<![CDATA[Orange Blossom Publishing

<![CDATA[Orange Blossom Publishing - Blog]]>Wed, 15 Jul 2026 15:13:02 -0700Weebly<![CDATA[Cook Book: Recipes for Raising a Reader]]>Wed, 15 Jul 2026 21:13:01 GMThttps://www.orangeblossombooks.com/blog/cook-book-recipes-for-raising-a-reader8648642

Guest Post by Anne Schuchman

“Were there any particular dishes your mother was known for?” The priest asks.

He must have a fill-in-the-blank eulogy where he’ll add personal anecdotes, something for the family.

There’s an awkward moment as my brother and sister and I look thoughtful. Then we exchange darting glances out of the corners of our eyes, silently pleading, Say something!

I finally say, “Our mom was a lousy cook.” And we snort with laughter.
The priest scribbles something in his notes.

***

This isn’t quite fair, as my mother had a few dishes that were memorable, mostly from the years before she went back to work. She had time to let the dough rise, let us punch it down, then let it rise again before baking. I remember homemade pizza, American chop suey (whatever the hell that was), iceberg lettuce shining with bottled salad dressing, and Apple Delight, my favorite dessert.

But when I think of my mom cooking, I don’t think of what she made, but how she made it. Stirring a pot with one hand, a book in the other, reading. At the kitchen table, a book in hand, reading. Lying on the sofa as broccoli burned on the stove, a book in hand, reading. I rarely saw her without a book, her glasses perched on her head or carelessly looped through her fingers. She was extremely nearsighted but could read a book without glasses if she held it right up to her face. Then her eyes would become wide and she would hardly blink. When she was reading you knew the world had disappeared for her: she was gone. To interrupt seemed cruel, but we did it all the time. Maybe we were jealous of the attention—the devotion, even—that she gave those books. Maybe we just missed her.

“Just let me finish this chapter,” she’d say as she turned another page.

I was born with the reading gene, or perhaps I was just imitating my mother the way other little girls played house. She passed words to me like breastmilk. I don’t remember a time when I didn’t read. I may have lived in suburban Long Island, but I was equally at home on the Kansas prairie, in the Big Woods of Wisconsin, and on Prince Edward Island. My best friends were Dorothy, Laura, and the other Anne with-an-e. This fascination with books carried me from kindergarten through grad school. I got married, had one baby and then another, and my time became limited, fragmented, my days full of must-do’s. Reading required a purpose. There was a kind of pleasure in reading dusty manuscripts and secondary criticism, but it was in having read them, not in the reading itself. I had lost some of the joy I had first experienced in the small-town library that contained universes.

All this time, my mother and I regularly spoke on the phone and exchanged letters. She used to circulate a family letter that caught everyone up on everyone else’s goings-on, and later, a family email. She would tell me about the books she was reading, and I would tell her about my studies. And sometimes she would chuckle, “You think you’re so smart.” I sent her conference papers to proofread, and imagined her reading them, her glasses looped through her fingers, her eyes wide and unblinking. She always found something: a typo, a grammatical error, an editing mishap. She was my ideal reader.

But something happened so subtly that I hardly noticed. The daily emails became weekly, and then even less frequent. Sometimes my father would respond instead. An engineer in temperament as well as profession, he stuck to simple subject-verb-object sentences: what they did and where they went. Sometimes my mother’s emails didn’t address what I had written to her, and I had to go back to try and understand the miscommunication. She no longer told me about the latest book she’d read or magazine articles, because she’d nearly stopped reading altogether. Sometimes the words just didn’t make sense. Her decline into dementia seems obvious now when I look at our last emails: a back-and-forth about forgetting passwords and missing doctors’ appointments and repeated anecdotes.

Her very last email to me, written about four years before her death said:

I don’t know what I’m doing. —Mom

I missed her writing, of course. I was surprised, however, to find myself mourning her loss of reading. I had taken this joy of hers for granted. There wasn’t much we could do during those short, but too long years of decline: visit, chat, make her comfortable. How could I listen to someone whose voice seemed to grow fainter and fainter each time I spoke with her? I had already lost my mother.

I could read. I began by seeking out classics that had somehow escaped me back in high school and college: My Ántonia, Anna Karenina, To Kill a Mockingbird. I reread Catcher in the Rye, a book I despised in high school because my friends told me I reminded them of Holden Caulfield. Although I failed to recognize myself in Holden when I was a teen, this time I recognized my children in Holden—he felt like another insightful, wounded, and often infuriating son. Maybe it was because I was reading it as the parent of an adolescent rather than as an adolescent, but when I cried for Holden, maybe I was also crying for his mother, so cold and indifferent. Maybe I cried for the emotional distance that could never be bridged.

My mother was placed on hospice during the last six weeks of her life, ending the revolving-door of hospital visits. She barely spoke, barely registered recognition. Our visits seemed to exhaust her, and my children, newly uncomfortable around grandma, became antsy, so I kept our visits brief. Maybe it wasn’t our presence, but the presence of death that sucked the words out of the room. But on one of our last visits, I mentioned to her that I was reading Thomas Merton’s The Seven Storey Mountain for the first time. She lit up in a way I hadn’t seen in months, looked up at me from her wheelchair, and said, “That’s one of my favorite books.”

Going through my parents’ house years later, I came across her cookbooks: Fanny Farmer, The Joy of Cooking, The I Hate to Cook Book. Along with the creases and stains, I found notes and comments in her precise, bookish handwriting. Occasionally she wrote simple punctuation (! or ?) in the margins, and once a Bronx cheer—pbbb!—for what must have been a failure of a dish. She had really read these cookbooks, taken them in, and they became part of her. My mother was a great cook—on the page.

