On My Top 5 Favorite Science Fiction Books

This year, I am participating in OWS CyCon, a completely online and free book convention. I've been having a lot of fun designing my digital "booth," participating in blog-hops, setting up for cover wars, and interacting with the other authors. Many of them are indie-publishing like me!

One of the questions which I've been frequently asked over the years is: "What are your favorite books?" I have far too many to ever be able to answer without a long hesitation as my brain goes through the list, and I stumble through picking five at random. So, I thought I'd narrow it down to "What are Holly's top 5 favorite Science-Fiction books?" However, even that needed a "twist" to make it work... My indoctrination into the wide world of Sci-Fi came in the form of three Hammermill paper boxes, full of books ranging from War of the Worlds to dozens of Star Trek and Star Wars books. A family friend learned of my blossoming interest and had handed me his entire collection! Nearly thirty years later, I still own most of them and all have had some kind of influence. However, here's the closest thing I'll get to a Top 5

Number 5 This is a book no longer in print, but it was my introduction to "Sci-fi other than Star Trek and Star Wars" and has stood the test of time for me.  "100 Great Science Fiction Stort Stories" is one I've kept hold of from those original boxes handed to me. I've honestly lost track of how many times I've read it!

Number 4 I fought over this one, as there really are three which qualified, based on how much I enjoyed reading them and how it ended up affecting me as a writer. However, I'm going with the middle book of an unofficial trilogy. Many know of Lois Lowry's book "The Giver," but did you know it had two sequels? "Gathering Blue" is my number four, as I can clearly see its influences in some of my writing. The third in that series was called "The Messenger" for anyone interested in the rest of the story. She ties in characters from both books, making it quite clear it is a trilogy after all!

Number 3 Though it wasn't on the top five until recently, George Orwell's 1984 has secured its place. After hearing numerous mentions of it over the past few years, I re-read it - not having picked it up for around twenty years. Oh, the difference time and maturity makes on the mind!

Number 2: And now for the twist! My number two choice would be... almost all of the original expanded universe Star Wars books starting with "Splinter of the Minds Eye" and up to "Showdown at Centerpoint" when you line the books up chronologically from when they happened in the universe. Geeky, I know. I'm not sorry, though.

Number 1: I'm a Trekkie and proud of it! Not only am I a Trekkie, but I'm absolutely fascinated by a minor character named Saavik... to the point where I've based one of my characters in Star Trek Online off of her- making Saavik T'kayeda's mentor. It's no surprise then that "The Pandora Principle" by Carolyn Clowes is my number one favorite book. She took the few little glimpses we had of Saavik and weaved and entire history out of the mystery. It is fabulous!

*OWS CyCon officially runs May 17-19 with the CyCon website and Facebook events acting as the hub for all of our events.

