad's Random Apples

2011-06-23T05:12:00.000-07:00

Well, the solstice has passed and summer is here! The time has come for vacations, yard work, and time out to read and enjoy a good book on the porch. Some of my readers have indicated that shorter stories might be welcome because they liked to finish a story and put the book down without wondering what would happen next. Keeeping this in mind, so I gathered up some stories I have written over the years and compiled them in a brand new book called Random Apples.

I drew on my childhood for the title of the new book, going back to frosty autumn mornings when Dad would take us to the orchard to pick up drops - apples of every sort that had fallen beneath the trees, perfectly good for canning, baking and munching, but not of all one prefered variety. After the outing, I vividly remember settling in behind the wood cookstove to read surrounded by the heavenly aroma of apple pie.

My father was a very positive person and he taught me to see the good in life no matter how hard life could be for us back there in the mountains. I sometimes wonder if my work is a bit too all-right to be what people want to read these days. I know sex sells, but it is not everything in life or a relationship.

And so, each of my stories contains a bit of wisdom I have learned from an elder, a funny story about work, or a tale of family love. There are stories from other times, scenes that have not seen light of day for decades. They remind me of Dad's apples.

And so, look for the new book please, and look for the sunny side.

Love, Terry

A Visit to a Dying World

2011-06-17T05:18:00.000-07:00

A couple of weeks ago Ann Foley and I took a trip to Toddville where I took some photos of the remains of a once-vital industry on the Chesapeake Bay for a history book we are working on. At one time, hundreds of watermen plied the waters of the bay catching fish, crabs and oysters. Some of them built boats and sailed these small crafts out in the small hours of the morning to gather their catch.

If you travel to Toddville, or any one of a dozen or more small communities in the rural areas of Dorchester County, you will find house after house condemned by the government because sewage water has no place to go - the land and the water are one. Small mom and pop stores stand abandoned, their signs stil swinging in the wind. Post offices are closed, and crossroads communities have dwindled to only a few homes that the residents must leave each morning in order to work in town.

As you drive through the remains of these little communities, you may see broken boats parked in weed-choked yards or shifting sadly in the water where they are tied up to long unused piers. Women, who were once traveled to work at the local crab picking houses on boats of their own, grow old, surrounded by restless water and aging cats.

A way of life is dying here on the Chesapeake Bay and Dorchester County and sometimes I wonder what has happened to the beautiful world we were give. The country folks were good husbandmen who kept the land safe for hundreds of years, but those days are gone.Soon every trace of the old ways will be disappear and there will be no more watermen, no more crab pickers, no more homes dotting the marsh It is sad to contemplate.

I cannot save the waterside towns, but I hope that the tales of the brave souls who made their lives on the water will live on in the stories Ann and I find and record. I hope you think to preserve your own stories and keep on the sunny side. Love, Terry

Mining the Past

2011-06-16T04:52:00.000-07:00

About a year ago a friend stopped by and asked me if I wanted to make a book with her. I jumped at the chance. Ann Foley had already done four local history books and was ready to do a fifth. I was cranking out a novel as usual. I will probably never stop that particular activity and I wasn't that enamored with the idea of writing a non-fiction book, but I am always open to new ideas, and so I said yes.

We started out by searching out some Library of Congress photos of cannery workers because Dorchester County just about fed the whole world in WW2. Well, that was really interesting and it woke the inner newspaperwoman who had been sleeping for quite some time!

It just so happened that I was writing a story about a cannery girl in trouble. Check it out in my latest novel Vienna Pride! Just looking at those Depression-era photos taken by government-subsidized photographers supplied detail after detail for my own book.

The next thing I knew, we were interviewing people who had lived and worked in the area for years. There was the farmer who carved world-class decoys. There were ladies who picked crabs down in the necks. There was the entrepeneur who had a half-dozen places of business and held down a full-time job at the DuPont factory just across the state line. There were boat builders and watermen Everywhere we looked, we found photos of the past and stories to go with them.

Are we finished? Not by a long shot, but we are working on the book during weekly meetings when Ann drives the 40 miles from Elliott Island to meet over lunch and scan the images of the past in Dorchester County.

If you have an unusual Dorchester story or a photo you would like to see included in this book tentatively titled Voices From Down Below, please give one of us a yell and please, keep on the sunny side. Terry

PS: This post's photo is of Sam Jones store in Church Creek. This old man's place of business was reputed to be the worst-kept store around, and it is easy to see why.

Harriet Tubman Conference

2011-06-01T12:35:00.000-07:00

This weekend individuals from far and wide will converge on Cambridge to honor the memory and accomplishments of Harriet Tubman, a Dorchester-born slave credited with stealing scores of her fellow slaves and leading them to safety in the North.

Harriet, by all accounts was a small woman, but her portrait (newly repainted and installed in a little park on US 50) seems to show a backbone of steel - which she would have needed to flee the dismal, humid nights of tidewater Maryland and make her way to first Delaware, then Philadelphia with the help of Quakers who fed and clothed the miserable individuals who often walked to freedom under Harriet's guideance.

Harriet, who had been injured as a young woman, suffered from narcolepsy and perhaps strange, prophetic dreams that showed her the journey she must take. Legend has it local slaves sang the gospel favorite "Go Down Moses" when Harriet was in town. The hymn was a signal to those who meant to run away to a free life - first in Philly, and later all the way to Canada when the US Congress decreed that runaway slaves be returned to their owners - even when they were aprehended in free states.

Harriet not only worked what is now called the Underground Railroad, but also worked as a baker, a nurse and a Union spy. Promised a pension for her old age that never appeared Harried lived out her days in Auburn, NY where she kept a home for ancient slaves who remained in her care until they died.

MY poetry Runaway Hearts includes my attempt to tell the story of Harriet's youth. I hope you enjoy it! Have a good day and keep on the sunny side. Love, Terry

A FREEDOM DREAM from Runaway Hearts

Harriet Tubman was fine-boned,
but strong!
She worked in the world like a man.
Her story is here in the marshes
and woods
I’ll tell you as much as I can:

Screech owl call on a Bucktown night
Ain’t no moon, ain’t no light.
Child at rest on a corn shuck bed.
Strange dreams fill Mis Hattie’s head!

Seven years old, a runaway twice,
Once, last spring.
Before, there was ice!
There’s a tune that struggles
deep in her soul
Hat’s star points North,
a new life her goal....

In Memory

2011-05-30T07:49:00.001-07:00

Tomorrow is Memorial Day, which evokes many memories from my childhood when all the men were soldiers and every life was a picnic. It is funny, most of those old soldiers are gone, but their memory lingers.

The other day I took some of my handmade dolls downtown to place in Hunt Insurance's office window along with art by a number of members of the Wednesday Morning Artists. The group meets each Wednesday (naturally!) to discuss the arts and to find ways to celebrate the talents we have been given. The window display turned out to be really beautiful and if you haven't seen it yet, I urge you to stop by next time you visit downtown Cambridge. Jim Duffy and the Main Street Committee are really making a wonderful change for Cambridge!

As such, I always try to celebrate on the holiday, and today I am not only flying the flag over my porch, I also have my brother's service flag, earned with 20 years of service in the US Navy in that flag case that makes a place to display my patriotic doll. (I sent him an email as he lives in Rapid City!)

I hope everyone who reads this takes a moment to think of the soldiers who have helped keep America safe. We salute you!

PS: Have a great day, a great picnic and keep on the sunny side! Terry

FLY YOUR FLAG!

I learned to love holidays
From my father
Who loved a party
For any small reason.

The Fourth of July
Is special to me,
Maybe because I love
Our beautiful flag.

Red, white, and blue
Raise my heartbeat
When I see a house
Decked out for the day.

I know who sewed
That first banner,
We have a cherished
Legend ready-made!

But who told Betsy
Where to place the
Stars and stripes?
Was it George? Or…

Did someone else
Stop at her door to
Order a flag so able
To tell our humble history?

I like to think God
Had a hand in the
Design of red and white,
The field of blue.

If you have a flag
It should fly today,
But even more
On the third, or the fifth!

Earthshake and Rain

2011-05-14T05:03:00.000-07:00

I am watching the weather patterns across the states, and while it is plain that thousands of people are in harm's way as the water rises, this is nothing new. Johnny Cash sang about floods in the 60s, and Noah had him a real time with rising waters long before people could read and write American.

My heart goes out to the displaced families, to those who lost pets and household goods, and lawnmowers and such. No one should have to endure such losses. It has to be heartbreaking.

And yet, as I watch, I am reminded that the stuff we own owns us; that the cars and boats and fancy electronics have little to do with the real life we live - and wonder if these catastrophes don't hold a lesson for us all. Maybe it is time to sit down and think about how we can do with less - instead of more and better clothing, cars and cell phones.

Nearly every house on my street has a porch - an extension of one's living room meant for relaxation and social interaction with the neighbors up and down the street. Today, thanks to the media, a congregation of people on a porch is more likely to signal something illegal underfoot.

I have lived in my home for over seven years and my neighbors barely speak although they are often out there walking the dog and tinkering with their vehicles at the curb. They don't speak - even when I do.

Maybe we need the cleansing waters to come and adjust out thinking about what is valuable and what is not? It is something to think about.

In the meantime, it is supposed to rain this weekend, so I hope you find a way to keep on the sunny side! Love, Terry

Earthshake and Rain

There was an earthshake the other day
And that brought on a grief reaction
That reflected our puzzlement and anger
That the planet should do us that way.
We all know perfectly well that
When buildings fall, it is not the fault
Of the sand on which we build ….
Or the men who draw the plans.
But wait!
The fault is the fault!
That fissure deep in the ground
That moves and turns so
Things go out of plumb and
Building blocks fall like rain.
And then the rain falls three states away
Flooding the flatlands,
Washing away houses and frogs,
Carrying new topsoil to cover
The croplands and meadows
Where the grasses grew for time out of mind
And we try to say that a flood is wrong
When all of this is normal
All day long.

Do Me a Favor?

2011-05-02T06:09:00.000-07:00

As many of you know, I have published 18 books and have a few more projects underway. Writing has been my calling and I have spent more than 40 years with pencil and yellow legal pads, portable typewriter, early computer and a succession of tech-y wonders during my lengthy career.

I need to make it clear I never would have wandered down this path if there were no other choice. I was made to write, and I have done my best to stay true to that call. It wasn't always easy.

What, you may ask, has this to do with those who read my novels and poetry? A lot - perhaps.

Today I am writing to ask that if you have read one of my books that you go to Amazon.com or Kindle (in the case of my e-books) and post a review. It is easy and doesn't cost anything.

As you may know, the last five novels on my list: Chesapeake Harvest, Chesapeake Destiny, Chesapeake Legacy, Chesapeake Visions and Vienna Pride were all novels, but based on the history of the Eastern Shore and Dorchester County. I've done my best to show how people lived - their struggles and joys, their heartaches and hopes, and how they got through the hard times.

If you liked one of my books, please consider posting a review. Thank you, and keep on the sunny side! Terry L. White

Questions

2011-04-25T03:59:00.001-07:00

Yesterday was Easter and I traveled to see old friends for the holiday. There were children there, playing fashion show, with the littlest sister as mannequin. The food, of course, was indescribably delicious and the conversation quiet and lazy in the heat of the peninsula's warmest day of spring.

The winter has been plagued by bad news from the far corners of the world, so it is no surprise that we are tired. Nor is it a puzzle that we do not understand the wars, the natural disasters, and the need to pump ourselves up each morning just to face the day.

Do you ever wonder why God allows such bad things to happen? No one in their right mind would order up a hurricane, a tornado, or flesh-eating bacteria - but all of these are with us, and the price of gas continue to rise, taking food out of our children's mouths and leaving his parents with the vague sense that they have not done enough to provide a perfect world for their offspring despite the exhaustion that leaves them on the couch.

One thing is for sure: we will always question what the Maker sends our way and hope that we can keep it all on the sunny side. Love, Terry

Questions

Sometimes I wonder what is the real news
And what the reporters, trying to keep their jobs,
Have cooked up to go with our morning coffee.
It is all so disturbing – the threats and talk of war,
The disease we bred by hand, irradidated now.
If we don’t watch out, all those old monster
Movies will come to pass and twenty foot lizards
Will lurk in the grass near the birdbath out back
Waiting to eat your cat or to take off your head.
Sometimes I wonder what people think is all right
When the sky is red with volcano dust and the seas
Spit up strange species upon the strand for us to taste –
And the spoiled mouse with two heads is the last one –
And the cow’s milk is gone bad and the meat spoiled.
How can that come to pass when God told us all
That there would always be enough to feed each Mother’s child?
But now we watch the surge of wildest sea and ask
If the children will have a world to run after all.
Sometimes I wonder what happened to our birthright
So that now we find each evening, dark with fear and
Dreams plagued with mud and fire on hill and marsh
Destroying Eden in their miserable march to the leaden sky
When what we crave is a good night’s sleep spooned
With love and trust while the stars waltz about the sky
And the Northern lights track friendly fire from desert bands
Bent on their particular translation of holy word,
And wonder why the Creator allows it all to go on.
.

Tell Me A Story

2011-04-22T06:24:00.001-07:00

One of the best things in my life was listening to the stories people tell me and the best job I ever had was working for the local newspaper where I got to go out into the world and listen to stories. From the number of people who still know my name more than a decade later, I must have done a good job.

I started listening to stories as a child, hanging on the grownups' words until someone hissed, "little pitchers have big ears," and the subject was dropped like a cement balloon. But I knew where the stories were and as an early reader, I had the key to the treasure house where I could hear those stories over and over

It is true I write what is generally referred to as historical fiction, but a famous warrior once said that if the author was not there when the battle was won - the thing he wrote was fiction after all. Writing and telling stories, has been my life, my love and reason to be so if you have a story to share, I would love to hear it.

In the meantime, have a great weekend and keep on the sunny side! Love, Terry

Tell Me a Story

Tell me a story I ‘ve not heard before
I promise to listen, and never to snore
To tales out of closets, and cellars and floors,
Tell me a story I’ve not heard before!

