Donna Galanti - Where heart and hope meet adventure!

The nostalgic power of music, theater, and story + Educators get a discount on author school visits!

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I grew up in the hill towns of the Helderberg Mountains of Upstate New York. As an only child in a rural landscape, I had three outlets; roam the forest with my two dogs, read books, and escape into music and movies.

In our farmhouse, we had an enormous landing upstairs with a console table where I would play records and dance and sing. Here’s a close version of it, short wave radio included! I even took this heavy beast with me to college.

In the late 1970s we only had three television channels up on “the hill”. Then we got a fourth channel and my entire world lit up! This channel played old movies and musicals all weekend long. I escaped into Singin’ in the Rain, Brigadoon, The King and I, The Sound of Music, Camelot, West Side Story, Oliver and many more. (I named three of my cats Oliver, Dodger, and Fagin.)

I was also fortunate as my parents often took me with them to this beautiful historic venue from the Gilded Age—Proctors Theater. It opened 100 years ago in 1926. Music legends like Cab Calloway and Duke Ellington graced the Main Stage, as did comedians Bob Hope and Red Skelton.

Photo by Vin Tooth

Wrapped in magic under a crystal chandelier, I held my breath watching Richard Harris as King Arthur in Camelot on stage (Harris, you might know as Dumbledore in Harry Potter, was also King Arthur in the 1967 Camelot movie), sang along to Annie, and tapped my feet to Grease—as I watched several cast members from the original 1978 movie perform onstage! And so many more productions.

My love of music, movies, and musicals from the 1940s and 1950s grew. I crushed on Frank Sinatra, Charles Bronson, Gene Kelly, Marlon Brando, Yul Brynner, Richard Harris, Paul Newman, and James Dean. I used to think I was a strange adolescent with this adoration of aging actors from their younger days but now I prefer to think of myself as an old soul.

I dabbled in theater myself in high school. Every year each grade put on a play. Here I am in my onstage debut in two roles, but mainly as the character Birdboot (in the plaid pants) in a comedy sophomore year of high school (I raided my dad’s wardrobe for it). I won best actor that year and we won best play with The Real Inspector Hound, beating out the seniors! Someday, I’d love to get back on stage.

My husband and I passed on our love of theater to our son, attending the theater each year just as my parents did with me. With each production, we’re making memories through the stories we experience together on stage. From comedy to drama to musicals, we’ve enjoyed it all—on Broadway, off-Broadway, and high school productions. Some faves?

Noises Off with Marilu Henner from the movie (hilarious!)
Anastasia
Guys and Dolls
Wicked (most powerful theatrical event EVER!)
The Lion King (I was 8 months pregnant and didn’t know I’d be when we got tickets!)
Fiddler on the Roof
Elf the Musical (jolly good time!)
It’s A Wonderful Life
Mamma Mia (sooo good we saw it twice!)
Ain’t Misbehavin’

 

Back in the 1990s, a mutual friend’s family’s bus company shuttled people to New York City from Albany for Broadway shows. They often didn’t sell all the bus seats and tickets on hand. With my friends, we’d “hawk” the extra theater tickets at Times Square (moving from corner to corner, careful to avoid the real ticket sellers). Our payment? Free seats at whatever show we had remaining tickets for. Ahh, how amazing it was to see Julie Andrews up close performing on stage in Victor Victoria, and other plays like Miss Saigon.

There is such power in music. It transforms us. Uplifts us. Invokes a journey. Connects us to story. Evokes a burst of emotion. It can literally change our mood. Music is even more powerful when attached to life experiences. We hear a song and unlock that memory—just like with scents.

I still listen to music from the 1940s and 1950s. My husband asked me why I love it so much. In pondering, I understand now because it fills me with nostalgia of days gone by. Simpler times without computers or social media. A slower pace, richer with smaller moments. A quieter place of cozy gatherings with family and friends in conversation and game nights. A place I yearn to be but never grew up in all those decades ago, except in my soul—and perhaps a past life. A place where stories soar and shine with exuberance and drama and sentiment.

