tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-86213407711968350222024-02-18T07:46:11.578-08:00Through the Wormhole: Confessions of a BookwormWhat I'm reading (when I should be writing) and other musings on my journey to publication.miclowery77http://www.blogger.com/profile/14448243180522151043noreply@blogger.comBlogger71125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8621340771196835022.post-12340804036864703642019-10-30T14:04:00.001-07:002020-08-31T15:12:08.879-07:00Saying Goodbye: It's okay to laugh through the tearsI've delivered two eulogies in my lifetime--both extremely difficult, both among the top honors of my life. It's hard to speak to a large group of people when you've lost someone you care deeply about, but I believe the dead should be spoken of and remembered by those who knew and loved them. I try to live my life with that in mind, the knowledge that when I'm gone someone, hopefully someone who knew me well and loved me...warts and all, will be called upon to speak of me and they'll answer the call. And, I want them to laugh through the inevitable tears when they're able. Death is sad, but it isn't our deaths that people should remember most about us.<br>
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County singer LeAnn Womack has a song lyric that goes, "I'm just tryin' to live so that when I die, the preacher won't have to lie." I won't mind if my friends and family lie a little--they can say I always looked thin and talk about how positively charming and hilarious they always found me to be, for example. (Those are words sure to reach me all the way in the hereafter.) I just hope that when the time comes, someone will do it, because it's important. It's important for those left behind, those too heartbroken to speak themselves but desperate for the comfort only memory can bring.<br>
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I recently lost a childhood friend who I loved very much. He had closer friends who'd spent more time with him in the years since our high school graduation. They no doubt knew him better than I, but I don't believe they loved him any better. When one of them asked if I would speak at his services, I was touched and honored. My friend had served as a pillar of support for me in our youth, asking virtually nothing in return. Remembering him (and subsequently his identical twin brother who he survived less than two years) for his friends and family at his funeral would be the only way I'd ever have to repay him that debt. I also knew that by speaking for our friend group, I would spare one of the others from feeling they had to. It isn't an easy thing to do by any means.<br>
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I didn't plan on publicly sharing the words I spoke that day in this forum, but today, October 30th, is Matthew and Andrew Ballard's birthday, and I wanted to share with our friends who didn't make it to Andy's services my remembrance of him...and his brother Matt.<br>
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Happy Birthday, Matt and Andy! It was a joy to know and love you. We miss you dearly!<br>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif;">When
Sarah first asked if I’d be willing to speak, while deeply honored, my first
thoughts were of how, among all of us that would gather today, surely there
would be so many more qualified—so many more that were closer to Andy over the
last few years, so many more that knew him even better than I. Looking out at
all of you now, I am happy that’s true. What a legacy—to have counted among
your closest friends and family so very many.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif;"> Today feels especially tough,
because while we gather here to say good-bye to Andy, in many ways it feels
like a final goodbye to Matt as well. As long as Andy remained here with us, a
part of Matt did, too. If we glanced at Andy from afar or as he darted in and
out of a room, it was possible to pretend, even if for only a second that he
was Matt, and wasn’t that something? That trick we still willed them to play on
us?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif;">If loosing Matt was hard on us, it
was excruciating for his family…and unimaginable for Andy. We all knew his
bereavement would be different, that he would feel the loss of Matt more
deeply. How would he go from a lifetime of beginning sentences with “we” when
there was only him? He had never known an existence without Matt, and until
Matt’s passing, no one except for Mrs. Reatha for 60 seconds in 1977 ever knew
Matt without Andy.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif;">On the last night I spent with Andy
and Matt together, the night of our 20<sup>th</sup> high school reunion, I
remember getting a kick out of them looking for one another between Sarah and
Patrick’s kitchen and back patio. “Twin, twin?” they would call and it was like
watching them at nine or ten versus almost 40. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif;">I remember the day—the very moment
even—that I met Matt and Andy Ballard. While I had briefly attended Kitty Stone
Elementary, I left Jacksonville for a few years but returned in October of our
7<sup>th</sup> grade year. And there I was, in Texann Dixon’s 7<sup>th</sup>
grade homeroom, delivered at last from the wilderness of Ohatchee, back to
civilization within the City of Jacksonville. The tardy bell had rung a good
twenty minutes earlier, when Matt and Andy virtually burst through the door.
“Sorry we’re late,” Andy said. “Some cows got out and we had to catch them,”
Matt added. Mrs. Dixon sighed as she noted her attendance record. They didn’t
look like cattle wrustlers, they looked like city boys except for the fact that
Matt was slightly muddy. We weren’t driving yet, so I believed their
explanation to be true: it was a random Tuesday before 8:30 a.m. and there were
cattle to be wrangled in Jacksonville by a couple of identical 13 year-olds. Years
later, when we were however old enough to drive, the Ballards would be a factor
in almost every single one of my “tardies”, and there wouldn’t be a single cow
story to offer up as explanation…or another teacher as forgiving as Mrs. Dixon.
The boys entered my life in a mini-explosion of excitement, chaos, and
adventure…and that was what it was like to be in their presence forevermore: to
never know exactly what might happen because anything seemed entirely possible.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif;">For much of our teenage years, I
believe Matt mostly tolerated me. I was Andy’s friend, a tagalong. Matt and I grunted
at each other when he’d answer the front door and find me standing there
looking for his brother. Sometimes jokes would be exchanged. “Sasquatch,” he
would offer. “Bilbo,” I would counter. That changed when we became parents and
our boys ended up on the same little league soccer team. Andy was in the
Carolinas and Matt and I spent evenings at the practice fields catching up,
talking about our sons, and laughing about old times. Those were the days
before pervasive social media, when being with Matt was really the only thing
that made Andy feel less far away.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif;">I’ve wondered countless times over
the past several days if Andy ever truly realized the importance our friendship
held for me. Leaving Sarah’s sometime around 3 a.m. after our 20<sup>th</sup>
reunion, another classmate and I had a conversation on the ride home, deep and
uninhibited the way only 3 a.m. conversations can be, about the way our high school
relationships and friendships had ultimately shaped us, for better or worse, as
individuals. I know that I never made the kind of indelible mark on Andy’s life
that he made on mine. Andy never NEEDED me. Not like I had needed him, anyway.
When thinking about what I would say here today, I revisited my senior memory
book, looking for the words I knew Andy would have left among its pages, hoping
to find the classic “thanks for being a good friend” inscription or some
variation. Not a single word of what he wrote to me back then is appropriate to
share here. Not a word. I take some small comfort in knowing that I at least
entertained him, but he did so much more for me.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif;">I spent most of my high school
years under the guardianship of my depression era grandmother. She was loving,
but tough. Her family had survived some of the harshest years in American
history and she never got over it. It was completely reasonable in her mind
that I should make due with a single pair of “long pants” during cold months
and a single pair of “short pants” during the 8 months known as Alabama Summer.