On How Ehlers-Danlos Has Affected Me

     It has been nearly six years since I last focused a blog post on having Ehlers-Danlos Syndrome. So much has happened since then! So, I thought it was time to reflect on the day-to-day with this genetic disorder. How has EDS affected me?
     My mornings are full of false starts, though I move from the bed and my C-PAP to the couch when my husband goes to work. There is the morning "what's dislocated" moment and getting my first dose of medications in, as well as a liquid breakfast. Gastroparesis is not kind to solid foods in the morning.  If I'm in physical therapy, at the gym for time in the water, at the clinic for infusions via my chest port, or have doctors appointments, those all happen in the mornings. When I'm lucky enough to not have those, I sleep in.
     I'm blessed to be able to work from home with a wonderful accredited homeschool academy. Losing my ability to teach full-time was a very hard blow, but I could not keep up and was dislocating joints in the classroom at random times or in the halls due to a rushing teenager.  However, I now get to work with students and their families from my home office. I use adaptive equipment like a vertical mouse, voice to text software, a brace to hold me up better, and athletic tape or ring splints on my fingers. On bad days, I work from the couch. I'm exhausted by the end of those hours, though, so end up needing a long nap in the late afternoon.
     Most of the daily tasks happen right after that nap. I'll work on home physical therapy, will try to get a house-task done, or will be outside in my adaptive garden or greenhouse. Regardless, I'm braced up, taped up, and with an electrolyte drink in my hand and phone in my pocket in case I fall. I try to make large batch meals so there are nights where we have leftovers, as it is exhausting to cook. After that, I'm back on the couch, working on my novels or gaming and roleplaying with my friends. On really good nights, I can get some sewing in as well. Sleep does not come easy, due to "painsomnia" and side effects from the medications keeping me alive. I'm up late... even when I want to be asleep.
   There is so much I miss, like being able to go hiking whenever I want, or the freedom to run errands without having to build in ample crash time afterward. I hate the looks I get parking in handicap and have been verbally accosted even when I had a cane and knee braces and ankle braces on. I miss dairy and nightshades and being able to cook whatever I wanted. I hate being on so many medications, though do what I can with natural methods too. I own so many braces, splints, rolls of therapy tape, and compression garments that I could open my own supply store. I miss being able to look at my future and actually seeing it. So many of us die way too early. I miss the income of working full-time. It has made things tougher for us for sure. There is so much our house needs or what we want for it that we just cannot handle now.
   However, there have been some positives too. Without the people I've met in this journey, I wouldn't be in the position I am today - volunteering for Dysautonomia Support Network in their largest Facebook support group. I've made some amazing friends through this battle. I wouldn't have been able to teach so many about rare genetic disorders (my husband has PKU, so I get to double up on the education giving!) There are people I've been able to influence positively because of what I've gone through. I also wouldn't have gotten back into sewing, wouldn't have been sewing commission work, and wouldn't have met the Piecemakers, the charity quilting group I volunteer at on Saturday mornings. They keep me going, though I'm on the couch for hours afterward. I also wouldn't have had the time and focus to write novels. Two are already out with a third coming in June and another by the end of the year.
      Ehlers-Danlos Syndrome is a beast. It is a heavy burden to bear which affects every part of my life. However, it has made me who I am today.

#EDSwarrior #Zebra #DSN #bodydrama #divajuice

On the Warnings in a Dream

Her name is Sarai, and for the past three weeks, she and I have been spending a lot of time together. It's not that we necessarily want to, at least I didn't. I've been happily focused on writing my third novel, getting back on track after a month break to heal tennis elbow and a dislocated thumb. However, just as I started writing again, she showed up... big... the same way that Harlie showed up eight years ago. The dreams were stunningly vivid, her story amazingly complex yet incredibly simple. Her life played out in front of me every night for nearly three weeks.

There were a few things in her world which stood out.

First, for those who have read "Midnight to Morning," she's from the time James and Rick warn about.

Second, she had a very clear warning for what our future could hold if we keep on our current path. Honestly, I can see it happening... easily. Her story picks up just a hundred years from now. What I saw was this:

Earth went past its tipping point during a series of global wars. It was already teetering on the edge and showing it through wild weather, increased pests and illnesses and such. Now, it is actively eliminating the cause. There are plagues which wipe out tens of millions, natural disasters of epic proportions are almost commonplace, infrastructure has been devastated, and farms long poisoned in the name of prosperity are no longer able to support even the reduced number of people.

Christianity is practically lost, and it is their own fault that it happened. First was the breaking into two distinct factions, the "Radicals" with their hatred and twisting of the scriptures to defend it and the crooked politicians who supposedly were God-fearing, and then those who tried to live the way Christ taught, the actual "Christians.". One was not strong enough or outspoken enough to overpower the other. People saw the bad and more turned to atheism and other religions and started actively attacking all Christians, regardless of if they were out helping the poor, loving everyone, supporting everyone because we all are sinners after all. All are lost without God. Laws started to turn against them. Churches fell after losing legal support. What was left went underground, their decades of whining that they were being persecuted actually turning into true persecution. Those who had been doing good in the world continued trying while remaining hidden. Sarai's parents are two of them.

