July 22, 2025 – Update! – River Fork: The Bear in the Storm

My research focused on the frequently neglected subject of childhood grief, incorporating my own experiences growing up in the 1950s and living for twenty years in a rural New Hampshire community shaped by logging, farming, and the towering presence of Mount Washington.

The research included indigenous Native Americans of the Algonquin Nation, namely the Abenaki tribe and the Pequawket band.

Later I explored the process of novel creation, encompassing manuscript writing, cover design, assembly, and publication. Even though I trembled at the enormity of this self-imposed task, luckily, friends—authors and other writers—urged me to persevere.

A story had initially brewed in my head for over two years. Then I jotted down scenes for a young audience—a children’s book with lots of graphics. I’d do my own artwork, of course.


Years ago, I had purchased Where the Sidewalk Ends by Shel Silverstein and read it to my son many times. My son was around 6 or 7. It was rollicking fun to read. Son, and I nearly fell off the sofa from laughing so hard. Silverstein provided great humor, timing, and storytelling. The artwork was hilarious and beautiful. I had hoped to emulate his style of writing stories for children or adults.

Well, back to my update! I decided that this novel would not suffice as a “children’s” book, for loss and grief affect not just the little ones; everyone in a family, or any relationship, is affected in different ways.

Therefore, it is not a Silverstein-style book. But it is a story I feel strongly about. Some of the scenes are based on my own experience at suddenly losing my mom when I was five.

The novel is a Young Adult, historical fantasy. The setting is 1956-1957 in a fictitious farming and logging town in the New Hampshire mountains. The theme deals with loss, grief, belief, acceptance, self-discovery, and the coming of age.

I am currently refining the manuscript and artwork I plan to incorporate for the publication of River Fork: The Bear in the Storm, the first of two novels. The sequel involves the same characters, but two years later, in 1959, which I plan to publish after River Fork: The Bear in the Storm.

Though this is a Young Adult novel, I consider it suitable for children and parents dealing with loss.

The plan is to have River Fork: The Bear in the Storm available on the Internet and at bookstores.

Please keep in touch to learn more about the River Fork series, and to purchase it when it is available.

Follow my updates!

Please tell others about it.

Contact me below to reserve your copy ahead of time, to leave comments or ask questions.

I’ll post when River Fork: The Bear in the Storm is available.

J. M. Orise

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I’m Back With Friends Again.

Here I am at the Citrus Writers of Florida meeting, in Citrus Springs.
My heart fills with joy. But I can’t fill a form without making errors I have to scribble out—street address, phone number, what software do I use for this and that. I scan my cell phone for answers I know I mentioned in past FB posts. I’m not functioning properly. I am too excited.


SO I THOUGHT.

Photo by Pixabay on Pexels.com

But THAT excited?

I met some of the people I longed to see for the last two years. This was a Citrus Writers of Florida monthly meeting I had just learned about from an author friend. I didn’t think I’d be able to attend for Hubby had appointments out of town. Medical checkups, etc..

We left very early. Hubby didn’t believe it was a twenty-nine minute drive. More like an hour drive, he argued. I had started breakfast, he went to the car and waited for me to appear! He dialed my cell phone. “Are you coming?”

Okay. Nix the breakfast, brush your teeth, see if you are presentable, grab a book, pour coffee in a portable cup, grab a bottle of water, jab a banana and two apples in the purse and off we go. I quickly ate the banana and drank the coffee. (I need to eat in the morning and this would have to do.)

The appointments went well. We cancelled a scheduled scan Doc said was no longer necessary. And another appointment we planned to schedule was already scheduled for next month. So that was easy.

Because of our twenty-nine minute drive, we were early. The nurse immediately called us for our appointment, and said, “Glad you came early. I’ll take you now.” On our way home, I realized now I had time to attend the 11:00 a.m. to 1:00 p.m. meeting in Crystal River! Hubby obliged and drove me to the meeting and I had 4 minutes to spare. He planned to read and snooze in the car.

Like I said, it was a wonderful meeting. I plan to sign up as a member.

