Bestselling Author, Ventriloquist, & Humorist
Books from Mill Park Publishing provide hours of entertainment without needing batteries, electricity, or sizing. And, they are reusable. Consider buying, reading, and giving these books written by women authors. Here are three of 12 choices:
The Guest Blogger today is Ruth Knox, a writer from Boise, Idaho. She attended our writer’s retreat in October and was inspired to finish the first draft of her novel. Here is her review of the retreat. (The next Creative Kindling Retreat is April 29-May 1, 2016.)
The Word by Ruth Knox
Saturday night. A bunch of giggling women are gathered at night in the dark woods behind the Garden Valley cabin, taking part in a wilderness survival exercise put on by workshop leaders, Christy Hovey and Amanda Turner. Elaine Ambrose, who is hosting this writers retreat for women is there, giggling right along with us. This is my first ever Creative Kindling Women’s Writing Retreat, and this little workshop goes to show you that you never know what’s going to happen when you get together with this bunch. I can’t divulge details. What happens at the cabin stays at the cabin. We didn’t pinky-swear or anything, but you just know there are some things of which you must never speak. Sisterhood and all that.
On Sunday morning, I’m sitting in a big ol’ rocking chair on the veranda, watching the mist play along the river bank. Just a few yards from the porch, deer are lazily grazing. It’s like a picture out of a story book, but it’s real. We’re sipping our coffee, cradling our steamy mugs in both hands. A fire in the hearth completes this perfect setting. The usually still morning air is alive with women’s laughter. Welcome to our women’s writing retreat.
When we arrived on Friday afternoon, most of us didn’t know each other. Now it’s Sunday, and we are reluctant to break this magic spell of camaraderie and leave our new friends to return to our busy lives in the city. If I had to say how they managed to pull off this magic transformation in less than 48 hours, I, the writer of words, would have no answer. Maybe it is our hosts and mentors, Elaine Ambrose, Amanda Turner, and Christy Hovey. Each has specific skill sets that every writer needs, and when you put them all together at this retreat, you get what I like to refer to as the Power Pack.
Not only did they host workshops with invaluable information, they each gave us a two-hour, one-on-one private session to work on our own specific current writing project. This is where the real gold is in this weekend retreat. This kind of personal coaching is not something you have available at most retreats. They also limit the number of attendees so that the feel is intimate and comfortable, and everyone has time to address any questions they have. As well, this made it easy to get to know the other attendees, and develop a rapport which made learning together fun.
In my case, I am currently working on a non-fiction book, Caregiver’s Quilt. When I arrived on Friday, I was stuck, bogged down in details and self-doubt about my ability to complete this project. Yes, I’d done plenty of writing over the years, but not a full length book, and this felt daunting. I didn’t know how to take my ideas and tame them into a usable book outline. Elaine worked with me on blogging, which gave me a better understanding of how a blog can help me write my book and gain readership. Amanda worked with me on my outline, and how to break my big book idea down into manageable sized chunks. Christy helped me get a handle on how to use social media to find my readers, and hold their interest.
Because we not only played hard this weekend, we worked hard too. Our attendees ran from fairly new to seasoned writers. It didn’t matter. We each found something we needed to move us along our writer’s path. Each of us came away with a sense of exhilaration. We were going home with something tangible to work on. And we got something more – a sense of sisterhood, and some new friends. Our attendees decided to form an accountability group, meeting for lunch once a month to update each other on our progress.
It was a wonderful experience. Sharing our ideas and projects with one another bolstered our confidence and our belief in our own project. It took something intensely personal and solitary and gave it life in the real world. Each of us challenged ourselves by reading some of our writing aloud to the group. We were met with encouragement and applause.
Our first workshop was on Friday night. After we dined like royalty on a delicious feast that chef, Robert prepared for us, we gathered around the table. Coffee and wine flowed in abundance. Elaine chose the subject “Music as Muse” for her workshop. The idea was that by using guided imagery, we would open ourselves up to memories and write about them, knowing we didn’t have to share them with anyone if we chose. I’m not going to lie. It was a difficult exercise. With the help of music, we silently revisited the most painful and the most joyful experiences of our lives. As much as I didn’t like revisiting painful memories, I have to admit that this exercise opened me up. And from that place of honest vulnerability I became ready to receive all that the weekend had to offer.
If you decide to honor your writing-self by attending the next retreat, come with a specific project in mind and come prepared to work hard. As well, come prepared to laugh. A lot. The next retreat will probably be in April. Plan now to be there. Opportunities like this don’t come often. Would I go again? In a heartbeat. I’m already feeding my piggy bank.
(Read more from Ruth Knox at https://ruthknox.wordpress.com/ and follow her on Facebook.)
Escape to the Idaho mountains next year for your choice of retreats for women. Four different themes focus on inner strength, writing and wellness, intensive writing programs, and hypnotic recall writing. Enjoy all activities, workshops, meals, and accommodations in two deluxe cabins next to a scenic river only an hour’s drive north of Boise.
4. The Hypnotic Recall Writing Workshop will be May 20-23 and additional details are to be announced. Award-winning author, syndicated columnist, workshop presenter, and TV show host Suzette Martinez Stranding brings her nationally recognized expertise to lead a limited group of women into a hypnotic recall session to enhance and inspire their writing.