This was how Andy came to clothe me for most of our eleventh grade year. It was
the 90’s after all—I fit right in wearing his Gap jeans and t-shirts. In one of
my favorite pictures of the two of us, I’m even wearing one of his button down
shirts. I can’t tell you how many times he called me up before a basketball
game or other event to ask, “Where are my jeans? And no, not those, those are
Matt’s.” (Maybe that’s why he was grunting at me all the time?)<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif;">When I needed a job that same year,
Andy helped me get hired at Gregerson’s in Anniston where he’d swooped in as a
seventeen-year-old to take over their seafood department. He had middle-aged men
and women who’d worked in the grocery industry for years deferring to him, and he
carried himself like this was absolutely the norm. He was confident and
self-possessed in a way that I’m not even sure I am today. At Gregerson’s Andy
taught me that with determination, the right plan, and hard work anything was
possible no matter our youth. There was a wider world waiting on us outside of
high school, he’d tell me. As long as I was taking steps toward my place in
that world, I was going to be okay. He was probably the most reliable and
responsible teenager I ever knew.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif;">Andy also shaped me as a thinker
and activist. In part, because of him I will always stand up for a person’s
equality and their right to protection under the law, no matter who they
love—even if who they love is Nick Saban...I know, he was so weird.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif;">I wondered who an old Andy would be
without Matt, and the truth is I was never able to wrap my mind around the
thought of it. I would have liked to have known them both with white beards and
eyes that still twinkled when they smiled and laughed, but there is nothing
sadder on this earth, at least not that I’ve encountered, as a twinless twin.
There’s no doubt that we will miss them forever, but we can take comfort in the
knowledge that Matt and Andy are together again. I hope that we leave here
today more committed than ever to our friendships and that we do so in memory
of Matt and Andy Ballard, the best friends many of us will have ever had.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif;">Thank you.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br>miclowery77http://www.blogger.com/profile/14448243180522151043noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8621340771196835022.post-72114331248729629952019-08-23T13:54:00.001-07:002019-08-23T16:53:17.033-07:00Wuv is WuvSome readers may remember a <a href="http://michelle-lowery-combs.blogspot.com/2015/02/haters-gonna-hate-but-not-on-my-watch.html" target="_blank">post</a> I made a few summers ago in defense of marriage equality. I'm passionate about it, y'all. So much so that when my hometown probate judge became one of a few probate judges in the State of Alabama who refused to conduct marriage ceremonies for any couple henceforth, I went out and got myself ordained. It was a mostly self-serving gesture...I still dream of walking into well decorated, fabulous spaces, and shouting, "Where my gays at?!" ala Kathy Griffith to nothing but adulation, but I'm not there yet. Don't get me wrong--I don't have delusions of being some kind of hetero-savior, I just want to be a good ally...and I want the community to love me as much as I love them.<br />
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So, I had the honor a few weeks ago of performing my first same-sex marriage ceremony. It was lovely, and the brides were so tender in their love for one another as they traded their personal vows in front of their friends and family that I was in tears by the end. I looked over at my own husband sitting among the guests and my heart swelled. I fell in love with him a little bit more then and there, so moved was I by the emotion of the women I'd been brought there on that day to join in marriage. It was truly beautiful.<br />
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[Brides Elizabeth and Priscila Watkins-Carvalho de Souza with their officiant on their happy day.]</div>
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Fast forward to today, when an old friend asked if I would preside over her nuptials. Actually, she asked a few days ago. Of course, I agreed and we communicated mostly via text over the course of the week, ironing out what she and her groom wanted to incorporate into the ceremony.<br />
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My friend explained that she and her boyfriend are both agnostic and as such wanted to keep the ceremony as secular as possible. I asked if they wanted to incorporate a poem or some other reading in place of any scripture. Did they have a favorite author or book? The bride said she would think on it, consult her groom, and get back to me by Thursday evening, the night before we had scheduled to meet at the courthouse for the ceremony.<br />
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Driving in at 7 a.m. this morning, I finally heard back from the bride with the last minute details.<br />
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"I would like you to quote the Princess Bride...when Buttercup and the Prince are getting married. Could you say it in the way [he] did?"<br />
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I was perplexed. I have read the Princess Bride, seen the movie more than once. I've read Cary Elwes' As You Wish, Inconceivable Tales From the Making of The Princess Bride. I've read the entire original movie script. I met Chris Sarandon, who plays Prince Humperdink, last month when we both appeared as guests at Alabama ComicCon in Birmingham, Alabama. And still, I didn't understand at first what part of the story she was asking me to quote from...and not just quote from but PERFORM.<br />
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And then the bride-to-be sent me this helpful little meme, and all became clear:<br />
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What to do, what to do? This was "her day." I'd said that very thing to her over and over as we texted back and forth about the ceremony. The ceremony was an elopement--the relationship is new and they wanted it to be an intimate affair. Good choice. They wanted a secular ceremony in accordance with their agnosticism. Good choice. They'd decided we'd walk from the courthouse to the fine arts museum across the street, where the ceremony could be preformed in a lovely alcove garden. Good choice. The ceremony would be short and sweet--they weren't even bringing any witnesses so I could scrub any language that referenced others. Good choice. And now they, or at least she, wanted me to play the role of the Impressive Clergyman from the Princess Bride. Hmmmmm, how did I feel about this choice?<br />
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The bride and I have been friends a long time, since childhood even. It was possible I was being punked. I called my trusted adviser and aunt, GDR, the woman who first introduced me to the Princess Bride on VHS way back in 1989. She howled with laughter but confessed the only quotes she clearly remembered from PB was when the grandpa is reading from the story book and tells his grandson, who is seemingly worried about the princess's fate but doesn't want to seem worried, "She doesn't get eaten by the eels at this time." GDR said I should go for it.<br />
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Then I called my husband. "What?" he asked. "She wants you do do what?" I could feel his embarrassment radiate through my cell phone. To be fair, the man is easily embarrassed, largely by my behavior it would seem. This was something I didn't fully realize until that Alabama ComicCon appearance I mentioned earlier. When he found out I'd be presenting a panel at the con, he'd insisted I practice what I would say over and over. "Would you chill out?" I'd finally told him. "I have done this before. I promise, I got it." "I don't know," he'd answered. "What if you get up there and there's all these 'ums'? Should you do it again for me and this time I'll count the 'ums'?" Um, hell no!<br />
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In the end I went with it--committed fully, or at least as fully as a forty-something year-old woman can commit to the role of a medieval priest with a speech impediment. Turns out, the groom had no idea what was about to happen as we started. I could tell by the way he burst into laughter after the first "mawwiage."<br />
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For anyone who hasn't seen the movie, here's the reading in its entirety:<br />
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"Mawwiage, mawwiage is wat bwings us togeder today. Mawwiage, that bwessed awwangement, that dweam wifin a dweam...and wuv, twue wuv, will fowwow you foweva...so tweasure your wuv--"<br />
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I was probably red as a beet. I'm easily embarrassed, too. Shocker, I know. To my horror (is that a word I should be associating with such a happy occasion?) the couple brought a witness after all, and she RECORDED THE ENTIRE THING. My aunt GDR is scouring the internet for it now, hoping it will go viral or something.<br />
