Word Nerd Media is here!

WNMLogo.pngHere it is… a logo for my freelance and publishing efforts! It’s hot off the presses. Turns out I like a font called Skia! I’m even using it for my print book (so far)!

Word Nerd Media became my official doing business as name last month, and now I’m updating my Kindle book and creating a hard copy book through Amazon’s CreateSpace. Converting text from an ebook to a regular book is eye-twitching work… I’ve gotten to Chapter Nine (entitled: Girl, I’ve got eyes!) today and hope to get the rest of the document ship-shape by the end of this week so it can be uploaded.

Thanks for tuning in!


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Another Meme!


Oh yeah, and my ebook ends with a Christmas wedding! Sharing the latest meme in case you need to know more about the book and want something to read while you’re snuggled up on the couch this holiday season!

Merry Christmas and happy new year!


From AMAZON – $3.99 ebook 

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The Parade of Memes Begins!


The quote above came from a man I dated and dumped… and in the spirit of turning lemons into lemonade, it appears in Chapter 1 of A Magical Time Called Later, when my dear protagonist, Holly, realizes that she’s run out of time. She will end up married to a–(I hate to use the words my reviewers have used to describe Jason)–unless she takes action. Though she puts most things off until the magical time called later, sometimes fate forces her hand and dumps her into unfamiliar territory which, naturally, is peppered with glories and difficulties as well as a sprinkling of hilarity.

AmazonQRCode-GLorinoUse this handy QR Code to find the book for sale on Amazon.com.  You can read the first chapter and see if it’s something you’d enjoy. It’s an affordable $3.99 and currently part of Kindle Unlimited. I’ve filled it with musings on 20 years of dating (as an adult!) as well as Florida life, work life (though I didn’t choose to work in a pub but rather frequented several), the indignity of unkind judgments at high school reunions, the clash of old-fashioned family expectations against modern reality, and so on.

More memes will appear as inspiration strikes! Now to share this to Twitter and Facebook!


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Cover Sneak Preview!!!


Isn’t is a relief when a real graphic designer takes your idea and makes it look way better than you can??? Here is a mockup of my cover.

As our author events begin, oh, this Saturday, I’ve used this design on a postcard that I’ll hand out to potential readers. The bookmarks are still in progress but I’ll have them by my next author event later this month.

It’s so exciting! I’m in the later stages of formatting my manuscript and jumping through the necessary hoops for Kindle Direct Publishing. More updates as events warrant!

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I will get this book done, with a little help from my friends

It’s been a few months full of writing, revising, traveling, and enjoying heat waves here at home, but now I have 2 major ‘author-type event’ deadlines coming up in October, so it would be really convenient if I could get my book done before then!

I met up with my author friend Cody Sisco yesterday, who gave me some great tips on how to get started. First, he asked, do you have a website? 

Why yes! You’re looking at it!

A book cover? It’s in the works. Also some bookmarks would be great! In talking with Cody yesterday, I got a new fun idea for them. I sent my cave-drawing type file over to a professional last week that happens to be a close blood relative with at least 25 years of graphic design experience. And thank goodness. The file I made is too ugly for words but has lots of notes on it on how I want it to look!

What about a newsletter? I’m lukewarm on that. I don’t generally read emails, so I don’t want to create emails for others to read (unless I’m at work- ha ha ha). So I came up with a compromise: I’ll make an occasional newsletter and post it on this site! And that way people can take it or leave it. (People at work love my weekly gazette, The InfoTech Times, which updates them on current projects within the department!) Perhaps I can use some of that flair in my author newsletter!

What about a picture? Cody asked. And apparently I should like it because it will be used over and over and over… Oh my. Maybe I shouldn’t have let my Creative Cloud membership lapse last month, but with all this book prep, I really don’t have time to learn more about PhotoShop. When I did have it, though, I made these pictures of myself for social media, and the one on the right was used on our first Made in LA marketing material. (Photo by Hubbs; taken while we were waiting for a table at a restaurant this spring. Backgrounds courtesy of googling ‘batik fabric.’) Perhaps I will use them for book stuff too. (I like the one with the swirly background best, though the plain background works best if there’s a pretty border and the green with no filter shows my actual coloring.)

A copy editor? Check. Someone to help me figure out formatting for Kindle? I’ll look at my notes and pick brains as needed, after I get to the final version.

A plan for a paperback? Blurbs and bio online? Amazon page? Fan base? Please! I’ll figure that out in the magical time called later. Right now, I need to revise A Magical Time Called Later.

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Genre Alert!

Friends, I’ve finally figured out my genre. It was so obvious that I couldn’t even see it before. It’s everything that I’ve experienced.

Gen X Fiction.