This essay was first published by Chicago Story Press.

Anne Schuchman is a writer and translator whose nonfiction has appeared in The Massachusetts Review, The Saranac Review, and Apricity Press. Her translations have been published in The Southern Review, The Los Angeles Review, and The Ilanot Review. Schuchman holds a Ph.D. in Italian from NYU and an MFA in Creative Writing from Fairleigh Dickinson.

]]><![CDATA[Vintage Writers: It’s never too late to reinvent yourself as an author]]>Wed, 10 Jun 2026 16:19:35 GMThttps://www.orangeblossombooks.com/blog/vintage-writers-its-never-too-late-to-reinvent-yourself-as-an-author

Guest post by Kim Gottlieb-Walker

After a fifty + year career as a counterculture, rock, and movie set photographer, I reinvented myself as a novelist and released Lenswoman in Love – a novel of the 1960s & ‘70s in 2025 at age 78 – a reimagining my early career as a second-chance romance. And to my surprise, I discovered that I am not the only woman in retirement who has become a writer. I initiated a weekly zoom chat for “Vintage” authors, all women over 70, and discovered fascinating feisty ladies who have drawn on their wealth of experience to create wonderful books.

Among them are:

Roselyn Teukolsky, who after a lifetime of teaching computer science to devious teenagers (and writing the Barron’s prep book on computer science), has written two edge-of-your-seat thrillers I could not put down, with a computer genius heroine, A Reluctant Spy and The Fourth Woman
Dorothea Buckingham, a librarian in Hawaii and WWII historian, who released her first novel Code Name Rascal about four women in Hawaii who worked for the government to help win the war.
Karen Lee Cohen, who after a career as a TV producer ,has written a non-fiction self-help book Let’s Be Peace and started a movement to make the world a better place, one person at a time.

As well as:

Colleen Fleidner’s Fascinating True Tales from Old California
Alexis Krasilovsy’s poetry book Watermelon Linguistics and novel Portrait of an Artist as a Young Woman
DM Cross’ Romatasy A Long Way from Home
MJ Frause-Chivers Russian Menonite Chronicles Katerina’s Dark Shadow and Katerina’s Dark Journey
Paulette Brooks’ American immigrant saga Not Just a Homemaker

…and many working on their first books.

Our group is a terrific support for each other, sharing our expertise in various aspects of writing, editing, publishing, and marketing, and cheering each other on, commiserating with setbacks and sharing each other’s writing and personal journeys. It has provided a sense of community and created new friendships. The group is overflowing with talent from from women living all over the USA and Canada, writing in every imaginable genre – historical fiction, romance, mystery/suspense, children’s and middle school adventures, self-help and spirituality and more, proving it’s never too late to reinvent yourself!

This essay was first published by Chicago Story Press.

Kim Gottlieb-Walker’s colorful career as a photographer covered a wide range of subjects, from classic rock and roll, reggae, and politics in the ‘60s and ‘70s to major motion pictures and television shows, including Halloween, Escape from New York, Cheers, and Family Ties. Her two coffeetable photobooks "One Set with John Carpenter" and Bob Marley and then Golden Age of Reggae" are still in print after over a decade. Now a novelist living in Laurel Canyon, Kim’s debut novel "Lenswoman in Love," a reimagining of her early career as a second-chance romance, has won over a dozen awards. See www.Lenswoman.com for an overview of her photographic history or www.KimGottliebWalker.com - her author website.

]]><![CDATA[The Next Chapter: A Reflection on Writing by a Special Needs Writer]]>Wed, 03 Jun 2026 13:10:19 GMThttps://www.orangeblossombooks.com/blog/the-next-chapter-a-reflection-on-writing-by-a-special-needs-writer

Guest post by Samantha Brown

After I finished high school, I started a transition program. At first it took a long time to see writing as a career path. Writing became a way of self discovery for me, even though I'm special needs. I never thought my writing would be published.

The Journey Starts with the First Step

I have a dream of using my journey to help others express their emotions about their life experiences.

The Turning Point Of Self Discovery

Writing had a big impact on my career choice. I first started my new life chapter with a lot of unknown challenges. Now I have a clear understanding of the impact of my writing. I didn't think my writing would be published successfully.

My Next Chapter Of The Journey

I learned that to be successful you should always believe in yourself. Writing is a craft that for some people is also a coping skill. When I started journaling in high school, I found my writing was more than an outlet for emotions. It helps me to overcome challenges that are not always easy to accept.

A Positive Voice Makes a Positive Outcome

Writing has helped me keep a positive mind and a positive point of view. The new chapter started: college career preparation .

Encourage the Impact

Having been published successfully many times, I realized self discovery can be found through creativity. Writing means so much to me. It is an important part of sharing my story. Publishing my writing successfully was a clear sign that my next chapter is happening.

Overcoming Challenges

College has always been a dream of mine. To be published successfully was only the start of achieving one of my dreams with my sights on the positive impact of my career.

Finding My New Chapter

Writing made it easier to go through the transition from high school to a college program. This was where I learned writing was a positive outcome for a future career path. That moment I knew my writing was published I was overjoyed with excitement

Learn the Impact Your Success Can Make

Writing was an important part of finding the direction of my career. You should always use a positive voice in your writing to encourage people. This voice of positivity empowers others to make a difference. I'm never shy about sharing the journey that brought me to this point in my life.

Lessons Learned Overtime

I saw writing as a clear chapter of my journey for the first time. Writing gives me a chance to express myself as a professional. My disability is not my career, and my career is not my disability. This writing chapter is the craft of sharing experiences with the world.