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It all turned out okay. The bride was happy, the groom was happy. We laughed and enjoyed the moment before moving on to slightly more traditional vows. They seemed to have gotten their happily ever after.<br />
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So far, I'm enjoying my role as officiant. I'm learning a lot about love and all the forms it takes. Marriage laws change again in Alabama later this month. Blinded by their disdain for equal opportunity and protection under the law for all couples regardless of gender or sexuality, the Alabama Legislature has scrapped marriages entirely, and now couples who wish to be wed will merely fill out a form in front of a notary public and file that form with probate court. Because they wouldn't call them marriages for LGBTQ couples, they won't call them marriages for anyone. They aren't calling them civil unions, either. Truth is, I don't know what they'll be called. When I phoned the Jefferson County Probate Office yesterday, their chief clerk told me she hadn't been briefed on the changes to date. Welcome to Alabama government. **sigh**<br />
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Ultimately whatever it's called, love is still love. Whether it's wrapped in frills and clasped in trembling hands that clutch at note cards scribbled with the sweetest, most romantic professions of adoration, or whether it wears a funny hat and speaks with an exaggerated-for-Hollywood lisp, love is love, or in some cases wuv is wuv, and I'm always humbled and honored when asked to take part.<br />
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[Birmingham Museum of Fine Art]</div>
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<br />miclowery77http://www.blogger.com/profile/14448243180522151043noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8621340771196835022.post-74192760830606744502017-03-13T18:56:00.000-07:002017-06-17T12:59:47.217-07:00The Magic of a First Kiss<div style="text-align: center;">
*This post originally appeared on <a href="http://teatimeandbooks76.blogspot.com/2017/03/blog-tour-solomons-bell-genie.html?zx=b808019dbb7e3dfc" target="_blank">Teatime & Books</a>*</div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; margin: 0px;">“You
must remember this, a kiss is just a kiss…” Except for when it comes to a first
kiss. As all lovers will tell you, the magic in a relationship sparks or
fizzles with that first kiss. It is a dealmaker or breaker.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; margin: 0px;">When
a first kiss burns hot, love blooms. According to a 2012 ABC Science poll, 90%
of lovers, irrespective of age, can remember when and where their first kiss
occurred. When a first kiss goes badly—as 60% of first kisses do according to
the same poll—all hopes for a lasting romance are lost.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; margin: 0px;">I
was ten years-old the first time I fantasized about holding a boy’s hand—a very
specific boy with blond hair parted by a cowlick on the right side of his
forehead, tiny freckles dotting his perfectly upturned nose, and grey-blue eyes
that reminded me of the sky before a summer storm. I daydreamed about
walking past him one day and letting my hand brush his. In my daydream, he
would take my hand and we’d stand there together. That was as far as my
ten-year-old mind had worked things out. Having accomplished my goal, I
supposed we’d just stand there holding hands for eternity. I wanted it so
badly.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; margin: 0px;">When
I was twelve years-old, that same boy—who was by then fourteen and over six-feet
tall, gave me my first kiss. As we sat together in a wooden porch swing, he
reached out to lift a strand of hair that the gathering wind had blown into my
face, and as he leaned in to tuck the hair behind my ear, he kissed me. “I want
to remember you just like this,” he said, “with the wind and that strand of
hair in your face, always. You’re perfect.” I could have died! It was the most
romantic moment of my life. At twenty-seven, I married that boy even though he hadn’t
said anything half as sweet to me since that long-ago summer. It was
the kiss that did it. I'd never forgotten it.</span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiPb-t0YNi0s1Oa9lW21VALpikqWryH-32hGBA-z9x4zyf8MB-2MwIJSwcqYvd652omSWGw0YebuqbqJRILdNcBtnT7X2ouhczsiMZ7VsjuoDMlmFQdmEesteiPR-5DPRUqhCiv_E7kuvI3/s1600/First+Kiss+giphy.gif" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="137" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiPb-t0YNi0s1Oa9lW21VALpikqWryH-32hGBA-z9x4zyf8MB-2MwIJSwcqYvd652omSWGw0YebuqbqJRILdNcBtnT7X2ouhczsiMZ7VsjuoDMlmFQdmEesteiPR-5DPRUqhCiv_E7kuvI3/s320/First+Kiss+giphy.gif" width="320" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; margin: 0px;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 11px; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<a href="https://www.amazon.com/Solomons-Bell-Genie-Chronicles-2/dp/0997788879" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;" target="_blank"><img alt="https://www.amazon.com/Solomons-Bell-Genie-Chronicles-2/dp/0997788879" border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg0dyxMaj66nmNcp60lwkjIgSWA9JOHYEwRZSY7AUBY1Wok7MdOEn0X9b_pJmOUU44OZ7dwYzE-JXZjSRXbWxGKKnCEEpNzh_vzMGAvVSgT1KWmHAfSr8zZArX7np8mcoBi4oYC0mF6-2Ti/s320/Solomon%2527s+Bell+Cover.jpg" width="213" /></a><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; margin: 0px;">In
<a href="https://www.amazon.com/Solomons-Bell-Genie-Chronicles-2/dp/0997788879" target="_blank">Solomon’s Bell</a>, the second installment of the Genie Chronicles,
thirteen-year-old main character Ginn Lawson contemplates bartering her first
kiss for what she hopes is information she needs to save her family. Caleb
Scott, an older boy and Ginn’s longtime crush, is a descendant of Grimms,
members of the Order of the Grimoire, who’ll stop at nothing to possess a genie
as part of their magical menagerie. Caleb turns from the Order in hopes of
proving his devotion to Ginn, but when Ginn asks Caleb to return to his Grimm
roots to help save her family from the clutches of a golem, Caleb has but one
request: a kiss. Ginn agrees, only to worry later that it’s been bad luck to
barter her first kiss for intel on her most dangerous enemy. As the story
progresses and Ginn is swept up in the adventure of battling golems both at
home and in 16<sup><span style="font-size: x-small;">th</span></sup> Century Prague, she forgets about the promised
kiss; but that’s never the case for Caleb. Will their romance burn bright or is
Caleb’s past and their new mission too dark to let in the light?</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; margin: 0px;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 11px; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; margin: 0px;">What do you remember about your first kiss? I'd love to hear about it in the comments.</span></div>
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miclowery77http://www.blogger.com/profile/14448243180522151043noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8621340771196835022.post-19584030332431077962017-03-08T18:26:00.001-08:002017-03-08T18:26:41.788-08:00The Marathon of Novel Writing<br />
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This post originally ran with World Weaver Press on March 8, 2017. <br />
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<a href="http://www.worldweaverpress.com/blog/crossing-the-finish-line">http://www.worldweaverpress.com/blog/crossing-the-finish-line</a></div>
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miclowery77http://www.blogger.com/profile/14448243180522151043noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8621340771196835022.post-90705465673862852732017-02-21T04:54:00.000-08:002017-02-21T04:54:20.266-08:00Guest Post: Kelsey Ketch on Conducting Research<br />
<br />
{GUEST POST} Kelsey Ketch on Conducting Research<br />
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<br />
To quote Uncle from the Jackie Chan Adventure:
<img alt="" class="aligncenter size-large" src="http://i.imgur.com/AJAXMj1.jpg" height="400" width="400" />
I take these words very seriously. Whether working in the field (during my day job as a biologist), or learning about the settings, timelines, ecosystems, and mythology for my novels. Unfortunately, when writing historical or mythological based novels, not every topic is well known or understood. And unless Doctor Who shows up with the Tartus at your doorstep, we may never really know how general people lived or what they believed during past eras or what an environment/setting might have actually looked like.
That’s when the author takes on the role of Sherlock Holmes, using the resources allowed to us and piece together a fictional world that is still real and believable. There are several medias I use for my work, each playing a vital role in bringing a sense of reality to my fiction: the internet, books, documentaries, and in field research.