Returning home, I ate my apple and looked forward to more food. I was starved. After our late lunch, I had a revelation. My sugar level was low. I usually experience signals when it gets low. This time, I was so happy to be somewhere, it just didn’t register.

I have Hypoglycemia. I manage it with protein, and especially with breakfast. I was running on empty and filled my tank with a high glycemic banana, and a black coffee, which acts like sugar. That’s when my system registers too much sugar here, and begins to rid itself of the sudden stockpile. But there are times when it doesn’t turn off when it should and I get giddy, forgetful, confused and sometimes sick to my stomach.

Ergo: my difficulty in filling in a form and remembering simple things and people’s names at the meeting, and trying to remember who had notified me of the event.

I first experienced these symptoms many years ago. I had to convince my doctor that I had low blood sugar. He didn’t believe me until one day, during an appointment, I turned very pale and sick to my stomach. I said, “I need milk. Now.” His nurse sacrificed her lunch milk. I recovered immediately. Doc gave me a home finger test and chart. “Do a finger blood test first thing in the morning. Write the results here,” he pointed to the chart. “And write anything/comments here. Come back in a week.”

In the mornings, I leaned against the kitchen counter and “chased” my finger with a little spring loaded tiny blade gun (I hate cutting and needles). The right hand had a job to do. The left hand wanted to live up to its name, “left” which is past tense of “leave.”

I smeared the blood on paper strips and filled in the numbers on the form. At times, I couldn’t spell simple words. Once I struggled with the word “with.” I gave up on the third try. I won French spelling competitions in grammar school and I was also a great English speller.

I left the misspelling and scribbles for Doc to see. He said, in his ten years of medicine, no one had ever diagnosed themselves with the condition. He agreed. I had Low Blood Sugar.

His advice: monitor and control the condition with nutrition as I had been. It was better than drugs.

So I eat breakfast every morning. And it is under control.

I hope the form I filled doesn’t alarm the group. I was tired, hungry, listening, researching, writing…all at the same time. Talk about stressors. Stressors alone can make one’s sugar act weird.

But I was happy! And still am.

I can’t wait to attend the next meeting.

So what about that Manuscript thing… ?

Oh. River Fork?

I had planned a coming of age, YA story. With a bit of fantasy aka paranormal.

Why did I write it?

tbwavestandbyjo-2017-72dpir

As a former teacher, I encouraged my high school students to write. Several of my students had dealt with a major loss. They wrote about it, but no one talked about it.

Neither did I—Mother died in a fire. My sister and I witnessed the event. I was five, sister was seven. We never forgot. We never talked about it. Nor did father. Assumptions and rumors spread.

During my teaching career, a story slowly evolved in my head. Picture book? Children’s book? Family story book? My brain cranked out scenarios. It was a morass of imagery. How would I best present my idea? I wasn’t a writer. I wrote poetry. Still do and tuck it away in a briefcase. But writing a book?

I’m an artist. So, I started with cute pictures and poem-like stories.

The story grew. I dropped the cute — loss is not cute.

I needed a plan, feeling, a theme, a plot, etc… . What did I get myself into?

My head said, put it into words. I began writing, finishing the Manuscript the year I retired because I had more time to myself.

Then I researched the writing craft, improved my writing skills and investigated publishing options. Needless to say, publishing  surely changed from when I first put pen to paper.

The story:

  • Timeline: 1956-57
  • Theme: the loss of a parent.
  • Setting: River Fork. A farming and logging community. In the mountains near the Saco River.
  • Characters: Three neighboring friends: Tim, Charlie and Roach. Tim will be 13 in three days. The others are teens.
  • It is about coming of age, death, forgiveness, hope and faith. Oh, and there is a budding romance.
  • There is a bit of paranormal (no magical potions, witches, vampires, violence, etc…)

 

So, Has Anyone Reviewed It?

tbwavestandbyjo-2017-72dpir

The Manuscript has been line critiqued and gone through lots and lots of revisions.

