9/12/01. The stench of burning jet fuel, plastic, paper, and human beings wafted over the NYC. Every rear car window and front door sported an American flag poster, as did fences around schools, churches, security grates on storefronts.

Everyone waited patiently in security checkpoint lines at the bridges and tunnels. No bosses said a word if you were late for work. No horns, no reckless driving-there wasn’t anyplace that seemed important enough to hurry to anymore.

The sounds of commercial jets had been replaced by F-16’s flying over the City at regular intervals. The wail of sirens sent people into fits of tears, and there was always someone, often a stranger, there to comfort them, help them.

Candles started appearing at dusk. In windows, on front porches. In my Queens neighborhood, people were spontaneously drawn, carrying anything they could find with a light source, to an impromptu march down the…

As you read this, I will be sitting on a beach in Cape Cod, Massachusetts. My annual escape to the place where my creative energies are at their height likely harkens back to my happiest childhood memories, which, with few exceptions, are a mélange of saltwater, beaches, boats and family celebrations. Not only did I vacation with my family on the Cape, our waterfront home was an idlic oasis at a time when no one thought twice about a seven year old taking long solitary walks on the beach early in the morning.

The premise of many of my novels, and much of my nonfiction are based on those experiences filtered through the mind of this adult, struggling to recapture and/or protect the mystical allure as well as the memories of people and places that are long gone or seriously endangered.

The writer’s block I’ve been chronicling here on the…

Welcome to A Writer’s Garden where writers who are gardeners or just love gardens will be sharing their garden and flower stories, as well as a bit about their writing. Today’s writer/gardener guest is Carole Ann Moleti, with a most unusual garden view.

Welcome, Carole!

Normally, when I think of a garden, I think of our frog pond, flowers and vegetables. But For the last year and a half, I’ve become accustomed to the view from my second story bedroom window. It’s the only room large and private enough for me to take my Zoom Yoga and Ballet classes.

Whether it’s setting up a makeshift barre or spreading out my mat, the hour and fifteen minutes doing something physical, as well as seeing familiar faces, has been a comforting ritual. This was particularly important because as a nurse practitioner, my workdays have been long, unpredictable, stressful, and emotional for the…

I was delighted when Debbie Gilbert sent me a contract renewal last spring for The Widow’s Walk: Book Two in the Unfinished Business Series. That will keep it smack in the middle of the prequel, Breakwater Beach and the Sequel, Storm Watch.

It was July 4th weekend circa 2006 when I was opening up a summer cottage, vacuuming up flies and pulling dust covers off furniture that I had an inspiration to write a short story about a woman who finds a trunk full of old clothes in the attic and is left wondering who the owner was, and how they came to be there.

I missed most of the celebrations that weekend, but the 13,000 word short story Breakwater Beach had been born. My beta readers liked it, but wanted to know what came before. So, after much angst, I finished the very complex dual story…

Friday Features’

Guest talks about

The inspiration behind her book series

by

Carole Ann Moleti

My family has vacationed on Cape Cod since I was very young, and I have always been intrigued by the history of the Brewster sea captains and their wives

I had the sudden inspiration to write a story about a woman who finds a trunk of old clothes and learns sad truths about the person who they once belonged to. The Unfinished Business series begins with a ghost story (Breakwater Beach: Book One) and continues with how past life experiences influence our fears, fantasies, and choices (The Widow’s Walk: Book Two).

The inspiration for Storm Watch: Book Three came when I was siting on the real Breakwater Beach in Brewster, Massachusetts on the Cape and there was a fisherman in his beached boat, waiting for the tide to come in. Just…

It seemed to take such a long time for warmer weather to arrive in the Northeastern United States. Though 2021 has been much less tumultuous than 2020, emerging from the cocoon that I’d buried myself in has not been easy. I’m sure that most of you agree that coming to the point of a “new normal” has not been a straightforward path.

My adrenaline has been pumping so hard and so long, that sitting still has become impossible. I figit, can’t get comfortable, and have difficulty focusing on anything, especially the details that are so important to writing. And my moods swing from hyperactive to phlegmatic, and it’s hard to get out of bed, then hard to get out of the house.

Last Sunday the temperatures rose into the high 70’s and there was no wind. I stared at my back patio which was a mess, with flats of plants…

The other night I found a duplicate device charge on the family mobile bill. I contacted customer service, and they told me that the charge was for a phone that had been shipped March 20, 2020 and not activated or returned.

Somewhere deep in my memory, I recalled my husband had ordered a new phone which had been lost and second device was shipped. He’d provided the doorbell camera footage of the time period the shipping company stated they had delivered the phone (which showed it had not) and that the charges would be reversed. They weren’t, and we were owed over $300.00.

On or about March 20, 2020 all Hell was literally breaking loose. I can recall cold, wind, rain, darkness, screaming sirens, whispered fears, empty streets littered with discarded masks and gloves, isolation in break rooms and offices in between suiting up in layers of gowns and makeshift…

The euphoria of finishing a novel, which for me is generally a yearlong process, fades quickly when the editing starts. I thought I’d overcome the perils of being a panster (rather than a plotter) by working with a developmental editor.

I appreciate the help of my critique partners, which have resulted in a need for major reworkings of my new Contemporary Western/Women’s Fiction. But even an Urban Fantasy completed and heavily edited multiple times since 2017 needs more before being submitted, which lead me to believe there will always be room for changes.

Market trends certainly play a part, since what readers want, and as a result what editors are looking for are moving targets. But the bottom line always seems to be cutting scenes that are not helping to build tension and conflict, and those that don’t advance the storyline.

For the urban fantasy, what is probably the fifth…

As promised, this is the second of two posts. The last was a recap of the events of 2020 through my eyes as as nurse practitioner/midwife and and author of both fiction and non fiction.

Two weeks after my last post, the turmoil has not died down. Let’s leave the politics at that. But like all of you, I am committed to moving forward focusing on what I can influence and on what I can control (some days).

My grown kids are back at college or in their homes in Providence, Rhode Island, Brooklyn, New York City and Woodside, California. Being together during the end of this very um, remarkable year was a moment to savor many family moments while isolating together shoveling snow, and pursuing our own interests.. Every week or so we lined up for COVID tests so we could visit relatives in small groups, chat with friends…