Thursday, June 27, 2013


I believe every single human on earth harbors a regret or two. Since not one person is perfect, that means we're all subject to regrets. No doubt some have fewer...or more...than I do, but regretting something from the past is common among us all.

But what good does the emotion do? Nothing, as far as I can tell, but surely our regrets might teach a lesson so that we don't repeat the action. Even at that, there's no way to duplicate the exact situation.
So, we're left with our regrets. Mine are buried deep in my subconscious, I think, because I live in a kind of Pollyanna world.

"Today will be better than yesterday. Nothing is as bad as it first seems. Unless we have committed a egregious sin, then all is trivia on which we don't need to dwell."

Wow, this sounds good. However, it doesn't work in reality.

We still regret.

While cleaning out our attic and ridding it of useless items, I saw dim writing on top of one of the seven boxes of Mason canning jars.

"For Celia. Six qts pickles, six qts black-eyed peas." Mother always sent food home with us when we returned to Houston.

I confess, because I regret, that I told Mother I did not want to learn how to can black-eyed peas. This was in 1969, and I was a young bride. She insisted we go pick a bushel full of the peas, shell them, and spend the rest of the day canning them in Mason jars.

No, I told her. I don't want to. It would take all day.
Of course, she became angry and told me one day I'd need to can food, but I wouldn't know how.
My curt answer was that I would buy peas in a can from the supermarket.

Did she really want me to learn to can peas? I wonder. Now, in my mature years, I believe she wanted to re-connect that good mother/daughter relationship we'd always had as I grew up. I loved my mother, but on that day, I put a crack in  that relationship.

As most humans, I've done things I wish I hadn't, whatever the degree of negative behavior. If you're human, you will make mistakes and some will hurt someone else.

Some regrets are wishing we'd done something earlier, better, longer, or stronger. People have asked me over the years if I regretted getting married at barely age eighteen, and wished I'd gone to college first. The answer is no. I wanted to go, but my parents had not one cent they could give me to attend college.
Anyway, I was in love and wanted to get married. It all worked out fine, and I believed I made the right choice. I still do. Even though at age twenty-seven, the yearning to go to college became so overwhelming I asked my husband if I could. Yes, dear ones, I asked. We had two pre-school children, and the decision had to be a mutual one. Since I worked while he finished his last year of his bachelor's, he said yes, we'll work it out.

And we did. The four years were not easy, but they paid off in the end.

My regret? I probably did not pay enough attention to my children. Yet, they grew up very well, very accomplished, and worthwhile adults. We're so proud of them.

Regrets. Oh, I could list dozens, but they're mainly trivial, not life-changing or earth-shattering. But the thing about canning those peas sticks with me to this day.

One day I'll figure out why this is so important to me.

Why did I turn down my mother? I could have picked, shelled, and canned those peas very easily. But I chose not to.

And I made her angry.

She was angry at me for many years afterwards, too. But I've realized she was angry at the world...not just me. And so, I try to forgive myself of that one transgression.

The subject of regrets comes in handy when writing romance novels.  I love to create a character who regrets one thing or another, and maybe that regret makes him/her angry, unhappy, stand-offish, or even intolerant.

Using that bit of knowledge, I can then make the plot revolve around that character trying to overcome his regrets and move a woman...fall in love...become a better person.
Sigh....a love story in the making.

In Texas Blue, Marilee Weston regrets turning down Buck Cameron's proposal. She feels inadequate, insecure, and inappropriate to become the wife of Buck Cameron, the town's shining star, a young man from a respected family.

In Texas Promise, Dalton King regrets hurting his wife by leaving for a year to work the western part of the state as a peace officer.

In Texas True, Sam Deleon regrets he does not know how to love a woman with his heart and take care of her.

In the fourth upcoming book, Texas Dreamer, Lee King regrets running away from home at age 14, leaving his wonderful family wondering where he is and if he's still alive.

Lee King is the younger brother of Dalton King. He learns that Dalton is one of the richest men in Texas because of his oil production companies and oil refineries in Houston. Why does Lee now look for part of his family? Because, by a stroke of good luck, he owns a huge ranch west of Fort Worth and oil has been discovered there. He seeks out his brother for business advice only, but on that trip to Houston, Lee receives much more than good advice.

The fourth Texas novel
Coming Soon
Celia Yeary

Thursday, June 13, 2013


Have you seen the commercial in which a man in a suit sits at a round table with six children? They appear to be second-graders.
He asks the question: "Which is better? Bigger? Or Smaller? The children answer in unison, "Bigger!"
"Are you sure?" he asks.
One little girl slaps her hands on the table, vigorously nods her head, and says, "I am ab-so-lute-ly positive!"

The slogan: It's not complicated.

So, this makes me think even more about the value or disadvantage of having a website and a blog. I've had both from the beginning of my publishing career, which began in 2007. I created both, and I maintain both. The blog is free, and I only pay $14.00 a month to fiddle with the website all I want.

