Tag: writers

All Write, Columns

Travel that Transforms

Cindy Hval

When I think of Susie Leonard Weller, the first word that comes to mind is “vibrancy.”

From the brilliant turquoise color she favors to her beautifully bright smile, she exudes energy and intelligence.

We met almost 20 years ago at a writers group. She taught parenting and life skill classes for Head Start parents enrolled in the Community Colleges of Spokane and I was a fledgling freelance writer.

She was in the early stages of drafting her book, “Why Don’t You Understand? Improve Family Communication With the 4 Thinking Styles,” and I was writing columns about my boys burping entire conversations at the dinner table.

I’d leave the group inspired by our conversations, and I think she at least left entertained. After retiring from the community colleges, she left the group but continued to write and, more importantly, travel.

The travel bug arrived on her 10th birthday when Susie received a three-piece set of powder blue vinyl luggage. Two years later, she lugged it through the LAX Airport with her 10-year-old brother in tow as they changed planes on their way to Mexico City. Her parents had arranged an informal exchange with a family in Mexico.

She’s pretty much kept her bags packed since.

Recently, she sent me a note to let me know that her latest book, “52 Global Reflections: A Pilgrim’s Travel Memoir,” is scheduled for release on June 18.

We caught up over the phone.

“I see myself as a global citizen,” Weller said. “The book is part spiritual autobiography, part travel memoir.”

Over the years, she’s explored 34 countries, ranging from Australia to Turkey, and she typically stays in youth hostels.

“They’re for the young at heart, not just the young of age,” she said.

Susie, Barcelona, 2019

Weller has hiked over hills, trekked across trails, kayaked across bodies of water, and soared above the ground.

“To commemorate my 50th birthday, I paraglided over the Swiss Alps.”

In “52 Global Reflections: A Pilgrim’s Travel Memoir,” she documents her experiences in 52 locations around the world and includes over 150 reflection questions.

Her reason for penning this book now is simple.

“I’ve survived Stage 3 colorectal cancer, Stage 1 breast cancer, a ministroke and brain surgery,” she said. “I want to share my story before I die. If I don’t share it now, it will be gone.”

Weller’s story isn’t one of tourism but of connection.

“I believe in connecting with people at their sacred sites and spiritual places,” she said. “So many communities across the world are searching for that connection to something bigger than ourselves.”

Her pilgrim travel memoir integrates her 1981 master’s degree in pastoral ministry from Seattle University and a 2006 certificate in spiritual direction from Gonzaga University to provide insights into visiting sacred locations, shrines and labyrinths.

In a world divided by politics, ideologies and religion, Weller’s experiences offer much-needed hope.

“I’ve experienced the kindness of strangers and the generosity of people,” she said. “I’m so glad I traveled earlier because if you wait till you retire, health issues can limit you.”

In 2023, she spent nine weeks in Greece, Jordan, Malta and Turkey.

While visiting the home in Ephesus, Turkey, where Mary, the mother of Jesus, is said to have spent her final days, she writes of experiencing a profound healing of childhood wounds.

But her favorite country remains the first one she visited at 12.

For 18 years, she and her husband, Mark, wintered in Zihuatanejo, Mexico.

“We’ve traveled by bus all over Mexico,” she said. “When I’m there, I don’t feel like a visitor.”

Weller’s goal in sharing her travel experiences is to encourage others to step out of their comfort zones and enter the unknown.

“Let us build bridges to increase our compassion and respect for others, recognizing that they are a part of us, that we don’t yet know,” she writes in the memoir’s conclusion.

Neither illness nor time has dimmed her vibrancy.

“Travel transforms my head, my heart and my spirit,” she said.

”52 Global Reflections: A Pilgrim’s Travel Memoir” will be released June 18 through Kindle Direct Publishing with a special 99 cent promotional offer. More information at https://52globalreflections.com/

All Write, Columns

A room of my own

Cindy Hval

For many years, I posted the same cartoon on social media every December. It features a woman sitting on Santa’s lap, reading her Christmas wish list. “… And I also need a gripping opening sentence, help with my 14th and 28th chapters, an agent with excellent connections in the publishing world, and a home office with a door.”

