Thursday, November 19, 2015
Huggy Dougie’s adventures are the result of Crystal Anne’s adaptations of her son’s life as seen through both of their eyes. The author hopes that these adventures will provide entertainment and learning opportunities for both parents and children. Her hope is to inspire a passion for reading and creativity.
Being a parent of a Special Needs son is the greatest honor I have every experienced. Every day is full of surprises. Through my relationship with my son, I have learned so much about life and what it is that makes us who we are later in life. The wonder and innocence I find in my son's world is the inspiration for Dougie's adventures. Dougie is a loving boy, full of emotion and always seeking friendship. Thank you for taking the time to live in my world and help us introduce Dougie to your family!
To follow Crystal Anne, please visit the following social media outlets:
Facebook : https://www.facebook.com/Crystal-Anne-1683301065260657
"Email me a copy," he said, sitting across from us. "I'd like to review it."
The words echoed in my mind. They were a writer's dream-come-true. A big smile spread across my face until my friend's hesitant expression made it fade.
"Let me give the book another quick edit," she said. "We'll get it to you soon."
Although my heart sank, I told myself my friend should know. She had worked as an editor.
However, her "quick edit" stretched into endless rewrites for both of us. We emailed excuses instead of the book.
Over the next several years, we submitted it for consideration at two more conferences. Editors expressed interest and each time, my friend declined for one more "quick edit." In her "professional" estimation, our devotional was never good enough.
Eventually, I gave up in disgust and moved on to other projects.
The devotional was relegated to my all-but-forgotten archive files. It never went anywhere; at least that's what I thought until a lazy afternoon found me flipping through devotionals in a Barnes & Noble bookstore. One title stopped me short. It was nearly identical to the devotional my friend and I had written.
Turns out, the book was an international best-seller, translated into several languages. It became a series.
I briefly considered legal action, but then remembered the Parable of the Talents, related in Matthew 25:14-30. In the parable, a wealthy man gave three servants talents (money) to invest in his absence. Two invested wisely, but one hid his talent. He was called wicked and lazy and his talent was given to another. That had a familiar ring.
Believing the book contained a message God wanted proclaimed, I declined legal action.
Still, it was a hard lesson and one reiterated in a dream as I heard these words repeated: "We don't get things by wishing."
We get them by being faithful and following through.
Flora invites you to visit her blog: http://florareigada.blogspot.com/
Amazon author page: http://www.amazon.com/Flora-Reigada/e/B00IQK4C5A?ref_=pe_1724030_132998060
Christmas Eve, 1882
Toby Winstanley had been desperate to leave Chimneys Hall to snatch a few precious moments with Rosalind in the snow-covered grounds before the gong for dinner.
The snow had been falling for several hours and the roof of the Elizabethan home that he shared with his father, Sir Roger Winstanley was covered in a thick white blanket through which the half dozen tall, graceful chimneys, so typical of 16th century manor houses and halls, rose to send streams of smoke upwards into the falling snow. In the moonlight the hall and the gardens sparkled like an enchanted landscape.
And that was how it felt to Toby as he made his way to his tryst.
He was seventeen years old and utterly in love. His life had totally changed in the last year, when his main interests had been sport, art and all the other pursuits of a youth of his class and breeding. Christmas too now held a different magic for him, for he was eager on this Christmas Eve to give the present he carried inside his coat and to see the effect it would have on his beloved.
The ground was covered in four inches of snow and the tracks he left from the house, across the lawns and into the copse of yew and oak trees would be obvious for anyone to see from the house.
His breath came fast, condensing into puffs of steam in the cold atmosphere. Then he felt a momentary sense of disappointment, for Rosalind had left no trail.
Why, has she not come? He thought to himself. But she must! I have to see her.
He trudged through the topiaried box hedges, covered in a patina of snow and entered the copse of trees that contained the private family graveyard of the Winstanleys. It was a place that he had loved since he was a small boy, for he had enjoyed climbing in the trees and pretended to be an explorer. Of late, it meant much to him, for his mother had been laid to rest there a mere year before.
It had worried him that Rosalind might not care to meet him there, but she had smiled and told him she would meet him anywhere, so long as it was private.
But still no tracks. She could not have forgotten their appointment, surely? That would be impossible. Unbearable, even.
He moved through the trees to the tall iron railings that enclosed the cemetery and there, standing waiting for him under the canopy of an oak tree, was Rosalind.
“My darling,” he said, rushing to her and sweeping her into his arms. “When I didn’t see your footprints I thought you had not come.”
She was a head shorter than he, who was already six foot tall and broad of shoulders. She was dressed in a black cloak with the hood drawn up over her head.
“I came the back way, of course,” she said. “I worried when the snow started to fall, lest my footprints would show. But I wouldn’t have missed this for the world.”
He raised a trembling hand to touch her face. “Do you mind if I touch you?”
He could see her tremble, too. Her full red lips quivered and he could swear that in the moonlight she blushed.
“I think…I think, you are so beautiful. I love your blonde hair and those dazzling blue eyes and this,” he touched her retroussé nose, “lovely, beautiful face.”
She sighed and raised her hand to touch his face. “Just as I think you are so handsome. I love your hair that is as black as coal, your smiling mouth and that dimple in your chin.”
His eyes momentarily strayed to the marble gravestone on the other side of the railings. “How I miss her, Rosalind.”
She squeezed his hand. “As do we all, Toby. All of us.”
He shook his head as if dismissing any further thoughts. “But we have so little time, my love. Here,” he said, reaching into his coat and drawing out a small wrapped package. “I have a Christmas present for you. Open it now.”
“But it is not yet Christmas day,”
“I will not be able to see you open presents on Christmas day, so humor me and open it now.”
Her mouth broke into a smile. “Only if you will open the one I have brought for you.” She reached inside her cloak and drew out a small rectangular package.
“Together, we open them together,” he said with a smile. “That is how I want us to do things forever, Rosalind. Together.”
She gave him a wan smile and tears formed in her eyes. “This place is so beautiful, so magical,” she said as carefully she opened the wrapping to reveal a small box. She opened it and gasped with pleasure to see a small gold locket studded with diamonds. “It is beautiful!”
“It was my mother’s, given to her by her mother. My grandfather brought it back from India and gave it to her.”
“But Toby, I cannot…”
“You can, Rosalind, and I want you to wear it always.”
She acquiesced and clipped it around her neck as he continued to unwrap his gift.
“My goodness, a fountain pen. This must have cost…”
“It is worth every penny if it pleases you, my dearest Toby.”
