Author: Michelle Eames

Michelle Eames writes poetry, humor, and essays about a broad range of topics, from biology to horsemanship to wildfires.

Publication News: Chicken Soup for the Soul; and a book drawing

I’m excited to announce publication of my story in Chicken Soup for the Soul, Laughter’s Always the Best Medicine, 101 Feel Good Stories.  My true story is about a family fiasco of roasting a pig in a pit.  There are 100 more humorous stories by other authors in the book.  We all need a good laugh right now.

The paperback book will hit bookstores on February 18. See more here: https://bit.ly/4gczg9A

Just for fun, I am offering a drawing for a free copy of the paperback book.  All you have to do to enter is let me know in a message or a comment by February 27.  You can comment on this blog, comment on my substack (@Michelleeames), comment on Facebook (Michelle Eames Writer) or send me a message thru email (michelle@michelleeames.com) or Messenger.  The drawing will be held on February 28, 2025.   I’m sorry that the drawing will be limited to the U.S. only, due to prohibitive international postage costs. 

Speaking of money, I actually got paid for my story! It was a nice piece of change. Anyone can send in a story to Chicken Soup for the Soul. See their topics and guidelines here: https://www.chickensoup.com/story-submissions/possible-book-topics/. I’m sure I’ll send in more stories; making money is such a novel idea…

Book Review: The Three Mothers

In honor of Black History Month, I’m sharing a short review of The Three Mothers, How the Mothers of Martin Luther King, Jr., Malcolm X, and James Baldwin Shaped a Nation, by Anna Malaika Tubbs. 

I, like most Americans, knew about civil rights activists Martin Luther King, Jr., and Malcolm X.  I needed a refresher on James Baldwin—he was a poet and writer that often addressed civil rights and human rights in his writing.  I knew nothing about their mothers.  As the author writes in her introduction: “The three women I speak of are Alberta King, Berdis Baldwin, and Louise Little— women who have been almost entirely ignored through history. … While the sons have been credited with the success of Black resistance, the progression of Black thought, and the survival of the Black community, the three mothers who birthed and reared them have been erased.  This book fights that erasure.”

The author is right, I had never learned about, nor thought deeply about the mothers of these activists, or any activists for that matter.  But obviously, the mothers rocked!  They sacrificed to get their children an education.  They supported their children in hard times. They taught their children to have strength in their convictions.  Two of the moms outlived sons who died in violent deaths, and Berdis Baldwin also outlived James.  My words give just the barest overview  of the enormous challenges these moms and their children went through.  I’ll just say that the book was well-written, well-researched, and I learned a lot about struggles in eras that had only been lightly touched on in my history classes.  

I recommend this book.  It took me a long time to read, not because it wasn’t good, but because as I often do with serious non-fiction, I read a chapter, then mull it over for a while.  This book offers plenty to think about and is a good refresher on the civil rights struggles of the past, as we witness new civil rights challenges today. 

Sewing Is a Weight-Bearing Activity

               One thinks of sewing as a gentle craft.  Lots of thought, precision, and fine hand-work goes into it.  Cloth is lightweight, as is thread.  Needles are small.  The machine does all the work, so no real strength is needed.

               But when it comes to sewing machines at my house, we are talking substantial mass.  You see, I like the old vintage machines.  The all-metal, or mostly metal ones.  None of that wimpy aluminum here (although I hear that a few lightweight vintage machines do exist).  I mean machines made of steel. Or cast iron.  Thick-walled tanks of machines.  The kind of machine, that if you can’t get them working again, get new jobs as boat anchors. 

               Last year I went to several mending workshops put on by Spokane Zero Waste.  I’m not a great sewer, but I’m a practical sewer.  I can fix rips and holes.  But at the workshops I borrowed a machine.  I couldn’t figure out how to easily get my favorite blue behemoth machine from my car, across the parking lot, and into the mending rooms. I’m not as strong as I once was. 

               I noticed all the skilled and serious sewers brought their own machines: sleek, stylish, modern, and lightweight machines.  From those skilled seamstress people I learned that there are ready-made sewing machine cases on wheels, with expanding handles, and numerous pockets for accessories and threads.  Like rolling luggage, but squatty.   I watched as the menders easily pulled their gear behind them in their brightly colored roller bags, and easily lifted their machines to the tables.  I wanted one of those bags.    

