Taking Care Of You: Recognize Your Stress
In these times you hear almost everyone talking about stress in their daily lives. Then you throw in a writer’s life. Yup, you really need to take care of yourself. The first thing you need to do is recognize your stress. What are your stressors and how do you react? Now what are you going to do about it?
I have a fairly good idea about my stressors these days. So, the first part of taking care of me is prevention. Try to keep a healthy body to fight the stress and its negative effects. I try to follow a natural, healthy diet with few additives, based on the Mediterranean Diet. Then I exercise three or four days a week. Sometimes it’s at the fitness center or walking my dog and getting my 10,000 steps in, or working on specific, targeted exercises for my arthritis. I meditate in the morning, get fresh air, try to find at least one thing in a day that makes you smile or laugh out loud and eight hours of sleep.
I also try and book time each day for chores, family time, writing and space for me to relax. It sounds good, but this is one of the things I find hardest to do.
This is taking care of myself and hopefully an aid to preventing increased stress levels. However, life still takes over and I still end up with stress. Blogs to get done, website updates, marketing (which is always one of my big stressors, often compounded by trying to ignore doing it) writing that book with so many life interruptions, editing deadlines…do I need to say more?
When these things happen, I often arrange to meet a friend for lunch and a little shopping, which can make me happy.
Depending on the stress I may take a day or two off from writing, chores, etc. and not do anything but curl up with a good book and maybe nibble on some dark chocolate. Very relaxing, mind clearing, and I may even get a few ideas for a WIP.
For those really stressful times, there’s a massage – sigh… My favorite is half treatment massage and half Japanese hot stone massage. It works on the arthritis pain, those tense muscles and I come away completely relaxed and feeling wonderful.
And then of course, there’s always wine…
Beverley Bateman is a Canadian author now living in Medicine Hat, Alberta, with her husband and Shiba Inu dog. She’s exchanged the Okanagan vineyards and orchards for ranches. Winters she’s a snowbird. She writes the latest romantic suspense in both places. She enjoys reading, watercolor painting and the Native American flute.
Find Author at:
Amazon author page http://www.amazon.com/Beverley-Bateman/e/B008M01F5E
Sara’s emotionally abusive husband dies unexpectedly. She’s struggling to reclaim the intelligent, independent person she was before she married. Now she’s part of a special team, training to help other women.
Mac is responsible for training women in special ops, so they are prepared in their challenge to save other women. When he meets Sara, sparks fly between them. He wants her to quit the training and let him take care of her.
Sara graduates. Her first assignment is to save Sara’s daughter from a serial killer. Can Mac step back in this dangerous situation? Can Sara and Mac resolve their issues?
Buy Links for The Fourth Victim:
Apple - https://geo.itunes.apple.com/us/book/the-fourth-victim/id1440048796?ls=1&mt=11
Kobo - https://www.kobo.com/ca/en/ebook/the-fourth-victim-9
Excerpt from The Fourth Victim
The office said he’d had a heart attack. Was he alive? Did she want him to be? What if her husband had to stay home for a few weeks to recuperate? Palms sweating, Sara’s breath came in short, shallow bursts at the thought.
The taxi jerked to a stop in front of the hospital emergency entrance.
Sara fumbled through her purse and counted out her meager number of dollar bills. Gordon didn’t allow her to have a credit card and he only allowed her to have a small amount of cash. She didn’t have enough money to pay the taxi.
“I’m so sorry. I left home without any cash. I...I ... Would you take a check?” Tears spilled over and trickled down her flushed cheeks.
The driver spun around. A short stubby finger waved at the sign over the rearview mirror. “Look lady, it says right there - No Checks.”
“I know, I know. I’m sorry. My husband’s had a heart attack and I ... I don’t know what to do.” Sara ran her fingers through her hair and scrunched the tight bun at her neck.
The driver shook his head. “Aw, shit. Go ahead, lady. Write the check.”
Sara pulled the single crumpled check Gordon allowed her carry for emergencies out of her purse. When she touched the check a vision of Gordon floated in front of her.
She froze and rapidly blinked her eyes. She only saw the ghosts of dead people. Gordon didn’t believe her and forbid her to ever mention it.
Could he really be dead?
“Gordon?” she whispered.
“Lady, are you writing that check or not?”
“Yes, sorry.” Sara scribbled her signature on the bottom of the check. “Please, fill it in, and give yourself a generous tip. Thank you, thank you so much.” She clutching her worn purse to her chest, slid out of the cab, and scurried through the emergency room doors.
What if he was dead? She didn’t have any money. Gordon did all the finances and never shared anything with her. How would she manage?
Twenty years ago she could have handled it. Could she do it again? But he couldn’t be dead. Gordon would never allow that to happen.
His face flitted in front of her, fixed in an angry glare.
He had to be dead or she wouldn’t be seeing him. He didn’t want to be dead. He didn’t want her to be free. If he thought she could see him he’d be furious.
Sara shuffled toward the reception desk. She glanced over her shoulder, searching for some sign of Gordon, listening for his voice, waiting for him to yell at her. She couldn’t believe he was really dead, even though she had seen him. She clung to the edge of the transition counter, her head down, chewed on her lower lip and waited to be noticed.
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