“It does and now, do you know why I asked you to meet me here in this very specific place?”
“Is it so that your mother’s spirit could see us? Bless us in a way?”
He laughed. “You are right. But look up above.”
“Why, the tree is full of mistletoe!”
“It is. Very apt for Christmas Eve, don’t you think? It is so right for me to kiss you and for us to plight our troth.”
“But Toby, we cannot. We are both only seventeen years old.”
Before she could say anything further he slid his arms around her and kissed her passionately.
“That is true. Yet when I am of age it is you that I will ask to be my wife. Only you. Until then, I want us to meet whenever we can, but especially under this mistletoe every Christmas Eve to reaffirm out vows. This mistletoe shall be a symbol of our love.”
“Our eternal love, Toby.”
They kissed again.
What do think? Clay would love to hear from you! Please leave a comment here at the bottom of the blogpost or use the "Contact Form" on the sidebar of the blog. Thanks You!!!!!!
Drop by Clay More's Amazon Author Page:http://www.amazon.com/Clay-More/e/B0034P9WDO/ref=sr_tc_2_0?qid=1447950315&sr=8-2-ent
Saturday, November 14, 2015
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Thursday, November 12, 2015
MISTLETOE AND CRIME - a Victorian Christmas tale
By Clay More
It is Christmas 1882 in London and Sir Roger Winstanley has died suddenly, leaving his fortune to his 17 year old son, Toby. But Toby is in the first flush of love and dare not allow his uncle and guardian, Tremaine Winstanley to know about the girl he adores. A kiss and a pledge under a very special mistletoe will change his life forever.
At least for as long as he can stay alive.?
Which one do you like and WHY???????
Please leave your thoughts here under the blogpost in the comment section,in the "Contact Form" on the blog sidebar, or leave a comment on Facebook,Twitter,Pinterest,wherever you find this post.We value your opinion! Thank you very much!
Friday, November 6, 2015
By its very nature, writing is a solitary occupation. We spend hours upon hours trying to come up with something new, something to challenge Solomon’s observation.
Yet, he’s right. As writers we depend on our creative imaginations to take something old and make it new. And that’s the fun–and frustrating–part of being an author.
So, how do we do that? A few notable examples: Liz Curtis Higgs wrote a series of books retelling the story of Isaac and Rebecca; Jacob and Esau, and Leah and Rachel. She set the stories in Scotland’s Lowlands in the late Eighteenth Century and into the Nineteenth. Different character names, of course, and I loved them! If you’re curious, the titles are: Thorn in my Heart, Fair is the Rose, and Whence Came a Prince.
Remember the account in Genesis 34 where Jacob’s daughter, Dinah, (from Leah) was violated in Shechem? Well, Liz wrote a book about that, with a twist. The Bible says nothing about Dinah, and she’s only mentioned in this one chapter. However, Liz makes Dinah unable to speak. I’ll not spoil the rest for you. That title is Grace in Thine Eyes. Excellently written.
Another excellent retelling is from Francine Rivers: Redeeming Love, which presents the story of Hosea and Gomer in a more modern setting. This one I could not put down. I believe it’s a book everyone should read.
Can you think of any others you’ve read–not necessarily Biblical stories–that fall into this type of taking the old and making it new? I’d love to learn about them.
I came to writing late in life. Oh, I dabbled with it through the years, even took the Institute of Children’s Literature course. But I quickly found out that writing for children was not my cup of tea. Though I finished the course, I searched for that special something that would spark my creativity.
It wasn’t until I reached the half-century mark that I discovered my niche, so to speak. Yet it took twenty-three years to see my first book published…Indie published, that is, through CreateSpace and Kindle KDP.
Since then I’ve had numerous short stories released in anthologies, penned a Christmas novella, and am currently under contract to write a series of short stories of my own.
But it hasn’t been an easy road. A series of optic TIA’s have left me with several permanently opaque spots in both eyes through with I cannot see. That resulted in losing my driver’s license two years ago. I can no longer read print books, so I rely on my Kindle and Kindle apps to feed my voracious reading appetite. Thank goodness for computers which allow me to enlarge the font in my documents to enable easy writing!
Drop by Peg's Amazon Author Page to see all of her wonderful titles and much more! http://www.amazon.com/Peggy-Blann-Phifer/e/B006UU9RQ2/ref=sr_tc_2_0?qid=1446844512&sr=1-2-ent
We were supposed to have a boy of 12 come to live with us. At 2 p.m. on the appointed day, the caseworker, Deirdre, pulled up and two boys, aged six (6) and three (3), jumped out of her car. I said nicely, “They don’t look like a 12 year old. Do the two of them even add up to being 12 years old? Now we have two sets of twins. This is a trick, right?”
Overworked and obviously stressed she assured me it was “no trick”. Plus, she was rubbing a big, red welt on the side of her face the result of being whacked by three year old Brian with his shoe. But I digress. Suffice it to say, for the next two years our family life was, to say the least, somewhat unconventional. Now you might be asking, what does this have to do with Slippery Willie? Well, here it is.
Besides the child’s bizarre penchant for eating all sorts of junk, munk and gunk, Brian would get up and just run across the room. He would smack into the wall and fall backward onto his butt. He would bounce back up and keep on going. He would run out the front door and stumble down the steps. And, he would bounce back up and keep on going. Bottom line—he NEVER got hurt. It was amazing. Then his big brother, Joey, says, “I think Brian got slippery feet.”
That six word sentence is what spawned my children’s book, “Slippery Willie’s Stupid, Ugly Shoes”. Here is the description from the back of the book:
“Willie Wiggles hates his slippery feet. He just slips, slides and spins all over the place. But what he hates even more are the special shoes that have been made for him that will help him to walk just like all the other kids. Willie thinks that they are the ‘stupidest, ugliest shoes in the whole world.” Come and discover how sometimes we worry about things about ourselves when actually there is nothing to worry about in the first place.
The publisher of that book set up my Twitter and Blogger sites using the words, Slippery Willie. That publisher (traditional) went out of business last March and all rights reverted to me. The Twitter username and my web/blogger site has been using Slippery Willie since it was published in 2011. And there you have it, the birth of “slipperywillie”. Anyway, the username at Twitter remains @slipperywillie . Slippery Willie also lives on in his book and on the blog; http://www.slipperywillie.blogspot.com
Final thoughts: Joey and Brian, our foster boys, lived with us from 1974 thru 1976. They became part of our family. Our kids morphed into being their brothers and they called us ‘mom and dad’. They had no contact with their mom and after two years we inquired about adopting them. That is a whole other story but, when the adoption process was initiated, their mom resurfaced and they were removed from our home and returned to her. She moved to Florida and managed to place them in a foster home somewhere near Fort Lauderdale. When Brian left us he was behaving as a normal five year old and attending kindergarten. We heard that he reverted and was placed in a school for developmentally disabled kids. That was very sad news. We did try to keep track of their whereabouts but after some time passed we lost all contact. Funny thing is, even after 40 years I do not believe that story has reached its conclusion..