A Positive Outlook Makes a Positive Outcome

Writing helped me see I am more than the challenges I face. I use a positive outlook to make a difference in my career path outcome. I can make as big a difference as possible. Coping with challenges became easier in the real world through writing.

A Positive Sign of My Future Ahead

This chapter started a new positive point of view. It made staying open throughout the challenges a skill within the journey. That started a successful career path as a writer.

Samantha Brown is a special needs writer. She has always dreamed of writing. She is a high school graduate trying to find her way.

]]><![CDATA[Power Snacks for Writers on a Budget]]>Wed, 25 Mar 2026 14:10:31 GMThttps://www.orangeblossombooks.com/blog/power-snacks-for-writers-on-a-budget

Guest post by Jean Matthews

Brain Food

Writers burn through mental energy. A well-balanced writing practice requires not just writing but feeding your brain what it needs to get those words onto paper (or screen). We've all been there, sitting at the desk with an empty stomach, straining to be productive while our body screams "not happening".

Fun Fact: Your brain is only about ~2% of your body weight, but it uses ~20% of your body’s energy (and oxygen) at rest. That’s a huge “operating cost” for such a small organ. (Ask the scientists, 2026)

“The Flow State” & Sustainable Writing Practices

Flow (often called “the flow state”) is a well-established concept in psychology, introduced and studied extensively by psychologist Mihály Csíkszentmihályi. Csíkszentmihályi describes flow (an “optimal experience”) as occurring when: “one’s skills are adequate to cope with the challenges at hand, in a goal-directed, rule-bound action system that provides clear clues as to how one is performing.” (Jeremy Sutton, 2025)

It takes enough mental power just to sit down and write, let alone get into "the flow state". The last thing we want is another interruption—even when it's our own belly growling at us. Other obstacles include money, kids, and our actual day job (for the many of us who can't afford to write full-time), while some of us just don't have the time, energy, or interest to cook. We all need to eat, though—no exceptions, unfortunately (unless you're like some of the characters in my fantasy fiction who "don't need to drink, eat or shit", but that's unlikely—also unfortunate).

Budget Friendly Brain Staples

Fun Fact: Even when you are “just thinking,” the brain is still running a big baseline budget. Most of the energy is spent on keeping nerve cells ready to fire and maintaining connections, not only on intense moments of focus. (LeCunff, 2025)

The healthy eating and wellness spaces overflow with ideas, recipes, and unaffordable superfoods that would overwhelm even the most well-intentioned writer—let alone those who are cooking-averse or on a tight budget. Sadly, your brain doesn't care whether you like cooking. It still needs what it needs. Feed it some of the staples below, and not only will your brain thank you, but it may even gift you back that oh-so-precious mental flow.

The brain relies heavily on glucose, so steadier sources can help avoid energy crashes (examples: oats, brown rice, potatoes, beans, whole-grain bread).
Since the brain is so fat-rich, fats are structural and functional, not “extra” (examples: canned salmon or sardines, ground flax/chia, walnuts).
Protein provides amino acids used to build neurotransmitters, which matters for attention, motivation, and mood (examples: eggs, lentils, chickpeas, peanut butter, yogurt, Greek yogurt).
Leafy greens and berries get cited often for brain-supportive nutrients (vitamins, flavonoids, etc.) (examples: frozen spinach/kale, frozen berries, carrots, cabbage).

Your brain is a high-cost organ: tiny by weight, but it burns a big share of your daily energy— so consistent, basic groceries (slow carbs, protein, healthy fats, and a couple of plants) beat fancy supplements for sustainable writing.

Power snacks for your desk, drawer or backpack

Keep these power snacks within reach—whether that's a corner of your desk, a drawer you've been meaning to organize, or a portable bag or backpack. Why? Once we're writing, it's hard to stop until we've wrung out every last word. That's the mind's version of inertia. Multi-tasking and task switching take a toll on the brain, not all of us can afford. This doesn't mean you should skip breaks—we definitely need downtime to reset (more on that in another blog). It just means feeding your brain as you go, during and between breaks. The same goes for hydration, so keep a 32 oz water bottle nearby (aim to drink twice that in a day; coffee and tea count too).

Here are three of my go-to power snacks for long writing days:

DIY Trail Mix
I skip pre-made trail mixes—not because they're bad, but because I end up paying more for packaging than nuts. Plus, the ratio of cheap raisins to expensive nuts is often disappointing. Buying your own nuts and dried fruit costs more upfront, but it's higher quality, more budget-friendly long-term, and requires zero cooking. Best of all, there are no fixed ratios—every ingredient is nutritionally solid, so mix however you like.

Here's my go-to mix: 1/2 cup roasted salted peanuts (I always include one salted nut and keep the rest unsalted for flavor balance), 1/2 cup raw almonds, 1/4 cup raw pumpkin seeds (no shell), 1/4 cup sunflower seeds, 1/2 cup pistachios, 1/2 cup raisins or dried cranberries. I love this even more as an adult because I can bring it anywhere—literally brain food on the go.

This concept works for overpriced muesli too. Here's a wallet-friendly recipe: 4 cups whole rolled oats, 1 cup raisins, 1 cup sliced almonds, 1/2 cup sunflower seeds/pumpkin seeds, 2 tablespoons chia seeds (optional), 1 teaspoon cinnamon (optional). Adjust the ratios and ingredients to your taste.

