This week's writing prompt asks authors to express their gratitude.

Living where I do, I have much for which to be grateful. Watching the news or reading the newspaper brings home that dismissive expression of "First World problems" when I gripe about something that annoys or inconveniences me. Because my list of gratitude would be exhaustive (and exhausting), I'll restrict it to a few key entries.

I'm grateful for:

• My husband. It's got to be said, right? I'll admit that he wasn't supportive when I expressed a desire to go freelance; however, after losing my job three years ago, he's been extremely supportive. I truly appreciate him for that. I'm also grateful for being able to justify not going back to being a corporate wage slave. I'm a (much) happier person and he sees that. (So does everyone else.) David may not really understand what I do or why I like doing it--and that includes the menagerie of four-footed critters--but he's there for me.
• My publicist. Dee really goes above and beyond the job description of social media marketing guru. She serves as a sounding board, sometimes as an editor or critic, and often as a friend.
• Cindra and Jeanette. We met less than a decade ago, but they've become my best buddies, my riding companions, my readers, my fans.
• My editor. Every writer should have an editor who fits his or her writing style as Cindy does mine. I rely on Cindy to correct my typos and other errors, to give me virtual dope slaps when my story goes off-course, and to help me make those manuscripts shine.
• The Mastermind Group. This mere handful of fellow "solopreneurs" share my pain. They commiserate and offer intelligent and empathetic insight, suggest solutions, and generally provide the like-minded support we all need.

Of course, I'm thankful for the readers who enjoy my stories and even plunk down their hard-earned money to buy the books. I'm even thankful for the readers who leave less than flatter reviews: I learn from them what works and what doesn't work. Writing and publishing stories is an evolving process.

Willow by Holly Bargo #review
Posted by brriske 

Willow is a young sidhe who was determined to branch out on her own from her very sheltered parents and her village. Of all places for her to work, she works for the National American Vampire Association. But sidhe blood is poison to vampires. She’s a pure white sidhe, a healing sidhe and runs across a fallen woman. It’s her nature to heal. She realized she’s healed the famous bain sidhe, Rowan Nemad. Rowan gives her a parting piece of friendly advice of locking down her glamour tighter because there are many things hunting sidhe and would claim her against her will. They chatted through some of the conference and Willow’s eyes fall on the famed bodyguard Dane Karl. And for some reason, he asks her for coffee. She’s very intimidated by the weretiger, as much as he’s trying to put her at ease. He recognizes her as his soulmate and knows that he has to court her. ​ 

Ah, there he was. Willow’s breath caught in her throat and she grew very still as she watched him, admired him. A tall man with straight shoulder length, dark blond hair, massively built of long, thick bone and hard muscle and no fat, he prowled slowly along the aisles of exhibits. She watched him pause beside the booth occupied by Night Life Magazine. He desultorily flipped through a few pages, exchanged a few words with the publisher’s staff person who manned the display, and moved on. His gait was slow and gliding, predatory. His heavily lidded eyes appeared sleepy until one took a second look and realized that they were sharp and hyper-watchful. 

She concentrated, delicately calibrating her body and releasing the tiniest amount of tigress pheromones into the air. 

A convention attendee stopped to ask about membership benefits, commanding Willow’s attention. She smiled pleasantly, showed him the list of membership benefits and explained them, and described the membership fee structure.

Dane stopped in front of a booth promoting eighteen karat gold fang caps, with and without gemstone embellishments. His nostrils flared and the back of his tongue tingled, detecting the stimulation of pheromones almost too faint to detect. He inhaled more deeply through his mouth and followed the whisper of scent to a slender brunette who seemed to be completely unaware of his presence as she addressed an attendee’s questions. There she is. A tingle of awareness shivered through his body as he studied her from across the aisle. He watched her thank the attendee for his interest, press some literature in to his hand, and slowly realize that someone was staring at her.

My parents celebrated their 55th wedding anniversary on November 14, 2019.

Four days later, my father died.

Dad wasn't in good health. He'd been in heart failure for the last few months. But still ... we didn't expect Dad to die quite so soon or so suddenly. Here's his obituary. He was 79 years old.

Two of my brothers called to let me know what had happened, what was happening. I called my husband and he came home from work. We packed, called a nephew to take care of the animals, and headed out. Dad died while we were en route with just another 100 miles to go.

I took a two-week leave of absence from my work, notifying clients on the fly. I did what I could to help my mother. I wept the day after we returned while washing dishes.

There's usually a reason--not necessarily a good one--why I don't post my usual blogs. I won't finish my latest work-in-progress either by the end of the year. I take these personal commitments seriously. But this time, I'll simply beg your indulgence.

My father died and I'm still grieving.