This love still shines through. I feature Frank Sinatra and a production of Grease in my new middle grade novel out March 3rd, The Secret Winners Club. It’s my way of giving tribute to an era long gone, but still alive in the world it left behind for us to cherish. To find out more about the book and pre-order, visit my book page. And have a giggle here at me lip synching to “Greased Lightnin’”!

I’m so excited to share my new middle grade book, The Secret Winners Club, when it releases on March 3rd! Here’s a snapshot of what it’s about.

AUTHOR SCHOOL VISIT PROMOTION!

Are you an educator or librarian? Download my classroom teacher guide for The Secret Winners Club. PLUS, book me for an author visit with your school by April 1st and receive $75 off a single in-person author visit or $50 off a virtual author visit with me! Valid for booking dates through December 2026. Email me to claim at: donna@donnagalanti.com

Spring is nearly here!

Winter Projects, Pastimes & Recommendations

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Happy Winter!

First, I’m thrilled to share the BRAND NEW book trailer of Secret Beneath the Sand! This hardcover of the second book in my Unicorn Island series releases March 8th.

Hope you enjoyed that as much as me! So, we just celebrated Valentine’s Day here in the U.S. I’ve always thought of it as a Hallmark Holiday, but it got me thinking about all the forms of love and how they envelop our lives. Shape us. Push us into action. Whether love for a partner, parent, child, or friend. Family and friendship love is a key element to my Unicorn Island books, and all my books, so it’s something I look for in other stories.

Here are a few of my favorite movies that reveal the power of love, some I re-watched this month:

  • Shawshank Redemption (love of friendship)
  • Under the Tuscan Sun (love for self)
  • Seabiscuit (second chance love)
  • The Age of Innocence (unfulfilled love)
  • Second Hand Lions (love of family)
  • Shakespeare in Love (love beyond boundaries)
  • Brokeback Mountain (tragic love)
  • 50 First Dates, Moonstruck, Harry Met Sally, The Wedding Date (happy ending love—so many of those!)

There’s something learned about love in each of these—and how many kinds of love can fill our lives, along with mistakes to avoid when it comes to matters of the heart.

Talking about love! If you’re looking for a heartfelt summer read check out The Edge of Summer by my friend and talented author, Erica George. You’ll be swept away by this big-hearted novel about one girl navigating first loss and first love during her summer on Cape Cod. Out June 14th. Pre-order here!

Here are some other winter pastimes I’ve been diving into … perhaps some will speak to you. First is walking in the woods, of course! Here are winter adventure photos from the 20 acres we’re lucky to roam on our property as well as local nature preserves. I came upon an empty lake and was inspired to leave messages in the snow.

Here are other ways I’m passing my time you might be interested in.

BOOK RECOMMENDATIONS
I’ve been on a non-fiction kick lately eager to soak up knowledge and inspiration.

  • Echoes: Celtic Reflections on Our Yearning to Belong by John O’Donohue
    This is a book to indulge in slowly with its rich words and thoughts—and one to re-read, which I am. O’Donohue speaks to the divine restlessness in our human heart. This is an exquisitely crafted and inspirational book that explores the most basic of human desires – the desire to belong, a desire that constantly draws us toward new possibilities of self-discovery, friendship, and creativity.
  • Deep Work: Rules for Focused Success in a Distracted World by Cal Newport
    This book is so good for the person seeking focus to produce that I just read it a third time. This includes, handwriting thirty-five pages of notes from it to create my own guide as a Cliff’s Notes version. Newport shows how cultivating a deep work ethic will produce massive benefits and also offers a training regimen for transforming your mind and habits to support this skill. He truly inspires you to grasp how deep work will make you better at what you do and provide the sense of true fulfillment that comes from artisanship.
  • John of the Mountains: The Unpublished Journals of John Muir
    This book is like being vividly shot to a walk in the woods, a stance upon a mountain, or a peaceful spot by the creek. John Muir is known as America’s pioneer conservationist and father of the national park system, and I delightfully discovered recently that he was also a talented literary man. As he explored the wild western part of the United States for decades, he narrated his wanderings in notebooks. This is an unrestrained poetic account that will enrich your senses with the wonder of the natural world.