Power Muffins
Dry ingredients base: 1/2 cup whole wheat flour, 1/2 cup ground flaxseed, 1/2 teaspoon salt, 1 teaspoon baking powder, 1 teaspoon baking soda, 1/4 cup white sugar

Wet ingredients base: 1 egg, 1 teaspoon pure vanilla extract, 1/3 cup Mazola vegetable oil

One-Bowl Banana Chocolate Muffins: 2 bananas + wet ingredients + dry ingredients + 1/4 cup mini chocolate chips

One-Bowl Apple Zucchini Muffins: 1 grated zucchini + 1 grated apple + 1/2 cup applesauce (or individual snack portion) + wet ingredients + dry ingredients + 1/2 tablespoon cinnamon (pro tip: grate zucchini and freeze directly in a Ziplock bag or container—best when zucchinis are in season during summer and super cheap!)

Oven: Bake 30 minutes at 350°F

Roasted Chickpeas
Chickpeas, 1 can (15 oz), drained and rinsed (*you can also use canned lentils or frozen edamame)

Dry with a paper towel or clean cloth, then remove the skins (tedious and optional, but they'll be crunchier!)

One bowl: Chickpeas, 1 tablespoon olive oil, 2–3 teaspoons of your favorite spice mix (I prefer BBQ or chipotle), 1/2 teaspoon salt (optional, especially if your spice mix is already salty)

Spread chickpeas on a parchment-lined baking sheet (or silicone baking mat)

Roast 15–20 minutes

Mix and flip, then roast another 15–20 minutes

Let cool 5–10 minutes

**Bonus Homemade BBQ Spice Mix: 1/2 cup brown sugar, 2 tablespoons paprika, 1 tablespoon smoked paprika (or chipotle), 1 tablespoon black pepper (or to taste), 1 tablespoon salt (or to taste), 1 tablespoon garlic powder, 1 tablespoon onion powder, 1 teaspoon mustard powder, 1/4 teaspoon cayenne pepper (optional). This also makes a great meat rub.

**Bonus Homemade Cajun Spice Mix: 2 teaspoons garlic powder, 2.5 teaspoons paprika (or smoked paprika), 1 1/4 teaspoons dried oregano, 1 teaspoon onion powder, 1 1/4 teaspoons dried thyme, 1/2 teaspoon red pepper flakes, 1 teaspoon cayenne pepper, 2 teaspoons salt (or to taste), 1 teaspoon pepper (or to taste)

Bonus: Secrets to power up any muffin, pancake/waffle, or flour-based recipe
Flour: Replace half the flour with any of the following for extra protein, fiber, and omega fats: ground flaxseed (my all-time favorite for fiber, protein, and omegas 3 and 6), wheat germ or the more budget-friendly wheat bran, buckwheat porridge, quinoa flakes, oat flakes, or a mix of two or three! Honestly, whatever you have on hand works and greatly boosts the health benefits of any flour-based recipe. If you want to add whey protein, use 1/4–1/3 cup or 1 scoop in addition to the flour. For a budget-friendly option, I use Nestle Boost for the added vitamins and protein (*not a sponsor).

Sugar: Most recipes call for more sugar than you need. If you have a sweet tooth, that's a different story—and like salt, you may need to reduce gradually so your palate adjusts. I use 1/4 cup of plain white sugar for all my muffin recipes, even ones that originally called for 1 cup (yikes! but not unusual). No one will judge you if you use 1/2 cup or simply half the amount listed. If I don't have plain white sugar (the most budget-friendly option) or I'm feeling fancy, I substitute with maple syrup or brown sugar. Honey and molasses work too, but they alter the taste and texture, so I avoid them. The trick is to enhance flavor with 1/2 teaspoon of salt alongside the sugar. Many recipes surprisingly don't list salt—maybe that's why they compensate with more sugar. I'm no chef, but I do make a lot of muffins.

Fat: Older recipes often call for shortening, margarine, or butter. Butter isn't all that bad, but it's typically more expensive. I swap these for oil—avocado oil if you want to go fancy and have the budget for it, otherwise my go-to is Mazola Vegetable Oil since it contains omegas (*not a sponsor). The ultimate substitute if you want something lighter is applesauce, believe it or not. As for the popular coconut oil, if the recipe doesn't contain coconut, I avoid it since it alters the taste too much.

Freezer-friendly: The great thing about muffins, pancakes, and waffles is that they're all freezer-friendly. Whether you're feeding yourself or a whole family, extras can be stored for when you need them—nothing goes to waste. For more recipes: I get a lot of inspiration from the Tasty app (*not a sponsor)—it's free and you can search for recipes by budget or ingredient and save your favorites. Whenever I find myself staring into the Twilight Zone of my pantry (after a week of avoiding the grocery store), I open the app to see what decent meal I can make from 3–5 random ingredients on hand. It's a lifesaver, especially if you like variety, have kids, or are in a pinch.

Back to writing

Fellow writer, I hope this post has given you a few nourishing ideas for both page and palate. In our hurry to churn out polished prose, it’s easy to forget the body and brain that power the pen. So honor them: reach for fuel that sustains your focus, breathe, stretch, and then let the words keep flowing—healthy, steady, and true.

I have been writing poetry and fiction since the age of fourteen. After two decades in the corporate field, I am now pursuing studies in literature and linguistics and dedicating myself to writing full-time as a single mother of two. As I reorient my career back to the writer within, I hope to share my work with a wider audience, support fellow writers and continue developing my voice as a published author. You can find me on Substack under my pen name: Jean Matthews at https://substack.com/@jeanmatthews01. This blog is part of a series called Sustainable Writing Practices. I am also currently working on two more blog series called The Creative Process (focused on helping emerging writers develop the craft) and Writing as a Business (focused on freelance writers looking to write or offer writing services in a business format).

