Wednesday, April 1, 2020


INSIDE THE TICKING MOMENTS OF A PANDEMIC– II –Linda Lee Greene, April 1, 2020, Columbus, Ohio, USA


Fifteen months ago, I was with my kid sister, Suzee, as she succumbed to a long illness. She was a radiant creature of 63 years of age. In her final weeks, family and friends gathered at her side and stayed with her, myself included. I came away from the experience saddened and distraught, but also enlightened in an utterly unexpected way.

                I was an adolescent when Suzee was born. The first time I held her in my arms, she was three days old. I was privy to the opening three decades of her life from an intimate standpoint that can only be provided in the fold of a birth-family. My concept of her was pretty much set in stone. I would describe Suzee as quiet; shy; private. She was a loner. She stood apart. The spotlight held little interest for her. She would prefer to steal away in a book. She loved animals more than people.

Thirty years before her death, Suzee relocated from Ohio to the Gulf Coast of Florida, and there she forged a new life for herself. Our sister, Sherri, and I had remained in Ohio. While visits, letters, and telephone calls were consistently passed among us, there is just so much people can know about the nitty gritty of one another’s life under such circumstances. The bottom line was that Suzee got away from us, to a large degree. Separated from the support of her early foundation, as well as out from under its scrutiny and stresses, she remade herself. While I was with her in her final three weeks, I was stunned to see that the Suzee I knew was only one, narrow dimension of her, and I saw it through the dynamic at work between her and the people she had attracted to herself in Florida.

The shy, quiet, private Suzee had grown into a deeply loved, very popular, and sought-after person. She had evolved into a witty chatterbox and a raconteur. She had become a talented artist. She was a property and a business owner. She was an advocate for animals and a minister of their care. She didn’t have children of her own, but in her role as a business person, she sheltered, guided, and mentored many young people. One after another, people told me that Suzee was the greatest woman they had ever known. What a revelation all this was to me!

Had I not been with her during her final weeks, I would have missed knowing the complete Suzee. And more importantly, Suzee would not have had the chance to reveal herself to me. She yearned to see the amazement in my eyes. She longed for my validation. She needed me to endorse her achievements. She wanted so much for me to open my mind about her. Otherwise, the whole of Suzee’s story would have gone undiscovered. She was desperate that I get her story right because she knew I would write it.  

My experience with Suzee circles back to our current situation with Coronavirus. I find myself lamenting the missed opportunities for people everywhere to examine and likely to edit the final chapter of the life of their dying loved-ones. Souls are passing away all alone. Confessions, apologies, secrets, successes, failures, ideas, histories, heroics, revelations, statements of love, and more, are going unsaid. So many vital stories are vanishing, are getting lost, are adrift in the ethers.

I hope that after Coronavirus, some sort of archive of the stories will emerge. Lacking that, I yearn for something akin to the Viet Nam wall scribed with the names of our precious brothers and sisters across the world who lost their lives to the virus.© #STAYHOME #SAVELIVES #INTHISTOGETHER


**A personal note to my readers: Muse kicked me out of my cave and told me to get back to my keyboard. It is a struggle, but I will take a stab at following her lead whenever she deigns to whisper in my mind’s ear.      

Sunday, March 29, 2020


INSIDE THE TICKING MOMENTS OF A PANDEMIC – I – Linda Lee Greene, March 29, 2020, Columbus, Ohio, USA

This particular date of the 29th of March holds much meaning for me. It would have been the 97th birthday of my mother, if she were still alive. It also marks the sixth anniversary of the death of my father. My mind locks onto my parents this morning as in my peripheral senses the news on my television reports that globally over a half million souls are known to have been infected with a silent enemy termed as, “Coronavirus.” It is a virus that explodes in the human body as a grievous illness called “Covid-19.” With such a name, it should be a murderous alien being from outer space—but no! It is a wholly earthbound thing. There is no pointing the finger anywhere other than at us earthlings. Among the 600,000+ global citizens struck down with Covid-19, nearly 32,000 of them have died. The United States of America records the largest number on the planet of individuals known to be afflicted: approaching 134,000 at this hour, and among them, almost 2,400 deaths. The numbers rise by the millisecond.

