Perhaps you’ve heard the expression, “The future is now.” I never gave that phrase much thought until I received an email from my publisher. My historical fiction novel, Your Forgotten Sons, will be released by Next Chapter Publishing on June 6^th, 2024 in honor of the 80^th anniversary of D-Day. I mention the launch because I got an interesting request in regard to the book.

“(O)ur team has been working on improving our publishing workflow by making use of some of the latest advancements in technology, namely the huge leaps Artificial Intelligence and LLM’s (Large Language Models) have made in the past 12 months,” the CEO of the company explained.

I paused, rather dramatically in hindsight, then continued reading.

“At this point, editing & proofreading are the most time-consuming parts of the process. By using LLM-assisted editing, it’s possible to drastically reduce the time it takes to prepare your manuscript for publication, while still maintaining high quality and even improving it compared to human editing & proofreading. In a recent test, an LLM scored 90% in a copyediting assessment, while on average human copyeditors scored 50% – 70%.”

I thought about that for a minute. Like most authors, I’ve dreamed of a perfect manuscript—something as rare as a teenager without a cellphone—but I couldn’t help but consider some of the lovely editors I’ve worked with in the past. That I was even considering a switch to their digital counterpart made me feel like a traitor to the human race.

The email continued. “After the editing & proofreading process is completed, you’ll receive the manuscript back for approval and comments, just like when working with a normal editor, and you can approve/disapprove every change before the manuscript moves forward to layout design.”

I waffled, then wondered what might happen if I was disappointed with the AI editor. Could I be assigned a human editor instead?

“Yes, that’s possible!” my boss explained. “If you’re unhappy with the results, we can do another round with a human editor; however, based on our data so far, the system has been very effective, especially in picking up typos and grammatical errors.”

Though I wanted to stand up and defend human editors, in the end I agreed to be part of the experimental program. Still, I feel a bit guilty signing onto the deal. In the meantime, I’m trying to come up with a name for my AI editor. Hal came to mind, but that didn’t end too well for astrounaut Dave in 2001: A Space Oddssey, so I guess I’ll just wait for my new editor to get in touch.

I’ll let you know how it goes.

In the meantime, here’s a look at my new book.

Your Forgotten Sons

Inspired by a true story

Anne Montgomery

Bud Richardville is inducted into the Army as the United States prepares for the invasion of Europe in 1943. A chance comment has Bud assigned to a Graves Registration Company, where his unit is tasked with locating, identifying, and burying the dead. Bud ships out, leaving behind his new wife, Loryane, a mysterious woman who has stolen his heart but whose secretive nature and shadowy past leave many unanswered questions. When Bud and his men hit the beach at Normandy, they are immediately thrust into the horrors of what working in a graves unit entails. Bud is beaten down by the gruesome demands of his job and losses in his personal life, but then he meets Eva, an optimistic soul who despite the war can see a positive future. Will Eva’s love be enough to save him?

Release Date: June 6, 2024

Next Chapter Publishing

Get your copy wherever you buy books.

Anne Montgomery’s novels can be found wherever books are sold.

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Feet. We don’t give them much thought until something goes awry.

For me, that began at birth, when, after swiping some black ink on my tiny sole and marking my birth certificate, it became obvious that my left foot was crooked.

“Make sure to massage her foot several times a day,” the doctor told my mom. “That might straighten it out.”

But my mother—today approaching 99—admits she quickly got tired of rubbing my foot, as I was an annoying baby, a red-haired screamer who would only eat fruit. So it would not be until my senior year in college, when I could no longer wear a shoe in the cold, Ohio winter that a surgeon finally corrected the problem.

I mention my feet because, as I said previously, many of us ignore those very important bits until they remind us that we need to treat them properly. Note here that we do some pretty awful things to our feet. Need I mention spike heels, or platform shoes, or flip flops, or shoes that narrow down to points so sharp they could be utilized as deadly weapons, should one be so inclined?

None of the aforementioned footwear is good for us, still I have always believed that it’s better to wear any shoes than none at all. But it turns out I might be wrong. Scientists now believe that walking barefoot might reduce injuries to our feet and improve posture and balance, because going about sans shoes can help improve flexibility and strength in the foot’s muscles and ligaments.