               I looked locally and online for ready-made sewing machine roller-carriers, or even a piece of rolling luggage that might work.  Then I measured my favorite blue beast of a vintage machine.  In addition to being heavy, the machine in its wooden base is quite long.  I would need an XXL size carrier.  I finally ordered one of those wonderful bags and was happy the day it arrived.  I was also a bit surprised at the sheer size of it… more the size of a camping icebox than the size of petite airline luggage.  But I was ready. Have sewing machine (and bag), will travel.

               A friend who quilts wanted to have a sewing gathering.  A sort of play-date for crafty adults.  I was in.  I now had my travel bag.  But first, I had to organize a project to work on–gather scissors, seam rippers, pins, cloth, everything I might need.  I filled many of the pockets on my bag.  Then I packed up my seventies-era machine to lift it into the roller bag.  That went well, because it was a downward move from table to bag.  I secured it with the inner Velcro straps, then, out of curiosity, tried to lift the bag.  I can lift the beast machine by itself, but the roller bag was broader, awkward, and pushed my limits.  It rolled very nicely, however.  I rolled it out of my sewing room, into the hall, and stopped at the top of the stairs.  Fourteen steps.  Should I carry it down? Should I clunk it down a step at a time as if it were a washing machine on a hand-truck? I decided this was a job for super-husband.  He carried the awkward bag down the stairs.  I asked my husband how much he thought it weighed.  He thought at most 30 pounds….? Really? I was sure it was 50.  Once it was downstairs, I was able to maneuver it through the house, carefully down the three porch steps, and across the muddy lumpy yard to my car trunk. 

               My car has a big trunk.  I grunted and lifted the roller bag up and in… feeling like I was pumping iron at the gymn…it sort-of fit, though I tipped it a bit to get the trunk closed.  Perhaps I should have gone for the XL bag instead of the XXL. 

               But I got it done and drove off to join my friends for our sewing party.  Maybe it wasn’t exactly a party, since it was too early in the day for alcohol… I got the case up her house steps by pulling it backward, using the hand-truck method, and wondering how long this bag was going to last with my rough treatment.  I sewed, I watched, and I learned that quilters have cool tools and clever techniques.   But they are also very meticulous and precise—not exactly my style.  Nonetheless, I might be gathering some of those cool tools, not because I plan to become a quilter, but because I still have room in that XXL bag.  I’m sure it won’t add any weight.

P.S.  I finally weighed the great blue whale of a machine.  By itself, without any extras like cloth and tools, it weighs 40 pounds.  At least my husband wasn’t right in his guess, but then neither was I.  We split the difference in our estimates.  There must be a deeper meaning about life, marriage, and perceptions there somewhere…  Anyhow, I think I will be able to work sewing-machine-weight-lifting into my winter fitness routine. 

I Resolve to Have Goals (If I Feel Like It)

I don’t do New Years resolutions.  It’s not that I don’t believe in improving myself, it’s more that I don’t like to follow rules and expectations just because everyone else is doing it.  Just because it’s January first, doesn’t mean I must commit to an exercise program.  Instead, I might commit to an exercise program in October.  And finally get serious about it after Turkey Day, as I did this past year.  For me, resolutions are similar to spring cleaning.  Must I do it because everyone else is doing it?  No.  Spring is for outside work.  But I often do some serious cleaning and sorting in the Fall or Winter, when I’m spending more time inside and noticing the clutter.  It’s an opportunistic kind of cleaning, room by room as I feel like it.  If I feel like it. I have a high tolerance for clutter.  Eventually, though, the dirt and disarray gets to me, and I jump in for a serious clean.  Eventually, I get things done on my own time.

Nonetheless, I often revisit my writing goals and expectations in January.  I sometimes keep the goals in my head and I sometimes write them down.  But I don’t call them resolutions.  They are more of a plan for the year.  My writing goals include general intentions, and then those are broken down into specific attainable steps. The general goals can be vague, and by themselves overwhelming, for example, “Publish a new book”.  But if I break the goal down into small do-able steps, I can make progress toward the end goal. 

The other difference, to me, between resolutions and goals is that I can change my goals and steps regularly, when needed.  I revisit them as the year proceeds, as I get new information, new ideas, or new plans. These plans become to-do lists to reach the final result.  Even when I haven’t formally called them yearly goals, I am constantly making and revising to-do lists for my writing progress.   

Given all that, here is my first draft of my writing goals and steps for 2025:

Goal 1: Publish my new book of prose and poetry across Washington (I have a solid draft already).