These workshops sell out early, so consider which one is right for you. Or, consider joining us for more than one! Additional retreats will be announced for the autumn months. We promise positive results and renewed energy.
Here’s how to get through the holidays with humor. (Click humor for the TV video. Really.)
This week I was interviewed on “Idaho Living” by the charming Johnna Johnson. We discussed several ways to avoid stress during the holidays. The bullet points are:
1. Ignore Martha Stewart and Pinterest. You don’t need such pressure in your life.
2. Drink egg nog. It’s made of sugar, cream, and raw eggs. What could go wrong?
3. The Elf on the Shelf is wicked. Why traumatize your children and compete with the perfect women who make a major production of posing the silly doll?
4. Try this prescription written thousands of years ago: A merry heart does like a good medicine.
Conclusion: Be happy, laugh a lot, and read and give my humorous books!
Thanksgiving is next week and I’m not flummoxed about what to fix. I’m a true admirer of tradition, so I’ll stuff a fresh turkey with dressing that contains only bread cubes, celery, butter, water chestnuts and fresh herbs and spices. I’ll baste it with more butter as it roasts in the oven, and then I’ll be profoundly thankful to share and eat it.
I’m not a huge fan of creative changes to standards recipes. Feel free to enjoy baked tofu and cauliflower, but I’ll choose the real mashed potatoes, thank you. Bon Appétit‘s website, always offers alterations to traditional holiday dishes. A current article includes recipes for cranberry wasabi (nope) and a red wine gravy reduction over a popular green bean recipe (double nope). My only wine reduction will come from my glass into my mouth.
I admire people who can concoct tantalizing new dishes and incorporate different ingredients to create new, delicious recipes. I’ll even try some vegetarian, gluten-free, dairy-free, sugar-free, low-carb, non-alcoholic and low-fat meals, but please don’t criticize me when I finish my customary Thanksgiving feast with a platter of warm pecan pie with soft ice cream and a glass of wine. I just want to remain true to my heritage.
For Christmas Eve, I always prepare prime rib, rubbed with curry, fresh garlic, ginger and course black pepper. I serve it with poppy seed potatoes, as I have for the past 20 years. There won’t be any deviations from these two recipes, but others are welcome to bring something new and fancy. We’ll enjoy every bite.
I get a bit emotional around the holidays when my family comes together for meals, and this year we’ll have an empty chair at the table. But there will be commotion at the kid’s table, and the adults will vie for the last turkey leg. It’s traditional.
(Featured on The Huffington Post Comedy page, 11/11/2015)
After a hectic day of raising kids, working full-time, and trying to slap together three edible ingredients to make a family meal, I decided to ride away on a motorcycle. I depleted my saving account and bought a Harley-Davidson Custom Sportster, complete with extra chrome accessories, custom red paint, and fringed, leather saddle bags. I traded my heels for leather boots and felt the need for speed.
I completed a motorcycle safety course, the only middle-aged woman in a class full of slouching punks, goofy teenage boys, and old hippies. No one flirted with me or even muttered, “Hey, Babe. Let’s take a walk on the wild side.” I must have resembled their grandmother.
My first experiences riding my new motorcycle were exhilarating. I covered my head with a brain bucket, put the hammer down, and carved some serious curves while straddled upon 1200 ccs of unleashed power. I channeled my inner Steppenwolf to head out on the highway, looking for adventure, in whatever came my way. This liberated momma was bad to the bone.
“Ha!” I exclaimed after a month of riding into the wind. “I am an American legend!”
No one cared.
I made the obligatory trip to the Sturgis Motorcycle Rally in South Dakota. I felt sorry to see so many young women who were too poor to buy clothes. They ambled around wearing itty bitty leather thongs and fishnet tank tops. The poor things could barely walk upright due to the massive bouncing bosoms exploding from their tight leather vests. There was no way those bares butts ever sat more than five minutes on the back of a Harley.
“Do you want a sandwich?” I asked a group of thin young waifs loitering in front of a saloon. “How about we go get some milkshakes? I’ll buy.”
They stared at me with glazed eyes and walked away. I ate alone, grateful that I could purchase food.
My wild and crazy motorcycle days ended when I almost t-boned a mini-van full of children. I was cruising down a country road feeling free and festive when a frazzled lady on a side road pulled out in front of me. All I could see were those sweet cherubs staring from the window, waiting for me to crash into their little bodies and leave my severed head beside the road. I stomped on my foot brake, grabbed the hand brake, and swerved to the right. The bike stopped, but I didn’t. I careened into the dirt, suddenly appreciating my heavy leather clothing. The lady never noticed and drove on down the road. I hollered some uncharitable language and regrettably took the name of the Lord in vain while gesturing wildly like a possessed demon. These actions were not attractive.
The bike weighed more than 500 pounds, and I couldn’t lift it. A group of motorcycle riders came along and stopped to help. They settled the bike upright, checked for damage, and offered to take me home. I gallantly refused any assistance and sent them on their way. I was pleased to see that the women in the group wore clothes.
I returned home and parked the bike. A few months later, I sold it to a man who always wanted a Harley. I wished him well and watched as he revved the engine.
“Watch out for mini-vans,” I yelled. “They’re out to kill you!”
He waved back and I listened until the guttural noise from the V-twin engine faded in the distance. Returning to the house, I contently counted my cash and my blessings.