I want to see vultures wheel up in the sky,
A kid on a bike as he rolls it on by,
A story of laughter, and heartache, and pie,
Heroes that win and bad guys who die!

Please tell me a story with dark secrets rife,
A story of heaven, a tale of great strife,
A note on a pillow, a history of life,
A story of trapper, and a pioneer wife.

Do offer a memory you keep near your heart,
A yarn about people who act out their part
With verve and with passion, as life doubles art,
With stories of love that was true from the start.

I love to hear stories of people who care,
The legends of teachers who always were there,
Of firemen and doctors, and guys who cut hair,
I see all their faces and feel all their care.

There’s jokes and there’s anecdotes, I love them all,
The stories of children, the colors of fall,
I love to hear rumors, and tales that are tall,
Of monsters and ogres and days at the mall.

Please tell me a story I already know,
Stories, the crop that we nurture and grow
From the seedlings of love, and the seeds that we sow,
In the stories well told before each must go.

If you have a story, please tell me the tale,
Don’t skip any parts or die on the trail,
Weave in the sachem, the goofy, the frail
And tell it quite often – as memory may fail.

Please tell me a story, I ask this of you,
Don’t leave out a thing that goes in the stew,
Don’t leave out your feelings, or anything new –
For the best part of stories is listening to you!

Gaia's Dream

2011-04-19T04:30:00.000-07:00

Good Day Friends,

Today I am sharing a poem I wrote called Gaia's Dream. Today we have instant access to every sort of bad news due to the flood of technology that puts the sadness of storm and quake at our morning breakfast table - just as if these stirrings of the earth have not been with us forever and ever since the world was born.

I sometimes wonder if we forget that our souls are safe - no matter what Mother Earth may send to test the limits of our patience and compassion.

Yesterday my friend Lisa and I painted my porch and sealed up a hundred years of cracks and crannies in the ancient wood. The railings are crisply white, the floor a green reminiscent of the army blankets on my childhood bed - itchy wool redeemed by virtue of warmth in winter's gale where all dreams took place under the summer sun.

On the next block are a conversation of cats, stalking one another through the new spring lilies. There are squirrels mining last year's pecans, and puppies with leash in mouth, walking themselves.

The world, you see, turns through no fault of our own. All we have to do is trust. That said, I wish you a beautiful spring day... and a walk on the sunny side.

Regards, Terry

Gaia’s Dream

Humans are so doggoned cockeyed!
We settle on the edge of the fault,
On the banks of the river,
On the cusp of the storm,
And then we wonder why
The basement floods,
The tree falls,
The heart breaks, and
The yard blows away …
And then we wonder just what
We did wrong,
Think of this:
The earth does not move
For love nor money.
She is a beautiful woman
Who turns in her sleep
Warm in the knowledge
Her children will rest
In her bosom
No matter what she dreams.

On the Work of Other Poets

2011-04-14T05:44:00.000-07:00

From my next book: Gaia's Dream

On the Works of Other Poets

I sometimes sit and read other poets’ verse
And it occurs to me that there are as many
Views of the sunset as there are eyes to see.
I do not speak of the funny lines
That celebrate the child within, but instead of
The daffodil in the forest, a souvenir of
Some pioneer’s woman who wasted space
In the yard for that which her children could not eat.
I do not speak of the alphabet rhymes
Crafted to teach her child his letters one by one,
I do not call up the dance in giddy sunshowers
Waiting for true love to come.
I want the words that carve the stone of poverty,
The rock of war, the pangs of birth
And the joy of watching the sun emerge from
A formless gray blanket of swirling mist.
I want the words that call up the shades of men
Who died to save the world we love.
I want to hear the clang of sledge on iron,
The rasp of saw on hardwood flesh,
The sing of line the fishers cast,
The thespian’s song as he works his art,
The plane in the sky, the cop on his beat,
The cook at the grille, the sweeper of streets,
The cry of the newborn, soon silenced at breast
The secret of love kept deep in your chest,
The hope and the fear and a rest in the shade,
The debt and the prize with taxes prepaid,
The chatter of children, the purring of cats…
I want to hear these in the mind’s ear – and more
Recording our time with the splendor of yore,
A ransom of thought, and a pathway to freedom –
Hard won and hard fought…
I want to feel rainbows that lodge in the heart
The shifting of dreams that leave with no mark
I want to hear giggles of babies at play
The song of a thrush at the cool break of the day.

The masters of verse have harvested these
In a wealth of lost words that leave us a scene,
A look at the world that they so strongly weaved
In a place lost in warstorm, in dismal dark scenes.
I love the old poems, that tell who we are
The ones that inspire to follow love’s star –
The song of the sachem and the prayer feather beat
The march of time that flows down each lonely street,
The clatter of cans on trash pickup day,
The carillion that rings out and calls us to pray,
The teakettle’s whistle, the somber dark hearse
The snips, and the scraps – all the bones of great verse.
I may not be famous, I may not be known
But I will leave words to show how I’ve grown
In a world not always quite gentle or wise
But a place I have seen through the word weaver’s eyes.
The world that that God gives us to save and to mend
In the hope of sweet rest
When it comes to the end.

Makes you think! Keep on the sunny side, folks! Love, Terry

Myth To Me: Songs From the Inner Light

2011-04-08T05:29:00.000-07:00

Good Morning to the Land of Pleasant Living. I have been lax about posting about my work until this morning when I read Susan Logan's post on Facebook that says the site is sorting your contacts and if you don't talk to every one of your contacts daily, your posts won't go out to your list. Point taken. Thank you Susan!

Last year, I published either three or four books - depends on how you count... as Vienna Pride didn't see print until just recently. Also published last year was Chesapeake Visions, Drama Queen Rules and Myth to Me.

Myth to Me was a special project in which I brought together a volume of poetry - some collected over the years, others written brand new for a new online friend who also helped subsidize the publishing costs for a print-on-demand publisher. I can't tell you how fulfilling it was to see this book in print and my thanks go out to Bill who encouraged me daily. Thanks as well to Claudia Conlon who took the beautiful cover photo of one of the sea walks at Fire Island.

Myth to Me is a collection of poetry that reaches into the legends we create from out own dreams when nights are long and winds grow cold into the very soul. The inner light reflects love, sorrow, pain and delight, reaching out to touch the searching heart with compassion and understanding. Here's a sample.

A.M.

I’d nearly forgotten how good morning could taste,
There are birds out there, celebrating – or gossiping!
Or, maybe they just tend to business straightaway
So the rest of their day is free.
To fly would certainly make me lose my concentration!

Hey! Maybe they have the idea they can
Hustle the sun up sooner or something.
But the sun moves by its own lights.
See how gently it handles spring
Coaxing each leaf to unfurl its banner –
Green canapés and coupolas for spring.

It did rain, but it isn’t now.
The car tires shlusch through the puddles --
Where red maple flowers float through the night --
First one, then more,
Armored for the day in steel, on rubber wheels.

I still have time for my rich black cup,
To smell its hot perfume,
And watch the morning waken up –

I had nearly forgotten how good it could taste.

I think you might like the book, and invite you to check it out at ebooktime.com or Amazon and Kindle. In the meantime, keep on the sunny side. Love, Terry

Does Anybody Read Any More?

2011-04-04T07:31:00.001-07:00

I have been a writer for most of my life and the handwriting is surely on the wall for what we have come to know and love as 'books' will be a thing of the past in some not so distant future. The time has come to welcome e-books to the masses, but will they read our stories?

Today, millions of writers are struggling to get one of thousands of print-on-demand publishers to put their work between shiny paper covers. These publishers will set up your work for any of thousands of book printers scattered across the literary landscape.

But here comes the clincher: After a great deal of research, I have learned that the authors who come out of the pack tend to be those who pay through the nose for publicity packages that get their books noticed at e-book stores and online catalogs. I have an idea that some of these authors may not be too happy about the amount of sales they got for their investment, but at least they were doing something positive.

It seems to me that the problem is no longer learning how to best tell a story - but how to get noticed in the greater scheme of things. We are constantly reminded to find our bliss and the promise is that good fortune will find us, but the queue is getting pretty long and I am getting a bit long in the tooth for fame, so I don't know. The tree has fallen, but is there anyone left in the forest to hear it and read the stories.

If any of you know how to break through the publishing barrier, maybe you can give me a thought... and keep on the sunny side!

Love, Terry

Vienna Pride Available at Amazon and Kindle

2011-04-02T08:58:00.001-07:00

Constant Reader

I'm writing today to introduce my latest novel Vienna Pride, which is now available at Amazon.com and Kindle, Barnes and Noble, www.writewordsinc.com and other outlets on the Internet.

Vienna Pride visits the new 20th century on the Eastern Shore of Maryland where canned foods from the lush area farms literally fed the world. The history of the area is fascinating and intricate, following indentured servants and German prisoners of war, farmers, trappers, watermen and all of their women. Vienna Pride is the name of a food label that never existed - but which pretty much explain how people felt about their work and what that work produced.

In this story, Mary Elliott, descended from the indentured Mary Charles met in the first of my Chesapeake novels: Chesapeake Harvest, goes to work at a cannery in spite of her parent's protest. Stubborn and set on what she sees as her destiny, Mary inadvertently puts herself in harm's way while a stalker haunts the cannery for his victims.

Set in 1918, the story picks up on world issues such as WW1 and the Spanish Influenza. I hope you like it and that you keep on the sunny side. Thanks,

Terry L. White

http://www.amazon.com/gp/reader/1594318743/ref=si_aps_sup?p=random&ie=UTF8&qid=1301759742#reader_1594318743

A Recent Questionnaire

2011-03-31T17:04:00.000-07:00

Recently this article about me was in our Cambridge newspaper. Thought you might like to get to know me better.

TERRY L. WHITE

1. Tell us about yourself.
a. Where do you live? I have lived in Cambridge for 18 years.

b. Where are you from? I was born in Schenectady, NY. I was raised in the Appalachian mountains of northern Pennsylvania.

c. Anything noteworthy about your family that we should know? Mom died when I was five and I was the eldest child so I had to grow up fast. My father told me on his deathbed that we were Mohawk Indians. It was a big family secret. The native culture fascinates me, and it may be a factor in my fascination with beads and beading.

d. In what medium do you work? Life. I will try anything. Probably I am best known as a writer, but I have been a musician and worked in string and square dance bands on bass, rhythm guitar and vocalist. I make bead, sea glass and wire jewelry, and soft sculpture dolls. I paint a little.

e. What is important about you that people may not know? I grew up in Appalachia, the eldest of eight children. We were pretty poor and learned not to waste anything that came to hand. I think that sort of situation allows one to see the potentialities in leftovers, throwaways and natural materials. Dad wanted us to succeed – he bought Encyclopedia Britannica when I was about 12. I think I read all of it.

2. Tell us about your work.

a. What brought you to recognize your artistic talent? I found an essay I wrote in my grandfather’s wallet after he died. I believe he wanted me to see that I had some talent for writing. He left me a Hogarth print of a stack of books and a violin, all of which became elements in my life as the years went on – I always thought it was a message. He was a very spiritual person.

b. What were you doing when you first realized that you could paint/sculpt/etc. My father would paste our drawings on masonite board and cut them up into jigsaw puzzles for us to play with. He saw our work as valuable, so it was.

c. What life experience(s) have most affected your art? Everything in my life contributes to my writing. I have supported the craft for many years through various sorts of employment. The rest of my artistic output is busy work: things I do when not working at my writing. I have published 17 books and always have a couple of projects in the works. Everything that happens is interesting. The way people speak is music.

d. Do you still have some early work that you keep as reminders of the past? There are some old manuscripts hanging around. Some of the work was pretty bad, but I guess I got enough encouragement to keep going on. I collected and burned a huge stack of rejection letters and have come to believe they did not mean ‘no.’ They meant ‘not now.’

e. What is your favorite piece and what does it mean to you? I think my Chesapeake Heritage books are my best work to date – there are five novels in the series. They follow the settlement of the Eastern Shore and Dorchester County from colonization to the end of World War 1 – the history of one plantation and the woman who lived on it, offering a more feminine view of the events and people who shaped the Chesapeake area. (Also of note is Runaway Hearts, a series of long poems based on the history of the area in verse. People seem to like that one – even though most will say they don’t like poetry. It was read on Radio for the Blind.)

f. What inspires you? What keeps you motivated? I have no idea. There seem to be triggers that set off a project. I hope I am awake when the call comes and then I just sort of hang on for the ride.

g. How do you see your work in the world around you? I think my novels hold a lot of truth. Most people won’t buy a history book, but they will read novels and they identify with people who struggle for one reason or another. I know I learned a lot about people, history, and life from the novels I read, especially when I was a child.

h. What about your work benefits others? All of my heroines are strong women who did not give up under adverse situations. They all find happy endings, but not until they realize they must shape their own history and world and that the wine and roses scenario is often not what love is in expression.

3. Tell us about the future.

a. What are your artistic goals? I just want to keep writing and see what happens next. Of course, I would like to be noticed, but the world is full of writers hooked into technology. Anyone can get published without doing much work – especially if they have the funds to pay for promotion. “Paying your dues” is a whole new story for the publishing industry these days.

b. What do you expect to be happening in your “art life” x number of years from now? I try to live in the now – the future is a flighty bitch.

c. Tell us about your relationship with your community and/or with other artists? I belong to the Wednesday Morning Artists and have belonged to various writers’ groups, but I am not sure they are helpful. The immortal storytellers pretty much all worked alone.

a. How would you like to see things progress art-wise in Cambridge/Dorchester County? I would like to see the area be a destination where people can come to see and purchase art. I would like to see more diversity in the populations offering art.

b. Do you have any advice for aspiring artists? Do the work! Editors do not check spelling and punctuation these days. There really are not any free rides. Support your art until your art can support you.

d. I have won awards for my journalism and for short fiction, but like any competition, it is not so much the excellence of your game but rather who shows up!

Thanks for reading and keep on the sunny side! Terry

On Other Poets

2011-03-18T05:40:00.000-07:00

On Other Poets

I sometimes sit and read other poets’ verse
And it occurs to me that there are as many
Views of the sunset as there are eyes to see.

