Sainthood may not be good enough an honor! Ms. Johnson invented the hand cranked ice cream churn as a way to reduce the time required to make ice cream. Ice cream was originally made using very intensive labor over several hours. Johnson essentially created a way to make ice cream faster and easier. 

Originally, there were many steps to creating ice cream. President Thomas Jefferson had an eighteen step recipe. Johnson’s brilliant idea changed ice cream making into a much easier and faster route to happiness. On September 9th, 1843, Patent numberUS3254A was issued for the. Artificial Freezer and antedated on July 29th, 1848.

A Philadelphia housewife married to Walter Rogers Johnson in Medfield, Massachusetts. Walter was a scientist and first secretary at the American Association for the Advancement of Science. Nancy, herself, was a very successful inventor. This was very uncommon in her days, because women’s legal identities were taken away when they married. Under the laws of coverture, women were not allowed to control their own finances, own property, or sign legal agreements. Men represented their wives, mothers, and daughters. Nancy was a bold and determined woman who empowered women, teaching them they can make their own way for themselves.

In 1843, she filed for her patent for the first hand-cranked ice cream churn (US3254A). Her invention was called a “disruptive technology” because it made it possible for everyone to make quality ice cream without electricity. This technology changed the way that ice cream was made forever and portions of her patent continue to be used today.

Johnson received $1500 during the course of her lifetime for her Artificial Freezer. She adapted her original patient and refiled September 9th, 1843. She sold the rights of the patent to William G. Young, a Baltimore native, who improved some on the ice cream freezer on May 30th, 1848. Johnson sold the rights of the patent to Young for $200.

People erroneously credit Young as the inventor, but it was a Nancy Johnson who made the world a better place.
  
There are some people who should receive sainthood for the amazing deeds they do. Heroes should receive awards. We need to recognize the people who have made a difference in this world.

September 9 should be celebrated around the world! Nancy Maria Donaldson Johnson should be known universally for ice cream.

You scream.

I scream...

We all scream for ice cream. 

And scream most loudly for Nancy.

Nancy Maria Donaldson Johnson, thank you, thank you, thank you. You made my life and the lives of so many better.

(Information derived from Wikipedia)

Marlene is available for her speaking engagements. She is an award winning author and her books are available through amazon.com and scribblersweb.com. Join www.MsRatWrites.com for her monthly newsletters.

    We have just returned from our vacation to Alaska. We went 21 years ago with our son, friends John and Margie Sawyer, their daughter Mylinda, and husband Chris Moore. It was the trip of a life time. But our lifetimes do change.

    This trip was a little different. Mylinda, Chris, and their 19 year old daughter joined us. They brought her mama, Margie. One of my dearest friends, Cece (Cecelia Landress) also took the trip. John, who is legendary in Georgia for his baseball coaching skills, can no longer travel. 

Things I learned:

1. I attended a conference that was a weeklong only to return to leave for Alaska in 4 days. I was in a swivet already. Already tired and leaving a ton of work behind, I was in tail spin by the time we got to the airport. (And yes, swivet is a word in my vocabulary! It is self-explanatory.)
2. Never let your husband and son do their own packing without checking behind them.
3. Never trust anyone who says “I already checked there.” When searching for his medication. Always, ALWAYS, check behind them. We unpacked and packed the suitcases THREE times. The medication was on the bathroom sink in the little plastic bag with the toothbrushes and paste.  Yep, always check behind anyone who swears they have already done it.
4. If you spend three hours in Atlanta Hartsfield Airport, you have done all of your time in Purgatory. We did it twice this trip. If you didn’t cuss out one person, your extra feathers will be waiting by your wing frame in Heaven. I have to say, after our luggage was misplaced on the return home, I may have lost a few of my feathers. With my bum ankle I transversed Hartsfield THREE times. Snell is sick. James is aggravated and wanting to go home. I think I have to start collecting feathers again. My wing frame is pretty empty.
5. Memories are what matters. Margie has Alzheimer’s. She is my best friend. We laughed at all the old things we talked about. We laughed several times as we told the same new stories. It is important to cherish the woman who was so powerful and wonderful and to love the woman who is there now.  People around us might think we have lost our minds, but who cares. She is laughing and she is still wonderful.
6. Alaska is the final frontier—as long as you don’t get off the boat.  It is now the retail capital of the world, I think. Jewelers try to pull you in off the street.  
7. Whatever price is asked, ask for lower. Then ask again. One more time. Never pay more than one-third of the asking price and I recommend that you think one-fourth or less.  Alaska is the land of opportunity for you to be robbed blind.
8. Never bring a coat to Alaska. You can buy great jackets in Ketchikan for $30. Buy it in Ketchikan. The prices go up as you go further into your trip. When we began unpacking on the ship I found the three of us had five coats and three sweaters. The coolest temperature we had was 51F in the mornings. The rest of the day was low to mid 60’s. Shirt sleeve weather for me. A sweater and jacket for them. I told you to always check their packing. 
9. Don’t buy anything on the ship until the last day. Find out if you have some money credits. Use that to get what they have on sale if you really want it. I “bought” three rings for $0.00. I had $45.00 in credits.
10. Never say never. When we got out of Purgatory Atlanta-Hartsfield airport, with our luggage, my husband said “I am never going anywhere that we cannot drive.” James agreed. Then said, “Are we still going to Hawaii?” “Not until a bridge is built, son. Not until there is a bridge.” Replied Snell. 
11. Yes, crying is permitted. I was convinced I had caught dementia from Margie. I could not remember things. Finding my way was nearly impossible. I was easily confused…more easily than usual. My temper was not just flaring, but flames were shooting into the air. You are tired. You are in a new place. People will and do run over you. Try to smile as much as you can. It scares people around you and they will back up.
12. Do not plan for any activities for the first three days you are home. I had a speaking engagement the day after we got home. The audience was very receptive. I got a lot of compliments. I don’t remember what all I said. I do remember taking my shoes off because I felt like I was swaying on a ship. 
13. Book a service to take you to the airport. I think this is really valuable in Atlanta, where road construction is our adventure park. There are several things to recommend a driver. One, you get there without having to fight the traffic directly and you do not have to find parking. Outler Transportation, out of Snellville, GA, was the group we used.  Delightful staff, very helpful, knew all the ways to get around the construction. He knew where to go to get us to the right airline place, too. Greg, the owner, was terrific.
14. Book a service to get you home from the airport. This will save you jail time. When you get off that air plane you are still rocking and reeling and your brain is swollen and non-functioning. You only have to find the driver. No check out in the terminal parking, just let him drive you out of the mess.  And calling it a mess is being very kind. No matter how aggravated you are, he is dealing with the imbeciles who are cutting in front of you, tailgating, and acting a fool. If I had been driving I probably would have cussed more, made ugly gestures, and rammed into a telephone pole when I fell asleep behind the wheel. God Bless Greg and the Outler Transportation Series. (770-560-2961. www.outlertrans.com) I want to give him a big thank you and share his information with you.  Seriously, kept me sane and got us home safely and with an understanding smile that I was a homicidal manic after the Atlanta Airport fun and games.

The trip was good. We had a great time. It is our last adventure with Margie. Our families have traveled many places together. This was our last hurrah. Know what? The airport, lost luggage, and diarrhea (Yeah, I left that part out), money hungry retailers, and everything else... I wouldn’t trade that trip for anything.

One last great thing. I taught high school art was called Art Woman or Ms. Rat. One of my former students, now friend, lives in Seattle. We have stayed in touch over the last 50 plus years. Richard Kromm came out to meet us. We had a couple of hours together. Richard and being with Margie and our extended family is what made the trip priceless. 

I’d do it all again, even the airport.

My father, James E. Ratledge was born November 21, 1916.  After he died, Mama said he never left.  He was still sitting in his recliner, waiting for her.  I believe it.  I think Mama is sitting on my right shoulder and Daddy is on left one.  Both are whispering in my ear. 

I can still see them walking hand-in-hand.   Daddy was over 6’4” and Mama was about 5’5” in her prime.  They almost always held hands.  As Mama would shrink, she would have her arm bent even higher and Daddy would lean over a little more.

They met on a blind date at the Atlanta Water Works while working at White Provision Company in 1943.  The old Atlanta Water Works was a favorite picnic place.  Mama said he was the handsomest thing she had ever seen.  She first saw him as he was approaching where she and her friends were. He was over 6 feet 4 inches, had beautiful blue black hair and a golden olive completion. He was wearing a white suit with a black shirt and a black sling supporting his injured arm.  She said that was it. He was too beautiful to forget. They married May 1, 1944.  Daddy never forgave World War II for separating them.  I have 746 700 love letters he wrote during WWII reinforcing his love.

Mama and his brothers called him Bob.  When he was young in the early 1900’s male children wore their hair long.  When it was time for James to get his big boy haircut, his two older brother teased him and called him “bobtail.”  He was Bob ever since.

