Book Sale

Happy Bay, the first book in the Happy Bay novel trilogy is on sale for just $2.99 @Amazon #Kindle edition. Move to the beach, fall in love, and never return.Click here to order

Nine signs it is time to come back to St. Martin

1. You don’t like the looks of that sky.

If you are lucky, there will be no rain, sleet, or snow coming out of those grey clouds. We specialize in blue skies and it rains mostly late at night here, if at all.

2. Vitamin D withdrawal (sunshine)

Ah, that brilliant golden orb, bathing your skin in warmth and natural vitamins. If you look outside and wonder where it went; look no further. We have it right here.

3. You are craving sand gravity

The term “sand gravity” is a well-known phrase with our regulars; that feeling you get when you settle into your beach chair and decide to cancel your plans for the rest of the day. Incidentally, wouldn’t that have made a great ending for the movie Gravity if Sandra Bullock crawled up onto the shores of Club Orient? Whoa! Is this earth?

4. Your friends at work just don’t understand

I’m referring to annoying your colleagues with stories from your last vacation to the point where they can't stand you anymore and hide when they see you coming.

5. You’re cold

Really cold. Always cold. Waking up cold. Going through your day cold. Going to bed cold. Wondering if your furnace thermostat is lying to you. Wearing so many layers of clothing, your laundry pile is doubled from the summer months. At least it’s warm by the dryer.

6. You can’t get off the internet

You belong to six St. Martin Facebook groups and follow thirty-five like pages. It may seem obsessive to some, but you quietly explain it keeps you from looking out your window.

7. Culinary frustration

Try as you might, you just can’t make the same croissants and baguettes you have come to love here at home, so you ask for them at the supermarket, where they look at you like you are nuts. You confirm this when you leave the place, screaming obscenities.

8. You engage in pirate fantasies

The bottle of rum you brought back home is empty. Anguish ensues. You look for a parrot that will perch on your shoulder in pet stores. They can’t stop laughing.

9. You are dreading the holidays

People ask what your menu for Thanksgiving and Christmas is going to be and you answer Johnny cakes, conch fritters, and grilled shrimp. They make other plans, believing you may be losing your mind.

If you are exhibiting at least three of these signs or symptoms, it is time to come back. Don’t delay! Book a trip now and get some relief!

Who is really your friend when it comes to social media?

I have lost three old friends over the last couple of years. Not in a physical sense. They are still very much alive. I lost them on account of social media.

There are those that say something gets lost in translation with the disparity between the typed word and personal conversation. While that may be true, this was not the case when it came to these three individuals. The social media interactions that led to the friendship collapses revealed one surprising revelation only. The other two were in retrospect, tentative friendships at best, marked by thinly-veiled resentments evident from day one. On to the cases in point:

Ex-friend number one was a band mate from nearly forty years ago. We parted ways when I left a band destined to play bars and frat parties forever, and the band leaders were not in the least interested in recording, or taking things to the next level. Despite an association with an agency that built the careers of Christopher Cross and Stevie Ray Vaughn (playing the same circuit that gave rise to their popularity), the polarizing difference was a song list full of copy music; 1980’s drivel.

Prior to that group was one I led, and I had us on a mission to stardom. We invested every spare dollar in recording, and the resulting EP was to be our stepping stone to a recording contract. The problem was, only two of the four other members were actually on board with my plan. One was fearful he would be cut in the contract process, and the other never felt comfortable with our original material, perhaps sharing that same fear of dismissal that the next level might bring. They also believed they were much smarter than I; second-guessing every move I made and finding glory in mistakes that would invariably be made by a 22 year-old band leader.

These two factors made me dismissive towards them. My focus was on the two songwriters in the group. Although they had distinctively different styles and influences, there was a fusion-like quality that was also distinctive; like nothing else out there.

You would think the naysayers would be one of the people I had to unceremoniously drop from my circle of online friends, right? Not so. It was one of the songwriters.

He inquired about the master tapes that never made their way to vinyl, and I still had them. I shipped them off to LA (where he now resides), and he mastered them in the hopes of making some money off the finished project. And although we still had a couple of hundred admirers who associated that group with the best years of their lives, their interest in the music was limited to paying for postage at best. Just hearing the songs again on our “like” page was enough for most, if not all of them.

Fast-forward to the tipping point: A last-minute excursion to the city where we first met quickly escalated to a live performance reunion. Everyone was all in except for this disappointed individual. A free plane ticket was offered, as well as a place to stay. Food was not a factor either. He was adamant in his refusal to attend, so we carried on in his absence, performing a couple of songs from the never-released EP, plus quite a few new ones from the songwriter who was still active in the music industry.