Yep! Now, I don’t know if retailers will have this category when my book is done, but at least I have something I can say that’ll clue people in to what I write.

Coincidentally (or maybe not), I made this graphic a few months ago. GenXandProud

Everything is coming together!

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A Magical Time Called Later- THE INTRO!!!!

Friends and readers, thanks for tuning in! This is the first part of my upcoming book. Please follow this blog or sign up for the Made In LA newsletter to learn more about when the book comes out!


We sat in wooden Adirondack chairs on my front porch as the light from my twinkling Christmas tree blinked through the window behind us. Across the street, the sun was setting, halfway hidden by the trees, placing a gold tint on everything around us.

Jason sat next to me, a bottle of beer in his hand, three empties on the brick floor beside the chair. His buddies had dropped him off from a tarpon fishing trip earlier, and he looked sunburned and tired. It was Sunday night, and he hadn’t shaved since Friday morning.

“I’ve applied in Atlanta and Charlotte. I’ll never get anything here. There’s no sense in waiting around. Why haven’t you given your notice at the pub?”

“You don’t even have anything yet and you want me to give up my livelihood?”

“You need to put me first, and I’m going nowhere.” Jason scowled.

“We keep having this argument, you know,” I shot back, feeling myself blush as my pulse rang in my ears.

“I thought we’d already resolved it. I make more money,” Jason began, getting louder with every word, “so therefore, we’ll live where I work. End of story. You’d have to be an idiot to think otherwise.” He took a final swig and threw his beer bottle into the bushes.

I jumped up to go get the bottle, then stopped myself. I could deal with the yard mess later. Now I needed to deal with the man mess.

“Where do you get off being so disrespectful?” I said, crossing my arms and turning to confront him. “Disrespectful to me. Disrespectful to my house. I have an established business here, and I can’t move it with me. That doesn’t make me an idiot.”

I was part-owner of a pub that my family had run for over fifty years, and since my parents had retired, I was basically in charge of it. Did he really want to bet it all on a corporate career that had so far allowed him to get stuck in middle management? He worked in finance; we were surrounded by that industry in Tampa. He could find another job nearby, when he needed to.

“You’re an idiot if you keep giving me grief about this, Holly,” he said, leaning forward in his chair and frowning.

There was that word again. Darling and Honey were on the endangered species list as far as Jason’s vocabulary was concerned. At this point, my other names were Idiot and Dammit.

“Tell you what, Jason. I’ll tell you exactly what kind of idiot I am!”

He paused and looked ashamed for a second. “You shouldn’t talk that way about yourself,” he whispered. “We’ve talked about this. You need to—we both need to—uh, interact better.”

Maybe the beer is wearing off, I thought. But then, my anger rebounded. He just called me an idiot, and more than once!

“What would you do if you heard someone call me the names you just called me?” I asked.

He flinched. “I’m working on it, dammit, I said I’d change,” he said, standing up to come closer. “Can’t you see that I get this way because I care about you? Can you just stop being so emotional? God, you’re so touchy. I said I’d change, Holly, and I mean it!”

We were both red in the face, standing close to each other, our shoulders squared.

He was going to change, huh? When had I heard that before?

“You’re gonna change?” I yelled. “You’re gonna change now, when we’re supposed to get married in two weeks? You’re finally going to do it? Really?”

A flash of anger crossed his face and he reached out for me, then held back, pinning his arms to his sides and huffing like a bull in the ring. Meanwhile, I’d reached my boiling point.

I stomped inside, locked the door behind me, and grabbed a new garbage bag from underneath the kitchen sink. He began to yell and thump on the door, but I tuned him out and tended to my frenzy.

Gone were the days of discovering fun quirks about each other and enjoying our time alone. At least when other people were around, he was on his best behavior, but we didn’t do so well alone together. Not anymore.

Walking from room to room frenetically, I stuffed everything that belonged to Jason into the trash bag: magazines, T-shirts, pajamas, his awful orange University of Florida coffee mug. I grabbed the red box that my engagement ring came in. My chest felt heavy as I started to feel a long-surpressed dread at him moving into my house after the wedding.

His shadow paced back and forth outside. I flipped on the porch light, turned the lock on the doorknob, and pushed the bag in front of me outside, leaving the door ajar.

“Here’s what I think of how you treat me like I’m stupid, how you try to tell me what to do, how you put on airs that you’re such a saint when you’re really a bastard!” I said in an angry hiss. “If this isn’t all of your stuff, too bad.”

“Oh, here we go! It’s your crazy Irish temper,” he said in his oh-poor-baby voice, crossing his arms over his chest. He scratched his dark stubble and pulled a mock-serious face. “It’ll blow over like it always does. You’ll come to your senses.” He widened his eyes and fluttered his lashes.