Society as we know it has broken down due to major political changes and those wars. It is now broken up into four segments: The Wilds- lawless remnants of towns and cities. The Camps - where the poorest are trying to scrape out a living in slums. Some basic needs are provided for somewhat but not enough. Resources are too tight. The Compounds - a lower to middle class structured area where everyone has access to housing, simple meals, and clothing basics and receive a stipend based off of their job and how well they do. The goal is to save or do well enough to get into better housing or better jobs with better stipends. Then there are the Barons - the few upper class who have taken over vast swaths of land, be it decimated cities and towns or farmland. Most set their domain up with a center of large houses and fancy properties and surround it with the Compounds, which they run and profit off of, and finally the Camps. There were many more details, but those will be in the book.

It was all incredibly vivid, and I can tell where my mind was taking current events and playing them on fast forward to a possible outcome. It wasn't that way with Harlie's story. These clearly rang of warnings to the point I've felt this blog needed to be written about what I saw versus waiting until this book was written and published. That will happen after I wrap up the Midnight to Morning trilogy this Spring. I'm not sure what anyone else will think of it... but there it is, Sarai's warnings.

On Desperation and Compassion

This post could go so many different ways, but I'm going to try to stick with a single focus.
Today, I spent most of my work hours focusing on the high school's yearly "Act for Compassion" event through Compassion International. Each year, we focus on a different area where the organization is helping. We've covered at-risk-for-trafficking kids in Brazil, the Medical Intervention fund, and the Water for Life initiative. It is a way for students and their families to learn about families in developing countries, families who are similar to them and who have the same wants, needs, and dreams. While writing out the weekly emails, I found myself trying harder than ever to get across how similar we all are, but how the dark hole of poverty can crush those in developing countries, and how we can help.

But I was also thinking about the current swords being swung, and how twisted the conversation around those living in these countries has become. I found myself, ashamedly, picking stories from African and Asian countries so I wouldn't be attacked over Central American ones. Yes, I've been attacked, repeatedly, and it has left a mark.

For what? Why?

I've been with Compassion International for over 21 years now. In that time, one of the main things I've learned is the families in these developing countries are lacking one big thing. Options. They are born into poverty. Born into limited food options. Born into limited or no access to clean water. Born into countries with crushed or corrupted economies, many of which the developed countries have caused. They are born to where there are precious few job opportunities. Born into where there are high crime rates because of the levels of desperation. Born to where getting a proper education is difficult or almost impossible. They are born into hopelessness, and there are very few ways out.

Charity organizations come in, and they try their hardest to make positive impacts. Some focus on infrastructure, like wells and streets. Some focus on building better housing. Some focus on just providing meals and vaccines. And some, like Compassion, focus on eliminating poverty starting from the child up... their food, books, uniforms, and supplies all purchased locally, to build the economy. Their tutors, those cooking their food, those sewing the uniforms, those teaching skills, all coming from the community, providing wages. The areas around the Compassion centers are growing and developing as the children do. Right now over 2 million children are in the program... but there are so many more!

I was attacked for pointing out that hopelessness, that desperation. For pointing out that you cannot just aid an organization or go on a missions trip to these places, making yourself feel good, and thinking it is enough for all. For one minute saying you love these hurting people, and then the next minute cursing their existence because they are trying to break free and get help. For speaking up when an acquaintance went to another country to build a church, and then came home and screamed about how dare those people, from the same country he just left, try to come to our border and beg for help. I'm not talking about border jumpers or those who overstay visas, I'm talking about the abused woman and her children who are escaping the cycle. I'm talking about the young men trying to get away from the gangs and drugs and find a better life. I'm talking about the mothers who know their children would likely die or never break free of poverty if they stayed where there are no jobs, schooling is too costly, crime rules the street, sex trafficking is out of control, food and water is scarce and more. These are the "least of these." These are the people Christ repeatedly asked us to help. Oh, but what about those in poverty here? Help them too! The ones making the most noise seem to be the ones who are not lifting a finger to help either group, or who think donating some ripped up leftovers is the best answer.

I had a member of my family who was rumored to have crossed the ocean as a stowaway to escape the rising communism in his native country. He was desperate to break free before it was too late. I've taught children who have told me the horrors their families faced before coming to the border and asking for asylum, asking to be saved. I had a student who was kidnapped by a gang and his father raced him up to the border the moment he paid to get him back, begging to be let in, too scared for his son to stay where he was. I've talked with their families, in between the multiple jobs they work, because they want their children to have what they never could. I've helped out when that transition has been hard, dropping off needed items, or just being there to listen as they relay the hopelessness of the past. I've also watched them thrive! A car bought, a house rented, a child graduating high school and then college, a parent moving up from menial labor to management because of hard work and determination... building up our communities here, building up our country!

