Sunday, April 24, 2016

Living in the Present



This photo is of Mikhail's family gathered when I visited in 2007

***

In the summer of 1990 I made my first trip to Kostroma, Russia, as the first exchange visit with the Writers’ Organization there, and my Carolina Wren Press here in North Carolina.  This was part of a Sisters Cities exchange Mikhail Bazankov and I did 1990-2007.

After that first six-day visit in August, I went to friends in Devon and spent three weeks writing my reflections on what that visit had meant to me, and I called that writing: Change of Life.  I was fifty-three.  I’m in the process of preparing my Russian writings for publication, and this will be in the first book, Baba Summer: Book One. I was also in the process of giving Carolina Wren Press over to other people.

September 6, 1990

The present is perhaps the greatest mystery of all, and if I’ve learned anything at all it is how to live in the present.

There was a time when I tried to wrest meaning out of the present.  I wanted to understand why I was suffering so much, or why I was in love.  I wanted the present to enlighten me about itself, but I desired this in vain.  It wasn’t possible.  I found an idea that helped me in an astrological book by Dane Rudhyar.  He said that often we must wait for some time to pass in order to understand what is happening to us in the present.  I also found an image  in The Way of All Women by Ether Harding that helped even more.  She said that in situations full of conflict, one could only work one’s way forward like a plant finds its way through a wall toward the light on the other side.  Trust one’s intuition each day.  Do one’s best with each stage forward, and one would look back and marvel at one’s cleverness.

This works.  I’ve now been in countless difficult,”impossible” situations, and unable to see my way forward, nor to understand what was happening, what it meant.  Yet I’ve trusted to the deepest impulses of my heart and kept moving.

This got me here.  I have lengthened the time I give to my writing and to my time off from my regular work.  I need sometimes a way to get completely out of one kind of life with all its activities and schemes and worries, and into another.

When I left North Carolina mid-July, I still had a list of the bills we (Carolina Wren and I) needed to pay, and the various moneys we could expect to receive in my head.  I was waking up early worrying about money.  This was intensified when I discovered that I had made a mistake in arithmetic in my checking account, and instead of having $1000 in it, I had $0.  I had just bought $1500 in travelers checks and thought I might have to trade some of them back in.  By working on the bank book carefully, and planning smaller amounts on some of the monthly bills, and asking Carolina Wren (I had been editor/publisher since 1976 and was now giving it away to others) to pay back some of my loan earlier, and also receiving over $300 Saturday night before we left from the group of people I was leaving behind in charge of Carolina Wren, I was able to work through that crisis, which had given me a leaden feeling in my stomach.  

Then there was my friend E., to whom Carolina Wren owed money, and we were late paying her, and I had to call her and say it might be still later, and she was not patient.  She was angry.

Then my youngest child decided to break up with her boyfriend the day before we left and wanted to come home.  Before I could leave to go get her, she had called back to say they had made up.  Perhaps she needed to know she could stay in my house and use my car in my absence.  In any case, I told her she could, if they did, in fact, break up.

Many of these things would have kept someone else from going. They might have kept me from going, if I hadn’t been following an inner directive.  It is easier though for me now to see in my own mind the legitimacy of taking time off than it was ten years ago.  I had even borrowed money from my mother again.  I didn’t like to ask, but I had this urgent something inside me saying to go, both because of Mikhail, my new Russian friend, whom I felt I must meet (He had done his part and sent the official invitation–I must now get there.) and because I was at a crossroads with my writing. I must put my full weight on it for awhile, even if, when I got back, the various money problems again descended on me.  They will. Other people are working on it in my absence, but even if Carolina Wren is doing okay, I have the rent to pay when I get back.  Some work is lined up, but I’ll have to find more.  Most people wouldn’t do that either: leave, not knowing how they’ll get the money together when they get back.  I’ve gotten good at calculating risks in the past nineteen years.  I can get some kind of a job if worse comes to worst.  I have friends and a friendly landlord; I won’t starve.  I’ll pay the rent.  I have a class lined up to teach, so I’ll have those fees.  And Carolina Wren still owes me $500.

