Blackfork AR | marieqrogers

Posts Tagged ‘Blackfork AR’

Joys and Sorrows

Posted in Marie's Musings, tagged Blackfork AR, BookFest Awards, Family Heritage, Florida Writers Association, Hospice, Royal Palm Literary Award, Science Fiction, Season of the Dove, Short Stories, Trials by Fire, Unpublished Book of the Year, Young Adult Fiction on July 31, 2026| 2 Comments »

I’m back!

It has been over a year since I last posted. I haven’t been idle—that’s part of the problem—I’ve been overwhelmed with family and volunteer responsibilities, as well as trying to keep up with my writing.

Family comes first. My mother turned 95 in September, 2025. Over the past few years, she suffered physical setbacks and had been sinking into dementia. The bulk of her care fell to my sister Elaine, who lives next door. The rest of us pitched in as much as we could. Eventually, Mom needed around the clock care. Since we were determined to keep her at home, those of us who lived out of state went to Arkansas as often as possible to give Elaine some relief. I made so many trips to Blackfork, my Roadtrek tried to turn west toward Arkansas whenever it left the driveway.

A few times, I flew. Once, my flight from Jacksonville was delayed by a thunderstorm. By the time I reached Dallas, I’d missed my connecting flight to Ft. Smith. Fortunately, the airline paid for a hotel room, so I didn’t have to spend the night at the airport.

A few weeks later, when I checked in at Ft. Smith for my return trip, there was a thunderstorm in Dallas! The plane was delayed, I missed my connection, and once again they put me up in a hotel. I concluded that it takes two days to fly between Florida and Arkansas.

I don’t regret the time and effort I made to keep my mother comfortable in her last days. Between family and Hospice, we were able to care for her at home. Hospice was wonderful. Blackfork is so remote, the nearest paved road is in Oklahoma, yet nurses visited frequently and supplies, such as oxygen, were delivered to her door. Mom was in good hands until the angels came for her.

Between trips, I managed to go to Orlando for the Florida Writers Association banquet where the winners of the Royal Palm Literary Awards were announced. I had two entries, a short story and an unpublished novel.

In 2020, I had entered my first novel, Trials by Fire, which was a finalist. Since we were in the middle of COVID, there was no banquet that year. The awards were announced by Zoom. I waited with anticipation while the other genres were called, alphabetically, Young Adult being the last category. Unpublished novels were announced first. I held my breath when they moved to “Published YA.” The announcer read a tagline that sounded familiar. They were talking about my book! I was now an award-winning author!

Every year since, I have submitted to RPLA. Often my work was a semifinalist or a finalist. Every year, entrants are sent the rubrics from the judges, valuable feedback for improving one’s writing. In 2021, I entered Season of the Dove as an unpublished novel. Feedback indicated that it needed “light work.” Over the next two years, I gave it more than light work and entered it again in 2023 after it was published. I also entered the book in a few other contests.

That year Season of the Dove was a finalist, so fingers crossed, I attended the banquet. I sat through the other awards, waiting for Science Fiction. They announced the unpublished winners, then the published. Then they moved on to the last few genres. Oh, well.

For some reason, still sitting at the table, I checked my emails. One had just arrived from The BookFest Awards. Season of the Dove had come in second place in the Dystopian – Climate Change category! At a later date I received word that, while the novel hadn’t placed in the Eric Hoffer Awards, it was a finalist for the Montaigne Medal for the most thought-provoking books. I’m quite proud of that distinction.

In the meantime, I kept writing. In Trials by Fire, a character narrates the story of Moses and Rila, the original pioneers to their planet. The idea of a full length novel based on this story kept growing in my imagination, until I wrote it. In 2025, I entered the still unpublished Tale of Moses and Rila, plus an unpublished short story “The Drawer” in the RPLA contest.

When I received emails that both entries were finalists, I was delighted. The chairman asked for a tagline and short excerpt to be read if the work was a winner. I’d been so busy, and not immune to procrastination, by the time of the banquet, I’d forgotten whether I’d sent those in. Wouldn’t they have reminded me if I hadn’t? Maybe not if I wasn’t a winner. It was rather late to worry about that now. If I hadn’t sent them in, and I didn’t win, it would make no difference. If I did win, I supposed the folks running the contest would come up with something.

I attended the awards banquet. With two, in my opinion, well-written pieces, I hoped to come away with some award. If not, such is life. Five other finalists sat at my table. As the prizes were announced, one by one, I watched them make their way to the stage to receive their trophies.

Finally, we came to Science Fiction/Fantasy. The Bronze winner was announced. Then the Silver. I prepared for disappointment. Then it was time for Gold. I heard the announcer say the word “Moses” and continue with the tagline I apparently forgot I had written. I floated out of my chair, up to the stage, where I received handshakes, congratulations, and my trophy. Wow! My book was a first place winner!