<strong><img alt="16179642_1723087521335531_4909546707070976441_o" class="alignleft size-medium wp-image-27054" height="169" src="https://ketch1714.files.wordpress.com/2017/02/16179642_1723087521335531_4909546707070976441_o.jpg?w=300" width="300" />Internet</strong>
The internet is usually my first step, especially for high level research. This includes finding the right calendar on timeanddate.com to build my outline, Google Maps and Street View to get an idea of the setting in which I wish to write, and general topic searches on Google and Wikipedia to give me a general direction in which to conduct my research. I even do my best to research terms and slang that my characters might use.
However, there are other sources on the internet I use for more in depth research as well. The first are news media sites, which I use to keep up with the events, technology, and latest archeological discoveries that might relate to the novel’s theme. Other sources I use from the internet are online articles and journals. These can be easily accessed sources such as National Geographic or History Channel Facebook feeds, or if you have access to a database, peer-reviewed articles on science and history.
But, if you are writing a historical based setting, one of my favorite resources is online archives, where you can find historical documentation and maps of different regions and states. I’ve used this source when researching for my work in progress, Death Island, when researching Gregory’s home town—a minor portion of the novel, but still vitally important. You can also go into online libraries to discover books, papers, and other documents on the topic you’re researching.
<strong><img alt="img_20170128_100158" class="alignright size-medium wp-image-27055" height="161" src="https://ketch1714.files.wordpress.com/2017/02/img_20170128_100158.jpg?w=300" width="300" />Books</strong>
Much like Hermione Granger from Harry Potter, published reference books are my best friend. I have two bookcases dedicated to my reference books—particular books on Ancient Egypt I used for my first published series, Descendants of Isis. I also kept all my old text books, applying subjects such as chemistry, ornithology, mammology, ecosystems, and climate change to other works in process manuscripts. I also have religious and philosophical reference books taking my writing into other dynamics. Books are just great for some in depth studying of the topic you wish to focus in. And there has been many a time where a new concept or twist clicked into my mind while reading a new reference book.
<img alt="" class="aligncenter size-large" height="260" src="https://img.buzzfeed.com/buzzfeed-static/static/2015-11/16/17/enhanced/webdr03/anigif_original-grid-image-16248-1447714703-4.gif" width="804" />
<img alt="img_20170128_101728333" class="alignleft size-medium wp-image-27056" height="300" src="https://ketch1714.files.wordpress.com/2017/02/img_20170128_101728333.jpg?w=169" width="169" /><strong>Documentaries</strong>
Growing up, two of my biggest role models were Jeff Corwin—and you wonder why I became a biologist—and Digging for the Truth’s Josh Bernstein. They taught me to always be curious and to always ask questions. Since then, my documentary DVD collection has grown with programs from National Geographic, History Channel, A&E, and Discovery Channel. Many I have watched several times and know by heart. And I always stay on top of the latest releases, making sure I have the most recent data on hand. Then, while writing my novels, I’ll run a related program running in the background to inspire the imagination. At the same time, I’m learning something while I write.
<strong><img alt="OLYMPUS DIGITAL CAMERA" class="alignright size-medium wp-image-236" height="225" src="https://ketch1714.files.wordpress.com/2010/07/p7020132.jpg?w=300" width="300" />Field Research</strong>
You’re probably wondering what I define as in field research? Basically, any research that is conducted in a location (other than at home, school, library, or bookstore) where you can interact and learn about the subject you’re focusing on. This could be while on the job, studying biology, working with wildlife, and learning about different environments. Or visiting museums with exhibits on what I’m writing about, such as our local art museum’s Ancient Egypt display. Or participating in themed festivals like the Tall Ship Festival in Michigan. Or even visiting a family owned restaurant that hosts their homeland cuisine, or cooking a foreign dish yourself.
Field research is talking with people and learning their culture.
The best way to do this is actually visiting the locations and historical sites your novel is based in. Unfortunately, for Descendants of Isis, I have yet be able to visit Egypt. I’m hoping in the next year. But for Death Island, which is based in the early seventeen hundreds, I have been able to visit many period-based villages and towns across the east coast to learn what life was like for my characters. I’ve watched carpenters and blacksmiths, I’ve helped raise a sooner’s sail, I’ve asked questions and learned period superstitions and systems, I’ve learned about their medicine and the meaning of the colored glass. Without these amazing people, I’d be writing blind. This is the kind of research that makes every moment worthwhile.
To conclude, all this research does take time—along with my day job—and I will admit that I am slower in publishing my novels than most self-published authors. But I focus on my novels’ quality and push out of my mind the quantity, using research as one of my major writing tools.
Now, even with all these resources, I will never say my writing is one-hundred percent accurate or that I don’t take literary license. Which fiction author doesn’t? But before placing pen to paper, my advice to anyone writing a paper or novel would simply be:
<img alt="" class="aligncenter size-large" height="404" src="https://www.futurerising.com/static/images/cdeda22a7f4453c5cf5de41944ea5b4c76ca45d2.gif" width="640" />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjCA6SkVzy8KOYSqGY9KXlwjASp9id6wZA_eQpK_0WKsPaXu5i2wrkUBOlzUaBBUtUpY9mksh2uDZKRAX6dhUH8iseJ1SnqgcKDKY_4SUAOclqckAvpFMWXMfhvaFAF2DZISNi3f9jvHJ9I/s1600/Daughter+of+Isis.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjCA6SkVzy8KOYSqGY9KXlwjASp9id6wZA_eQpK_0WKsPaXu5i2wrkUBOlzUaBBUtUpY9mksh2uDZKRAX6dhUH8iseJ1SnqgcKDKY_4SUAOclqckAvpFMWXMfhvaFAF2DZISNi3f9jvHJ9I/s320/Daughter+of+Isis.jpg" width="213" /></a><b><span lang="EN" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; margin: 0px;">Daughter of Isis </span></b><a href="https://www.goodreads.com/series/110916-descendants-of-isis"><b><span lang="EN" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; margin: 0px;"><span style="color: blue;">(Descendants of Isis #1) </span></span></b></a><span lang="EN" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; margin: 0px;"><br />
<b>By </b></span><a href="https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/7104482.Kelsey_Ketch"><b><span lang="EN" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; margin: 0px;"><span style="color: blue;">Kelsey Ketch</span></span></b></a><span lang="EN" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; margin: 0px;"><br />
<b>Release Date: October 26nd, 2013</b><br />
<b>Upper Young Adult Fantasy</b></span></div>
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<div style="line-height: normal; margin: 0px 0px 11px;">
<b><span lang="EN" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; margin: 0px;">Summary from Goodreads:</span></b></div>
<br />
<div style="line-height: normal; margin: 0px 0px 11px;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span lang="EN" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; margin: 0px;">“Her mouth parted slightly, waiting for
Seth to breathe life into her own body, just like in the story. She wanted him
to awaken her senses.”</span></i><br />
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><br /></span>
<span lang="EN" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; margin: 0px;">Their worlds
collide in California’s high desert.<br />
<br />
The last thing Natara “Natti” Stone wants to do is to start anew at Setemple
High School. She wished she had never left London. Yet the brutal murder of her
maternal grandmother has made her life very complicated. The only clue related
to her murder is an ancient, encrypted necklace Natti discovered after her
grandmother’s death. And if trying to adjust to American life is not enough,
Natti is being stalked by a mysterious, charming high school senior, Seth
O’Keefe, who is annoyingly persistent in his attempts at seduction.<br />
<br />
Seth O’Keefe is secretly a member of the Sons of Set, an order that worships
the Egyptian god of chaos. Seth’s blessing from Set, his “charm,” never failed,
except with one person: Natti Stone. Her ability to elude him infatuates and
infuriates him, and he becomes obsessed with the chase. But the closer he gets