I didn’t share it this year because, after 17 years as a freelance writer and author, I finally have a home office with a door.

I’ve spent my career working in our unfinished downstairs rec room. The boys called it the playroom because that’s what they did there. They built gigantic Lego creations, set up Hot Wheels tracks and played video games. It’s where they hosted sleepovers and movie parties.

Meanwhile, I sat at a battered hand-me-down desk that once belonged to my father-in-law, next to an old filing cabinet snagged from my husband’s business.

My desk faced wobbly 1970s-era faux pine paneling. Lighting consisted of a series of cheap gooseneck desk lamps that teetered precariously atop the previously mentioned filing cabinet.

Without a door and no drawers in my desk, I’d leave the room and return to find my carefully arranged notes scattered across the room and my pens AWOL.

Cats enjoy few things more than knocking things off flat surfaces.

I churned out thousands of articles and columns from that room, but thankfully, when it came to pen books or bigger projects, I had kind friends who offered me private, quiet spaces for work.

As our family grew, other projects superseded my longing for an actual home office. My husband had a deck to build and a shed to create, the boys’ rooms needed finishing, the living room needed new flooring, and a second bathroom was vital.

Derek completed each job with great attention to detail, and every project turned out fantastic.

Our youngest son accepted a teaching job in Texas nearly three years ago, and Derek hoped to finally build an office for me because he truly loves home -improvement projects – and me. Unfortunately, his osteoarthritis limited his mobility and energy, and hip replacement surgery loomed.

So, reader, I took matters into my own hands. A friend referred me to a contractor, and I made an appointment for him to meet us at the house. Then I told Derek.

Though disappointed he wouldn’t be able to do the project himself, he agreed to talk to the contractor with me. They hit it off like I knew they would.

Almost a year later, work began. I chose Zachary’s former bedroom for my office. The ceiling hadn’t been finished since an earlier remodel, and the blue indoor/outdoor carpet had been there since our oldest two sons shared the space.

It also had a window facing our backyard. Finally, I’d have natural light and an office with a lovely view!

Work began in August, and when I dithered over choices that came up, wanting to defer to my husband, the contractor gently reminded me, “This is your office. You get to decide.”

And I did. I chose soft gray paint, white trim and a laminate floor that mirrored the warmth of the pine tongue-and-groove ceiling. Honestly, I would have been happy with any ceiling, but Derek lobbied for the upgrade, and I’m glad I listened.

In late September, he put together the desk I’d purchased years ago in anticipation of my new digs. Its L-shape offers plenty of room for notes on the smooth black surface. When I tire of sitting, I can use its stand-up option.

I had a matching bookshelf delivered, chose a cozy chair and a lamp for the corner, and hung art I’d saved just for this space.

Every morning, when I take my mug of coffee to my desk, I smile. My notes are right where I left them the night before – my pens and paperclips, present and accounted for.

The view from the window feeds my soul no matter the weather. When the sun beats down, I lower the blinds, but usually, I leave them up. I’ve watched the leaves swirl down into the garden. I’ve seen the rain drizzle or pour and watched snow slowly shroud the deck.

I love everything about this room, but my favorite thing might be the newly painted white door with its shiny gold knob. When Derek’s home and I have phone interviews or looming deadlines, I shut it with a satisfying click. Unlike our cats, Freya and Walter, he doesn’t stand outside and scratch and whine until I open it.

My 60th birthday may be approaching, but I finally have a room of my own, and oh, it was worth the wait.

Columns

Amusing me for 38 years

Cindy Hval

Feedback from my column about the amusing things my husband says was unanimous with readers asking for another installment.

After reading it, our pastor said that he felt a sermon title coming on “God. Does. Not. Rapture. Zucchini.”