MUSIC RECOMMENDATIONS
I listen to a lot of instrumental. It’s peaceful and non-jarring. I create soundtracks for writing. It’s lovely at times having no voices in your head, just melody. Spotify is my go-to for creating music collections.

  • Spencer Lewis:
    Met him in person one summer in Manchester, Vermont, at the Hildene Fall Arts Festival. I love his folk music original pieces.
  • Acoustic covers:
    A way to enjoy old favorites in a new way with other performers.
  • Celtic:
    Love a good Celtic session while in the kitchen cooking. Never fails to lift my spirits.

Speaking of music … I went to see Howard Jones in concert this week. He JAMMED! Great acoustic set. His band was the first concert I ever went to waaaaaay back in 1984 when I was 15 years old! Check him out below.

And speaking of throwbacks from 1984, here’s one. Me at 15 with my good friend, Elaine, who I am still friends with after 40 years!

T.V. SHOWS AND MOVIES RECOMMENDATIONS
Longmire:
Am binge-watching this 6-season suspenseful crime mystery with a western feel set in a small town. I fell in love with Walt Longmire, the resolute and unflappable sheriff of Absaroka County, Wyoming. Recently widowed, he is a tormented man who buries his pain behind a stoic face with an unassuming grin and dry wit.

Mrs. Maisel:
Re-watched season 1-3 to prepare for season 4 out soon! It’s the 1950s and one housewife’s life changes when her husband leaves her – and she decides to become a stand-up comic. This witty, hilarious, and gorgeous show is unlike anything else out there. Midge, wife turned comic, is smart and funny with all the right looks and clothes. She’s perfectly pitted up against her rough and tumble, foul-mouthed manager, Susie.

Ozark:
Re-watched season 1-3 to jump right into season 4. When one married couple relocates their family to the Lake of the Ozarks for money laundering, they have no idea of the life and death challenges they’ll face from small-town corrupt locals to the Mexican cartel. The show is shocking, disturbing, and so darkly intense I can only take this in small doses, but the writing and acting is superb. You never know what twists will happen next!

To All the Boys I’ve Loved Before:
And now for something young and sweet! I don’t often watch teen movies, but this is too cute to pass up. In this romantic comedy-drama, Lara Jean writes letters to five of her past crushes meant for her eyes only until one day they get sent out. Her life is soon sent on a crazy path of fake-dating, first-love, and heartache. You’ll champion her as she stumbles but also can’t stop watching Peter, her adorable fake boyfriend. Or is he? 😊

Emma a PBS mini-series:
Another adorable show but set in the Regency period, originally penned a comic novel by Jane Austen. You’ll fall in love with our heroine. Emma Woodhouse seems to be content with a wonderful father, adoring friends, and a beautiful home. But Emma is consumed by matchmaking. She can’t help meddling to find ideal suitors for her friends, putting her own longings on the back burner.

Sanditon on PBS Masterpiece:
This is a well-done take on Jane Austen’s unfinished novel (she died while writing it). I re-watched Season 1 for the fourth time recently to gear up for season 2! Yes, that’s how much I love it and our two appealing main leads: kind-hearted and smart, Charlotte, and the dashing yet tormented, Sidney. This is another show set in the Regency period with a lovely seaside setting. Full of complex intrigue, societal trappings, quirky characters, and misunderstandings, this show entertains while pulling at your heartstrings.

MY CREATIVE PROJECTS
I’m creating my own Etsy Shop! If you don’t know Etsy, it’s a wonderful shopping platform for unique and handmade products and gifts. This project has been consuming a lot of my time. I’m having so much fun doing research, design, product development, and creation of my shop called Go Wild Design. It will feature nature-inspired gifts, gear, and apparel. This is a big project I am very passionate about and hope to launch before summer.