Really? Is that what I’m going to do? I can’t help but act this way because I’m Irish and fiery? It has nothing to do with you, Jason?

I pulled myself onto my tip-toes to look him straight in the eye. “Guess what, jerk? I’ve had enough. And when I say I’ve had enough, that doesn’t mean let’s talk, that doesn’t mean I’m bluffing and want you to make promises that you never keep. It means I’ve had enough.”

His hands were balled into fists. This was another reason I hated confronting Jason. His mouth told me I was safe with him, while his body language told me to watch out.

“You can’t be serious,” he said as I straightened my arm, thrusting the engagement ring box toward him. He took a step away from me and forced a contemptuous laugh. “Do you know what this would look like?”

“What would it look like?” I asked. “It would look like I don’t want a husband who treats me like you do. If you’re not happy about that, you should have treated me better.”

“Ha! That’s your fault, not mine. You should have said something before. How can I be responsible for not reading your mind? You can’t read mine. You have no idea how angry you make me. You don’t know how good I treat you, how good you have it!” he yelled.

Wait. Was I supposed to ask him to not be an asshole all the time? How was that my responsibility? I curled my fingers around the red box, searching my brain for a response. “I did ask, more than once…” I began, and my voice betrayed me. I sounded weak.

My fingers unclenched when I realized I was still wearing the engagement ring. In my anger, I’d waved the box at him without the ring inside it, an empty threat if there ever was one. I worked the ring down my finger and said, “Whatever, Jason. Maybe I don’t know how good I have it. Maybe I just need to learn. Maybe it’s better to be with someone who’s condescending instead of being alone. But guess what—I am more than ready to find out!”

I shoved the ring into the box. His jaw dropped for a moment, and then he recovered, bunching his face into a nasty scowl.

“I won’t take that back,” he said, crossing his arms again and planting his feet among the empty beer bottles.

“Well, I’m not keeping it,” I said, so quiet that I could barely hear myself. I placed the box onto the arm of the nearest Adirondack chair.

Still, the action of taking off that ring had broken the spell I was under. Though I’d put off this breakup, all the while hoping for a miracle, it was the only reasonable action I could take. I couldn’t trade societal and family acceptance for a lifetime with this miserable man.

“There’s a reason why you’re thirty-six and still single,” he growled.

I recoiled. My stomach seemed to drop to my knees as I reconsidered. Part of me wanted to placate him, to show him and the world that I wasn’t some impossible-to-live-with middle-aged shrew who didn’t deserve a man.

This is what he does. He shames me so that he can get his way and look like the hero who’s always right. And the way he talks to me always shuts me down. Whenever I should act, I tell myself to step away, think about it, deal with it later. Always later.

He saw me falter; I could see it in his expression. Maybe he thought he was going to win.

If I back down, this will be my reality. There are a lot more reasons he’s thirty-six and still single. This is the experience I always have. And until it changes, it’s the only way I can be: alone and single and safe from someone antagonizing me in my own home!

The trash bag lay on the porch, while he held the box with the ring in one hand. The other hand was still a fist.

“Right back at you,” I hissed as I walked inside, pulling the door closed behind me. I bolted the door and paced around the living room for a moment, wondering what to do next. Then I tore through the house. I grabbed my wedding gown, went into the guest bedroom, and shoved it into the closet. I could deal with that later. Energy pulsed through me like I was hooked up to an electrical outlet.

Should I stop and do aerobics?

I laughed out loud. Then, I strode into the kitchen, picked up the phone, and dialed my best friend, Marisol.

“Hey, Holly,” she said.


“Told him off?”

“Told him off for good.” I emphasized every word.

She sighed and then lowered her voice. “Where is the ring? Are you still wearing it?”


She sighed again. “Holly, I never thought I’d say this about a broken engagement, but . . . I’m happy for you!”

“Me too!”

“You know that this mood may not last, right? You might be upset soon.”

I sat down on the tile floor and started to feel deflated. While it had been exhilarating to tell Jason off, there were so many people who were looking forward to my wedding. They would have to be told. Plans would have to be unpicked, services cancelled.

“Try to get some sleep. You’ll feel better in the morning. That is, if you can sleep.”

We said goodbye, and a few moments later, I showered and changed into pajamas. I lay down on my bed for at least an hour but couldn’t fall asleep. My head was a washing machine, and my thoughts were in spin cycle.

How could I have gone so long dating him? How could I have stayed engaged if I wasn’t willing to spend my life with him? Sure, he was nice when we got together, but after that he’d gotten comfortable, and then he became difficult and miserable. Had everyone been fooled by his outward behavior? Or did people know how he treated me when we were alone or when he drank?