On the summer evening in 1992 that my mother passed away, she was in her bedroom of her own home, and during all of the several months of her final illness, she was comforted minute-by-minute by loving family, friends, and hospice workers. The same is true of my father’s final days six years ago today. The grim reality is that if my parents were still here, they would be locked-down in self-isolation, and more than likely alone and terrified if they were sickened and then taken by the illness. I can think of little else sadder and more regrettable. Such an ending for my parents would haunt me until my own dying day. My heart breaks for my brothers and sisters across the world who are facing just that consequence.

The matter of whether or not people are surrounded by loved-ones or are alone and terrified during their transition from life to death is a glaring side issue of the killer pandemic that is the world’s current reality. Coronavirus is so highly contagious that it is necessary to maintain social distancing. Distancing from an infected patient is absolutely essential. The result is that the majority of persons who have lost, or will lose, their lives to Covid-19, have died alone and terrified. Such an outcome is so awful that it defies reason.

Our priorities are so out of sync with our greatest well-being. So much repairing needs to be done in every area of human life. I pray that the jobs of the new day following coronavirus are all about accomplishing the vital fixes.©          

Sunday, March 22, 2020


Perhaps the most surprising yet of the odd repertoire of imaginary characters who show up on my blog is a veteran of World War II. He is soon to celebrate his 100th birthday, and he speaks to us today about his hunt for a genuine 1942 Willys Jeep MB, the vehicle he drove during his military tour, and the only birthday gift on his wish list. 


By Linda Lee Greene, Author & Artist

“I had the good sense to wait until I was forty-two to get married and to marry a great gal twenty years my junior. Fifty-eight years ago, Estelle stood with me before our priest and promised to stick by me no matter what I threw at her. And believe me, I’ve put her through her paces over the years. And I suppose the last decade or so has been the toughest. The situation is that I lost my driving privileges coming on to twelve years ago, and Estelle has been driving me around ever since then. My eyes gave out on me. The Bureau of Motor Vehicles also says I no longer have the mental acuity to drive. I guess the fact that my 100th birthday is just around the corner factors into it. Estelle said I’m a stubborn old coot and about blew a fuse when I told her the only thing I want for my birthday is a 1942 Willys Jeep MB—a genuine, old dinosaur like me that is battered and wacked, but still ticking.

            “I suppose most of you youngins never heard of Ernie Pyle, and you’re probably wondering what he has to do with anything—but I’m here to tell you about him. Ernie was a legend in his own time, and I was fortunate in that his time was also my time. He was a Pulitzer Prize-winning journalist and war correspondent during World War II, logging in stories about ordinary American soldiers for Scripps-Howard, an Ohio newspaper syndicate. His work was published in 400 daily and 300 weekly newspapers, which earned him millions of adoring readers. There wasn’t any war correspondent more popular than Ernie. He traveled right alongside what he termed the ‘dogface’ infantry soldiers, first in the European Theater of the war and finally in the Pacific Theater. He slept alongside them; ate the crummy C-rations alongside them; came down with the ‘trots’ and the ‘crud’ alongside them; risked enemy fire alongside them. Ernie was killed in action in Okinawa on April 18, 1945, only six days after the death of Franklin D. Roosevelt, our president. That was the hardest week of my life. FDR’s successor, President Harry S. Truman, said of Ernie upon his death, ‘No man in this war has so well told the story of the American fighting man as American fighting men wanted it told. He deserves the gratitude of all his countrymen.’

“Usually Ernie traveled on foot alongside his fighting comrades. But there were times he was scuffled from place to place in one type of military vehicle or another. And sometimes, it was with me in the Willys Jeep MB I drove during my tour in the Pacific Theater of the war. Ernie and I were buddies. Like me, Ernie was an Indiana farm boy—and also like me, he was the only child of plain people who never made it past the eighth grade. Ernie was a natural-born storyteller who carried his folksy roots into his folksy writing style. He carried his folksy roots into his friendship with me, too. He was 45 when I knew him. I was 25. I guess he was the big brother I never had, and I was the little brother he never had. I called him 'Pop.’ He called me ‘kid.’ Through grit and innate talent, Ernie had earned his college education and his remarkable career. He had dreams of writing the American story into old age, but fate had other plans for him. I miss him to this day.