 Steps to get there:

  1. Continue to research appropriate publishers and contests. 
  2. List the potential publishers on a matrix (I love matrices) to track submission information, dates sent, expected reply dates, and results.
  3. Follow online guidelines to send submissions to the publishers and wait for response.
  4. If no positive responses by about September, reconsider the plan. 

Goal 2: Write more stuff.

   Steps to get there:

  1.  Either through prompts, or on my own, do new writing several times a week, for at least an hour. 
  2.  Continue blogging, about twice a month.
  3.  Continue my Substack newsletter, about once a month. Continue newsletter for one year, then revisit whether it is still enjoyable, and useful to connect with readers.
  4.  Think about a third book, probably a humor book about hobby farming.
  5. Explore other forms of writing, maybe short stories.

Goal 3: Read more stuff.

  Steps to get there:

  1. Waste less time on social media, read more books.
  2. Last year I focused on poetry, this year focus on humor, satire, short stories.
  3. Do I have any Mark Twain books? Find some and read them. (Hey, I bet those are in public domain now, and I can find them free online!)

I was going to close this blog out with a final paragraph about the need to regularly revisit, revise, and revamp our goals, but it sounded, well… preachy.  You don’t need me to tell you what to do.  Instead, I’ll end with a quote by Mark Twain:

“Writing is easy. All you have to do is cross out the wrong words.”

P.S.  Here’s my latest substack newsletter, if you want to take a look:  https://michelleeames.substack.com/p/this-is-not-my-year-in-review

[photo credit pexels free photos]

My Name is Michelle and I’m Addicted to My Phone

I was reaching for my phone and scrolling social media at all hours of the day: when I woke up, when I went to bed, when I was in the bathroom, when I was riding in a car, when I was watching a movie… though, to be specific, it wasn’t as much checking my phone as it was checking Facebook.   Facebook is the worst social media app for me.  Once I pick up my phone, I find myself checking in to see what’s going on, and soon I am clicking on groups I don’t belong to, or clicking on ads, or just flitting around the media world, but not really noticing any one thing.  I am convinced it’s bad for my focus and my memory.

It turns out, I’m not the only person thinking this way.  I saw a recent article in the newspaper about focus and social media, and I happened upon the last half of this podcast about the harm from phone addiction, and how to address it:  https://www.iheart.com/podcast/1119-the-middle-with-jeremy-ho-102531530/episode/are-you-addicted-to-your-phone-251920689/.  Some of the solutions include ordering a special phone safe, so you can lock your phone away for designated periods of time.  Or, adding apps that limit your access to other apps (like Facebook) for specified lengths of time—using your phone to address your addiction to your phone. 

I am not jumping off Facebook at this time, because I find parts of it useful.  Facebook is a very useful tool for my hobbies.  I have learned a lot and enjoyed posts about upcycled fashion, horses and trail riding, fixing sewing machines, gardening, mushrooms…  I’ve learned about self-publishing and chatted with authors around the world.  I’ve seen what my friends are up to, but only the friends that are very active on social media.  Because that’s how it works. 

I’ve also wasted a lot of time looking at forwarded memes (and infrequently forwarding them myself) and laughing at Calvin and Hobbs or Far Side cartoons that I wouldn’t otherwise have looked for.  Also frowning about political memes and stopping myself from commenting (usually) when I disagree. I don’t think commenting and arguing on social media changes anyone’s mind.  It just stresses me out and saps my energy.

I will still use Facebook as a tool for sharing writing, or commenting to my friends, but I am cutting back. I am allowing myself some scrolling time in the morning and trying to avoid it for the rest of the day.  I am leaving my phone out of reach, or in the other room.  When I catch myself picking up my phone automatically, I allow myself to glance at whether I’ve received any text messages or missed a call from a friend, but then it goes back in my purse, or face down on the table, or in the other room—my version of a phone safe. 

Instead of having my phone adjacent to me at all times, I have stashed books everywhere I can think of.  There is a poetry book in each car, so that if I am waiting for an appointment, I can pick up the book instead of my phone.  I have a non-fiction book next to my spot on the couch, and several on my bed-side table.  I have a book of poems stashed in a drawer in the bathroom.  With all of those stashed books, I find myself reading more, and scrolling less.  I tend to read poetry and non-fiction books a page or a chapter at a time anyhow, so it’s working well.  I’m also making a dent in my very large “to be read” pile.

