Return to Thanksgiving

So, RETURN TO CHRISTMAS has been out a little than a week and I’m getting nervous (of course) but it seems to be doing well enough. There are all these rules and algorithms for indie publishing and I can only manage the bare minimum, but I’ll keep at it, and I’m hoping word of mouth will help. You all have mouths out there – go spread the word. I really love that book!

But it’s Thanksgiving, so I thought I’d list a bunch of things I’m thankful for. There are the usual suspects – my amazing husband, my two children, my grandchildren. I’m grateful for my friends, I’m grateful for my two surrogate sisters, Jenny and Sally, for the cats, Lille and Donnerpaus, for living in Vermont with our excellent services and representatives. I’m grateful there’s only a year of Trump left (please god), that Tom Hiddleston is doing a Loki series (hell, I’m just grateful there’s a Tom Hiddleston) and my sewing machines and my chair and did I mention my husband?

But most of all, I’m grateful for my gift. it’s my vocation, it’s my curse, it’s my joy. I started writing romantic novels in 5th grade (I’m serious – Troy Donahue and a round bed). Stories are everything to me, particularly stores where two people become partners, lovers and friends, and I can write stories that fill my heart. They’re not for everyone, but for me I can make them exactly what I want, and any time I feel put-upon or sorry for myself I think of that gift and said “Life’s not so bad after all.” (And trust me, there have been so pretty horrid times).

It really does make sense to count your blessings. My mother always felt that life had done her wrong, but in truth she was smart, a brilliant writer, she had wonderful children, a troubled husband who loved her. She had good jobs where she was appreciated, she had a rich life after retirement, and she had tons of younger friends who thought of her as a role model. And yet she felt bitter and resentful and it was everyone else’s fault (including the universe). If she’d ever stopped to think about the good things she could have been so much happier.

But yes, I’m even grateful for my emotionally-abusive, crazy-ass parents. They did the best they could. Never should have had children, but then, there would never have been a glorious me, and the world would be a poorer place (I’m not entirely facetious).

So I guess, most of all, I’m grateful for me, and I think that’s the sign of a well-lived life. I hope that all of you feel the same.

Er, grateful for yourself, not for me. But hey, if being grateful I’m me floats your boat then go for it. I’ll take all the help I can get.