It took me months to realize I was teaching my daughter the wrong way to swim. My husband bought our daughter a Dora the Explorer fishing rod and taught her the wrong way to fish. Other things that I’ve flubbed include how to cut a steak and how to write cursive. Have you figured out my mistake? Here’s a hint: my daughter has something in common with Oprah Winfrey, Leonardo di Vinci and Henry Ford. Need another hint? If my daughter sits on the wrong side of me when we eat, we bump elbows. That’s right—she’s a lefty!

Once my husband and I uncovered that fact, we still had no idea how many activities in this world are dominated by what works best for right-handers. When I swim front crawl, I turn my head to the right to breathe. Apparently, it’s easier for my daughter to breathe on her left. Fishing poles are made for right-handed kids and if you want one with a reel located on the left-hand side, they cost hundreds of dollars! Now that I’m teaching my daughter to write in cursive, I see the bias that the “correct” way for letters to slant is to the right. Well, that’s not so easy for a southpaw. Fortunately, my mother-in-law is left-handed and she showed us the trick of tilting the paper in the opposite direction. When I write, the top of the paper tilts to the left, but my daughter needs to turn it the other way. But it’s still a challenge for her to get her letters to slant in the “right” direction.

I say all of this in honor of International Left-Hander’s Day, August 13th. For those righties out there, I challenge you to spend a day looking at the world through the eyes of a leftie. We put our right hand over our heart to say the Pledge of Allegiance. We shake hands with our right hand. We operate the mouse on our computers with our right hands. High school desks, scissors, guitars and the buttons on microwaves are made for right-handers. Perhaps you don’t think it matters. When you get home tonight, put your house keys in your non-dominant hand and try to unlock your front door. Apparently when it comes to ergonomics, the majority still rules.

I’d love to hear from you! What other activities are effected by being left-handed?
What other famous people are lefties?

Karen Lenfestey, a Midwest Writer’s Fellowship winner, writes “Happy Endings with a Twist.” She just released her fourth novel, A WEEKEND GETAWAY. To get the free e-book, FRIDAY A LA MODE, click here:

Seeing an author whose books I enjoy is a rare thrill for me, so I couldn’t pass up the opportunity to hear Elizabeth Berg speak. In case you don’t know, Elizabeth Berg is a New York Times best-selling author, writes contemporarily fiction and bought her dad a red Cadillac after her book Open House was featured on Oprah’s Book Club. What I like about her books is that they’re about marriage, friendship and complicated family relationships, which is also the style of books I write. According to my agent, it’s a small niche in the women’s fiction market, which is dominated by romances. Here are the words of wisdom this successful author shared at the Midwest Writer’s Workshop. 


Your day job can make you a better writer. Elizabeth Berg’s experience as a nurse required her to give patients “unconditional positive regard” and notice everything from a twitching knee to their facial expression. Since she worked in critical care, she learned that what matters in life isn’t the big things, but the little details. It’s the yellow coffee cup you drink your morning coffee from or the dog curled up at the end of your bed that matter to people. This is also what creates a beautiful scene and a memorable story. 


Berg offered insights into her own writing process, but emphasized that we should honor what works for us. She doesn’t plot her story out ahead of time because she likes to be surprised. “I don’t want to know where it's going. I want to dream it into being.” Preferring to work in the morning, she writes one day without censoring herself. The next day she goes back and edits it. She encourages writers to “Go shopping for ideas inside yourself” rather than trying to imitate others.  


“The best thing to do to be a good writer is to be a good reader,” Berg said. She likes to read Alice Munro, E.B. White, the graphic artist Lynda Barry as well as non-fiction. Reading a variety of genres is good for writers. Her advice for writer’s groups is “Be honest but kind.”  


When asked how she juggles several book ideas, she said she can’t work on two novels at the same time. “It’s like you’re married to it.” So, she suggested treating your story ideas like you would children: tell them you love them and you’ll get to them later, but right now Mom has to do this. People who are bombarded by several ideas should write each of them down and put them in a drawer. 


Berg concluded with a few positive words about publishing. Despite the changing industry, she said, “Editors are still looking for good writers. They need you as much as you need them.” Write the story you want to write first, she advised, and worry about marketing later. “All of you are engaged in a noble business. . . . Good luck! I hope you love what you’re doing.” 



