All posts by Teri

A Novel on a Blog

Marketing & Publishing, , , , , , ,

I had all but given up on my unfinished novel titled My Stolen Diaries, which I began writing in 1992.

In early 2015, my book had 168 pages and 117,653 words, and I wasn’t even close to finishing it, so I decided to put my novel on hold and instead concentrated on creating a blog.

In March 2015, I launched my blog, The Teri Tome.

In April 2015, I only had 328 visits to the blog, but by March of 2019, The Teri Tome had over 27,000 monthly visits.

With that kind of monthly traffic, it seemed like a no-brainer to revisit My Stolen Diaries and analyze whether or not it made sense to add chapters from my book onto my blog.

In July 2019, I wrote an article about the pros and cons, and shockingly, the post has to date been viewed over 10,000 times. [You can read To Blog or Not to Blog My Novel here.]

Writing the blog post was incredibly useful in that it helped me figure out a format for excerpting from my decades-old unfinished book. And the many thousands of page views I received from my post solidified my decision to add chapters of my novel to my blog.

After much thought, I decided my novel-on-a-blog should be called a Novelog. In January 2020, I posted a Disclaimer and the first six chapters of my novel.

I was reasonably sure the chapters would bomb, so the thousands of hits the posts garnered made my heart happy.

My blog traffic immediately increased by almost 50%, primarily due to the My Stolen Diaries chapters.

Of my 32 total posts in 2020, seven of them were chapters pulled from the novel.

And shocking to me was that when I calculated the traffic numbers for my top five blog posts in 2020, four of them were from my ancient rough draft novel!

It turned out my most popular blog posts were less of a post-mortem on what Teri was writing in 2020 and more about what Teri was writing in the 90s.

The Teri Tome generated over 300,000 page views in 2020, a whopping 47% increase from 2019, primarily due to the page views for my novel My Stolen Diaries.

The thousands of people who have been reading chapter after chapter has given me new resolve to pull out my book and take a fresh look at it.

Maybe, just maybe, my languishing novel has legs.

And 2021 might even be the year I finish it. In the meantime, keep a lookout for more chapters coming to The Teri Tome soon!

Blue Mind

Phobias, , , , , , ,

Although it is said that water boosts “feel good” hormones, three unfortunate incidents forever changed my view of expansive bodies of water. And yet I am convinced that they benefit me psychologically and  physiologically.

In 1959, my life jacket got caught on a rope dangling from a swim raft on a lake in Caribou, Maine. Were it not for the actions of an observant young man watching from the shore; I might not be here to blog you this tale.

In 1967, while hanging out with friends on Nash’s Pond in Westport, Connecticut, we witnessed a ginormous snapping turtle crawling out of the dark murk. Proof that you never know what’s lurking in the water underneath your unsuspecting dangling feet.

The combination of its scary, dinosaur-like appearance and aggressive behavior towards us resulted in its untimely death at the hands of the youngest guy in our group. I’ve spent years horrified by the senseless murder of the turtle by impalement.

It was only yesterday that I read online that female snapping turtles travel on land to lay their eggs and (for good reason) are at their most aggressive. So in all probability, this jerk of a kid slaughtered a soon-to-be mommy.

And just to let you know, it was no surprise to me that this jerk of a kid turned out to be a plain old jerk as an adult.

In 1981 I was on a 27-foot sailboat that nearly capsized in a storm that came out of freaking nowhere. Weirdly enough, it not only changed my opinion about boating, it upended (or should I say ended) my relationship with the sailboat’s captain.

A lake, a pond, an ocean: three times was not a charm, so it came as no surprise to me that I should have an intense distrust of aquatic expanse.

I never venture into any large body of water, and yet I have this mystifying obsession with it. Mainly because I experience an otherworldly natural-high surge combined with a tranquil inducing meditative rush.

The feeling is so wonderfully intense that it’s on my bucket list to one day live on the ocean’s edge.

But most definitely in a high rise.

I fear all vast bodies of water, and yet they calm me. The spilling, plunging, surging, and pounding of the waves as they crash onto the shore causes my heart to race, and not in a good way, but I still crave it.

And the fear of the abyssal unknown catches me in bizarre and curious ways.

I can’t count the number of times I have covered my eyes while watching roiling and turbulent waves in movies, including in the film Frozen, when Anna and Elsa’s parents perish in a stormy sea. I force my grandkids to fast forward that scene every time!

And yet the sheer beauty, power, and sound of water go a long way to healing my heart. My go-to Alexa request when I can’t sleep is the crashing of waves. Go figure.

For me, spending time near water is as effective and way more immediate than any sedative. Even though it scares the living daylights out of me.

And nothing cures my writers’ block more than sitting waterside. Words, sentences, and entire paragraphs churn over and over in my head, mirroring the waves rolling and frothing close to me.