The thing I do that’s unusual is to work from what I feel I must do–hold onto that–and then use my ingenuity to solve the problems related to persisting toward my goal.  Things don’t always fall neatly into place. Arranging my trip to Russia turned out to have many snags.  Communication was so difficult, and then the local Sister Cities group that was my link for information on how to do this was preoccupied with their own first ten-member delegation to Kostroma.  Perhaps their leadership even resented my having popped up with an official invitation in the middle of their plans. They helped me, but half-heartedly and distractedly.  I remember my rage at the person I needed most to help me.  It took him forever to get through on the phone to Kostroma, but then he forgot to ask my urgent question.  My rage did no good.  I needed patience.  

Looking back I see that I did the main and necessary things, and so did Mikhail on his end.  We worked–both of us–from this faith in the other.  With so little knowledge!  He and I both did what we needed to–a remarkable combination of faith and ingenuity on both sides.

I got the cable from him a few days before I left and figured out all the Russian words but one with my Russian-English dictionary.  I had already written to him the number of the train car for my arrival in Moscow.  It turned out, that that was the missing word, the wagon or train car.  He wanted to know the number.  I had answered his question before I got it, but that letter hadn’t arrived for him even when I left Russia.

I had learned it was very difficult for the Russians to telephone outside of Russia, but he called me in Finland.  My Finnish friend answered the phone and said someone was speaking a language she couldn’t understand.  She hung up.  

I said, “Maybe it’s Russian.  Next time speak English.”  She did, and sure enough I was being called. I talked to the woman I would later know as Natasha, and she asked me the train car number, and I ran to get my ticket.  So all worked out.  They found my son and me in car number nine.

At so many points I could have given up, admitted defeat.  So, I’m sure, could he have.  One of the funniest of my obstacles occurred on the very last day.  I had had to take a car radio Tim had borrowed back to his friend.  The friend had proved himself untrustworthy for Tim, as far as I was concerned, over and over. Tim got angry at him but persisted in the friendship.

The friend, B, was trying to manipulate Tim into coming to town on the pretext of the radio, and I put my foot down.  I would take the radio when I went to town in the morning to do other errands.  I got excited.  I yelled.  Notwithstanding his knowledge that I was upset, B called back, disguised his voice, and asked to speak to Tim.  Then he asked Tim if he could come get his radio.  I again said no.  Tim got very unhappy over this fight between his friend and his mother, and said, “Here, you talk to him.”

So I said, “B, I’ll bring your radio at eight in the morning.  You be there to get it,” and I hung up.  B called back again to say their Doberman pincer would be loose in the morning.

I left for town that last morning in North Carolina, wondering if after everything else I’d been through, a Doberman pincer would eat me up and stop me from going.  I put the radio and speakers in a box and approached the house cautiously.  No dog.  I opened the car door and pushed the box out.  Then B appeared.  I pointed toward the box and drove away.

So the Doberman pincer, the fiercest dog in the U.S., by reputation, didn’t keep me at home, didn’t prevent my getting to this window in this room where I am happy to sit and look and think and write all day long.

Being here though, doing what I’d planned to do here–is a tougher challenge than the effort to leave so that I would have this time to write.  Jacques Maritain, whose book Creative Intuition in Art and Poetry I’m reading refers to the “self-abnegation and the ordeals imposed by poetic creativity.” (161). “The road of creative intuition, however, is exacting and solitary, it is a road to the unknown, it passes through the suffering of the spirit.”