I’m also excited to be plotting a new middle grade book I can’t wait to jump into writing. This new idea has a fun and colorful cast of characters and is a contemporary story of friendship, secrets, and transformation. That’s all I can say for now. 😊

AND this is the week I have a middle grade book going out on submission to editors through my agent, Liza Fleissig. It’s always a nervous time to know your story is “out there” and hope a publisher picks it up. So, wish me luck!

Lastly, let’s talk juggling! Of course, I had to give you an update on my juggling expertise. I have limited time to practice but I am happy to say that I have graduated from one-ball juggling to two! Juggled low here to try and get it in the video. Star the cat approves.

I’m also revising A Healing Element, the third and final book in my Element Trilogy for adults. The first book released in 2012 and I finished the third book five years ago. Yes. FIVE. But I put that aside to write for young readers. However, the 10 year anniversary inspired me to publish it now. This was my first adventure into writing novels that started with thrillers for adults and soon turned into writing thrillers for kids.

Here’s a photo of me at A Human Element launch party 10 years ago with dear friends! This even has the original cover, changed long ago with a new publisher. Check out the newer book covers below it.

Just a reminder that if you pre-order Secret Beneath the Sand, I’d love to send you a bookmark and autographed book plate label for you—or another special reader. Just email me your address and who you’d like the book personalized for at donna(at)donnagalanti.com

Plus, my publisher sent me a gorgeous box of bookmarks and bookplate labels. Check them out!

Stay cozy out there!
XXOO -Donna

Thank you New York City for helping a country girl feel free and safe

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It’s hard to believe 9/11 was  so long ago.

I got married the same month. Since then, I’ve relived it with my son through footage. As the second plane crashed. As the first tower fell. Then the second. The Pentagon. The plane in a Pennsylvania field. The heroes. The dead. The shock rushing back into me as I sat home all day glued to the T.V., thinking the world had gone mad.

A trip during 1997. If you look close, you can see the Twin Trade towers just behind the Statue of Liberty. How fitting.

My son wanted to know how we felt watching it unfold. I could not find the words to explain how I felt. Sometimes you just can’t.

I love New York. All of it. I grew up on a mountain above Albany. “Upstate” as New Yorkers would say. It was when I got my first job out of college and moved to Nutley, NJ, across the river from the Big Apple City that I overcame my fear of big cities. I fell in love with it. This giant, pounding alive thing. It surged with lights, noise, smells, and people.

Here I was, a country girl living just across from the big city. All alone. I forced myself to drive into its grandness. The Lincoln Tunnel sucked me up into its curved darkness. I was afraid of being swallowed up. But I wasn’t. In all that organized madness, I was free. It made me feel so alive. To walk anywhere. To see it all. And no one knowing who I was. No one knowing where I was. Free. And safe. New York City made me feel safe.

This doesn’t sound so extraordinary. But it was for me. I fought panic attacks for years. Panic of the new, of being out in open spaces, of people, of crowds. I would grocery shop at midnight when no one was there. Always parking in the same spot. It was safe.

It took me years to finish college at a large university. Each process of getting to campus was an agonizing step. First, park. Then measure the distance of walking to my class building. Avoid people. But they’re everywhere! Wear sunshades to feel invisible. Find a seat in class alongside the wall to feel safe. Try to get through class without sweating profusely or spastic coughing. It was not a safe place. Safe was home, alone between comforting walls. Safe.

Then along came a career and a big city to conquer. Only while conquering the big city, it conquered my phobias. From Times Square to the Lexington Deli to the Guggenheim to Broadway and home across the river. In a world of flowing people I felt safe. Alone and free and safe.

So thank you New York for embracing me and showing me your chaotic beauty and grandeur.
Thank you for making me feel safe when I could not before.
Thank you for helping me overcome my anxieties and find freedom in your vast and colorful landscape.
Safe.
Free.
We still feel that same way about you.
You haven’t let us down yet. The heroes of 9/11 never did.
We won’t let you down.
And we will never forget.

Christmas past lives on in the present – and you

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The old Westerlo, NY, homestead

Christmas is here again. A blend of old memories from Christmases past and new ones being made.