Now, that doesn’t mean you should toss your shoes and socks and go running about willy-nilly in wild places. Though it seems our ancient ancestors, the Neanderthals, might have done so. But they spent their caveman lives building up a thick layer of callous that protected them from thorns and stones and even snow, something our delicate, modern-day feet probably couldn’t handle. So, if you want to improve your balance and strength, pick a nice clean surface upon which to walk barefoot, a place free of anything that might make you weep, should you step on it.

In the meantime, if you want to keep your tootsies happy, maintain good foot hygiene by washing and drying your feet regularly. Then slather them with some nice lotion to prevent cracks, which can sometimes lead to infections. Wearing the proper size shoes is a must. Remember that different manufactures size shoes differently and our shoe size may change as we age. Also, take proper care of your toenails by cutting them straight across, remember to exercise regularly, and don’t ignore foot pain. Head to the podiatrist at the first sign of a problem.

Scientists believe that people have been wearing shoes for about 40,000 years. And I’m guessing we will continue to do so. In 2023, the footwear market in the U.S. alone is expected to bring in a whopping $88 billion. That said, think about your feet when you’re out fondling shoes. Look down before swiping your credit card for that strappy pair of Manolo Blahnik’s spike heels. Then… ask what would make your feet happy.

The answer, perhaps, might be no shoes at all.

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On occassion, there are rules that, at first glance, don’t seem to make sense. For example, some friends recently visited me on the lovely island of St. Croix in the US Virgin Islands where I have a home. My pretty island sports numerous white sand beaches, and, like me, my friend Abby couldn’t wait to do some beachcombing.

Like many Caribbean islands, there’s an abundance of interesting objects that wash up during high tide. There’s multi-colored sea glass, the rough edges ground down by years of rolling about in the waves: green, blue, brown, aqua, white, and on very rare occasions red. There are sea fans that appear to be made of lace and smoothed chunks of blonde driftwood. Here in St. Croix we also have something special called “chaney”, pieces of pottery and china that are said to have been tossed off ships because they were broken and importers didn’t want to pay taxes on damaged goods. Many of these pieces remain vibrant and beautiful despite centuries in the sea.

Then, of course, there are shells. It’s hard not to be amazed by nature when staring at a beautifully coiled shell. I will admit here that I have spent much of my life picking up shells and taking them home to display. However, I’ve now learned the practice is not sustainable.

“I saw that we aren’t supposed to pick up shells,” Abby said, looking a bit deflated as we roamed a rocky stretch of beach just outside of Christiansted Harbor.

I nodded. “I know.”

“But why?” Abby asked.

I considered her question. The oceans are so vast, the idea of taking home a single shell seems insignificant in the extreme. Still, the reasoning is sound. It’s all about real estate. Crab housing, as it were, and I managed to prove the rule makers were not crazy.

Some of you may have had hermit crabs as pets. We step gingerly in my home because the little guys often come through the doors and wander about. Some of them are quite big. Recently I found one as big as my hand trudging through the backyard. The problem is that as they grow they need bigger shells to move into.

The other day I noticed a crab toting a shell that appeared too small. I thought about his predicament that afternoon when we spotted two beautiful black-and-white magpie shells. The snails that had once resided in them were long gone, so, yes, I brought them home. But I didn’t put them on a shelf. Instead, I placed them on the floor in a corner of the porch. I flipped both shells open side up and left them there.

I could not have been more thrilled the next day when my crab friend was walking around wearing the smaller of the two shells. He’d flipped both of them over and decided the little shell was perfect. Then he left his old shell right in the same spot.

In the interest of crab happiness, I will now leave most shells on the beach. But since my land crabs don’t mix well with water, I’ll continue to place a few on the porch, because even nature needs a little help now and then.

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We’ve all seen it. The moment when you approach someone who’s absorbed in their phone or laptop, and when they notice you’re watching, they instantly shut down their device.

“What are you doing? I asked my sweetie pie.

“Nothing.” While Ryan looked a bit sheepish, I didn’t press. Though I was curious.