We are called to love one another as Christ has loved us. We are called to love the least of these. We are called to help the orphan and the widow... the ones who would never be able to gather the thousands upon thousands of dollars to pay lawyers and bribe officers and clerks so they could "come in the right way." They are still coming in through the legal way, through the border crossing stations. Why are we not following the clear and simple commands Christ gave us? Why are we showing up to church on Sunday and twisting the Bible to be hateful on Monday? Why are supposed Christians attacking Christians for following what Christ said?

I felt anxiety when writing emails about charity today... purposely picking out countries outside of Central America to help teach others...

Because of the reactions of people who are supposedly followers of Christ...

Think about that.

On 2018: Christmas Letter

As shown by some of the blog posts over this year, it has been quite a change from the past. This year was a very eventful one!

This year has seen our driveway repaired, our garden getting a bit out of control, a vacation to Alabama and Tennessee in the middle of summer, Owen's parents starting their move to Wisconsin (to be near their granddaughters,) us paying off a large chunk of debt and more. We are going to need to get some outside help with the landscaping and garden repairs, though. I cannot keep up with it all. We traveled to Alabama and Tennessee for vacation, spent time with Owen's aunt and uncle as they visited from Wales, and had some other day-trip adventures. There were two losses, in that our precious Hobo-dog went over Rainbow Bridge (see post below this one) and Fledgling (tiel) followed shortly. I still miss Hobo every day and find myself looking for him in his "den," our closet, every time I go in there. Luke and Ginger are doing great and are loving that we have a fenced in back yard now. Erwin-bird (aka "little twiddle") is going strong at age 17! He's such a funny little guy.

Owen has been doing good at his job as the town governments' Sys Admin. He's now more into the HAM radio world than ever. Just last month we got to listen to the astronauts on the International Space Station through one of his radios! He's also been getting into tracking airplanes with it and is part of an emergency "net" system for weather or other disasters. It's great to see him enjoying his hobby. Also, by the time some of you read this, Owen will have had his first dose of the new drug for PKU - Palynziq (PegPal.) It's, in short, a bacteria genetically modified to eat phenylalanine, the amino acid Owen's body cannot process. It is going to be a long process of getting up to the full dose, as it works similar to allergy shots. However, once he is up to maintenance, my husband will be able to eat an almost normal diet! He will be able to eat chicken, beef, fish, higher protein grains and other foods and will finally be off the nasty metabolic formula which kills is appetite. He's down 10 pounds now, so all of his doctors are eager to move this process forward. The drug was only approved back in Sept, so he gets to be a trailblazer again.

Last December, my second novel "Sunrise to Shadows" was released. Two weeks later, I was being asked to write an article on adaptive writing for a major Indie author magazine "Indie Authors Monthly."  I was briefly part of a peer review group on Goodreads, but could not keep up with the demands, due to other things going on. I'll return to it soon. Both novels have had another revision (final one for Midnight to Morning) and both have brand new covers, which I absolutely love! They've had a decent year with book shows, author interviews and a few "take over" days on various Indie author pages. I still need more reviews though! If you've read either one, PLEASE review it on Goodreads and Amazon. To take the series to the next step, I need those reviews. Novel 3, the final in the series, is over halfway written and still on-target for a late Spring release. It continues to refuse to be named...

The health struggles continue between Ehlers-Danlos and Dysautonomia. I spent nearly all of Spring and Summer pretty much housebound because the heart condition side was so out of control. My old cardiologist was very old-school about it and refused to work with the last 15 years of research, so a change was made. I had originally been told it would be March of 2019 before I could get in with the specialists at VCU who knew dysautonomia, but God blessed me with getting in on a cancellation 2 weeks after I called. I was then referred to one of the top 5 specialists in the US for my condition. Though it means getting a chest port for regular fluids, I've been making great progress after adding just a single medication. My heart went from running over 100 beats per minute all day every day to the normal range of 70's and 80's! There's been some newly dislocating joints, a summer in physical therapy, a new pain management clinic (which I love... those guys are great!) and the usual progression of the disorder. Every time I get more active by going to the gym or walking more, I end up injured...However, I'm still fighting it with all I've got!

