Trying To Focus Beyond The Tears...

Hi,

When the photo of the father and his toddler daughter, drowned, on the edge of a better, safer life, assaulted my senses, it hit hard.

When yet another credible woman came forward with her truth about being raped by the asshat that occupies the Whitehouse came forward. When her friends came forward explaining how she had told them about the whole thing at the time of its occurrence, it hit hard.

When they show how these innocent babies are being treated. For Profit. When they try to defend it. Justify it. It. Hits. Hard.


I know I'm not alone.


A waterboarding of horror. No matter how you turn your head, there it is. No matter how you try, you just can't catch your breath.

I know I'm not alone.


There you are, struggling, trying to focus beyond the tears.


So, this is me, trying to do just that.


Today, focusing beyond, soaking in the grins of our Kindergarten-graduating grandbaby, who stands with her little friends, singing songs, not a care in the world, as it should be.  They walk across a stage in their tiny caps, and miniature gowns to shake the hand of their sweet-faced, smiling teacher while their vice-principal regales us with their career aspirations, their favourite parts of the past year, and what they look forward to most in Grade One.

You'll be happy to hear that, down the road, there will be no shortage of Veterinarians, Farmers, Doctors, and Teachers because of the class of 2031.

Today, focusing beyond, prepping to spend Canada Day selling and signing books that I had the freedom to write in whatever manner, and with whatever content I saw fit, without fear of repercussion. This a day we get to celebrate the Country we are lucky enough to live in.

Today, focusing beyond, taking a minute to remind myself that although these stories of horror need close attention, they don't need all of it.



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On this long weekend, take care. So many will be heading to lakes, parks, family and community celebrations, the roads will be full of loved ones.

Take your time, be patient, don't take stupid chances. Be mindful of the blind spots of the rigs, both commercial and recreational.

Leave your phone alone.

Save your family from the grief of that unimaginable phone call.


Load up on great road tunes, play a few rounds of eye spy, lean back and enjoy the ride!



Happy Canada Day!


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Dear Asshat,

May you, someday, gain some insight, no longer blind to the consequences of your deeds.
May you, one day, have every bad act come home to roost, leaving you to clutch your prayer beads.

May Karma pay you a well-deserved visit and be ever so generous with her time.
May you be brought to justice for every unpaid labourer, every assault, every shady deal, every crime.

May the blinders of your followers be lifted, may they finally see the emperor has no clothes.
May they finally see you for what you truly are, without the cushion of lies, without the shield of trolls.



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www.margyreidbooks.com

I Live In A Part Of The World...

Hi,



I live in a part of the world where clouds war with rainbows, bold sunsets make the horizon blush, and the sky tries, every so often, to touch the ground.

I live in a part of the world where wide open spaces are the norm, where green isn't a big enough word for the rain-washed expanses, where perspective is thrust upon you.

I live in a part of the world where the deer and the antelope not only play, but host dance parties for the moose, gophers, and rabbits.

I live in a part of the world where coffee row is a real thing, directions are given using landmarks, and farm equipment is as common on the highway as a minivan.

I live in a part of the world where you have to drive a while to get anywhere you need to go, but never have to wait in line when you get there.

I live in a part of the world where freedoms are so plentiful they get taken for granted, where the unknown can still trigger fear, and some struggle with the understanding that we don't live an either/or existence, that there is more than enough of everything to go around.

I live in a part of the world where crystal clean lakes are plentiful, where people stay in tents for fun, where a boat's sole purpose is recreation, and summer, though short, is enjoyed to the fullest. 

I live in a part of the world. A small part. A privileged part. A lucky part. This isn't lost on me. Ever.


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A couple things...



What the hell?!?!?!

America, I can't wait until you are you again.

These poor babies, kept, neglected, sometimes to the point of death, not given soap, toothbrushes, the very basics needed to have any comfort.

You pull them from their parents' arms and treat them like this?!

I know everybody was freaking out because Alexandria Ocasio-Cortez referred to these containment facilities as concentration camps.  I looked 'concentration camps' up in the dictionary. I would encourage you to do so as well before jumping all over her. She's not wrong.