If you enjoy reading happy endings with a twist, try A SISTER’S PROMISE, WHAT HAPPINESS LOOKS LIKE or ON THE VERGE. Look for A WEEKEND GETAWAY by Karen Lenfestey, coming soon to Amazon. 
Thanks to my friend and fellow author, Cathy Shouse, for the picture in this blog.

Of all the cities in the U.S., Las Vegas was the last one I ever wanted to visit. Maybe it’s because growing up, I lost every bet to an older, wiser brother. Maybe it’s because I’m past the age when I want to do something wild on the weekends. Maybe it’s because I didn’t believe people when they told me there’s plenty to do in Vegas besides gamble. Whatever the reason, a business trip forced me to visit Sin City during the harshest winter of my life and I’m glad it did.

Even before the slot machines greeted me at the Vegas airport, I’d decided to never leave my hotel. That’s one of the great things about Vegas hotels—they have everything you need at your disposal: restaurants, salons, nightly shows and even a magic shop where I picked up a great box of tricks for my 8-year-old daughter.

             After watching CSI re-runs with the new perspective of “Hey, I’ve been there,” my gaze landed on the Las Vegas magazine on my bureau. On the cover stood a woman in an elegant black gown with matching silk gloves and a caption that made my heart skip a beat: Titanic. The traveling exhibit had caught my attention months earlier, but I hadn’t been able to see it. Within minutes, I stepped out into the sunshine, hailed a taxi and headed for the Luxor. The exhibit eerily re-created the luxury ship so well, I vacillated between longing for such opulence and shuddering at the tragic end to so many lives. My boarding pass held the name of a real passenger, Thomas Drake Martinez Cardeza, a man returning from an African safari whose suite featured two bedrooms, a sitting room and a private fifty-foot promenade. At first, I thought, “Well, I’ll survive since I’m first class.”

I walked along a frigid wooden deck in a dark room to find individual stories interspersed between porcelain dishes, alligator pocketbooks, and spectacles recovered from the ocean floor. I read about a man’s possessions that went down with the ship, whose life was only spared because he’d been shanghaied before the Titanic disembarked. How lucky, I thought ironically. I read about a family that could’ve afforded first class cabins, but to save money, chose to stay in second class. I hope that decision didn’t cost them their lives, I thought. I read about a woman who felt her life was ruined because she lost her husband when the ship sank. I’d forgotten about the captain’s cry for “women and children first.” Maybe Thomas Drake Martinez Cardeza didn’t survive, after all. I shivered.

            I definitely studied the list of those who died closely before I exited the exhibit.

            After surviving one of the greatest shipwrecks of all time, I became bold enough to explore more of the city. I took in the impressive trapeze act at Circus, Circus and the Bellagio fountains, which danced to classical music. I walked along the strip, enjoying the spectacle of colored lights, pillars and roller coasters, which I’d only ever seen in pictures. An hour whizzed by and I was happy I’d dared to leave my hotel.          

            What surprised me the most about Vegas was how friendly the people were. Maria, the housekeeper at the Riviera, gave me a full-sized container of conditioner from her own locker because I’d forgotten mine at home (and wouldn’t let me pay her for it). An Ethiopian taxi driver insisted I take his bottled water when my sinus infection caused me to break into a coughing fit. The cashier at the 7-11, who sold me a postage stamp, made me laugh when he told me his tech-savvy little brother asked him how to address an envelope. Then the boy said, “Never mind. I’ll just Google it.”

            So, thank you, Nevada’s City of Lights, for showing me there’s more to you than meets the eye. A few days later, when I returned to the piles of snow and freezing temperatures of Indiana, I missed the warmth of Vegas—in more ways than one.

Visit www.lasvegas.com to learn more about things to do on your Vegas vacation and visit www.RMSTitanic.net to see where you can experience history for yourself.

If you need a good book to read on the flight, check out www.karensnovels.com for “Happy Endings with a Twist.” Karen Lenfestey’s novel, A Sister’s Promise, has been called “intriguing, sometimes humorous, and heart-warming” and has sold over 40,000 copies at Amazon.

“Why didn’t you give them money?” my seven-year-old asked. When the cashier at a fast food restaurant had requested a donation to their charity of choice, I’d said no. That’s what I usually said when strangers caught me off-guard asking for money. Suddenly, my child’s kind, blue eyes made me feel guilty.

