by Iona Morrison | Nov 5, 2013
I finished book two and I queried my editor. It is now safely in her hands along with my first book. The wait continues! Waiting isn’t the easiest thing in the world for me. But here I am tapping my foot under the desk while trying with very little luck, mind you, not to think daily about the two books. I only wish it were, out of sight, out of mind.
My thoughts are of the garden variety really, like you must have been insane to do this, or what were you thinking. I’m excited and at the same time I’m slightly mental. But, I’ll keep waiting because that’s what you do. You query and you wait to hear. They ask for a few chapters and you wait to hear. A request for the Manuscript arrives, it’s sent, and you wait to hear. They like it, a contract is signed, and you wait for edits, a galley, and a release date. I’m sure there must be something important about all of the waiting but as of yet I’m not sure exactly what it is. So I keep writing like a mad woman hearing voices in her head and book three is underway. I was told a few days ago I should have a time – line for book one soon, and you’ve got it by now, I’m waiting to hear.
by Iona Morrison | Oct 17, 2013
Joann Macy said, “The heart that breaks open can contain the whole universe.”
It seems we spend endless amounts of time trying to keep our heart from breaking. But, life has a way of sneaking up on us with events that do just that. When all the dust settles, and you put the pieces back together, at some point you realize that you’re maybe a little stronger than you thought; compassion runs a little deeper inside of you and you care for those who are going through hard times just a little more. Basically we learn to be human.
Recently my cousin lost her son, daughter-in-law and granddaughter in a massive rock slide here in Colorado. The family had gone out for a hike on a beautiful fall day. And then it happened, a rock slide the size of a football field over took them. One of the daughters was pushed to safety although still injured while five of them perished in a moment. My cousin’s family along with two nephews. With the news of the loss my heart broke open and grief poured in; grief for my cousin, a mother and grandmother who lost so much; for a son who had stayed home and 13 year old daughter who must now live without their parents and a sibling; for extended family and for more than a thousand people who attended their service who will now live without their friends.
It’s at times like this we are reminded that life is precious and of what is important. We face our on mortality and are reminded that it’s not about what you have but what you do with your life. Yes, I can see it now, “the heart that breaks open can contain the whole universe.”
by Iona Morrison | Oct 2, 2013
Life rarely gives you a perfect script. As a matter of fact it’s often messy and not what we expect. It can be contrary to our best laid plans and often mocks our optimism. Life gets interrupted! The urgent takes the place of the important. But here, at my computer, I can for a moment have it my way. Stories can end the way I say.
I can imagine people in my world the way I would like to see them. I can have happy endings, kind people, and good that triumphs over evil; moonlight runs, ocean views and heroes or heroines who save the day; true love that last a life time, people who rise above their hardships, and people who win in the end. I can make up towns to live in, villains who will not succeed and the most unlikely person will rise above the rest. It’s my world for the time that I sit here writing. Yes, I know I can’t stay here and yes, I know nothing in life may have changed, that is nothing but me.
Somehow I walk away with the belief there is still so much beauty in the world around me. So many great stories of ordinary people still to be told. Those stories tell me that one life can make a difference even if it’s only to me; they remind me that every life is valuable and cannot be replaced by another. So I breathe in and I breathe out. I walk putting one foot in front of the other even if I have no where to go. I believe life is still beautiful and I’m thankful to be alive.
by Iona Morrison | Sep 16, 2013
The morning fog had lifted as we made our way to the park in Mendocino, California. It had rained earlier but the sun was finally peeking from behind the clouds. The were artisans and musicians with booths and tables arranged with their goods on display. Over towards the edge of the park I saw an older man. I was drawn to him as he sat there with his gray head bent over his table working on something. As I approached he looked up with his faded sparkling eyes and asked me to sit down. He handed me a small book to read. “You’ll have time.” He said smiling at me. “It will only take you a minute but it’s worth the time.” It was a true story entitled the Christmas Story by Jay Frankston. It fascinated me so I bought several copies and had him autograph the small books. He shared how that as a Jewish child he had always felt like Christmas was a big party for everyone and he wasn’t invited to it. He went on to tell me this story.
“When I got married and had kids I decided to make up for it. I started with a seven-foot tree, all decked out with lights and tinsel, and a Star of David on top to soothe those whose Jewish feelings were frayed by the display and for them it was a Hanukah bush. And it warmed my heart to see the glitter, because now the party was at my house and everyone was invited.”
But he still felt like something was missing so he bought a Santa suit, spent time watching how Santa was with the children at the mall and did the same. For two years he played Santa to his own children but by the third year he said; “The Santa personality in me had grown and needed more than I had given him.” He wanted to do more. He came up with the idea of going through the many letters sent to Santa each year that ended up in sacks at the post office where he lived in New York, City. Most of them were gimme, gimme, gimme letters. But one changed it all for him.
“Dear Santa,
I hope you get my letter. I am 11 years old. I have two brothers and a baby sister. My father died last year and my mother is sick. I know there are many who are poorer than we are and I want nothing for myself. But could you send us a blanket because mommy’s cold at night. Suzy.
He sent Suzy a telegraph which said: “I GOT YOUR LETTER. WILL BE AT YOUR HOUSE ON CHRISTMAS DAY. WAIT FOR ME. SANTA.
It began, right there, a giving tradition for his family, that went on for many years. It started with 18-20 children and grew to as many as a 120.
His little book touched me so much with what the true spirit of giving is really about. He took an icon of life, didn’t argue about whether it was spiritual or even of his own tradition but made it a beautiful and moving act of generosity. If you can find the book I would suggest you get it. It is a great little treasure.
One person can really make a difference!
by Iona Morrison | Sep 9, 2013
Jessie Reynolds had no idea when she moved to Blue Cove she would be sharing her life with a ghost. A young pastor is murdered and Jessie finds herself following the trail of death into the dark and deadly world of organ trafficking. The detective in charge of the case is Matt Parker, a tall, scruffy, and ruggedly handsome man who takes an instant dislike to her and the feeling is mutual. He wants her out of his investigation and she finds herself entangled in it. As the tension between them mounts so does the attraction.
Here is one small scene between them:
Jessie didn’t say anything but handed him the note. She had forgotten about until she had reached in her purse to give Molly some money. She watched him scan it, his hand clenched at his side. “Short but to the point.'” He frowned and read it to her. “Quit looking for things your eyes shouldn’t see or like Gina you’ll deal with me. Blue eyes will go the way of brown only your body will never be found.”
