It is a real honour to feature our latest Guest Blog from well-known vet and author, Malcolm Welshman. Malcolm has just released his latest book entitled An Armful of Animals and his blog post is an extract from that book. I hope you enjoy it as much as I have.

Durlston Days

​An extract from An Armful of Animals
 
I went to Bournemouth Grammar School back in the sixties and when in the sixth form, ran a club called RAM – standing for Reptiles Amphibians and Mammals. I’d organise day trips along the coast from Swanage in the Purbecks. That Dorset coastline with its limestone strata upended in a ragged toothcomb of grey cliffs, riddled with the skeletal workings of disused quarries, has given me a treasure chest of memories.

A typical day out for a small group of us boys – usually five at the most – would involve a bus trip one Saturday in early spring. With the dawn a mere slit of red, we’d rattle out of Bournemouth. Once across the ferry at the entrance to Poole harbour, the green bus gear-crashed up the chalk slopes of Ballard Down and rumbled in twisting descent to Swanage. Bleary-eyed and yawning, we braced ourselves for the hike up the steep hill to Durlston Head and the Globe. Hewn from Purbeck stone, the Globe stands in the grounds of Durlston Head Castle. Here, once steaming cups of coffee from the thermos flasks in our knapsacks had revived us, the day started in earnest.

A flurry of notepads would appear.

‘Sorry, sir …’ faltered Pink Jim.  He always looked flustered and blushed easily. Hence his nickname. He’d mislaid his notebook yet again.

We jotted down date, place, time of arrival, leaving the rest of the page blank in anticipation of the day’s sightings.

From the Globe, the path winds along the precipitous cliff edge, safety ensured by a solid limestone wall.

I would stretch over that wall, feeling its warmth on my belly, the breeze funnelling up to brine-kiss my cheeks. Kittiwakes and fulmars sailed past me at eye-level, stiff-winged in the eddies of air channelling up the cliff face. Below them, dinner-jacketed guillemots and razorbills hurled themselves out to skim the surface of the sea and land in bubbles of white.

On good days, another jewel could flash into view. The comical puffin. Resplendent with its black and white plumage, white cheeks and orange-red bill, it always took pride of place at the top of our notebooks.

Skirting the old quarries of Tilly Whim caves, their entrances round, black, like the orbs of a skull, we’d slip-slide down a steep valley, haul ourselves up past the white-washed lighthouse and set out along the coastal path to Dancing Ledge, our destination for lunch.

There are many distractions along the way.

Grassy slopes fold back onto farmland half a mile inland. Those slopes are criss-crossed with dry-stone walls. Some have toppled over, their limestone slabs fanning out down the hill like scattered packs of cards. There are pockets of hidden blackthorn and secretive muddy pools. As we scrambled into view, young heifers would snort with alarm and plough away through the brambles, leaving us the acrid smell of cowpats, the rasping drone of horseflies.

One such spot we’d visit each spring. Here was a haven for adders just out of hibernation. Often we’d come across half-a-dozen snakes in the space of a few yards. Mostly the dull browns of the females, occasionally the handsome zig-zags of a black and white male.

‘Look, there … see?’ I once whispered, motionless for fear of disturbing a basking snake only inches from my boot.

‘Where sir?’ Pink Jim exclaimed, rattling across the limestone slabs. I shrugged in exasperation as the adder swiftly glided back into the brambles.

Time flew.

Suddenly it was a ‘Come on lads, we’d better hurry.’

A route march ensued.

We scrambled over stiles. We pounded the short turf, home of the rare spider orchid. We zig-zagged through clouds of marble white butterflies that drifted over the grass. Our strides got longer. Our faces redder. Our welly-booted feet more squelchy.

‘Made it,’ I gasped as we finally clambered down the rocks onto Dancing Ledge. We were one short. Pink Jim. Still a crimson blob on the skyline.

Dancing Ledge is a dimpled, wave-worn promenade of rock that juts into the sea: its centre carved out as a man-made swimming pool the local school used to use. We were grateful to paddle and cool off. Sheer bliss. Until one lad spotted a dark green shore crab scuttle into the depths.