It took a long time for me to feel at peace with the Christmas celebration changes of the last few years as our lives changed. Suddenly, the steady Christmases of my childhood and youth were gone. My parents sold the Upstate New York country home I grew up in and moved south.  I no longer could “go home” for Christmas and see all my childhood friends. I got married and moved away. We had a child.  New people were in my life now. And things kept changing. Christmas left me with an uncomfortable feeling then, one of constant change and uncertainty. It made me sad. I wanted to skip over it.

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My parents oh-so-trendy Christmas outfits!

For a long time, the loss of my childhood Christmases hung heavy on me. My mother once said she didn’t have Christmases growing up during the Depression. I do believe she made up for that later in life by lovingly decorating and entertaining with grace and warmth. And I had always envisioned bringing my husband and son “home” to that warmth for Christmas. But that would never be. Especially since my mother died.

But then I discovered as my son became older, that I finally accepted the change because it won’t ever go away. Change goes on and on. And as I embrace my memories now, I realize no one can take them away. Now is the time to look forward and enjoy creating those special Christmas memories for my son. He is the next generation, and I am the past. What he remembers now will be part of him forever. Just as I remember.

Recently, I took my son to Upstate New York the week after Christmas to visit friends. On our way home we wound up the Helderberg Mountains to drive by my old homestead. The once showcase home now stands worn, overgrown, and abandoned-looking by homeowners without a care.

But that’s not what I see.

I see glittery, snow-covered fields as I climb the last hill home. Lights burn soft, falling on snow from the farmhouse windows. Smoke curls from the chimney as I pull into the stone driveway and park in the barn. I pass holly and bows strung on the lamp posts welcoming me home.

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Christmas when I was 4. Loved my stuffed Tom Kitten from Beatrix Potter!

And as I knock the snow from my boots upon entering, the smell of mincemeat pie, rib roast, and Yorkshire pudding float around my head in a delicious wreath.  I see my mother in an apron ready with a big hug, a glass of wine, and a loud “Hello!” I see the tree with decorations of decades twinkle a soft sentimental greeting. The fire pops while candles flicker a peaceful glow.

And there out the bay window over the pond, I see the North Star rise in greeting over the hills spread out before us. The hills I once sled down on Christmas Eves gone by. I can still breathe in the crisp stillness that spread over the fields under the moon in a humble sleep. I watch the flip of a beaver tail as he swims under the frozen-over creek on the way to his dam. I see fireplaces blazing at each end of the house and a table filled high with food as laughs and hugs abound. I see folks gather round the center hall piano to sing lively tunes with eggnog in hand.

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Me and Josh Christmas morning!

I see it all.

Memories of Christmases past live on in me. Christmas is now about creating memories for my son, for our family. My memories will always shine inside me. And now my son’s memories will live on through me.

What sort of Christmas memories live on in you?

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Josh reveling in the first snow!

 

Waiting for the Unstuck: A Writer’s Life

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“Writing a book is a horrible, exhausting struggle, like a long bout of some painful illness. One would never undertake such a thing if one were not driven on by some demon whom one can neither resist nor understand.” —George Orwell

This is my world lately. The story demon won’t come out but festers inside, banging against my heart.

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Starting a new book can be a wonderful event underlying with doubt, fear, and the unknowing. And getting stuck in the middle of a book can be even worse. Every writer goes through times where the words won’t flow – or perhaps it’s all the wrong words, the wrong book. But to keep at it we write anyways. Clunky words. Terrible prose. Boring dialogue. We have to write through it to get to the other side. And sometimes give up one story for the true story we must write. There is no going over and under – only through.

There are times in a writing life where your words become stuck, frozen over in an empty winter.

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My words got stuck last weekend. This was me.

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I was free falling.

And then I was like …

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I did all the things you do when stuck.
I journalled in character voice.
I free wrote.
I went for a bike ride.
I read writing resource books and took notes.
I read fiction.

No. No. No. Finally I stood up and yelled “I’m done!”

I turned off my computer. I put away my notebooks. I threw myself into manual labor around the house. Hauling things here and there. Diving into projects that had been waiting for attention while I was “writer-ing”.

