Happy Summer, Ladies ~ I wanted to start by thanking all of you who reached out during my sister Lori’s illness, and to let you know she passed away on June 2^nd.

My sister, fourteen months younger than me, always challenged me to be a good big sister.

Lori loved tossing her baby bottle from her crib and squealing until someone would retrieve it. Our single mom, Rita, would be busy cooking, cleaning, or getting ready for one of her three jobs, so I would toddle over and hand my baby sister her bottle. Lori would enjoy it until she wanted attention again and then toss it overboard again.

Lori challenged me to be my sister’s keeper when we were little girls. My job was to hold her hand, ensuring she stayed out of trouble when Mom took us shopping or to visit our grandparents’ small mom-and-pop store. On one exciting trip to Sears to shop for new summer sandals, I let go of Lori’s hand, and she wandered off.

“Where’s your sister?” Mom asked, frantically looking around the store. I shrugged and looked around, too.

My mother shrieked and raced toward a display of bathroom toilets, where my little sister sat perched on an avocado green throne.

“I go big girl potty, Mommy.” Lori beamed despite Mom snatching her from the toilet. She pulled up my sister’s panties and smoothed her sundress. Before leading her away from the display, my mother made the mistake of looking in the bowl where Lori had left a tiny brown deposit.

Needless to say, we didn’t go back to Sears for a few years.

As teenagers, Lori challenged me to be a less stuffy older sister. I was prone to wearing turtlenecks and loose-fitting Levi’s, while Lori preferred a hipper wardrobe of scoop-neck T-shirts and tight bellbottoms. One day, she and I went to the Medford Center to do a little shopping. Even though enough time had passed and we could have shopped at Sears, we decided on JC Penny’s. Lori stuck me in a dressing room and brought me clothes to try on.

I wore one of my new outfits to school the next day: a yellow blouse with cap sleeves and dark blue denim bellbottoms. I finally got my first compliment from a boy I liked when he said, “Nice jeans.”

As adults, Lori became an unwavering source of support when my son, Derrick, was diagnosed with autism, and I found myself a divorced mother of two. She watched my boys. She encouraged me to date. She taught me how to dance.

Despite her helpfulness, my relationship with my sister was also difficult. Sometimes I wanted to walk away from her instead of trying to mend whatever bridge she’d burned. So, as I said at the beginning, my sister Lori was challenging, and I share this story because I believe our relationship taught me how to shape characters for my books.

Whether I’m writing a Hero, a Heroine, or a Villain, I know I infuse my characters with some of Lori’s personality traits.

Clara in “Peril in Paradise” has Lori’s indomitable determination to find revenge for her daughter. In “Redneck Ranch,” Harley and Busy’s best friend relationship is a take-off of mine and Lori’s sisterhood. In “Vanished in Vallarta,” Jade is on a mission to find her missing little sister.

My female or male villains reflect some of her flaws, too, such as her unreasonable jealousy or sense of entitlement. Though Lori wasn’t necessarily evil, she did have a mean streak that, at times, she directed at me.

Over the last seven months, Lori challenged me to be a better writer. A better storyteller. A better editor.

She wanted to help me edit my current novel, “Chaos in Cabo.” I set her up with chapters, blue and red pens, and the nine things I look for in each chapter. The senses: Sight, Smell, Sound, Taste, Touch. And the nuances, I think, bring realism to my story: Accessories, Clothing, Eyes, Hair.

Lori valiantly tried to read each chapter and mark these items off the list, but she had a hard time focusing on the story. However, she did ask good questions, so the end result for me was that I was able to explain my editing process to another writer who asked if I would edit her novel.

My sister Lori was a challenge to the end. She died on June 2^nd, my son Derrick’s birthday.

We had a lovely family day on June 1st, her son’s birthday. We played games, ate pizza, and enjoyed an ice cream cake. I spent the night at her house, and we stayed up late talking and laughing.

The next morning, Lori seemed a little tired but otherwise fine. She commented about not being able to get into heaven if you weren’t always a good person. I told her that if she wanted forgiveness, all she had to do was ask God. She got quiet for a few minutes and closed her eyes. Then she said, “I feel bad that I get to see Derrick before you.”

My phone pinged because someone liked my Facebook birthday post for Derrick, and I showed Lori his picture.

She grabbed my hand, and my sister, who never asked me to pray with her before, said, “Can we say a prayer for Derrick’s birthday?”

I nodded and said, “Happy Birthday, Derrick. We hope you’re having a great day in heaven. Aunt Lori and I are laughing about Grandma Rita and Grandma Betty arguing over who gets to bake you a cake. I love and miss you, big guy! Aunt Lori wants to say something.”

Eyes closed, she squeezed my hand and said, “Happy birthday, Derrick. I miss you so much. And I want you to know I’m coming to see you soon.”

Lori drifted off to sleep and seemed fine throughout the morning. Then, just after noon, her breathing became labored, and she appeared to be in a coma. Her husband called the Hospice nurse, who was running late, and she said she would be there as soon as possible.

Keith and I took turns holding Lori’s hand and making her comfortable. Neither of us was in denial that her time was near, but neither of us was ready for her to go.

My challenging little sister went to heaven at 1:50 pm on Monday, June 2, 2025.

Several people said to me after Lori passed away that they were sorry she died on Derrick’s birthday, to which I replied:

“I’m not because I believe my loving son reached his strong hand down from the heavens and said, ‘Come on, Aunt Lori … it’s time.’”

Over the rainbow and from heaven, my little sister challenged me to lean into my faith and share her peaceful passing with others.

Hug your family members, Sisters!