But not too close.

There is a theory called “blue mind,” which is a peaceful state of being people fall into when they are near, in, on, or under the water, resulting in being happier, healthier, more connected, and better at what they do.

I’ll agree that I feel a profound water-associated peace whenever I’m near an ocean, sea, river, or lake.

And I apologize for repeating myself, BUT, it is a rare day that you will find me in, on, or under any body of water.

Years ago, I self-diagnosed myself as having thalassophobia vs. aquaphobia because I’m not afraid of the water per se. It’s what’s lurking beneath its surface that freaks me out.

I’m obsessively drawn to the feel and sound of it. Just don’t put me in or on it.

And yet, the light reflecting off the water’s surface, the sound of the rising tide, and the spray of the sea on my face leaves me in a most peaceful state of mind.

I suppose it’s my mind full of blue.

And oh, if it were only possible to stay in a Blue-Mind forever.

Yesterday while anxiously waiting in a parking lot for a special someone who was having craniofacial surgery, the song Blue World by The Moody Blues came on the radio.

How I came to equate the song Blue World with the theory “Blue Mind” is beyond me.  Maybe it was the swirling and trilling in the beginning of the song that reminded me of undulating waves.

Or maybe it was the Moody Blues’ words of encouragement, emphasizing the importance of taking control of one’s life that “took control of me,” especially the phrase:

“It’s easier to stay than to turn around and run.”

Whatever it was and is, I was somehow able to connect the two blues.

And as hard as I tried, I haven’t been able to get that darn song out of my blue mind.

Blue World
by The Moody Blues

Heart and soul took control
Took control of me
Paid my dues, spread the news
Hands across the sea

Put me down, turned me round
Turned me ’round to see
Marble halls, open doors
Someone found the key

And it’s only what you do
That keeps coming back on you
And it’s only what you say
That can give yourself away

Underground sight and sound
Human symphony
Heard the voice, had no choice
Needed to be free

Fly me high, touch the sky
Left the earth below
Heard the line, saw the sign
Knew which way to go

’cause it’s easier to try
Than to prove it can’t be done
And it’s easier to stay
Than to turn around and run

It’s a blue world
It takes somebody to help somebody
Oh, it’s a blue world
It’s a new world

Click here for the Moody Blues Blue World Youtube video

SSGT James Champion: You Are Not Forgotten

Observe & Ponder, , , , , , , , ,

In 1968, when I was just fifteen years old, I can still recall with chills that at the end of the news every night, an unending list of names of those lost in Vietnam that day would silently scroll on the television screen.

The scrolling and scrolling and scrolling. It’s still seared in my memory.

On Veteran’s Day, November 11, 1970, a student group based in California called Voices in Vital America (VIVA) launched a POW/MIA bracelet campaign. The intention was to sell the bracelets and use the money to increase public awareness of the thousands of missing U.S. soldiers in Vietnam and never forget them.

Each bracelet was engraved with a soldier’s name and the date of his capture. Between 1970 and 1976, VIVA sold over five million bracelets.

Back in the early 1970s—at least in my circle of friends—we felt it was our civic duty to honor the missing by wearing their bracelets.

In 1971, a friend gave me a bracelet for Christmas in honor of U.S. Air Force Staff Sergeant James A. Champion from Houston, Texas, who went missing on April 24, 1971. I vowed to wear my treasured bracelet until James or his remains came home.

According to reports, on April 23, 1971, Private First Class (PFC) James Albert Champion was a rifleman assigned to a six-man radio relay team on a Long Range Reconnaissance Patrol (LRRP) inserted into the infamous A Shau Valley. After receiving intense enemy ground fire at their primary landing zone (LZ), the team was moved and inserted near the village of A Luoi.

The LZ was two miles northwest of a river and six miles away from the South Vietnamese/Lao border. This border road was no more than a path cut through the jungle-covered mountains and used by the Communists to transport troops, weapons, and supplies, from North Vietnam into South Vietnam. U.S. forces used all assets available to them to stop this flow of men and supplies from moving south into the war zone.

After disembarking from his helicopter at 1500 hours, Champion’s radio relay team leader was severely wounded by enemy fire. The alternate team leader took command of the patrol, but he was hit by enemy fire and killed. A helicopter trying to rescue the wounded and dead soldiers was shot down, and the 4-man aircrew found themselves on the ground with the LRRP team fighting for their lives. Shortly after that, a second helicopter attempted to rescue the embattled Americans but was also shot down by enemy ground fire.

On April 24, the Americans on the ground were still engaged in vicious combat with the North Vietnamese Army forces.

On April 25, at approximately 1500 hours, PFC Champion, armed with an M-16 rifle and in good shape, left the team’s defensive perimeter next to one of the downed helicopters to look for water, but the Ranger never returned.