I tried to explain: “There are lots of good causes and we can’t afford to give to all of them. I believe you should think about which ones you want to support, then donate to them.”  

For a long time, I simply didn’t have the discretionary income to share with others. Now that I’m more comfortable, I still have a list of things for which I need to save money: my child’s college tuition, a house with a backyard and retirement. On the other hand, I want to teach my daughter to appreciate what we have and to care about those less fortunate. That’s why we donate outgrown clothes and toys to Goodwill. That’s why I slip some money into the Salvation Army’s bucket at Christmas time. That’s why we end each night by listing all of the things we’re thankful for which includes food, shelter and good health.

But is that enough? Case in point: my daughter's school recently collected new and used supplies for the animal shelter. I suggested she gather up cat toys she could find around our house since our ten-year-old tiger cat would rather sleep than play. My daughter wasn’t satisfied with that. I told her if she wanted to buy items, then she could spend her own money on them. Without hesitating, she ran upstairs and opened her piggy bank. She had $9.78 left from her birthday money.  I didn’t want her to regret this tomorrow, so I reminded her of the things she could buy with her savings: doll clothes and books about fairies.  She suddenly thought those things were trivial.

At this point, I gladly took her to the store so she could select pet toys, collars and tiny cans of tuna-flavored food. She remembered how happy our striped kitty was when I let her lick the can after I made tuna salad. My daughter decided she wanted to buy some Fancy Feast for our Cat Chow cat, too.

I was so proud of her. She cared about the animals at the shelter just as much as she did about her own grumpy cat. 

I can’t stand to hear my daughter cry. It was different when she was a baby because crying was her only form of communication. But as she transformed from a babbling infant to a talking toddler, she clung to crying as part of her repertoire and I grew less tolerant. If she protested one of my decisions for too long, I told her to go to her room and return when she was done crying. This seemed to help.

            As her crying jags grew less frequent, they affected me even more. They made me realize how deeply she felt about things. Sometimes they made me question my own judgment. I hated myself for allowing her tears to weaken my resolve. If she were being punished for a poor choice, then cried, I reminded myself, “Lesson learned.” But it was still difficult for me.

            Once she entered school, I wanted her to control her outbursts better. I didn’t want her to crumble into tears over hurt feelings and be teased by the other kids. If she started to cry at home over a minor disagreement, I’d tell her to pull herself together.

            Just last week, her tutor told me that she had done well, but at one point, had disobeyed. When my daughter was instructed to write with a pencil, she kept writing with a marker. A permanent marker. The tutor told her it would soak through the paper, so my daughter continued writing. I nodded and walked my child out to the car.

My daughter smiled up at me, “Do I get a treat?” Often when she does well at tutoring, she gets a chocolate Frosty from the Wendy’s drive-thru.

“Not today,” I said. I lectured that she needed to show respect to the tutor and do as she says. This is when I got the explanation about how she was careful not to let the marker soak through the paper. I was torn, since most of the hour-long session had gone well. I drove past Wendy’s anyway. I didn’t want to reinforce her poor listening skills. And so she began to cry.

And cry. My shoulders clenched. My head throbbed. Fifteen minutes of sobs from the backseat felt like hours. I wondered if I’d made a mistake. I then worried if I caved, I’d teach her to cry even more. I considered telling her to pull herself together. But I decided to let her continue. Even when she ratcheted up the volume.

I turned on the radio to distract myself. Soon, the music soothed her, too, and she quieted. We were almost home when she said in a calm voice, “I have to tell you something weird, Mom.”

“What?” I asked, my body still tense.

“Crying made me feel better.”

I hadn’t expected that. All of those times I’d tried to stifle her tears, maybe I’d been denying her some kind of catharsis. Then I remembered an old “Everybody Loves Raymond” episode where Debra said sometimes she just needed a good cry. She’d put on the theme from Ice Castles and give in to her emotions.

“Isn’t that weird, Mom?” my daughter asked again. She seemed pleased with her discovery that tears can actually work like salve on a wound.

I don’t understand it, but what matters is that she does.

How about you? Do you believe in the healing power of tears?

If you're on the verge of tears, treat yourself to On the Verge, which tells of a single mom whose wonderful new husband hits his head and changes personalities. How long should she wait for her true love to return? What if he never does? Click here to learn more about On the Verge, which is "highly recommended" by the Midwest Book Review. (If nothing else, it'll distract you from your own problems). Please pass this along by clicking the buttons below. Thanks!

