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As I considered what my topic would be for this blog, I thought the potential writers among you might enjoy jumping onto my learning curve with me, in case you ever navigate your own writing journey. Believe me, writing is one of the greatest joys of my life, but things are not as easy or straight forward as you may think if you want to achieve significant success. I have certainly learned many lessons, but I suspect I haven’t even scratched the surface. I published my first book From Promise To Peril in 2021 and have sold thousands of them since that time. When the sequel was published in 2024, the quality of my writing had noticeably improved. While my readers found both family sagas entertaining and insightful, there was a definite change in my writing style. It had matured and become more refined. When it was time to submit another printing order of my first book a few months ago, I chose not to rush the process, because once I identified my problems in the manuscript, I did not want to print anything that was less than my best. There was no quick solution, so I began another complete rewrite. Over the ensuing eight or nine months, I meticulously reworded certain scenes to flow more smoothly, especially the dialogue, which was a bit choppy. I also eliminated many of my redundancies, my unnecessary repetitions and generally, polished the rough stones. Although the storyline did not require any substantive changes, I also had to be mindful of maintaining the consistency of the story to merge perfectly with the already published sequel, with one notable exception. I made a promise to my devoted readers, many of whom are seniors, to significantly enlarge the font size by about fifty percent. Initially when I published my first book in 2021, my publishers cautioned me against increasing my font size because doing so would significantly increase printing costs and ultimately, it could affect the suggested list price of the book by about an extra fifty percent. There is an old saying that I never forgot after selling life insurance for over 25 years - the only thing better than finding a new customer, is keeping an old one. Please forgive my reference to ‘an old one’ but if the shoe fits, then so be it. It just so happens this is particularly true for the thousands of my elderly readers. I will do my best to keep you posted, but at this point the second edition of From Promise To Peril should be released about the end of May. Please let me know if this blog was relevant to you, or even a bit interesting if you are not planning to become a writer. I have always found that if I could learn from other people’s mistakes, rather than my own, the lessons of life are so much less costly as to time, energy, frustrations and money!! #BookRewrite #WritingLife #HistoricalFiction #FromPromiseToPeril #SecondEdition #FontMatters #ReadersFirst #AuthorReflections #WritingCommunity #LessonsLearned #EvolvingAsAWriter
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A quote that is attributed to American song writer Jade Jackson resinated with my grandson, Benjamin “When people fall in love with someone’s flowers, but not their roots, they do not know what to do when autumn comes.”
It got me thinking, it is a poetic way of saying what many of us eventually learn—sometimes the hard way—about love: it cannot survive on beauty, charm, or fleeting moments alone. The “flowers” represent the best parts of someone—their laugh, their success, their energy, their outward confidence. But the “roots”? The roots are their fears, their past, their struggles, their quirks, the quiet parts of them that don’t bloom for the world to see. And autumn always comes. There will be days when the flowers fade—when life gets hard, when one of you is grieving, exhausted, frustrated, or afraid. There will be seasons when the joy is harder to find, when the weight of responsibility dulls the shine of who you both used to be. If love has only taken root in what is easy, or pretty, or polished, it ca not withstand these moments. Real, lasting love begins when we fall not only for how someone shows up when the sun is shining, but for how they endure the storms. It is in knowing their past and not flinching. It is in loving the parts they are still learning to accept themselves. It is in choosing them on their worst day, not just their best. It is easy to love someone’s potential. It is harder, and far more meaningful, to love their truth. In Tracks of Our Tears and From Promise to Peril, I tried to weave this idea into the love stories that unfold amid war, displacement, fear, and trauma. When you strip away everything—possessions, certainty, even safety—what remains is the soul of a person. And if that is what you have come to love, then the relationship can survive any season. A long-lasting relationship is not built on the flowers alone. It is built on daily choice. On knowing the full story. On seeing someone for exactly who they are—and staying. So the question becomes: Do you love someone’s flowers? Or have you taken the time to know, understand, and love their roots? Because only one of those loves knows what to do when autumn comes. Have you ever wished you could do something meaningful to help someone in need? We are often asked to donate money or time to charitable causes, and while many of us give when we can, true generosity is about more than a financial transaction. It is about understanding need—not just seeing it from a distance, but feeling it, having lived it. Those who have never experienced real hardship may sympathize with those less fortunate, but they will never truly know what it feels like to be cold, hungry, or utterly alone. It is because of that, their generosity—while well-intended—rarely carries the same weight of sacrifice.