That's about it for now. With getting back into blogging more, and with social media, anything key I missed is bound to be online somewhere!

On the Life of a Hobo

Note: I'm not really sure this blog is ready to be written and published, but I'm going to give it a try.

In May of 2009, Owen and I purchased our first home. After moving thirteen times in ten years, I was very ready to stop wandering. We had been searching for a couple of months when a rural rancher became available. Driving up the damaged two-acre long driveway was an adventure, but the little house, sitting in a one-acre clearing, surrounded by a protective barrier of trees was perfect for us. It was a foreclosure, and it needed some work, but the price was perfect. Unbeknownst to us, until after we had bought and moved into it, the house also came with a dog. The neighbors had been feeding him, along with their outdoor dog for "a few years or so." and called him Hobo.

When we first met Hobo, he was very skittish, with matted fur everywhere. We had Aspen at the time, and Hobo even seemed afraid of him! As we settled into the house, we noticed that Hobo would hide under our porch during storms and roam between the properties during the day. Attempts to get close to him seemed fruitless. Honestly, it was kind of annoying as I thought we'd just be "putting up with" this stray- a feeling I've come to regret.

Then the breakthrough happened. It was late October, and I was in the front yard, placing multiple layers of newspaper down where our future garden would be. Hobo had been pacing around me, then suddenly came and sat in my blind spot. I went totally still and calm, then slowly reached behind me, without looking, and pet him. He not only tolerated it, but he also leaned into it a little. Over the next month, petting him behind me turned into petting him next to me, then in front of me with both hands. We started talking about bringing him into the house, as winter was coming... even though the neighbors insisted all he did was pee everywhere and tear things up. We put our old moving blankets onto the porch, along with a water and food dish, and waited to see what happened. Bit by bit, Hobo started sleeping there. We tried to get him into the house, but he was still too scared.

Then, in late January 2010, Hobo got into a fight. I was leaving for work when it happened and got it broken up. It was an abandoned hunting dog that did it. Reaching over to comfort Hobo, my hand came back bloody. His ear had been torn up. Risking being late, I ran inside for water and a towel and got it cleaned up. Hobo was waiting for me on the porch when I got home, a first. That night, we put him into the basement, so he could stay warm while healing, and told the neighbors. "Oh, just give him an aspirin." No. Owen and I decided that enough was enough and started luring him inside in the evenings. By the time the neighbors came over, in Feb, to say they were moving and to take Hobo or they drop him in the shelter, we already had him coming inside willingly and even allowing us to cut his matted fur!

February 14th, 2010 is the day we permanently moved him inside. He was housebroken by February 17th and had claimed the recliner in our computer room as his own by February 20th. He and Aspen got along well. Hobo did have one quirk, though, he insisted on sleeping in our bedroom closet. It was a cave for him, just like under our porch. The first two years were spent learning to help him overcome his fears while trying not to gag when he brought presents home for us - opossums, dear carcasses, bones etc. We managed to get him to accept being on our dog-run, something which had to happen because he'd take off down the driveway to go mark the mailboxes and roam "his" territory, and I was terrified he'd get hit by a car even with all of his experience living outdoors.

Hobo ended up teaching me so much about love and trust. From that first moment in Oct 2009, to how he handled moving into the house, to first vet visits (where he was diagnosed with 6 tick born illnesses and had to trust us when giving him months of meds) to learning to walk on a leash, to working through the phobias from storms. He'd come into the bathroom every time I was there and would stand in front of me to have his snout, itchy eyes and ears rubbed. It was "our time" together. While he often went to his closet to rest, he also loved being in the living or computer room with us. When I'd go into the hobby room to sew, he was my companion. I even made him a little bed for when he was back there with me. I soon realized that I had never loved an animal the way I loved Hobo.