It is so much easier to plan to write than to write; to plan and arrange time, not-withstanding impatient friends, bank book errors, and Doberman pincers, than it is to do the inward searching and groping that writing means, for me anyway.  Some days it comes to me relatively easily and quickly what I will say, and then my mind signals that’s all for awhile, so I go and do other things: read, write letters, walk down the lane.  I make apple crisp. I enjoy chatting with my hosts.  I catch up on letters I would put off at home.  I do mending or washing.  Little chores are a welcome relief from the slow turning of my mind as it wrestles with feelings and meaning. I can’t say I know where this book is going any more than I know how this new love I feel will work out.

Two mysteries I’m living with and laboring with in the present. Both, I guess, are in a kind of birth process.  Yesterday I labored, and slowly but surely words came to me.  Today I labor and the words seem so elusive, or perhaps it’s the dance of meaning under the words.  I guess my being here is not unlike my being in Russia because of a bond I felt with another soul.  I’m here because of a promise to my own soul.


Judy Hogan, April 24, 2016

Sunday, April 17, 2016

Life Goals


Judy with No Coal Ash Sign in Moncure, N.C. Summer 2015 
photo by Keely Wood

Can Flowers Change Your Life? VII. January 31, 2016

An early life goal, at thirty-three:
show love.  Another goal I didn’t choose.
It chose me: write.  Later I chose:
write out my mind.  Now I answer a call.
I say, “I couldn’t say no.”  Others would
call it God’s call.  There are moments
in a life when you do not have a choice.
I cared for Amy’s twins.  I let a Russian
man stir my love.  When my chosen
community was threatened by the dumping
of twelve million tons of coal ash,
I knew I had to fight.  I didn’t want to be
the leader, but no one else offered, so I
took that call, too.  My life is all calls
now. I want to live well, healthily and
independently.  I want to speak my
mind as well as tell my truth in writing.
I do.  Perhaps that is the kind of life
all the religions of the world intend us
to live.  Begin at the beginning.  Care
for ourselves and others.  Listen to
the voice within.  The more we listen,
the more we hear.  The work grows
harder, but the rewards come faster.
Other people’s love and nurturing
now sustain me.  Everything I’m doing
helps the good in that ongoing earthly
war between the good and the evil.
Let me be thankful and acquiesce.

***


Mailing party with members of Chatham Citizens Against Coal Ash Dump and EnvironmentaLEE.  Photo by Terica Luxton. 

We mailed 4200 flyers about our work to stop the coal ash dumping in the Brickhaven and Colon Roads areas.  We have wonderful workshops coming up with these amazing scientists and grassroots leaders:

***

Attend a workshop* on Coal Ash Dangers and Grassroots Strategies led by experts you can trust:

- May 7, Saturday, 1-3 PM: Cumnock Baptist Church, 477 Cumnock Rd., Sanford. Louis Zeller, Director of Blue Ridge Environmental Defense League will share tips on leadership and strategy.

3:30-4:30 PM: Rebecca C. Fry, PhD, UNC-CH: “Heavy Metals in Coal Ash: What are the Health Risks?”

- May 14, Saturday, 1-3 PM: Liberty Chapel Church Samuels Annex, 1855 Old U.S. 1, Moncure. Avner Vengosh, PhD, Duke University: “Risks of Coal Ash to the Environment and Human Health.”

3:30-4:30 PM: George Lucier, PhD, Former Assoc. Director National Toxicology Program: “Health Risks From Coal Ash Constituents.”

- May 21, Saturday, 1-3 PM: Liberty Chapel Church Samuels Annex, 1855 Old U.S. 1, Moncure. Therese Vick, N.C. Healthy Sustainable Communities Campaign Coordinator, BREDL. “Using N.C. Public Records Law.”

3:30-4:30 PM: Jane Gallagher, PHD, MPH, US EPA (retired)
“Monitoring Coal Ash Drinking Water Contaminates.”

***














Sunday, April 10, 2016

Haw: The Second Penny Weaver Mystery comes out May 1



Haw: The Second Penny Weaver Mystery comes out May 1.  I’ll be at the Malice Domestic Convention for the traditional mystery in Bethesda, MD.  I’ll be on a panel called “Murder in War: World War II,” on Sunday, May 1, at 11:45 AM, signing books immediately afterwards. 