Some of the most profound acts of giving come not from wealth, but from those who have little to spare. When you have been in a desperate situation, struggling just to survive, you do not just acknowledge someone else’s suffering—you recognize it. You know the gnawing ache of hunger, the exhaustion of going one more day without rest, the fear of uncertainty. It is that understanding that often compels people to give, even when the cost is significant. In Tracks of Our Tears, Julia is forced to navigate this reality from a young age. She has lost her family, her home, and the life she once knew. Cold, starving, and alone, she wanders through the ruins of a bombed-out city, searching for any sign of safety. When she stumbles upon a young couple and their child, she sees the same desperation in their eyes that she feels in her own bones. Despite her own hunger, she reaches into her pocket and offers the small bit of dried mushrooms she had saved. Later, when she has only a small piece of bread left, she shares it without hesitation. In that moment, it isn’t about survival alone—it is about recognizing another’s suffering and choosing to ease it, even at her own expense. Julia’s journey is filled with these moments—instances where people who have almost nothing still find a way to give. The group of homeless farmers who rescue her from near death do not have food to spare, yet they take her in and nurse her back to health. When she finally leaves them to search for her own path, their leader, Pavel, hands her a knife, something deeply personal and valuable to him. He could have kept it for himself, but he understands what it means to be vulnerable, alone, and unprotected. That understanding is what makes his sacrifice meaningful. Later, when Julia, exhausted and starving, comes across an old farmhouse, she knocks hesitantly on the door, hoping for kindness. The man who answers—worn and wary—initially hesitates, but something in her voice, in her eyes, convinces him to help. He does not have much, yet he gives her food, a warm place to rest, and even a sense of dignity by insisting she clean herself before sitting at his table. His generosity is not about wealth—it is about recognizing a need that he himself may have once known. These acts of giving—small, personal, and often costly—reflect a deeper truth about human nature. A wealthy person can write a check to a charity and feel good about their contribution, but the sacrifice is minimal. It does not disrupt their life, nor does it force them to go without. But for someone who has little, giving often means going hungry themselves, sleeping in the cold, or parting with something that cannot be easily replaced. And yet, these are the people who give most freely. True generosity comes from understanding, from the ability to look at another person and see yourself in their suffering. It is not about convenience or comfort—it is about connection. Most of us will never face the kind of life-or-death decisions that Julia endures, but we all have opportunities to show kindness. Whether it is sharing what we have, offering a helping hand, or simply acknowledging someone’s struggle, with compassion and understanding. Generosity is not about how much you have to give—it is about the willingness to give, even when it costs you something. It is in those moments, when we choose to give despite our own struggles, we often receive something far greater in return. In my last post, I explored the paradox of anxiety—how we can logically understand that the worst-case scenario is not all that bad, yet still find ourselves gripped by fear. But after reflecting further, I realized anxiety is not just about fear of an outcome; it is about the urge to escape—to leave a situation, change our surroundings, or find relief elsewhere. Yet, no matter where I go, the feeling follows. If escape is an illusion, what then? How do we sit with discomfort rather than run from it?