‘Sir, it was the size of a dinner plate,’ he cried. All feet got rapidly withdrawn.

But it was still fascinating to stare down into a world of darting prawns, pink shrimps, lumbering hermit crabs and tentacle-waving cream, orange and blue sea anemones.

Then overcome with hunger, we raided our rucksacks. Out came the plastic boxes, levered open to reveal piles of squashed sandwiches.

Discussions followed as to what each had as filler.

‘Ham and tomato.’

‘Cheese and pickle in mine.’

‘I’ve got peanut butter. Scrummy.’

Pink Jim would look on in silence having eaten most of his along the way.

On the return hike, we scaled the higher slopes. There was always something new to discover. Something new to delight. Butter-splashed pockets of primroses. Banks of snow-blossomed blackthorn, its scent vinegar-sharp. Yellow spikes of gorse, drone-heavy with bees.

And the birds. The speckled-brown of a spotted flycatcher. The snap of its beak, an insect caught mid-wing. The burble of a willow warbler, newly arrived from Africa. The scythe-flight of grey cutting across the fields. Puzzlement for a moment. Recognition when the familiar cu-coo rang out.

There was always that extra slab of limestone to look under. Another adder maybe. Snails banded in black and white. Red slugs. Ants in a swarming frenzy of egg carrying once disturbed. And many, many slow-worms.

We drank the remaining dregs of our coffee suspended between the azure of a sky-larked heaven and the glint of a diamond-speckled sea. Bewitched, we’d drowse in the pollen-clouded grass, lulled by the murmur of the distant waves. Only a glance at my watch would break the magic.

‘Crikey, we’ll miss the bus.’

A headlong flight would hastily ensue. Across the grassy slopes. Down, down, down the long hill to Swanage. The green bus rumbling in readiness.

And on the journey home, time for notes to be compared. Who spotted what and where.

Pink Jim’s stoat that nobody else saw.

‘Honest, it dashed under a wall.’

‘Oh yes?’ we’d chorus, flicking our notebooks firmly shut.

Another outing over.

Another storehouse of memories made. Bringing sunshine into our minds. Filling our hearts with joy.
                       

It is a real pleasure to be invited to participate in this month's RAVE REVIEWS BOOK CLUB’S "SPOTLIGHT" Author Blog Tour.

September's "SPOTLIGHT" Author is Karen Ingalls. 

Enjoy reading her blog post on the subject of BOOK COVERS.

BOOK COVERS
 
The book cover is what attract me first, then the title. It is true that we should not judge a book by its cover, but I believe many of us do just that. Just as with the title, the cover should bring out an emotion of curiosity and interest.
 
In the nineteenth century and earlier, a book cover was usually plain. There was no scenery, photos, or colorful backgrounds.  For hundreds of years, book cover's sole purpose was to protect the expensive and fragile pages. Some were covered with jewels, silver or gold. It was during the Arts and Crafts movement at the turn of the twentieth century that book covers had artistic and creative covers.
 
I am glad that there is recognition for those artists who design book covers. It is a remarkable talent that can help to make or break a book. I have been blessed to have two talented people design my book covers. Each cover fits the title and content so perfectly. I often get tears in my eyes when I look at them.
​

​I searched out various graphic artists who had been recommended. I quickly chose my graphic artists based on their previous works and how well we communicated. One might also look at the name of a designer on a book that is appealing, search for Google book designer sites, or ask authors for referrals. And there is always the opportunity to self-design the cover
 
It does cost more money to have a qualified and gifted artist, but I believe that investment is well worth every penny. It is a representation of your skill and talent as a writer. You do not have to be like me and get teary-eyed, but you do want to be proud of it.
 

Pick up a copy of Karen’s book online:
 
Amazon
 
Barnes & Noble

Follow Karen online:
 
Twitter
 
Facebook
 
Website
​

​Author Bio:  Martin Brown is a blogger and a passionate globetrotter. He loves to write an article on Travel, Health, and Education. He is a Science Tutor in Singapore. He has contributed many high-quality articles to different websites. He loves to cook food.