Larry is the author of "The Demons of Abadon" series that is available on Amazon Kindle,Kobo and Barnes and Noble Nook.
Here is the Amazon Kindle link to "Volume One-Shadows and Light":http://www.amazon.com/Demons-Abadon-Shadows-Light-ebook/dp/B0146QWGB4/ref=sr_1_1?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1446843917&sr=1-1&keywords=larry+peterson
Wednesday, November 4, 2015
Ed’s sarcasm wrapped itself around Micah and he answered, “Don’t be ridiculous, Ed. I know what’s going on.”
“You do, do you? Well, we have less than a FREAKIN WEEK TO GO!”
Having screamed that at Micah he pulled his right arm over his left shoulder and then swung it down at Micah, back handing him across the right side of his face. Micah’s head spun and he fell from the chair. Ed stood over him, glaring down. Then he lifted his head, extended his arms and let out a blood curdling growl/scream that was more animal in sound than human.
Micah was terrified. “Please Chief, please, I know all of this. I look at that kid every day and I am reminded of that pledge. I know full well what I have pledged. Don’t worry, don’t worry. Everything will be fine.”
“Yes Ed, I know. I know. You do not have to be telling me these things. Don’t worry, nothing will go wrong.”
“Then what is going on with Jacob? You tell me. Why is he visiting those people? He never visited anyone before. ”
“I don’t know. I don’t know how that started.”
“Well, you know why Jacob has been entrusted to you. The time has now come to honor your word to our Master. A few days from today Jacob becomes oblation. Just a few more days. We have kept him isolated for all of these years. We have prepared him. He knows fear. He knows misery. He knows torment. We have kept him pure and Satan will be proud. And now, when we have a few days to go, he starts visiting folks. This is not good. You had better make sure he goes nowhere. You know the consequences for screwing up.”
Micah Lightfoot had treated his son as if he were nothing more than a stray mongrel that he allowed to hang around his house. No child should have ever been subjected to such mean and callous treatment. But Micah knew no other way. When Ed Martin had ‘converted’ him he had agreed to offer his boy to the world of the “ungood”. Upon doing so he had tried to make himself hate his own son. The extra money, good health, cushy jobs and even all of his women “friends” were perks Micah received for trading his son to Satan. He was even given many extra years of a healthy and prosperous earth life. Ironically, all of these “perks” had brought him nothing but a deep sense of self-loathing.
There was another problem conflicting Micah. Down deep inside of himself, under the feigned hate reinforced by continual drinking, he could not truly hate his own son. He had tried to bury the love that was inside him. He had almost quenched the flame but a spark still remained. Now, with the Festival of Torment only two days away, that spark was flickering brighter than it had in a very long time.
Micah was having doubts erupt deep within him. He was a prisoner of the ultimate paradox; he was trying to hate and love someone at the same time. He needed a drink. He had no idea that his wife, before she died, had baptized her son against his wishes. Jacob’s soul was a thing of pure beauty and the love that came from it was something Micah never could truly escape.
What did you think? Larry would love to hear from you! Please leave a comment here on the blogpost or use the "Contact Form" on the sidebar of the blog! Thank you!!!!!!
If you would like to try the series, and start reading from the beginning with Volume One,here is the Amazon Kindle link.It is also available on NOOK and KOBO:http://www.amazon.com/Demons-Abadon-Shadows-Light-ebook/dp/B0146QWGB4/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1446684864&sr=8-1&keywords=larry+peterson+the+demons+of+abadon+volume+one
Thursday, October 29, 2015
“Just squeeze the arms of that chair as hard as you can. I assure you; it will only hurt for a moment.”
She looked up at him, her eyes showing no trace of fear. If anything there seemed to be a glint of amusement in them. And then she quite deliberately winked at him.
That wink flummoxed him for a moment. It made him think of another pair of hazel eyes, just as beautiful as these, regarding him over the rim of a teacup. There had been the same look of amusement, and almost exactly the same wink.
He forced the image from his mind as he took a firm grip on her lower jaw and inserted his ebony handled toothkey into her mouth. He maneuvered the hook around the loose tooth and, momentarily releasing her jaw, he swung the swivel device so that he had a firm grip upon it. Then he took hold of her jaw again and smiled reassuringly.
“I am going to count to three, Angelica, then I’ll pull. Are you ready?”
She winked again.
He then suddenly rotated the instrument, back and forth in three swift movements then pulled. Long experience had taught him that if you performed the maneuver swiftly, a moment before the patient was expecting it, then the extraction went well with the minimum of pain.
And although he tended to use forceps in most cases, there were still occasions such as this when the good old dental toothkey was still a useful instrument.
“Wow! You cheated on me a bit, didn’t you, Doctor Quigley! Let me have one last look at that tooth, if you don’t mind.”
Marcus Quigley held up the toothkey with the pearly white tooth still ensnared in the hook and swivel plate. “It was a healthy tooth, I am afraid,” he explained with a sorrowful shake of his head. “But it had to come out. Whoever gave you that punch in the face knocked it so loose that there was no way I could save it.”
Angelica Queen turned and as delicately as she could, spat blood into the spittoon at the side of the dental chair.
“Sorry, Doc, that isn’t very lady-like,” she said, gingerly feeling her jaw. Then she smiled. “But not many people have ever thought of me as much of a lady.”
Angelica was one of the town’s prettier doves. She was cheerful and brash and but for some better luck in life, Marcus could have imagined her as an actress or artist’s model, rather than a calico queen in some of the less salubrious establishments in town.
He had first seen her at the Four Aces Saloon when she had offered to sit and drink with him to bring him luck before he drew up a chair to play poker. So they sat and drank and then he played and won. That was the extent of their relationship. It was purely a business transaction. He bought her a drink and she brought him luck. It had also worked on the second occasion, on his second trip to town.
Marcus dropped the tooth into a zinc basin and then washed the toothkey before wiping it clean and placing it on the side table with his other instruments. “I hope that you got the law onto whoever did that to you, Angelica? By the size of the bruise, I’d say that was a man’s fist.”