Is it more important to say “no” or “yes” when you’re a mom? I recently read a parenting book that suggested we should try to find a way to say "yes" more often. When a child asks to go to the zoo on Monday, instead of saying, "No," ideally the mom would say, “You may go on Saturday.” Unfortunately, this doesn’t work very well in my family. My young daughter would remain upset today, but remember my offer once Saturday arrived. I’ve learned this the hard way:  avoid promising anything later because it’s too hard to predict the future. How can I guarantee a weekend zoo trip when someone could get sick or it might rain?

I think previous generations doled out a firm “no” easier than some of us today. In fact, a stranger walked up to me and my baby in the mall one time and offered an odd bit of advice (as people often do to new moms). The old woman said, “The most important thing you can do as a parent is to mean it when you say, ‘No.’” I smiled and nodded, wondering if this was a personal regret of hers or a general criticism of parents today. Naïvely, I assumed I’d have no problem giving my child boundaries and sticking to them.

But I admit, I have been guilty of saying “no” as a reflex then second-guessing myself. Kids ask so many questions, it can be overwhelming: “Can I have a play date?” “Can I have some ice cream?” “Can I watch TV?” They want things and we hold the power to grant their wishes. I hate it when I initially say "no", then reconsider and realize I can say "yes." Therefore, my favorite answer (and one I remember my own mother giving) is to say, “Let me think about it.” Magically, time gives me perspective and strengthens my resolve. Somehow stepping away from the topic also seems to help my daughter accept my answer. Or best of all, she actually forgets what she asked for.

So, I’m torn on the yes/no issue. The other day I told my seven-year-old to hang up her clean clothes. This is a task I usually do for her, but am trying to transition onto her shoulders. She asked if I would help. Because she has trouble squeezing the levers on the pants hangers, I decided that I would. She brought me the empty hangers, I placed the clothes on them and then she hung the outfits in the closet. In fact, she smiled as we worked together. Before I knew it, the laundry was put away. Afterwards, I felt good about the compromise.

Until my daughter said something that I couldn’t quite decide how to take. She said, “I love you, Mommy, because you always say yes.”

Does that mean I’m a good mom? 

The Next Big Thing Blog Hop is a way of connecting readers to writers around the world. I would like to thank Kelly O'Dell Stanley, who just signed a book deal, for inviting me along. You can read about her original idea here: Praying Upside Down.
I will answer some questions about my writing then link you to amazing authors I think you'll like. 

1. What is the title of your book? On the Verge

2. Where did the idea come from? I once worked for a man whose wife was in a car accident that completely changed her personality. He said she "wasn't the woman he married." This ethical dilemma intrigued me so I wrote a book where a head injury interrupts newlywed bliss. (My boss, by the way, divorced his wife. In my book club discussion questions, I ask if a man or a woman is more likely to stay married if his/her partner becomes gravely ill.)

3. What's the genre? contemporary fiction or women's fiction

4. Which actors would you choose to portray the characters in a movie? Ginnifer Goodwin from "Once Upon a Time" for Val, the main character, and Cindy Crawford for Joely, a secondary character.

5. What's the one sentence synopsis of your book? Newlyweds struggle to repair a 1920's house while trying to rebuild their relationship after a personality-changing head injury.

6. Was this independently published or represented by an agency? It was independently published after consulting with my agent. My next novel will be represented by the MacGregor Literary Agency.

7. How long did it take to write? It took about 6-8 months to write.

8. What other books would you compare this to? "The Vow"

9. Who or what inspired you to write this book? A friend of mine lives in a 1920's Spanish-style house which I've always admired. Her stories of restoration joys and nightmares inspired the On the Verge house and is featured on the book cover.

10. What else about your book might pique the reader's interest? The Midwest Book Review wrote this: "A thoughtful tale about difficult human problems with no easy solutions, On the Verge is highly recommended." 

If you like contemporary women's fiction, check out Kaira Rouda, who Claire Cook, author of Must Love Dogs, said "is like getting together with one of your best friends--fun, fast and full of great advice." For historical fiction, I highly recommend New York Times bestselling author, Tasha Alexander, and for inspirational fiction and non-fiction, read Peggy Sue Wells.