]]><![CDATA[Writing Is Not Selfish — It's Strategic]]>Wed, 04 Mar 2026 13:35:55 GMThttps://www.orangeblossombooks.com/blog/writing-is-not-selfish-its-strategic

Guest post by Herbert L. Becker

There is a common belief that writing is a private hobby. Something creative people do in their spare time. Something indulgent. Optional.

For parents, educators, and women especially, writing can feel like a luxury—one that belongs at the bottom of a very long list.

Laundry comes first. Lesson plans come first. Emails, meals, meetings, children, deadlines—all come first.

But here's a truth that rarely gets said out loud:
Writing is not selfish. It is strategic.

Writing Clarifies Leadership

Parents and educators make decisions all day long.

You decide how to respond when a child melts down. You decide how to adjust when a lesson falls flat. You decide how to balance care with discipline.

Writing strengthens that same muscle.

When you put words to your experiences—even in 500 words—you move from reacting to reflecting. You begin to see patterns. You notice what worked, what didn't, and why.

Clarity in writing becomes clarity in leadership.

And leadership shapes lives.

Your Perspective Is Not Replaceable
Many women and educators hesitate.

"I'm not an expert." "Someone else has said this better." "I don't have time."

But lived experience is expertise.

The mother navigating screen time has insight. The teacher managing thirty students has insight. The woman balancing ambition with caregiving has insight.

When you don't write it down, that knowledge remains private.

When you do, it becomes contribution.

Publishing Has Changed

You no longer need a traditional book deal to be heard.

Short-form nonfiction—500 to 1,000 words, broken into clear sections—is highly readable and widely shared. Digital publications actively seek writing that is reflective, useful, and grounded in real experience.

A strong nonfiction piece includes:

A clear central idea
A personal or professional insight
A practical takeaway
Headings that guide the reader

You don't need grand theory. You need honesty and clarity.

Writing Models Courage

Children watch more than they listen.

Students do the same.

When they see an adult thinking critically, drafting ideas, revising work, and sharing it publicly, they are witnessing courage in action.

They see that growth doesn't end with graduation. They see that ideas matter. They see that learning is lifelong.

That modeling stays with them.

Start Where You Are

You don't need hours. You need intention.

Start with one experience that taught you something. Ask: What did I learn? Then ask: Who else might need to hear this?

Structure it. Edit it once for clarity. Share it.

Writing isn't about ego. It's about influence.

Parents influence families. Educators influence futures. Women influence culture.
Your words carry weight—not because they are dramatic, but because they are real.
Writing is not a luxury reserved for quieter seasons of life.

It is a way to shape the season you are in.

And that makes it strategic.

Herbert L. Becker is an award-winning magician and bestselling author. He was voted Best USA Magician in 1975 and 1976 by Houdini Magic Magazine. His books All the Secrets of Magic Revealed (1997) and 101 Greatest Magic Secrets (2002) have sold more than 500,000 copies worldwide, been translated into thirteen languages, and inspired a series of television programs for Fox Television. Becker has performed at major venues including Radio City Music Hall and the Steel Pier, and toured with Guinness on Parade, helping open the first Guinness museum. He is currently writing his debut novel, THE TRAIL DOES NOT CARE, a historical story set on the Oregon Trail in 1846. Visit his website here.

]]><![CDATA[Cook Book: Recipes for Raising a Reader]]>Tue, 03 Feb 2026 15:14:45 GMThttps://www.orangeblossombooks.com/blog/cook-book-recipes-for-raising-a-reader

Guest post by Anne Schuchman

Were there any particular dishes your mother was known for?” the priest asks.

He must have a fill-in-the-blank eulogy where he’ll add personal anecdotes, something for the family.

There’s an awkward moment as my brother and sister and I look thoughtful. Then we exchange darting glances out of the corners of our eyes, silently pleading, Say something!

I finally say, “Our mom was a lousy cook.” And we snort with laughter.

The priest scribbles something in his notes.
***
This isn’t quite fair, as my mother had a few dishes that were memorable, mostly from the years before she went back to work. She had time to let the dough rise, let us punch it down, then let it rise again before baking. I remember homemade pizza, American chop suey (whatever the hell that was), iceberg lettuce shining with bottled salad dressing, and Apple Delight, my favorite dessert.

But when I think of my mom cooking, I don’t think of what she made, but how she made it. Stirring a pot with one hand, a book in the other, reading. At the kitchen table, a book in hand, reading. Lying on the sofa as broccoli burned on the stove, a book in hand, reading. I rarely saw her without a book, her glasses perched on her head or carelessly looped through her fingers. She was extremely nearsighted but could read a book without glasses if she held it right up to her face. Then her eyes would become wide and she would hardly blink. When she was reading you knew the world had disappeared for her: she was gone. To interrupt seemed cruel, but we did it all the time. Maybe we were jealous of the attention—the devotion, even—that she gave those books. Maybe we just missed her.

“Just let me finish this chapter,” she’d say as she turned another page.

I was born with the reading gene, or perhaps I was just imitating my mother the way other little girls played house. She passed words to me like breastmilk. I don’t remember a time when I didn’t read. I may have lived in suburban Long Island, but I was equally at home on the Kansas prairie, in the Big Woods of Wisconsin, and on Prince Edward Island. My best friends were Dorothy, Laura, and the other Anne with-an-e. This fascination with books carried me from kindergarten through grad school. I got married, had one baby and then another, and my time became limited, fragmented, my days full of must-do’s. Reading required a purpose. There was a kind of pleasure in reading dusty manuscripts and secondary criticism, but it was in having read them, not in the reading itself. I had lost some of the joy I had first experienced in the small-town library that contained universes.