I’m eagerly waiting for that one!

I’ve been collecting Derek’s sometimes purposely but usually unintentionally funny sayings for years and saving them under the hashtag #thingsmyhusbandsays.

Here’s your second helping.

He’s been talking in his sleep

• One night I got in bed after Derek had turned in early.

“Did you see that?” he asked, as I slipped between the sheets.

“What?”

“The screen just jumped!”

“What screen?”

“The TV screen.”

“You’re not watching TV. You’re sleeping,” I said.

“Whatever,” he mumbled. “But the screen just jumped.”

• At 5:30 one morning, Derek woke me up saying, “Hi! How are ya doing?”

And even though I knew he was talking in his sleep I answered, “I’m fine, how are you?”

“Wha? Huh?” he replied.

“You asked me how I was, so I said I was fine.”

“But I was talking to you on the phone in my dream. You were having car trouble. Now I won’t know which car it is, and I won’t be able to help you!”

“Go back to sleep and I’ll call you again,” I said.

Derekisms

• “Well, that’s going to throw a wrench into his monkey.”

• “Did you see that? The guys on that porch are playing guitars and Mandalorians!” (Pretty sure he meant mandolins.)

• “I tend toward goodism.”

• After a week of vacation, I wasn’t sure I remembered how to do my job. “Don’t worry, it’s just like falling off a bicycle,” Derek said.

• On my way to the grocery store, I called to ask if there was anything he wanted me to pick up.

“Yeah, get a buttermilk squash.

“You mean Butternut?

“Whatever,” he said. “Buttermilk is probably easier to cook.”

• When venting about a business contact who’s difficult to communicate with Derek said, “It’s like my texts go in one eye and out the other!”

The world according to Derek

• In the Costco parking lot on a wintery evening, he fumbled through his vest and pants pockets getting more frustrated by the second.

“I can’t find my car keys! Where are my keys!?”

I slid my hand into his sweatshirt pocket and pulled out the keys.

“CLOTHES HAVE TOO MANY DAMN POCKETS,” he bellowed. “TOO MANY POCKETS!”

• A woman brought two dogs into the movie theater in a baby stroller adorned with pink ruffles. “And that there is why she’s single,” Derek said.

• “I may be over 50, but I’m just saying when the zombie apocalypse comes, I’m totally going to outlast the man-bun, high-water pants dudes.”

• Hval family dinner conversation:

Sam: I’ve got chest hair now and I don’t like it.

Derek: You’ve got Chet’s hair?

Sam: CHEST hair. I’ve got CHEST hair!

Derek: Big deal. I’ve had chest hair since I was 5. Heck, Thor’s (our cat) had chest hair since birth.

Married life

• I was in the kitchen baking while Derek searched Netflix. He settled on a foreign language film.

Me: I didn’t know you spoke Spanish.

Him: I don’t. It’s Japanese. (He doesn’t speak Japanese, either.)

• When my husband hurt his back, I offered to tie his shoes.

Dismayed, he looked down at my handiwork.

“You tied double knots? What do you think I am, a little kid?”

“I always tie my tennis shoes with double knots,” I explained.

He shook his head.

“Great. Now, everyone’s gonna know my wife tied my shoes.”

• I bemoaned the lack of time to get my eyebrows waxed.

“I’ll do them for you,” Derek offered.

I raised my bushy brows.

“I don’t know if I trust you with hot wax.”

“Wax?” he said. “I was going to use duct tape.”

• Him: How come you’re doing laundry on a Wednesday?

Me: I dunno, but for some reason I was running out of underwear.

Him: Me too! That’s why I’ve been wearing yours.

• Derek had a headache the other day, so I told him to look in the cupboard for the migraine relief pills. Later, I asked him how he was feeling.

“Great!” he said. “That Midol works wonders!”

“What?” I replied. “I said take migraine tablets.”

“You said, ‘Look for the bottle with a ‘M’ on it,’ and I did!”