    Daddy was a perfectionist and could do just about anything from electricity to plumbing and wood working.  He even did a little black smithy on the old forge at my Grandparent’s place.  Daddy and his mother flipped houses before there was such a thing.  Mama’s family place didn’t have electricity or running water.  Daddy put in their first furnace, stove, running water and bathroom.  You name it, he did it.

185, later changed to 585 was Daddy’s radio code number for the City of Atlanta Police Department/Atlanta Board of Education School Detectives.  In 1947 Atlanta developed specialized detective units within the agency. In 1952, The Atlanta Board of Education and the Atlanta Police Department joined forces and created the Atlanta School Detective Unit.  In 1953, my Daddy and Julian Stephens were the second and third officers to join Sgt. J. D. Nash, Commander. There was another School Detective Department being formed about this same time in another state. The only two in the nation. The School Detective Unit was the fore-runner of what we now call School Resource Officers in Georgia.  

Daddy was good at his job.  I don’t know about now, but he held the record for the most cases solved for over 15 years. I have all of his old reports.  Someday I am going to write that book I promised him. Now he is gone and I only have his paper reports to rely on.  I regret we never found time to write his book.

He did some interesting things in his life.  During WWII he escorted military prisoners.  I have his secret identification and name that he used.  One night while hospitalized, the nurses on duty asked Mama what Daddy had done for a living.  She told them about his having been a police officer. One of the nurses was one of my former students and spent a lot of time visiting with all of us.  Ellen told Mama that Daddy was talking about having a different name. Daddy had been part of the Secret Police.  The night Ellen was checking on Daddy, he was the other military policeman taking a Nazi prisoner somewhere “special.” 

Once it was learned that his father, Luther Edward Ratledge, had been a train engineer before becoming a police officer, and Daddy could do medical core and train repair, he was reassigned. Daddy built the first hot water shower on one of the medical trains in Europe. After that when they would be in a station somewhere Daddy teach other train personnel how he had run the lines so their trains could also have hot water showers. 

  One night when he was so sick and on morphine, he was back on that train.  I spent the entire night, rebuilding a train engine with him.  He would tell me what tool he wanted and I handed it to him.  In his drugged imagination, all those machines in that room were part of the engine. We did a good job, too.  By about 4:30 in the morning, he told me to “fire her up and let’s get moving.” 
​
When the Allied troops captured Adolf Hitler’s private train, it was damaged.  Daddy and his medical train happened to be in the same location.  One of the officers on Daddy’s train suggested they ask my father to look at the damage on Hitler’s train.  Rat could “jury-rig” anything.  I don’t know what was wrong with the train, but it couldn’t be moved further into Allied territory because of the problem. Daddy went over and did whatever was needed to get it moving again.  While Daddy was working on the problem, a team of US and other Allied personnel were cataloging every item in the train. 

 Daddy reported the repair had been completed to the officer in charge.  That officer was part of the team cataloging Hitler’s belongings.  He was in Hitler’s private dining car.  The officer picked up a small cream pitcher from Hitler’s table and handed it to Daddy thanking him for his help.  The pitcher has the swastika emblem and Mama wrote a note about what Daddy told her and stuck it in it. The cream pitcher is marked with the Allied catalog number. 

Daddy could do anything. Daddy was the builder, Mama was the painter and designer. He built his grandson an airplane swing with a 6’ wing span and working joystick, rocking horses, and any other thing he thought his namesake James could want. Daddy made a table that was James’ height and the legs could be extended to grow with him.   They did a lot of drawing and coloring on that table.  

He and Mama refurbished old houses to rent or sell.  Daddy made the entire kitchen set, stove, refrigerator, cupboards and even a sink with a turning faucet for the Kindergarten class of H.O. Burgess Elementary School (1955). That set was still in use some 10 plus years later. Our class had wooden animals to paint that he cut from scrap lumber, too. One of my classmates mentioned remembering them. I have several still.  He and Mama created the most beautiful gardens outside of Calloway Gardens you have ever seen.  He worked hard. And he adored Mama.

He and Mama taught me to be independent and self-reliant.  I learned how to lay a wooden floor, to use most any kind of tool, paint a room, fire a gun, swim, and defend myself physically and mentally.  He made sure Mama and I were loved and well taken care.  

Rat accomplished all kinds of things and best of all, Daddy was mine. And I miss him.  Mama used to say there will never be another one like Bob Ratledge.  No, there won’t. I bet Mama and Daddy are holding hands right now. 