How can students do Hiking and Camping without any fear? 

Hiking and camping high peaks are among the most exciting outdoor activities and one that many people enjoy in their free time. But there is one serious issue that happens to a lot of people who love hiking, and that’s suffering from a fear of heights. Imagine yourself walking in a beautiful natural environment, leaving the everyday world miles behind and then getting struck by fear when you’re just about to reach the highest point of the trail. And also when you being a hassle to join a loved one or some friends on a camping trip but have camping fears and phobias about being outdoors that’s holding you back. Camping fears and phobias are actually pretty common for people who haven’t experienced the great outdoors. But most of these fears are baseless and quickly disappear once you’re outside enjoying the outdoors. So whether you have a fear of being bitten by an insect, chased by a big grizzly bear, or just can’t bear the thought of being outside of cell signal, read on for all the tips and advice you need to shelf your fears and start enjoying the great outdoors. According to research in 2013, 144 hiking and climbing accidents were reported in the USA alone. But don’t worry, there is a solution to the problem, so instead of being scared and letting the fear stop you from doing what you love; start acting differently and overcome the fear by following these simple steps.
 
Be prepared for the challenge: Fear of heights
Climbing in an unknown and dangerous terrain alone is risky enough by itself, so the last thing you need to add to the situation is fear and being unprepared. First of all, make sure that you are physically ready for the task and don’t force yourself to climb a mountain that’s too difficult for you. Prior to your hike, have a good rest, eat well, and try to relax your mind. If you think negatively, that’s what you’ll attract. Also, be ready gear-wise, and make sure you have everything you need for any weather condition. Maybe the forecast says it’s going to sunny, but you never know. Pay attention to waterproof camp and gear, sunglasses, a wool hat that covers your ears, wear layers, and comfy shoes. Bringing enough food and water is a must! When you prepare well, you will feel more secure about yourself and the hike.
 
Build your confidence step by step:
Things don’t change overnight. Try to understand that overcoming any kind of fear can take time. Start with short hikes that you’re familiar with and go with someone you trust. It’s important to know that you can reach the end of the trail and its highest point, and know that nothing bad will happen to you. As with any other thing in life, hiking requires practice. You need to practice first on lower-altitude trails with smaller challenges and then go for the higher ones. Don’t judge yourself. Learn to take things to step by step. When you overcome the fear of climbing smaller mountains then you can go to the next level and conquer higher peaks without a problem. Practice focusing techniques and see what works for you.
 
Weather fear:
Freezing to death is actually a real fear a lot of people who have not camped before have. I say this with a little sarcasm because it’s easily avoided and shouldn’t be a reason for why not going camping. While there is an old saying that you can’t control the weather. You do have a choice of when you go camping, and you can pick the kind of weather you want for the most part. If you really don’t like the cold weather you should only go camping in the summer. If you’re still concerned about being cold overnight, you can wear more layers and pack a thicker sleeping bag.
 
Focus:
Some people who have a problem with height prefer to move all the time, without stopping, while others like to see the terrain for a moment and plan the next steps. What helps a lot in these situations is to meditate for a minute, breathe deeply and focus on the terrain in front of you. See it all from above and understand that it’s totally possible. Visualize yourself crossing the difficult part of the trail. Make sure you don’t stop for too long because you will get overwhelmed by fear again and just linger there not able to move forward.
 
Don’t eliminate fear, but learn how to control it:
A bit of fear is always needed to protect us from dangerous situations. The key is to keep it under control and don’t let it get behind the wheel. It’s all about being comfortable inside your fear, not banishing it entirely. Focus all your energy on dealing with your fear and don’t let it rule your thoughts. Learn to accept it as a positive thing, but don’t let it block you. Remember that being scared isn’t the problem; the problem only arises when that fear prevents you from doing what you love. Be brave and good luck!