When we first brought him to the vet and told him what the neighbors had told us; he agreed that Hobo seemed around 6-7 years old. Though he had excellent care with us, those first years left their mark. He soon developed arthritis from the Lymes, and his back legs were "numb" by the time he was ten. Hobo didn't let it slow him down much. He made it through a bout with a plasma-cell tumor on his paw pad with barely a wince. With some coaxing, he'd get up on the couch for every bandage change. It was him suddenly starting to hop onto the couch on his own which raised the first red flag for me after that.  Ever since we had gotten rid of the recliner, it was rare to see Hobo on furniture, but here he was, next to me almost every day. I told him, "I know, Hobes, we're almost out of time, aren't we?" He then started to lose bowel control and his hips got much worse. We took him to the vet for tests and pain meds, knowing we probably didn't have much time left.

We didn't even have a week...

On Saturday, September 22nd, 2018, I was resting from a book show when Owen let the dogs out. Five minutes later, he screamed that Hobo might be dead. We ran over to where he was laying in the yard. His eyes were open and alert, but the rest of his body wasn't moving at all. We pet him, checked for damage, tried to get him up, but it was no use. Crying, I called the emergency vet to say we were on the way and that it looked like goodbye. While I was on the phone, Owen was petting him and his eyes were closing on their own. We got him onto a sheet, loaded him into the back of the Crosstrek, and started the 40-minute drive. I pet him the entire way. Our normally afraid dog was acting as calm as could be. Once in the clinic, they agreed his body was shutting down and gave us time alone with him. Even while petting and talking to him, his breathing was off. When his eyes started to shut again, we knew it was time. Hobo was fighting with everything he had to stay with us, and it wasn't right to keep him in pain. Our beloved boy slipped peacefully from this world before even a third of the syringe was injected.

We plan on scattering some of his ashes around the perimeter of the house. It feels right to let him continue to protect the house the way he has for most of his life. The rest will be in the house with us, as those best years of his life were spent. That is the life of our Hobo.

On the Right Place at the Right Time

Almost every Saturday morning, I can be found awake early and preparing to head out. From late Spring until late Autumn my first stop is our local farmer market. There are so many amazing foods from fruits to veggies to homemade pasta and sausage and more. My favorite breakfast is the whole wheat, maple icing topped, cinnamon rolls from Moving Meadows farm. From there, it is off to the Piecemakers Quilting group, where I spend the next three hours.

Piecemakers sews for charity only. We provide homemade quilts to the local Safe House, the local pregnancy center and a foundation for children with terminal illnesses. We also sew fleece blankets for foster children in two counties. Come winter, we make fleece hats and scarves for four local elementary schools as well. It's a busy place to be! We are all a bit nutty and every single one of us has a physical limitation, be it chronic illness, heart failure, cancer survivor and more.

Two Saturdays ago was like every other one before it, except for one thing. The church we meet at was giving away free school supplies. Someone had generously donated several thousand dollars to purchase it. The problem is, three other churches had already handed out school supplies. Noon was approaching and there were still over 150 bags of supplies left. The pastor was starting to panic... and was doing so right in front of us quilters.

That's when that oh so gentle reminder ghosted through my brain. Hey, Holly, your mom teaches in Appalachia... they probably need the supplies. So, I had pastor pause his pacing while I made a call. Yes, they were desperate for supplies! The money they normally would have gotten to help provide it wasn't there this year. The principal was literally going to have to go from classroom to classroom, find out who brought what and who needed what and buy the items with her own money! I told the pastor and that panic turned into sheer joy. Word spread fast about the children in Appalachia who were going to be receiving the supplies. 

More donations arrived and, by the time I picked them up that Tuesday, my full-size pickup truck bed was FULL, plus my front passenger seat! There were tears of relief as the school started making piles of each type of supply, loading them up on carts, and handing them out to the children. It was EXACTLY what everyone needed! No extra purchases were necessary! 

Right place. Right time. And I was receptive to that little ghost of a reminder in my brain. Too many times I hear it and ignore it, making excuses for not standing up and acting upon it. What a great lesson to myself, and others, that great things can happen if we listen and act.