Hey Y'all,
​
Well, I am a day late and dollar short once again.  Things have just been demanding and time has fled from my grasp.  I hope you all are having a wonderful Easter Sunday.  

My next book, Tips, Tricks & Techniques. A Self-Directed Search for Easier Learning should be available within the next two weeks. I think this book did not want to be written.  I have been trying now since the first week of December to get it out. I seem to be the only person really thinking it should be printed and available.

If you are a female in the arts field (music, dance, visual arts, writing) look up National League of American Pen Women, Inc. (www.nlapw.org).  We have and Atlanta Pen Women chapter and meet monthly (second Wednesday at 10 am). Pen women is very encouraging to artistic women.  If you would be interested in joining, send me a note (mrat30052@aol.com).

Founded in 1897, the National League of American Pen Women, Inc. (NLAPW) is a 501 (c) (3) nonprofit organization that supports and promotes professional women in arts, letters, music, and allied professions. 

I have just accepted a position on the Board of Directors for Southeastern Writers Association.  they have the best conference each year at Epworth by the Sea (St. Simons, GA).  If you are a writer, check out this group.  It is wonderful.

Here is a little piece I wrote this morning.  I hope you will enjoy it.  Now I need to go water all my indoor flowers, the orchids are blooming!

It is my birthday. I am not sure which category I fall into, antique or vintage. I suppose if something has to be 100 years or older it is an antique. That makes me vintage. Like a fine wine, but a bit tangy, occasionally sweet. Perhaps even a tiny bit bitter. I suppose it could be worse—dried up bottle of dust.

Our tractor is celebrating its birthday, too. It is one year older than me. So is my husband Snell’s favorite car, a Cadillac Sedanette. Both were born in 1948. Snell has kept all three of us going for years.

1949 is really the year of my birth. Easter Sunday at 5:05 pm. Piedmont Hospital, Atlanta, GA. I am not sure where the Ford tractor or the Cadillac were born. Anyway we have all arrived in Georgia, the land of slow vowels and beautiful springs.

1949 is the Year of the Ox on the Chinese calendar. I thought I was a hog or a rat, but I am an ox. Well, I guess I am kind of shaped like one now in middle-old age. I am going for longevity here. 74 is middle aged if you live to be 150.

Oxen are described as “industrious, thrifty and clever, and they make careful calculation and strict budgeting for everything. Also, they never do the things beyond their capability, so they seldom suffer losses; they attach great importance to the fairness of benefit distribution. They are destined to have average luck in early years, favorable luck in middle age, and excellent luck in old age.” Still waiting on some that to mature! I need to learn to say “no, thank you” more often.

And I am an Aries. According to the information I found Aries are the trailblazers. Passionate, independent, loyal, smart, and impulsive. They always have multiple projects on their mind, and won't be satisfied until their work, social life, and personal lives line up exactly with the dream life they've envisioned. Aries are all about initial attraction. They can sense chemistry in the first sentence uttered by a potential partner. (This is true. I knew on our first date when Snell kissed me goodnight that I would marry him. That was in 1975, still together. I had to work on him though!) Forthright and unabashed, an Aries will do everything in their power to go after someone they want.

A combination of an ox and a ram. No wonder I am who I am. 

Another truth, I am a liar. I lie about my age. Lots of people do. When I first started teaching I had a student who was only a year younger than I. When asked about my age I lied. Sometimes I would be ten years older, other times twenty.

I haven’t formally taught in many years and trust me there are no students even close to my age now. No reason to lie, you think. There you are wrong. I add ten years to my age. I look good for some in their mid-eighties, not so hot for mid-seventies.

So middle-elderly aged, fat and sassy, blessed with a wonderful husband, a great son, who is regular middle aged, dear friends, and an old tractor that still works—happy birthday to me. 

In researching this I found a quote in the Aries description. It is my new motto.

"When you know yourself, you're empowered. When you accept yourself, you're invincible."

(Marlene is an award winning author who is available for speaking engagements. Her books are available on www.scribblersweb.com and www.amazon.com. You can reach her through www.MsRatWrites.com or MsRatWrites@gmail.com)

Hey Ya'll!
 
I am have been pitiful about keeping up with anyone. I would like to say it was because I have been very productive in all kinds of things. 
 
It ain't true. I don't know where my time goes, but it isn't for very productive things. We're clean. That’s about all I can say!
 
I did finish writing a book on learning styles. I have sent it in, but haven't heard back from the people who will do the publishing. I think I am going to go through Amazon for it. Tips, Tricks, Techniques for Self-Directed Approach for Easier Learning is the title. 
 