to her, the more his emotions take a dangerous turn, and he risks breaking one
of the most valued covenants of his order. The punishment for which is a fate
worse than death.<br />
<br />
The adventure this unlikely couple becomes engulfed in could cost them their
lives and their souls.<br />
<br />
*Note: Content for Upper YA*</span></div>
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<div align="center" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0px 0px 11px; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/17975812-daughter-of-isis"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; margin: 0px;"><span style="color: blue;">Goodreads</span></span></a><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; margin: 0px;"> | </span><a href="http://hyperurl.co/Daughter-of-Isis"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; margin: 0px;"><span style="color: blue;">Amazon</span></span></a><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; margin: 0px;"> | </span><a href="http://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/daughter-of-isis-kelsey-ketch/1116884871?ean=9781492300687"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; margin: 0px;"><span style="color: blue;">Barnes and Noble</span></span></a><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; margin: 0px;"> | </span><a href="http://store.kobobooks.com/en-US/ebook/Daughter-of-Isis/ZGLdYqP2EU-IAtlgjhGLsA"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; margin: 0px;"><span style="color: blue;">Kobo</span></span></a><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; margin: 0px;"> | </span><a href="http://www.smashwords.com/books/view/430273"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; margin: 0px;"><span style="color: blue;">Smashwords</span></span></a></div>
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<div align="center" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0px 0px 11px; text-align: center;">
<strong><span lang="EN" style="font-family: "Calibri",sans-serif; margin: 0px;">***Praise for Daughter of
Isis***</span></strong></div>
<br />
<span lang="EN" style="margin: 0px;">“Daughter of Isis is an addicting
and enthralling read brimming with Egyptian mythology. Readers will be pulled
into the story after simply reading a page!” —Emily, Reader Rising</span><br />
<br />
<span lang="EN" style="margin: 0px;">“I always enjoy a good book about
Mythology and Daughter of Isis brings a thrilling modern day spin to one of the
tales. Kelsey Ketch wove the story perfectly and sucked me right into her
magnificent world.” —Naomi, Nomi’s Paranormal Palace</span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjRl4kZr38r6YbpjPZ4BhHb42cNj5q33uNtbV7nMBYZFFHtAZXJQUmp3FVaHTC-WHLCqYl9xjGG-0bmM9igaRgu1owtUETpgecPB2txyNN3T2d3QDGJ6urXjpAGw3S374KyUP_dl_RZCfCB/s1600/Son+of+Set.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjRl4kZr38r6YbpjPZ4BhHb42cNj5q33uNtbV7nMBYZFFHtAZXJQUmp3FVaHTC-WHLCqYl9xjGG-0bmM9igaRgu1owtUETpgecPB2txyNN3T2d3QDGJ6urXjpAGw3S374KyUP_dl_RZCfCB/s320/Son+of+Set.jpg" width="213" /></a><b><span lang="EN" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; margin: 0px;">Son of Set </span></b><a href="https://www.goodreads.com/series/110916-descendants-of-isis"><b><span lang="EN" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; margin: 0px;"><span style="color: blue;">(Descendants of Isis #2) </span></span></b></a><span lang="EN" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; margin: 0px;"><br />
<b>By </b></span><a href="https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/7104482.Kelsey_Ketch"><b><span lang="EN" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; margin: 0px;"><span style="color: blue;">Kelsey Ketch</span></span></b></a><span lang="EN" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; margin: 0px;"><br />
<b>Release Date: May 2nd, 2014</b><br />
<b>Upper Young Adult Fantasy</b></span></div>
<br />
<div style="line-height: normal; margin: 0px 0px 11px;">
<b><span lang="EN" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; margin: 0px;">Summary from Goodreads:</span></b></div>
<br />
<div style="line-height: normal; margin: 0px 0px 11px;">
<i><span lang="EN" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; margin: 0px;">“. . . the Sons
would never just let him go—alive.”</span></i></div>
<br />
<div style="line-height: normal; margin: 0px 0px 11px;">
<span lang="EN" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; margin: 0px;">Seth O’Keefe
has broken the laws of his god. He never thought he would sacrifice his own
future to protect a Daughter of Isis. But when the Sons of Set discovered Natti
is the Secret Keeper, he had no choice. Now, Seth and Natti are on the run from
his father, who wants nothing more than to see Seth dead. With no allies, Seth
turns to the Daughters of Isis for help, hoping they would protect Natti. But
when they meet the Daughters, he discovers a secret that puts both their lives
in more danger. Low on options, Seth sees only one possibility for survival. He
must help Natti solve an ancient puzzle and find the secret name of Ra.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="line-height: normal; margin: 0px 0px 11px;">
<span lang="EN" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; margin: 0px;">Natara “Natti”
Stone is having a hard time swallowing the truth. She can’t believe what she
has learned in the past twenty-four hours: Seth is a Son of Set blessed with
charm; she is a Daughter of Isis blessed with a sliver of Ma ‘at; the locket
her grandmother gave her holds an ancient Egyptian secret linking to Osiris and
Isis. That along with being tortured and brutalized by the Sons of Set, she can
hardly hold herself together. Thank God for Seth’s touch! That warm, tingling
sensation that drowns it all out. Yet her heart struggles to stay focused. She
must quickly embrace her destiny before the secret name of Ra falls into the
wrong hands.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="line-height: normal; margin: 0px 0px 11px;">
<span lang="EN" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; margin: 0px;">*Note: Content
for Upper YA*</span></div>
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<a href="https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/19469776-son-of-set"><span lang="EN" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; margin: 0px;"><span style="color: blue;">Goodreads</span></span></a><span lang="EN" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; margin: 0px;"> | </span><a href="http://hyperurl.co/Son-of-Set"><span lang="EN" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; margin: 0px;"><span style="color: blue;">Amazon</span></span></a><span lang="EN" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; margin: 0px;"> |</span><span lang="EN" style="color: #292f33; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; margin: 0px;"> </span><a href="http://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/son-of-set-kelsey-ketch/1119342497?ean=9781499137149"><span lang="EN" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; margin: 0px;"><span style="color: blue;">Barnes and Noble</span></span></a><span lang="EN" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; margin: 0px;"> | </span><a href="http://store.kobobooks.com/en-US/ebook/son-of-set"><span lang="EN" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; margin: 0px;"><span style="color: blue;">Kobo</span></span></a><span lang="EN" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; margin: 0px;"> | </span><a href="https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/432494"><span lang="EN" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; margin: 0px;"><span style="color: blue;">Smashwords</span></span></a></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgWRrwHG7ocvTpP_09IsYt2rWJTivylEBd4zZxHMApzsvXsKRL1jESJ5vvCzgiD5Zf6sVYIqGwFYWIbQvKD9GQN6cvSoMc9jsvYR5nojGCRzZhkDKg8ik5w3k-Dom8RhakbsBwgZ1DN11IW/s1600/Name+of+Ra.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgWRrwHG7ocvTpP_09IsYt2rWJTivylEBd4zZxHMApzsvXsKRL1jESJ5vvCzgiD5Zf6sVYIqGwFYWIbQvKD9GQN6cvSoMc9jsvYR5nojGCRzZhkDKg8ik5w3k-Dom8RhakbsBwgZ1DN11IW/s320/Name+of+Ra.jpg" width="213" /></a></div>
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<b><span lang="EN" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; margin: 0px;">Name of Ra </span></b><a href="https://www.goodreads.com/series/110916-descendants-of-isis"><b><span lang="EN" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; margin: 0px;"><span style="color: blue;">(Descendants of Isis #3) </span></span></b></a><span lang="EN" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; margin: 0px;"><br />
<b>By </b></span><a href="https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/7104482.Kelsey_Ketch"><b><span lang="EN" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; margin: 0px;"><span style="color: blue;">Kelsey Ketch</span></span></b></a><span lang="EN" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; margin: 0px;"><br />