Hi there – I’m Tommy Carbone. I grew up in the Greenpoint section of New York City during the 1970s. I survived the streets of a city in despair, became an engineer, powered through a PhD, and have since travelled the world managing projects, observing cultures, and having foodie adventures. In my memoir, Growing Up Greenpoint: A Kids Life in 1970s Brooklyn, I tell of fun times I had playing street games, searching out the best street food, and bonding with a large extended family.

I am currently getting ready for the release of, The Bandits of Lobster Lake, a mystery set in the beautiful, but unpredictable, north woods of Maine. It is an area of the state that is very dear to my heart and fills me with inspiration to write.

When I am not writing, I still have a day job managing projects in the high-tech industry. When I am lucky enough to be writing, you will find me in a one-room cabin, along the shores of a lake that remains frozen for up to six months out of the year and moose out number people three to one.

Since it’s a long way to the cabin, you can find me on the web at:
www.tommycarbone.com
Facebook: @TommyCarboneAuthor
Twitter: @TommyCarbone212
Book Blog: http://tommycarbone.com/blog/
My Amazon Author Page
And on Goodreads
  

Remembering Memories
 
I never intentionally set out to write a memoir of my adolescent years roaming the streets of Brooklyn, trying not to get smacked by a nun, and dodging cars during street games. I started writing Growing Up Greenpoint as a break from a different time period memoir I was writing. When I began, I figured I’d write down a couple of stories for my children about my childhood. Eighty thousand words and eighteen months later, I realized I had the makings of a book.

When I started to write, I had no idea I would remember what I remembered. The memories in the book were obviously stored away in my mind and only resurfaced through the act of writing them down. I didn’t outline, I didn’t reminisce with friends or relatives, I didn’t read any ‘how-to’ memoir books on structure or style. I just wrote. When I finished writing and editing and thought maybe it would be worth publishing, a friend asked how I learned to write. I thought to myself, “I’ve been writing since grade school, what’s he talking about?”

Sure, I had learned the writing rules of grammar (somewhat), but did I need to learn to write? I remembered during freshman English a professor gave me an F on a paper because I began three sentences with – And. If E.B. White could do it, why shan’t I? He told me I was no E.B. White.

I feared maybe my friend (and professor) had a point. I frantically downloaded several books on how-to write a memoir. I barely started most of them; I didn’t finish any of them. I went back to writing the way I wanted to write.

When I finished my third round of editing, I came across Still Writing by Dani Shapiro. That was a wonderful book. I personally don’t consider Still Writing a how-to book. It’s in a realm of its own. On those pages Dani provided encouragement and inspiration. It was in Dani’s book where I first read, “That for which we find words is something already dead in our hearts” - a quote from Friedrich Nietzsche. That statement resonated with me and I felt relieved in my writing process. I did learn a great deal from Dani’s words, just not how to write. (It’s a very tiny book after all.)

Many how-to authors try to give writers a cookbook. I cook a lot, I rarely use a cookbook; and when I do, I never follow the recipe. This drives my wife nuts, but she always compliments the meal.

When I think about that, I learned cooking growing up from my grandparents. I never recall seeing a cookbook on their counters. None of them needed one. Why would a writer need a recipe? When you write from the heart, doesn’t it flow much better? Let it go.

I don’t know if my memoir will resonate with a lot of readers. It’s too early to tell. I do know I am happy I endured to finish it and I am proud of what was accomplished. It is a gift to my children and their children about a time since over, with wishes for the future.

The Philippines is a beautiful country in South-East Asia. Philippines tourism is rife with amazing culture, beautiful landscapes, beaches and crystal-clear water, amazing people, and delicious food.
 
There is a lot more about this country still most people don’t know. Here are some mind-blowing facts about the Philippines.
 
1. More than 7,000 Islands to explore
The country comprises of more than 7,000 islands sandwiched between the South China Sea and the Philippine Sea. Only 2000 of these islands are inhabited. This is according to the report released by the National Mapping and Resource Information Authority (NAMRIA). These islands make the country one of the most thrilling travel destinations as it offers various activities and places to explore.
 
