I suppose a trivia question of the future might be, “When were the 2020 Tokyo Olympics held?”

In 2021, of course. A 2020 Olympics with an asterisk. An Olympics delayed rather than cancelled. (FYI: The Olympics were cancelled in 1916, 1940, and 1944 because of war.)

An Olympics Like No Other

There was a great deal of controversary about whether they should take place at all, because COVID-19 was surging again. With an abundance of caution, regular testing, masking, and stands without fans or family members, they pulled it off.

As a regular viewer of the Olympics, I was glad they were held. Every two years, I take a break from my writing for 17 days to watch. This time, it had been three years. I was ready.

Simone Biles’ withdrawal from most of the competition was disappointing for those of us who know what she is capable of, but understandable. It was better for her to sit out than risk grave injury. Her ailment added another word to our vocabulary: the twisties. I hope it will be only a temporary condition for her.

An Olympics of Firsts

There was still much to love for Olympics watchers.

A few new sports were added. It will take me a while to learn the methods of scoring and terminology of surfing, wall climbing, and skateboarding, but they were fun to watch.

Ninety-three countries won medals, some who had never won one before.

The individual equestrian event saw its first woman to ever win gold and the oldest man (62) to ever win a medal of any color (bronze).

Several pairs of siblings competed in the Olympics, some in the same event and some in different ones. In an Olympics that forbade families to attend due to COVID, these athletes got around that rule. 

The United States 113 medals were won by more women than men.

There are always a few upsets, and who doesn’t love to see an underdog prevail? The excitement of the Tunisian swimmer when he realized he won gold was a thrill to watch. He had barely made it into the finals (by .04 of a second).

I do have a few peeves.

I hate when a broadcaster shoves a mic in someone’s face after they lose. You don’t need to ask what went wrong or how they feel.

I hate when a silver medalist grumbles because they didn’t win gold. Second place in the Olympics is something to be proud of.

My biggest peeve with this year was the spoilers. I avoid the news and the internet until I have watched an event unfold, so I can watch with anticipation to see who wins. Yet, NBC began its coverage more than once by telling me who won an event before they showed that event. And they did it without any kind of warning. In the past, they’d give a spoiler alert to allow us time to mute and turn away. Huge disappointment, NBC!

In spite of the peeves, I love the Olympics! I love to watch sport at its best. I love to watch friendships between rivals. Stories of overcoming hardships to achieve a place with elite athletes are inspiring. And the Paralympics is an inspiration from the get-go.

I look forward to the 2022 Winter Olympics and hope it will take place in 2022.

Birds chirp, lawnmowers hum, and kids shout as they play. They are typical sounds of summer.

The screech of cicadas is past.

We live in an area where Brood X (that X is a Roman numeral, not a letter of the alphabet) appears every seventeen years. Some residents hate them, while others are fascinated by them. Some people eat them, as do dogs and birds. Every child and adolescent who sees them is meeting them for the first time.

Imagine a species that pupates underground waiting for that seventeenth year to arrive. Little mud “chimneys” appear to signal they have climbed their way into the daylight. After they emerge (in May in our area), they free themselves from their outer shells (which litter the ground by the thousands).

Their job every seventeen years is to feed, mate, lay eggs, and die, leaving their young to begin the cycle again. They feed in the newest, outermost tree branches, which die and also litter the ground. This doesn’t harm mature trees, only prunes them a bit, but can prove harmful to young saplings. Because they feed in trees, the places they dig in for the next round are under those trees. Our yard has several mature oaks and maples, so we knew we’d see a multitude this year.

Why the screech?

Those who hate them are irritated by their numbers—millions of them. They fly in your face, land in your hair, and screech! The screech is their mating call, but when you multiply it by their massive numbers, it’s deafening. Experts say they can be as loud as a jet engine.

They get quiet when the sun goes down or when it rains, and it rained a lot here this June.

Now it is July, and their time has ended. The only remnants of their presence are a few dead ones on the ground. I’m told they are good for the soil.