Anxiety does not respond to reason. We break down our fears, analyze them, and remind ourselves that we can handle whatever comes. Yet, our bodies tell a different story—our pulse quickens, our stomach churns, and unease takes hold. Over time, I have learned that anxiety is not just tied to external circumstances; it is an internal force that remains, no matter how much we try to outrun it. The instinct to flee—to change something external in hopes of finding peace—is tempting, but experience has shown me that relief is not found in movement. It is found in learning to sit with the discomfort, acknowledging it without letting it dictate my actions. For me, writing provides that sense of stability. When my thoughts spiral, I put them on the page, where they become something tangible rather than an overwhelming fog. The act of writing allows me to take control, to examine my fears instead of being consumed by them. It does not erase anxiety, but it transforms it—turning unease into something I can understand and, at times, even reshape. Fiction lets me explore fears through my characters, while nonfiction helps me process my own emotions with clarity. Perspective shapes our experience. The same situation can feel overwhelming or manageable, depending on how we frame it. Writing helps me shift that perspective, reminding me that emotions, no matter how intense, are temporary. There is a phrase often attributed to Winston Churchill: “When you are going through hell, keep going.” I would add—write it down. Put it outside of yourself. Because once it is on the page, it is no longer just a feeling; it is a story. Remember, stories can be rewritten! Perhaps the answer is not to escape, but finding tools that help us endure. For me, that tool is writing. For you, it may be something else. But whatever it is, know that you are not alone in these feelings, nor are you powerless against them. You have the ability to shape your own perspective, to stay present when everything tells you to run, and to find meaning even in the most difficult moments. And if nothing else, the blank page is always there, waiting to receive your thoughts. Anxiety has a way of making you believe that relief is just beyond your current situation. It convinces you that if you could just leave—step out of the room, change your surroundings, distract yourself—then you would feel better. But the truth is, no matter where you go, the feeling follows. The anxiety is not in the situation—it is in you.
You can analyze your fear from every angle, play out the worst-case scenario, and even come to a rational conclusion that everything will be fine. But logic rarely wins against anxiety. Your heart still races, your stomach still churns, and the weight in your chest remains. The urge to escape is overwhelming, but escaping does not fix it. It only reinforces the idea that you need to run every time discomfort arises. Anxiety and reason do not always align. You can know that you are safe and still feel completely on edge. Your brain, wired for survival, searches for a way out, convinced that fleeing will bring relief. And maybe, for a moment, it does. But then the feeling creeps back in, and you are left chasing an escape that does not truly exist. The real question is not how do I get away from this feeling, but rather, how do I live with it without letting it control me? The exhaustion of constantly battling anxiety can wear you down, sometimes leading to something heavier. When every situation feels like a threat and every moment requires careful management of your fear, it becomes draining. Eventually, anxiety turns into hopelessness. If no place, no circumstance, no change of scenery truly alleviates it, what is the point? That is the dangerous lie anxiety tells you—that there is no way forward. But the truth is, external change will never fully fix an internal struggle. No perfect situation exists where anxiety disappears entirely. The real work is in retraining your mind so that it no longer dictates your every move. The next time you feel that urgent need to escape, ask yourself: Is this situation truly unbearable, or just uncomfortable? Discomfort is not danger. Sitting with the feeling, rather than running from it, can teach you that you do not have to obey the fear. Anxiety tricks you into believing that there is always something to fix, some way to make yourself feel safer. But what if you did nothing? What if, instead of reacting, you simply let the feeling exist? Anxiety feeds on avoidance and control—when you stop giving it power, it weakens. No emotion lasts forever. Fear passes. Hopelessness fades. And every time you choose to stay instead of escape, you prove to yourself that you are stronger than you think. The goal is not to eliminate anxiety completely—that is not realistic. The goal is to stop letting it dictate your life. Maybe the answer is not in running, but in standing still. Not waiting for the fear to disappear, but learning that you can feel it and still be okay. Understand that while anxiety may follow you wherever you go, so does your ability to handle it. There are goodbyes we anticipate and those we never see coming. The ones we recognize as final carry a weight unlike any other—every word, every touch, every lingering glance is savoured because we know it may be the last. But what about the goodbyes we don’t realize are final until later? A casual kiss before a breakup. A phone call with a loved one who won’t be there tomorrow. A fleeting moment that seemed ordinary, until it became irreplaceable.
