After my father’s illness and death and my stalling on my novel-in-progress, I decided I needed a personal writing retreat—both for the writing and the retreating from normal life. A reset point. I do my best recharging by the ocean. It fills me and lets me rest. I kept a journal while I was there.

Day 1: Thursday
This is the first time in my life I’ve taken a vacation by myself for myself. I’ve traveled alone before, but my destination always included meeting up with someone. Whether it was for a convention or a writing retreat, I was never actually alone. I feel a little weird about this. but not bad.

Now that I’ve given myself permission to grieve, to cry, I have no tears and I don’t know why not.

Wandering through a hotel in the middle of the week as the hotel transitions into the off-season reminds me of the Alhambra hotel from THE TALISMAN, the novel by King and Straub. There’s no one around, long empty corridors, and services are limited.

Day 2: Friday
I’ve learned that I need more than a view of the ocean. My dream oceanside home will be close to the shore or on the shore and up high (on a bluff/above the 6th floor of a condo building). I like the hotel I’m in but it’s not close enough to the shoreline for me.

I made the tactical error of not bringing a sweater. Always bring a sweater with you to the ocean. There is always a breeze and it’s usually cold.

Faced my fear and went out to have a meal at one of my favorite restaurants by myself. I was going to get it to go then decided it was silly to not eat there, enjoying the place. Facing one’s fear is hard.

Day 3: Saturday
The words are returning—slowly, haltingly, like learning to walk again. So are the random story ideas. Of course, this random story idea involves a haunted hotel, but not exactly in the normal way.

Another tactical error on my part was forgetting the binoculars. I’m too far away from the shoreline to really get a good look at the kites, flying go carts, and boats on the water. Must remember for next time.

Definitely the off-season now. Limited menus and no lunch service. Good thing I packed food for all breakfasts and lunches.

Day 4: Sunday
I’ve figured out that I can write or not-write just as well at home, but it’s the solitude I’ve needed. I’m not done crying, but I think the worst of it is over. I’ve now written more in the past 2 days than in the past 3 weeks.

I miss my Husband and kitties. I miss the Husband’s cooking. I miss my bed. I’m ready to be home.

Day 5: Monday
I’ve decided to go home a day early. I can write or not-write just as well at home, and I am writing again. So, mission accomplished.

6 days is too long. 5 is long enough. Controlled solitude is healing. I think this has been a good learning vacation. Maybe I’ll do one again next year. Just closer to the ocean shore.

Dawn Vogel is one of those authors and editors working in the publishing trenches that most people don’t know about but should. Here, she tells me how she incorporates real world history that is stranger than fiction into her writing.
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The stories I included in my collection, Denizens of Distant Realms, are all secondary world fantasy stories. They didn't all start out that way, however. The first version I wrote of "Dry Spell" was a historical fantasy story, set in Colonial Virginia. In doing some research related to Roanoke (one of my favorite unsolved mysteries of history), I found an article that talked about extreme drought in the Virginia Tidewater in the late 1500s and the early 1600s. The earlier drought, which lasted three years, might have been a reason behind the disappearance of the Roanoke colonists. (article: https://www.sciencedaily.com/releases/1998/04/980428075409.htm)

I also researched the presence of Romani slaves in the American colonies, and found that though their numbers were few, the Romani had been enslaved and brought to the Americas as early as 1492, and then again later by the Spaniards. With these elements in place, I pulled together a historically accurate story that included a little bit of magic on the side for the fantasy portion of the historical fantasy story.

The problem with writing historical fantasy that revolves around little-known facts is that it sometimes winds up unbelievable, because oftentimes, history is a whole lot weirder than people think it is. There are all sorts of strange facts and incidents you can find if you dig into the history books, but if you put them in a story, they wind up throwing the reader out of the narrative because they seem so implausible. So, even though my Romani slave helping to free other enslaved people during an extended drought in Colonial Virginia was historically plausible, it didn't work as a believable story.

Instead, what I had to do was turn it into a secondary world fantasy story, changing the names of locations, the ethnicity of the main character, and the language she and her friend had to struggle to translate. At that point, the story suddenly became plausible fantasy, because readers were no longer in need of knowledge about droughts in Colonial Virginia and the colonial slave trade including Romani slaves. But those elements of my research helped me pull together the plot, and the details could be swapped out like a scarf on an outfit, changing the entire feel of it.