Bottom line? He felt better and was a lot less moody!

How could I not be crazy about Derek? He’s not only a wonderful husband and a great provider for our household, he’s also an endless source of column fodder.

As my friends say, “He’s a keeper.”

Cindy Hval can be reached at dchval@juno.com. Hval is the author of “War Bonds: Love Stories from the Greatest Generation” (Casemate Publishers, 2015) available at Auntie’s Bookstore and bookstores nationwide.

All Write

Buried in a Good Book

Cindy Hval

I’m often asked what I like to read and my answer is always M&M’s– Mysteries and Memoirs.

So, I was delighted to be asked to write a profile about Edgar Award-nominated Tamara Berry. (Spoiler alert: SHE WON!)

Here’s the story I wrote for The Spokesman-Review.


PS: I loved “Buried in a Good Book” and have already received an advance copy of the third book in series “Murder Off the Books.” Can’t wait to read it!

Tamara Berry always wanted to be a writer.

“But it seemed like such a pipe dream,” she said.

Yet, next month the Spokane Valley native and East Valley grad will travel to New York City to attend the 77th Annual Edgar Allan Poe Awards, presented by the Mystery Writers of America. Berry’s mystery novel “Buried in a Good Book” has been nominated for the Lillian Jackson Braun Memorial Award.

The Edgars honor the best in mystery fiction, nonfiction and television. Past winners include heavy hitters such as Walter Mosley, Stephen King, Viet Thanh Nguyen and Patricia Cornwell. Spokane novelist Jess Walter won the best novel award for his 2005 book “Citizen Vince.”

The kid who once dreamed about life as an author has published under three pen names in a variety of genres.

Berry graduated from Eastern Washington University with a literature degree and in 2012 released her first e-book, “Love is a Battlefield,” as Tamara Morgan.

“I started writing romance when my kiddo was super young,” Berry said. “The only thing I had the mental capacity for was romances and I read a ton of them.”

Her first two contemporary romances were set in the world of the Highland Games.

“They feature burly, strong guys and romance readers go for that,” she said.

More than a dozen books followed before she retired Tamara Morgan and was reborn as Lucy Gilmore.

In 2018, her agent told her doggie romances were selling well – that is, romance novels featuring dogs.

Soon she’d written a three-book series about service dogs in training and two stand-alone romantic doggie comedies.

“I write mainly comedy,” she said.

When she pitched her next romance idea no one seemed interested except for one editor who asked “Can you put a dead body and a cat in it?”

And the Eleanor Wilde mystery series was born penned under Tamara Berry. Wilde is a pseudo-psychic/medium with a penchant for solving crimes.

“I love con artists,” Berry said. “There’s quite a few of them in my books. I’m drawn to the way they manipulate people. They’re interesting characters with a high level of insight and they tend to be more self-aware.”

While the Eleanor Wilde series sold well, the author had a new story in mind.

“I pitched a lumberjack series where a thriller author and her teenage daughter move to Winthrop, Washington.”

Her agent told her what was really selling was book-themed mysteries.

“Could you put a librarian or a bookmobile in it?”

Berry could and did.

“But I got to keep the lumberjack,” she said.

“Buried in a Good Book,” the first book in the cozy mystery series featuring thriller author Tess Harrow, is up for an Edgar award next month. This is the first year the Lillian Jackson Braun Memorial Award will be granted and it’s the only Edgar award that comes with a cash prize.

Braun, who died in 2011, wrote more than two dozen novels in her “The Cat Who…” mystery series. The award named after her will be awarded for the best full-length, contemporary cozy mystery.

Having read lots of Nancy Drew books as a kid, Berry said crafting cozy mysteries is well within her wheelhouse, but the formula is quite different from romance novels.

“There are no steamy sex scenes, no swearing and no gore,” she said. “The violence is hinted at, but not on the page. And of course, you have to have a murder and solve it.”

For Berry, that’s the fun part.