<b>Release Date: November 11th, 2015</b><br />
<b>Upper Young Adult Fantasy</b></span></div>
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<b><span lang="EN" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; margin: 0px;">Summary from Goodreads:</span></b></div>
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<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span lang="EN" style="margin: 0px;">“Set has risen.”</span></i><span lang="EN" style="margin: 0px;"><br />
<br />
After being on the run from a psychotic cult for a week, Natara “Natti” Stone
has finally come to realize she and Seth are the only two people standing
between the Sons of Set and the secret name of Ra. Holding a part of the key
that unlocks Ra’s power, they relocate to a more isolated location in the
California mountains. While laying low, Natti becomes even more determined to
understand her mother’s bloodline and her blessing from the goddess, Isis. But
when she starts seeing the truth behind her destiny, she begins to doubt her
role in the events that are about to unfold.<br />
<br />
Then the unthinkable happens . . .<br />
<br />
All Seth O’Keefe wanted was to get Natti as far away from his father and the
Sons of Set as possible. Unfortunately, after hearing of Natti’s destiny from
Isis’s own lips, he realizes they have bigger issues to worry about. Especially
when one stupid slip up leads the god of chaos himself straight to their
doorstep. Now Natti is the god’s prisoner, and Set holds the key to unlocking
the location of the secret name of Ra. Can Seth save Natti from her own destiny
and thwart the demented god’s rise to power?<br />
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*Note: Content for Upper YA*</span><br />
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<a href="https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/25304207-name-of-ra"><span lang="EN" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; margin: 0px;"><span style="color: blue;">Goodreads</span></span></a><span lang="EN" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; margin: 0px;"> | </span><a href="http://hyperurl.co/Name-of-Ra"><span lang="EN" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; margin: 0px;"><span style="color: blue;">Amazon</span></span></a><span lang="EN" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; margin: 0px;"> |</span><span lang="EN" style="color: #292f33; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; margin: 0px;"> </span><a href="http://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/name-of-ra-kelsey-ketch/1122923250?type=eBook"><span lang="EN" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; margin: 0px;"><span style="color: blue;">Barnes and Noble</span></span></a><span lang="EN" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; margin: 0px;"> | </span><a href="https://www.kobo.com/us/en/ebook/name-of-ra"><span lang="EN" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; margin: 0px;"><span style="color: blue;">Kobo</span></span></a><span lang="EN" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; margin: 0px;"> | </span><a href="https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/590963"><span lang="EN" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; margin: 0px;"><span style="color: blue;">Smashwords</span></span></a></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg2MN4_I1ufOmbQR9P0Fbo_kBgsUvfrjRMg28xxK_VLwgRstc9G20OjhyyfAG7aJRMFUynQ6k9HSMuvyJs7wd-FFksN4Og8epWP0utsWICxXMq9ackR5luSQBvbKL1y6Be8cX01xtW71Iqf/s1600/Kelsey+Ketch+Headshot.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg2MN4_I1ufOmbQR9P0Fbo_kBgsUvfrjRMg28xxK_VLwgRstc9G20OjhyyfAG7aJRMFUynQ6k9HSMuvyJs7wd-FFksN4Og8epWP0utsWICxXMq9ackR5luSQBvbKL1y6Be8cX01xtW71Iqf/s200/Kelsey+Ketch+Headshot.jpg" width="142" /></a><strong><span lang="EN" style="margin: 0px;">Author Bio:</span></strong><br />
<br />
<span lang="EN" style="margin: 0px;">Kelsey Ketch is a young adult/new
adult author, who works as a Wildlife Biologist in the state of North Carolina.
During her free time, she can often be found working on her latest work in
progress or organizing the New Adult Scavenger Hunt, a biannual blog hop. She
also enjoys history, mythology, traveling, and reading.</span><br />
<br />
<div align="center" style="text-align: center;">
<a href="http://kelseyketch.com/"><span lang="EN" style="margin: 0px;"><span style="color: blue;">Website</span></span></a><span lang="EN" style="margin: 0px;"> | </span><a href="https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/7104482.Kelsey_Ketch"><span lang="EN" style="margin: 0px;"><span style="color: blue;">Goodreads</span></span></a><span lang="EN" style="margin: 0px;"> | </span><a href="https://twitter.com/kelseyketch"><span lang="EN" style="margin: 0px;"><span style="color: blue;">Twitter</span></span></a><span lang="EN" style="margin: 0px;"> | </span><a href="https://www.facebook.com/KelseyKetch"><span lang="EN" style="margin: 0px;"><span style="color: blue;">Facebook</span></span></a></div>
miclowery77http://www.blogger.com/profile/14448243180522151043noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8621340771196835022.post-68269881798514541802017-02-16T05:35:00.000-08:002017-02-16T05:43:52.667-08:00Magic vs Miracles: Genies vs Golems<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiziN51bAEP8Vu9okcNks4RfHAvSbIt0sJN97qkWc64vR8YlPI6dDADOJ_GjaoDSmJATVddm-ghDqIjKn_5pnNJ0Sln1UPfmwFU1r-AYLeH2kKrLYJWW36A27XmdfKOELuD5w_StfRhST_9/s1600/astronomical-clock-314885_1280.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiziN51bAEP8Vu9okcNks4RfHAvSbIt0sJN97qkWc64vR8YlPI6dDADOJ_GjaoDSmJATVddm-ghDqIjKn_5pnNJ0Sln1UPfmwFU1r-AYLeH2kKrLYJWW36A27XmdfKOELuD5w_StfRhST_9/s320/astronomical-clock-314885_1280.jpg" width="231" /></a></div>
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The countdown to the March 7th release of Solomon's Bell has begun! You can find me today in a guest post for Young Adult and New Adult Author Kelsey Ketch where I write about the mythos and folk figures you can expect more of in the book. Check it out!<br />
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<a href="https://kelseyketch.com/2017/02/15/guest-post-michelle-lowery-combs-magic-miracles-genies-vs-golems/" target="_blank">Magic vs. Miracles: Genies vs. Golems</a></div>
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miclowery77http://www.blogger.com/profile/14448243180522151043noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8621340771196835022.post-39001102407981014262016-08-25T08:26:00.001-07:002016-08-25T13:58:40.081-07:00Organic Recycling? How 'Bout No!<div dir="ltr">
Imagine, if you will, that fresh from the carwash happiness and restored pride of ownership you feel when pulling away from wherever it is you have your car washed and detailed. Everything is polished, shiny, and smells like the "New Car" scent you paid extra for.<br />
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You're in this white, seven passenger minivan a lot, and it shows. Your daily three hour commute isn't kind to your vehicle, you accumulate a fair amount of highway grit and dirt every week. Your five children no longer do all their traveling with you, like a wondering pack of nomads forever in search of the next rest area or fast food stop, you could downsize. But Big Bertha is paid for. You own her outright. So you keep putting lipstick on that pig. Settling for at least a clean ride if not a new one.<br />
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So you've just gussied up that old girl, even had the spaghetti sauce and mud clods vacuumed off the back seats. Your windows and mirrors are sparking clean, you can actually see through them instead of small finger prints, stick figures, and misspelled curse words drawn into the dust. You're holding your head up high in the driver's seat a mere 10 hours later on your way to your first work stop of the day, a rural county courthouse off a state highway, when you pull up to a red light. A behemoth of a truck pulls up beside you. A red Kenworth with a garbage truck type trailer attached. From the corner of your eye the truck's signage catches your attention. <i>Organex</i><i> Recycling</i>, it reads. You barely have time to contemplate what those words mean before there is a loud popping noise, like a liquid explosion, and you jump in your seat. Immediately, the most foul smell you have ever smelled fills the air of your cabin. It is a rotting, acidic stank. You think Satan himself has just taken a dump in your very nostrils.<br />
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You gaze around wildly to discover the windows and mirrors along the entire passenger side of your van covered in what can only be described as chunky vomit. You realize <i>Organex</i><i> Recycling </i>has just lost its gaseous load all over Bertha.<br />
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It will not stand! It will not stand! Your light turns green and you wait for the Kenworth that has just violated you to proceed through the intersection. You're getting this guy's truck numbers. Somebody is going to answer for Bertha.<br />