“Not only did I cart around Ernie Pyle, but on various occasions I also had Generals MacArthur and Marshall and other big-wigs under the roof of my little vehicle. I like Ernie’s description of the Willys Jeep MB: ‘It did everything. It went everywhere. It was as faithful as a dog, as strong as a mule, and as agile as a goat. It constantly carried twice what it was designed for and still kept going.’ It is said of it that it became the GI’s best friend—second only to his rifle. Marshall called it, ‘America’s greatest contribution to modern warfare.’ As with so many World War II veterans, the war set the tone of my life. After the war, I opened a chauffeuring business in Indianapolis. Many types of vehicles have come and gone among my fleet, but I haven’t yet laid my hands on the one of my desire. Estelle understands now the reason I want a genuine Willys Jeep MB before I take my last breath. I want to run my palms along its fenders, to feel the vibration of its engine under its hood, to wrap my hands around its steering wheel, even if I won’t get to drive it. Yeah! I could just sit behind the steering wheel and pretend—I could bring back my days with Ernie, my friend and brother.

“President Roosevelt was always in the background of my early life, as were the struggles we faced because of the Great Depression. I managed to get through high school, but college was not for me. The momentous politics of those times was the last thing on my mind. It was jobs, cars, and girls, in that order for me. 1940 was the year I started paying attention to the world beyond my own narrow head. It was the year I turned twenty. In addition, the United States instituted the first peacetime military draft in its history then. As a result, hundreds of thousands of young men were conscripted to meet the country’s need to build-up its military. Uncle Sam didn’t get me until after I turned twenty-one the following year. FDR won an unprecedented third term as president in 1940. And I didn’t know it until I embarked on the journey to find a Jeep, but 1940 was also the year FDR, through the U.S. Army, solicited bids from 135 automakers to design a ¼ ton ‘light reconnaissance vehicle’ tailored to Army specifications. I was bowled over to learn that there were that many automakers back then, and was surprised that only Bantam, Willys, and Ford stepped up to the challenge. In the end, they worked together and developed the template for it. In a remarkable 75 days, Willys-Overland delivered the first 4x4 prototype, named the ‘1940 Willys Quad.’

“The second model was the 1941 Willys MA, termed as ‘The Lend-Lease Jeep Brand 4x4.’ The Lend-Lease portion of its branding referred to the program in which the United States supplied war materiel to the Allied countries at war in Europe. The Willys MA was shipped across the Atlantic, and for that reason, it was necessary for it to be lighter weight than the original version. In its struggle to meet the new weight specification of 2,160 pounds, Willys-Overland shortened bolts and installed lighter panels and removed some extraneous items.

             “The vehicle I drove, the 1941-1945 Willys Jeep MB, and the one I hope to find, was the third model. I call it the ‘fat lady’ of the line. Removed items on the earlier model were reinstalled, taking it approximately 400 pounds above the specification. The current Jeep automaker describes it best, I think:       


‘It's the stuff of legend; the U.S. Army requested a vehicle—and drove off in a hero. The Willys MB, its spirit forged by the fire of combat and honed in the heat of battle, seared its way into the hearts of warriors fighting for freedom. Fierce emotional bonds often developed between a soldier and his "jeep" 4x4. The faithful MB earned a place in every GI's heart, in every area of combat, in every conceivable role.’[1]

            “The Willys Jeep MB earned a place in my heart. Finding one of them sitting in my driveway on the occasion of my 100th birthday would be a great big happy blessing on my long life. And even more than that, this vehicle is a symbol to me of the fighting spirit of the American people when put against the ropes. In an example of true leadership of a type I haven’t witnessed since that time, President Roosevelt called upon American manufacturers to modify their product-lines and to get busy engineering war materials under a program called America’s “Arsenal of Democracy.” That undertaking won World War II as much as any other factor. The Jeep reminds me that together, and with the right kind of guidance and inspiration from our leaders, we Americans can do anything we put our hearts and minds to. It is what we do in times of national crisis!”©

Note: The above is a story of historical fiction wrapped around actual historical facts.
Images: A Willys Jeep MB; Ernie Pyle

Multi-award-winning author, Linda Lee Greene’s paperbacks and eBooks are available for purchase worldwide through Amazon.