She gave a hollow laugh. “The law? The law has no use for girls like me, Doc. But don’t you worry, because I am going to get even with the cur that did this to me. I am going to hurt him more than he would believe possible.”
“You know who did it, then?”
“What sort of a girl do you take me for, Doc? Of course I know, and soon everyone around here will know about him. And I don’t just mean about what he did to me. It will destroy him!”
Marcus stroked his neatly clipped mustache with the back of his forefinger. “Revenge can be a powerful emotion that can eat into you, Angelica. Be careful.”
And as he said it his mind flashed up the image of those beautiful hazel eyes that had winked at him all those years before. The recollection brought with it that familiar stab of guilt, for he had failed to protect her. He had not been there when he should have been and she had been the one who had suffered.
“So that will be a dollar for the extraction, Angelica.”
She sat back and pouted at him. “A whole dollar, Doc.” She winked at him again and swayed her legs back and forth so that her dress rustled. “Couldn’t we come to some arrangement?”
Marcus sighed. He liked Angelica, but until he had settled a score for a death that weighed heavily on his mind, he was determined not to allow anyone to get close to him.
“It is just a dollar, Angelica.”
With good humor she stood up and opened the strings on her purse.
“You can’t blame a girl for trying, Doc. Maybe I can bring you luck at the Four Aces sometime soon.” Then her expression went serious. “But you mark my words, the worthless cur who slapped me around is going to have a serious change of fortune. Their luck will have run out by tomorrow. I am going to take everything that they hold dear. I am going to destroy all of their precious plans.”
Marcus held the door open for her and watched as she walked coquettishly past all of the men waiting for Hank Greville to cut their hair or give them a shave. All of them were drawn to the provocative sway of her hips as she walked.
He wondered if whoever had hit her realized that a dove’s retribution was soon about to change their life.
CLAY MORE is the western pen-name of Keith Souter, part doctor, medical journalist and novelist. He is a member of the Western Writers of America and is the current Vice President of Western Fictioneers.
He has also written a collection of short stories entitled The Adventures of Doctor Marcus Quigley published by High Noon Press in both paperback and ebook. Doctor Marcus Quigley is a dentist, gambler and occasional bounty hunter who is on a mission to find the the man who murdered his benefactress.
He is also one of the authors of the Remington Colt Wells Fargo series by High Noon Press.
Check out Clay's blog MORE ON THE RANGE http://moreontherange.blogspot.co.uk
Mind Control. Figure out why for yourself but understand this, peasants, the Pittsburgh Steelers would never lose a football game as a result of all the crappy calls made against them and the Patriots would never have won some of those allegedly bogus Superbowls, though they did get screwed over by the Oakland Raiders in that playoff game the year the Raiders "won" it all . . . which would not have happened if I had mind control either. Just sayin.
-Does your Faith influence your writing and if so in what way?
Yes. Truth exists. Often its hard to find and when it is found demands we make difficult choices. Some of those choices don’t "feel" Christian or "tolerant." That reality underlies all my writing and each of my stories. It is counter cultural and, believe it or not, not just in the secular world, but increasingly among Christians, especially "well" educated (ie indoctrinated) ones.
-What was your worst part-time/summer job experience?
After three years in Army Special Forces, a year in a steel mill, and four years of college, at the end of my first year of law school I was low on money, so I took a job making sandwiches at a Pittsburgh sandwich shop. It was hot, most of my classmates were rich kids off to Europe or someplace for the summer and my boss was a pimply faced 19 year old asst. manager. So after 3 or 4 corrections by him on the proper way to cut and stuff the meat into the bun (he was right) I finally got the hang of it and my future was assured. "You know," he said, watching me, "that’s pretty dang good. Keep that up and I’m going to promote you to ‘grill man.’"
I don’t watch TV, only movies, news and the novelty channels like Discovery, History, etc.
-If you had to choose a "Last Meal", what would it be?
- Turkey with stuffing (in the bird, no bread crumbs in casserole dishes, please!), mashed potatoes, gravy (both real), corn, cranberries, hot rolls. If you want desert, you haven’t eaten enough.
-What are your Top 5 Favorite Books and/or Characters?
Lord of the Rings-Faramir, The Gunslinger-Roland, or maybe Oy. The Forever War, The Cross of Iron, First Blood.
-What is your go to Social Media platform –Facebook,Twitter,Pinterest,Blog/Website-and why?
Goodreads is my favorite. GR not only has great technology, platforms and apps specifically designed for writers and readers, it is nothing but a community of readers and writers. I can blog, receive and respond to an email from one of my readers, read rankings and reviews of my books, schedule events and post my own opinion of books. It’s a great place for a reader or writer to be.
Drop by Joseph Max Lewis website to keep up with all of the latest and greatest news: josephmaxlewis.com
Love children (mom to 22, grand mom to 35, great grandmom to 7!) chocolate, camping, road-trips, writing, reading mysteries and more, standing up and speaking up for those without a voice. I have worked in children's services, policy and advocacy for 35 years. Married to my best friend, I divide my time between my home and kids in Philadelphia and traveling to speak and teach on the topics I am passionate about - healing and hope for children who have experienced trauma, foster care, adoption, permanent families for all kids, and more. My faith is my rock. After the 3rd of our 3 terminally ill children passed away in 2012 we decided the time had come to write our story and so we are proud and excited to share "Are We There Yet? The Ultimate Road Trip Adopting & Raising 22 Kids" with you all!
Drop by Sue's Amazon Author Page:http://www.amazon.com/Sue-Badeau/e/B00EHZ95CS/ref=sr_ntt_srch_lnk_1?qid=1446124725&sr=8-1
If you want to start the series with the first story,grab Anne Baxter Campbell's on Kindle,Nook, or Kobo:
http://ow.ly/TZviS #NewRelease #Amazon Anne Baxter Campbell@Anne_Baxter_C "Sweetland #Christmas Reflections-V1-A Gift For Arlene"
http://ow.ly/TZvP8 #NewRelease #Kobo Anne Baxter Campbell@Anne_Baxter_C "Sweetland #Christmas Reflections-V1-A Gift For Arlene" #CR4U
http://ow.ly/TZwBw #NewRelease #Nook Anne Baxter Campbell@Anne_Baxter_C "Sweetland #Christmas Reflections-V1-A Gift For Arlene" #CR4U
Wednesday, October 21, 2015
PLEASE help the Author Team of "Sweetland Christmas Reflections" choose a cover for their soon to be released,10/29, series!