In "Tracks of Our Tears", Marta and Manuel share a farewell filled with unspoken sorrow. They know this might be the last time, and that knowledge shapes every word. Their love is undeniable, yet circumstances pull them apart. Marta struggles to maintain her composure as she prepares to board the Queen Mary, knowing she may never see Manuel again. “Is this the end for us? I feel terrible, but… but I must board the Queen Mary… I… I simply have to fulfill my responsibilities.” Her voice trembles, hands shaking, as she fights back tears. Manuel, desperate to hold on, refuses to let go completely. “I will find a way to be with you again. I am at your beck and call, as always. I love you, my darling.” But despite his words, despite their promises, there is an aching sense of finality. When Marta gently places the phone back on the cradle, she is unable to utter the word goodbye. When we know it’s the last time, do we make the moment more meaningful? Or does it only make parting more painful? Manuel says, “I would crawl a mile through broken glass to be with you again,” but love is not always enough to rewrite fate. Marta, though consumed by emotion, must choose duty over desire. But what about the goodbyes we don’t recognize in the moment? When we look back, do we wish we had known? Would we have held on longer, spoken more carefully, memorized every detail? Would the goodbye have mattered more? There is a particular kind of heartbreak in realizing that a moment was the last—and not knowing it at the time. If we had known, would we have held on just a little longer? Chosen different words? Made it sweeter, more memorable? The weight of hindsight is heavy, filled with the quiet ache of moments we wish we could rewrite. But life rarely grants us that foresight. Instead, we are left with the echoes of an ordinary farewell that, in retrospect, meant everything. Perhaps that’s why goodbyes—spoken or unspoken—leave such a mark. They remind us of time’s fragile nature, how easily moments slip away before we realize their significance. And perhaps, the only way to soften the sting of the last goodbye is to live in a way where no parting ever feels incomplete. Embrace each goodbye as if it could be the last—so that when the final one comes, we are left with peace instead of longing. #Goodbye #LastGoodbye #UnspokenWords #LoveAndLoss #WhatCouldHaveBeen #MissedMoments #TracksOfOurTears #HistoricalFiction #WritingCommunity #BookLovers #AmWriting #LifeMoments #CherishEveryMoment #Bittersweet #FateAndLove #HeartfeltFarewell Recently, I was reminded of a university professor of mine who lectured on the subject of the profound influence of significant others in our lives, sometimes from the least likely people. Certainly, we are impressed by someone’s high intelligence, or their profound lack of it; their positive first impression, or their complete absence of it; and a myriad of other characteristics that may or may not have been especially noteworthy to most people. These are subjective opinions, unique to every person.
Some time ago, in fact a long time ago, I came to realize that as we mature in life, the lens of our perspectives change. In fact, I wrote a blog about the change of lenses several months ago. As we age, we see things differently than we did in the past. It’s a large part of our physical and intellectual maturity, and most certainly far distant from the faintly remembered halcyon days of our childhood. In our youth, from the times of innocence and naïveté, almost anyone who is considerably older would qualify as significant; whether based upon our fear of them, being unjustly ostracized, possibly getting beaten by a bully, being just a few examples. Think of this. Other than the obvious influencers being our parents, how about our parents’ friends and neighbours? Were they influencers in your life, whether positively or negatively? Even more so, our teachers, both the good and the bad ones? How about the bus driver on a school bus full of young children still in their formative years, many of whom would become the influencers, no longer the influenced. Here is an example of one I remember reading about several years ago. A little girl with the usual insecurities of any child, once heard her bus driver say that she was not very pretty. It was a hurtful thing to say, but there was likely no intent to hurt the child, it was just thoughtless. These baseless, ignorant comments are often directed to young children, perhaps because the bus driver had a bad day, or problems at home, whatever reason to lash out at someone who would dare not lash back. Nevertheless, it planted a seed that irreversibly affected her perception of herself. As she sat alone looking out the window right with embarrassment after hearing the comment, the afternoon sun at that specific time of day reflected her image in the window. As she looked closely at her own reflection, she saw what she perceived as being ‘not very pretty’. That singular moment drastically altered her life, convincing herself that others must think the same as the bus driver. Twelve years later, the same young child, then about 17 years old, was being treated by a psychiatrist (my professor) for depression, self-mutilation and suicidal tendencies. He determined the root of her self-loathing traced back to the ignorant bus driver’s thoughtless comment when she was only five years of age. Just two days ago, a beautiful 13 year old girl of Mexican heritage, living in Texas, was continually tormented by the kids at school who berated her about her parents being sent back to Mexico as illegal aliens. They repeatedly told her she would become a homeless orphan living on the street. She took her own life only a few days later. In Chapter eight of Tracks Of Our Tears, the sequel to From Promise To Peril, Julia becomes a thirteen year old orphan of war after the genocide of her Polish village by the Russians, just a few miles inside the border of Poland in October 1940. Her poor but happy childhood was ripped away from her, as were her entire family. Tragically, the Russians were the influencers in her life. As her struggle to survive against the perils of Mother Nature continues, constantly cycling again and again from her desperate need for food, alternating from her desperation to find shelter and warmth, to her inevitable need for sleep, the cycle continually turns. Her story is horrific, spiritual, transformational...and totally inspiring. When measured against hurtful feelings, cruel criticism and lost self-confidence, it may seem of less consequence to Julia’s situation, however we must remain mindful in our own lives that the result is often no less tragic. Everyone says something stupid now and then, and while some make a profession out of it, the vast majority should realize that in some ways, many others are significantly influenced positively or negatively by our actions, our deeds and our words. Let’s all just try to do better. We all know someone who seems to carry a cloud over their head, always expecting the worst, bracing for disappointment, seeing what could go wrong instead of what might go right. Maybe it is a friend, a sibling, a parent. Or maybe it is a child, a grandchild, or someone we love deeply, whose outlook we worry about.