One of the helicopter pilots reported he heard shots coming from the direction PFC Champion headed but could not provide any additional information about his fate. A helicopter successfully rescued the survivors and the dead later that day.

Ground and aerial searches were conducted for Champion from April 25 through April 30 without success. On April 30, the formal search was terminated, and James Champion was listed Missing in Action. After the incident, the Army promoted PFC Champion to the rank of Staff Sergeant.

On June 16, 1973, I went with some friends to Shea Stadium, where 152 released war prisoners were honored in a pre-game ceremony before the New York Mets played the San Diego Padres. Staff Sergeant James Champion was sadly not one of them.

I wept as the former POWs marched onto the field as the band played “This Land Is Your Land.” The over 25,000 fans gave them a standing ovation, their fists pumping in the air, roaring and screaming non-stop, “U.S.A., U.S.A., U.S.A.,” for well over five minutes.

Many of the fans, the POWs, the Mets, and the Padres were all crying.

In 1976, VIVA closed its doors because Americans wanted to forget about Vietnam.

But I will never forget our soldiers left behind, especially Sergeant James Albert Champion.

As of February 26, 2020, there are still 1,585 Americans missing and unaccounted for in Vietnam—many of them airmen.

Since the Vietnam War ended, our government has received over 21,000 reports about POW/MIA. There is mounting evidence that hundreds of soldiers may still be alive and captive, waiting for their country to save them.

James Champion may be one of them.

Happy Covid Valentine’s Day

Coronavirus, , , , , , , , , , ,

It’s my first Valentine’s Day during a pandemic and 49 weeks since I’ve left my house.

My husband left an adorable card on my desk this morning. He’s an awful artist, but his depiction of us as two stick figures hanging out watching TV on our L-shaped couch was sweet. The front of the card said: HAPPY VALENTINE’S DAY COVID 2021! Next to his stick-figure self, he wrote “Pete (happy).”

My first thought was: We’ve been stuck in this house 24/7 for 49 weeks, and Pete’s happy?

Which made me happy.

My second thought was: Damn, girl; it took you a long time to figure this love thing out.

The writings by Greek philosophers like Aristotle and Plato recognized the complicated manifestations that love presented. The word “Platonic,” for example, came from Plato’s belief that physical attraction was not a necessary component for love. The philosophy of love, expressed by some of the greatest Greek thinkers, has profoundly influenced how we love, and how relationships are defined.

I recently found one of my journals from 1975. On the inside front cover, I had written nine Greek words under the word “LOVE.”

I don’t remember writing the words, but I was impressed that at 22, I was interested in what the ancient Greeks thought about anything.

And they were numbered from 1-9, which I deduce was my way of ranking them based on their relationship to me or to my life at the time. But I can only surmise.

The words didn’t include definitions, so I looked them up today and tried to connect them to what might have been happening in my 1975 life.

1) Philia

Philia means affection that grows from friendship. Since I can’t get into the mindset of my then 22-year-old self, I’m assuming that because I listed Philia as number one, that maybe I was in love with a friend?

2) Eros

Eros needs no defining. The fact that it was number two on my list made me hopeful that whatever Philia I was feeling was way more than just friendly. Was that why I had placed it so high up on my list of love words?

3) Storge

The Greek definition of Storge is familial love, or the affection one has for a child, parent, or sibling. My life was complicated back then, but regardless of circumstances, my family was everything to me. It was a small nucleus, but the love I had for them was supersized. And yet, I have this hunch that Storge had nothing at all to do with my family.

4) Mania

Mania is defined as obsessive love.  I have no clue as to why this word was on my list. All I can hope is that whatever mania was going on, it was euphoric and not dysphoric. Or maybe I threw it in the mix as a reminder that love is not always healthy.

5) Ludus

Ludus has several meanings, like sport, training, and public games. But the definition that jumped out at me was “affection as a game, and nothing serious.” Perhaps this friend was nothing more than that. Was my friend playing games? Or maybe I was the game player.

6) Agape

Agape is unconditional, transcendent, selfless love, love through action, and the highest form of love. I think I know what I meant by this one, and it saddens me.

7) Pragma

Pragma is longstanding, enduring love. I don’t remember much from 46 years ago, but I can guarantee that back then, I did not yet know how to stand in love. So maybe I was confusing it with pragmatic, i.e., practical, sensible, realistic.

8) Xenia

This Greek word means hospitality or guest friendship between guest and host. It also relates to generosity, courtesy, and trust to those who are far from home. I was far from home, and there’s that friendship word again.

9) Philautia

The Greek philosophers divided “love of self” into positive and negative. Self-obsessed love vs. self-compassion.  Back then, I still hadn’t figured out that I would never truly be loved until I loved myself, so I’m not surprised this was at the bottom of the word pile.

Fast forward from 1975 to Covid 2021.

I’m old and in a pandemic, but I’m happy in love.