Short Stories was announced next. I’d heard that there were twenty finalists, so I wasn’t optimistic. That was okay. I had my trophy. I could bask in satisfaction through the rest of the evening. Bronze was announced. A lady at my table happily proceeded to the stage. Silver came next, then Gold. I heard, “A lonely old man steals a dresser form a second hand store…” Did I hear right? I navigated the ballroom to the stage to receive my second trophy. Unbelievable! Both of my entries had taken the Gold!

After the genre winners had been announced, all that was left were the Grand Awards, the Best of the Year. Next to last was Unpublished Book of the Year. When I heard “Marie Q Rogers….” I knew I had died and gone to Heaven.

My head is still reeling. What do I feel? Happy, of course. Definitely, gratitude. But more: I feel validated as an author.

Time to move on. I’m still revising Moses and Rila, which needs a better title, but I’ll publish it soon. Winning the award should help get “The Drawer” accepted by a magazine.

Dear reader, when this happens, I’ll post it on this weblog for you to read. Stay tuned.

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Blueberries

Posted in Marie's Musings, tagged Bees, Blackfork AR, Blueberries, Family Heritage, Gardening, Memories, Nature, Wildlife on May 31, 2017| 4 Comments »

I guess I need to plant more blueberries. The other night, I dreamed I was buying organic blueberries for $3 a pint. “That’s a good price,” I said. My father didn’t think so. He was thinking 20^th century prices. Behind the table where the blueberries were displayed in my dream was a poster about growing blueberries. “You really should, you know,” said Dad. I had to agree with him.

My dad was a real character. He could be cantankerous, especially in his later years. Although he dropped out of high school, he was one of the most intelligent men I’ve known, and he never stopped learning. He didn’t see much value in fiction, but he read things that interested him. He was definitely a male chauvinist. He didn’t put much stock in daughters, expecting them to marry and become another man’s responsibility, but he expected his sons to become partners in his businesses. I don’t know why—he left his parents’ farm and went his own way, to the disappointment of his father. His sons followed suit and went their own ways, leaving only daughters to help out.

The last picture I took of Dad, with two of his farmhands (granddaughters).

He was jealous of people with a college education. He’d call them “edjicated fools.” He especially saw no sense in a girl going to college, but I went anyway. Before I retired, I told him I might go back to graduate school. He said, “Why? You can learn anything you want to know on your own. There’s always the internet.” And this came from a man who hated computers! I concede he was right on this one. Most anything I want to know I can find on my own, on the internet or the old fashioned way, in books. I don’t need more letters behind my name, nor do I want another career, except writing. Maybe that’s why I listened to him when he said I should grow blueberries.

Although he grew up on a farm, the only farming he did before he “retired” was beekeeping. He liked honey and always wanted his own beehives. When I was a teenager, a swarm of bees flew though our yard and he caught them. From this first hive, he expanded to a successful honey business. The lure of farming never left him and he eventually bought a farm in Blackfork, Arkansas. Most people retire to Florida. My parents retired from Florida to Arkansas and my sister and her husband took over the bee business. Dad tried to establish a honey business in Blackfork but, no one is sure why, honeybees wouldn’t thrive there.

You’ve heard the expression, “God put me on earth to accomplish a certain number of things. Right now, I’m so far behind I’ll never die.” I lived by this axiom for years. Look at Dad. At the age of 80, he had more projects going than anyone knew. His parents had lived to 95 and 96 and I expected Dad to make it to 100. I also considered my prospects promising, as long as I followed his example. When talking about how busy I was, I’d say, “It’s not that I have too many irons in the fire. It’s that I have too many fires.” I too could live forever!

Dad sorely disappointed me when he exited this world at 81. The day of his funeral, the farm was suddenly full of honeybees. They must have come from miles around to pay their respects. Then they went away and never came back.

In the years since, many times I’ve wished I could talk with him. I miss calling him up and saying, “What do you think about this?” I wonder what he would think about what’s going on in the world. At times I’m glad that he didn’t live to see certain things.

Lately I’ve heard a lot about the virtues of blueberries. My property is just right for blueberry bushes. Wild ones grow in my woods. A few years ago I bought five commercial plants and three of them survived neglect, drought, and late spring freezes. A few more might make the effort worthwhile.

Gardening in the woods has its challenges—finding enough areas of sunshine and battling wildlife. I had a nice patch of strawberries once, until wild hogs plowed them up and destroyed them. The few survivors were too traumatized to live. I planted a lily bed which the armadillos dug up. So I went to container gardens and raised beds. A crop of broccoli was almost ready to harvest when the deer ate them down to bare stems. So I put chicken wire over the beds. The deer squashed that down to feast on my carrot tops. In this constant battle of wits, the dumb animals are one move ahead of me.

Other people have a problem with deer eating their blueberries. Not me. Besides vegetables, they eat my ornamentals, even my succulents, but so far no one has eaten, dug under, or plowed up my blueberry plants.

Maybe it’s worth a shot. Thanks, Dad.