Right now and through April I’m offering both The Sands of Gower: The First Penny Weaver Mystery and Haw for $25, including shipping, if you buy both.  Orders to Judy Hogan, PO Box 253, Moncure, NC 27559.

Here’s a back cover blurb to whet your appetite:

An icy Christmas night; a crowded boarding house; a murdered landlord; warm fires; the smells of baked bread and roast turkey; thirteen suspects (including wife, ex, and the dog); and details fed like kindling to a smouldering fire, make Judy Hogan’s latest Penny Weaver mystery a mesmerizing and deeply satisfying read. Her masterful plot unfolds with perfect timing as her spirited heroine leads us through the murky light of the human heart to an ending that warms our own. Once you get started, you won’t put it down. –Walter Bennett, author of Leaving Tuscaloosa

Normal pricing for Haw is $15.  With tax, $16.  With postage, $19. Same with The Sands of Gower purchased separately.  Both are also available on Amazon.com and in local bookstores as of early May: The Joyful Jewel, Circle City Books, in Pittsboro; Paperbacks Plus in Siler City; Flyleaf Books in Chapel Hill, and the Regulator in Durham.

Right now and until April 26, I’m doing a give-away of five Haws on goodreads.com

***


If you haven’t read The Sands of Gower yet, here is a comment to make you want to read it!

I have just finished reading Sands. It is a sweet love story, as well as a masterful mystery. Knowing Penny before Kenneth gives depth to her character and prepares your readers for some of the conflicts she experiences in the later books. Having experienced something similar myself, it was very interesting to me to read a book where two grown people meet and fall in love and plan to balance their separate lives. I think the experience described in Sands is more common today than it has been, at least among the people I know well. 

The description of the scenery was beautiful--so vivid I could walk it in my mind. I feel like I've been to Gower. 

With the descriptions of these various couples and their relationships (with the exception of Evelyn and Harold), one can hope for better things for the "new" couple in the novel--Penny and Kenneth. 

Love your book, 

Mary Susan Heath, a Goldsboro writer.

***
I will be reading from Haw and offering a workshop on writing and publishing mysteries in Goldsboro May 23, Monday.  More info as it’s available.  judyhogan@mindspring.com

Sunday, April 3, 2016

Review: Show Me the Ashes by Carolyn Mulford



Review: Show Me the Ashes.  Carolyn Mulford.  Five Star, A Part of Gale, Cengage Learning, New York, NY.  March 2016.  ISBN 13: 9781432831356. Hardback, $25.95. 319 pp.

In Show Me the Ashes, Mulford’s fourth novel in her “Show Me” series, P.I. Phoenix Smith quickly becomes involved with two investigations.  She hears the desperate tale of Beatrix Hew, a grandmother whose daughter Jolene confessed to killing Edwin Wiler in the Bushwhacker Den bar where she worked, and then setting fire to the building.

The case had been closed by Boom Keyser, her best friend Annalynn Keyser’s former husband, who took the confession. Phoenix knows that Annalynn, now acting sheriff, doesn’t want to hear that her dead husband made a bad mistake, so she begins a secret investigation, feeling compassion for the ailing grandmother and her grandchild Hermione.  The third member of this trio of old friends, Connie Diamante, insists on helping Phoenix.

Then Annalynn asks Phoenix to help her investigate some local robberies, and to keep Connie out of it.  Keeping all these secrets, plus her CIA background from the general public, proves quite a balancing act for Phoenix.

Phoenix’s dog Achilles plays a star role in the whole series, and with each book, he steals more of the show.  Phoenix’s former CIA experience helps her unravel a very complex plot, as well as her knowledge of small town Missouri people.  She must interview all those involved in the year-old murder and arson case: the Bushwhacker’s Den owner, the dead man’s lover, the fireman who found arson, and others.