While I did find their screech annoying, I must admit I am a bit saddened to know these fascinating creatures won’t return until 2038. How much will the world change by then?

A small group of writer friends met recently, and one of them talked about a book she had read. The characters were interesting and the writing was excellent, she told us, but the ending disappointed her.

As I currently struggle with writing the ending of the novel I’ve worked on for over two years, it was a reminder of the importance of endings. It has to be just right—and I’m not there yet.

Brining History to Life, Means Trying to Live It

Writing a novel, I go through several steps. Since my novels are historical fiction, the first steps are research, research, and research. I read everything I can about the subject. I interview experts. In this case, my story takes place recently enough to interview people who remember the event, people who were there. It’s also recent enough that I was able to listen to interviews that other people did and to watch video footage.

After I organize all that research, I have to create characters whose point of view I want to tell the story through. I have to flesh them out and make them real enough to live and breathe (at least in my mind). My novel Empty Places had one point of view, but my other novels had two each. That meant getting inside two different minds and bodies. This current novel has six points of view. Six! I set myself a real challenge this time, but I felt it was necessary for the story I want to tell.

So, Where Do We Start?

Next, I write the beginning. That’s often tricky. In this case, it took me eight beginnings to finally decide just how I wanted to tell the story. I also had to decide which of the six characters to begin with. I finally found a beginning that satisfied me.

Middles are more than a bridge between beginning and end. They are where the action happens, where characters face challenges and overcome them (or fail to). It’s where change occurs. And in historical fiction, all that action and change has to fit into actual history. It needs to be woven into real events as seamlessly as possible.

After I’ve gone through all that work to research, create, and weave, I can’t let the ending fall flat. It needs to wrap up the story well, though not too neatly. I can’t leave loose ends, but “happily ever after” endings are rarely believable. Yet, I’m not a fan of depressing endings. I usually try to close on a hopeful note…if history allows me the opportunity.

It’s Make It Or Break It

If someone invests time in my characters and my story, I feel responsible to write an ending that doesn’t let the reader down. It’s OK to leave them wanting more, but they have to feel satisfied. Definitely a tall order. And so I struggle today with an ending. If it takes me eight tries, so be it.

Now, back to work.

April is National Poetry Month. Poetry is how my writing life began. My mother was a published poet, and when she saw me trying to write poems too, she sat me down and taught me all about rhyme and meter.

Along the way I have written a few free verse poems, but I usually go back to the rhyme and meter I learned early on. It’s a comfortable fit. I can feel the rhythms in my head when I write.

I have had a few of my poems published, but I realized long ago my true passion is for telling stories. Yet, when the feeling strikes, I will still find the rhythm and jot down a poem.

Healing & Remembering Through Poetry

Last year, I shared on this blog the poem I wrote about the pandemic. It was a way to let my creativity take control over a situation that seemed out of control. I did the same thing after the 9/11 attacks nearly 20 years ago. My poem about the attacks ended up published in an anthology called Everything Prose and Poetry Too.

I have written poems for loved ones on special occasions, and I have written poems about loved ones after they’re gone. Several of those poems have been read at funerals. The first of those was for my father-in-law in 1990. My daughter made a copy of it in calligraphy to display in his casket.

One Family’s Prayer

I called it One Family’s Prayer, and it went like this:

Before April is over, read a few poems or share a poem you like with friends or family. Happy National Poetry Month!

In the early days of the pandemic, our Ohio governor closed down bars and restaurants and other “non-essential” businesses to prevent the spread. The shutdown put employees out of work without notice. Many of these people lived paycheck to paycheck, and restaurant workers didn’t get large paychecks to begin with. They relied on tips to make ends meet. They were devastated.

One local restaurant emptied out their refrigerators and freezers and gave the food to its spur-of-the-moment-unemployed workers. It kept them fed for perhaps a week, while they navigated an outdated and overwhelmed unemployment system and waited for a first check to arrive (if one arrived at all).