If you get angered by puppy mills, overcrowding in livestock facilities, or people abandoning kittens in a ditch, this treatment of human beings should infuriate you. At least it better. If you find the former abhorrent and the latter is anything less, maybe it's time to take a long look in the mirror and ask yourself some hard questions as to why that is.


America, I can't wait until you are you again.


Do yourself a favour, and check out a copy of New York magazine, the June 24th -July 7th edition.

 Read about what happened to E. Jean Carroll when she came across Trump at a Bergdorf Goodman, in her own words. Every sexual assault survivor out there will recognize the truth.


America, I can't wait until you are you again.




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With Summer solstice upon us,



May the long lazy days be just that, if not all, at least a few.
May the flicker of a bonfire fill your evenings, the stars of the night sky, your view.

May time be spent with family and friends, soaking in sunshine and fresh air.
May laughter echo loud and clear, may there never be an empty chair.

May you find yourself swaying to familiar tunes, singing along to the band in the park.
May you embrace the magic that lives somewhere between the sunset, and the surrender of the dark.



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www.margyreidbooks.com

Happy Daddy's Day!

Hi!


Happy Daddy's Day to all of the Dads out there. The Biological kind, the step kind, the adoptive kind, the kind who step in to be that beacon of Dadhood to kids who don't have that in their lives.


This guy, the one in the above pics, is one of the good ones. Our girls have never had to wonder if their Dad was in their corner. They've never had to entertain the thought of rejection from him. They have, since they've taken their first breaths, had the secure knowledge that their Dad would do anything for them.

Does that mean they got a pass with everything? Ummmm, nope.

There were countless discussions about important, and not so important things. They were taught how to change a flat tire, change oil, hang drywall, paint, and defend themselves. They were taught to be kind. They were taught to care, care for themselves, each other, and the community around them. He taught them what hard work looks like. He showed them that they are capable... of anything, and everything.


In a world where women continue to struggle for equality on a very basic level, their Dad helped them to understand their worth. They grew up assuming equality, instilled with the fight to never accept anything less.


Thank you, my Honey, for being such a good Dad to our girls, and such a fun and awesome Grandpa to our Grandbabies!


On a broader note, to those who are struggling or are new to Dadhood.


Just remember this...

There is no such thing as a perfect Dad.

Be the guy you want your child to emulate, the kind of guy you would like to see them walk through life with.

"The talk" beyond the biological, is a myth, it's a series of discussions about self-worth, boundaries, respect, and consent.

Everything you say will be outweighed by everything you do a thousand times over.

Don't ever expect kids to not be kids. In restaurants, on planes, in stores, at weddings... they can't not be kids.

No matter what you've been taught, fear is not respect.

If your little boy wants to play with dolls, wear dresses, watch Barbie movies, for crying out loud, just let them. They need to be who they are, and you need to relax. To make a child feel like they are in some way, somehow, "wrong," makes them feel they have to squelch a part of who they are to be accepted by you. Dangerous road.

If your little girl likes to play with bugs over Barbies, hates dresses, would rather play football than be the cheerleader, again, relax. They need to be who they are.

Instead, be sure they are learning how to walk through their world with kindness, decency, respect, and empathy.  You know, the stuff that actually matters.




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To my Dad, no longer physically here, but here, just the same...


I wish you were here, really here.

I miss your grin, I miss your laugh, I miss your goofiness.

I catch glimpses of you in crowds, in the gate of a stranger's walk, in an Eddie Arnold song, on the faces of my siblings, your grand and great grandkids. I look into the eyes of a specific few and see yours looking back. It makes me catch my breath, but in the best possible way.

Just know parts of you still touch the ground, walking it, enjoying the smell of a good rain, taking care of the animals, forever in search of those elusive, perfect, wild strawberries...


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Until next time...


May you find yourself able to spend time with whoever is the Dad person in your world.
May that time be filled building memories, jokes told, games played, stories, unfurled.

May you celebrate Daddom, whatever that means for you.



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www.margyreidbooks.com

Everything Is Possible...

It was two years ago that we officially launched "Once Broken."