The transformation that goes on in Phoenix’s attitude from feeling that there’s no way she can help Beatrix to taking more and more risks to do just that, hinges on how Phoenix allows her compassion for the child Hermione to keep her motivated when it proves nearly impossible to prove a different set of circumstances and events that led up to the death and the fire than the seemingly obvious conclusion Boom had reached when the case began.  The child and her love of Achilles becomes the pivot that makes it possible for Phoenix to loosen her perspective in both investigations and discover the truth.

What I love best about this series is the opening up of the characters living in a small Missouri town.  The plots are always complex and hard for the reader to unravel, but the characters stay with me.  One fiction teacher I had years ago said that the sign of a good book was its memorability.  Did it stick in your mind?  Carolyn Mulford’s characters stick in my mind.

***



Bio:

Carolyn Mulford writes the award-winning Show Me mystery series. She set out to be a writer shortly after becoming a reader in a one-room school near Kirksville, Missouri but delayed her writing career to serve as a Peace Corps Volunteer in Ethiopia. That experience fostered a fascination with other cultures that led her to work as a nonfiction writer and editor on five continents. She moved from nonfiction to fiction and from the Washington, D.C., area to Columbia, Missouri, in 2007. Her first published novel, The Feedsack Dress, became the state’s Great Read at the 2009 National Book Festival. Next came Show Me the Murder, Show Me the Deadly Deer, Show Me the Gold, and now Show Me the Ashes. To read the first chapter of these books and of the upcoming MG/YA Thunder Beneath My Feet, go to http://carolynmulford.com. Harlequin Worldwide Mystery published a paperback edition of Show Me the Murder in June 2015.


Sunday, March 27, 2016

Keep Walking



Summer zinnias and cosmos in full bloom.

***

Can Flowers Change Your Life? III.  January 3, 2016

The hard frost came two days after
our year changed. No slight touch
this time.  The lawn looks iced.  A thin
ice coat lies even on the porch railing.  
The meadow weeds are snowy white.
December was warm.  Violets popped up.
Daffodils thrust up stems.  The blueberry
bushes put on buds.  The hydrangea lost
all its leaves and then started to put them
back.  The zinnias were only dead stalks,
but one of the sunflowers opened in 
defiance of all logic.  I failed to weed
the flower garden so the crocuses could
get through.  Maybe it’s not too late.
Rain and work kept me indoors.  Sun
brought in those Arctic blasts again.
We’re promised snow this month and
next.  I’ve been given wood and a
shelter to keep it dry, as well as a new
Hoganvillaea sign, and daffodils to rise
when warmth and rain return.  My life
has also turned a corner.  A watershed, 
separating two valleys, is where I stand--
in the other one now.  The end of my
life is some years off, but I see what I 
must do in the meantime–twenty years,
more or less.  If I suffer doubts that I am
loved and even honored, I can let them
go now.  There are no crowds, no loud
ovations, yet my work and my love are
celebrated and acknowledged.  No point
wishing for what isn’t there, when so much
that I longed for has come true.  People see
and want to thank me.  My leyline path
is well-marked now.  I needn’t hesitate,
simply keep walking, whether through
warm rain or frost and sun.

Jim Shamp brought me a wood bin the day I wrote this poem.
It has kept the wood dry, and many donors have helped fill it.
Thank you, Jim and Dawn and my whole winter story class!





Sunday, March 20, 2016

Haw: The Second Penny Weaver Mystery out May 1



Coming out May 1 and Pre-sales start now:  

Haw: The Second Penny Weaver Mystery by Judy Hogan. Hoganvillaea Books, PO Box 253, Moncure, NC 27559-0253. Paperback: $15.00 ISBN-13: 978-1518818141; E-book: $2.99. 190 pages.

To Pre-order: $16 if you pick up (includes tax); $19 if mailed.  Paperback available early May. E-book, May 1.  I'll be in Bethesda at the Malice Domestic Convention on May 1.