If you like writing historical fantasy, I've found it's often easier to stick to the bits of history that people know a little bit better, rather than the obscure portions. You may still have to get rid of some of the really outlandish (though historically accurate) bits, but you can still use the general time period. Failing that, you can always take the weird parts of history and reskin them into something more solidly within the realm of fantasy, like I wound up doing with "Dry Spell."

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Dawn Vogel's academic background is in history, so it’s not surprising that much of her fiction is set in earlier times. By day, she edits reports for historians and archaeologists. In her alleged spare time, she runs a craft business, co-edits Mad Scientist Journal, and tries to find time for writing. She is a member of Broad Universe, SFWA, and Codex Writers. She lives in Seattle with her awesome husband (and fellow author), Jeremy Zimmerman, and their herd of cats.

North Carolina was hot and humid and generally awful to Seattlite me. Good things and bad happened; more good than bad, all things considered.

Dad’s memorial was 90% good and 10% awful. I enjoyed and appreciated everything that John (BIL), Shannon (sister), and Pastor Stan (former pastor) said and did. I think those parts of the service were a memorial worthy of Dad.

Unfortunately, the “new” pastor—he’s been there 3 years and I still can’t remember his name—took a religiously myopic view of the service, turning the memorial into a sermon without any regard for the friends and family of differing faiths that my father had.

I mentioned this to Mom a couple days later. I’m glad she likes him, he is her pastor after all, but I think he really needs to rethink his process for future funerals/memorials.

Basically, he preached that Dad was baptized at 50, thus saved…and any of you heathens out there, that aren’t saved in the proper manner, won’t see him again unless you convert to the one true way. Of course, the words were prettied up, and backed by an odd reading about the centurion who wanted his servant healed…and how he was a military man who understood he wasn’t worthy. I think the pastor chose this reading because he really didn’t know Dad. He was a man who had left the military over 30 years ago and often didn’t want to talk or think about that time in his life.

It was almost as if the pastor didn’t actually know what a funeral was for or that people of different faiths might attend…like the Muslim woman who was one of Dad’s longest friends from when he first came to North Carolina. Much less the different Christian and non-Christian faiths that were represented. Mostly, I wish it had been a funeral rather than a sermon. Instead of being soothed, I walked away irritated, feeling unwelcome, and not charitable towards that church. It’s an unfortunate memory to carry with me from my Dad’s memorial.

Mom was brave throughout the memorial and only cried through Taps. She says she isn’t a strong woman. I guess she’s got enough stubbornness, persistence, and willpower to fake it. I think my relationship with Mom has leveled up in some undefinable way. We talked and laughed and remembered together. For the first time, I really worried about leaving her to go home and understood the stereotypical meme of wanting Mom to move in.

I think my relationship with my sister also leveled up. The day after the memorial was done, Shannon gave herself permission to fall apart. At one point, she started crying and said, “I need my sister.” I hugged her and pet her hair. We’ve talked more in the last few months than in the last few years. I think we’ll keep it up.

The Husband was a rock through this whole thing. He was ready to help out, move things, and run-go-fetch at a moment’s notice. He also was happy to sit there in companionable silence. I appreciated that so much. So did Mom.

Grief has not been kind to my writing career. I’m months late on the next BattleTech novel. My editor knows and understands. I’m going to spend some time at the ocean by myself in a private writing retreat where I can work and cry and re-center myself in the new normal that my world has become. Life goes on for those of us who are still living. I know my grieving isn’t over but I hope after my retreat, it will mostly be at peace.

Declutter Monday for the 19th was a bit scattered. The first task was to gather up all the cat toys, beds, and stuff that the cats don’t use but clutter up the floor. The second was a round 2 on the family room. It was a lot of editing down of big furniture. Not that exciting.

Declutter Monday for the 26th was actually a Round 1 for me; I tackled the rarely talked about digital decluttering of my phone, my desktop, and my computer file structure.

Thought 1: Decluttering my phone was hard…and easy. I deleted all the shortcuts of programs I never use. Moved like items into their own folder (IE: social media, businesses, games, and office programs). Then examined and removed unused programs. One of the most annoying things is that there are programs you don’t use that you cannot remove from the phone. The only thing you can do is remove it from the start screen.