Things had been so different then. She’d only been seventeen—nearly forty years ago. She been Arlene Billings then.
Had she had any kind of premonition that Tuesday morning when it all started? If she did, she didn’t remember. Probably got up that late November morning and put on a pair of bell bottoms and a top. Maybe the turquoise blue pants and the bright pink sweater. The knit blouse was just a teeny bit too snug, but if she had a coat on, maybe Mom wouldn’t notice. She had to get some tape to get the cat hair off the clothes. Just couldn’t get away from Morris’s orange hair all over everything, but she loved her big furry friend.
The new guy, Jeff Collier. Dark wavy hair, deep obsidian eyes, and a motorcycle. Maybe that day he would look at her instead of Nancy Cole.
She had to admit the sweater looked good on her, though. Maybe…. She snuck some mascara and eye shadow into her purse. She’d put them on at school. Usually Arlene only wore some if she went out on a date. But if she just looked like her usual mousy self, Jeff Collier would never notice her among all the Sweetland high school girls. Why couldn’t she have had sandy-orange curly hair like Carolyn or blonde wavy hair like Nancy? Brown and straight was pretty much uninspiring.
It only took five minutes to walk to the school, and ten minutes to apply the makeup. She hurried out of the restroom and nearly tripped over the feet of the boy she’d primped for.
He grabbed her shoulders to keep her from dropping to the floor, and he grinned. “Falling for me, foxy girl?”
Foxy? He thought she was foxy! Her face burned, and she stammered out something stupid, she didn’t remember what.
He reached down and picked up the pink checked compact case she’d dropped. He tossed it up and caught it a few times. “Put on makeup in the school restroom all the time, or did you just do it today?”
“Just today,” Arlene managed to squeak. She fought the urge to feel if her hair had been messed up.
She held out her hand for her kit, but he kept hold of it. “Come on. I’ll walk you to your class.”
She beamed at him, but couldn’t say a word. He didn’t seem to mind.
“Which way?” he asked.
She pointed, and they walked down the hall together. Her heart felt as though it would pound right out of her chest.
“What are you doing after school? Want to go for a ride on my murder-cycle with me?”
He laughed, dark eyes not laughing. “It’s the present your folks buy you when they want to get rid of you.”
“Oh no! That can’t be true.”
“Can’t it? My mom and her newest husband shipped me off to my dad here, and he’s talking military schools. Nobody wants me. So what do they do? Buy me a motorcycle. For my eighteenth birthday.”
Which cover would you choose and why? What did you think of the reading sample for Volume One by Anne Baxter Campbell? Please leave a comment here on the blogpost or use the "Contact Form" on the sidebar! Thank you!
She turned and stared at the TV screen. Two, dark red, almond shaped lights each having a black dot in the center seemed to be staring back at her from the screen. She knew she wasn't a crazy woman or someone who heard strange voices. No, she was normal. So were Joey and Bobby even though they were children with vivid imaginations. Even Charlie had been frightened by a strange figure on Hemlock Road. Something was happening and it was out of the ordinary. What was going on? She closed her eyes, instinctively prayed a 'Hail Mary', and reopened them. As was with the shadow near the porch, the red lights were gone and the screen was black.
As she started to leave the room, the shadow of a person passed by the door, seemingly going to the stairway. Startled, Eleanor gasped and placed her hand over her mouth. She looked out into the hallway and no one was there. Desperately wanting to be with her husband and the boys, she hurried downstairs. But first she went to the living room and walked over to the fireplace. On the mantle were rosary beads. She picked them up, kissed the crucifix attached to them, and hung them around her neck like a necklace. She knew that a set of rosary beads was not to be used as a talisman but she did not care. Instantly she felt a bit more secure.
Joey quickly answered, “Jacob.”
“Oh, I see. He sure is an interesting young man.”
Bobby said, “He is the strangest kid I ever seen. He don't even know how old he is.”
Aunt Eleanor said, “Bobby, how come you and Joey both know how old you are?”
Bobby smiled and began to speak. He paused and his expression turned serious. Then he said, “I guess someone told us because how would we know. Maybe no one ever told Jacob? Is that what you mean?”
“Yes Bobby, that's exactly what I mean. I hope Jacob comes back soon. I really would like to get to know him better.”
“We better be careful Ellie. We don't know anything about the boy or his father. I would like to talk to the man before anything else strange happens. Know what I mean?”
“Yes Charlie, I know what you mean and maybe you’re right. But I have a feeling that Jacob has come into our lives for a reason. I don't really care if we talk to his father or not. So, I would ask you all to do one thing for me before this day is over.”
Charlie said, “You name it sweetie.”
Bobby and Joey waited to hear what the request was. Charlie smiled because he instinctively knew. Eleanor said, “After supper I would like all of us to pray a rosary for Jacob, okay?”
Eleanor Winters loved her Catholic faith but did not “wear it on her sleeve”. Charlie, was just plain indifferent. If it were not for his wife insisting that he go to Mass with her on Sunday he might not have went at all. However, they were both kind, caring people who did their best to live by the golden rule of L-Y-N. Charlie figured that was good enough for the “Man upstairs”.
They had dinner and it was around 8 p.m. when they gathered in the living room to say the rosary. Bobby said, “I can remember my mom having us say the rosary together. Sometimes Dancer and me would start to giggle and we would get in trouble because we couldn't stop.”
“Joey said, “I can't remember anything about my mom except she laughed very loud one time when I peed on Pops by accident. When I think about it I can hear her laughing.”
“Well,” Charlie said. “That's a real nice memory to have. Real nice. What about you Bobby? You have memories like that too?”
Bobby remained silent and his lips tightened as an overwhelming feeling of loss grabbed hold of him. His eyes filled with tears and he began to cry. Eleanor hurried over to him and put her arm around him pulling his head next to her chest. “Oh Bobby, that's okay. That's okay. We understand. You boys have lost an awful lot at a very young age. It's okay.”
Things settled down and they began to say the rosary together. Dusk was shrouding out the day's light and, besides the sounds of their voices joined in prayer for Jacob Lightfoot, a sense of tranquility embraced them.
What do think? Larry would LOVE to hear from you! Please leave a comment here on the blogpost or use the "Contact Form" on the sidebar.
If you want to start Larry's series from the beginning here is the Amazon Kindle link for the Volume One: http://www.amazon.com/gp/product/B0146QWGB4?keywords=larry%20peterson&qid=1445469041&ref_=sr_1_3&sr=8-3
My taste in music is eclectic. I love the old Big Band sound: Glenn Miller, Jackie Gleason, Les Brown, Ray Anthony, to name a few. And the music of the 50’s (my teen years). But Classical music has always been a part of my life since as long as I can remember.