“I often don’t know who the culprit is going to be,” she said. “I get to be as surprised as the reader.”

Cozy mysteries are generally more gentle than hard-boiled detective fiction or grisly suspense thrillers. Think Agatha Christie’s Miss Marple series, or TV’s Jessica Fletcher of “Murder, She Wrote,” as examples of the genre.

Berry said there are two types of writers – plotters and pantsers.

“Plotters sit down and write an outline. Pantsers fly by the seat of their pants. I’m a pantser.”

The prolific author usually writes in bed or on her couch with her two dogs and two cats cuddled up next to her. She writes seven days a week and has a strict 1,000 words per day, daily word count.

“Once I hit 1,000 words I can free myself to do other things,” Berry said.

That includes promoting her latest Lucy Gilmore book, “The Lonely Hearts Book Club.” Due March 28, the lighthearted novel tells the story of the community created by a book club full of misfits including a young librarian and an old curmudgeon who forge an unlikely friendship.

And of course, she’ll be in New York City for the Edgars.

“I’ve been working at this so long,” she said. “It’s not glamorous, but it’s pretty great. If 16-year-old me could see me now, she’d be freaking out!”

All Write

Link to Chicken Soup for the Soul Workshop

Cindy Hval

A few weeks ago I presented “How to Get a Bowl Full of Chicken Soup” at the Spokane County Library District’s 6th annual Spokane Writers Conference.

If you were unable to attend, you can view the presentation here for a limited time.

This soup’s for you. Happy writing!

Columns

Limping My Way to Another Birthday

Cindy Hval

Quick question. Don’t cheat by Googling.

What do columnist Cindy Hval, former Detroit Lions linebacker DeAndre Levy, former Minnesota Viking running back Adrian Peterson and former New Orleans Saints free safety Jairus Byrd have in common?

Answer: all have suffered meniscus tears. (The meniscus is a c-shaped piece of soft and fibrous cartilage in the knee.) Sure the injuries of the latter all occurred while playing for the NFL and this columnist’s injury apparently happened while strolling around the block, or sleeping, but still – I’d like to think the four of us could bond over a beverage whilst discussing physical therapy protocols.

The hitch in my gitalong happened last fall shortly before we visited The World’s Most Beautiful Boys (our twin grandsons). I noticed a twinge in my left knee during my regular walk but dismissed it. I’m prone to dismiss twinges, which is why we arrived at the hospital a scant 20 minutes before the birth of two of our sons.

While in Ohio, chasing after toddlers proved painful, so the day our plane landed in Spokane, I scheduled a doctor’s appointment. An X-ray showed no fractures and very minimal arthritis for “a woman my age.” Diagnosed with a suspected sprained knee (though I hadn’t fallen or even twisted it that I recalled) my doctor prescribed ibuprofen, ice, elevation and rest.

Then my knee started buckling without warning. The swelling didn’t abate and the stairs in our split-level home became my idea of the old lady Olympics.

With another visit to the twins coming up, I finally sought physical therapy. After some poking and prodding, the therapist said she suspected I had a slight tear in my meniscus. She felt optimistic that with diligent home exercise and physical therapy I could avoid surgery.

That was six weeks ago, and I have seen lots of improvement, though how the injury occurred in the first place is still a mystery.

Last week I celebrated another 50-something birthday and I’ve noticed one side effect of aging is the increase of mysteries.

Example: Yesterday, I brushed my teeth after breakfast, but when I got ready for bed at night I couldn’t find my toothbrush anywhere! I scoured cabinets, tables, nooks and crannies, before finally finding it behind the coffee maker.

Obviously, I wasn’t caffeinated enough to wield a toothbrush.

A sore neck puzzled me for weeks. No amount of pillow-fluffing alleviated the ache. Then I read that many who work at computers all day don’t have their monitors at eye level which causes neck strain. Currently, my monitor rests on a copy of “E-Myth Mastery” and “Greenhouse Gardner’s Companion.”