Later I would discover what had him so fascinated, and for those of you thinking that something nefarious was afoot, hoping perhaps for a whiff of titillating scandal, you might be disappointed.

I think we all can become mesmerized by what we encounter daily on the Internet. Consider YouTube, for example, where music videos are king. The ultimate earworm ditty “Baby Shark Dance” had over 10 billion views in 2022. When I put on my math cap, which is old and tattered and has never worked very well—note that Ryan helped with the math, so blame him if it’s wrong—I came up with the following: The song is two minutes and 17 seconds long. When I did my best cyphering, I determined that humans worldwide spent roughly 44,000 years listening to that annoying little tune, which had me wondering what worrisome societal issues we might have solved over that time, had we not been dancing around singing, “Baby shark, doo-doo, doo-doo, doo-doo.”

You’re probably now wondering what had my sweetie pie so entranced? I couldn’t have been more surprised when I caught my big tough guy giggling at cat videos. And it turns out Ryan is not alone. Searches for images and videos about domestic cats top roughly 26 billion annually on YouTube, making the kitty the unofficial mascot of the Internet.

Why do cat videos fascinated us? According to the HuffPost article “The Surprising Reason People Love Cat Videos,” by Alex Sobel Fitts, a study of almost 7,000 people determined that the respondents overwhelmingly “felt significantly happier after watching the videos and experienced fewer negative emotions of anxiety, sadness and guilt.”

Which sounds like cats might be medicine…or magic, and I’m certainly not one to argue. I’ve tended to approximately 40 felines over the course of my life and currently share my home with four. However, I know Ryan was not always on the “Cats Rule!” side of the street.

“I thought you didn’t like cats,” I pointed out one evening when our cat Morgan was splayed across Ryan’s chest, purring loudly.

“I only like your cats,” he said stroking Morgan’s head.

Now I know that’s not true. Ryan loves cats as much as I do. Note here that we both also share an abiding affection for canines. (My cattle dog Bella just stared me down and forced me to write that.)

In any case, I can’t really criticize Ryan for his daily foray into the cat-video world, because I have a dirty little secret too.

“What are you looking at?” Ry asked as he peered over my shoulder.

I felt the urge to hide my shame, still I let him see.

He creased his brow. “Rocks?”

I nodded. As a life-long mineral collector, I felt the sudden urge to defend myself for the time I spend cruising rock sites online, but Ry just smiled. And now there is harmony in our home, as neither Ryan nor I have to hide our internet addictions.

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I’ve been on a quest of late to work with all different types of podcasters, and recently I had the opportunity to meet Tiberius. His journey began when he was seven. You can read the following explanation on The Tiberius Show home page.

“After watching a movie called The Greatest Showman,  he wanted to be an announcer,” Tiberius’ father Joseph explains.  “(I) was building a recording studio for a client and while testing the equipment Tiberius would not stop playing with the mics.  He kept announcing everyone that entered the house and acting like he was interviewing people.  Kinda like a mini radio show.  So after a while he decided he wanted to do just that.”

I was invited to be a guest on the program and was impressed with how professional the operation was. Joseph serves as producer, director, and engineer. Tiberius is the host. As you can imagine, the whole endevour takes a lot of preparation. Today, Tiberius is 12 and the thrill of interviewing people hasn’t worn off. When we met, he wore a short-brimmed fedora with matching bowtie and suspenders, an ohmage to his favorite interviewer, Larry King.

Tiberius is mostly interested in discussing jobs. He’s interviewed many guests, including a film composer, chemistry teacher, tax expert, video game designer, antique seller, DJ, and digital marketing professional. In my case, we talked about sports reporting and sports officiating.

There are also special segments of the podcast, including Math Corners and Heart of a Lion. When I found out there would be math involved—a subject in which I am hopelessly lost—I was a bit concerned, which I explained to Joseph.

“Don’t worry,” he said. “Just tell Tiberius you need some help with it.”

And boy was I glad he told me that, because as Tiberius described the math word problem that involved various numbers of colored pens, my mind shot back to elementary school where I always shuttered at the thought that the teacher might call on me. Luckily, Tiberius had my back, and he explained the answer so that even I could understand.