I do not speak of the funny lines
That celebrate the child within, but instead of
The daffodil in the forest, a souvenir of
Some pioneer’s woman who wasted space
In the yard for that which her children could not eat.

I do not speak of the alphabet rhymes
Crafted to teach her child his letters one by one,
I do not call up the dance in giddy sunshowers
Waiting for true love to come.

I want the words that carve the stone of poverty,
The rock of war, the pangs of birth
And the joy of watching the sun emerge from
A formless gray blanket of swirling mist.
I want the words that call up the shades of men
Who died to save the world we love.

I want to hear the clang of sledge on iron,
The rasp of saw on redwood flesh,
The sing of line the fishers cast,
The thespian’s song as he works his art,
The plane in the sky, the cop on his beat,
The cook at the grille, the sweeper of streets,
The cry of the newborn, soon silenced at breast
The secret of love kept deep in your chest,
The hope and the fear and a rest in the shade,
The debt and the prize with taxes prepaid,
The chatter of children, the purring of cats…

I want to hear these in the mind’s ear – and more
Recording our time with the splendor of yore,
A ransom of thought, a pathway to freedom –
Hard won and hard fought…

I want to feel rainbows that lodge in the heart
The shifting of dreams that leave with no mark
I want to hear giggles of babies at play
The song of a thrush at the cool break of the day.

The masters of verse have harvested these
In a wealth of lost words that leave us a scene,
A look at the world that they so strongly weaved
In a place lost in warstorm, in dismal dark scenes.

I love the old poems, that tell who we are
The ones that inspire to follow love’s star –
The song of the sachem and the prayer feather beat
The march of time that flows down each street,
The clatter of cans on trash pickup day,
The carillion that rings out and calls us to pray,
The teakettle’s whistle, the somber dark hearse
The snips, and the scraps – all the bones of great verse.

I may not be famous, I may not be known
But I will leave words to show how I’ve grown
In a world not always quite gentle or wise
But a place I have seen through the word weaver’s eyes.
The world that that God gives us to save and to mend
In the hope of sweet rest
When it comes to the end.

I'm working on a new book of poetry these days, spring sunshine always help the creative process. Hope you like this effort and that you keep on the sunny side!

Love, Terry

Will Humanism Rule?

2011-03-08T04:20:00.001-08:00

Recently David Brooks wrote a column in the New York Times about the "New Humanism." Basically, he is saying we have been down the garden path once again in the analysis of human interaction by applying 'scientific' method to the measurement of our humanity.

It is my contention that humans are herd animals - and that we need interaction with others in the herd to live happy and productive lives.

This is pretty difficult in a society where individuals grow increasing more isolated through the use of technology. One of our great illusions of our time is that cell phones and other electronic devices actually increase our interaction with others.

Look around you! Everywhere you go individuals are chatting and texting on their pocket phones - and they are all alone. They don't look up and smile at others on the street - or worse still on the road! The worst punishment a parent can render is the loss of a cell phone for an unruly teen - the traditional isolated soul in any family.

The weather has been rough lately and people are traveling to trouble spots in order to help people who are snowed in, flooded out, and otherwise in danger of destruction.

Like every elder, I would like to think the world will be a happy, caring place for the generations that follow. I also would like to think that love for others might be an even stronger trait in our descendants ... just what the great teachers of our race have been trying to tell us for years.

Good luck with that.

In the meantime step outside and look for signs of spring - and keep on the sunny side! Love, Terry

The War on Women

2011-02-26T05:43:00.000-08:00

Recently (Feb. 25) the New York Times published an editorial: about Republican intent to cut government programs for women and children - including insurance coverage for abortion, contraception, and nutrition for women and children.

One wonders how our legislators think they can balance the budget by creating situations where there will be ever more people dependent on the government. I am not sure any man who goes to work in a suit every day can even fathom the sort of life low income females have to endure. The sad part is that women have been conditioned for centuries to step back when it comes to their reproductive health.

What would happen if each female in Congress voted to help her female constituents? Would that come under the heading of 'charity begins at home?' Might. Probably wouldn't be cost-efficient, though.

Male and Female have always had different roles.

It seems to me that from the beginning of time men have been looking for a scrap and just to make sure the enemy stayed down, they raped the enemy's women so the next generation would be theirs to control.

Women had to bear the winner's children and protect the babies - no matter who the father was. The ladies had one asset, however - they could take care of each other but there was many a wise woman killed for her secrets - remedies for the elimination of an unwanted baby (or product of rape) and help in childbirth. With the wise women gone, the men invented the title of 'doctor' and proceeded to complicate the issues - often to his profit.

My novels deal with women's issues because I feel any little bit that raises consciousness is good for the species. If I could, I would love to see my work on supermarket book racks where poor women go to shop because they are intended to plant the seeds of autonomy - they are stories about women who succeed - despite whatever males have done to them; and I know they are true stories - lived by women every day -even here in America.

This is not to say all men are bad. Lord knows I love the good ones and there are many. I would just like to see the others develop a conscience concerning the role of women in our society and the way they are treated. I want to see the children nurtured, protected and educated so that they do not have to depend on government programs to survive. It can't be done in a couple of years, but I do believe that part of our human journey is to grow and right the wrongs that have plagued our species for years.

Charity should begin at home and women and children deserve to be protected.

Think about it and keep on the sunny side, Terry

Vienna Pride - A glimpse of Dorchester's Heritage

2011-02-25T04:33:00.000-08:00

I was reading Ann Foley's book about Elliott Island and found the seafood and food packing industry fascinating. When I finished the Chesapeake Heritage series with Chesapeake Visions, it occurred to me that there was still plenty of history left to weave into my tales. So I started Vienna Pride.

Children worked in the canneries here on the Eastern Shore in a era when social consciousness had not yet reached the point when children were schooled before they had to go to work. As I looked at the industry, I found instances where children as young as five or six were employed full time doing tasks like shucking oysters! It is hard to imagine.

The handsome cover of Vienna Pride done by publisher Arline Chase incorporates an image of young Delaware cannery girls from the Library of Congress collection.

My research is not perfect, but life as a cannery worker in one of the dozens of canneries in the area could not have been pleasant, even though I have talked with women who worked in fish houses who remember their crab-picking days with something like pleasure. If nothing else, they treasured the companionship that took the curse off hard work for little pay.

I will admit I created a boss who was not so pleasant - but boss is a four-letter word after all. It wouldn't be much of a story with a lovable boss - but the cannery manager was also an employee who worked for the man who owned the cannery - he was just the person who laid down the bottom line. Cannery workers labored in hard conditions and those who crossed the Chesapeake for summer work lived in shacks with straw for bedding and a shocking lack of sanitation that would never be tolerated today.

Even the farmers suffered because the cannery owners purchased produce for as little as possible in order to achieve maximum profits for their products. By the Depression, farmers struck for better produce prices. It has not always been a pretty or easy history, but today the canneries are gone and the Eastern Shore of Maryland is looking for ways to sustain its population as young people migrate to other places looking for work. Our children no longer work in canneries - the canneries are gone. They no longer have to quit school to help feed their families - social programs monitor child abuse and labor laws and work toward feeding every child.

Today's society would be shocked at what was taken for granted in 1918 when our soldiers were returning from the war in Europe and the Spanish Influenza scoured the Eastern Shore. Life was different and people expected to work hard for the wages they earned.

It was a different time - one not always mentioned in the history of the area. It struck me as a chapter that helped shed some light on the experience of the hardy folks who lived on the Eastern Shore at the turn of the last century. I think the name says it all: Vienna Pride

Vienna Pride is available at Amazon.com and will be posted soon at the Kindle site. I hope you like it and that you stay on the sunny side! Terry L. White

Stories Meant to be Written

2011-02-04T13:47:00.000-08:00

Some stories should be written, like the time I fell for the little Italian guy and took a station wagon full of leather goods from Gloversville to Myrtle Beach where you had to get a permit to make a left turn – see what I mean? My life was like some demented sitcom.

I will say one thing, though. It took me to places I never dared look at before – which, according to Arline Chase and Stephen King were necessary to do the big thing, that being a best-selling American author.

To that end, I have written somewhere about a score books: novels, a mystery, a how-to, a series, a knock-off, and more than a few mixed genre books. Is there a genre called Historical Women’s Stories?

There should be.

I wrote a lot of them – because they were stories that had to be written and they didn't leave me alone until I did write them.

We learn all sorts of stories in grade school where George Washington has an amazing resemblance to God and men really did walk on the moon during your father’s lifetime.

These stories were put in books and then more properly called history. If you notice, women are not part of the equation. Who ever heard of Herstory?

I have, because I write history from a woman’s perspective. Men went westering and conquering mountains, but women were the glue that held the family together. Living on the Delmarva Peninsula has suggested a number of stories ask us to look at its history through the eyes of a woman.

If a woman is tending to a child with the croup and has to hold the child over a bowl full of boiling water -- for which she also chopped the wood and carried the pail from the well – that’s a story that wants to be written. Folks have it easy these days. I haven’t carried wood nor water for years, but I knew those chores well enough to help others see what such a life might have been like without running water and electricity.

As such, I have set my Chesapeake Heritage Series the task of showing what the history we know was like for our formothers. Each book casts a light upon a certain period of cultural development on the Eastern Shore of Maryland. Mary Charles arrives as an indentured servant. Hannah’s mixed blood has her drummed from the colony. Jane endures the fires of a marriage goes wrong, and Jewel tells us about a world without sight.

A new novel set in the same made-up area called Somerset (but not necessarily within that county) jumps time to the end of World War One and the story of cannery girls puts them in terrifying jeopardy.

Are these the real stories of the women who came before? Not really. The men stuff is important, but a good woman is behind every man… Remember? But hardly anybody wrote that down. That said, I have to honestly want to say they are fiction.

In the end these are the stories that wanted to be written. I hope someday they will also want to be stories you want to read.

Thanks for stopping by,

Love, Terry

PS: Keep on the sunny side!

Would You Read This Book?

2011-01-19T10:04:00.001-08:00

Last summer when my publisher was sick, I took a leap of faith and self-published a novel called Drama Queen Rules. Next week I hope to enter it in a "breakthrough novel" competition sponsored by Amazon.com and Penguin Books. Do me a favor?

Read the following pitch and tell me if you would read Drama Queen Rules.

Thanks a million!

THE PITCH FOR DRAMA QUEEN RULES:

Her mother says Lainey Cook will never amount to a hill of beans. Her sister Emma Grace, who contentedly lives on welfare, says Lainey isn’t smart enough to change her life. Boyfriend Skip Boyer doesn’t say much of anything at all. He has no ambition at all that doesn’t involve fast cars and cold beer.

Readers know Lainey Cook. She is the gal from the trailer park on the edge of town – but not necessarily the wrong side of the tracks. She’s smart, savvy and willing to work hard at whatever life throws at her – even the grabby guys at the bowling alley where she works as a waitress to pay the rent. She may have to walk to work in a howling blizzard, and bury her mother on Christmas Day. She may have to hitchhike all the way home to upstate New York from Alabama. She may even have to work at the bowling alley a while longer, but she won’t give up her dream of a better life that will allow her to help others despite the drama queens who predict her failure at every turn.

Drama Queen Rules is a story about hope and dreams that come true – but not without struggle and faith. It is a story about the variety and vagaries of love – and what it takes to change one’s stars. Lainey Cook’s courageous struggle will make you wake your partner up in the small hours of the night because you are laughing so loudly – and cry for happiness when she achieves her goal. She’s your home girl, your baby sister and most of all the girl you’d love to be.

Thanks again - and keep on the sunny side! Terry

Reading: A Writer's Chore.

2011-01-16T14:57:00.000-08:00

I try spend some time writing each morning, work on crafts in the afternoon, and then try to read in the evening. Keeping busy is easy if you have plenty of things to do and anyone with a house knows there is always things to do.

Sure, I run the vacuum and do the dishes and laundry, but no day is complete without spending some time with a good book. It is part of my real work.

Last autumn I had the opportunity to do several book signings and to my surprise people bought just as many of my older books as they did the newer volumes. Most of my books are historical fiction, with a few exceptions. My degree in American studies helped me with some of the material culture in more than a few of my novels. In other cases, reading has helped me with the details of cultures I would never be able to have otherwise - and the Internet makes research easy.

Some of my stories, however, have a more modern focus. The Picker, for instance, is the story of a man whose calling did not always make for a happy life. He is a country musician. It isn't easy to chase one's dream, but the dream will call you on for good or ill. The Picker leans more heavily on my personal experience as a working musician. Still, reading all sorts of books helped me with the voice of this quasi-memoir and picking it up recently told me I was always a storyteller - again, for good or ill.

I think a writer has to be a reader for that is where they find the recipes for their tales - it is part of the writer's must dos.

Today's writer has a tough time getting noticed in the vast sea of writers also looking to make their mark on the world. Today one of my books was rejected - and hey I simply applied for a review! It is not a vocation for the weak or faint of heart.

You know what? I believe I am past the point of no return and I am going to continue to find stories to write and take the time to make them as good as I can. And I'll keep reading - it is part of the writer's work.

Good luck on your own journey and keep on the sunny side. Love, Terry

Visionary Valentine Planned

2011-01-06T07:42:00.000-08:00

Hello All,

Exciting news! The Main Street Gallery is planning its third Visionary Valentine show! In addition to valentine art of all sort, the gallery will offer a lavish reception on February 12 from 7:30 to 10:30 p.m.

This should give everyone time to enjoy the Second Saturday excitement and then drop by the Main Street Gallery for its biggest fund-raiser of the year.

Music will be supplied by Eli McCoy and Tom Sparks and friends offering Dorchester County's best in bluegrass sounds.

A live auction will feature all sorts of donated items auctioned off by well-known auctioneer T. George Wittstadt.

The Main Street Gallery is operated entirely by volunteers and is in partnership with New Beginnings, an after-school programming offering access to the arts for children in the community.