I am in the midst of getting the publishing on my first book back over to me. It is still under the publishers imprint.  
 
I am about to recreate the book I lost, Finding Home. I have 14 chapters, though not in order, that I retrieved.
 
My favorite short story is The Caretaker. I am submitting it to a contest this month. Keep your fingers crossed for it. No, you haven’t seen this one. I wrote it two or three years ago. It is long and therefore not acceptable to most contests. I hope to get a book of short stories out this year. It will be in there. 
 
I had oral surgery on Thursday. I have one side of my face swollen and I look like a monster, but it is getting better. 
 
Bless Snell, I have slept pretty well all of Thursday and Friday. I have a meeting on Sunday with one of my writing groups. I hope my face will be less swollen and my headache and mouth pain will be better. It has greatly improved this morning. I am president of the Southern Sisters in Crime group so I hate to miss. 
 
I am watching a huge pileated red pecker on the suet block this am. He is beautiful. All the smaller birds are there and just ignoring him.
 
James has branched out with his glass blowing and is making these incredible squids on rounded ball. The legs are very delicate, but just lovely. I included his fox as well, these are his two newest interests. I hope the pictures comes through. 
 
Hope all is well with you and your's.  
 
Marlene

Hey Y’all,

The picture in this article is of Rich’s Great Tree. The lighting of the Great Tree in Atlanta was the beginning of all things holiday.  Everyone watched on TV or went downtown to see the annual phenomena. Time magazine featured it on the cover of December, 1961. It was a world impressing event. 
The tradition began in 1948. An Eastern White Pine at least 70 feet to 90 feet tall would be selected each year for Rich’s event. Television coverage of the tree being felled and transported to Atlanta was on the news coverage. We would see the cranes lifting the tree from the street to rooftop some eight floors above.  

Once in place, the decorating would begin. Balls five feet in diameter would hung with huge ropes of garland and lights. The top star had to be 10 feet tall and shown like it was leading all of us to Bethlehem or Holiday shopping nirvana. The tree could be seen for miles. 

Parents and children would walk through Santa’s Workshop on the way to visit with Santa Claus. Inside the store, was "Santa's Secret Shop" which was off-limits to the adults. The "spirit of Christmas" started at the street level with animated window displays. Moving mannequin handing out gifts, trains transported them to other windows, dancing couples, and angels playing violins. It was magical.

The roof top home for Santa would be opened for children in awe of the great man. Eight reindeer would live on that roof top from Thanksgiving to the day after Christmas. A miniature suspended monorail “flew" from the ceiling of the toy department, outside the building to a rooftop Christmas village that surrounded the Great Tree. The original Pink Pig was named Priscilla. A second pig, named Percival was later added to meet the high demand to ride the pig. After completing their journey, riders received a sticker that said "I rode the Pink Pig.” I still have one of the prized stickers.

On Thanksgiving, crowds would start to assemble in the streets. TV personalities would begin the countdown. The four floors of the Crystal Bridge would gleam with local choirs, decked in robes and best voices. There were eight choral groups performing. Each would be featured for a few minutes. Christmas carols could be heard all over Atlanta. A local celebrity would read the Christmas Story as anticipation of the moment built.

There were hours of entertainment this night with the music and lights. But suddenly, all was still. All was silent. Someone threw the switch. The entire city of Atlanta and through the state through their TVs would let out a mighty “OOOOOHHHHH--AAAAHHHH.”

And it was OOOHHH and AAAHHH inspiriting. The dark sky lit up and the Great Tree shown with a magnificence not to be seen for another year.

Hey Y'all,
I am a bit behind on everything, not just the October news.  I think I have more pies than fingers and I am up to elbows in sticky stuff.

If you are in the Snellville area, I hope you can stop by the Elizabeth Williams Library this Saturday (11/3/22).  Local authors will be there to talk about their books and writing.  We also have the opportunity to sell our books. It begins at 1:00pm

On Nov 19, from 2-7:00pm, I and my friend Lynn Hesse will be at the Walnut Grove Festival at the City Hall.  Stop in so see all the beautiful decorations. 

Dec 3, three of my writing friends and I will be at the Snellville Performing Arts festival.  The program begins at 9:00 and ends at 2:00 pm.  

I wish I could say I have finished another book, but I can't.  I am trying, very hard.  I have Tricks, Tips, and Techniques for Using color to Enhance Learning and Study Skills.  I need to edit it and then send it on to someone who is a much better editor than I. Working on the title. Suggestions? Send your ideas to me (mrat30052@aol.com).  If your title is chosen I'll send you a book as a gift. 

