Completing my third book
My third book, FINDING SOFIE, is now available on various online retailers. The story takes place in Indonesia, a tropical paradise with flora and fauna that amazes. I painted the illustrations in vivid colors to try to capture Indonesia's beauty. The story is about Little Thomas, who once again goes on a walkabout without accompaniment, although this time, he doesn't fall into a tiger trap; he does manage to get hopelessly lost. As the evening approaches, Little Thomas is very far from home and unable to navigate the way back. Fortune smiles upon him, and because of his unique ability to speak a second language, Doggish, he can communicate with a homeless dog named Sofie. Spoiler alert! Sofie manages to get him home, but there are consequences for him and lovely results for Sofie. This book will be fun to read aloud, as children will love the conversation between Little Thomas and Sofie, and the reader will enjoy the woofing, which hopefully will make children laugh. Visit my webpage: madycolinflohrbooks.com

Starting on the 4th book
Mop-Hair or The Giver of Wings?
I haven't painted since February, although I've written a bit. I have also considered turning one of my favorite stories into a storybook for grown-up readers. I thought it would be a beautiful pictorial. But then again, I drafted a lovely story about my amazing granddaughter, Nola. So, the question arises, which do I do first? Which book will be my fourth literary attempt? Perhaps, I should do both simultaneously? They are vastly different, but the problem is the expense of publishing. I cannot afford to publish both. Perhaps you can help decide.
The Giver of Wings was written for a dear friend and musician, a paramour from my teen years. Teenage girls are fickle and hard-hearted, and I broke the heart of someone who loved me without realizing the depth of their affection. We became reacquainted at a class reunion fifty years later, having happily married other people, and realized we still had artistic souls that related to one another. We discussed art and music and how he used these to heal his sorrow. Once home, we continued our conversation as he shared his life in great depth, discussing his marriages, children, work, and music, and, of course, how much our breakup had hurt him when we were teenagers. He sent me two CDs on which he had recorded songs he wrote about our breakup. While listening to his songs of grief, I fathomed the depth of his heartbreak. Not that I was unfamiliar with heartbreak, as I experienced it many times throughout my life. My self-centeredness only allowed me to feel my pain and seldom the pain I inflicted. This revelation hit me hard. I was stunned. The only way for me to respond was through my writing. I knew a great deal about him through his sharing. I learned how much he loved his first wife; her leaving almost destroyed him. Then his resurrection came through his second marriage to the amazing and beautiful Kris. And again, music got this gentle soul from marriage number one to marriage number two. The story of The Giver of Wings almost wrote itself. After I sent the story to him, he responded with, “How do you know me so well? I wept while reading your story.” Needless to say, I prayed the story would have a healing effect, and hopefully it did. The written word can touch each of us differently; words can help heal old wounds, even wounds we inflict.
In Mop-Hair, we meet an enigmatic young girl who knows who she is and is comfortable with herself just the way she is. She is remarkable. She is also my granddaughter, so I may be a little biased.
My husband had taken a few photographs of Nola, her thick hair flowing this way and that, quite adorable. These photos hang at the top of the stairs, and as I approached them one day, I looked up and said to myself, “Look at her mop-hair!” Simultaneously, I thought, wow, that’s a good title for a children’s book. Quickly, I sauntered over to my computer and started writing. Once again, the story wrote itself. But then again, I have a lot of fodder as my granddaughter is rather interesting. She is generous, has multiple interests, and has an adventurous spirit that will contribute to authoring an exciting story.
For many years, Nola has donated her hair to a foundation that makes wigs for children who have lost their hair due to various health issues. She grows her hair, has it cut off, donates it, and then repeats this process over many years. This altruism began when she was young and continued well into her teens.
I had the privilege of accompanying Nola and her mother to a hairdresser during their Christmas visit to our home several years ago. Needless to say, I was moved by her selflessness and thought that Nola’s graciousness was heartwarming during a holiday when children focus more on receiving than giving. She gave something truly magnificent and sacrificial; this Oma is indeed enormously proud. I must add that she has brilliant parents who have instilled in her a very generous heart and spirit. I am immensely proud of them for creating a world we desperately need today. A generous and kind world. Thank you, my dears.
Dear readers, which one should I do first? A storybook for grown-up readers or a children’s book? I began the process on Mop-Hair, albeit in its infancy, so there is that.