Recently, my husband and I planned a Netflix binge of a suspense series we’d wanted to catch up on. Halfway through an episode, I awoke with a start. What woke me? Derek’s snores. We had to start the entire episode over.

“That’s what we get for trying to watch late-night TV,” I said.

Derek cleared his throat.

“It’s 9 p.m…”

Earlier this month my 90-year-old mom had another dental emergency. I scheduled her appointment and we arrived early. A full day early.

“That’s OK, sweetie,” she said. “I’m used to it. Your dad got everywhere early. He even showed up in Heaven early.”

Speaking of Mom, last week I was at her senior-living apartment making a list of items I needed to pick up at the store for her. It was a mental list, which turned out to be a big mistake.

“Did you say you needed paper towels or toilet paper?” I asked.

She narrowed her eyes.

“Aren’t I supposed to be the one with dementia?”

I may be aging, but I’m still young enough to get schooled by my mother.

Unfiltered 57 🙂
Columns

My #1 Fan Can’t Read

Cindy Hval

It’s flattering to have an ardently devoted fan.

One who follows your every move and watches everything you do with unabashed interest and adoration.

It’s also annoying when that fan is an adorable, but constantly underfoot tabby.

Sir Walter Scott, our rescue kitty, turned 2 this summer and I’m still his favorite person.

Supervising my social media updates is just one of Walter’s annoying habits.

However, my status was briefly in doubt when I took him to the vet for his annual checkup. It seems His Royal Cuteness can hold a grudge.

The day after his appointment, he didn’t jump into bed to cuddle after breakfast.

I shut the bathroom door when I showered and he wasn’t waiting for me with reproachful meows when I opened it.

He didn’t follow me downstairs to my desk or come running when the printer whirred to life.

I put on my walking shoes without fighting Walter for the laces. When I returned home, he didn’t run to greet me. Instead, he stared somberly at me from the top of the cat tree.

Just when I thought I’d permanently lost his devotion, he jumped into my lap while I did a crossword, and tried to grab my pencil. Walter is passionately fond of pencils. He also loves emery boards. He can hear me open the drawer that contains them from wherever he is and scurries to find me, so he can steal another emery board for his collection.

Walter adores me so much that at bedtime he can’t stand for anything to come between his face and mine. Therefore he loathes books, newspapers, my phone; and Derek often ends up in Walter’s bad graces. Sometimes when my husband goes in for a kiss, he ends up with fur on his lips. No, I haven’t grown a beard, but Walter is pretty good at blocking affectionate advances from my spouse, which is why he isn’t allowed to sleep in our room.

“Why you read when you could cuddle me?” Walter

In fact, he’s taken to hiding under the bed and waiting ‘til we fall asleep. When he thinks it’s safe, he jumps up–usually near my face. This gets him in my bad graces because I’m the one who has to wrestle him out of the room.

I’d hoped he’d outgrow his obsession with food in plastic bags, but if anything it’s intensified. Our bread is stored in the microwave, but we recently discovered Walter will scale great heights for a bag of corn chips.

We’d taken to storing chips on the top of our freezer. Since I have to stretch to reach them, I thought they’d be safe.

Wrong.

Our son Sam soon found a trail of tortilla chip pieces and a bag of previously unopened chips on the floor. It seems Walter jumps from shelf to shelf to freezer top.

Sam moved the unopened chips to the highest shelf in our pantry. A week later, I found a bag on the floor with Walter’s teeth marks all over it.

I moved the chips to shelves on the opposite side of the room and I’m hoping he can’t Parkour himself to reach them.

Right now, I have another problem. While writing this column, I took a break to gather dinner items. My feet crunched something on the carpet. I bent down and retrieved a piece of uncooked pasta–Walter had ripped open a bag of noodles.

He’s got this terrible two thing down, all right. I’d tell you more about it, but he’s curled up on my desk with one paw on my hand. He’s gazing up at me like I’m the best thing since canned tuna. I don’t think he’d be as adoring if he knew I’m documenting his crimes.