A year ago I found three beta readers.
Results:
I did not write to the YA audience. It is suitable for the Middle Grade audience. Disappointment for sure here.
Okay. I asked for an honest review.
I received three great reviews. Two people pointed out what didn’t work and what could be done to make the story more interesting. One Beta Reader recommended a few resources. With expert advice and suggestions, I learned a lot. I am grateful.
So. I’m doing lots of editing, developing my characters and setting a bit more. And DUMPING stuff that was kind of iffy even as I first wrote it.
  • If it’s IFFY for the writer – It most certainly will be IFFY for the reader. DUMP IT. Ahhh. Yes. You’ll feel better. I did.

Once this latest revision is complete, I’ll need a couple of Beta Reader(s) again. Then on to an editor and publishing—self-publishing.

tbwavestandbyjo-2017-72dpir

For those who work with me in this endeavor, your name will be mentioned in the credits and you will receive a free digital copy of my novel once it is published.

The sequel—Roach’s story—sits in my laptop. Waiting.

Please like, comment and share this post.
Thanks.
J.M. Orise

So what about that Manuscript thing… ?

Oh. River Fork?

I had planned it as a coming of age, YA story. With a bit of fantasy aka paranormal.

Why did I write it?

tbwavestandbyjo-2017-72dpir

As a former teacher, I encouraged my high school students to write. I found several of my students had dealt with a major loss. They wrote about it, but no one talked about it.

Neither did I—Mother died in a fire. My sister and I witnessed the event. I was five, my sister, seven. Needless to say, we never forgot. We never talked about it. Nor did our father. Assumptions and rumors were spread.

During my teaching career, a story slowly evolved. Picture book? Children’s book? Family story book? My brain cranked out scenarios. At first it was a morass of imagery. How would I best present my idea? I wasn’t a writer. I wrote poetry. Still do and tuck it away in a briefcase. But writing a book?

I am an artist. So I began with cute pictures and poem-like stories.

The story grew. I dropped the cute — loss is not cute.

I needed a plan, feeling, a theme, a plot, etc… . What did I get myself into?

My head said, put it into words. I began writing, finishing the Manuscript the year I retired. Then I researched the writing craft, improved my writing skills and investigated publishing options. Needless to say, publishing  has surely changed since I first put pen to paper.

The story:

  • Timeline: 1956-57
  • Theme: the loss of a parent.
  • Setting: River Fork, NH. A farming and logging community. In the mountains near the Saco River.
  • Characters: Three neighboring friends: Tim, Charlie and Roach. Tim will be 13 in three days. The others are teens.
  • It is about coming of age, death, forgiveness, hope and faith. Oh, and there is a budding romance.
  • There is a bit of paranormal (no magical potions, witches, vampires, violence, etc…)

 

So, Has Anyone Reviewed It?

tbwavestandbyjo-2017-72dpir

The Manuscript has been line critiqued and gone through many revisions.

A year ago I found three beta readers.
Results:
I did not write to the YA audience. It is suitable for the Middle Grade audience. Disappointment for sure here.
Okay. I asked for an honest review.
I received three great reviews. Two people pointed out what didn’t work and what could be done to make the story more interesting. One Beta Reader recommended a few resources. With this expert advice and suggestions, I learned a lot. I am grateful.
So. I’m doing lots of editing, developing my characters and setting a bit more. And DUMPING stuff that was kind of iffy even as I first wrote it.
  • If it’s IFFY for the writer – It most certainly will be IFFY for the reader. DUMP IT. Ahhh. Yes. You’ll feel better. I did.

Once this latest revision is complete, I’ll need a couple of Beta Reader(s) again. Then on to an editor and publishing—self-publishing.

tbwavestandbyjo-2017-72dpir

For those who work with me in this endeavor, your name will be mentioned in the credits and you will receive a free digital copy of my novel once it is published.

The sequel—Roach’s story—sits in my laptop. Waiting.

Please like, comment and share this post.
Thanks.
J.M. Orise

I Remember Stuff Like That

Why Is Sunday Longer Than Monday?

Every Sunday. Always the same. No one ever moved. Like they ate glue and got stuck. It was so boring.

boredgirl2-pexels-com

Why is Sunday longer than Monday?

At six years, Sunday proved the longest day of the week. Once home from church, the hours passed so-o-o very slowly.