When it comes to writing to/with music, I must have instrumentals only. No vocals, period. It’s enough I keep time to the livelier tunes, I don’t need to be tempted to sing along! (Although I do admit to humming a lot.)
I have the desktop version of Pandora which is almost always on, tuned to “Mantovani Radio,” 90% all instrumental. But, once in a while, if I’m struggling with a scene, the noise irritates me, and off it goes.
My Top 5 Favorite Movies?
This is going to give my age away
1. Exodus, (Otto Preminger) with Eva Marie Saint and Paul Newman.
2. Dr. Zhivago, with Omar Sharif and Julie Christy.
3. Ben Hur, w/Charlton Heston.
4. The Ten Commandments, also Charlton Heston
5. The Sword in the Stone, Disney. When my (ex) husband and I were dating, we went to see this delightful movie and I totally cracked up when Merlin appeared zooming in on a surfboard wearing a tropical shirt and Bermuda shorts!
Note: the first 3 movies haunted me and continue to do so even now. Matter of fact, I’ve read each of those books at least three times.
I’ve had pets of one form or another since I was eighteen months old. My parents bought a black Labrador puppy for me. I instantly named her Susie, because that was the name of my favorite sock doll my grandmother made for me.
However, within just a few days, it was discovered that I was allergic to her. I’m told I really threw a dramatic fit when they tried to take her away. So she stayed, I suffered severe asthma attacks, but I didn’t care. Growing up we had a number of Susie’s–yes, the same name each time–some traditions are hard to let go of.
As an adult, I learned to stay away of dogs and turned my devotion to cats. No allergies there, thank goodness. But, apparently, I’ve grown out of my allergies and I now have an adorable Border Collie mix called Rocky, and a Lhasa Apso-Shi Tzu-Poodle grand-dog named Athena. And I’m doing great.
Spring! Though here in northern Wisconsin it seems to take forever to get here, I love the promise of everything new. I love the rich, loamy scent of the awakening soil; watching eagerly for the first shoots of the peonies and daffodils . . .
Does my Faith influence my writing?
My Faith plays a part in everything I am and everything I do. In my writing, I let my words reflect my faith. My Christian message is covert, never in-you-face, or preachy. No dramatic big Salvation scene. That’s just not my style. I’m 88% Introvert. Does that tell you anything? I’ve never been one to broadcast my Christianity. I trusted the way I lived my life would reflect that. And it did in the workplace. My coworkers seemed to instinctively know I was ‘different’–NOT a prude, far from it–and tried to refrain from using foul language in my hearing.
But the industry I worked in was rife with construction workers and those offending words usually slipped through. What proved this to me was when they instantly apologized to me.
So, that’s the way I choose to write.
Peggy invites you to drop by her website: http://www.whispersinpurple.com
Friday, October 16, 2015
About Anne Baxter Campbell's "The Roman's Quest":
Centurion Julius has eyes for a young Jewish woman, but a Roman is not what her father intends for her. Miriam is a pious Jewish girl, determined to do the right thing by her God and her parents, and she bows to her father’s wishes to betroth her to a Jewish fisherman, James ben Zebedee. Her heart yearns for the Roman, but their love is impossible. Miriam’s mother lies close to death, and her last wish is to see her daughter wed. The marriage has to take place before it’s too late.
Anne Baxter Campbell is a wife, mother, and grandmother who loves her Lord, her family, and writing. She and her husband, one very small dog, and one overweight cat live in north central California .
This novel is broken up into 10 audiobooks!
Audiobook #1 and #2 are now available in the HHP Store,they are $2.99 each:http://shop.myhelpinghandspress.com/Audiobook-The-Romans-Quest-Book-I-Anne-Baxter-Campbell-97885789.htm
Thursday, October 15, 2015
Usually, Liz (as everyone called her) walked along the rural road with her friend, Rosa. But this day, the singing birds and golden daffodils drew her toward the meadow and woods beyond her home. She thought of painting the scene. Although her work had sold and won awards, it had been far too long since she had picked up her paintbrush.
Pulling her jacket tighter, Liz wished she could leave her sorrows behind. Steve was gone and there was nothing she could do about it. Even the rugged beauty of the area, where he enjoyed hiking and fishing, could not keep him; nor could the rambling old farmhouse Steve's wealthy parents had given them as a wedding gift.
He and Liz were only in their teens when she got pregnant with their twin sons. She gave birth to the boys at 15 and despite her youth, motherhood came as naturally as breathing. But marriage to Steve always felt like a bad fit, as if she were struggling to walk with tight shoes on the wrong feet. Still in her thirties, Liz felt unattractive and alone.
She couldn't go home to her parents, since they had recently passed away. Liz recalled their anger when they discovered her pregnancy. They pressured her to have an abortion or give the baby up for adoption, rather than marry Steve.
We don't like him. He's selfish and immature and we don't want to be saddled with his responsibilities.
Liz dismissed their warnings. She was the accident her parents had in their late forties, when they never wanted children. She always felt like an intruder.
Seeing Liz's determination, her parents relented and grudgingly accepted her pregnancy, but they never liked or accepted Steve.
In those early days, he would run his fingers through Liz's flowing chocolate curls, compliment her golden-brown eyes, accentuated by a hint of makeup and call her his curvaceous cutie. But the chocolate curls had since been shorn and the warmth had faded from eyes that now reflected only sadness. Liz still had her curves; however, they had become a bit more rounded.
Toward the end of their marriage, Steve would not let her forget that. His icy blue eyes would view her with contempt, while his words stabbed at her heart. I wasted my youth on you. You've let yourself go. Look at you! I don't even want you anymore.
Liz's anger simmered. What right does he have to criticize my appearance? Steve's no Adonis.
Though athletic and muscular when they married, he had packed on the pounds over the years.
I should have suspected something when he began exercising again and losing weight.
Liz didn’t see how she could ever forgive him for what he had done. Her mind raged at the memory. How could I even think about him after he left me for that slut?
He and twenty-three-year-old Gloria Hamilton had met at a business convention in the Daytona Beach, Florida, hotel where she oversees social events. Steve had moved to Florida and they were now living together in an oceanfront condominium.