Message from the author: In a spirit of public service, for a few days during this time of crisis in which the world is fighting an invisible enemy manifesting as Covid-19, I am placing one of my most popular novels on free status. Read with all my love. –Linda Lee Greene

FREE EBOOK - Saturday March 21, 2020 to Wednesday, March 25, 2020- download your FREE EBook ofGUARDIANS AND OTHER ANGELS” – A novel of pure #Americana, of #inspirational historical fiction spanning the early to mid-twentieth century with emphasis on the Great Depression and World War II. It is a heartwarming and heroic family saga of faith, hope, love, and survival - #kindledeals #ASMSG #quarantineread.


Thursday, March 19, 2020



Sunday, March 15, 2020


“From one unexpected twist to another you fall deeper and deeper into this intriguing romantic crime thriller from Linda Lee Greene. The cast of characters are strong and compelling. This is a book you definitely want to read.” –Author, Sloane Taylor

Navajo rancher and computer geek, Sam Whitehorse uncovers a secret, terrorist stockpile of materiel burrowed in the side of one his people’s sacred mountains. It is a threat that he and Koa Kalua’i must expose and eliminate, but potential government involvement in the matter complicates matters. A twist of fate leads to a surprise conclusion in multi-award-winning author, Linda Lee Greene’s novel, A CHANCE AT THE MOON: LOVE . BETRAYAL . MURDER, available for purchase worldwide in ebook and paperback on Amazon -

#WeekendRead, #GiftforMom, #ASMSG, #Linda Lee Greene, #Author & Artist, #Romance, #Crime-thriller

Sunday, March 8, 2020


On my blog today, Muse shows up as a twenty-two year old American Indian female perched behind the wheel of a 1940s-era Woodie Station Wagon. She is traveling mountain roads along the Pacific coast of the United States. The mind-journey back to this imaginary young woman in late February, 1942 grants me with her unique perspective on a shocking, true event on California’s coast during World War II.


By Linda Lee Greene, Author & Artist

“Have you ever seen California’s coastal mountain ranges—the way they tumble right down to the threshold of the roaring Pacific Ocean and keep it from drowning the continent? I call your attention to the way their folded and faulted contours, mushroomed from volcanoes at the ocean’s bottom age upon age ago, support astonishing diversity in animal- and vegetable-life, as well as richness in mineral deposits and other raw materials. This topography encourages wild, freshwater rivers, lakes, and gentle streams that gather into crystal waterfalls and cascade into cold, blue, swirling pools. If you remember, these mountains were the source of the California Gold Rush of the mid-1800s, which reinvigorated a stalling U.S. economy. The population surge driven by the gold rush also catapulted California into statehood. These mountains are the home of the giant sequoias and coast redwoods: nature’s skyscrapers. And of course, consensus has it that human settlement in this hemisphere of the planet began in this west coast region. It is an impressive biography, one that never fails to strike in me a sense of awe.

“I have lived in these mountains all of my twenty-two years of life, as has my family. We are descendants of North America’s native Chumash people, and therefore are the natural inheritors of the multitude of blessings of these sacred mountains. Inland from coastal Santa Barbara, my family’s ranch is tucked between sandstone outcroppings of the Goleta Valley foothills, the craggy, scenic Santa Ynez Mountains as its backdrop. Our ranch is an idyllic place whose pastures are spread quietly white with our flocks of sheep, and ringing with the evensong of our shepherd’s guitars. My grandfather three times removed struck a rich vein of gold in one of the mountains north of us, and it is he to whom we owe our lives of freedom beyond the confines of reservation-life that is the plight of so many of our native kin. Twilight is my preferred time of day to roam among my favorite nooks and crannies sculpted along the rough byways of these peaks. They are rollercoaster lanes that dip into gentle basins and rise onto taxing slopes that my muscular Woodie Station Wagon outstrips so well. It is also the last chance each day to ferret out our sheep that have gone astray among the chaparral in earlier hours.