Dad napped on the sun-room divan wearing his Sunday suit pants, white shirt rolled up to his elbows, and his tie draped over the maple lounge chair nearby. The Sears and Roebuck catalog lay on the floor, inches from his fingers. Mom was somewhere in the house doing Mom things.

Oh how many more hours before the end of the day?

The neighborhood kids vanished. They had been at church, dressed up fancy, boys with leather shoes, crooked neckties, buttons showing. Girls in dresses with pretty flowers and petticoats and shiny patent shoes. This fancy clothing was not for running around at the park up the street from our house where I spent nearly every day of the week. Were the kids pining to be out of doors too or did they have company?

Sitting alone on the front porch, watching cars drive by, what would I do?

One Sunday I decided to wash clothes.

wolverine waching tub and machine

I filled  my tiny washing machine with water, begged Mom for a little Tide detergent then gathered my doll’s clothing. There I sat, rhythmically cranking the miniature plungers up and down, dislodging the make believe filth from my sedentary doll’s clothes.

The glass faceted wash tub sporting a mini-wringer,  squeezed water from the wet laundry. With laundry suitably clean, I filled the washer with fresh water, rinsing the soap from the fabric. One more wringing and I was done. Afterward, I scattered the wet clothes on the porch floor near the sudsy and rinse water puddles.

Well, I made a mess of the porch. But the sun would take care of that for me. Besides, I had something else I wanted to do. I wasn’t sure what that was yet? It had to be something fun to make this gosh-darn-long-Sunday go away.

The dog. Where was the dog?

sleepydogpexels

Sorry, kid. Sunday is sleep day. Go wash some doll clothes or something.

“Tiny!” I called, leaving my naked doll sun-bathing, patiently waiting for someone to pick her up, perhaps dress her in her nice, clean clothes. I suppose Mom did her Mom thing, cleaning up the front porch while I searched for Tiny. Don’t quite remember that part.

Never knew what happened to the little wringer washer. It disappeared somehow.

 

doll-eye-puppet-box-pexels

Leave me naked one more time and I’ll… !

wolverine washing machine toy

Anybody out there remember those long Sundays or perhaps that little Wolverine washing machine? I found a picture of it tonight. It is just as I remembered.

I hope my memories last longer than those gosh-darn-long-Sundays of long ago.

Sleep well my friends.

I think tomorrow is Monday. Yess!

Please leave a comment and share.

Thanks.

Damn—I Swear It’s OK

I’ve written my first YA manuscript and a scene comes back to me now and then. One of the characters is angry for good reason, why not let him swear?

Listen to me. I, the writer, give permission for a character to swear? I write the narrative, but the characters seem to have a life of their own. Perhaps they can swear because they really, really feel like it.  Perhaps they dictate the narrative and I just type it.

At first it was a children’s story? Naw. That didn’t work out. I tried different iterations  and each time, it was just too—corny.

English: Cartoon depicting little girl on beac...

English: Cartoon depicting little girl on beach talking to her mother. Caption: Her First Pair of Jumpers — “Am I a little boy now, mama?”. (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

Then one day, I just started writing. I had a sad scene and lots of sobbing—the protagonist, not me. It seemed okay. But how was I to make this work? First there were two characters ages 6 and 12 and their moms. Add another kid, a girl this time. My own motherly instincts took over. Lots of love and gentle ideas, well brought up kids. The works. Make all mothers proud.

Then one day, it sounded too—corny.

No one is this nice and able to deal with adversity at a young age without blowing a gasket. Young ones have to get mad sometime. And when things just don’t go as planned? Well, they get angry like everyone else. Wouldn’t they want to express it and feel in control? Feel grownup? In their angry sort of way.

SwearI am convulsing on letting little ones swear? Mothers would be not proud.

Then one day, I made the children older: 12 going on 13 and 15. But it had to fit. Chapters, many chapters written and I had to make sure the change would flow through. The protagonist had to sound and act his new age as did his friends. Then I created a diagram and a timeline for each character to make their stories fit.