Book description:  

Penny Weaver, living in a shared house to save money, finds her unsavory, sex-obsessed landlord dead the day after Christmas.  An unusual snow storm, a housemate undeterred by detective orders from moving his inordinately large number of possessions, certified and uncertified maniac suspects, which include her housemates, the neighbors, and both the landlord’s wives, make it difficult for Penny and her Welsh lover to find love-making time, much less solve the mystery.  Despite the sheriff’s detectives arresting two innocent people, while keeping Penny in the dark, she collects the key information, and stops the killer when he finally panics.

Reviews:  

Haw is a good follow up to The Sands of Gower. I enjoyed seeing Penny in her home environment of North Carolina. Even better was when her Welsh fiancĂ© Kenneth Morgan comes to visit for Christmas. Penny and Kenneth try to solve the murder of Penny’s landlord with too many suspects involved. Then Penny’s intuition takes over. It’s a good read with a whodunit to solve before the satisfactory and funny ending.  --Gloria Alden, author of the Catherine Jewell mystery series. 

Jerry’s managed to annoy lots of people.  The dysfunctional roommates in the house he rents, and their friends.  His discontented wife and irate ex-wife.  His former neighbors.  But who was angry enough to kill him?  Why?  And who would have selected such a unique murder weapon?
Penny and her fiancĂ© Kenneth need to figure this out before someone else becomes a victim.  Maybe Penny herself.  –K.M. Rockwood, author of the Jesse Damon mysteries.

An icy Christmas night; a crowded boarding house; a murdered landlord; warm fires; the smells of baked bread and roast turkey; thirteen suspects (including wife, ex, and the dog); and details fed like kindling to a smoldering fire, make Judy Hogan’s latest Penny Weaver mystery a mesmerizing and deeply satisfying read. Her masterful plot unfolds with perfect timing as her spirited heroine leads us through the murky light of the human heart to an ending that warms our own. Once you get started, you won’t put it down. –Walter Bennett, author of Leaving Tuscaloosa

***
Also I’m doing a give-away of five copies on www.goodreads.com March 29-April 26.  For Sands I had 769 people sign up for the give-away, and mailed five copies to women readers in N.C., Pennsylvania, Texas, Colorado, and Ohio.  You can also follow my blog on my author site: www.goodreads.com/author/dashboard.




Sunday, March 13, 2016

Beauty and Birds


My flock of White Rocks in their run.

***
Can Flowers Change Your Life? V. January 17, 2016

The first snow, and finches.
Not for long, those big flakes.
Rain moves in.  The hens don’t 
notice, so happy in the orchard 
after I opened their gate yesterday 
that three roosted in the fig trees 
last night.  The finches have found
not only the feeder but also the 
neglected flower bed and last year’s 
seeds from the dead cosmos stalks.  
I weather my moods, wake early 
disturbed by conflicts I haven’t 
solved, write them down and 
tackle the wing-clipping first.  
The hens screech when I catch them, 
then settle in my arms to lose enough 
feathers to prevent flight and
receive the joys of orchard grasses,
chickweed, bugs, and bits of grit.
My big orchid has a new stem;
the little orchids stretch out their
fifty bloom stalks undeterred
by weather shifts, and the succulent
opens its red florets.  The amaryllis
grows by day and night, inching up
whether I believe in its dramatic
red conclusion or not.  The flakes 
try again but don’t stick, won’t 
win this time. There are always 
problems, bumps in the road.  
I want to live a long time, which 
means a regular dose of problems 
that require undivided attention 
and determination. I can’t slink 
away, can’t hide. Must solve 
before more land on my plate.  
The finches are a good omen, 
making dead stalks alive, and 
snow flakes today bring only 

beauty and birds.

***


In 2012 this little orchid had one stem.  Now it has 50 all in bloom, and outside bloom the daffodils.