A Time of Overwhelming Need

In the midst of the mind-shattering loss caused by Covid-19 deaths, we also witnessed this crushing need. People were unable to feed their families. Thousands who had never expected to accept help from a foodbank waited in line for hours for a few boxes of groceries.

Even when bars and restaurants reopened, they opened with limited capacity, and employees struggled to make up for lost time.

People wanted to help, but few knew what to do. They donated to foodbanks, but they wanted to do more. Some of them left bigger tips. In Colorado, the “Covid Bandit” left tips of hundreds of dollars in several establishments.

Crosstown Tip-Off

My favorite story is a local one: the “crosstown tip-off.”

If you aren’t a Cincinnatian, you likely don’t know about the crosstown shootout, the local basketball game between rival universities. Fans of University of Cincinnati and Xavier University annually cheer on their favorite team, but this year they went that extra mile to help out workers at local eateries.

I’m not sure who started it, but fans of one of the contenders left a $1,000 tip at a café and dared the competition to match it. The competition upped it at a different restaurant with $1,001 tip. This went back and forth across the city, week after week, restaurant after restaurant. $1,002. $1,005. One team raised the stakes to $1,500. Then $2,000. The number kept rising, and servers were astounded—and grateful. 

Recently, fans of another university (Mount St. Joseph) entered the fray and threw its hat (money) in the ring with a $7,000 tip. Now, that is my kind of sportsmanship!

Each restaurant on the receiving end reportedly split the tip money among all its servers working at the time, benefitting a large number of employees who have struggled since the pandemic began.

As a sport fan, I think this is a great way to show support for your local teams—and local employees. If you can’t afford a tip that large, how abut an extra $10 or $20? If we each did our part, we could make a difference.

We all know by now one size does not fit all, no matter what the label states. We should also realize the suggested age for a toy or book is a suggestion, and not all children are alike. Neither are adults.

I heard from a relative last week who gave her almost-90-year-old father my novel Not on Fifth Street because he was bored due to pandemic restrictions. He loved the book! She gave him Like a River, and he loved that one too. Next, he read Empty Places, and she wanted other suggestions for books to give him. He is not my first “elderly” reader.

Suggested for ages 8-12? No thanks.

Would he be dismayed if he saw the catalog that lists two of those books for ages 8 to 12? I was and continue to be dismayed by that label, but publishers have rules. I have enjoyed reading books for young readers my entire life. A good story is a good story. Period.

My books are published for young readers because of the ages of the protagonists, but I am well aware that many of my readers are adults. I find that exciting. Both adult and juvenile book clubs read my books. A man who claims to be my “oldest fan” is in his 90’s. Readers shouldn’t be pigeon-holed by age labels.

Ignore the label and find the right story for you

Unfortunately, schools also have rules about such things. Readers miss out because 7^thand 8^th-grade teachers and librarians are “not allowed” to purchase Empty Places or Not on Fifth Street for their classrooms. Thirteen-year-olds aren’t supposed to read books when the cut-off age is listed as 12. I think the 13-year-old should make the decision. If the reader will enjoy the book, why is it a problem? Any interest in reading should be encouraged. I defy anyone to argue the language and subject matter are not challenging enough.

My books deal with historical events, including disasters. Reading about a flood or a mine cave-in (or learning a bit of history) shouldn’t be limited to twelve and under, should it?

On the other hand, the mother of an 8-year-old told me she wouldn’t buy Empty Places for her child because she believed the subject matter (that mine cave-in, as well as an alcoholic father) is “too mature” for him. She has the right to make that decision. She knows her child. The people who decide the book is for age 8 do not. Not all 8-year-olds are alike, and many 8-year-olds can handle those situations. So can teens and adults.

I’d love to be able to remove age recommendations for my books, or at least include the words “recommended for” or “suggested for.” Better yet, how about “8 and Up?” That label would more accurately define my readers. People are different, in interests and abilities. All are welcome in my books!

And reading is good, no matter how old you are.