It gave Liz some satisfaction to shed her married name of Cavanaugh for her maiden name, recalling her Italian heritage. Even though her twin sons would always be Cavanaughs, to Liz, the name change was rejecting a part of Steve for the way he had rejected her. The boys also were gone, only they to pursue their individuality and lives.
Liz's heart always swelled with pride when she thought of her tall, lean sons. She could see Steve in their faces, but there was not a hint of his deceitful ways.
A recent law school graduate, Steve Jr. (Stevie) had graduated summa cum laude—the youngest in his class. After the prodigy breezed through his bar exam, he was quickly picked up by a law firm. Tony (named after Liz's late father, Antonio) followed in his father's footsteps as a chef. He and his wife, Stephanie (Steph) managed a restaurant and had given Liz her only grandchild, Ashley. Each of Liz's sons held an equal place in her heart.
When their sons were growing up, Liz and Steve brought them to church whenever they could, especially on Christmas and Easter. When her boys asked if she believed in God, Liz said "yes," but her heart was filled with doubt.
These days it was just Liz and King, the young Rottweiler she had gotten for protection in the house, now too empty and creaky. Thinking of her affectionate pet, she had to smile. Despite his menacing appearance and bark, Liz had often said if a burglar broke into the house, King would probably lick rather than bite. Liz guessed he was less aggressive because she had him neutered.
She looked toward the house, wondering if she should go back for him. But he was sleeping after recent surgery to correct elbow dysplasia, thankfully discovered early in his life. Deciding to let him rest, she continued on her way, occasionally pausing to admire the grassy carpet, speckled with wildflowers, such as blue flax and yellow dandelion.
As the house grew distant and the shadows of the woods began to creep over her, it struck Liz that in the twenty years she’d lived there, she had never ventured into the forest alone. An uneasy feeling invaded her thoughts—unknown eyes seemed to be watching.
What do you think? Flora would love your feedback on both her cover options and the story sample.Please leave a comment at the bottom of this post or use the "Contact Form" on the sidebar of the blog.Thank you!!!!!!
Thursday, October 8, 2015
But not even the forest's beauty and April's pine-scented breath, could keep the tears from her sad brown eyes.
Her husband, Steve, had left for a plaything in her twenties and it had been far too long since Liz, an award-winning artist, had picked up her paintbrush.
Hearing of her dilemma, a kindly neighbor suggested she might find comfort in prayer.
"Thanks," she replied. "But me and God haven't exactly been on speaking terms—just like me and Steve."
Liz recalled the day he left. Before he took off down the road, his tires squealing, the couple argued bitterly. He paused for a final dig.
"You won't be needing your wedding dress, will you? It's about Gloria's size and you'll never fit into it again."
"Get out!" Liz yelled. "I'll wash the car with that dress before I give it to you and that whore."
Mulling over these things while wandering deeper into the forest, Liz doesn't see the mother bear with cubs until it is too late.
When the bear charges, Liz runs in blind panic, falling and striking her head against the old wall, knocking herself unconscious. After a while, she becomes aware of her head throbbing and of being face down in the dirt, its grit in her mouth. At first, she lay still, playing dead in case the bear was nearby.
Hearing only the rustling wind and her heart pounding in her temples, Liz gathers the courage to look around. Relieved the bear is nowhere in sight, she struggles to her feet spewing dirt. Just then, she catches a glimpse of a shiny object wedged between two stones in the wall.
She reaches for the object and discovering it stuck, pulls it free. A tarnished silver locket is soon in her hand. But with her head oozing blood, she shoves the find into her jacket pocket and stumbles home, forgetting it.
Liz alerts best friend and neighbor, Rosa Ramirez, who rushes to her aid. The fiery young widow, with a beautiful smile and big heart, drives Liz to an urgent care center. After the wound is sutured and doctors determine there is no concussion, Liz is released into Rosa's care. They return to Liz's home, where Rosa nourishes her friend with homemade vegetable soup and ginger tea. Liz savors the flavors and fragrance.
Later, while tidying the house, Rosa picks up Liz's jacket and the locket tumbles out. The friends open it, lifting a cryptic love letter from its resting place.
Uncovering the secrets takes Liz and Rosa to a castle (the Castillo de San Marcos) and legendary Love Tree in the romantic city of St. Augustine, Florida.
More clues bring the friends to an elegant but abandoned Victorian home. In its dust, the locket's secrets begin to unfold, along with stirrings of romance with handsome Latino brothers, Carlos and Jack (Jacques) Martín.
Sparks fly between Liz and Carlos, a former presidential aide and international playboy, who has flown aboard Air Force One.
Jack, a rugged Army hero, roars into Rosa's life on a gleaming Harley Davidson motorcycle.
But can Liz, embittered by her husband's betrayal, trust Carlos when he says, "You're beautiful. I care for you and I think you care for me. Will you join me on a great adventure wherever that takes us?"
And can Rosa, still grieving her husband's untimely passing, climb behind Jack on his motorcycle and hold on tight for an adventure of their own?
Answers, even glimmers of faith, come on a snowy Christmas day in New York State, when a bone-chilling trek through the frigid forest leads to another surprise hidden in the old stone wall.
Amazon Author Page: https://www.amazon.com/author/florareigada
What do you think? Flora would love your feedback! Please leave a comment here on the blogpost or use the "Contact Form" on the sidebar of the blog. THANK YOU!!!!!!
Last week’s podcast challenged us to be a BLESS-ing by sharing how Jesus’ intersects our story. When we rise to that challenge, we’ll hear questions. Some easy. Some hard. Beginning with this episode, we examine five hard questions that people may ask you about God. How should you answer? Listen for some help with this question.
To listen in on the Podcast just click the link and enjoy:http://www.blogtalkradio.com/gelatisscoop/2015/10/07/george-taylor-explores-five-hard-questions-that-people-may-ask-about-god
Saturday, October 3, 2015
As we sat around a table, our group leader, Sonia Banks asked us to introduce ourselves and answer the following: "What do you write and what is your motivating passion?"
Our members responded:
Sonia Banks: The two loves of Sonia's life are Christ and writing. She writes for new believers. "So, you're a Christian? Now what?" Another work views the Garden of Eden from Eve's perspective. What was it like to be her? Through her gift, Sonia wants to shine the spotlight on her Lord.
Stephanie Booth: The Women's Ministry Director at Merritt Assembly in Merritt Island, Florida, Stephanie wants to see women rise up to be all God calls them to be. She is writing a resource book for women ministry leaders. Find out more on Stephanie's blog: http://WomenOfAudacity.com
Martha Larchar: Martha has written children's picture books and magazine articles. Her motivating passion is a love of great literature, in which well-chosen words breathe life into a character or description. By emulating such writings, she desires to convey God's truth.