Plan to come out for this special reception! We'll be looking for you.

Live, Love and keep on the sunny side. Terry

Fat Years, Lean Years

2010-12-31T04:44:00.000-08:00

I got up this morning to the news that the price of everything is going up. Isn't that a heck of a note for the last day of the year? I would like to know why we can't have a little good news once in a while! What could be wrong with that?

The truth is that I have lived a poverty level most of my life and there has not been a lot of difference between the fat years and the lean no matter how hard I tried to better my lot in life. Are there really supposed to be seven of each in a never-ending cycle? When I was a kid, there didn't seem to be much difference, and there isn't now. Life is pretty much a struggle one way or the other. The news says that big lottery winners also win their share of misery from the folks who want to share the wealth.

It may depend on how we look at the year that was. As a nation, our new African American president seemed to lose ground as he struggled like Atlas to push the boulder of American debt uphill to the promised land. I can't figure out why any sane person would want his job, and it is a true wonder that he is still standing after all his hard work and the hard words much of it generated. After all, he inherited generations of mis-management and folks are upset that he couldn't fix the downhill slide in only two years! I don't know if Mr. Obama is a good president or a bad one, but at least he is trying! Give him a break people.

On a more local note, it is sad to ride past a marina and see all the workboats stored on dry land. Generations of watermen are looking at their kids and shaking their heads and wondering how the young people will fare if they can't work on the water.

It is sad to ride down Race Street and see the homeless people sitting by the new mural commemorating the good old days in Cambridge.

It is sad to know people have lost their homes.

It is sadder still to see everyone with a cell phone, so familiar with the devices they forget the thrill of a call from a loved one far away.

I published three books last year, which on the face of it seems like a huge accomplishment - the only trouble is that there are millions of other literate and talented writers out there who also published new books last year.

The trick of the whole deal these days is to get noticed and to rise above all of the other hopeful authors who also want to have their work become best sellers.

I saw a Kindle the other day and the owner had loaded one of my Chesapeake Heritage books so that our friends in the art group could see what the device is like. Heck yes! I would love to own one - and for every person who ever had a Drama Queen in his or her life to purchase a download for their Kindle or Nook or other reading device! I would love to have a best seller!

So, that is my wish for the New Year. If I sell enough books, then maybe I will survive the past few lean years and see what a fat year looks like for a change. I can think of some things I would like to do if I had plenty of money - like teaching children trades, and providing food for the elderly - stuff like that...

In the meantime, I think I had better keep working at my writing and other crafts.

As for the new year, I hope you have faith in the future and stay on the sunny side! Love, Terry

Myth to Me: Songs From The Inner Light

2010-12-28T06:34:00.000-08:00

Wow! The Christmas holiday was so busy that I didn't get to post an announcement that my newest book - the 17th! - was published in December. Myth to Me: Songs From the Inner Light is a book of verse inspired by just about everything!

Some of the poems in this new book have been hanging around in notebooks for some time. Others were written during the summer and autumn of 2010. While it is true I have published a volume of poetry before, Myth to Me was a different sort of work.

Runaway Hearts is my first book of verse and it is centered on the history of the area in which I live and includes stories about a pirate, a waterman and the history of Harriet Tubman, who wove a legend so large it cast its shadows across the years and shines as an example of selfless courage to the young people everywhere.

Myth to Me is a collection of shorter verse, with much more personal focus. Some of the verses take on the world and my take on current events. Some are from my personal history and a few are more classically formed. So far, my readers have had good things to say about the collection, I don't know.

I never really thought of myself as a poet, and certainly never aimed at that designation. The thing is, when I have an idea, I don't always have much control over the form that idea must take in its final form.

A great deal of my interests and theories appear in my novels, and sometimes in the country songs I make. Poetry is more rare, so it took years to put Myth to Me together. I am not sure I will write another, but like my good friend Dawn Tarr always says, "It's all good."

I hope that everything you do is goo and that you keep on the sunny side!

Love, Terry

PS: If you love poetry, Myth to Me is available at Amazon, Kindle, etc. Happy
Reading

PPS: The photo for this edition is Fire Island Walk by my great friend Claudia Conlon.

Postcard Snow

2010-12-27T04:50:00.000-08:00

The snow came with perfect timing this year - the day after Christmas and a Sunday, which allowed everyone to enjoy the white stuff a bit before having to deal with slippery roads and time clocks. It was perfect.

I remember winters of my childhood when we had to mush through a foot of snow to get to the little three-room school down in LeRoy, a town in Pennsylvania where French royalty were to come and hide during their revolution. It didn't happen, but the snow fell deep back in the 50s and it wasn't unusual to have to walk through a considerable amount of the white stuff to get to school. School never closed in those days. As long as your feet worked, you had to go.

When I grew up and moved to upstate New York, it seemed like the winters got even worse, a gift of the jet stream, which often saw two-foot drops that meant moving tons of the white stuff before going to work as a waitress or chambermaid - jobs that never shut down for a little bit of snow. At one point I drove a '47 Willys that could go through anything - but you had to plug in the block heater or it wouldn't start. Heck, when I went to college, they even offered ice fishing as a PE class. You couldn't miss any of those days either.

After a while, my life changed and I moved to Maryland, where snow is rare and winters are mild. Someone even told me they had roses in December, a concept I couldn't quit fathom, but they do - at least in the beginning of the month.

Winter here starts late and ends early. You hardly need boots, and often can go about in a sweater and call it good. I still don't care for snow, and last winter I lost a big portion of a huge hedge due to the weight of a huge snowfall. The broken branches had to be hauled to the dump and emptied my piggy bank paying for a man to come cut and haul away my beautiful, beloved yews and boxwoods.

Today I looked out my window and saw my cat - an all black, long haired critter - racing around the yard, climbing the one bush that survived the snow we got last night. He was definitely having a good time. Not me. I'm in for the duration and plan to stay in and just enjoy looking at our postcard snow. Hey, it's a Christmas gift. Gotta love it.

Keep warm and on the sunny side,

Love, Terry

Winter Songs

2010-12-24T05:24:00.000-08:00

Christmas is just one day away and carols echo all through the land as frantic shoppers scrabble through nearly empty shelves looking for the perfect gift to give their loved ones. The carols, in case we don't understand, are playing to keep us in the mood to buy - and not so much to celebrate the birth of one of the world's greatest teachers.

People have always married songs to the way they worship - sometimes with complicated orchestration, sometimes to the pulse of a single drum. Music seems to make the magic and it certainly does when it comes to Christmas.

Some Christmas songs are reverent and beautiful, evocative (one supposes) of the peaceful night in Bethlehem when a baby was born in the stable of an overflowing inn. The carols mention the beautiful star, the pilgrimage made by wise men, and the stillness of a winter night when not even a baby's cry can be heard.

Other Christmas songs could not be sillier. Grandma got run over by a reindeer while a little kid looks for his (or her) two front teeth and Mama is seen kissing Santa under the mistletoe. Reindeer have bright red noses, and Santa slips down the chimney to leave lots of toys for little girls and boys. HO HO HO

Well, whatever your favorite holiday music, I hope it is playing in your heart and that you have the best Christmas ever! Love, Terry

Chesapeake Winds

2010-12-23T05:58:00.000-08:00

Hello, some people have wondered why I chose to write fiction about the Eastern Shore of Maryland. The easy answer is that I live here. I moved here nearly 18 years ago and never found reason to leave. Oh yes, there are things I love and things I dislike about the place - but you could say that about any spot in the world. God didn't make mistakes, and every spot on earth surely has its own unique beauty and character.

Over the years I have heard many stories about the Eastern Shore and the characters who populated its marshy shores. There were Indians who were pushed aside in favor of white settlers who claimed every bit of arable land for their plantations. There were those who built towns and paid their taxes first in tobacco, and later in various sorts of produce that kept our sons and husbands fighting through a good number of wars.

There was the story of Harriet Tubman and Anna Ella Carroll, iconic figures in the story of slavery and emancipation - but there were also stories of quiet people whose names were never mentioned in the history books, which were all too often written by the political powers at the time. Missing, it seems, were the stories of the common farmer and the humble watermen, characters with rich and meaningful stories waiting to be shared.

My Chesapeake Heritage series and poetry in Runaway Hearts follows these unsung characters from colonization through the end of the civil war, and shortly there will be a new novel set in the same fictional town, about the same family and same farm - the threads of stories that weave their way to the present.

I hope I can continue with this work because it is easy to say that the North won the Civil War, but harder to tell the story of the woman who waited for her man to come home and found him changed.

Ask for my books at your public library, or purchase the books at Amazon.com, Kindle.com, my publisher www.writewordsinc.com, and any number of online booksellers. You are sure to find Chesapeake Country a fascinating place to visit.

Oh.. and keep on the sunny side! Love, Terry

PS: The photo is of Handsell, an early plantation in Dorchester County.

Fascination - Something You Can't Teach

2010-12-12T08:39:00.000-08:00

Last night I was at the Main Street Gallery helping with the Art-cessories reception. It was a very nice reception with fantastic exhibits, home made refreshments and an opportunity to meet the artists who exhibit their work this month. Among the offerings are imported textiles and clothing, fancy feathered accessories, pottery and jewelry. The show will continue until the end of the year during gallery hours.

One gentleman, upon buying a copy of my novel Ancient Memories, asked me how I set about writing a book, and I am here to say, I really don't know. Basically, I sit down and take dictation, but that is only part of the process.

The first thing that happens is that I am fascinated by a word, a sentence or maybe an idea. That trigger, for better words, percolates in my subconscious for days or months until the story is ready.

That done, I have to submit to and trust the process that results in a story - whether as a poem, a song or an entire book. It doesn't work if I try to force the product. I have to be willing to let the story come to and through me and to believe the story has a reason to exist.

Coming home after the reception, I was talking with a photographer friend who said she cannot possibly teach anyone how to become a photographer. The want-to is present but the skill develops as it will - but (as with me) she can't share the process, because it just happens!

It occurs to me that true art is an expression of spirit that comes to us without warning, and that we have to allow the book, the photo, the painting to come through us in order for it to be shared.

I have an idea the work is the gift and that we are blessed by the ability to put our books, images and other art out there in the world because those things are a measure of our trust in life and our place in the world. The products of our various arts show how we grow - and isn't it a miracle?

I would love to know what you think about being an artist... so drop me a line and keep on the sunny side! Love, Terry

How Do You Buy Books?

2010-12-03T05:21:00.000-08:00

My big news this week is that my newest book Myth To Me: Songs From The Inner Light will be available soon.

Myth To Me is a book of poetry, most brand new, and while I do not fancy myself a poet, I am proud to have produced this newest volume to follow my best-selling (of all my books) Runaway Hearts - long poetry about the characters that once inhabited the Eastern Shore of Maryland.

Myth to Me is more personal and explores not only my world, but also the events and situations that have presented during the past year. The volume went to the printer yesterday and I have placed an order for some copies for sale and for holiday giving.

I can't wait to put one in your hands and to share my inner light with all of you whether in a paper edition or an electronic transfer to read on your Kindle or Nook. Enjoy!!!

Keep on the sunny side Folks, I love you. Terry

PS: The cover photo (above) is one of the beach walks at Fire Island, taken by my dear friend Claudia Conlon, who gifted me with a week on the island a year ago. It was a trip to a different world and I thank her for sharing!

Drama Queen Rules

2010-11-05T07:54:00.000-07:00

One of the greatest thrills of my life was publishing my latest novel Drama Queen Rules. This is the story of a woman who grows up in a trailer park. Lainey Cook works at the bowling alley and pays her own bills. She has the idea her life can be better, but her sister thinks her sister is an idiot who couldn't get in college, let alone graduate.

A drama queen sister is hard to take, but she isn't Lainey's only handicap. Her mother is dying from hard living and too many cigarettes. She needs constant care.

Lainey's boyfriend likes fast cars, beer and being waited on - pretty much in that order. Skip boyer wouldn't want Lainey to change, and he doesn't want to work, either.

Witnessing a robbery at the local market leaves Lainey with the realization she has to find a way out of poverty - and a new boyfriend if she can! The one she has couldn't even drive the getaway car properly!

When Skip shows up in the middle of the night and takes Lainey on a crime spree, she knows without doubt she can't depend on anyone else to help her find a better life.

Drama Queen Rules will make you laugh and cry because it is about thousands of women who are trying to find their way into better situations, no matter what the drama queens in her life have to say about it.

Look for Drama Queen Rules at your favorite online bookstores. You are gonna love it!

See what happens when

Follow Your Muse

2010-10-17T06:31:00.000-07:00

I have been a writer for nearly half a century, and have more than a dozen books published - either in print or as e-books. During the course of all this work I attended a number of writers conference where the theme was to follow one's own bliss.

Following one's muse can be hard on the people who love you, but I discovered that there were times when I was in the throes of writing the newest book it is sometimes pretty difficult to get away. If you aren't following your characters into the darkest wilds of Upstate New York - or the Nazca Plain - you may only be out to lunch, and you may also be giving your story short shrift.

It is no mean thing to offer up your day-to-day life to write a 150,000 word opus that no one may ever read.

Muses, it seems, have become a dime a dozen with would-be writers following in their wake and ten cent publishers offering truly limited fame without fortune to those who buy their product. These publishers have a mantra: No copywrite necessary.

With all those writers out there, who is going to stoop to steal a story line? Anything, apparently, goes for these word mongers who will publish anything a writer can finance - an awful work has about the same chance of making the big time as a really well-crafted piece of work.

Not that some of these publishers do not have a good product. some of them produce really lovely copies of your book - but they cut the profit margin so closely that the only way a writer can earn even pennies on his or her work is to find ways to sell their work themselves - work it out: You get a 40% discount on copies, and pay postage to get the books to your doorstep - this leaves about 28% to offer your vendor. Trouble is, that vendor wants 40$, so you end up paying 12% for them to handle your masterpiece. Looks like a negative return to me!

That's a real bite! The bottom line is that everyone who handles your work makes more money on it than you do.