“Ordinarily my twin brother, Theo, would be alongside me in our vehicle on these treks, but he enlisted in the U.S. Navy last year. He is stationed at Pearl Harbor in Oahu, Hawaii. Great Spirit favored us by allowing my twin to escape unscathed from Japan’s bombing of Pearl Harbor on December 7, 1941, the action that plunged the United States into World War II. It is hard to believe the attack took place only about twelve weeks ago, because it seems an eternity. I had considered taking training as an Army nurse, but my father’s weakening health keeps me stateside and overseeing the day-to-day operations of our ranch. It is difficult going on my own at times, but my job is child’s play compared to my brother’s.

“Theo is a little over three minutes my junior. Mother delights in explaining our birth order as my being the pushy one between the two of us. Theo corrects her and says that he held back from the birth canal because with him ‘ladies always go first’. Mother complains about my hotheadedness and the fact that I fail to think about the consequences of my actions before I jump into situations. On the other hand, my brother is laid back and contemplative. As you can imagine, I am often in trouble, while my brother is perfect! With much affection I call him, ‘Mr. Goody Two-Shoes’.

“My brother foresaw that the U.S. would be propelled into the war eventually and felt honor-bound to join the military and prepare to fight our enemies. My awareness of his sacrifice keeps me stoking the home-fires for him. He told anybody who would listen that it was starkly apparent that America underestimated Japan’s fighting might. He understood that at its core was an array of racist stereotyping by U.S. military chiefs and government heads, prejudices that held fast to a belief in Japan’s people as inferior, both as a species and as a combatant. We American Indians are adept at recognizing blind and foolish prejudice, being the brunt of so much of it ourselves. Theo says that such biases on the part of U.S. leaders gave rise in a dismissal of Japan’s ability to reach, and much less to attack, Hawaii by air, and manifested in the disastrous decision to transfer the Pacific fleet to Pearl Harbor in the first place. The rationale behind the policy of amassing the fleet on Hawaii’s waterfront was that it was an effective deterrent to Japan’s steady expansion in the Pacific. Japan had been menacing China for a number of years, as well as some of its other neighboring territories, which included oil reserves in British and American holdings in the area.  

“Following the disaster of Pearl Harbor, it is no mystery that North America’s Pacific coast is also in Japan’s crosshairs. It has been reported that by the end of December alone, Japanese submarines had sunk two U.S. merchant ships and damaged six more along our shoreline. Consequently, we jittery Pacific coasters are ordered to observe the mandatory blackout. For this reason I have been careful to switch on only the parking lights of my vehicle during my evening drives on the mountain roads, a routine that got me into big-time trouble about two weeks ago.    

“It was coming onto 7:00 PM that Monday of February 23rd of 1942, the day of my trouble. I was of two minds that evening. On the one hand I wanted to hurry back to the ranch to listen to President Roosevelt’s fireside chat on the radio. He had asked citizens to have a map of the world on hand, which would enable us to follow along with him as he gave us details of the progress of the war. He had chosen that particular date because it was the 210th anniversary of the birthday of President George Washington. Needless to say, my family and I are not particularly enamored with the country’s first president, but we have enormous stakes in the war, right alongside of all other Americans. But rather than turning back toward the ranch after having coming up empty in my search for a lost lamb, I did as I had done nearly every evening since my early teen years. I pulled my Woodie onto a flat space of a pinnacle, a highpoint along my route that affords the best view of the ocean. I allowed myself a few minutes to sit spellbound by its immensity, and to send my thoughts out to my brother. From that height, you can see up and down the coast for what seems like all the way to China. The setting sun filled the area with a flood of last light—it sparkled on the wet sand of the beach below like a field of diamonds, and it flashed electric in hypnotic frequency on the whitecaps of the ocean’s restless waves.