The whole show was fun and bubbly with Tiberius performing like an excited ringmaster. But then, at the end of the show, Tiberius turned serious. It was time for Heart of a Lion, the segment of the program where he discusses the importance Leadership, Integrity, Obedience, and Nobility.

The solemn turn is understandable, when you consider the reason Joseph puts so much time and effort into the program. “I got Covid,” he explained. “I was in the hospital for a few months, and I kept wondering what my epitaph would be. What would they say about me when I was gone?”

Joseph thought about that a lot. Finally, as he lay there critically ill, he knew what he hoped those words to be. “I wanted them to say I was a good dad.”

After being on the show and watching father and son work together, all I can say is, Joseph, that’s exactly what you are. A good dad.

If you’d like to listen to my conversation with Tiberius, you can find it here.

Anne Montgomery’s novels can be found wherever books are sold.

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For months I’ve been looking forward to my 50^th high school reunion. Note that typing those words is, um…difficult. When one is young, old people muttering how fast time flies is something we tend to ignore. But decades later, when my 96-year-old mother looked at me and said, “I never thought it would go so fast,” I finally understood. That comment sent a chill down my spine and cemented the idea that the older we get the quicker that life clock ticks.

There were a lot of people I wanted to see, but mostly it was my three best friends: Jill Paskow, Shelly Sherman, and Denise Carra, all of whom I met in elementary school. We marched through junior high and high school in lockstep, but after graduation we went to colleges in different states and ended up spread across the country.

I left Livingston, New Jersey in 1973. My friends scattered. Marriages happened. Babies were born. Close friends and family members died. But despite the years that divided us from our youth, the memories of our time together as kids remain vivid: South Mountain Arena where we ice skated, camping on Eagle Island in the Adirondacks, those meetings of the Bridge Club where we talked endlessly about boys and secretly read Everything You Always Wanted To Know About Sex (But Were Afraid To Ask), and holiday celebrations with Denise’s huge Italian family, where her Sicilian grandmother, Noni, who spoke no English, would pat us on our cheeks, apparently assuming we were all her grandchildren.

When I boarded the plane in Phoenix, Arizona, one that took me back to Northern New Jersey, I hadn’t been in that part of the country for over a decade, nor had I had much interaction with my high school pals, aside from the occasional email or Facebook posts.

My visit made me wish we’d spent more time with one another over the years, but I can’t fix that now. All I can do is rejoice in the fact that I got to visit my friends: Shelly, Jill, Denise, and many others.

And it was glorious.

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I was watching the news the other day and there was a story about what today is proper cellphone etiquette. I have to say, I was as surprised as the two female anchors to learn what is appropriate by current standards.

“It is not okay to call someone on the phone, prior to texting,” said the guest talking-head, who was some kind of media specialist.

I, like the two anchors, said, “What?”

Yep, it seems that Millennials, as well as Gen Xers, are horrified when they receive a phone call without warning. It seems people in these age groups get flustered when they actually have to pick up the phone and mutter “Hello.”

I thought this quite strange, so I put on my old reporter’s cap to see what’s happening, and it turns out the talking-head was spot on. According to the Forbes article, “Millennials Hate Phone Calls, And They Have a Point” by Brianna Wiest, “…phone calls seem invasive because it demands an instant response. In a world where their messages, emails and DMs pile up, they are at least afforded somewhat of a buffer when given time to respond on their own terms.”

Got it! Millennials are afraid to have to make a quick decision, because the idea of having to deal with something immediately is too stressful. That had me wondering where the next generation of air traffic controllers or brain surgeons or any other career that is based on quick thinking might be coming from, but I digress.

And there’s more. The Antsy Labs article “Why Millennials Have a Fear of a Phone Call” by Alex Jeffries, points out that, “While 75% of Millennials say they’re avoiding phone calls because they’re too time consuming, there’s an even bigger reason they don’t like to talk on the phone. It turns out that, according to BankMyCell, 81% of Millennials get apprehension anxiety ‘before summoning the courage to make a call.’”