To me, it gives a muse a bad name and sometimes I wish I could get rid of the bitch, but after 50 years of being a writer it isn't all that easy. I guess I have to hang on and hope someone notices that there are some really good writers out here. I know some of them who truly deserve recognition.

Let's hope their muses infect the publishers and lead them out into the sunny side! Love, Terry

2010-10-09T08:48:00.000-07:00

Did you know you can read an excerpt from my newest book Drama Queen Rules? Check it out at the following link. You can get a copy from me, or from Amazon.com and Kindle.

https://www2.xlibris.com/bookstore/book_excerpt.aspx?bookid=82131

It's a nice day out there. Keep on the sunny side! Terry

Thank You for Helping Me

2010-09-25T16:46:00.000-07:00

I meant to come home from today's book reading and to sit down and relax for the rest of the evening. I managed to ignore the dirty (but rinsed) dishes in the sink, and wondered (not much) why the cat went out so early tonight. I realized, you see, that I really should thank the people who helped me get situated today.

Paul Stone picked me up and got my stuff where it was supposed to go. Lynne and Terry watched one side of my table, Nancy and Bob watched the other side while I coped with a bladder infection - I did get my exercise, though.

Come time to pack up the gal I am going to be with tomorrow at Showcase arrived to carry my books, table, chairs and etc.'s -- oh -- and me home.

Were you wondering if I sold any books. Indeed, I did. For some reason, I was reading from my poetry about Harriet Tubman when this small dark woman came and sat down to listen. That made me nervous. I don't always know how people will take something like that.

Why did I write about Harriet Tubman? believe Harriet Tubman did something that made her life as near to immortal as folks can get in this world. I meant what I wrote as a tribute. So ... Yes, I sold a book. The lady came back with her husband he he purchased Runaway Hearts for her and saw it signed. I was honored, so it was an exceptional day. The sun did shine.

To get back to my theme, you don't know how grateful I am for the friends to take care of me as I grow older. I always believed I was an important writer (if only in my own opinion), and I am touched by the kindness in my life.
If I ever do become "wealthyrich and famous" (my little brother made that one up didn't you, Guy?), I hope to repay all the helpers I've met in this life. I really
appreciate all the help, the rides and the kind words. They are a true treasure for this life. Thank you - every one of you, and keep on the sunny side. Terry

Reading My Work

2010-09-23T06:26:00.000-07:00

On Saturday I will be at the Hyatt Chesapeake here in Cambridge and I don't know whether to be nervous or to look forward to the experience. Technically, I will be part of an art show offered by the Wednesday Morning Artists. I am a member of that group and do try my hand at various artistic creations, however words are my forte.

And so, on Saturday I will be there reading from my poetry and novels to my fellow artists, and possibly to individuals who are staying at the big hotel for the weekend.

I hope to meet some new friends and to share some of my work. A number of people have purchased my newest novel Drama Queen Rules and I am getting some pretty great feedback on the book. It is the story of a redneck girl who wants to do more with her life - despite the drama queens who say she can't - and thereby hangs a tale.

I really hope those who buy my book go to their Amazon.com account and leave a review on the Drama Queen Rules page. Customer reviews go a long way toward the success of a book, so I hope you will take the time to leave a comment about the book if you can.

Today, I see my doctor and will have lunch with an old friend, so there is no question about staying on the sunny side. Hope yours is great too. Terry

Waiting For My Muse

2010-09-17T04:46:00.000-07:00

I finished writing my 17th novel the other day and it has thrown me into a complete funk. A big project is my anchor from week to week, but I go a bit crazy when there is no idea, no focus - there is nothing to do during those cool morning hours when I would normally be blissfully pecking away at the keyboard.

Over the years I have written a lot! Jean Auel, author of a sexy prehistoric series, said one has to write a million words before he or she is competent to tell a proper story. Her Clan of the Cave Bear series sold millions, but it would never have been read of at all if some janitor had not pulled it out of the publisher's slush pile and tugged on an editor's sleeve - or so the story goes. I imagine Raquel Welch or Bo Derek must have been the muse for those books - the heroine succumbs to the powerfully muscled male about every other page.

I quite enjoyed Ms. Auel's prehistoric vistas, but I always felt there was life after romance, and so my books tend to draw the curtain on the love scenes and work a bit harder on the romance of olden times. If I am going to spend a year writing a book, I want it to have a bit more historical meat to the story.

I'm waiting. I have cleaned the floors and refrigerator, and washed down the porch. My muse wasn't there. I have plenty of work to do. I could make something arty - or clean the john - but I want an idea, a theme, a story to return me to my proper
attitude. If you have one, let me know. I know I have written my million words by now and I want another story to tell.

In the meantime, I plan to join my cat just hanging around. Hope your muse is with you and that you walk on the sunny side! Terry

TO THE ARTIST;

Paint me a picture,
sing me a song,
Shape me a memory
That comes on
So strong
I hold my breath
To ringing truth;
And to my sweet surprise
The moment is truer than
The hour that it passed –
Reborn in the mind’s
Bright looking glass.

Staying Home

2010-09-12T10:19:00.001-07:00

I will admit I have traveled about a bit during my life, although I seem to have put down roots here in Cambridge and I love being part of the community here. It is almost as good as growing up here - because the town I did grow up in was about the same size as Cambridge.

When we were kids, we had a lot of freedom. I guess our parents figured we could take care of ourselves, or we might never have been allowed to walk nine miles up LeRoy Mountain to wade in Sunfish Pond. Pop came up after work in that old red and white Chevy wagon with a can of beans some hot dogs and buns - and if we were really good, a box of campfire marshmallows. I know my memory has changed a lot of things over the years, but it seems to me that the marshmallows in the box tasted better. They weren't quite as soft, but they had a powdery goodness that today's marshmallows don't seem to have. We cooked them on a peeled stick and never had the chocolate bars and graham crackers that are all the fad today. Probably couldn't afford them.

But I think we had a good childhood, and if there had been places to work when it was graduation time, I guess I would have stayed there in LeRoy forever. I wonder what that might have been like. Would I still see the classmates who populated my youth? I wonder. I wonder if they wonder what happened to the rest of us too.

I guess it doesn't matter because wherever we go - there we are. I just hope it is on the sunny side! Have a great day and be good to each other. Terry

WHAT IS IT LIKE

What is it like to live in one place
For all the seasons of one’s life,
To know the same neighbors,
And walk about at night
With the lights turned off?

What is it like to have a friend
Known through the back yards
Of lazy childhood play
Through daunting death
And drizzling days of rain
Where you were born to live and stay?

What is it like to know the same
Familiar kindly faces for the entire span
Of a life – The librarian, and
The hard-muscled men who
Fix your cars and toilet clogs?
What is it really like?

What is it like to sing the very same hymns
From Sunday School all the way through
Your elder years when
You can comfortably nap
Through the service on responsibility,
And talk to the Master one on one?

I Bring Words

2010-09-11T06:49:00.000-07:00

On September 25 I will be reading from my poetry and novels at the Hyatt Chesapeake Resort here in Cambridge from 10 a.m. until 4 p.m. I will try to read on the hour and share passages from the sixteen books I have published.

The art you see for this blog is the cover to one of my Chesapeake Heritage series - Chesapeake Visions. The book tells the story of Jewel LeCompte, who is born before the Civil War. Of course that world passed, and she soon had to learn to function as so many others did without the help of servants since most southern families after the war were not able to pay for hired help.

The twist in this story is that Jewel is blind. She is modeled on a sweet friend of mine, Jewel Banning, who was blind from birth, who spent her childhood in a school for the blind, and met her husband - Donald is also blind - in a rehab center. Miss Jewel shared her music and her life with joy and enthuasiasm. She passed this past spring, and I miss her presence in the world.

The good thing is that she knew I had written this book and dedicated it to her. Her husband is now reading Chesapeake Visions with a program that translates computer files into human-like speech. It blows my mind.

Which brings me around to words. I seem to have a lot of them and I love sharing. I hope to see you when I read at the Hyatt, and that you enjoy the art the Wednesday Morning Artists will share that day as well. In the meantime, have a great day and keep on the sunny side! Love, Terry

I BRING WORDS

I bring the words I collect
From here and there
And put them in boxes
Covered with shells.

I bring words
I find along the street
With lost pennies, clovers
And strange skewed attitudes.

I bring words
To cover my hair with snow
And paint the roots of meaning
A smarter, indelible shade.

I bring whispered words
And look for rainbows
In the giddy thoughts I see
Others fashion from thin air.

I bring words
When the awful thunder speaks
And black storm clouds roil
Over sullen skies of saddest gray.

I bring words of glee
On summer starlit nights
To waltz along the Milky Way
And race the Northern Lights.
Like fireflies at dusk.

Remembering the Women Who Came Before Us

2010-09-10T08:39:00.001-07:00

I blogged this poem before, but I really loved the comments you all offered this one - I think because it causes all of us to remember the women who made our world better, no matter how hard times were in our youth.

I will be reading from my poetry and my novels at the Hyatt Chesapeake on September 25 on the hour from 10 a.m. to 4 p.m. I hope you can join me and the Wednesday Morning Artists exhibiting that day. In the meantime love one another and keep on the sunny side! Terry

MOM MOM

She sits, her hands in her lap at rest,
Fingers bundles of broken twigs,
Brown and knotted, scarred,
Big-knuckled from long hours with the knife
Worrying the sweet meat
From horny red shells that cut to the quick.

Her dress is clean,
Faded at shoulder, breast, and thigh,
Patches over patches
Covered with a familiar apron
Of clean, dim rose print.

Her hair is pulled back each morning
Anchored against the wind –
The constant wind.
Fine lines fan out from
Eyes once as blue as bay and sky,
Now faded into pearly haze.

She was always there
In the house beside the water
Where the fiddler crabs
Clattered their shells
At break of day,
Annoyed at her steps
As she tended the goat,
The chickens, the pig.

She doesn’t need much now.
The neighbors look in on her.
She smiles, says she is fine.
And they leave, shaking their heads
At her presence at all.

Her voice is now an echo
Of the persisting wind
As she whispers her prayers
Over sourdough batter
Started years before and
Stirred with a tarnished spoon.

Her children live on
In faded photographs ranked
By size and age on the mantle shelf
Where the flu is cold
In the summer damp.
They rarely call.

Her man was heavy of hand.
His shoulders as strong as
Trees from the tongs.
She loved him when
The two were young,
But then he lay down to sleep
One night, and did not breathe
In morning’s light.

There was a time she waited
On the bridge near the water’s edge
For the sight of a well known sail;
And now for the Maker’s call …
There’s nothing more.

Her world has passed,
And soon her memories will be
Found only in a tattered book
That once fell into the green water
So that the ink ran
And the tales were lost.

Smoke and Mirrors

2010-09-08T10:40:00.000-07:00

SMOKE AND MIRRORS

Years ago I found a little volume of poetry by Robert W. Service called Songs of a Sourdough.It was worn, cupped to fit the rear pocket of the last owner, and some of the pages were gone. Still, it seemed a precious thing to me for the stories and rhythms of the times – and for the vision of a man who could see the future from the giddy pinnacles of the Alaskan Gold Rush. This is for you, sir:

“It’s all in how you do it, Kid.”
The man told me one day.
“It’s all just smoke and mirrors
And it’s hard to find your way.

"It’s hours you spend in grieving
For love that can not be,
It’s Pine Sol and bubble gum,
The ones you long to see,

"The precious things you know
You’ve got – or lost along the way
It’s freshening winds and
rosined strings
The harps of heaven played.

"The smoke and mirrors stage the
World for lessons yet to come,
You mind the smoke and mirrors, Kid,
The best is yet to come.

"So set your course for heaven, Kid,
That’s all I’ve got to say.”
It’s only smoke and mirrors,
The game of life we play.

"It’s only smoke and mirrors, Kid.

I saw you try, I saw you fail,
I saw you try again.

"But trust the smoke and mirrors, lad,
As you sail against the wind.

I thought you might like to share, hope you enjoyed, and invite you to keep on the Sunny side. Regards, Terry

Terry L. White's Book Blog: Anna Ella Carroll's Life to be Illuminated

2010-09-05T06:42:00.000-07:00

Terry L. White's Book Blog: Anna Ella Carroll's Life to be Illuminated

Anna Ella Carroll's Life to be Illuminated

2010-09-03T06:58:00.000-07:00

Something unusual and stunning is scheduled to take place in Cambridge on November 20 at the Hyatt Chesapeake Golf and Conference Center. Would you believe the world premiere of a movie about one of Dorchester County's (and Maryland's) most notable women?

Anna Ella Carrol spent much of her life in Dorchester County after running her father's office - he was a lawyer and Maryland governor - and participating in some of the most momentous incidents our country has ever seen.

Ms. Carroll, better known as Ann to her many friends and admirers, somehow became an adviser to President Abraham Lincoln. She had a hand in the framing of the Emancipation Proclamation and created the Tennessee River Plan, a brilliant military strategy that cut off supply routes from the south to battlefields in the north.

All that said, when President Lincoln's cabinet was recognized in a life-sized oil painting, Anna Ella Carroll was painted out - the result of protests by the rest of the nearly all-male cabinet - and jealous outrage expressed by Mary Lincoln, who may not have been entirely sane after the death of her son Tad.

The Victorian attitudes of those times surely had an impact on the lack of the illumination of the useful and helpful life of a mere woman who happened to find herself a pawn in one of history's most dramatic stories.

After President Lincoln was assassinated, Ms. Carroll moved to Dorchester County, MD where she lived out her days quietly in hope she would be recognized by the government and given the same pension the males in Lincoln's cabinet enjoyed throughout their lives. That never happened and she died alone and in poverty.

Bruce Bridegroom, a New Mexico attorney has put his own funds into this film depicting the life of Anna Ella Carroll, a woman history nearly erased from the annals of the state and nation. In addition to the film, the historic painting of Lincoln's Cabinet is being re-created by local artist Laura Era, who places Ms. Carroll in the empty chair of the original art. This painting will also be on display at the film's premiere.

Plan to attend this special event in Cambridge on November 20.