“The languid sun splashed across the metal roof of a small structure located in the Goleta Oil Field stretched along the channel below. The site was dense with lemon groves during the late 19th and early 20th centuries. Buried beneath the agricultural fields were rich oil and natural gas reserves, land that was developed in the 1920s to an oil refinery. While profuse with storage tanks, piers, and pump houses, the harbor below was quiet on that evening of February 23, 1942. At that late hour, the oil field’s workmen had gone home. I surmised that only a skeleton crew was still in attendance.

“It is not unusual at this time of year for giant blue whales to appear out to sea, but close enough to be within sight from my vantage point. For a few minutes, I was convinced that the dark object in the water was a whale, the largest one I had ever seen. It didn’t occur to me how unusual it was that it sat motionless on the water rather than diving to the depths as whales are habituated to do, its tail flared and flapping like the wings of a prehistoric bird. All of a sudden, the dark object glinted as if the sun was captured in one of its rapidly blinking eyes, and then a series of booms shattered the night. I was slow to come to the awareness that it was not a giant blue whale at all, but was a submarine, a surfaced, long-range, Japanese submarine, and it was bombarding the oil field. My heart in my mouth, I hunkered down behind the steering wheel of my Woodie and watched unbelieving as a derrick and pump house exploded and portions of the catwalk were splintered by cannon-fire. The fireworks continued for a good fifteen minutes, maybe longer. I searched the sky for defending warplanes, but none appeared. Abruptly, the dark hulk in the water fell silent and turned west toward Japan.

“While I had been safely beyond the shelling, for the first time I had an inkling of what my brother and his comrades had suffered at Pearl Harbor. I understood that this attack would cause panic among the citizens of America’s Pacific Coast far greater than already existed, panic based on a fear of an impending, full-scale assault. I worried that it would set off a stampede to inland areas. My frail parents at the top of my mind, I gunned the engine of my Woodie and dashed back to the ranch.

“My parents were huddled around the radio set in the parlor of our ranch-house. Mother gave me what-for when I admitted that I had stayed and watched the entire strike. Moments later, sharp rapping on the front door announced the arrival of a cadre of uniformed young men, and my parents and I stared down the barrel of a nasty-looking gun. Our arms bound behind our backs, we were hustled into a military vehicle and taken to naval intelligence headquarters.

“Included in more than one of the reports to authorities by citizen-observers of the attack were statements of their having seen ‘signal lights’ emitting from the Goleta foothills that were assumed to direct the actions of the submarine. Since the bombing of Pearl Harbor, ‘Japanese war societies,’ suspected of conducting espionage against the United States, were under surveillance. The so-called ‘signal lights’ were alleged to have emitted from one such cell of Japanese spies. My parents and I were questioned by intelligence officers and after two exhausting hours, they concluded that the source of the ‘signal lights’ was the parking lights of my Woodie, and that we were not spies for Imperial Japan, after all. We were released from custody and taken back to our home. Apparently, as my vehicle had slowly traveled the dips and turns of the mountainside roads, the sporadic nature of the lights was taken as signals.

“The good news was that the damage done by the attack was minimal and produced no human casualties. On the other hand, the regretful part of it for me lay in the fact that I failed to observe the blackout in its entirety and used my Woodie’s parking lights. There is no getting around it that to some degree, my irresponsibility contributed to the administration’s recent decision to isolate over one-hundred-thousand Japanese-Americans for the duration of the war in remote internment camps across the United States. The lesson I learned is that even small wrongdoings can have great big consequences. I am mortified by my own behavior and sick to heart over the terrible fate of the Japanese-Americans among us who are innocent and loyal citizens of our country.”©

Note – While the bombardment of the Goleta Oil complex by the Japanese submarine, I-17, did take place on February 23, 1942, the above essay in relation to it is the product of its author’s imagination.

Images – A World War II-era Japanese long-range submarine and a map of California.