As time goes by, my website receives fewer and fewer page views and comments, and most of those are spam--usually a service to help me promote my books. The number of visitors has also dwindled.
My blog receives all the attention, but that's probably because I promote it.

More and more, I see combined sites--website that is also a blog. At first I didn't care for this arrangement, but I'm beginning to see the merits.
In addition, I'd like to reduce the time spent updating two sites.

One site to maintain.
No fees.
Amazon gives me an author page with all my books. Why duplicate that on a website, when Amazon gives far more information?
My books and profile are on Goodreads.
My books and profile are on Ask David.
My books and profile are on my publisher's website.
I can control the Spam.

Does a combined website/blog look professional?
I don't care for each page on the blog carrying the same sidebar information as on the home page.

What is your opinion?
 ~*~Which situation do you have? Are you satisfied?
~*~As the commercial indicates, "It's not complicated."

That's my main goal--uncomplicated.

My website:

Thursday, June 6, 2013


The first thing I remember wanting but didn't get was a bicycle. My little sister and I hoped and prayed we get bicycles for Christmas in 1950. I was ten and she was eight, and we lived in a very tiny three-room stucco house in Levelland, Texas. It was our first year in that small West Texas town, and little did we know, we'd settle there after following oil fields for six years--moving at least once a year. We sneaked out of bed on Christmas morning and tip-toed to the Christmas tree. No bicycles. We peeked through the curtains at the front yard. No bicycles. Instead, Santa brought us identical dolls, identical packages of panties, identical lockets, and identical white New Testaments.

In seventh grade, I got glasses, probably six years too late, because I could not see anything at a distance. I wanted to be like the other girls without glasses, but no, I was shy, wore glasses and cardigan sweaters, and skirts. So, I muddled through junior high, being the smart girl, the sweet one, the nice girl--not exactly what I wanted.

During my ninth grade year, I had all four wisdom teeth pulled because they were pushing my teeth forward. This made a few a little crooked, but no one ever in my life mentioned my crooked teeth, so I figured they weren't that bad. However, I asked for braces. I begged for braces, crying my eyes out. No, we could not afford them. In fact, I think only one girl in the entire school had braces, but she was the rich girl. That made me mad because I never knew she had crooked teeth, and believed she only got them to show off.

The Cold War was raging, and I became very fearful of an atomic bomb dropping on our town. It could happen, I told my daddy. Please, I begged him, build us a bomb shelter in the back yard. I'd read about them, so I knew how they were built, and the supplies we were to put down there. No, he said, we can't afford a bomb shelter, but he wouldn't build one even if we could. I loved my daddy with all my heart, but at that time, I hated him. He seemed unreasonable and stubborn about the request, so I decided he didn't love me.

Later in high school, I asked Mother for boys' jeans. It was the beginning era of rock'n'roll, Elvis, and Bill Haley and the Comets. Some girls began to wear boys' jeans rolled up in wide cuffs, saddle oxfords, and their daddy's white shirts hanging out. I wanted that, too, but no, Mother said. You will not wear boy's jeans. You can wear girls' jeans that zip on the side....but no, that was not the point. I wore dresses to school every single day, until the day I graduated.
But what happened concerning those things I wanted?

In the end, I didn't care if I had a bike or not. After that year, a bicycle did not interest me because few others rode bikes, and those few were boys.

Yes, in seventh grade I had glasses and was shy and wore cardigans. but in eighth grade? With the same glasses, and a pink sweater outfit, I was chosen Most Popular. Wow.

As a wise and smarter adult, I realized one day I'd gotten every important thing I wanted with glasses and not so perfect teeth-a handsome, smart husband, a daughter and son, both brilliant, of course, three unique grandsons who are very big now but who still hug me and say, "I love you, Grandmother," and nice homes everywhere we moved.

I'm pretty sure I forgot about that bomb shelter by the next week..or maybe the next day. Mother always told me that I woke up in a new world every morning. I was never sure what she meant by that, except now in my senior years, I think it means I don't hold grudges from the day before, I forget about arguments very quickly, and I'm most often happy.
On the other hand, it might mean that I could never remember what happened the day before.
The boys' jeans? Probably that was a good call on my mother's part. Some girls looked very cute and sexy in their outfits, but I have a feeling I wouldn't have looked so good. I didn't exactly have a straight up and down body like a boy's--and besides...I wore glasses.
I wonder what kind of a person I'd be now if I had been given everything I wanted. Some parents do indulge their children to such an extent that there's little left for the child to want. "Wanting" and "yearning" are character builders. This is my interpretation and conclusion. What is left in this world if we have nothing to work for? To yearn for? To hope for?
Writing romance novels has given me a chance to use my well-earned knowledge of the human heart. Our heroine must yearn for her hero, and our hero must work to earn her love. And together, they hope for a happily-ever-after life, even though the road might be a little bumpy.