Thought 2: One of the hardest things for me in decluttering my phone was hiding/grouping all my social media apps and all my game apps. I'm so use to going to them out of habit—a habit I want to break—that putting them one layer down will make me stumble. One day later and it’s annoying, but I’m twitching towards my phone less. So, that’s good.

Thought 3: Desktops are like dining room or kitchen tables: prone to collect things. Decluttering my desktop turned out to be surprisingly easy. I pulled ALL of the shortcuts, images, and files from my desktop into a single folder last week. If I reached to click on it, I pulled it out. I decided that if I hadn’t wanted to click on it in the last week, I didn’t need it on the desktop. I moved the one picture and two PDF files to their appropriate places and deleted the folder. No muss, no fuss.

I’ve never seen my desktop so clean. I now have 10 shortcuts on my desktop: 4 social media, 3 programs, my dowloads folder, trash can, and my main computer. Note: I do have a number of programs on my taskbar at the bottom of my screen and a notes app on the right side with a list of dates and tasks coming up. This is how I actually use my desktop. I like the minimal look.

Thought 4: You need to be thoughtful on your clean up, declutter, and re-organization of your file structure. I made the tactical error of moving a large folder with 8000+ files in it. That took 90 minutes and seriously interrupted my flow. Start small. Declutter/delete FIRST then organize. As a writer, I have way-way too many old files, novel versions, and redundancy options for “just in case.”

Thought 5: Decluttering your file folders and modifying your file structure is going to reveal emotional landmines you didn’t remember were there. (Terrible) Old, half-finished stories. Letters. That folder of ECC LARP admin stuff? I will say, as much as it is a pleasure to shred, it is also a pleasure to delete. I’m an intellectual magpie, but I’m old enough to know that I don’t need a lot of this hanging around.

Thought 6: If you think it will embarrass you, or your family, should the worst happen…and you don’t actually need that file or folder or story or information or letter…delete it. It’s not worth the mental or emotional baggage.

Thought 7: You may have to keep unpleasant stuff: stalking/doxxing proof. Bad contracts. Stuff that you need a history of. Put them in their own purgatory file. You’ll have them, but you won’t run across them unexpectedly.

I think this ends my official Round 2 of decluttering. I’ve got a lot on my plate right now. I can let my things and stuff rest for a bit. I suspect I’ll do a lot of random little decluttering here and there as time/emotions permit. I’ll try to keep track of them for a round up Declutter Monday.

Note: I know I haven’t done any sentimental decluttering. At all. I’m feeling a bit fragile right now with the death of my father. It’s probably going to have to wait until next year. Until then, the sentimental drawer can sit where it is: cluttering up the bottom of my nightstand—where it is out of sight and mostly out of mind.

Dad died yesterday. Born: 14 May 1946. Died: 19 Aug 2019. He was 73 years old. I’ve been mourning him since my last visit over Memorial Day weekend. It was the last good time he had. His health declined rapidly after my visit, then plummeted after my brother’s visit. He was diagnosed with IPF 4 years ago. It started getting bad about 14-18 months ago. It’s been the worst for the last 3 months.

I sent him this letter after I got home. Mom said he cried over it and reread it many times. I sent him a post card or greeting card every week since then. His favorite gift from me was a subscription to LetterJoy. He loved non-bill mail. It was the least I could do to try to brighten his day as the end neared. This letter says everything I could say as a memorial to him.

28 May 2019
Dear Dad,                           

I’m on the plane home from our visit. I thought, since you enjoy real letters so much, I would write you one. I’m so glad I visited. I’m glad you were having a good week and we got one last chance to spend time together. I’m glad I got to share “700 Sundays” with you. I knew you would like it.

It is both wonderful and terrible to know that you are probably speaking the last in-person words to your father you will ever speak. When you said that you were “on your way out.” I said, “I know.” I thought I had it all together. I didn’t. And I didn’t realize this until we spoke our probable last good-bye. Not everyone gets that chance.

As soon as we got in the car I thought of so many things I meant to tell you. Little things like the fact that I still have the Christmas letter you wrote me in 1980, giving me the gift of Charity. I have it framed and hanging on my wall. It’s something I will never forget. I cherish that letter. I think it changed me, changed me for the good.