And the whole time dang-and-blasting-it to no one in particular (my family was away camping). I questioned my writer existence.

Why am I writing this particular story? Should I go back to writing that other story? What kind of writer am I? What kind of writer do I want to be? Is this what this life is like – becoming lost and found … and lost again, over and over?

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Oh, yes, we writers are D-R-A-M-A-T-I-C.

“Who wants to become a writer? And why? Because it’s the answer to everything. … It’s the streaming reason for living. To note, to pin down, to build up, to create, to be astonished at nothing, to cherish the oddities, to let nothing go down the drain, to make something, to make a great flower out of life, even if it’s a cactus.” —Enid Bagnold

I labored all weekend throwing myself into physical projects that needed no exhausting thought behind them. All the while a fierce fist clenched my innards, oppressing my story. The demon had me and wouldn’t let go. I could hear its tormenting laugh telling me, “I will only let your story go when I feel like it!”

More dang-and-blast-its and then tears and then more dang-and-blast-its!

Perhaps it had to do with the fact my life has been bogged down as well. My husband and I have spent weeks going through everything my parents owned. My mother died a few years ago and my father downsized and shipped the entire contents of their life up to us in storage. 50 years of a shared life – a “collector’s” life, from their many relocations and European trips.

I was stuck in a past-life flood torrent.

Opening that storage unit was like opening a black hole and being sucked in. Box after box dominated our house. It looked like an episode of Hoarder’s. Besides the clutter jarring my senses, opening each box required diving into memories. Some funny. Some sad.

And then there was the ‘what do we do with it?’ Re-arrange. Make room. Two yard sales. One pick-up from Purple Heart. Bikes in the kitchen. A couch in the garage. A treadmill in the dining room. Many ads on Craig’s List. One downsized storage unit to a smaller unit with furniture we couldn’t make room for … but I couldn’t part with.

Then the emotional fray of pricing objects that were a part of my childhood and my mother long gone. It was saying goodbye to her all over again.

And then the added emotional fray of ‘why did I sell that?’ Ridiculous things like … a chamber pot. My mother had used them as trash baskets. I grew up with them. They were part of the landscape. Where did she get them? Were they from the working farm she grew up on in Kentucky? I visited it when she passed away. There it sits going back to nature in the woods.

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Was this sold chamber pot part of my history and I let it go for $3.50? (I seriously want to know who went you-know in that pot!).

Tears. Over a sold chamber pot. Seriously.

Remember. D-R-A-M-A-T-I-C.

At least I saved one. One is all you need. One of the right memory. The right story.

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And chamber pots. Sort of fitting as I research medieval toilets for the young adult fantasy I am writing … err … or NOT writing at the moment.

Maybe I am putting too much pressure on myself. To write this story. To not let go. And I laugh as I think about what my mother would say. “Time to move on.” She would be right. She’s in my heart forever, not in any household item.

I need to let go. Of objects burdening me over the loss of my mother. Of the book I “must” write. Stuck by loss of story and sentiment.

Just let go.

And here’s the thing … there are no rules when it comes to writing a book. Each writer’s way is unique yet we all reach the same destination. Sounds pretty amazing, doesn’t it? What other job can be done so differently by every single person and yet have the same end product? A novel.

As I sifted through my parent’s past I also sifted through events, people, places, and ideas. And that fierce fist inside loosened.

Somewhere deeply hidden things began to burble.

A creative force fills my chest near bursting. I can feel the story inside. I feel the passion, the pain. I hear its music soaring. I well with emotion that cannot be contained. It sits in my fragile, broken place waiting to be pieced together from bits of me. This story that is yet to be. For I know it will be.

So … I let go. And I wait.

Waiting for the “unstuck”. And in the waiting a glimmer shines inside. The glimmer of the story I should be writing.

I pick up my pen and notebook and … I … begin. Beginnings are the best … but we need endings for them to happen.

And I take to heart what Ray Bradbury recommends.
“Let the world burn through you. Throw the prism light, white hot, on paper.”
—Ray Bradbury, WD

For I know that burning is better than never having been on fire at all.

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