2. The National Flag is flown upside down when there is war
The National Flag of the Philippines is the only country flag worldwide that is inverted to signal that that the country is at war. When the country is in the state of war, the red stripe appears on the top. The flag was hoisted this way during the in the World War II and Filipino Revolutionary War.
 
3. Some of the world’s largest malls
Of the world’s 10 largest shopping malls, 3 of them are found the Philippines. These shopping malls include SM Megamall located in the Ortigas business district, SM North Edsa located in Quezon City, and SM Mall of Asia located in Bay City. These malls have become tourist destinations raising the standard of shopping, entertainment and leisure in the Philippines.
 
4. Rice Terraces of the Philippine Cordilleras
These rice terraces are located conveniently on the mountain range in the remote areas of the Philippine Cordillera. UNESCO classified them as one of the world heritage site having been built about 2,000 years ago. They are handed down from one generation to the next, and have helped create a landscape of great beauty.
 
5. Named Philippines by Spanish explorer
The country was named Philippines’ by Ruy Lopez de Villalobos to honor of King Philip II of Austria. Ruy López de Villalobos was a respected Spanish explorer who also discovered a group of islands in the Pacific Ocean.
 
6. More than 180 languages and dialects
There are more than 180 languages and dialects spoken in the Philippines. Of these languages, two of them, Filipino and English, are official languages spoken by almost two thirds of the population. Before then, when the country was under the Spanish colonial rule, Spanish was the official language of the Philippines for more than three decades.
 
7. 11% of the population work overseas
More than 11 million Philippines work overseas. The country is the top supplier of doctors and nurses in the world. They are the second largest Asian population in the U.S.
 
8. Only Asian country that is predominantly Christian
The Philippines is the only country that is predominantly Christian. In fact, more than 90 percent of the Philippines practice Christianity. Of this population, about 80 percent are Catholics.
 
9. You Can Travel to The Philippines Using Cryptocurrency
If you are planning to visit the Philippines for vacation or for any reason, you can use cryptocurrency to make travel extra convenient. One way to do this is through XcelTrip. It is a de-centralized travel eco-system and a full-service online travel platform. Through Xceltrip tokens, you can do hotels and restaurant booking and buy awesome holiday packages.
 
10. Philippines is a Cryptocurrency Friendly Country
The Philippine government welcomes about a dozen cryptocurrency organizations. They are allowed to operate in a special tax-friendly economic zone so long as they abide to the country’s laws and regulations.

How The Internet Changed Travelling
​
Last year I joined Couchsurfing, which prompted one of my friends to remark: “I see you’ve signed up for the secret way to get sex club.”
 
But that wasn’t my (sole) motivation for embracing the social network.
 
I no longer travel as much as I used to, so I figured playing host to travellers might help me to reconnect with the spirit of adventure — without the hassle of getting injections, packing a bag or leaving my house.
 
It was only was after my guests started to arrive that I realised how much travelling had changed in the past fifteen years.
 
They turned up — gadgets in hand — asking for the Wifi password. The next few hours were spent scrolling through pictures and posting some on Snapchat or Facebook, arranging future accommodations, or chatting on Skype. They had left their everyday reality behind, but brought their online lives with them, so to a certain extent, they hadn’t really left at all.
 
I guess travelling with an Internet connection is a double-edged sword; it makes an excellent servant but an awful master. It allows you to meet people through various websites that you would never have met otherwise. But the purpose of this is brought into question if you just surf the net on your mobile device when you arrive.
 
For me, travel has always been about more than just moving from place to place and seeing different things. It is a philosophy based on the premise of living with less and being more in the moment. It is about learning to surrender to things you can’t control, and seeing who you are when the ground is moving beneath your feet. So, I was taken aback to find that the Internet seemingly has robbed this new generation of travellers of the hundreds of experiences they might otherwise have had.
 