There is so much of you in me. I know you don’t always approve of my actions—my tattoos, some of my personal opinions, my language—but I am your daughter through and through. I am grateful for many of the lessons you taught me early in life. Things like doing a job well, considering the consequences of my actions, taking responsibility for my successes and my mistakes. Fixing what I can and passing on what I can’t.

I remember dinners when we were growing up where you’d entertain us with jokes and stories. I remember the good times. The tough times have faded into an indistinct blur. We say that you are the sentimental one in the family. I think much of that has been passed on. I cherish our football watching days and times you would tell me about a particular stone I got for you.

I want you to know that you’re in my thoughts and always will be. I will never forget that you always tried your best with me, Shannon, and Scott. All I want for you now is peace and contentment. I hope you get it. I want you to be happy. I don’t know how to make that happen, but that thought is always on my mind.

You told me that you loved me and to remember that you’ve had a good run. I’m glad of that. Not every family gets to say such while they’re together. It will make Memorial Day that much more important to me. To remember you as a veteran, as my father, and as our last visit together.

Of course, “end stage” IPF means so many things. 2 months to 2 years on average. You’ve never been average a day in your life. If you live to see Memorial Day 2020, I will rejoice. But I’m never going to regret telling you these things. Some things are meant to be heard by the living and to be remembered after death. I wanted to make sure you know and understand how much you mean to me, how much of you lives on in me, and how grateful I am to finally understand this.

Sometimes a child has to grow up to understand the adult their parent has been all their lives. I love you. I will see you when I see you.

My favorite picture of me and Dad, Monterey Bay, 1992

If you would like to donate in his name, your local animal shelter would be good. Dad loved dogs and rescued many over his lifetime. Or PBS. He really liked PBS. Please send all cards to:
Jennifer Brozek
6830 NE Bothell Way, STE C #404
Kenmore, WA 98028

My father is ill. Very, very ill. He probably won’t last out the year. More likely, he’s already seen his last holiday season. I’ve been dealing with this on an intimate level for months. My writing and my mood have suffered. My sister and Mom have been dealing with it up close and personal for much longer than that. They’re suffering, too. But we’ve all been taught to “do what you have to do when you have to do it.”

My father has end stage idiopathic pulmonary fibrosis AKA his lungs don’t work and he’s not a candidate for a transplant. I visited him over Memorial Day weekend. Despite how he looked shocking me, it was a good visit and he was doing great for the time I was there. Once I left, though, he went downhill bit by painful bit until “worse” became the new normal. He was put on palliative hospice care.

Last week, Dad was moved to a hospital bed in the house. The last bed he will ever be in. His literal deathbed—and figuring out if that was one word or two really sucked. He can’t really walk anymore. His blood oxygen level fluctuates too wildly, too low. Even when he’s just sitting there. I saw him have coughing/panting fits. I thought they were bad. According to my family, no, they weren’t. At all. They say watching him in a “real” coughing fit is like watching him drown in slow motion (another phrase I never wanted to understand). It also sounds like dementia (it runs in my family on my father’s side) has kicked in.

I work to be there for my sister. She vents to me. We cry together. We support each other. I let her (and Mom) know they’re doing a good job. As much as it hurts to hear the latest update—he can’t work the TV remote anymore, he has a hard time following conversations, he gets angry and confused, he’s lashing out physically—I want to hear them. It helps me process the current and forthcoming pain. It’s giving me a thicker skin. (poetic words here about salt from tears building a scab…)

Yesterday, my sister let me know that we’ve gotten our last StoryWorth story from Dad. He needs to be medicated to such a degree that makes it impossible  for him to continue. If he’s awake and aware enough to answer questions, he gets upset because he doesn't understand what's happening. He doesn’t want to answer questions and he doesn’t form many coherent sentences. Still, we got 18 stories from him. 18 out of 52 is better than 0. I’m glad I discovered StoryWorth before it was too late. I have 18 stories and a bunch of pictures that will be put in a book. Memories for the future.

My grief comes in waves like the tide. My father, who has always been one of the strongest people I know, is failing. The man I grew up with is hidden within the shell of a little old man and only comes out to visit on rare occasions. I’m happy he still finds joy in small things…his Neil Diamond CDs, his Astérix & Obélix comics that we were introduced to when we lived in Belgium, my sister and mom bringing out his silly side. But I’m sad, knowing how near the end is.