All this time, my mother and I regularly spoke on the phone and exchanged letters. She used to circulate a family letter that caught everyone up on everyone else’s goings-on, and later, a family email. She would tell me about the books she was reading, and I would tell her about my studies. And sometimes she would chuckle, “You think you’re so smart.” I sent her conference papers to proofread, and imagined her reading them, her glasses looped through her fingers, her eyes wide and unblinking. She always found something: a typo, a grammatical error, an editing mishap. She was my ideal reader.

But something happened so subtly that I hardly noticed. The daily emails became weekly, and then even less frequent. Sometimes my father would respond instead. An engineer in temperament as well as profession, he stuck to simple subject-verb-object sentences: what they did and where they went. Sometimes my mother’s emails didn’t address what I had written to her, and I had to go back to try and understand the miscommunication. She no longer told me about the latest book she’d read or magazine articles, because she’d nearly stopped reading altogether. Sometimes the words just didn’t make sense. Her decline into dementia seems obvious now when I look at our last emails: a back-and-forth about forgetting passwords and missing doctors’ appointments and repeated anecdotes.

Her very last email to me, written about four years before her death said:

I don’t know what I’m doing. —Mom

I missed her writing, of course. I was surprised, however, to find myself mourning her loss of reading. I had taken this joy of hers for granted. There wasn’t much we could do during those short, but too long years of decline: visit, chat, make her comfortable. How could I listen to someone whose voice seemed to grow fainter and fainter each time I spoke with her? I had already lost my mother.

I could read. I began by seeking out classics that had somehow escaped me back in high school and college: My Ántonia, Anna Karenina, To Kill a Mockingbird. I reread Catcher in the Rye, a book I despised in high school because my friends told me I reminded them of Holden Caulfield. Although I failed to recognize myself in Holden when I was a teen, this time I recognized my children in Holden—he felt like another insightful, wounded, and often infuriating son. Maybe it was because I was reading it as the parent of an adolescent rather than as an adolescent, but when I cried for Holden, maybe I was also crying for his mother, so cold and indifferent. Maybe I cried for the emotional distance that could never be bridged.

My mother was placed on hospice during the last six weeks of her life, ending the revolving-door of hospital visits. She barely spoke, barely registered recognition. Our visits seemed to exhaust her, and my children, newly uncomfortable around grandma, became antsy, so I kept our visits brief. Maybe it wasn’t our presence, but the presence of death that sucked the words out of the room. But on one of our last visits, I mentioned to her that I was reading Thomas Merton’s The Seven Storey Mountain for the first time. She lit up in a way I hadn’t seen in months, looked up at me from her wheelchair, and said, “That’s one of my favorite books.”

Going through my parents’ house years later, I came across her cookbooks: Fanny Farmer, The Joy of Cooking, The I Hate to Cook Book. Along with the creases and stains, I found notes and comments in her precise, bookish handwriting. Occasionally she wrote simple punctuation (! or ?) in the margins, and once a Bronx cheer—pbbb!—for what must have been a failure of a dish. She had really read these cookbooks, taken them in, and they became part of her. My mother was a great cook—on the page.

]]><![CDATA[Festive Creativity]]>Thu, 18 Dec 2025 09:30:00 GMThttps://www.orangeblossombooks.com/blog/festive-creativity

🎄 Family, Fiction, and Festivities: Weaving Holiday Moments into Your Stories

As winter approaches and the holidays draw near, many writers find themselves caught between to-do lists, seasonal commitments, and a deep desire to tap into the emotional richness of this time of year. But what if the chaos and coziness of the season could actually fuel your writing?

Why the Holidays Are Prime Creative Real Estate
Winter holidays come wrapped in emotion—nostalgia, joy, grief, laughter, tension, hope. Whether you celebrate Christmas, Hanukkah, New Year’s, or simply enjoy the stillness of winter, these months are steeped in story potential. Think about it: complicated family dynamics, unexpected reunions, heartfelt traditions, and once-a-year magic? That’s gold for any genre.

Use Family Traditions as Story Sparkers
Writers often draw from real life. Revisit your own memories or ask friends and readers about their holiday traditions:

Who always burns the cookies?
Which relative insists on playing Christmas karaoke?
What long-lost tradition might your character revive?

These little rituals can become plot devices or emotional turning points—especially in family-centered stories.

Tap Into the Tension
Holidays aren’t all warm fuzzies. They're often filled with emotional weight: financial strain, unresolved conflicts, grief over missing loved ones, or the pressure to “perform” happiness. Let your characters wrestle with these tensions. A heroine trying to recreate her late mother’s holiday recipes can reveal more about grief and healing than a dramatic monologue ever could.

Elevate Setting with Seasonal Sensory Detail
Winter is a sensory playground:

The crunch of snow under boots
The scent of cinnamon and clove
The flicker of string lights through frosty windows

Don’t just describe what’s there—focus on what your characters feel about it. Is the snowy silence peaceful or suffocating? Is the family dinner warm or full of unsaid things?

Lean into Found Family or Chosen Family Themes
Not all characters (or readers) have joyful family experiences. The holidays can also be a powerful time to explore chosen family—those friends, partners, or coworkers who become home. These themes especially resonate in YA, romance, and fantasy genres.

Use the Calendar Creatively
The ticking clock of a holiday countdown can add stakes to any story. Whether it’s a New Year’s kiss deadline, a Christmas Eve delivery, or a magical solstice event, the seasonal timeline can push your characters to grow, choose, or confess.

Try This Writing Prompt:
A character receives a mysterious holiday card signed only with “I forgive you.” They have no idea who it’s from—but they really want to believe it’s true.