For example, I’ll never forget the seven hours I spent in Nha Trang (Vietnam) searching for somewhere to stay. Everywhere was booked for the New Year and I must have spoken to more than 50 people as I wandered lost and confused through the city. Yes, at the time it was awful, but I saw more of the city than I ever would have by booking online. I even went for drinks with three of the people I’d met that day. When I eventually found a place to stay, and negotiated a price, it felt like a genuine achievement; there’s a certain romance to following an outdated map in a distant land and discovering accommodation, but there’s little romantic about tailing a blue dot on Google maps towards a reservation you made on Hostelworld.
 
As far as I can tell, the one part of travelling yet to be hijacked by the Internet is hitchhiking. A Korean girl, who couchsurfed at my place, took great pleasure in sifting through my bins, finding a huge piece of cardboard, writing Prague on it, and then standing on the side of the road trying to hitch a lift. However, I’m sure it won’t be long before this too is a thing of the past. Someone will create a hitchhiking app called “Pick me up” or something (which sounds like a not so secret way to get sex club).
 
But for all my old-man complaining, being a Couchsurfing host hasn’t been an altogether negative experience. When my guests do unplug, we share many of the kinds of conversations and experiences I remember so well from my own backpacking days. And for that reason, I haven’t deleted my Couchsurfing account just yet. So if you’re passing through České Budějovice and need a place to crash, then by all means send me a couch request. (Just, please, no guys).

Who would have guessed I would write a memoir? Since I can remember, I’ve enjoyed living vicariously through the genre – so many stories of exciting adventures, trauma overcome, and inspirational experiences. But my ordinary life was not made of these. As a teacher of young children, I saved anecdotes as voraciously as collectors saved coins, autographs, and baseball cards. I had visions of someday, writing children’s books. But those dreams never included writing about myself.
​
Until I built a boat. And then, paddled that tandem wooden kayak on a faith-inspired journey with my husband, Gene, from the headwaters of the Mississippi to the Gulf of Mexico, volunteering with over two dozen charities in towns along the way. It was the feedback from those we met along the way – people who probed us for information and reacted to our stories with awe and fascination – that planted seeds for a memoir to grow.

Paddle for a Purpose is the story of this journey. The memoir invites readers along for a ride down one of the most scenic and powerful river systems in America. Set to a backdrop of picturesque scenes and the river’s changing moods, exciting and often humorous accounts of adventure and mishap intermingle with inspiring stories of healing, renewal, beauty, compassion and trust in God.

My writing coach, Kathie Giorgio, once told me that creating a book is like giving birth. Each one is different – and special. I’m sure she’s right. But I’ve only had a single childbirth to compare with one book, and I think perhaps the childbirth was easier. It certainly was quicker. After over two years of collegial writing groups and one year of coaching, I finished draft number ten, and finally decided the story was told as well as I knew how. On one of my writing journals is a quote by Benjamin Franklin: “Either write something worth reading or do something worth writing.” I hoped I did both.

My path to publishing seemed easier than the writing itself. Desiring a traditional publisher, I made a list of twenty possible small presses for submission. But I knew, long before that, which publisher was the best fit for our story. I became familiar with eLectio Publishing through a colleague of mine, Jim Landwehr. I read his Boundary Waters memoir, Dirty Shirt. I loved his humor, gentle storytelling style and emphasis on relationships.  I learned eLectio’s mission included discovering and publishing works by both new and established authors, and publishing God-honoring stories…stories that exemplify Christian living. If my story was ever ready to send to publishers, I wanted to send it to eLectio. I certainly met the criteria of an unknown author. Maybe I had a shot.

​I sent my manuscript to eLectio three weeks earlier than any of the other publishers on my list and heard back from them in little more than a month. I barely made a dent in my list of possible submissions and, with contract in hand, am now an eLectio author! I am grateful every day for their faith in me, the quality of my work and the merit of our story. I couldn’t have found a better home.

Paddle for a Purpose will be available April 3, 2018, both in paperback and as an eBook at www.electiopublishing.com. It will also be available through Amazon, Barnes & Noble, and iTunes. All author profits, after expenses, will be donated to charity, including those with whom we served during our journey.

Please feel free to visit our website, www.paddleforapurpose.net for a link to our publisher, an interactive map of our journey, and photo galleries of river sights, wildlife, friends and charities, as well as a current list of author appearances.