Take my grandson, for example. Since he was a little boy, he has been stuck in a negative headspace. No matter how many times I try to show him the bright side, it rarely seems to make a difference. It is not that I want to change him, I just want him to be happy, to feel joy in life, to know that the world is not always as bad as he expects it to be. But then I ask myself: is his way of seeing the world really negative to him? Maybe his perspective is not about unhappiness at all. Maybe, for him, always expecting the worst means he is never disappointed. Maybe he finds security in knowing that life will be hard, so he does not waste time hoping for an easier road. In his own way, maybe this is his version of being prepared, of being strong. The Battle Between Perspective and Reality I know what it is like to struggle with mental health. For me, actively shifting my thinking is the only way I find my moments of joy. I have to remind myself to look for the lesson, the light, the possibility. But does that mean I am blind to how someone else sees the world? If I insist on seeing the glass as half full, am I dismissing the reality that, for someone else, it truly is half empty? We tend to think of pessimism as a flaw or something that needs fixing. But what if it is just another way of coping? What if, for some, expecting the worst is what helps them manage the chaos of life? If I always push positivity, am I invalidating the fact that, sometimes, life is unfair, painful, and full of struggle? Finding Common Ground The truth is, life throws lemons at all of us. Some make lemonade, some brace for the sour taste, and some expect the fruit to rot before they even pick it up. Maybe the key is not forcing a new perspective but learning to respect different ones. So, instead of asking how I can make my grandson more positive, maybe the better question is: How can I meet him where he is? How can I show him love and support without making him feel like his way of seeing the world is wrong? Because whether he expects the best or the worst, he should always know that he doesn't have to face it alone. #Perspective #PessimismVsOptimism #MentalHealthMatters #DifferentOutlooks #FindingJoy #GlassHalfFull #GlassHalfEmpty #MindsetShift #EmotionalWellness #SupportingLovedOnes #LifeLessons #CopingMechanisms #UnderstandingMentalHealth #PersonalGrowth #Resilience Regret is a strange thing. It whispers in the quiet moments, nudging us to reconsider the choices we have made and the things we did, the things we did not do, the words we spoke, the opportunities we let slip away. It has the power to make us question whether we should have taken a different path, but it also raises an uncomfortable paradox: Can we truly regret something if it led us to where we are today?