Married couples who love each other treasure their time together, don’t they? Wasn’t that what my goal should be? Wasn’t that the goal of marriage? Why couldn’t my relationships with men be as rewarding as those I had with my friends? Could I trust my own judgment when it came to men? How had a guy like Jason ended up as my almost-husband?

My head hurt. As I trudged to the kitchen in search of a pill or two, the glow of the porch light caught my eye. I unlocked and opened the door to make sure Jason had taken his things, and he had, for the most part. Only the box with the engagement ring remained. I picked it up, placed it on the kitchen counter, and opened a bottle of wine.

He wasn’t always this way, I thought as I poured myself a glass and sat down in my dark living room. We used to have fun, go to parties, whatever. We used to laugh. I’d given up chasing the mythical spark, the sort of thing people wrote songs about and moved Heaven and Earth to find. That was something for teenagers maybe; I hadn’t felt it since I was seventeen.

The rounds of layoffs at the company where he worked hadn’t helped. He was up for a promotion for a while, and then the company decided not to fill the position. Naturally, Jason got frustrated. I couldn’t blame him.

His anger and his drinking eroded our day-to-day relationship. Drunken, acerbic comments that I once found hilarious now sounded bitter and mean, and I didn’t like his snarky sentiments. It wasn’t right. To defend myself, I had sunk to lower levels of communication and criticism, and that made me angry with myself but more angry with him for (as I saw it) “starting it.”

We weren’t a team. We lost respect for each other. That was the poison.

Bern’s Steakhouse came to mind. Officemates had regarded me with envy when word got around that he was taking me there for my birthday. Such a famous restaurant—it put Tampa on the map in all those in-flight magazines! But our date hadn’t lived up to the hype; I’d spent the afternoon driving him to pick up his car from the repair shop, and when his credit card was declined (since he was close to the limit already), guess who bought the new transmission for his car? Instead of showing me gratitude, he yelled into his cell phone, tearing apart some poor financial services representative on the receiving end of his rant.

He’d put his smile back on when he came to pick me up that night, showered and shaved. Everyone who followed him on Facebook saw a glamorous couple on some swanky, romantic date night, and that was the image he was careful to project. Meanwhile, I started to fantasize about having a good man instead. Or maybe no man at all.

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Holly’s House: A Simple Rendering

It’s two weeks until the Los Angeles Times Festival of Books and I’m working with 3 other independent authors to prepare for the big event! We are creating fun stuff to hand out and sharing ideas about how we’ll interact with all the readers and writers at the festival. I’ll be on hand to tell writers about our critique group in Pasadena, and also see if there’s any interest in my upcoming book, A Magical Time Called Later… maybe gather a few email addresses just in case there is.

So, since those Creative Cloud programs were open, I took a stab at drawing my protagonist Holly’s house. Now, my relationship with graphic design has been on-again, off-again for many years. I know a few of the basics but can’t get too gosh-darn fancy with anything; I feel more like a modern cave woman, fiddling around in InDesign for hours to make what a practiced person could do (and make pretty!) in five minutes! However, I did want to have this drawing, as well as the first chapter of my book, to present to people when they come to the festival, visit this blog, and check out my work.

Basically, this is how I saw Holly’s house when I wrote A Magical Time Called Later. I pictured a modest 2-bedroom home tucked in some shady corner of Tampa, with moss-covered live oak trees lining the street where she lives.

Without further ado, here is my “cave drawing” of Holly’s house. Me make picture!HollysHouse

I wonder if other writers have an entire picture of the setting in mind when they write stories. Regardless, this is how I saw mine. Enjoy!

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Judging a Book by Its Cover

By now I’m working in InDesign on a cover for my book. Having turned in the manuscript for peer editing yesterday (wheee! the crowd goes wild!!!), now it’s time to turn my attention to other creative concerns.

I started with my old Swatch, and a picture of it, and turned it into this for the first iteration, then widened the look of the watch for the second version. Since it’s based on a Swatch, various color schemes can be used, though I want to stick with purple for the section containing the word ‘magical’ because I think that’s on point.


I’m also playing with the idea of using a photograph of the beach instead, but worry that it would look too busy.

Then I started thinking about my main character. She is a redhead and uses a different palette for her clothes than I do as a brunette. I made a cover related to her wardrobe choices and colors that were popular when the story is set (in 2015).

And… viola! screen-shot-2017-01-13-at-12-26-27-pm

New font was used to add variety to the look, and it looks like my name is inside a delicious pumpkin pie, which appeals to me but I’m not sure about how it would appeal to the average consumer.

Comments? Ideas? Please share.

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Gabi Lorino’s Author Notes

Gabi has always loved books. She even keeps her original copy of Miss Suzy at the ready in case she needs a bedtime story.

This site will show excerpts from the upcoming book as well as the process it goes through, from being written and revised to completed and released into the world.

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