I'm looking forward to going to my very first premiere, and staying dry and on the sunny side while hurricane Earl passes by. Cheers! Terry

Pictures From the Past

2010-08-27T06:32:00.000-07:00

Recently a friend called and asked if I would collaborate on a pictoral history of Dorchester County, Maryland. Well, I have done a lot of writing about pictures during my lifetime - I worked for non-profits, and a daily newspaper - I was more than happy to come on board.

Ann Foley write the first Dorchester County book (via Arcadia Publishing), the Cambridge book and two books about Elliott Island, where she has made her home for the past 35 years. I am a mere newcomer, having landed on the Eastern Shore only 18 years ago. But both of us love it here and putting together a new book will surely be a labor of love.

Finding the old photos will be an interesting process. We are looking for snapshots of school classes, country stores, boats and boat-building, photos of old businesses and photos of organizations such as fire companies or red cross teams or even grandma posed beside grandpa's brand new Studebaker!

So, I am writing this blog to ask if any of my followers - here or on facebook - have old photos they might like to share in this new book about Dorchester County. Hopefully, these will be photos no one but the owner has seen before, and the book will be one that people treasure for its information and glimpses of the old days on the peninsula.

If you have photos, Ann and I will do our best to borrow them, take them to my house to be scanned, and returned to the owner that same day. We will sign a release that says we do not own the copywrite on your photos. The photos you loan us will be used one time only.

Incidently, the photo at the beginning of the blog is of Colton's market, which did business on the first floor of the Odd Fellows Hall in LeRoy, Pennsylvania, the village in which I grew up. Looking at this shot reminds me of my childhood and many walks on the sunny side. Hoping to hear from you soon... Terry

The Loneliest Journey?

2010-08-20T08:53:00.000-07:00

It has been said that writing is the loneliest profession and I have to agree. I have been sitting down in front of a blank screen - I started out with a yellow legal pad and a #2 pencil - for nearly as long as I have been alive. I could read long before I started school and pretty soon I was scratching out words on whatever paper the grownups would let me have.

Luckily I had a grandmother who set type at a book factory and she brought home endless supplies of paper trimmed from schoolbooks of various sizes. My love affair with books started soon after when she enrolled me in a book-of-the-month club for children. I cut my big girl teeth on the brothers Grimm and Lewis Carroll. Pretty soon I was reading the magazines that came into the house - Reader's Digest, Life and the Saturday Evening Post. I was interested in everything and being near-sighted, I suppose it was only natural for me to end up with my nose in a book - that was where my eyes focused best!

I won't say we had a lot when I was a child. My dad worked in factories, Mom stayed home, and toys came at Christmas. The rest of the time we entertained ourselves if we couldn't manage to play together nicely... never mind.

What with all that reading, I soon made up my mind that I wanted to write stories when I grew up - and I have. I wrote for a newspaper, I wrote poems, and songs, and grants, and articles and most of all - I wrote books. I can account for 16 novels in print or as e-books. (There were a couple of others that got lost in my search for the home of my heart!)

This year, I published two books. Book four of the Chesapeake Heritage series is the story of Jewel, a blind girl who has to learn to run two plantations after the Civil War was published last winter.

This summer I published Drama Queen Rules, the story of a redneck gal from a trailer park who wants a better life and works hard to get it - despite what the drama queens in her life have to say about it. (There is a lot of my life in this one!)

I work alone, and I guess that is to be expected. My favorite prayer is to connect all my hard-working, brave heroines with all the women in the world who are working toward better lives. YOU CAN DO IT!

And so, while life sometimes seems lonely, I know there are lots of people out there who want to improve their lives, so I am here to tell their stories and to say this: Keep on the sunny side girl - your miracle is coming! Terry

A Whole New Project

2010-08-12T05:28:00.001-07:00

Last week my friend Ann Foley and I signed a contract for a brand new Arcadia Publishing book about Dorchester County - which will be called Dorchester County Revisited. We did not choose the name, but we are tickled to death with the concept and can't wait to talk to friends and neighbors about the photos they may have of earlier days in Dorchester County.

We are hoping this book will bring out new photos in several areas. One is "restorations" and we have already been able to copy some unpublished photos that show the restoration of a local landmark.

We are always interested in ships and shipbuilding and are looking for fresh shots of boats, boatbuilders and boatyards. Let me know if you have some you are willing for us to scan and use in the book, I'm in the phone book. If you do allow us to use your photos, we will only borrow them for a few hours while we take them back to my house for scanning and return them that same day.

Shots of graduating classes, work picnics and church gatherings are all great for this sort of history book and we would like to see yours. Photos of people doing what they do - fishing, trapping, working - are always interesting and people love to see if they happened to be in one of the shots or the other.

In every case the photos you allow us to use still belong to you and neither Ann, I, or the publisher have any claim on them.

So. Give us a call, or find me on facebook. We would love to see and use your excellent photos in our new book. Thanks a lot and keep on the sunny side! Terry

Been Festivalized Lately?

2010-08-09T05:06:00.000-07:00

Anyone who lives in Dorchester County knows it is a party place. There is something going on all the time and a great deal of it is free or available at a low cost. It is true that Dorchester County isn't the richest place in the world, but it is a place where people love to get together and have a great time.

This past weekend I spent at Sailwinds Park - in an old tuna warehouse the community turned into a civic center - being poor doesn't mean we aren't averse to a little hard work and Governer's Hall at the park is the scene of many local events and usually whatever they present is met with a lot of enthusiasm.

Friday through Sunday was the scene of the Annie Oakley Wild West Festival in Cambridge. What fun. The music didn't stop, there was all sorts of great things to eat, Indian dancers and much, much more.

My booth (with seven other local authors) was indoors and we had a ball talking to people and showing off our work. We had to thank the festival, for they allowed us to display our work and did not charge for the space. That is a great gift to the "starving artists" who live here on the Eastern Shore.

I hope the photo I put up came out all right - it looks good, but it is pretty small. Don't know if I can fix that! At any rate I belong to a group called the Wednesday Morning Artists who brought a door with an outline on it for children to paint. The little people were so excited to take part and even when the painting was done, they kept coming back to admire their work.

As I said, it doesn't take a lot to make an impact on our community, and we were delighted to find so many little people who like to paint.

If you don't live on Delmarva, check out your community to see what is going on for free on the weekends - you might be surprised at what's going on! Have fun and keep on the sunny side! Terry

How To Say Thank You

2010-08-04T08:19:00.000-07:00

This morning before 8 a.m. my friend's husband brought my computer home. It had crashed, leaving me with nothing but porn sites, which are a bit on the useless side for me. I am a writer. Why would I want to watch people doing sex? I can't think of anything less useful to me. (Except, I suppose, for writing this blog.)

My computer was down from Sunday morning until Wednesday morning, and I will tell you I really felt disconnected. It seems I have come to enjoy the easy communication found on the Internet. It is great to keep up with friends at a distance, to find folks I thought were lost, and to use the space here to let the world know what is going on in my corner of the universe.

I like to communicate, and a blog is a good way to do that, even though one might be talking to nothing at all. The point is, we all need a place to put our thoughts and somehow the airy impermanence of a blog is the perfect place to try out new ideas and report on how the old ones worked out.

Of course, I am a writer, and I enjoy watching the screen and reading what is really on my mind - or what the next thing the heroine of my book is going to do. I think we all need to connect, and writing is a good way to do that. The Internet is also really good for connecting people, thoughts, ideas and regard.

I am here to encourage you to write down your thoughts. Post your photos. Talk to friends. Thank people.

A blog is a good place to thank the people in your life who help you when you think you just can't keep going. I would like to thank the friend's husband who fixed my computer. I would like to thank the gal who got my cat in a free spay/neuter clinic. I would like to thank the programs that allow me to keep my house and fix the floors. I would like to thank the women who help me get where I need to go. I come from a place of gratitude, and that is a good place to be.

So. Write down your thoughts. Appreciate your friends. Thank those who lend a helping hand, and keep on the sunny side. These flowers are for you. Terry

What Happens Next ?

2010-07-31T04:48:00.000-07:00

This month I released my 16th novel, and one might suppose that much work would result in fame and fortune. It has worked for some people, but the jury is still out in my case. I expected it to work for me, and still do.

I just have to figure out how to get people to notice. I write books about women who are brave, strong, hopeful and loving. My stories are about women who endure and find sustaining love in spite of all odds. I think these should be good qualities for today's world - so much so I wrote a book about them!

On Thursday I got a shipment of copies of Drama Queen Rules, the story of a woman who comes from a trailer park, a girl who believes deep down in her heart that she can have the life she wants - and she sets out to get it in spite of all the folks in her life who want her to stay just the way she is. (That's the hard part for all of us. Our loved ones don't really want us to change and many times they won't hesitate to say so.)

The sad fact is that change is the only real constant. Whew, it is getting warm outside and the hedge needs to be clipped. You have a great weekend and keep on the sunny side! Terry

PS: If you have any idea of how to get people to notice my books, let me know.

PPS: Look for me and my books at the Annie Oakley Festival in Cambridge next weekend. This is a free event on Saturday and Sunday and promises to be great fun. Check it out at www.annieoakleyfestival.com

Letters From the Edge

2010-07-28T07:15:00.001-07:00

This morning it occurred to me that I no longer get any mail. Oh, don't get me wrong. My mailbox is filled with bills and advertisements daily. What a shame.

I used to look forward to mail - it was the best thing about my day. Sometimes there was news from a family member or an old friend. The news wasn't always good, but there was concrete proof someone thought of you.

Today, people keep in touch on social media programs like Facebook, and I am the first to say it is a wonderful innovation. It is not, however, free, because we pay for internet service, don't we? It is also not very satisfying.

Some people put their journal entries online. Whoa! I have a hard time wading through the events of daily living. We all eat, sleep, work and roam about- which are important things - to one's family.

Some people augment their business advertising by becoming a presence online, and I am guilty of that - however - I am now telling folks I write local histories when I request they add me. Some people like to know what I am doing and when the next new book will be available.

Then there are the people who play games on the social media site. I wish they would play the games and not ask them to work on their social media farm. I grew up on a real farm and I am not living on one now. Get the picture.

The best posts I see on social media are enlightening. This morning I saw a trailer for the best Native American film of 2010. Rainbow Boy looks wonderful and I hope I find a way to see it. I adore posts like this.

I like the beautiful music clips and views of brand new art - keep them coming and walk on the sunny side. Regards, Terry

I Have a Letter

I have a letter that
A soldier wrote to my
Grandmother. He
wrote about the
Morning his captain
Read an announcement
That the Armistice had
Been signed.

I have a letter from my
Grandmother’s
Grandmother that said
She went upstate
For a cooler summer.

I have a letter from
My father that says
Nothing – but that he
Loved me in every line.

I have a letter from my
Son who blamed me
For everything that ever
Went wrong in his life.

I have a letter from my
Sister justifying her
Marriage to the man
I once promised to love.

I have a letter from
A big publisher
Saying they can’t
Use my work. (I
Burned a lot of those.)

I have a letter from
A friend who moved
Far away only to find
she had not changed at all.

It makes me sad to think
That in a few more years
There will be no more
Letters from anyone –
Since everyone texts
On the little computer
They keep in their pockets
So’s not to miss a thing.

Their histories will
Consist of mis-spelled
Words and fractured
Histories out in space

And the book stores
Will go out of business.

Tie Dyed

2010-07-27T04:53:00.001-07:00

Yesterday I had lunch with a friend and we looked back through the thickets of our memories and laughed at the children we were when we found our way out of the garden and had to 'grow up' and run the world as best we could.

There was so much that changed. We went from the "aw shucks" world of Mayberry and Beaver Cleaver (where the women had tiny waists and perfect hair) where nothing bad ever happened - not even cloudy skies - to the bloody fields of Watts and Vietnam. We marched in riots and learned the freedom songs we still sing.

Not all of us got to Woodstock - you can't say that. Some of us went through that revolution of sex and female power and black integration in small towns and colleges in upstate New York and sunny California and Fargo, North Dakota. We did not turn that farmer's field into a stew of love and pot and magic music, but the sounds of freedom resonated through a land scrambled and re-arranged in thought and deed.

Not all of us lived in communes or practiced free love, but in our hearts we wanted the freedom everyone was talking about. We wanted to sing the songs and have a hootenanny on the lawn. We wanted to change the world.

And we did - or at least we thought we made a difference, but the truth is change is the real constant in any epoch. I leave you with these thoughts and the wish that you have a good day and walk on the sunny side. Terry

Tie Dyed

I would love to go back
To the psychedelic days
When love was free
And the background was
Batik and paisley –
And all the hippies were
Beautiful.

I would love to go back
To the carefree hours
When music thrilled our souls
And it didn’t matter what
We packed, because
We simply always had
Enough.

I would love to go back
And see the colors of our minds
That made all things possible
No matter how hard
They looked to our parents
When we told them our tie dyed
Dreams.

I would like to go back
And see those friends we made
In a haze of fragrant smoke
While the sitars played
All the way across
The land of the brave and home
Of the free.

I would like to look back
And see that our world changed
Fast when we were young
And sent to war against our will,
And taught to kill
People we never even
Got to know.

I would like to look back
And know that we did
The best we could – in spite
Of a world set in stone.

To Give Up or Submit

2010-07-24T06:12:00.001-07:00

I have been a writer for nearly 50 years and while I must have written several million words during that time, looking back I can see that all those words have had some pretty uneven results. Some days I really wanted to quit, on others, I just wanted to keep going to see what was around the next bend.

When I declared my intention to be a writer when I grew up – at the age of 39 – people told me it could not be done. They said I would starve. They said my work would not amount to a hill of beans. They did not believe a writer could make a living from his or her work.

I am here to tell you that is not exactly true. After I worked my way through college with the goal of becoming a famous writer; I went to work for a small-town daily newspaper and stayed on for five years, writing whole pages full of story five, six, and even seven days a week. I liked it. I loved meeting people and learning new things so I could explain them to our readers. In short, I submitted to the experience, and while I just barely made a living from the work, I would not have changed the experience for the world. I learned discipline and what a deadline means.