An obligatory band picture was (of course), taken and I assembled a “then and now” photo, Photoshopping the missing member into the “now” shot with the only available 38 year-old photo (his social media profile does not have a photo less than 35 years old).

That’s when the trouble started. He sent me an email, saying he had a screenwriter interested in my novels. This was exciting news indeed, but it was quickly followed by a request to take the collage picture down. It was not long after that when the reunion-attending band member sent me an email excerpt from a candid, private conversation between the now-angry non-attendee and myself concerning the direction he was taking with his continuing musical career. My remarks would have been hurtful, but we had already discussed this very subject personally while we were there. It was old news, and a subject that was explained to me in the context of his current location. “Red Dirt” music is all the rage in Texas these days, and my friend was simply following the money trail. This genre was unbeknownst to me, and I experienced it for myself the following year when I was privileged to perform with this gentleman in Texas the following year.

The screenplay offer was, of course, fake, and concocted in an effort to humiliate me (as was the copy and pasted private email conversation). To this day, I don’t know what set this guy off. Perhaps he has not aged well (which would explain no current pictures). His ex let me know he was nearly homeless, despite posts about upcoming recording projects and endless pictures of a large hill he owned a part of.

But the root in full retrospect seems to be a perception that I ruined his career before his 25^th birthday. Although that sounds ludicrous, it is the only reasonable conclusion I could reach. Perhaps he would have been plucked from small-town obscurity had we never met. Most likely not, and he was also still a very young man when we parted ways so many years’ ago. It’s hard to blame yourself when your dreams don’t come true for some. I have never had that problem.

Anyway, the onslaught of venom ended our friendship forever. Delete delete delete. Gone. Good luck with that attitude buddy.

Ex-friend number two was a friendship of much shorter duration. My first “real job” was with a manufacturing company with a very rich and very eccentric founder and president. He took an immediate liking to me, and I quickly became part of his inner circle, which consisted of a female office manager, an accountant, and me. His loyalty to them shielded them from any disciplinary action over caustic remarks, and they were frequently aimed at me. Still, I regarded them as friends, despite hurtful remarks about my looks and rude body English, like turning their backs to me during a conversation to let me know in no uncertain terms I was always to be considered an outsider; a mere lackey in the presence of royalty. The affinity between my boss and I grew, and with it their resentment.

When this founder of the company was ousted in a hostile takeover, the accountant was immediately fired and the office manager soon after that. I was laid off (as were several others when the news of his ouster spread and the business began to tank), but returned to perform the jobs of three people who were not brought back less than a year later.

Nearing retirement, the office manager was beyond distraught. Her former boss did find her a job elsewhere, but she reportedly performed poorly, and finally quit over her religious beliefs (as good an excuse for anyone who is no longer interested in working).

I was a pillar of moral support through her tough times; her constant worry over an early retirement soothed by encouraging messages and phone calls. She and her husband both survived early termination, however, and the days of contentment resumed.

That’s when the trouble started. I have a stunningly beautiful daughter, and any photo post of her on social media invariably led to a comment of disbelief that someone with my looks could possibly have sired such a beautiful creature. I made light of it the first time. The second time, my wife became enraged by the comment and I called her out over it. She apologized, saying I misconstrued her meaning. Her insults from the past told me otherwise, but I considered the matter closed when I directly addressed it.

Not long after that, she did it again! Although comments like these were met with glee with her audience of one back in the office days, backhanded compliments aimed to once again point out I was ugly for an audience of over 700 pushed me to the limit. Three strikes, you’re out lady.

Ex-friend number three was by far the longest friendship, but the circumstances were quite similar to ex-friend #2. This woman has done wonderful things for many in her life, but she is also well known for bad-mouthing people behind their backs. Anyone that thinks they are exempt from this unsavory trait is being naïve, but her friends try to keep this out of their minds when she skewers mutual friends in private conversation.

She also lost her job unexpectedly, and again I took the role of team lead in her support group. Encouraging texts and phone calls emphasized not giving up hope. Things will look up. Keep moving forward. She seemed very appreciative.

That is, until she found another job. When she announced this on social media, I exclaimed “You are back!” in a comment. “I am back?” was her reply. WTH? Was this statement hard to understand? It seemed like an effort to make me look stupid. I took it in stride, but I was nonetheless confused.

Then the attacks started. My every post was met with a snarky comment by this friend. Anatomy was frequently the context of her remarks. They became so prevalent; I began to dread a notification from her on my posts.