I’m limiting my time online these days as much as I can. I only have so many emotional spoons to give and they are reserved for my family and my writing. So, that’s my life for the moment.

I bought the Immortals Perfume sampler set when it was on sale for $35.00. I thought it was a good buy for trying out series of perfumes from a local small business. I was right. All of the scents are high quality and well wearing (even if I didn’t like the scent). My sensitive skin had no reaction to the oil at all. Bonus!

Based on how perfume oils react with my skin and smell on me, I predicted that I would probably like about 20% of the perfumes I tested. I was right at 22%. That means I have 6 out of the 27 scents tested to consider for purchase. They are:
•    Dead Writers.
•    Death in the Afternoon: A Cologne Inspired by Hemingway.
•    Madame Moustache: A Perfume of the California Gold Rush.
•    Persephone: A Perfume of the Underworld.
•    Sylvia: A Perfume Inspired by The Bell Jar.
•    Untamed Lady: A Perfume Inspired by Gloria Swanson.

I want to buy 3 of the six. I think it’s going to be a hard choice to make. The number one scent—right now—is vacillating between Untamed Lady and Madame Moustache. Four of the six have a note of vanilla. Not surprising as it is a favorite scent. Three of them have a note of tobacco, which is surprising. Four of them have musk or Egyptian musk. I used to think musk was too much for me. Guess I was wrong or my tastes have changed.

Over all, if you’re looking for a new scent to try, I think the Immortal Perfumes sampler set is a good one to try. 

Declutter Monday started over the weekend with decluttering the art in my bedroom, bathroom, and office. I have a LOT of art on the wall. When I go to conventions, I need to know where art is going in the house before I buy it. The Husband is very good at moving around artwork and hanging it. He gets out a level and a tape measure to do it. It makes everything look fab.

Thought 1: In the past, I’ve bought a lot of artwork on impulse. I don’t do that anymore. Not only do I not have space, my tastes have changed. I won’t say it’s become more refined, but I will say I’ve become more particular. I no longer keep artwork I don’t love.

Thought 2: I’ve bought a lot of artwork from friends to support them and help their conventions be better. Artwork I haven’t particularly liked. It’s okay to get rid of it now. My friends have the money. They won’t be heartbroken because I no longer have the print of that sketch they’ve sold hundreds of copies of. Don’t keep artwork that you don’t love.

Thought 3: It’s better to leave an area blank than fill it with crap. I love artwork. I find my wall-full of artwork inspires me and makes me smile. It helps my mood. But, a piece of art I don’t care for has the opposite effect. It’s taken me a long time to learn this lesson. I no longer keep artwork I don’t love (I have to keep telling myself this).

Thought 4: Random revisits will happen and you will change your mind. After 10+ years of having a Keurig, we have given ours away. The Husband doesn’t really drink coffee and I’ve been drinking my instant, imported coffee. Less mess, less waste, better taste. I was happy to give the machine to a neighbor whose Keurig was dying and they were considering a new one.

Thought 5: Some of the most unexpected things need to be decluttered. Our game table, ubiquitous and ever-present, I was blind to it until the Husband said something that made me think we needed to look at our dice collection and he suggested we clean out the game table. 

Thought 6: I have a lot of dice. A whole lot of dice. A lot of very pretty dice I’m not willing to part with. I did bag up a bunch of dice to share with my D&D group, though. So I feel virtuous. Plus I only kept sets of dice.

The more I get into the general living areas, the harder it is to be concise on where I’m decluttering. There’s also a lot more organizing and cleaning in Round 2 of decluttering than there is of actual decluttering. I am not a minimalist. I just want to be more intentional about what we have in the house and what we use.

Next week I’m going to tackle the family room and the cat products.

Declutter Monday started over the weekend with the master bathroom, round 1 and ended on Monday with my office, round 2. That meant the bathroom was easy and the office was hard. It’s usually easier to declutter something for the first time. Especially when you have help. It’s always harder decluttering something for the second time because you don’t have the easy stuff to fall back on.

Thought 1: Pretty fades fast. The first thing we did was change out the shower curtain rod. The one we had was really pretty but it wasn’t stable. It kept falling on us. We switched it out for a simple tension rod with a holding bracket. Now it isn’t pretty but it doesn’t attack us. Pretty things need to be stable and functional.