Writing the Tough Stuff in Memoir
 
A myriad of reasons exist for writing a memoir. For example, the author may have led an interesting or challenging life, or experienced a wonderful adventure. If you have decided to write a memoir about a particularly difficult time in your life, this might be a bit harder. Maybe you’ve heard that by telling your story, you will be able to let go of things: people, places or events that have troubled you. Or maybe you believe your story can help someone else going through the same or similar circumstances—give the reader hope: “If she made it through, so can I.”

Whether you have not yet started to write your story, or you are in the middle and finding it tough to move forward, sharing what I learned while writing my memoir may help you. I faced some unpleasant experiences and relived others that I would have preferred not to.

Do NOT use writing memoir to seek revenge. Not that I even thought about going there in my story, but trust me, this is not a good idea. It will put you in a very unpleasant light, even if you have a right to feel that way. No one enjoys reading about someone trashing another, even if said “other” deserves it.

Is it necessary to write a particular scene? Sometimes going into morbid details is not necessary, and may end up turning a reader off. Take a step back and ask yourself, “Is it really necessary to add this part, or can I show this in another way to get my point across?”
For example, writing a knock-down-drag-out-fight with every fist-blowing account may not work. Is there another way to show what happened?

Be prepared. Reliving difficult and emotional events can trigger responses you may not anticipate. If you think writing about these might bring on panic attacks or anxiety, definitely elicit the help of a professional to help you through. Friends might not get why you are putting yourself through the torture—most of mine did not. I am grateful to have been able to share with my therapist particularly upsetting sections, which helped me cope.

Don’t stress out over hurting people’s feelings. You’ll see this is a hot topic in the memoir writing world. The way I see it: if someone doesn’t like the way I portray them, then they should have been nicer to me. Worried about a lawsuit for defamation of character? If you are telling the truth, not embellishing or making things up, from what I’ve read in reputable writer oriented magazines, is they would be hard-pressed to win a lawsuit. And seriously—who can afford to go to the expense? That being said, if you are really, really worried: hire an attorney specializing in this to ease your concerns.

Not everyone will relate. Even bestselling memoirs receive negative reviews from readers who did not relate. That does not mean your story has no value.

You might not feel better having written the ‘tough stuff.’ The general assumption is that once you ‘get it all out’ you will feel better. That may be…but do not be surprised if that does not happen. I did not feel better, and each time I had to return to sections for editing, I suffered another meltdown.

Be kind to yourself. I often had to just walk away from writing about things that were upsetting. Give it time. Lots of time. Sometimes I’d be forced to use place-markers. In other words, I’d write something that I knew wasn’t quite what I wanted to say, and let it go until I was up to editing. Particular sections were much easier to deal with days, if not months down the road.

And then there is soliciting help from others. While this is not a bad thing, the danger is you may feel obligated to make changes, even if they don’t feel quite right. After attending my local writers group weekly for over a year, receiving accolades from the group and taking suggested edits in stride, it was the comment from a member that made me rethink why I continued to attend. Referencing a rather humorous (I thought) event in my story, she said, “I can’t believe you were that stupid.” I never went back, and never regretted not going back.
 
The decision to write a memoir that dives into difficult times should not be taken lightly. The reality is those events can trigger serious mental and emotional trauma. If you are committed to telling your story regardless, keep in mind that it is okay to let yourself grieve.

And finally, let me leave with this: You can’t please everyone. There will be those who will not want to read what you have to say. There will be some who will relate to and praise your writing. When it’s all said and done, write your truth, and do not let anyone tell you that you must do otherwise.
​

My name is Danielle, and this is a taster of a typical travel tale by me from my blog www.fromyearntoyarn.com (Yearning to explore; Yarning the adventures).

Yearning for Brazil; Yarning about Iguazu Falls
 
A fleeting 2 hour flight, and we touched down in Iguazu.  Allegedly, the best times to visit the Iguazu Falls are spring and autumn; the summer heat is intensely tropical, and the water level is lower in winter than the rest of the year round..
 
