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Donut Lady Mystery Series — Sweet Deal Sealed, Sweet Deal Concealed and Sweet Deal Revealed by Judith A. Barrett — Jennie Reads

This review if for the first 3 books in this series – because just like donuts I could not read/eat just one! I heard this author speak on a panel at the Indie Book Fest in Orlando and got an immediate fan girl crush! She was a hoot – and when I enjoy someone that […]

via Dount Lady Mystery Series — Sweet Deal Sealed, Sweet Deal Concealed and Sweet Deal Revealed by Judith A. Barrett — Jennie Reads

QuickJAB

April is National Poetry Month

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I’m sure I missed it last year, but poetry’s publicist was busier this year. I see April is National Poetry Month in the US and Canada and is being announced everywhere I read. Except on my cereal box. You still read cereal boxes too, don’t you?

Because Cheerios® has been my go-to cereal since forever, this poem is dedicated to Honey Nut Cheerios®.

When The Chicken Don’t Lay

When the chickens don’t lay

And we have no eggs,

When the north wind blows

And the storm rushes in,

When the chickens have declared

No eggs this week.

When the sun rises

And our plates are bare,

Where is our relief from hunger and defeat?

Cheerios.

 

~ An Original Poem by Judith A. Barrett

Thanks and a lift of the bowl to Grammarly. My favorite of all time editing software.

QuickJAB

Spying on Sweet Procrastination

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What do you get when an author who is also a farmer with fifty chickens avoids writing the next chapter of Book One of the SWEET DEAL COZY MYSTERIES because it might be scary?

A sweet chicken procrastinator.

 

girl-spy

What do you get when an author avoids the final editing of the novel, I ALWAYS WANTED TO BE A SPY, because editing stinks?

A sweet, stinky, spying chicken procrastinator.

 

writing tools

What do you get when it’s blog day on the schedule and an author avoids writing a blog?

A sweet, stinky, spying chicken procrastinator blog.

 

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Confessions of a Story-Teller

I was born a story-teller. The story words bubbled up inside me and strained to escape. They detoured my brain and flew straight to my mouth or my typing fingers. For years while my words and I struggled to survive in the corporate world, we were feared and labeled frivolous and irrelevant. Wordy, even. My brain suggested I was not a story-teller, and I turned to conforming by slaughtering words. Dark times. I popped the action, sights, sounds, tastes, feels, and detail bubbles. Even when words bolted through the typing exit, very few survived.

My story words and I abandoned the corporate world for the world of fiction. My empowered stories shoot from my typing fingers, leaving room inside for new words to incubate and grow in my brain. First Draft. Second Draft. The only slaughter is Killing the Darlings, but that’s another story.