Despite my humorous responses to these comments, the attacks continued, finally culminating in a very personal degrading reference to my anatomy (a subject to which she would have absolutely no personal knowledge). Rather than go on the attack in front of hundreds of people, I confronted her privately, asking if she would really like to get into anatomy with me on a public forum. She is a large woman, and in similar fashion to her comment, I implied it with enough words to make it clear anyone could interpret this easily, as they would her comments directed at me.

Shocked and hurt beyond words, she played it out in true passive-aggressive style, making herself the victim with cryptic memes about someone she always defended turning out to be just as others perceived them; a cold-hearted prick, disliked by just about everyone in our circle. This was not only pure nonsense, it also a continuation of the insults without the benefit of being able to post it directly in the form of a comment on my social media profile. I offered the olive branch, which was ignored. I blocked her posts so I wouldn’t have to read them anymore. Finally, after seeing each other at local events and watching her look through me and interrupt my conversations with mutual friends with various tactics, I decided that this one too, would have to go.

Everyone who knows this woman has been on her shit list from time to time. We often laugh about it. But we all somehow fall back into her good graces…typically when she needs something from us. I’m getting too old to play that waiting game. So long!

The purpose of this diatribe is more than catharsis for me. It merely points out that although I may have a lot of friends on social media with whom I will never develop a rapport, I have others who became close friends without personal introduction, and I have gone on to meet them personally, and will hopefully meet others sometime in the future.

My point is; yes, a lot of my social media friends are not “real friends”

But I have also found that some of my real friends were not really friends at all.

And it took social media for me to finally figure that out.

More about this author

SxM Life SummerTrip 2k15

Author Page here

Need an idea for a beach read this summer?

Vacation season is here... Need an idea for your beach read?Click on the pic ;)

Posted by Happy Bay Book Series amazon.com/author/tstelma on Thursday, July 9, 2015

The place. The people. Their stories. The novels.

The place. The people. Their stories. The novels. amazon.com/author/tstelma

Posted by Happy Bay Book Series amazon.com/author/tstelma on Saturday, June 6, 2015

Three Day Weekend, Three Days Worth of Beach Reads

Looking forward to a long, carefree weekend. http://amazon.com/author/tstelma

Posted by Happy Bay Book Series amazon.com/author/tstelma on Tuesday, May 19, 2015

10 reasons why you should never visit St. Martin

1. That brutal sunshine.

That cloud in the distance hasn’t moved in four hours! I went a month back home without seeing the sun once. How can you possibly expect me to adjust to this?

2. No consistency to accommodations.

I wanted an ocean high rise and got one. What is with all these quaint charming places with amazing views? Stop confusing me here!

3. The food prices are outrageous.

A full plate of grilled ribs, four sides, and a Carib for $13 bucks? You have got to be kidding me! And while we’re on the subject, what the heck is a Carib?

4. Too many beaches.

Look, when I book a vacation, I want to have a single beach to call my own. I don’t like hearing there are 30 or so others I need to visit. And the water is way too blue. I think they put food coloring in it.

5. There are pirates everywhere.

Mean, nasty, evil pirates, slogging down every drop of rum on the island. And it costs a third of what I pay back home, so they must want them here (hic).

6. Seriously, what’s so exciting about sitting on a beach and watching planes land?

OMG! I thought that one was going to take off my head! I better take cover at the bar. And why are all the woman at this bar topless? Egad!

7. Not enough fast food.

What’s with all this grilled snapper, lobster, and prime rib? I shouldn’t have to drive more than a mile for a whopper.

8. While we’re on the subject of beaches, one of them is full of naked people!

Heathens! I went there once just to see it with my own eyes. Okay, I went there six times.

9. Those annoying sunsets.

Every night, it’s like a rainbow exploded in my face. I swear they’re going to trigger a seizure eventually.

10. Excessive smiling.

All this friendliness from all these different cultures, all getting along so well is unnerving. These people must be up to something. There is definitely something sinister behind those grins.

Oh, and one more thing. Unnecessary diversions!

Watersports, excursions to neighboring islands, and hiking to secluded beaches is just too much for one vacation. Now we have to come back again. Dammit!

Video Slideshow from St. Martin

11 days in paradise.