Multi-award-winning author, Linda Lee Greene’s paperbacks and eBooks are available for purchase worldwide through Amazon. An overview of her latest novel, A CHANCE AT THE MOON is below:

Amid the seductions of Las Vegas, Nevada and an idyllic coffee plantation on Hawai’i’s Big Island, a sextet of opposites converge within a shared fate: a glamorous movie-star courting distractions from her troubled past; her shell-shocked bodyguards clutching handholds out of their hardscrabble lives; a dropout Hawaiian nuclear physicist gambling his way back home; a Navajo rancher seeking cleansing for harming Mother Earth; and from its lofty perch, the Hawaiian’s guardian spirit conjured as his pet raven, conducting this symphony of soul odysseys.

Was it chance or destiny’s hand behind the movie-star and gambler’s curious encounter at Caesars Palace in Las Vegas? The cards fold, their hearts open, and a match strikes, flames that sizzle their hearts and souls. Can they have the moon and the stars, too? Or is she too dangerous? Is he? Can their love withstand betrayal? Can it endure murder?

While the cards at Caesar’s Palace in Las Vegas fail to distract them from their troubled pasts, on the side, the actress and the gambler play a game of ‘will they won’t they’ romance. Meanwhile, an otherworldly hand also has a big stake in the game. Unexpected secrets unfold brimming with dangerous consequences, and finally, a strange brand of salvation.

#Las Vegas, #Nevada, #Hawaii, #Big Island, #Coffee Plantation, #Caesars Palace, #A CHANCE AT THE MOON, #Linda Lee Greene, #Multi-award-winning Author, #Multi-award-winning Artist

Amazon Buy Links:

Sunday, March 1, 2020


Sunday, March 1, 2020

My blog has been nominated for the SUNSHINE BLOGGER AWARD by the highly talented and reliably supportive, Pamela Allegretto. Pamela is an accomplished artist whose artwork is collected worldwide. She is also an inspired author. THE BRIDGE OF SIGHS AND DREAMS, her novel of World War II historical fiction, is one of the best books of the genre I have read in recent times. I am thrilled to learn that she will release a new book sometime soon, a novel titled ASHES TO ASHES, DIAMONDS TO DUST. I highly recommend Pamela’s work. Below is the link to her blog:

This day tender green sprouts are conspiring to shoot their little heads up and through winter’s frozen ground and reveal themselves in all their glory. 2019/2020 has seen the warmest weather on record, and we in Columbus, Ohio, USA feared real winter would never come. But come it has finally, and I exult in it because it exclaims Mother Nature’s resiliency. She will do Her job if human beings get out of Her way and leave Her to Her own devices. Her spring flowers will arrive right on time, through purer, sweeter earth, in air that is cleaner, and sated by rain unpolluted with lethal toxins. I see the sunflower banner of this award as a symbol of our hopes for a brighter future in so many critical areas. Climate change is the most serious among them, in my opinion.   

I am sincerely thankful for the support I receive from so many of my peers in the Indy author world. No group of individuals of my experience is made up of finer human beings. They are faultlessly sympathetic to their fellow authors, as well as to people of all walks of life everywhere. World leaders would benefit enormously by their example.

My latest novel, A CHANCE AT THE MOON, is doing well, and I am so grateful to readers for embracing it. I sure would appreciate more reader reviews, though. It is available in paperback and eBook. This is the link to the eBook:  You can access all my books by typing in my name on Amazon’s search engine. I plan to publish two new novels this year. One of them will be my first book of World War II historical fiction titled, SEARCHING FOR SOLOMON. It will be a long-held dream come true.

Pamela sent me 11 questions to answer, and following are my answers:

§  When you were young, what was your dream career? If it wasn’t to be a writer, what changed your mind?

Females of my time and socio-economic circle aspired to marriage and motherhood almost exclusively.  College was out of reach and out of mind, no matter our native-born talents. I came into the world as a natural artist and writer, but those things were not in the cards other than as hobbies. Divorce and life as a working, single-mother changed all that, however. College became a necessity then, and it was there in which my flair for the arts began to take form, mainly in fine art. A couple of decades later, life-threatening illness was the catalyst to my writing career. It saved my life, and continues to do so. That situation could fill a 300-page book.

§  What makes you angry? How do you tame the lion?