I’m just glad my No. 1 fan can’t read.

Always adorable when sleeping.

All Write

Turning Tables

Cindy Hval

It’s always a bit surreal to be the interviewee instead of the interviewer, but I had fun chatting with Hara Allison on her podcast “See Beneath Your Beautiful.”

See Beneath Your Beautiful podcast is raw and intimate, sometimes funny and always entertaining. With new episodes every Saturday, Hara explores our loves, fears and hopes with a delicious combination of depth and lightness.

We chatteed about writing, parenting, grandparenting and lots of stuff in between.

You can click here https://bit.ly/3okAtTe to listen to the episode, or find it on any podcast streaming service.

*Disclaimer* I utter the 3 forbidden “p” words!

Columns

Still afloat on the pond of English 101

Cindy Hval

I am absolutely not going to tell you how many years ago I took English 101.

For one thing, I’m not good at math – something my college transcript verifies. For another thing, it was a really long time ago. How long ago? Well, let’s just say all of my essays were handwritten. In cursive. In pen. No, not with quill and ink.

Memories of that class were triggered when our youngest son headed out the door to Eastern Washington University last week. He’s not taking 101 – he’s teaching it.

Sam’s first day of teaching English 101/First day of kindergarten.

Sam is in the final year of his graduate degree and is a composition instructor in the English Graduate Student Assistantship Program. His 22nd birthday was Friday, but he’s already teaching a class of 24 students.

He’s relishing his new role, and I’m sure his students will benefit from his enthusiasm. For many of them, English 101 will be just another required class to get out of the way, but perhaps for some the class will trigger a desire to learn more about writing.

That’s exactly what happened to me at Spokane Falls Community College.

At 18, I still wasn’t sure what I wanted to be when I grew up. The career aptitude tests I took my senior year of high school pointed me toward fashion merchandising. I’m pretty sure that’s just a fancy way to say retail sales clerk, but I could be wrong.

Dad said college would be a better place to discover my aptitudes and paid for my first quarter at SFCC. I’d been the editor of our school newspaper and co-editor of the yearbook, so English classes didn’t scare me. I was far more terrified of classes involving math – a justified fear as evidenced in the above-mentioned transcripts.

I’m sorry to say, I don’t remember the name of my English 101 instructor. I do remember he was also the tennis coach and often wore his tennis whites to class. Maybe fashion merchandising should have been my thing, after all.

Yet, he’s the one who lit the spark of interest – who first made me wonder if perhaps writing was something I could actually be good at. To be sure, 101 is the most basic of college classes. Students typically learn the different stages of writing: gathering material, drafting ideas, revising drafts, editing and proofreading.

Sitting on my desk is one of the first essays I wrote for that class. The title? “From Duckling to Swan,” in which I related my middle school to high school transformation.

Honestly, reading it now is cringe-inducing, but I’ve saved it all these years because of the comment the instructor wrote in pencil on the title page.

“An essay like this can keep you afloat in the pond of 101.”

When that paper landed on my desk, after he first read it to the class, it was an a-ha moment for me. I thought, “This is it! This is what I want to do. I want to write and I want people to read what I’ve written.”

And here we are.

Now, it’s Sam’s turn to make a difference.

Who knows? Maybe someday a writer will sit down to pen a newspaper column or write a book, and remember an English 101 class at EWU, and the instructor who encouraged her to believe that she had a way with words. And perhaps that teacher’s name will be Sam Hval.

It wouldn’t surprise me a bit.

Columns

To all the books I’ve loved before…

Cindy Hval

In my previous column, I wondered if a love of literacy was hardwired in our family DNA. All four of my sons are book lovers like me. I invited readers to share their bookish memories, and it seems that many of you also caught the reading bug young and have no desire to be cured.