If you will indulge me...

This story of intrigue, mystery, and violence, at its core, is about family.

I've had readers tell me they found it hard to read because it cuts too close to home.

I've had readers scold me because they couldn't put it down, having to go to work with no sleep because of it.

I've had countless people ask if it is a true story.

I've had people a little shocked at the fact that the same mind responsible for "Flitflee Flanderfoodle" and "Alfred Dinglewiggle" also created "Once Broken."

Most of all, I've had an overwhelming number of readers request that "Once Broken" be the first in a series.


It can be very easy to lose sight of all of this positivity when you are an expert at beating yourself up.


Being an independent writer is tough. It's awesome, but it's tough.


Beyond creating and writing, I need to be my own booking agent, social media manager, publicist, contract negotiator, promoter, graphic designer, editor, and publisher.

I've had to learn things I had no idea I would need to know when the first steps of this journey were taken.

There are a lot of avenues still closed to independent writers. It's getting better, but there is still a bit of a stigma attached to being independent. That somehow the quality of the book is diminished because it hasn't been produced by a big publishing house.

The arts have proven time and time again that the stamp of approval from big companies has nothing to do with the quality of work.

Many independent movies have awesome success in theatres. Independently produced music downloads like crazy. Without independent authors, there would be no Peter Rabbit, Joy of Cooking or Fifty Shades of anything.

Would this journey be easier with a corporate machine steering, paying for the gas, taking care of repairs? Maybe.

Would I be okay not owning the rights to my own stories? Would I be okay with not having a hand in illustration or design? Would I be okay handing my stories over to have them twisted and contorted to fit within the parameters of some algorithm, forcing them to fit within the confines of some monumental marketing matrix? Nope.

So, as an independent writer, how do I measure success? What does that measuring stick even look like?

This is where I come back to the whole beating myself up thing.

Why haven't I been able to make bigger things happen? What am I not doing right? What am I not doing that I should be doing? What don't I know that I should have figured out by now?????????

Once I've taken the gloves off and really let myself have it, my hubby tends to remind me of the positives. He's even gone so far as to find a measuring stick of sorts.

After checking out several sources, this is what he found out.

On average, a traditionally published book will sell approximately 3000 copies during its lifetime. It will sell between 250 and 300 in its first year.

On average a self-published book will sell approximately 250 copies. Period.


"Once Broken" passed that indie lifetime average within 6 months of release.

Every single one of my books has long passed that benchmark.


So, for now, I'm going to do my very best, trading the gloves for the kitten variety, allowing myself to enjoy the positives.

I am forever grateful. For all of it. Books I pour my heart and soul into are being read and shared. They are helping put kids to bed and keeping adults up at night. They are becoming dog-eared and read repeatedly at the request of munchkins in many parts of the world.

So onward and upward.

I have my next two Children's titles at the "notes for illustrator" stage and working diligently on the second installment in the "Once Broken" trilogy.

"Once Battered" follows Charlie through what happens after a life-altering trauma hits your family. Oh, and other stuff...lots...of...other...stuff. 


So, will "Once Broken" ever be picked up by Oprah's book club? Will it ever become a blockbuster movie? Who knows?

Everything is possible. Everything.


I am so thankful that "Once Broken," Charlie, and her family have been so warmly embraced.  I'm so glad that it's reading as real as I could only hope it would during the long days and nights of pouring over words.

For those who have already taken a walk with Charlie, thank you. For those who haven't, I hope you will.





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May we, when we are in the throes of self-doubt, put on the softest of kitten gloves.
May we all take a beat, look back, our footprints are filled with things we've done.

May we know striving for more doesn't mean we need to diminish or ignore past victories.
May we dream, then forge and build, using every single stepping stone created by our histories.

May we truly be open to whatever adventure, whatever opportunity the universe might bring.
May we, when we are in the throes of self-doubt, remember, everything is possible. Every. Single. Thing.


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Once Broken is available digitally on Amazon and through Kobo.

Hardcopies are available in many places, but signed copies can be ordered exclusively through www.margyreidbooks.com


Thank you!!!



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