I need only to organize and edit another book like Life is hard. Soften It with Laughter.  I am struggling for a good title.  It is another collection of humorous essays based on the foibles of life. Please send me your suggestions (mrat30052@aol.com). If your title is chosen you get the first book off the press as a gift.

If God is willing and the Creek don't rise, I hope both will be done by the end of the year. Unfortunately, I think the Creek have sharpened their arrows and are lurking in the back yard.

Are you a writer?  Monroe Walton Center for the Arts in Monroe , GA has opened up an Author's Guild and will sell your books. You must be published and you must join MWCA.  For more information contact Barbara Barth (bb-bjd@comcast.net).

Have a wonderful Thanksgiving and take care.
Hugs,
Ms Rat

​Hey Y’all,

Here it is at the end of August. I would love to tell you that I have been working hard on completing the book I lost, but alas, t’ain’t so. Somehow that get up and go, got up and hasn’t come back. I have been doing some short essays. One follows a few announcements. I hope you will enjoy it.

Marlene Buchanan and Lynn Hesse will be presenting at the Walnut Grove Library Book Club on September 7 at 11:00 am.  Visitors are welcome Lynn Hesse and Marlene Buchanan will be selling books at the Monroe Festival on October 8. They will be in front of the Monroe Walton Center for the Arts Building.

Monroe's Southern Sisters in Crime meets the last Sunday of each month at Monroe Walton Center for the Arts.  If you are interested in writing or reading mysteries, join us.  We meet in person from 3-5 pm.  Contact Marlene Buchanan
for more information mrat30052@aol.com.

On September 29, 2022, Georgiana Fields, Lynn Hesse, and Marlene Buchanan will be at the Book Festival at Gainesville Library from 3-98 pm.  This is a program reserved for local authors.

Monroe Walton Center for the Arts is developing a new program for writers. Although they offer several classes for people who wish to write or perform, the BOOK NOOK will feature published authors.  It will become a place for you to
sell your books, hold book fairs, book launches, meetings, etc.  If interested in participating contact Marlene mrat30052@aol.com.  The MWCA committee begins developing this new Author Featured program this September and hope to be fully underway in October. The cost--only a membership in MWCA ($25 for one year for seniors, $35 for others. special student price and family prices).
​
MWCA
205 South Broad Street
Monroe, Georgia 30655
770-207-8937

Gloom, Despair, Agony on Me

Do you remember the TV show Hee-Haw? It was a variety show that showcased many
country-western entertainers and other stars of the times. There was always a segment that
included my new theme song--

Gloom, despair, agony on me.
Deep, dark depression, excessive misery.
If it weren’t for bad luck, I’d have no luck at all.
Gloom, despair, agony on me.

That’s me this morning. I save the books I am writing on thumb drives. I have three in the
works. One is all finished except for a few editions and editing. One is a good start with concepts
and characters, but only about 6,000 words, quite a ways before it is done. Then there is Finding
Home, the title of the book I have been concentrating on. It was three-quarters complete in the
writing. Something like 60,000 words. I would have finished it this week. I WOULD HAVE
finished it this week. Gloom, despair, agony on me.

  Until this morning, I could insert the thumb drive and open up my story. Everything is
gone but part of the first four chapters. I really don’t understand. I thought I was saving it to both
a thumb drive and to the computer program. I “save” at the end of each chapter. My computer
guru said my thumb drive may have been old and it just failed. Well, guess what? If it weren’t
for bad luck, I’d have no luck at all.

I had printed out a full copy of everything. I do that so my husband and I can read it. It is
my way to check that things are flowing in the book the way they flow in my head. Isn’t that
brilliant? A paper copy I can retype into the program. Yes! NO!!! After making the changes from
paper to the thumb drive I tossed the paper copy. “Oh no, you didn’t?” You say. “OH yes, I did.”
I wale in deep, dark depression, excessive misery.

So—four chapters saved. Basically, the intro. Three thousand words in and I had just
announced the victim. Twelve or fifteen hours of my life. Only 57,000 words to be back where I
was. And I can’t seem to recreate those 57,000 words. My brain just fizzled. Do I start over? Do
I just go on to another project? Right now, my plan is to pick up the story at chapter four and
write from there. So far what I have done has been a struggle. I think I must set it aside and let
the cloud of despair lift. In the meantime, I will continue to hum Hee Haw’s song as that is the
only thing circulating in my brain right now.