]]><![CDATA[Stories by the Fire]]>Thu, 11 Dec 2025 09:00:00 GMThttps://www.orangeblossombooks.com/blog/stories-by-the-fire

Stories by the Fire:
How Family Shapes the Way We Write

As the holiday season approaches and the chill in the air nudges us indoors, many of us find ourselves wrapped in blankets, sipping something warm, and reflecting on the year behind us. For writers, this season often brings a surge of nostalgia, emotion, and memory—and few things shape us more than family.

Whether your family is big or small, close-knit or scattered, harmonious or complicated, their impact on your writing voice is undeniable.

Writing Through the Lens of Family
Do your stories often include a wise grandmother? A protective older sibling? A complicated parental figure? You're not alone. Family roles and dynamics are often the blueprint for our characters, whether we realize it or not.
Take stock of your latest project—chances are, you'll see fingerprints of your own experiences throughout.

Holiday Traditions as Creative Fuel
This time of year is full of sensory-rich moments: the smell of cinnamon and pine, the sound of laughter over a shared meal, the warmth of a fireplace or candlelight. These moments make excellent inspiration for setting, character bonding, and emotional resonance in your stories. Write a holiday scene for one of your characters. What tradition do they cherish—or dread?

The Power of Storytelling Across Generations
Many of us grew up listening to stories told by family. Whether tall tales or treasured memories, these narratives are part of our internal story canon. As authors, we get to carry those stories forward, reshaped and retold in fresh ways.
Consider how your own family's stories—triumphs, hardships, oddities—might become the soul of your next novel.

Prompt: A Scene from a Family Memory
This season, set aside 15 minutes and try this writing prompt:
Think of a family memory that stands out—joyful, painful, or just plain funny. Now, write a short scene using that memory as the seed. It can be literal or fictionalized with your characters. You may be surprised where it takes you.

The holidays can be hectic, emotional, and beautiful all at once. But for writers, they also offer a chance to observe, reflect, and create from a place of deep humanity. So this season, don’t just survive the chaos—write through it.
You never know what stories the firelight might reveal.

]]><![CDATA[Idaho]]>Thu, 04 Dec 2025 09:00:00 GMThttps://www.orangeblossombooks.com/blog/idaho

parenting, special needs parenting, special needs kids, parenting advice

Guest post by Robin Pullen

Special Needs Parenting: Idaho

Two weeks after Christmas, my gift arrives.
It’s a girl.
When you find out you’re a mother, you think Disney. Magic rides, mouse ears, a sparkly castle. Ten sweet fingers. Ten tiny toes.
But Sammy’s fingers don’t unclench.
The pediatrician steers us to a neurologist. Muscle weakness, he says. A form of cerebral palsy. CP, just a “garbage term.”
“Don’t worry,” the doctor adds.
Can you imagine telling any mother not to worry? That’s what mothers do. That’s what we’re good at.
We were supposed to go to Disney. But when you have a baby with special needs, you take a left and head to... Idaho.
IdaWHERE? Like the potato?
Other mothers soothe their infants. Mine just cries and cries. So I read and read. If only there were a Mother’s Manual— so I could turn to page 67 and know exactly when she’ll put one foot in front of the other.
Other mothers take their babies to Baby Genius Gym. Our extracurriculars are Specialists. Occupational therapy, physical therapy. Thank goodness for girlfriends I can cry to, though even they can’t hear my inner scream: Why isn’t she walking? What if she never walks?
Will I dance at Sammy’s wedding? Will she?
So, we OT and we PT. We blow bubbles—good for mouth muscles. We mold playdough. We stretch. We smear chocolate pudding between our fingers. Then comes baby swim class.
I must love you, Baby, because I’m squeezing into a bathing suit for you.
I look at all the other special mothers in the pool. I’m part of that group now—Idaho. Four other darling babies float beside us. Their mothers wrap them in gauze so their limbs won’t splay. Emily, next to me, swaddles her eleven-month-old effortlessly. How can she wrap and unwrap without all the tears I can’t seem to stop shedding? Does Emily wonder, like me, if her precious one will ever walk? Why isn’t she
crawling!
There are tests. Then—a diagnosis. Developmentally delayed.
What does that even mean?
Papa watches her on Tuesdays so I can work. He joins Baby Class, bouncing her on his knee so she can be a “monkey jumping on the bed.” Sammy turns 18 months. Then 18 and a half. Still no steps.
After a long morning teaching other Preschoolers to hop backward on one foot, I pause outside our home’s front door. I breathe deeply, pushing open the heavy divide between what is and what is becoming.
Inside, Papa holds out his palm. Sammy falters, pushes her right foot forward, and—
takes her first step into Papa’s arms.
Sammy is walking.
I’m going to dance at her wedding.
Papa squeezes my hand. We’re both teary.
“Happy birthday, Honey,” he says.
And it was.
That day, I arrived.
In Idaho.

pullenplaywright.com, linktree.com/robinpullen
Robin Pullen's...Women of Roswell earned “Best New Play” at the Georgia Theater Conference, Finalist at New York’s American Globe Theater, Kennedy Center participation following a ACT/KCT nomination, and Finalist for the David Mark Cohen National Playwriting competition. Paint!, Marc Chagall’s Colorful Musical Adventure, a National Children’s Theatre Festival winner, was produced at Coral Gables’ Actors’ Playhouse, and is published by Samuel French. Teachers, the Musical, winner of a Metropolitan Atlanta Theater award, has enjoyed many regional productions. Bullies, the Musical! toured Atlanta area schools. Robin's short story, Mysterium Tremendum, won first place in Creative Loafing's annual story competition, and was published in O’Georgia. CARO'S COMET, The Celestial Cinderella (also a picture book) earned Semifinalist in 2024’s Eugene O Neill National Musical Competition, and is published by Plays for New Audiences. A gifted teacher, Robin has served on the Advisory Boards of the Process Theatre and Working Title Playwrights. She participated in New York’s ASCAP Musical Theater Workshop, and DC’s Kennedy Center Playwriting Intensive. She is a member of the SCBWI and the Dramatists Guild.

