Been There, Done That

I don’t often participate in blog tags, but since this particular post by one of my favorite bloggers was about travel, I decided to join up. So here are the questions, and my answers, all about what a jaded world traveler I may or may not be:

Which countries have you visited so far?

Assuming this does not include airports (therefore I cannot put Germany on this list), then I have visited England, Norway, Iceland, and Costa Rica. And West Virginia, which some in my part of the USA might consider to be a foreign country, but that’s a different topic.

A lovely little stream in the woods in southern Norway. It looks a lot like West Virginia, actually.

A lovely little stream in the woods in southern Norway. It looks a lot like West Virginia, actually.

Which destination is at the top of your bucket list? In other words: where do you REALLY want to go some day?

I have a long travel wish list! But some of top ones are Finland, Ireland, Faroe Islands, and Canada.

What is your most ideal vacation (beach, shopping trip, cultural holidays, etc)? Continue reading


Four Things

This week I’m stealing my blog topic from my friend Jessica over at Chronically Vintage. She’s a lovely person and blogs about vintage fashion, which is something I knew little about until I started writing historical fiction.

Anyway, the idea of this post is to not talk about writerly stuff per se, but rather to reveal some slightly more personal things about me. So here we go – four things about me: Continue reading


For this week’s post, I’m going to share a poem. A bit unusual, especially if you know me – I’m not a poet, and I don’t pretend to be. I wrote a poem for a writing contest for the Iceland Writers Retreat. I didn’t win the contest, but I wanted to share the poem anyway. It’s all about two of my favorite things, stories and Iceland.

Eternal Continue reading

Live Forever

Last month I submitted a short vignette to a writing contest. This contest was put on by the Iceland Writers Retreat, and the grand prize was a free ticket to the conference in April. I did not win (*sob*) but I’m glad I participated, and I send all congratulations to the winner. (You can read the entries by the winner and the two runners up here – which I encourage you to do, after reading my post here, of course).

The rules were simple – write 500 words inspired by an image of the Harpa Concert Hall in Reykjavik. I won’t put their image in my blog post, of course, but I will give you a similar image that I took when I was in Reykjavik a couple of years ago (too long ago! I need to go back!)

Anyway, here’s my little piece, and a lovely picture of Harpa to go with it. Enjoy!


Live Forever

“If anyone is suicidal, they should come here,” he says to me.

“What?” I turn from the view of the bay and stare at him. “You are so insensitive.” It’s been a few years since my cousin died, but still…

“I am not. I mean, my God – just look.” He waves his hand at the vista before us.

A fierce wind is blowing, turning the water into a basalt gray; mere moments ago it had been a rosy yellow like the sky. I know it’s a fierce wind because I see the boats jumping on the water, but we’re safe inside this concert hall of glass. No, it’s more like crystal. Great blocks of manmade crystal, all glass-smooth, put together like a giant puzzle. Stairs, walls, ceilings – you can see through everything. It’s half mathematical wonder, half art masterpiece.

“We may be a hundred feet up, but it’s not like anyone could get through this,” I say finally, laying a hand against one of the clear cubes of the wall. “And I didn’t see any balconies on this place.”

He looks at me. “Now who’s being insensitive?”

“You brought it up.” The sky is turning white with clouds. I’m glad I wore my thicker boots today – by the time we leave, it might be snowing.


“So, you just…oh, never mind. You’re a jerk sometimes, that’s all.”

I expect him to get huffy – or maybe just laugh off my insult, which is more annoying than when he gets huffy. But instead, he does neither.

My hand is still pressed against the cold glass wall, and he suddenly covers my hand with his. “I’m not being a jerk,” he says quietly. “Don’t you see it?”

I look at him. “See what?” I ask.

“This. Everything.” He grips my hand. “Stop being so pragmatic for just a minute. Stop thinking about how we’re probably going to get caught in a snowstorm, or how much our coffees cost earlier, or how a jumper could actually get outside this building so they could fall to their death in the water.”

He’s never talked like tHarpahis before. His face is strangely bright in the gray light coming through the glass. I want to ask him what he’s talking about, but suddenly I don’t know what to say.

“If anyone is suicidal, they should come here,” he says into my silence. “The water, the sky, the mountains, the light… There’s too much beauty, and you feel like you’re on top of the world. There’s no way you could end it all here, no way you’d want to anymore.”

The snow starts, tiny crystal flakes dancing just past our fingertips. The overcast grayness has suddenly brightened into joyful white light. Now I understand him.

“If anyone came here wanting to die,” I whisper, “they’d realize that they could live forever. And that it would be beautiful.”

A Traveler’s Moment of Reflection

Sometimes it’s the little things that grab your attention.

There are the famous museums and the great monuments. Every city, town, and country road has its own uniqueness, its glamor both great and small. Sometimes those small bits of glamor capture your senses, and come to define a place in your mind long after you have left. When I went to Iceland I found such a moment – not in the vast verdant wilderness of the country, but behind a gas station in the middle of the city.

I passed by this gas station every evening on my way back to where I was staying. Behind the gas station and convenience store was a little garden. Beyond that, a walking trail led around a lake (or perhaps an inlet of the bay.) I never explored the extent of the trail, or even the depths of the garden, because I only ever came to this place in darkness or at sunset.

The statue of the boy in the garden was a dark silhouette against the sunset. I couldn’t read the Icelandic plaque, even if there had been enough light. I wondered how many lives passed through this garden every day – jogging on the trail along the water’s edge, or enjoying a snack from the gas station. I wondered whose life had inspired the statue.

Here, at this serene spot of glamor in the middle of a city, I found a sight that captured my mind. I had many wonderful experiences in Iceland, and I look forward to going there again for more. But this little stone boy at sunset will always be Iceland to me.

~Oct5 171

My Favorite Blogs

They say writers are readers. I agree. I also think that a blogger should be a reader of other blogs. I usually blog about writing, travel, and music, and I read many blogs about similar things. So this post is a highlight (and promo) for four of my favorite blogs.

I’d Rather be in Iceland 

This blogger writes about everything from camping beside waterfalls to Icelandic chocolate. I’m a fan of anything Nordic, and I was reading Eva’s blog long before I took my first trip to Iceland. In fact, reading this blog and communicating with the blogger herself helped me a lot with my own traveling. I’ve also had the honor of writing a couple of posts on her blog.

The Magic Violinist

This is another blog where I’ve had the honor of guest-posting. Kate’s blog is a fun bookish blog with reviews of new YA fiction, writing tips, blog hops, and book memes. She’s young and super talented, and is starting early with her social media networking and platform-building. And her posts are good, too!

Helping Writers Become Authors

This is another writing blog. K.M. Weiland offers a lot of in-depth posts about plot, characters, themes, and everything in between. Her posts always make me think about my own writing in a way I hadn’t before – whether it’s my novel writing, or my blog writing.

Journey out of the Abyss

This blog is a little different from most of my regular reads. The blogger, Ashley, is a friend of mine, but the content of this blog stands on its own. She writes about her journey of overcoming a life of abuse, addiction, and self-harm. Many of the posts aren’t always pleasant – they’re real and raw, but full of truth and hope. I can’t help but feel compassion for Ashley and anyone else who has suffered similar circumstances. Compassion, I believe, is something that can help add depth to anyone’s writing because it adds depth to you as a person.

What are some of your favorite blogs and why?