We of course, were there in winter. But that didn't take anything away from how spectacular the sight was; never before had I seen such an impressive water display in my life - totalling 275 falls, stretching 1.7 miles. We'd heard the rumours that the first reveal of the Falls is jaw dropping, only to get better and better with every turn until you're pretty much engulfed by the water at the end of the trail. And it is true what they say, it did. Words simply cannot do what your senses experience justice, you must go there to take in the scale of the natural feature and hear for yourselves the booming sound of the gushing water in its tonnes.
 
On the Brazilian side you can go up the lift to the top of a waterfall, where the look of the churned up sand emerging over the edge, charging down the drop is reminiscent of the Lion King stampede (RIP Mufasa: gone but not forgotten). Reflectively, we moved onto the area of roaming racoons who were pausing between struts to showcase their stripy tales in extension, and taking run-ups along walls to jump trees. Through the fluffy mist, we arrived at a juice bar overlooking the feeder lake to the tan-dyed fall; an oasis of calm, in direct contrast to the thundering water that was only metres away.
 
We didn't last long at the juice bar though - we were under attack. I rephrase, Molly was under attack. By ladybugs. Hundreds of tiny yellow flies were taking to her tight curly golden locks as landing strips. And not being the most 'at one' person with animals, least of all not bugs, you can imagine her distress. Especially when they began attempting to nest in her hair (it's massive in humidity).
 
To add to her fretting, her bag was floral patterned, which they loved just as much as her hair. Despite frantic debugging attempts by Sarvi and I, there was no denying that it was a losing battle, and we were forced to veto the purchasing of our fruity refreshments. We left the scene juiceless, accompanied by a newly traumatised Molly.
 
Retreating to Tetris hostel (made entirely out of shipping containers!) we settled in for a final night in Brazil, headed for Argentina the next day, starting with the Devil's Throat (the Argentinian side of the Falls). After hearing mixed reviews, we were unsure whether it would be worth our while to visit, but having the time do so and wanting to experience both sides for ourselves, we went anyway.
 
...I seriously beg to differ with the position that the Argentinian side of the Falls doesn't compete with the awe invoked on the Brazilian side! They are totally opposing sights; they are from totally different perspectives. Which, to my mind, makes it a difference not to be missed out on.
 
In Argentina, you're positioned at the top of the Falls looking down, in direct contrast with Brazil - at the bottom looking up. I guess it depends if one viewpoint appeals to you more, but I found both equally spectacular. The Devil's Throat gives you an incredible panoramic view, allowing you to truly appreciate the sheer size of the Falls in all their glory. As though timed to perfection (Thank You universe), that same moment we reached the viewing platform edge, the moody sky overhead tore open with a deafening clatter and an explosion of light in the most dramatic unveiling of the drop. It was literally phenomenal.
 
Anticipating rain that morning, choosing to wear sandals so we would dry off quicker seemed like the right idea... At the time. But we didn't expect it to be quite so torrential, and ultimately reveal that our waterproof jackets were in fact, not waterproof. A squelch in our strides and resembling the appearance of drowned rats undesirably closely, we scrambled onto the safari train back to the park entrance with the other Shower-struck Venturers.
 
Given we were travelling on to Argentina that evening, we were fortunate to have all our belongings with us for a choice of clothes-change. Still, when you've packed for South America expecting tropical temperatures (as we discovered on multiple occasions that we weren't alone in..), having an array of summer clothes to choose from when you'd really like a thermal sleeping bag to climb into, is certainly character building. Great should the sun turn up... But for the time, the best we could hope for was some clean socks (to Dad's who received socks at Christmas: you are blessed).
 
The drying facilities at Iguazu were our saving grace. And probably made our entrance fee worthy just with the electricity bill we racked up collectively in the process. Even so, the layers of water were so deep set into my sandals I couldn't comprehend, so I accepted (yet far from embraced) my fate that the squelch was around to stay for a few days.
 
But slightly drier, and slightly warmer, we boarded the night bus to Buenos Aires.