As a person who spent endless hours on the phone as a teenager without a hint of anxiety, I wonder what these young people are so afraid of. Turns out that on top of the aforementioned avoidance of decision making, they’re panicky that the person on the other end of the phone might disagree with them in some way, the idea of which is apparently appalling.

As a former teacher of 20 years, I worry that perhaps we have failed these young people in some monumental way. They are completely ill-equipped in the niceties of small talk, which they consider “awkward”, so if you want to get in contact a text or email are preferred. That way they don’t have to use that silly old skill called conversation.

Sadly, I now understand when my kids, all now in their 20s, say they are “talking to someone.” This phrase means they are texting another person who they are interested in dating, which is quite the misnomer, as there is zero talking involved. My daughter explained that this is how two people get to know one another. When I suggested coffee or a drink she rolled her eyes.

I know it makes me sound old, but I don’t understand how you can become acquainted with another person with a few lines of text. In my world we look one another in the eye and have a conversation or…pick up the phone and have a chat.

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I’m excited to announce that I recently signed a contract for my historical fiction novel Your Forgotten Sons. Next Chapter Publishing, the same company that released my book Wild Horses on the Salt, will publish the novel June 6^th, 2024, the 80^th anniversary of the storming of the beaches at Normandy: D-Day.

How did I learn about Sgt. Bud Richardville? My dear friend Gina Liparoto was facing a risky spinal surgery, one that could have left her paralyzed from the waist down. Her soldier husband— traumatized by two tours in Afghanistan and one in Iraq—was uncomfortable in hospitals, so I was tasked with being Gina’s healthcare power of attorney.

The evening before the surgery, Gina handed me a Ziplock bag containing fragile, 75-year-old letters from her Uncle Bud, a man who served in the Graves Registration Service and who never returned at the end of the war. Then she made me promise that, no matter what happened to her, I’d tell Bud’s story.

Your Forgotten Sons is a departure for me, as it’s my first book that takes place outside of Arizona. Still, I had the great fortune of studying World War II and its aftermath in depth when I went to school in Luxembourg at Miami University’s branch campus, so when I was asked to write the story, I decided to take it on.

We are currently heading into the editing phase of Your Forgotten Sons, so I have my author’s cap squarely on.

Find below a little about Bud’s story.

Your Forgotten Sons

Inspired by a true story

Anne Montgomery

Next Chapter Publishing

Release Date: June 6, 2024

Historical Fiction

Bud Richardville is inducted into the Army as the United States prepares for the invasion of Europe in 1943. A chance comment has Bud assigned to the Graves Registration Service where his unit is tasked with locating, identifying, and burying the dead. Bud ships out, leaving behind his new wife, Loryane, a mysterious woman who has stolen his heart but whose secretive nature and shadowy past leave many unanswered questions. When Bud and his men hit the beach at Normandy, they are immediately thrust into the horrors of what working in a graves unit entails. Bud is beaten down by the gruesome demands of his job and losses in his personal life, but then he meets Eva, an optimistic soul who despite the war can see a positive future. Will Eva’s love be enough to save him?

Anne Montgomery’s novels can be found wherever books are sold.

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Amazon

There’s been a lot of news lately about young people and their deep-down desire to own a home. I get it. We’ve all been raised on the hankering to have a nice house with a beautiful yard surrounded by the proverbial white picket fence. But, as with all dreams, I thought you should know, there can be a downside to home ownership.

I’m not saying this just because a few months back my air conditioner quit. I can’t say it was entirely unexpected. The old girl had been pumping out cold air for over twenty years, quite the life span for an appliance of that sort, especially when you consider I live in a desert. After she died, some nice men arrived with a crane to replace her. While I gasped as I handed over my credit card to pay that $8,200 bill, I was mollified when I remembered that all those dollars would transfer to travel points. Still, as you might expect, the total stung.

Today, since we are still in the midst of the hottest summer on record here in Phoenix—we’ve had 55 days over 110 degrees so far—I have never regretted the expense. However, it’s been all downhill appliance-wise since then.

Recently, we were on vacation when our son Troy called and said the refrigerator had died. Anyone who has dealt with that particular nightmare knows it’s best to be as far from said appliance as possible if it’s been down a while. The thought of sorting through rotting fish and meat and vegetables made me glad I wouldn’t be home for a few days, so that lovely chore was left to the kid. (Thank you, Honey!)