It is tempting to pinpoint moments where life could have taken a different course. Maybe if I had pursued a certain opportunity, taken a risk, or spoken up at a crucial moment, things would have unfolded in a completely different way. But the truth is, we don’t get to see the alternate version of our lives. We can only reflect on the path we did take - and the experiences that shaped us. Regret assumes that there was a “better” outcome, but how do we know that for sure? One small change could have rippled outward in ways we could never predict. Maybe avoiding one heartbreak would have meant never meeting someone who changed our perspective. Maybe choosing a different job would have meant missing out on a defining friendship. Perhaps a hardship we wish we could erase was the very thing that built our resilience or deepened our empathy. There are certainly moments in my life I wish had played out differently. Decisions I made that, in hindsight, seem flawed. But if I unravel one thread, what else comes undone? If I erased a misstep, would I also erase the lessons it taught me? Would I be the same person, sitting here today, reflecting on the very idea of regret? The experiences we carry, the good, bad, joyful, painful are what make us who we are. Every choice, every detour, every seemingly inconsequential decision builds upon the last. And while regret may linger, I choose to believe that each step, even the ones I once questioned, was necessary to get me here. So, if given the chance, would I change something? I honestly do not know. Because in the end, it is not about dwelling on what could have been, but appreciating what is. #LifeReflections #NoRegrets #WhatIfs #LifeLessons #EverythingHappensForAReason #RippleEffect #LessonsLearned #PersonalGrowth #LookingBack #EmbraceTheJourney In the early 1990s, I was working in Mexico City on a water conservation project that found me
away from my family for several weeks duration over a period of eighteen months. On one occasion it was more than a month since I had been home. My constantly supportive wife, Regina, managed the raising of our three adolescent children all by herself. We had wonderful children, but all three could be a handful and I know how discouraged Regina became at times. In those days, we didn’t have cellphones. Phoning long distance for complex and lengthy conversations was very costly, so I did something I hadn’t done since forever...I sat down and wrote a personal letter to my darling Regina. I told her how dear she was to me and how dependent I had become on her steadfast support, her caring and providing for the kids by herself; how very proud I was to have her in my life. Writing my letter to her, by hand, was truly a cathartic moment in my life. My thoughts didn’t flow as easily as a conversation. It was one-sided and was much more pensive and deliberate in content, much like this blog I’m writing now. The circumstances rallied my emotions and directed my words in more meaningful ways I still have difficulty describing. I not only encouraged her to stay the course, I emphasized and reminded her of the depths of her inner strength. Despite being the most formidable woman I had ever met, she too had moments of doubt, loss of self-confidence, fear of the uncertainty of tomorrow. These were financially difficult times for us. I just sent the money home and she looked after everything keeping our creditors at bay. Years later she told me the positive impact she felt after reading the words I crafted from my heart. She broke down just telling me about her feelings, and despite our loving children, how lonely she felt...abandoned. She also laughed when she read all the things I deeply wanted to do with her as soon as I returned, anything she could dream of was my promise and intent. I even embarrassed her by describing the intimate details, the first time I ever wrote such things in my life. There is a scene on the second page of Chapter 23 in From Promise To Peril when Anna wrote a heartfelt letter to her young daughter living in America on a music scholarship, to inform her of the passing of her grandfather Sigmund, and her grandmother, Marissa. In that scene I wrote about Anna’s experience writing that difficult letter. “The premeditated decision to place pen to paper is an exercise involving an intense degree of reflection. Absorbing and modifying the thought process is not so naturally spontaneous as conversation. It is a process that can be likened to an internal conversation with oneself. The crafting of Anna’s letter was a cathartic experience and was painful as well as therapeutic causing her to search deeper within herself to feel the true depth and magnitude of her own loss.” I wrote this scene based upon my actual experience when I wrote my letter to Regina. I could feel Anna’s pain and the sometimes grueling challenge to convey her message so lovingly. I had not seen my letter to Regina again, until about a year after her death when I was searching for something quite unrelated to the letter. It was saved by Regina twenty-seven years ago along with her mother and fathers’ original birth and marriage certificates. These were the documents I used to tell Julia’s and Jan’s story in the second book Tracks Of Our Tears. I was so moved emotionally that I wept like a child when I reread my letter after so many years, knowing that Regina must have been equally moved by reading it. How many chances do we have in life, and love, to write the words “I love you” to the love of our life. Written words will outlast our lifetimes to speak for us to new generations who follow. #LettersFromThePast #PowerOfWords #LoveLetters #HistoricalConnections #FamilyLegacy #WrittenWordsMatter #CatharticWriting #LettersOfLove #PreservingMemories #HeartfeltReflections #FromPromiseToPeril #TracksOfOurTears #TimelessExpressions #WritingFromTheHeart #GenerationalConnections |
AuthorJames was born in Toronto and graduated from York University in 1978. From Promise to Peril is the first of three books in a Trilogy in which he brings his amazing fictional characters to life by creatively weaving them throughout actual historical events. He now resides in Milton, Ontario. Archives
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