My life between parentheses
I was asked to write something about myself. Ugh! But here it is. A biography is always somewhat guarded; no one wants to wear their heart on their sleeve, nor can anyone remember their life experiences verbatim, so writers use a gentle lens. So, I shall try to condense my narrative and recall memories as accurately as possible.
I was born in Indonesia during the Dutch colonial days and the Bersiap Period (when Indonesians struggled for Independence from Dutch colonization). Shortly after the Indonesian people gained their Independence, those of us of mixed race returned to the Netherlands or Holland; I was three then. My father was in the Royal Dutch Air Force, and with little pay, our family could only afford a fifth-floor walk-up apartment in Amsterdam. My poor mother carting all the groceries up five narrow stairs with two little girls and a baby. She was such a trooper.
I loved living in Holland and spending weekends with my grandparents, my Oma and Opa. My grandfather was an architectural engineer in Amsterdam, and they had a lovely apartment, which was always a delight to visit, especially during holidays. We were the center of their lives and spoiled by them. It was difficult for me to leave my grandparents, aunts, and uncles when we immigrated. To this day, I still get teary-eyed, recalling the day we left for America when I was ten. My heart broke to say goodbye to everything familiar to me. I can only imagine what it was like for my parents. The uncertainty must have been daunting. My grandparents were heartbroken and grieved for a long time.
Nevertheless, my grandparents made many trips back and forth, and I even had the opportunity to return when I turned sixteen. And once again, it was heartbreaking to leave. Some people leave their hearts in San Francisco; I left mine in Holland.
In January of 1957, we arrived in New York, and the weather was bleak and dismal. I recognized in my parents, especially my mother, a courage that shone like the sun and gave me hope. Coming to a new country with its unfamiliarity and inability to communicate effectively is difficult. The immigrant feels afloat, not anchored to anything familiar, and one must step forward gingerly, for we know not what awaits us. But the America of 1957 was mainly kind and welcoming to us, and since that time, there were moments when I felt wanted and appreciated. My family and I flourished with the support of many lovely people throughout this beautiful country. We are so appreciative. Looking back at my journey, I see how blessed I was. Yes, I had challenging moments in life, yet my intrepidness and the support of various people brought me to this amazing point, and I am grateful.
I married Tom in 1969 in California. Eventually, our little family moved to Alabama in 1976. I have lived in this humid, hot, and beautiful state for over half my life. It wasn't by choice that we arrived here; it was a job transition for my husband, and we thought we were only staying for a few years. As a young mother with children, I was filled with a lot of trepidation as Alabama's reputation for racism and injustice toward people of color was renowned. And I was not exactly pink and white, but dusky of color. So, I was nervous. However, I soon met many Southerners who were exceedingly kind and welcoming. I guess I was white enough. How very convenient for me, but sadly not for other people of color. Even though things had gotten much better since the march from Selma to Montgomery in 1965 and the Civil Rights Movement, there remained hidden antipathy for those who were not white. Today, it is still a struggle we must challenge; equality is not guaranteed for all, and brutal, unjust people still exist, not only in the South but everywhere.
My mother was all about civil rights and instilled in us a desire to see everyone on an equal footing. She did not see this in Virginia in the early sixties, and she fought for equality long before she realized she was part of a larger movement, causing turmoil in our neighborhood and her place of work. That story remains, perhaps, another book. We need to write stories about our heroes and heroines.
Knowing her daughter and grandchildren were soon ensconced in Alabama caused her to tremble with fear. She once told me she was fearful someone would burn a cross in our front yard. I had thought much the same. Yet, none of that happened. Our stay in Alabama was good, and we cultivated many beautiful friendships with our Southern neighbors. Our children graduated from school and university, and I returned to college and became an educator, teaching classes in Social Justice within our church community and ESL to foreign-speaking children in our school system. How apropos.