Donna Long: Inspired by her grandchildren's excitement over her bedtime stories, Donna wants to write stories of purpose for children who are hurting. Her story about a cricket that could not chirp, but found a new way and a new sound, caused a grandson to proclaim, "Nana! That is so good!"
Flora Reigada: Through the "Where Your Heart Meets God's" devotional books and "Castle in the Sun" romance series she authors for Helping Hands Press, Flora seeks to reassure each woman God is whispering her name and that broken hearts can again, love and be loved.
Wanda Rogers: A nurse and nurturer, Wanda writes skits, devotions and children's books. She strives to influence her family, her prayer group and encourage young wives and mothers.
Triana Troili: Writing and "practicing" comedy, Triana says, "Some of the experiences I have had are so humorous they don't seem real." She enjoys "testing" her comedy on the public, such as a supermarket cashier who needed some cheering.
Sonia's questions apply to us all. What do you write, paint, teach, build or create—and what is your motivating passion?
Amazon Author Page: http://www.amazon.com/Flora-Reigada/e/B00IQK4C5A?ref_=pe_1724030_132998060
I thought it would be pretty simple (silly girl) because I thought I could refinance my seaside house that is nearly paid off and is currently rented out. Turns out they didn’t to lend under that circumstance.
So—one more try. By now it’s July 10, and I’m feeling just a teeny frustrated. So this new contact person starts telling me what all they will need to start the process. One ream of paper, nearly! I can’t scan to send that much on my computer! It would be umpty-billion megs, and the internet would definitely crash!
Fortunately, there’s a place I can go to fax it. Unfortunately, their fax machine goes nuts and throws the papers on the floor in a jumbled heap. It only takes an hour or two to sort stuff again.
Soon Milly (not her real name) calls me. Evidently what I sent generated more questions, because now I need to send another stack or two.
So I gather the stuff, tap it straight at the top because the papers aren’t all the same size, and carefully clip it (also at the top). I take it to the place that will fax it, and the not-much-more-than-teenage guy who takes it promptly starts to tap it from the bottom. Shrieking like a madwoman, I grab the stack and tap it this way and that until it again aligns at the top edge, explaining all the while about the different sizes. He nods sagely in understanding—and promptly sticks it into the fax machine feeding from the bottom edge.
Meanwhile, escrow dates come and go. I’m thinking we may take the prize for the most-often-delayed closing. I’ll have to ask them when we meet at the title company today.
I could give mortgage companies a few hints, speaking from the client side of things. There are basically two questions that need to be answered: Can I make the loan payments; and, Will I pay them?
The first could be answered by looking at my bank statements; the second by looking at my credit history.
And they’d need to know if my income sources are reliable and consistent. W-2s and 1099s should take care of that.
Now, honestly, why do they need the other three reams of stuff?
I have to say, Milly was very patient with my impatience. We even chuckled together over the form they insisted I had to sign that made no sense and wasn’t accurate anyway. But the closing folks insisted they needed it just as it was. Okay, whatever.
I fully expect someone to call before I leave for the closing today saying they need one more thing. By this time, I would even sign a statement saying Meggie Wigglesworth (my little dog) has had her measles, mumps, and cauliflower shots before entering kindergarten.
Stop by and visit Anne at her Website:http://www.annebaxtercampbell.com/
My inspiration comes from all kinds of wild places. Sometimes, I'm watching a movie or reading a book and think, hmm... What if ___ happened instead? Sometimes the events in my life lead to story ideas. Sometimes, the idea just sort of shows up in the mental voicemail box with no hint of the sender or forwarding information.
-Do you have any pets? If so what?
I currently have an African Grey named Masika. She is a rescue baby, and I'm owner #4. We (me and Owner #3) think she's about 30ish years old, but no one is entirely sure how long she was in her original, not-friendly-to-living-creatures situation, so that's just a rough guess. Masika is very nervous around people and other critters. Getting her to trust me enough to step onto the back of my hand took 5 years, and now, 2 years later, she will actually let me move with her on my hand if I go slowly and don't go too far.
Although African Greys are known for the phenomenal talking ability, she is not fond of talking. She has a few phrases she's really good at like "Hello!" in about four different voices including a couple different pitches of a near-Cockney accent ("'Allo! 'I there!'). For the most part, though, she is a sound effect machine. I've tried teaching her specific sounds and phrases, but if she's not interested, she won't repeat them. Sometimes she learns sounds I'd've rather she'd taken a miss on.
My folks were here one day and the bird started her BEEEP... BEEEP routine. Pa came into the bird's room, where I was doing school work, and asked if I knew which alarm was going off. I pointed to Masika. Right then, she cut loose with another BEEEP. Pa rolled his eyes and went back to the living room to watch TV.
Fortunately, she doesn't do that too often these days.
I don't remember, actually. My mother has a pile of short stories I wrote when I was in school, but I don't have clear memories for anything that happened before I was 12. Really, I don't think I was there. (There is a reason, but it's not very interesting, so I'll avoid boring you with the details).
When I was a teenager, I wrote (really bad) fanfic based on the comic books my friends and I read. Toward the end of high school, I decided to try my hand and writing up my own brilliant ideas. The first few were some of the better fanfic tales reworked to remove the references to the comics. Eventually, though, I started doing original ideas. The first of those was a set of short stories inspired by a GURPS Space RPG some pals and I played through. Those stories -- after many, many mutations -- became my first published novel, Remnant in the Stars.
-What are your musical tastes? Do you write to music?
I listen to a variety of different musical groups, but it really is group-specific, rather than by genre. I listen to Kansas, Yes, Thousand Foot Krutch, Pillar, Red, Mozart, Ravel, Mussorgsky, Apologetix, Weird Al, and a few others.
Most of my music-listening is in the car or when I'm doing something around the house that would benefit from a little extra noise but no specific focus. I require no noise when I write. Well, you never have complete quiet when you have a parrot, but as close as I can get will do.
-Name your Top 5 Favorite Movies.
OOOoooo... There are so many!
Let's see. In no particular order...
1. Star Wars (all 6 of them ... Yes, including the more recent trilogy, which I like better than the original trilogy).
2. X-Men: First Class
3. The Princess Bride
5. Agatha Christie: Poirot (with David Suchet, pretty much all the ones I've seen).
Drop by Cindy's blog:https://cindykoepp.wordpress.com/2015/10/02/the-first-worldwide-dictator/