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In the mean time, you begin to feel the stank settling like an oil on your upholstery, skin, and hair. How can you go into the courthouse smelling like a pig trough?<br />
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Kenworth knows what he has done to Bertha and he just idles there beside you, unwilling to proceed. You accelerate slowly through the intersection. The cars behind you give you a wide berth. You're like the kid in the lunch room who has puked all over herself. Everyone feels bad for you, but they are grossed out and you stink so no one's coming over to help out.<br />
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For 3/4 of a mile, Kenworth refuses to come close enough for you to get any details from his signage. Dude has obviously pooped on someone else before.<br />
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You see a carwash up ahead on the left. The stank is making your eyes start to water and you can see next to nothing through the ruination that is the glass along your passenger side.<br />
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Agonized but desperate, you whip into the car wash. The attendant is startled by the stank and chunks of putrifying organics dripping from your vehicle.<br />
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"It isn't vomit," you blurt as you trust the young attendant your debit card. "Well, not exactly. I mean, it's food, mostly, I think, but it wasn't digested."<br />
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He backs away from you like you could possibly ralph all over him at any second. "It costs three dollars more to scrub the windows," he practically whimpers.<br />
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Silently, you gag. You want to cry for him, but he's wearing muck boots and you have on ballet flats. "God bless and good luck," you whisper through the two inch crack in your driver's window as you hear the sweet sound of the water jets roar to life in the wash tunnel.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZtHELVsfSy-9gwfW3IZmaZixbipDZSO5pq-7IK8ps2lLRpKi4YQZ0sspIfHFh647dDfzR3xcCJ9PQbxU4MoQkm7jajA4IpgIspcCzJdxkkCL5-j-uR973Iq0bW4jJNHU6YkgfbWkfTMO_/s1600/Michelle%2527s+Van.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="216" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZtHELVsfSy-9gwfW3IZmaZixbipDZSO5pq-7IK8ps2lLRpKi4YQZ0sspIfHFh647dDfzR3xcCJ9PQbxU4MoQkm7jajA4IpgIspcCzJdxkkCL5-j-uR973Iq0bW4jJNHU6YkgfbWkfTMO_/s320/Michelle%2527s+Van.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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[Big Bertha, tubbed and scrubbed]</div>
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miclowery77http://www.blogger.com/profile/14448243180522151043noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8621340771196835022.post-13284468684724303512015-12-15T19:47:00.002-08:002016-06-02T13:49:58.025-07:00Worst Mom Day Ever<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif";">There will be days as a mother that you look down at your (probably) sleeping baby and wonder if you were ever truly happy before becoming a mom. The days your child throws their arms around you and tells you they love you--or thanks you for something as simple as making a favorite meal--you may swear that you've never known greater fulfillment or joy.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif";"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif";">And then there will be other days: days you look at your offspring and think, "WTF?" It's the bad days no one warns you about.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif";"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif";">The day
I developed mastitis and my right breast swelled to the size of my head, I
thought I’d experienced my worst day as a mom. For any of you non-lactating
people out there, mastitis is a crazy painful inflammation of breast tissue
caused by a plugged milk duct accompanied by redness, fever, and body ache.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif";"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif";">I didn’t
experience the condition of boob abscess meets swine flu until baby #3, despite
having nursed my first two biological children for thirteen months each—the oldest
inadvertently until I discovered like a tiny alcoholic she was secreting a few
drinks in the dead of night while everyone else in the house, including me, was
fast asleep—and having (or have not) nursed my nephew on at least one occasion when
I became convinced his mother was trying to wean him at the age of two months
over the course of a half-hour shopping trip. When he wouldn’t stop screaming, my
milk let down. You non-lactators may not be aware, but a nursing woman’s milk “let
down” can be triggered by the cries of any baby (and possibly any small mewling
animal) within earshot, the smell of Johnson & Johnson baby lotion, and
chest contact with any object or substance with a surface temperature greater
than 97 degrees Fahrenheit.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif";"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif";">The
evening I sat in the most intense pain I’d experienced outside of childbirth,
trying to nurse a fussy five-month old who didn't understand why she wasn’t being offered a second course, I couldn’t imagine a worse day
of motherhood.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
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(The Milk Thief Today. Good Hair. Great Teeth. Clearly, it did her well.)</div>
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(Boob Squad. That's my nephew on the left. He turned out alright, considering I only ever fed him the one time.)</div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif";"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif";">Then
came a day our entire family will never, ever forget: a day we refer to as
PukeFest 2008.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif";"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif";">The day
of PukeFest 2008 began innocently enough. We spent a few hours visiting a cousin's family and later watching the kids play in the indoor playground of a burger
restaurant. Late that afternoon, we said our goodbyes and loaded into the
minivan for the two-hour ride home. It was as the last light faded from the sky
and the van was plunged into darkness that we heard the first tiny heave.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif";">I've never been sure if it was car sickness or some super-charged stomach bug lapped
up by my five-year-old as he crawled and slobbered his way through the majestic
plastic tunnels of the Newnan, Georgia Burger King PlayPlace. Looking back, what
I do know is that his vomiting spread through our magically shrinking mini-van
faster than a Kardashian selfie on Twitter. I’ll never forget sliding the side
door open in an attempt to reach and render aid to my ick-covered youngest son
only to be met with a river of half-digested milkshakes and Whopper Jrs from
the mouths of his ten and thirteen year-old brothers. We rode home, in the dead of winter, with all the windows open. It didn't help much. The boys threw up another two or three times. Each time my husband, who has the gag reflex of a newborn, would have
to stop, get out, and walk around the van a few times as he attempted to draw in
giant breaths of fresh, vomit-free air. It took us almost three hours to get
home. I shampooed the upholstery until late into the night. PukeFest 2008 was a
Sucky Mom Day, for sure.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif";">Those
other “bad” days have paled in comparison, however, to a more recent experience. And although none of my children were even present for the event, rest assured they deserve 100% of the blame for the day now know as my Worst Mom Day Ever.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif";">So, here
it is: I pissed my pants at the
public library. In front of my entire writers’ group. I’m not talking about “I
coughed and wet myself.” I freaking peed my pants. And then continued to do so
the duration of the drive home.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif";">Yes, there
was coughing involved—I’d had a cold for a couple of weeks that was revived with a vengeance when I aspirated some barbecue sauce slurped off a cocktail
weenie at the library's Christmas Party for which I was in attendance—but I’m placing my unfortunate incontinence
on the shoulders of the human passengers that sat atop my bladder for a
combined total of twenty-seven months. They did this to me!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif";">For
years my sister and I have cackled at our own poor mother, who’s basically asked
us to huddle with her over a toilet if we feel the need to tell a funny story.