Posted by Happy Bay Book Series amazon.com/author/tstelma on Sunday, May 3, 2015

Philipsburg, St. Maarten. Always lively

Sometimes some people ask why I post more for the French side. It's just because I'm always working and my customers are mainly on the French side. But today I was in Pburg so I thought about you guys and here's what it looked like today. Enjoy ;)

Posted by Sxm Epicure Club on Thursday, April 2, 2015

Heineken Regatta Video in St. Martin

The Heineken Regatta today in St. Martin Post by Sxm Epicure Club.
Happy Bay Book Series info here

February 14th: Just Another Hallmark Holiday

Learn more about the author here

On the last full day of their vacation, Laura awoke to an empty bed. She wasn’t sure if it was the sound of the front door closing that woke her, but it was apparent her husband Roger was no longer in the room. The bathroom was dark, and there was no sound, save the chirping of birds outside.

It was Valentine’s Day, and although Roger often dismissed days like these as “Hallmark Holidays”, she was hoping for at least a little special treatment, regardless.

“Maybe he is bringing me breakfast in bed!” she thought to herself. So she waited, enjoying the lack of urgency that was their day-to-day lives back home, and gave herself the luxury of settling back on her pillow.

When she heard someone outside struggling with the lock, she propped herself up, hoping for a tray of croissants and tropical fruit with coffee and juice. Much do her dismay though, Roger came in fully dressed and empty handed. He looked at her with surprise.

“You’re not up yet?” he asked. “Come on, we’re going to make it an early beach day.”

Why?” she asked. “Aren’t we even going to have breakfast?"

“We’ll grab something at the beach or on our way,” he replied. “I’m going golfing at two o’clock with those three people I was talking to last night at dinner. They need one more for a foursome.”

She knew who he was talking about. Roger had left her alone at their table in the restaurant to strike up a conversation with two men and a woman standing outside. Laura had been pretty angry about him not bringing them over to introduce her, but she didn’t want to make waves. It had been a wonderful trip, and he had been very attentive…at least up until now.

She noticed there was no greeting card on the dresser, no flowers, and no mention of this day at all as she quickly gathered their belongings for a short beach stay.

Later on at the beach, Roger seemed distracted. He frequently got up from his beach chair to make phone calls and never once asked her if she needed anything as he wandered about, talking.

When they returned to the room, Laura decided to read by the pool until her husband returned. Tiring of this after a couple of hours, she returned to the room and took her time getting dressed up for a nice dinner out.

Surely he is at least going to take me someplace elegant, she pondered as she put on the dress she had been saving for this particular evening. Should I remind him it’s Valentine’s Day, or just write it off to him forgetting and enjoy our final night in paradise?

When the room phone rang, she began to worry. He should have been back by now; it was approaching sunset.

“Honey, I’m pretty smashed,” her husband said on the phone when she answered. “I got dropped off in Grand Case and I need you to drive me and our car back to the room. I’m sending a taxi that should be there in a minute."

She heard the honk of a horn outside and grabbed her purse, now becoming furious. Not only did he forget, he got drunk, and I’m going to have to sober him up instead of enjoying a romantic dinner.

Instead of dropping her off, the driver parked and led her by the hand out of the taxi.

Great! He can’t even stand up long enough to meet me on the street.

They walked through the shallow hallway that led to the beach restaurant. She looked here and there; searching for Roger’s inebriated face in vain. He didn’t seem to be anywhere inside. When the deck of the restaurant gave way to sandy beach, she halted and turned around, but the driver beckoned her to keep walking. She reluctantly continued, struggling with her heels in the sand as they ventured out across the beach.

Laura finally caught sight of Roger, wearing a white suit with no shoes and not appearing to be drunk in the least. He was smiling ear-to-ear as he took her hand and led her towards a trellis adorned with tropical flowers. Under the trellis waited one of the men she had seen Roger with the previous night, and the other man and woman were few feet in front. Roger asked her to remove her shoes, and got down on one knee when she finished this task.

“Laura,” he said. “I love you even more than the day I met you. Even more than the day we married. If you would do me the honor of marrying me all over again, that man under the trellis is waiting to officiate over the renewal of our vows. Bertrand will walk you down the aisle, and our wedding planner Elise will be our flower girl and photographer.”

Tears streamed down her face as she stood under the trellis and listened to words of love from this man, regarding her with the same affection she had seen from him some 25 years earlier.

“Thank you for remembering,” was all she could muster, she was so caught up in the moment.

“This day is just another day to me,” Roger whispered in her ear as the reverend recited the vows she was supposed to repeat. “But I know it is special to you. Every single day I get to spend with you is a gift from God.”

The reverend interrupted the couple by clearing his throat.

“Miss Laura, it is time to say I do.”

T. Stelma is the author of Happy Bay, Cole Bay Band, and Sandy Ground; The Happy Bay Novel Trilogy. Happy Bay Romance Novel Trilogy