Since starting this new effort, I have sometimes been a little slower to respond to my friends’ messages.  As my phone is no longer a constant companion, I might miss some last-minute invitations.  And I might miss some personal updates from friends that share on social media.  I’ve also caught myself going backwards, and scrolling more, especially over the Christmas holiday.  But I am intent on improving my ability to let go of my phone for long durations and allowing my brain to focus on other enjoyable things.  I already feel less stressed.  Plus, I’m getting lots of reading in. 

[Photo credit: Pexels Free Photos]

Good Day

Not long ago, I had a really good day, that turned into a really good week.  This was after a fairly crappy year, during the tension of the election season, and I was in a funk.  So I really noticed that good day. 

On that day, four delightful things happened: 1) I tracked down an old family friend through Facebook; 2) the old friend (a poet) happily agreed to review a draft of my new book; 3) my younger son received a job offer; and, 4) Chicken Soup for the Soul sent an email stating that a story I had submitted made it through the first round of  review, and was being considered for a humor collection in 2025. 

Later in the week, more good things happened, the best being that my family friend followed through with a glowing review of my draft book. 

I’ve never been one to keep a gratitude list.  Instead, I just have a generally positive attitude and realize that I have wonderful things in life.  But I don’t typically count and note those wonderful things individually.  I am changing that perspective late in this challenging year.  From now on, I will be looking for and noticing moments of joy, positivity, and laughter. 

Rather than just putting my weight into the harness and moving on with my work, despite my funk, I will be looking for the delights along the way.  On the frozen fog days, I will notice the ice crystals and the quiet air, instead of just bemoaning the lack of sun.  I expect a lot of gray as I travel the days ahead but will cherish the bright moments of time with friends and family, and the little successes along the way. 

I’ve always loved this Haiku by Mizuta Masahide, a 17th century Japanese poet:

Barn’s burnt down now I can see the moon.

I’ll be looking for the moon as soon as the frozen fog disperses. 

P.S.  I now have a newsletter on substack: Read. Write. Ride.  You can find it and subscribe here:   https://michelleeames.substack.com/. The approximately monthly newsletter will have thoughts on my (you guessed it) reading, writing, and riding.  This blog will still continue.

Book Review and Recommendation: Africa Is Not a Country, Notes on a Bright Continent, by Dipo Faloyin

I bought this book, because a sentence on the back cover stated that it “engages in the heated debate over which West African country makes the best jollof rice.”  In the Gambia, the West African country where my husband and I volunteered in the Peace Corps, that dish is called “benachin”.  And I could see why folks would argue over who makes the best version of that rich and savory rice and tomato dish.  It is a delicious comfort food.  While I might argue with the author about which country wins the cooking contest (oddly, he argues for his country of origin, Nigeria), I learned a lot about the ancient and modern history of countries in Africa from his book. Despite spending time in West Africa, I knew next to nothing about the history of the Gambia, and other countries throughout the continent.   

Faloyin details the history of how many African countries came to be, and how arbitrary their borders were (and still are).  The borders were set up during a conference of European countries arguing over a vague map, and carving up the African continent for economic and power reasons. Those borders split ethnic groups and great kingdoms.  It was a divide and conquer scenario, and the book shares the history of the cruelty and greed of the European governments and their proxy private companies and colonial governments. When the people in the individual African countries started gaining independence from their colonizers, they agreed not to renegotiate the borders, thus maintaining many of the historic tensions between ethnic groups.

Faloyin shares examples of heroic independence fighters, who became authoritarian dictators once in office.  He discusses the continuing governing challenges, and examples of successes in governing.  He notes the stereotypes we westerners have of Africa in general, and the push-back from the artists, writers, and movie makers across the continent, and from the African diaspora across the globe.   

I learned a lot that I wish I had known before I went to the Gambia with the Peace Corps.  I knew that France and Britain decided the borders of the Gambia and Senegal (and the Gambia definitely has an arbitrary boarder, ~10 kilometers either side of the Gambia River and completely surrounded by Senegal).  But I never fully understood the strange challenges of having many of your relatives and ethnic groups separated by borders, and having a nation forced on you.  Emphasis on force. 

I highly recommend this well-written, funny, entertaining, and thought-provoking book.  While I don’t typically gravitate toward books of history, it completely pulled me in.  The history is fascinating and explains and describes some of the continuing challenges, and also successes of various countries across the vast continent of Africa.