For the next several years I worked for non-profits and the lion's share of the work involved writing copy to get the organization noticed and to raise money for its very good cause. Technically, I suppose I was still writing for a living, but it about killed my soul. I won't however, say the experience was useless... it was very good for my creativity. For instance, how many ways can you think of to promote the sale of Christmas wreaths? See?

I had a calling, and writing historical fiction has always been my passion – a passion I submitted to, even during the long periods of time when I was writing for those non-profit organizations that sustained my life.

Today, I have published 16 books. Some are e-books and have been since the very earliest days of this art form. Others are in print and available at a variety of places on the Internet. My quarterly royalty checks will barely buy a week's groceries, but there seems to be nothing more to do than to just carry on.

I could give up, but after 50 years, I am still a writer and I am still writing. The way I see it, if I give up, failure is what I will get from a lifetime of experience.

I think I will keep going and keep writing. It keeps me on the sunny side. Terry

Drama Queen Dreams

2010-07-19T03:59:00.000-07:00

My newest novel Drama Queen Rules was released by Xlibris this week. Don't let anyone fool you. It is just as exciting to publish book number 16 as it was to publish the very first one!

Drama Queen Rules is the story of a young woman who won't let life say NO. She may have come from a trailer park, she may have to work at a bowling alley where the tips are small and opportunities are nil. She may have to walk home in a blizzard, but Lainey Cook won't give up on her dream.

Dreams are hard to give up. At least they were for me. I always wanted to be a writer, and 16 books later I still want to get up in the morning and hit the keyboard. That holds true - even on the morning a new book is first available for sale.

Right now you can find Drama Queen Rules at Xlibris, and soon it will be available at Barnes and Noble, Amazon, and Kindle - not to mention more than 2000 online outlets. I hope lots of people find Drama Queen on one of these sites and want to read all about Lainey Cook's dream.

I am still dreaming, and working on a couple of new books today - and every day! It is my calling and I am going to follow my dream as far as it will take me. Maybe some day I will have a best seller and see the name of Lainey Cook's story up in lights.

In the meantime I wish you a happy day, the realization of your dream, and a walk on the sunny side. Terry

Here Kitty, Kitty

2010-07-16T09:53:00.001-07:00

A couple of weeks ago my next door neighbor moved away and left two de-clawed cats alone without food or water. I was livid. A de-clawed cat can't hunt or fight and it must be a mortal sin to leave one out in the world without food or shelter.

I found a home for the older cat fairly quickly, and her new family is tickled right to death with Miss. Bootsie, named for her four white feet. She is a love and I was so happy to quickly find her a home.

The second cat was less than a year old and I wasn't aware he had been de-clawed until my friend Sandy Saunders took him to a free neutering clinic in Salisbury. She was told that Shadow, as I now call him, was also de-clawed. What a horrible thing to do to a young cat. This poor kitty had been left out in a blizzard, abandoned and generally abused.

Well, once Shadow was fixed, there was nothing to do but to let him in the house where we are experiencing a period of adjustment that includes a rousing game of 'kill the toes' at four in the morning.

Shadow is a real sweet kitty and he has several 'godmothers and fathers' who are helping an old lady out with his welfare. Yesterday he got a play cube and three months worth of flea dots from his 'aunt' Dyan.

I forgot to mention Shadow is a completely black angora. He is really going to be something if he grows into the tail! Is he a witchy cat? That remains to be seen, but he sure is happy to have a home.

So. I have a cat to wake up. May your day be as interesting - keep on the sunny side. Terry

Annie Oakley Festival

2010-07-10T07:07:00.001-07:00

Hello Everyone!

A couple of days ago I was asked to participate in the new Annie Oakley festival to be held at Sailwinds Park. The festival starts off with a barn dance on Aug. 6 and runs through the weekend. You can read more about it at: http://www.annieoakleyfestival.com/home.aspx

I have been asked to help coordinate a complementary space for local writers and artists to show their work, so if you want to participate, please let me know. My email address is: terrylwhite@verizon.net

I am looking forward to offering my Chesapeake Heritage books at the festival and am celebrating the arrival of the fourth book in the series Chesapeake Visions, which I dedicated to my friend Jewel Banning, who passed in May of this year. She knew I had dedicated the book to her and was delighted that the heroine in this new volume is blind - which presents a new 'view' of the Eastern Shore.

Cambridge Main street is busy creating new events and enriching old ones. Come to Cambridge and spend some time on the sunny side. You won't be disappointed!

Dorchester's Ag History

2010-06-26T05:01:00.000-07:00

Dorchester County has a rich agricultural heritage and has employed the largest part of its population in the growth and harvest of various crops.

During the colony's earliest days, Dorchester County plantation owners, who had their land in the form of grants from England's crowned heads, grew tobacco. "Tobacco on the banks" paid their taxes to the crown, but the plant wore out the soil, and soon farmers further inland and down the Atlantic coast grew the lion's share of tobacco and Dorchester County farmers turned to other crops.

The Revolutionary and Civil wars saw Dorchester farmers not only fighting in those conflicts, but also growing produce to feed our troops. After the Civil War, Dorchester's rich farmlands produced fresh vegetables that were either transported to the large cities across the Chesapeake Bay, or canned for future use.

The canneries were important agricultural and financial entities for many years, ending with the closing of nearly all of the plants by the 1960's when the end of World War II and segregation spelled the death knell of migrant worker camps and government contracts.

Today, Dorchester's farmers grow some produce for local farmer stands or markets, or sell to larger packers like Frito Lay, but the fields that were once full of melons, cucumbers, and tomatoes are now seas of grain destined to be food for the huge chicken farms that dot the area.

Last year, residents living near the Allen plant in Hurlock saw local farmers produce a veritable mountain of corn so tall that when it was covered with plastic local kids used it for sledding during one of Dorchester County's rare snowfalls.

The mountain of grain is now gone, used to feed the thousands of chickens raised for distribution all along the Eastern Seaboard.

Dorchester County may well be the garden of Eden, for it has fed millions over the years and its fields continue to be rich and fertile, bringing wealth and work to the residents in the land of pleasant living.

Just a bit of a history lesson today, so thank a farmer and keep on the sunny side. Terry

(The photo is a picture of children on a tomato farm about 1941. The photographer was John Collier and the photo is in the collection of the United States Department of Agriculture.)

Oil Spill Lament

2010-06-22T07:50:00.001-07:00

Everyone is all in an uproar over the oil spill in the Gulf of Mexico, and it is easy to see why. What isn't so easy is what we are going to about it - because in the end, it is likely too late to prevent much of anything connected to this huge fiasco.

There is a big discussion about blame - and power. Power is the crux of the matter. The power to repair the rift, the power that allowed drilling for oil in the middle of the world's largest ecosystem.

We like to think of the oceans as being able to process everything we pitch into them, but we are quickly learning that isn't true at all. We have this big mess to clean up, and while BP has a primary responsibility, surely the United States and the other political entities in the Gulf are also going to have to put forth a great effort to clean up whatever amounts of goo and tar that wash up on their beaches and shores.

Power is at the bottom of the problem, but not one of us have the power to turn back time and impose the proper regulations and policing of those regulations to prevent the mess in which we are now bathed.

I wish we could wave a magic wand and see the ocean as pure and clean once more, but in our greed and reach for power we have created a sickness that will eventually circle the globe.

I submitted the following poem to the New Yorker this morning, and I guess it will be their property if they choose it. In the meantime, I would like to share my thoughts on this disaster. I hope you like it and that you keep on the sunny side as much as you can. Terry

Power Play

The electric power went off this
Morning and everything stopped.
The google-eyed plastic frog
That doesn’t quite keep time; it
Stared back at me, the subtle grind of
Its gears and crimson sweep hand stilled
While the world we know
Decided whether or not to awaken at all.

I planned to do a wash and
Rendered paid some bills, and then
I had a thought to read a
Page or two about Australia’s early days.
It seems to me that far country had
Its own wild, wild, wild west that
Kept the farm wives looking over
Their shoulders in case of rape or worse.

I shivered in this big, damp old
House that holds my heart strings
Hostage with its trailing ants
And termite-nibbled kitchen walls.
I wondered then, why what comes free
To all should cost so very much –
When the wind blows every morning
Just as it has from the start of time.

I guess the end is near – the prophets
Are polishing their holy rants
And earthquakes mutter
Beneath cities crafted from redwood slabs
Torn from the forest’s living heart
That thirst for clear, cool water
Untainted by the carbon prints
Of a million dolls in fashionable garb.

What is this thing that powers clocks
And wells and pornography films?
Willie and the boys can sing on
And on and on about the delta oilslick
From a crack in the earth that
Leaked the gas that blew the well that
Belled the cat that ran the train that
Moved the wheat that lay in the house
That Jack built.

It is a shame we did not learn
More from the last time. The dinosaurs
And mastodons lie in their frozen beds
With buttercups in their huge bellies,
Their world quite dark for the lack
Of a horse – or a windmill to grind –
While Don Quixote tilts at the wind
Where the children’s tumors grow.

Why all the fuss for power? We are
All correct, and what may be perceived
As differences are blessings and
Doors to vistas painted in purple and gold –
So then, what is power but the
Potential to destroy everything in sight?

I think the disaster we saw last night
At seven must be the dinosaur’s revenge.

PS: The photo was by my beloved friend, Claudia Conlon

"Chair - ity!"

2010-06-18T08:39:00.001-07:00

The Main Street Gallery is happy to announce a very special gallery show starting July 1. The show is entitled "chair-ity" and is one of the major fund-raisers for the gallery, which will soon lose funding for its community art programs.

Gallery visitors will find chairs and chair art of every description, all for sale. Some of the creations by local artists will be donated to raise money for the youth program at the Dorchester County Center for the Arts and New Beginnings.

There will be a special gala at the Main Street Gallery at 413 Muir Street in Cambridge on July 9 from 6-9 p.m. with a $25 charge at the door. The event will feature a silent auction of chair-related and other items, live entertainment and lavish refreshments. This Friday night gallery show is a one-time event since most gallery openings coincide with Second Saturday in Cambridge, however the gallery decided on a Friday night gala so that it will not conflict with the Taste Of Cambridge event on Second Saturday this year.

I will be making a number of chair-related items, and many of the Wednesday Morning Artists will also be donating their time and art for the silent auction and gallery hanging.

There will be a number of chairs that have been salvaged in the show - as well as paintings and photographs with chair themes.

I sure hope to see lots of people come out for this fantastic show. It is gonna rock!

Have a great day and stay on the sunny side! Terry

My Books Are E-Books Too

2010-06-05T15:23:00.001-07:00

About ten years ago, my friend Arline Chase told me about a new way to publish one's books. Back then, e-books were a brand new way to do business, and no matter how the traditional publishers tried to pooh-pooh the innovation, some intrepid individuals stuck out their necks and set to build a brand new business based on the talents of writers who had been trying to get published for years.

I fit the description. I had a three-inch stack of rejection letters - and that represented a lot of skipped lunches and movies for all that postage. (You had to include funds to send the manuscript back in those days!)

Well, I met Connie Foster, thanks to Arline Chase, and she published several of my novels as e-books. She said she loved my stories and worked hard to tap the market where the Franklin e-book reader was causing quite a stir. It made such a commotion, in fact, that Stephen King published one of his unfinished novels in installments as e-books and made a couple of million, ... but I'm not sure he ever finished the book --

For much of the next ten years I did my best to edit the considerable library of books I had written and eventually Connie (and then Arline - she bought the company when Connie fell ill) worked hard to get them in a format that could be sold as an e-book. A number of my novels are still not in print, but they are for sale at Kindle and various other e-book sites.

This Christmas a couple of new readers hit the market, driving the market price for the devices downward and marking an increase in e-book sales. At this point, all of my 15 (or is it 16 books?) are available as e-books.

I believe I have been a pioneer all this time, and I didn't even know it. But do look for my e-books on Kindle - there are a bunch of them there. A couple of great things to consider: E-books are easy on the environment. You don't need trees or petroleum to produce them. They cost less: About $10 less than my latest novels, which sell at $16.95 as compared to $6.95 for an e-book. And lastly, they can be loaded into a reader which can hold as many as a thousand books! How cool is that?

So. My books are at Kindle, All Romance E-Books, Barnes and Noble and a number of other websites where e-books are sold. Enjoy an e-book this summer, and keep on the sunny side! Terry

Dream

2010-06-03T08:36:00.000-07:00

Did you ever lie on your back in the middle of a summer afternoon? Remember the clouds and how they seemed to take on a life of their own? Don't you wish every day could be like that? That's one of the nifty things about technology. We can go find a picture to remind us just exactly the way we remembered those fluffy clouds of summer.

I was thinking the other day about the sunny days of childhood and how my elders would tell me to work hard and not give up - because all of your efforts count. I'll never forget the day I took my friend Ken Bonner a dish of home made bread pudding because they didn't serve it at the diner where I worked. Mr. Bonner, Ken, was an itinerant musician who did carpenter work to get by and leave time for playing his fiddle.

He arrived at the restaurant I worked at one evening, paused in the doorway, and asked me loudly if I played the fiddle. Then he asked for bread pudding. We didn't have it.

I had to admit that, when I delivered the pudding to Mr. Bonner's place of business, that I played a bit of guitar and he handed me an instrument from the chaos of the garage sale he was running to dispose of his mother' s goods. He asked me to sing and I did. I think the song was Redwing.

"You ought to do something about that," Ken said and grinned. "You just keep practicing - every five minutes counts."

Talk about encouraging words. From that time on, I worked on my fondest dreams - singing my songs and writing. Over the years I worked with bands and cut a couple of CDs - the gospel one ain't half bad. I also worked really hard with my storytelling.

You know how people say so and so has a calling? Well, music might have been my passion for a while, but writing was my true love, and I have worked at it no matter how hard the rest of my life got. There are a lot of books out there with my name on the covers. I'm hoping one day I will learn enough about the business of it that I can break out of the pack of writers trying to get known and have people say I am a success.