When my sweetie pie and I arrived home a few days later, imagine our surprise when we discovered the dishwasher had quit, as well. So, Ryan and I trudged off to Home Depot and handed off the credit card again, charging a little over $1,500 this time. We lived out of two coolers for a week, before the replacement fridge arrived. But the thing was damaged and had to be returned.

“We’ll have to order another one,” said a Home Depot supervisor. “It’ll be delivered in three weeks.”

Ryan was not amused and insisted they provide us with a loaner, which they did. But it’s a wee baby fridge and not much fits inside. Still, at the moment, it’s all we have.

And our appliance woes weren’t over. This morning, as I was preparing brunch for week one of the NFL season, I noticed some water by the backdoor. I wondered where that moist stuff had originated— we hadn’t seen rain here in Phoenix since March 22—and was stumped, until I considered that just inside the sliding glass door was the water heater.

“It’s done,” Ry said after looking through the cobwebs at the appliance that is probably the most ignored in every home. “But the good news is it was only supposed to last seven years. We replaced it 16 years ago.”

That’s my sweetie pie! Always thinking positively.

I just watched Ry and Troy head off to find a new water heater. The good news is the baby fridge is still cold and the air conditioner is working. On the downside, the dishwasher functions, but it’s not much good without water.

The point, of course, is that all of you hopeful home owners might want to rethink that dream, because sometimes homeownership can be a nightmare.

In all honesty, right now, I’d rather be a renter.

Just sayin’.

Anne Montgomery’s novels can be found wherever books are sold.

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“Don’t judge me!” students would often say when I was a teacher. And that always made me laugh, though not outwardly. I usually wanted to respond, “Well, of course I’m judging you. That’s what they pay me for.”

I don’t know when everyone decided that judgement was a negative thing. And before I go on, please note that I’m not talking about destructive critiques like I hate your new hair style or that dress you bought is really ugly. I’m talking about being evaluated for the work we do and our personal behaviors that might interact negatively with others.

Because of the career paths I chose, I was often criticized loudly and in public. I spent 40 years as an amateur sports official calling football, baseball, ice hockey, soccer, and basketball games where I regularly fended off angry coaches and fans who didn’t like my calls, which sometimes resulted in me needing a police escort to my car. I was also a sportscaster, and whenever I erred on TV, local writers and viewers would have a field day pointing out my stupidity.

Did these attacks hurt my feelings? Of course, they did. But I had to learn to accept the fact that I wasn’t always right, and even though the delivery method was sometimes cruel, I often realized later that those critiquing me had a point. I did make a bad call and I needed to do better.

The fact is we need judgement if we are to grow and become better people. However, most of us bristle when someone tells us we should change.

“Very few people can take criticism graciously,” said Dr. Leon F. Seltzer in his Psychology Today article “Why Criticism is so hard to take”. “ For most of us, being criticized is uncomfortable at best — and de-stabilizing (or even devastating) at worst. The ability to take criticism in stride, it seems, is almost universally elusive.”

If you’re wondering why most of us struggle with criticism, feel free to blame the people who raised you.

“Very few parents are enlightened enough, or sufficiently skilled, to carry out the kind of “loving correction” that doesn’t end up making us hypersensitive—and therefore over-reactive—to criticism,” Seltzer said. “As a result, negative judgments we receive as adults can automatically remind us of the inadequacies we so keenly felt when criticized as a child.”

While we can’t change the past, we can consider ways to improve how we handle judgement. First, don’t take criticism personally, especially if it comes from a boss or peer. Consider the interaction an opportunity, and remember that sometimes we don’t have the full story. Pause and try to understand the other person’s point of view. Focus on what they need from you, and see if you can do something to improve the situation.

It’s also important to realize that all criticism is not created equal. Everyone is periodically faced with comments that are destructive and you should feel free to ignore those taunts. However, embracing constructive criticism, learning from it, and making improvements is one of the best ways to get ahead in the world.

Anne Montgomery’s novels can be found wherever books are sold.

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