Thought 2: Closets are a magnet for stuff. So much stuff that you don’t know what’s in there. Example: we found four Costco-sized bottles of the Husband’s shampoo. Mostly because he never knew what we had and couldn’t remember if we had shampoo. The answer is yes. Probably enough for the next two years.

Thought 3: Clean closets with enough space to store everything (while still being able to see it) lend themselves to more/better organization. The Husband surprised me and decided he wanted to clear 90% of the stuff on the sink and store it in the closet. Lucky for us, I already had the perfect organization solution for that. Now, he has only the stuff he uses on a daily/near daily basis out and the rest is at eye-level in the bathroom closet.

Thought 4: My office. What a rollercoaster. Declutter, round 2, of the office was hard. Some things were very easy to declutter like letters from 1991 from people I couldn’t remember, didn’t care to remember, or were no longer the same people they once were. It is always a pleasure to shred. On the other hand, I couldn’t get rid of my leather boots. I kept both pairs because they both looked good, felt good, and would last. Apocalypse Girl doesn’t care that I didn’t wear them at all this last winter. I might need them someday. Then again, I did get rid of three pairs of sandals I haven’t worn in ages.

Thought 5: While the closet, cubbies, and bookshelf were pretty decent to give another go over, I realized that I’d never dug into the boxes I had on my desk and cubbies. Why should I? They hid the mess. My desk boxes were fine. They still served their purposes. But the cubby box was just depressing. It was hard to force myself to go through the process of finding a home for everything that didn’t fit in the box.

Thought 6: The more you clean/declutter, the more you see what needs help. With this round 2 of my office, I’ve realized that I want to do a complete reorg of all my artwork. This time with intention. That, however, is a project for another time.

This time on Declutter Monday, I tackled the hall closet, the cat room, and my jewelry box. We were supposed to do the Master Bathroom, but we didn’t because of reasons (life). I’ll try to get that done for next week.

Thought 1: Round 2 of any declutter seems to fall into one of two categories: really hard or really easy. Hard, because you’ve already done the easy decluttering. All that’s left is the hard stuff—high quality, sentimental, unique. Easy, because you’ve already done all the hard work. What’s left is a bit of organization—now that you have space and a new eye.

Thought 2: My jewelry box fell into the hard category. I had already gotten rid of the trash, the mis-matched, the tarnished, the stuff not worth saving. I was down to good stuff I had a hard time donating. Suddenly I understood some of that need to pass it (whatever it is) on to family and friends. However, one of my sisters-in-law whom I recently re-met has almost exactly the same taste as me and is more than happy to take my good jewelry off my hands. That made the task of sorting, keeping, purging, and packaging it up so much easier.

Thought 3: The hall closet fell into the easy category. It had already been worked to death. All it needed was a bit more organization. I got to move some stuff out of the cat room now the closet had space. A place for all things. That’s the nice bit about the closet. I know what is on each shelf.

Thought 4: When decluttering a place like the cat room where you don’t want to have to dig the cat(s) out of the closet, there are some steps you need to take. Step 1 is to close the room door before you get into the closet. Step 2 is to make sure there isn't a cat already in the cat room, hiding. Steps 3 and 4 is to close the closet door before the cat gets in and remove the cat. Then you can get down to the looking, staring, and organizing.

Thought 5: The cat room was easy. Mostly because I avoided the “office/convention” shelves. All of them have been cleaned up but not perfectly organized. Since I’m about to destroy it by going to Gen Con in a couple of weeks, I decided I would do the official clean and declutter of that one bit of the room in August after we got back.

Thought 6: In truth, I think the hardest thing to declutter was my jewelry box—made easier by knowing who those pretties were going to. Yesterday's  Declutter Monday focused on areas that have been cleaned and organized and not actively used in a general sense. They are not “lived in” areas. So, there wasn’t much to do. Mostly, after a bit of thought, clean and straighten.

Next week will be a different story. Sunday will be the Master Bathroom with help from the Husband (unless life) and Monday will be my office. I’m really not looking forward to my office. All that’s left is the hard stuff to think about. We’ve already bought me a new shredder in anticipation. My last one died a horrible death yesterday. Then again, it was twelve years old.