This is my point: Work on your dreams. They are worth the effort. If Ken Bonner was around he would tell you the same thing... oh, and keep on the sunny side. Terry

Chesapeake Visions Arrived!

2010-05-29T03:55:00.000-07:00

Hello Everyone and Happy Memorial Day!

Wonderful news! The last novel in my Chesapeake Heritage Series arrived yesterday! Chesapeake Visions continues the story of Baron's Hope, a plantation in the fictitious town of Somerset on the Eastern Shore of Maryland.

In Chesapeake Visions, we meet Jewel LeCompte, daughter of a prosperous planter who keeps a few slaves in the period just before the start of the Civil War. Blind, Jewel wonders how she will manage when Emancipation changes the way farmers do business. Jewel marries, but loses her husband when a hurricane sweeps the coast and when her father dies, she is left with not just one - but two big farms to run. Her overseers are competent and care deeply about Jewel, who must make a choice between them in order to find fulfillment in her own life.

This book was dedicated to my great friend Jewel Banning, who passed away unexpectedly early this month. She knew about the book, which I dedicated to her, and was anxiously awaiting the arrival of Chesapeake Visions. I hope she would be pleased with this last volume in the set.

Cover art for this last book in the Chesapeake series was done by Snow Hill artist Dawn Tarr and features a steamboat and strawberries. The steamboat was the main mode of transportation for people and goods around the bay and the Eastern Shore was once known as the Strawberry Capital of the World - they seemed appropriate for the cover of this special book.

The Chesapeake Heritage books are available in Cambridge at Luna Chic, Bay Country Shop as well as Amazon.com and Kindle. Contact me directly for a special price for all four books in the series and keep on the sunny side! Terry

Ancient Memories

2010-05-26T08:25:00.000-07:00

I was browsing through some clip art and was reminded of my novel Ancient Memories when I saw this drawing.

Ancient Memories is the story of the soul's journey, following the lives of two souls bound in a single lifetime. It is a story of love, love lost, love denied and finally love affirmed.

I have believed in reincarnation since I sat with my grandfather who taught me some of his own magical beliefs. I believe we are meant to come back to new lives to work out our problems, and to express the love we have known for eternity.

Lately I have turned my hand to poetry and this short poem came to me. I hope you like it and that you always keep on the sunny side. Terry

I COME TO YOU

I come to you through the ages.

I come to you through the love
that sustains the universe and molds the bay.

You know my name
from the wind in the hedge and the willow’s sigh.

I come to you, a tale of hope on a
winter’s eve with one held close beside the fire.

You know my heart, it is folded in the linens
and sits in a corner beside the pink geranium.

I come to you to say the myth is real,
and welcome the one with hard square hands
I somehow knew before.

2010-05-25T05:07:00.000-07:00

Good Morning!

I tend to be an early riser since childhood when Mom called us from our beds to work in the garden. We were pretty young and it seemed cruel at the time, but I don't think we were very well off and the garden work guaranteed a larger food supply - and kept us busy so we didn't get into too much mischief as the day wore on. Once we finished our hour pulling weeds in the garden, we often were given pails and dishes to go out and pick strawberries, black raspberries or gooseberries in the fence rows.

Later in the summer, we walked up to the mountainside across the valley and picked blueberries in 12-quart zinc-lined pails in an area where a fire had denuded a miles-wide swath of forest. When we got home the next thing was to pick all the little branches and bugs out of our harvest so it could be frozen for pies and cobblers during the coming winter.

There were always things to do on the farm, and usually those things involved getting up early, so it wasn't so hard to do the same when I went to the city and worked for a living. Writing for the newspaper was both the easiest and the most difficult. I had to go to the office at 6 a.m. in order to make deadline at 9 o'clock! (Even if I had attended an important meeting that lasted until midnight.)

Now I am retired and still find the urge to wake early and write, which I do, although I admit I sometimes lie lie in bed and listen to the birds celebrating the break of day.

All that said, I wish you a glorious day. Keep on the sunny side! Terry

AM

I’d nearly forgotten how good morning could taste,
There are birds out there, celebrating – or gossiping!
Or, maybe they just tend to business straightaway
So the rest of their day is free.
To fly would certainly make me lose my concentration!
Hey! Maybe they have the idea they can
Hustle the sun up sooner or something.
But the sun moves by its own lights.
See how gently it handles spring
Coaxing each leaf to unfurl its banner –
Green canapés and coupolas for spring.

It did rain, but it isn’t now.
The car tires schlusch through the puddles --
Where red maple flowers float through the night --
First one, then more,
Armored for the day in steel on rubber wheels.
Well, I still have time for my rich black cup,
To smell its hot perfume,
and watch the morning waken up –
I had nearly forgotten how good it could taste.

On a Quiet Life

2010-05-23T10:49:00.000-07:00

Good Day!

I have been compiling a book of poetry lately - some brand new, others that I made years ago. I don't know if they will ever be published, so I am posting them here since my instinct is to share and there are so many piling up in the corners of my rooms.

The photo you see above was taken in Chamberlin, SD, on a trip with my good friend Melanie. She wanted to see some buffalo. I wanted to see my brother in Rapid City. We did both, and I took about 300 photos along the way. Photos are another way to tell stories, so I am posting a few of my efforts here.

My life has been a series of journeys and I have traveled far from the little Appalachian village where I lived and went to school. My favorite occupation - then as now - was reading, and when I have nothing to read, I make things up. I have been writing for more than 40 years, and probably will continue until I die.

One thing I have not experienced in this life was the privilege of staying in the same place my whole life. As a wanderer, my roots are shallow and there is no moss on the stone I roll. Consider yourself fortunate if you have had the honor of staying in the same place from birth to death. Maybe next time ...

Blessings and keep on the sunny side, Terry

What is It Like?

What is it like to live in one place
For all the seasons of one’s life,
To know the same neighbors,
And walk about at night with the lights turned off?

What is it like to have a friend
Known through the backyards of lazy childhood play
Through daunting death and drizzling days
Of rain where you were born to live and stay?

What is it like to know the same
Familiar, kindly faces for the entire span of a life –
The librarian, and the hard-muscled men who
Fix your car and toilet? What is it really like?

What is it like to sing the very same hymns
From Sunday School all the way through
An elder’s years when you can comfortably nap
Through the service on responsibility, and talk
To the Master one on one?

The Dog Next Door

2010-05-21T04:59:00.001-07:00

Last year I bit the bullet and finally got cable television. Now, I know a lot of people grew up with this cornucopia of the good, bad and ugly that plays 24 hours a day, but it was all new to me. There are entire networks dedicated to everything from food to bridal gowns.

One of my very favorite networks is Animal Planet. The various shows about wild and tame animals are just amazing. I like learning what it takes to raise a baby rhino and how an elephant's pregnancy progresses. I even saw a whale give birth!

What I liked less, but find myself watching mesmerized are the animal rescue shows. I absolutely marveled at the cruelty humans can impose on their pets. Dogs especially seem to have such empathy for the humans that hurt them. All they want is a little love.

When the young man next door brought home a Rottweiler and proceeded to chain the dog in the back yard of his apartment house, I was scared to death as the huge animal lunged at the chain, trying to get loose and perhaps eat me alive. That was the first day.

As time went on, I experienced other emotions as I watched this magnificent animal grow quiet and lie listless in the yard, his chain tangled in a brush pile, his food dishes far out of his reach. What I felt then was less fear than sadness and anger at the person who cautioned me against touching the dog - because he had been in a fight. What sort of fight? I wondered.

I watched all this for a few days and called animal control... in fact it took several days before anyone came out to look at the dog... and then the owner was cautioned against failing to feed and water this dog, but the sad chapter continued and one day the big dog simply disappeared. I don't know what happened to the poor thing but I heard a big dog fighting ring had been busted up a few days before.

I can only hope that the poor dog had the opportunity to have a better life, even though I know that dogs that have been fought for entertainment most often end up being euthanized. I can only hope the poor thing went straight to doggie heaven. I eventually wrote the following poem about the experience.

With that thought, I urge you to support the Humane Society any way you can - oh yes, and keep on the sunny side... Terry

THE DOG NEXT DOOR

The dog next door
Dug a hole to sleep
In the cool, dry earth.
His ears pick up
With every foot fall
On the blighted yard.

The dog next door
Is hope, chained to hate,
With food and water
Past the links that bind him
In dirty, rusted pans.

The dog next door
Paces back and forth,
Unmoved by the
Squirrels that come there to
Eat his food and bury nuts
As if he was not there.

The dog next door
Does not note the singing
Birds that bathe in the
Dirty water he cannot reach –
It is too far away
For him to reach and drink.

The dog next door does not
Lunge or bark or whine.
I think this morning that
He has given up on life,
And I want to weep.

La

A New Sort of Story

2010-05-18T07:27:00.000-07:00

Miss Nora Foxwell, Elliott Island 1998

Recently a friend suggested I might want to publish some of my poetry in a book and I think it might be an idea - although I have never really considered myself a poet. To my admittedly skewed point of view, poets are airy sorts with their heads in the clouds, people who mangle their subject matter until it makes little sense - but often rhymes.

That said, I thought I might publish a couple of my poems here to see what people think of my efforts. This first story is about the island women I got to know when I was a reporter for the local daily newspaper. The newspaper is now published twice a week and instead of news, it publishes lists and legal notices. The world has changed - for me, for the news, and for the island women who always knew what to expect of life.

MOM MOM

She sits, her hands in her lap at rest,

Fingers bundles of broken twigs,

Brown and knotted, scarred,

Big-knuckled from long hours with the knife

Worrying the sweet meat

From horny red shells that cut to the quick.

If she didn’t have all those years

What would there be

Beyond the work?

Her dress is clean,

Faded at shoulder, thigh and breast

Patches over patches

Covered with a familiar apron

Of dim rose print.

Her hair is pulled back each morning

Anchored against the wind –

The constant wind.

Fine lines fan out from

Eyes once as blue as bay and sky,

Now faded into pearly haze.

She was always there

In the house beside the water

Where the fiddler crabs

Clattered their shells

At break of day,

Annoyed at her footsteps

As she tended the goat,

The chickens, the pig.

She doesn’t need much.

The neighbors look in on her.

She smiles, says she is fine.

And they leave, shaking their heads

At her presence at all.

Her voice is now an echo

Of the persisting wind

As she whispers her prayers

Over sourdough batter

Started years before and

Stirred with a tarnished spoon.

Her children live on

In faded portraits ranked

By size and age on the mantle shelf

Where the flu is cold

In the summer damp.

They rarely call.

Her man was heavy of hand,

Shoulders as strong as trees from the tongs.

She loved him when

The two were young,

But then he lay down to sleep

One night, and did not breathe

In morning’s light.

There was a time she waited

On the bridge near the water’s edge,

For the sight of a well known sail;

And now for the Maker’s call.

There’s nothing more.

Her world has passed

And soon will fade her memories

In a tattered book that once

Fell into the green water

So that the ink ran

And the tales were lost.

Keep on the sunny side! Terry

PS: I took this photo when I worked for the local newspaper with Miss Nora's permission. Please let me know if you want a copy of the file. Terry

Chair - ity!

2010-05-14T06:07:00.000-07:00

In July, the Main Street Gallery will present "Chair-ity", a gallery show devoted to chairs. Proceeds from the sale of chair art will benefit local charities!

Yes, we know that chair-ity is not spelled properly, but it is all for a good cause. The Main Street Gallery was kicked off with some funding from the national Main Street initiative, but that prop is about to be kicked out from under the new gallery in town.

It took me a couple of months to think what to do with a chair, because I am much more comfortable with words than with three-dimensional objects. However, I had an extra chair up in my bedroom and I decided I could do something with it - if I could only think of it.

It took me a couple of months to realize I couldn't think of anything! Then one day I was clearing out some of the piles in my office/studio when I came across a seed catalog. The beautiful, gorgeous photos of flowers were so darned pretty I hesitated at the though of throwing it away.

But wait! I could graft the flowers to the chair and add a fancy lace seat and I would have a chair worth chair-ity! At least I hope so.

My goal in participating in the Main Street Gallery shows is two-fold. First, I try to make the art adhere to the various themes for the semi-monthly gallery shows. Second, I try to use things in the art that I already have.

The flowers-forever chair fit both of those criteria! Yay!

Did I mention that the chair art will be auctioned for chair-ity? Yep. So if you like the flowers/forever chair, save your pennies. You might win it at the auction!d

I have been working on the chair for the better part of three days, with a couple of days more to go as I finish pasting on the flowers and then seal the whole with polyurathene varnish. Stinky stuff, that, but I'm game.

It is for chair-ity after all. The chair-ity gallery will open on June 30, so mark your calendar to come out and see all the wonderful chair art local artists have produced. Do that, and keep on the sunny side! Terry

Guess Who Came to the Gallery

2010-05-06T08:06:00.000-07:00

Those folks who live in Cambridge might want to stop at the Main Street Gallery to see the collection of figure studies for the May/June show. My favorite is Debbie Hayne's painting of Janis Joplin.

I have thought about Janis a lot since we were born on the same day - along with Dolly Parton. It isn't possible, but I sure would like to sing with the two of them. How odd it seems that we should all be singers - yes, I sang country and bluegrass back in the day.

Do people born on the same day share similar characteristics? I would like to think so, although there are elements of Janis's and even Dolly's lives I would not want to have to live. I have an idea fame is difficult. Always being on has to be frightening. Always being ready to sing is another thing I never quite managed.

Maybe it was the Christian thing - or having a child at 21. You forge obligations, and as far as I know neither Janis or Dolly had a child. I worked in an adult day care center with the elderly, and I enjoyed that. I wonder if my two astrological sisters got to do that.

My calling was writing, and I have spent my whole life chasing that dream. If you look at www.writewordsinc.com, you will find more than a dozen of my books. I never received the fame Dolly or Janis did, but there is still time. Maybe someday I will be just as famous as Janis and Dolly. If so, I hope I manage to live through it and hold up as well as Dolly during my golden years. So far, I have had an incredible journey.

I hope you have too, and that you walk on the sunny side. Terry