Christy Himmelright of the Tri-Cities wrote “I have all the Little Golden Books that my parents bought and read to me. My very favorite was ‘All Aboard!’ about a train trip from home to see Grandma. The protagonist was a girl, and that was almost impossible to find in any adventure story. Also, it appeared that she was an only child (as I am), so identifying with her happened on a very personal level.”

Like me, Himmelright eagerly anticipated trips to the library.

“The best time was summer vacation when I could go to our little town library and check out the maximum number of books that I could read in two weeks. It seems that I was trudging back there often before the two weeks were up and loading up again with the next selection. I also participated in the summer reading contests, and clearly remember the ‘trail’ that wound through the Reading Forest. It started at the checkout desk and meandered along the top of the walls that showed above the box shelves. To go each time I went into the library and find my marker as it moved along the trail was a thrill that I still feel in my long-ago child’s heart.”

Her lifelong love of the written word endures.

“To this day, I have at least two or three books at my living room chair-side, and one on my nightstand for bedtime relaxation,” she wrote. “I cannot imagine life without books, especially the real ones of paper and binding and covers.”

Patricia Garvin of Spokane recalled the magical moment when words came alive for her.

“In 1948, I was in the first grade. We students had a workbook in which there was a story; we were to remove the pages, which folded on dotted lines, into a small booklet. I vividly recall sitting next to my mother and reading the story to her. I still see the line drawings and remember reading to her, ‘…and down the hill came Wee Woman.’ She was as delighted as I!”

Beverly Gibb of Spokane still has a copy of the first book she remembers her mother reading to her.

“My first reading experience was Mom reading me ‘Winnie the Pooh.’ We both loved Piglet the best,” she wrote. “My favorite books were ‘Anne of Green Gables.’ I’m guessing your boys didn’t read those!”

She guessed correctly. My sons didn’t embrace Anne, but on Christmas morning a couple of years ago, my oldest gave me the complete “Anne of Green Gables” collection. He knows how to delight his mama.

Sometimes literature love leads to book-custody issues. That’s what happened to Bernadette Powers of Helena.

She recalled parents joining the Weekly Readers Book Club, which delivered books directly to their door.

“I was in hog heaven getting books in the mail. I still have most of them including my all-time favorite, ‘Half Magic’ by Edward Eager,” she wrote. “The story is delightful and the illustrations are amazing. It also became a favorite of my son, Gannon. He appropriated it when he went off to college. When I went to visit him I appropriated it back. We’ve been stealing it back and forth ever since. He moved from Seattle to California a few years ago. There’s a small part of me that suspects he made the move so it would be harder for me to steal my book.”

Joan Becker, who grew up in Spokane, wrote of her eagerness to start first grade, so she could learn to read. Her best friend was a year older and would read comics to her as long as they were getting along, but if they disagreed? No more comics for Joan.

When she could decipher words by herself, the material the school provided proved disappointing.

“Dick and Jane stories comprised the love and hate relationship of others selecting my reading agenda,” she wrote. “After Dick and Jane made their debut, their interactions were way too repetitive to be captivating. I couldn’t wait to purchase my own comic books and go to the library.”

All who responded still retain their passion for the written word.

“As my 90th birthday approaches, I remember as a 9- or 10- year- old growing up in Capitol Hill in Seattle, going on the bus by myself downtown to the library. In those days there were no branch libraries, and it also seemed OK for a little girl to go alone on the bus,” wrote Muriel Rubens. “My parents read to me as I was growing up, as did my two older brothers and sister. I learned to read at an early age, and I loved it and haven’t stopped since,”

As I write, my suitcase sits open beside me. I’m packing for a trip to Ohio to see my twin grandsons, aka “The World’s Most Beautiful Boys.”

My husband glanced at the mound of stuff I intend to pack. Board books for the boys and a paperback for their big sister lay scattered among clothes. My own stack of reading material teetered nearby.

“You’re never going to fit all that in your suitcase,” he said.

He may be right.

However, one thing is certain, even if I have to wear the same outfit every day for a week; the books are coming with me.