]]><![CDATA[Professing]]>Thu, 13 Nov 2025 09:00:00 GMThttps://www.orangeblossombooks.com/blog/professing

Banned Books, Education, Legislation, Academia

Guest post by William Matthew McCarter

Professing: A Manifesto for Academic Authority in Crisis

For more than fifty years, I’ve been learning. For more than twenty years, I’ve been teaching. If at this stage I can’t profess something worth hearing, then I ought to quit and sell insurance. Students don’t pay for PowerPoints or rubrics. They pay for professors who profess.

The word itself comes from profitēri—to declare openly, to vow, to stake your life on a claim. Socrates professed that the unexamined life wasn’t worth living; Athens killed him. Copernicus professed heliocentrism; the Church nearly burned him alive. Professing was once hazardous. Today, my “hazard” is turning in attendance sheets on time. That’s our hemlock. The School of Athens has been reduced to Outlook reminders, Blackboard modules, DEI workshops, and assessment audits. Professors have been turned into clerks.

The sages of old stood at podiums and declared the world. Now we “facilitate learning outcomes.” Ken Bain mapped the shift from “sage on the stage” to “guide on the side.” Scott Freeman showed that active learning improves outcomes. Fine. But in celebrating facilitation, we hollowed out the act of professing. Students now graduate without ever hearing a professor say, with conviction: This is how the world is, and here is why.

On the Right, gag orders like Florida’s “Stop WOKE Act” and book bans muzzle speech. Professors are surveilled like criminals. In Texas, tenure is under siege. On the Left, the mob polices language with hashtags and purity tests. One clumsy sentence and you’re a trending target. Entire careers evaporate in the time it takes TikTok to refresh. Neutrality in this climate is not pedagogy—it is camouflage. The Right legislates silence. The Left scripts it. Both kill professing.

The modern university is run by risk-averse bureaucrats. Diversity bureaucracies metastasize into compliance regimes that produce slogans instead of scholarship. Robin DiAngelo built her career in the diversity industrial complex shaming corporations about "whiteness" and their “white fragility.” At the same time, working-class adjuncts scrape by on poverty wages. Ibram X. Kendi calls himself a historian but produces slogans instead of real history. Meanwhile, conservatives churn out “classical academies” that sell reheated Cicero with a MAGA garnish. Bill O’Reilly, Brian Kilmeade, and Ben Shapiro move books by the millions while most scholars can’t get fifty people to read their work. These men are not braver or smarter—they’re just louder. Professors abandoned the public square, and these charlatans took it.

Who narrates the culture now? Bill Nye, a TV personality. Dr. Phil, an Oprah-anointed pop psychologist.

Jon Stewart and Stephen Colbert, liberal court jesters mistaken for sages. Morgan Freeman narrates Black history instead of Henry Louis Gates Jr or Cornell West because his voice is smoother. Sean Hannity plays a philosopher on Fox. John Oliver reduces politics to punchlines for people who think satire equals citizenship. The right props up demagogues. The left props up comedians. Meanwhile, real professors are buried under peer-review paywalls.

To profess is not to pontificate. It is not dictation. Professing is public accountability. Professing is clarity.

Professing is risk. Professing is honesty about commitments. Professing is the refusal to hide behind fake neutrality while the world is burning down around us. Professing means standing in front of students and saying: Here is my truth, grounded in evidence, open to contestation. Now fight me if you disagree.

Professing means standing in the public square and saying what the cowards won’t: the emperor has no clothes, whether the emperor wears a MAGA hat or a DEI lapel pin.

To profess in the 21st Century, we must reclaim the podium. Professing and facilitation can coexist.

Explanation is not oppression. We must also defend academic freedom against both sides. We must resist the Right’s gag orders and the Left’s thought police. We must expose our commitments. Neutrality is a lie. Declare your worldview, let students sharpen their knives, and let the sparks fly. Most of all, we must re-enter the public square. If Bill O’Reilly and Robin DiAngelo can sell snake oil by the pallet, professors can damn well bring truth to blogs, podcasts, op-eds, YouTube, and TikTok. To profess is to gamble your reputation on clarity.

Academia will say this is a step backward. That professing is authoritarian. That students want “learning facilitators” not “intellectual authorities.” That the safest classroom is the quietest one. But safety is a coffin. Silence is death. The only way forward is loud, unapologetic, evidence-driven professing.

Professors must stop being middle managers and start being what the word promises. Not PowerPoint jockeys. Not rubrics clerks. Not frightened caretakers of the institutional brand. We must profess. Or the carnival barkers will do it for us.

So let’s get to professing.

William Matthew McCarter is a professor, novelist, and musician who calls himself the “Scholar in the Holler.” A son of the Missouri Ozarks, he has spent more than two decades teaching literature and cultural studies while building a body of fiction and music rooted in the backroads of Southeast Missouri, his own Southern Gothic landscape. His work blends William Faulkner’s sprawl, Bret Easton Ellis’s bite, and Hunter S. Thompson’s bravado, moving between the classroom, the page, and the stage with the same restless energy. McCarter’s scholarship confronts questions of identity, tradition, and cultural survival, while he carries those same themes into a raucous performance with his band. Whether professing, storytelling, or singing, he stitches together rural grit and intellectual firepower into a voice that is both unapologetically local and defiantly literary.

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