Karakasa (parasol) in Japan

Karakasa (parasol) in Japan (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

I remember my first swear—whispered in anger—in my second floor bedroom. I arrived home from school, went to my drawer to fetch a small, silk umbrella. A gift from my uncle. A souvenir from his last naval trip to a land I didn’t know existed. It had a painted picture on the orange silk. I know now it was a parasol, not an umbrella.  I opened the drawer. The parasol was gone! I was aware a distant cousin visited while I was at school, I knew she had absconded with my parasol! In anger I whispered “Dammit” to the bureau drawer. A voice at the bottom of the stairs said, “I heard that. Don’t you swear in this house!”

Why not? My space was violated. I was robbed! I stomped down the stairs and asked my step-mother where the parasol was. “I gave it to Rachel. She visited with her mom this morning, so I gave it to her. You don’t need it.”

I felt devastated. This was not the first time Rachel went home with my toys. My step-mother seemed to enjoy giving away my things without asking me. I swore and I felt, even to this day, justified in swearing. It was my relief valve.

That one swear did not convert me to daily swearing. I survived. As a young girl, I never swore again. Weeks later, a friend kind of swore when she nearly missed the after school bus. She said it in French, but changed the pronunciation a little.  “Maudine!”

I found the word fascinating, but never used it for fear of retribution at home. I knew my  parents were old enough to decipher ‘maudine’ as a play on ‘maudite’, which is French for ‘damned’.

The things one remembers.

Swearing? I do believe it is okay to let my character use one swear. Actually, I may have him say it in French because… . Now here I am enabling him. He is old enough to decide.

So I’ll continue editing my MS and see what happens. He’ll let me know what he wants to do.

Okay, I’ve Finished the Manuscript

Writing

I’ve written a story. Twelve years in the making.

First it was an idea, then it just grew from a children’s book to “Oh no. Not possible. This is too much information for little kids.” So I decided to keep writing and see what happened.

Twelve years? Well, I was working full time as a teacher, and I also built my own home—with my own hands, sweat and blood. Then I got married, moved out of state, built two more houses and got another job teaching in my new geographic location. But my unfinished story haunted me. So I kept writing whenever I had a chance.

At one point, I got stuck. Or I should say, the children in my story were really stuck and I put them there. How could I get them out without killing the whole story? Writer’s block? Yeah. That was what it was. The symptoms fit.

Then one day, I decided I needed another character just to make it more interesting. Should it be a boy? No. How about a girl? Then I had to give her a name. What name. It was like having a baby all over again—without the labor pains or stretch marks. So I did re-writes to fit her into the story. Much later, the same thing happened. This time I added two more characters and had to fit them in with a re-write.

Eventually I felt the children needed to be older. Teen and pre-teen. I learned that is referred to as “tween genre”. Then the title no longer fit the story. Decisions were always being made and I wonder if I made good decisions for the story.

Photograph shows a young girl dressed in a fur...

Photograph shows a young girl dressed in a fur-trimmed coat and hat, carrying her doll. (Photo credit: Wikipedia) Isn’t she cute?

An idea came as I ate dinner at a restaurant. A pretty, little girl walked to a table with her mom. She had a cute outfit and a beautiful hat. I had to complement her on her hat as I left. I thought, I’d like to paint her. Then it occurred to me. Here was a young girl wearing something special her mom gave her. It was a perceived sign of love by the little girl. My story’s girl needed something to hang on to until her mother came home. So I chose a necklace for my character. It worked for me and for my ‘girl’.

I retired from teaching earlier than planned. My husband was ill once too often and I worried being away all day. Now that I’m home with my happy husband, I have finished my manuscript and have had it reviewed by a critique group. That represents an added two years of critiquing. It was a great experience. The people in the writer’s group were honest and very helpful. I  learned so much more in the last two years. Now my story is so much better thanks to their help and that of a friend who also read the manuscript and made a couple of suggestions.

Now what do I do? Research. I started it a while ago, but had to put it aside to fulfill my obligation to produce new paintings for upcoming art showings and possible  sales. Go to my website at jomorise.com to see my portfolio.

Meanwhile, another story has been brewing in my head for about two years now and I’ve already started writing that as well.

Wish me luck.

Jo

Smile in your mirror every day.