                                           

Several years ago, as I was struggling to find my place in the writing world, my neighbor found out I was writing. She told me, “I’ve always wanted to write a children’s book.”

“There’s no time like the present. Start writing,” I said.

She had all the same excuses I had. Her kids were still home and taking up a lot of her time. She helped out in their orchard and did the books for the farm. I encouraged her to start writing a little every day.

The next time I saw her she said, “I’m writing a book.” She was so pleased, and I was happy for her. She did everything right. She joined a critique group, and worked hard on her books, writing and rewriting them. She was patient and when someone would suggest a change in her manuscript, she would painstakingly go through it. Because she didn’t like to drive, I drove her to Eugene so she could use the college library for research. (This was before Google!)

Even though I wrote mysteries and she wrote children’s adventure books, we loved talking about writing together. I read some of her early work and encouraged her to keep writing. She was such a good writer. I knew she’d make it someday and her books would be out in the world for children to enjoy and learn from.

I don’t know how many manuscripts she finished, but she worked hard on one and when it was done, she asked me to read it. Her critique group had read it and liked it, but she wanted another set of eyes on it before she started shopping it around.  I was happy to and blown away by how professional it was. It was polished, and I couldn’t wait to tell her how much I enjoyed it and that I felt it was ready to be sent out to agents or publishers.

I remember going to her house that day. She sat in her recliner looking like she always did. I had no premonition of what she was about to tell me. After we talked a bit, I told her I thought her book was great. There were a couple of little things I thought she could change, but I knew it was ready for publication.

She smiled at me. “Lana, I just found out I have cancer.”

My heart sank. “Oh no, I’m so sorry. But you can beat it. And while you’re recovering, you can work on getting this book to agents. I’ll help you all I can.”

“No,” she said, still smiling at me, “You don’t understand. They gave me six weeks.”

I’m sure in that instant my heart stopped beating for a moment. I couldn’t accept it. I had no words to say to her. I just kept repeating, “I’m so sorry,” over and over. Then she said, “I really thought I’d have twenty more years to write.” She had just turned sixty.

I hugged her and asked what I could do for her, and she shook her head. “There’s nothing anyone can do.” I told her I’d be back to see her and if she needed anything to let me know. I said all the things you say during times like that. Things that make you feel better when you know there really isn’t anything you can do.

Then I went home and cried.

A few days later, I went back to check on her. Her husband and daughter were outside, and I asked if I could see her. Her husband got tears in his eyes and her daughter said, “Mom passed this morning.”

I couldn’t believe it. This bright, beautiful woman who had so much potential, who’d worked so hard to put her work out there for others to enjoy had passed before she had time to get her book out to the world. I know if she had lived, she would’ve had many books out by now.

My own journey has taken several more years. I didn’t take my own advice very well until I reached a certain age and thought, “I’ve got to get these books out there!”  If I could leave you with anything, it’s that there is no time like the present. If you want to write, you have to start. You have to make it a priority. Because no one knows how long they may have.

And one of the great things about writing is that there is no mandatory retirement age. You can write as long as you want. You can write one very long book—think War and Peace or Gone with the Wind—or many shorter books. But you won’t have any written if you don’t start writing now.

Go! Why are you still here reading this? Go work on your book!

            As a freelance journalist, writing to deadline is as natural as breathing. When editors assign a story, they provide three essential pieces of information: topic, word count, and delivery date. Miss your deadline and kiss the possibility of a second assignment goodbye.

            This is not about editors flexing their weight. It’s about the reality of publishing. In the days before online everything, a story that didn’t arrive on time meant publications had a gaping hole in their magazine or newspaper. Gaping holes are filled when editors rush around like mad, cursing the name of the writer who missed their deadline.

            When I started to do more fiction writing than reporting, I found deadlines are often self-imposed. I will finish my first chapter by the end of the week. I will write a thousand words of my short story every day for four days. I will edit the story by Monday. I also found self-imposed deadlines are often more wishful thinking than etched in stone.

I missed the rigor of deadlines I didn’t dream up. Then I discovered anthologies. Genre writing is rife with anthologies – and anthologies have deadlines. They also often have themes, the journalistic equivalent of topic. The path ahead is paved for you. Here’s what we’d like you to write about. Here’s when you have to get it to us.

I wrote my first mystery short story, “Swan Song,” in 2021 in response to a call from the Crime Writers of Canada. To celebrate its fortieth anniversary, the national association planned to publish an anthology, Cold Canadian Crime. There was a theme (“cold” in the broadest sense of the word). There was a deadline. Count me in.

Since then, I have written fourteen more short stories. Most of them have been published, mostly in anthologies. A few have been reprinted in anthologies. At least one has been reprinted in several anthologies.

One of my recent anthology short stories is called “Maladaptive Anonymous.” In the story, the main character calls this group, somewhat disparagingly, Daydreamers Anonymous. The anthology, which will be out June 18^th, is entitled: Midnight Schemers & Daydream Believers. Just as editors expect you to meet your deadline (or miss out on the opportunity), they also expect you to stick to the topic. You have lots of room to play, but the boundaries are there.

While every anthology editor has their own process, the process is usually rigorous. And appreciated. Judy Penz Sheluk, who edited Midnight Schemers, had three rounds of readers and after the first and third round we were provided with feedback – and helpful suggestions for improvements. There were also at least three rounds of proofreading. At some point, you think this is overkill until in the final proof you discover your main character has titled their head. In the published version, their head is now tilted.

 As a short story writer, anthologies bring me back to familiar ground. I am given three essential pieces of information: topic, word count, and delivery date. This helps me to focus on a theme – and to go to wonderful and wacky places with plots I might otherwise not uncover and characters I might otherwise not create. And I go there by deadline.