One of my best girlfriends describes me as a “smooth, calm river.” I am not easily riled. But yes, I am very angry over the current political climate in my country. I tame the lion through watching movies on TV, reading, writing, and visiting family and friends.

§  Have you ever allowed a “dream-crusher” to cloud your self-worth as a writer? How did you lift that cloud?

I am lucky in that I have developed an ability to keep such things in perspective, most of the time. I try to bear in mind that people have their own challenges with which they are dealing, which sometimes manifest in uncharitable behavior towards others. At the times I have succumbed to such treatment, it made me angry at my own anger rather than uncertain of my self-worth. My younger self would have answered this question quite differently, however. Unimpeachable self-worth has been a byproduct of aging and experience for me.

§  What literary figure, alive or deceased, would you like to interview?

My two favorite authors are Australian author, Shirley Hazzard and American author and adventurer, Peter Matthiessen, both of whom passed away within the last two or three years. At the times I am faced with a block in my writing, I bury myself in one of their books, and soon I am free and clear again. I would have loved to ask them the secret of their magic.

§  Do you enjoy the editing process? If so, why? If not, why not?

I do enjoy editing my own work. I am an Intuitive Pantser writer, with a touch of Methodology in the mix, which means that I write free of an outline or much of any idea of where the story is taking me, and I edit as I write. I am constitutionally incapable of tackling a new chapter until the one at hand is fully formed, editing and all. Once I complete the manuscript, I send it to a beta-reader and proofreader. At the time I receive it back, I make the appropriate corrections. I let it rest for several weeks, and then go back and read it again. Something mysterious happens to it during its rest period. A sly little trickster slips in among the pages and stirs up problems. Of course, some rewriting is then required, and the whole process begins anew. Writing a book is a complicated affair—at least it is for me.  

§  If you could be proficient in another language, which would you choose? Why?

I would dearly love to learn to speak and write in Italian, and mainly for the reason that it would allow me to communicate with singer, Andrea Bocelli. Vah vah vah voom!!!

§  If you believed in reincarnation, what century might you have lived in and who were you?

I am absolutely convinced that in one of my incarnations, I was an Indian maiden in the early days of human settlement in what is now known as North America.

§  If you were a schoolteacher, what class would you teach and why?

That is an easy one: I would teach creative writing and political science, for obvious reasons—at least the reasons are obvious to me.

§  Do you prefer to stay in touch with close friends via texting, messenger, email, or phone call? Why?

The way of the world has forced me to turn to texting as my major form of communicating. I prefer phoning or face-to-face when possible, though.

§  What was one of your best days?

On my best day, I gave birth to my first child. It opened up for me a world of love I never knew existed or was possible.

§  How would you like to be remembered?

I would like to be remembered as a person with a deep sense of purpose who did my best to do a good job of it. I am on a quest to fulfill that mandate in all ways possible before I take my final breath.  

One of the nicest perks of this SUNSHINE BLOGGER AWARD is that it empowers its recipients to celebrate and introduce other bloggers deserving of reader’s interest and time, bloggers whose highly creative work promotes positivity to the blogging community. And in that vein, it is now my turn to continue the tradition and nominate 11 bloggers for this award:

Ritu Kaur BP

Sloane Taylor

Sharon Ledwith

Catherine Castle

Chris Pavesic

CD Hersh

Ken Wigal

Elizabeth Crocket

Lynn Miclea

Anita Rodgers

Paulette Mahurin

Marilyn Francis-Ferguson - Oops! That’s twelve—but I cannot omit any one of them…

***A note to the nominated bloggers:

There are a few rules to follow:

Thank the blogger who nominated you and link back to her/his current book and blog.

Answer the 11 questions that I set above.

List the rules and display the SUNSHINE BLOGGER AWARD photo on your own blog post.

Nominate 11 new bloggers and their blogs and ask your nominees 11 NEW QUESTIONS.

Pamela Allegretto, I appreciate so much your nominating me and my blog for the SUNSHINE BLOGGER AWARD. I look forward to the future posts on your great blog… –Linda Lee Greene, Author & Artist