Here I am, seventy-seven, with two books published, When Uncle Chris Was a Little Fish and Opa and The Tiger Trap, and another near completion, Finding Sofie, indicating my life is not done yet. Society tends to instruct us that you are nearly finished once you reach your seventies; it is time to tie up loose ends, declutter your home, downsize your house, and begin to live smaller. Well, perhaps. But most of us still have much to contribute; we can all do something, even supporting those who have found new beginnings. No one can evolve without support, and I am grateful to my friends and family, especially my husband, for their support. Support is indeed critical for our success, especially at this age when our bodies and minds are in rebellion. When we have more bad than good days, we can still inspire, support, love, and step forward into adventure, comrades in arms—holding on to each other and giving one another strength. If I can begin a whole new existence, so can everyone else; even in small ways, we can step into tomorrow with spirits ever enlarging. Be a power for good in the world; all of us can be miracles, even several steps over the threshold of seventy and still kicking, maybe kicking a little lower and slower, but still kicking!

Writing my second book
This story began as a bedtime story for my very precocious grandsons. They reminded me very much of their grandfather, or Opa in Dutch, when he was a little boy (at least from the many stories told by my mother-in-law), especially the eldest grandson, Little Thomas, the spitting image of his Opa in every way. Both Thomas's are hard-headed, disobedient, and willful, yet adorable. I had lots of fodder for my stories, and as those stories developed, they quickly grew into a life of their own. The more fantastic the stories became, the more they listened and seemed to enjoy them. I had high hopes that through the made-up misadventures of their grandfather, they would miraculously become obedient, sensible, lovely little boys. Needless to say, those hopes were slowly dashed throughout their growing up. Thank goodness, I enjoy challenges, and boy, oh, boy, those challenges have been a part of our lives every day. I need a respite!
The story is set in Indonesia, where my husband and I were born. Indonesia is a gorgeous country filled with exotic plants and animals, and I incorporated many in my book, including the Cassowary. What is that? Check it out! I also included a map of Indonesia to give readers an idea of where Indonesia is located. A little geography goes a long way.
The story begins with a warning that is soon ignored, and an adventure ensues for a willful child and his best friend, Little Tiger. Along the way, they see and enjoy everything Indonesia offers: beauty and the majesty of nature. Eventually, panic arises because of a guilty conscience, and becoming hopelessly lost, Little Thomas falls into an open tiger trap and is trapped. Now what? Come on our adventure with Little Thomas and Little Tiger as they trek through Indonesia's beautiful yet dangerous wilds. And learn a thing or two.
I also included a QR code in the glossary to aid readers interested in more information about some of the endangered animals mentioned in the book.

Writing my first book
We have all made wishes on birthday candles. But what happens when all the exact elements combine, and instantly, our wish is bestowed? Our first thought is 'Yippee!' but we do not fully realize its effect on us and others, especially those who love us.
Little Uncle Chris embarks on a lovely adventure underneath the blue sea when his wish turns him into a merboy. He meets many sea creatures with charming personalities and abilities; however, the cost to his parents, who are exceedingly worried about his new transformation and spend a lot of exhaustive time looking for him. Sometimes, adventures come at a price, generally someone else's. But those who love us support our choices regardless of the expense and hopefully arm our adventure seekers with all the right tools to help support them or extricate them from their misadventures when they occur. Such is life.
Misadventures often happen in life, and we need rescue. Such is the case with Little Uncle Chris and his best friend, Clownfish. Thank goodness, this time, equipped with all the right tools and a parent there to catch the floundering merboy, the adventure comes to a happy conclusion.
I wanted to write a story to entertain children, but I felt compelled to include some teachable elements, as the educator in me cannot resist. Therefore, I included a little geography, a few facts about a country and its relevance, adding contemporary concerns, like caring for our planet, and always including the most important of elements, love. And let us not forget curiosity; we need to inspire this gift of wonder.
It was also vital to me to make the book bright and colorful. I wanted every page to captivate and inspire readers to dream and want more. Nothing fills my heart more than seeing the delight on a child's face as they look through excellent books. I wanted my book to do just that, to delight.
The book's narrator is one of my grandsons. I wanted the story to be told through the vision of a child. The grandson has heard the story numerous times about his uncle from the grandmother and retells the tale for the reader. I wanted the story to have a childlike quality, creating an inviting environment for children. And yes, I have made up plenty of bedtime stories for the grandsons, and a few will make it into my following books. So, stay tuned.
This book took me over seven months, from writing the story, researching, and illustrating to editing and publishing. And yet, the time flew, and before I knew it, the book was in the hands of little ones, and they smiled, and my heart grew.
I hope you will enjoy my efforts in creating this loving project, for it was and remains a lovely journey toward the heart of every child.