We’ve taken turns bouncing our grown asses in her lap as she laughs and
screams, threatening all the while to kill us if we make her pee in her
favorite suede recliner. But I think we may have both finally learned our
lesson.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif";">My
younger sister has often attributed our
mother’s weak bladder to excess weight. Similarly, she has correlated her own fitness with an iron bladder. All that changed a couple of weeks ago when she pulled into our
parents’ driveway to find our mother awkwardly trying to heave our brother’s
wheelchair into her SUV. Like a good daughter, Little Sister sprang into action
to help. She and our mother squatted to lift the chair with their knees, but it
wasn’t long before our mother’s bladder felt the strain and she began to, as
she put it, “empty herself all the way up." In response to this event, Little Sister began to convulse with laughter
so violently that she too, for the very first time in her adult life, peed her pants.
I pulled into the driveway to find them both bent double, their knees clasped
tightly together, and my sister panting over and over again, “I’m peeing. I’m
peeing. Right now. I’m peeing!” I peed a little too. And there we all stood,
like a family of knock-kneed imbeciles watering the gravel.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif";">Still,
my embarrassment on that day had been confined to those women closest to me. The "library incident" was different. There were so many witnesses—though some of them may
have merely attributed my dashing from the room as just more weird introvert,
writer behavior.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif";">I’m
convinced that no amount of Kegel exercises could have saved me. I’m religious about
those suckers. I have a three hour commute every work day, after all, and
nothing better to do at all those red lights along Hwy 280. I can tell you that
the lady garden isn’t gettin’ any complaints. But it didn’t save me.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif";"> Perhaps if I’d been sitting when the flood
gates opened I would have had more control of my faculties, but when “it”
happened I was hovering over a sandwich tray choking on honey barbecue.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif";">I’m not
letting the little beasties off the hook for this one. They owe me!</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif";">Perhaps I’ll
repay them by visiting their houses when I’m old and pretending to sneeze as I
soil their living room furniture. Or maybe I’ll just sucker punch them in the
chest before gorging on fast food and demanding to be taken on a two-hour car
ride along Alabama and Georgia’s curviest back roads. I’ll think of something. Until then, I'll try to remember the good days: those days I was so in love with them and hadn't thought twice about an adult diaper commercial.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">*After reading this post, Little Sister has asked me to inform my readership that there may or may not have been some flatulence associated with our mother's power squat that contributed to Little Sister's unfortunate accident. She also wants it noted that it was of the "road hog variety and not the less innocuous unicorn sneeze variety" she prides herself on. Mother denies she pooted.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">**Please note that I do not take lightly or seek to marginalized any mother who has suffered true and enduring pain as a parent. Those who have children facing life-threatening illnesses or situations or those who have lost a child to some tragedy have surely experienced worse days. My anecdotes are not intended to offend.</span></div>
miclowery77http://www.blogger.com/profile/14448243180522151043noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8621340771196835022.post-91650790436188374982015-11-11T12:54:00.000-08:002015-11-11T13:32:04.315-08:00Waiting Isn't the Hardest PartI have a sickle-shaped scar that bisects my left eyebrow--a permanent, physical reminder of what can happen when one does not heed the advice of another older and wiser person trying to spare them pain.<br />
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At twenty years old I was newly married and, having spent a day off from my bank teller job to have satellite cable installed, very bored. Youth and boredom...the oldest recipe for disaster known to mankind.<br />
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My twenty-four-year-old husband had left instructions for the satellite installer to set up the dish and receivers but to leave the running of the coax cable between them to him. There would be holes to drill through our pristine flooring and sheet rock, and the hubs preferred to be the one making such permanent alterations. "What did some cable guy care about ruining our brand new home?" he'd asked. Never mind that it sat on an underpinned chassy. (We'd bought it new from the mobile home dealership Hubs worked for. Another lesson was to be learned here, but that's a story for another day.)<br />
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So, there I sat: twenty years-old in my first adult home surrounded by cow pastures in the middle of the bustling <strike>city</strike> <strike>village</strike> hamlet of Lincoln, Alabama with perfectly good satellite television coursing through a coax cable connected to neither of two perfectly good TVs.<br />
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There was no way I was willing to wait another four hours for the return of my husband from work. However, neither was I too keen to wield any of his power tools or go making holes willy-nilly through vinyl siding and wall board. Some good sense did prevail that day. What I did consider myself entirely capable of was throwing the coax cable, lasso style, over the 16ft width of the mobile home so that I could fish it in through the window closest to the living room television.<br />
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Hubs had said to wait for him. He'd said he knew exactly what he was doing and that within 45 minutes of his return from work that day I would be watching Seinfeld or Dawson's Creek or whatever was showing on any of two hundred other channels. He'd said to wait...but wait I did not.<br />
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[What I guess I thought I looked like.]</div>
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{Photo Credit: American Broadcasting Company}</div>
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Standing a few yards from the trailer, I stood with my feet shoulder width apart and gathered the long coax cable in my right hand. I swung loops of it around and around over my head, and when I thought I'd built up sufficient momentum, I released it. I heard the thwack of the cable high up near the roof at virtually the same time as I saw a blinding white light. Then came the sting of pain.<br />
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The metal end of the coax cable had ricocheted off the siding and rebounded to hit me directly on my brow bone. Warm blood coursed down my face as I regathered the cable and tried again. The second time I made it, the cable clearing the roof in a perfect arc before I ran indoors to see what I'd done to myself in the names of Katie Holmes and Joshua Jackson.<br />
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[What it looked like in my memory. I'm a tad dramatic, what can I say?]</div>
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{Photo Credit: best-horror-movies.com}</div>
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My left eyebrow was sliced in a way that made if flay open every time I wailed into the mirror or made any sort of facial expression whatsoever. To one side of the half-circle incision there was even a tiny puncture wound from the narrow wire that would shortly be inserted into the receiver box.<br />
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As a twenty-year-old, I maimed myself for satellite cable.<br />
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A couple of weeks ago my second husband checked our mail to find a marriage certificate for our oldest child. Junior turned twenty in September and is stationed with the Army in Colorado. His high school girlfriend paid him a visit out there a few weeks ago and they eloped.<br />
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They didn't tell anyone, didn't ask any of their parents if we thought it was a good idea. They just did it. And while we were all very surprised, I, at least, have wrestled with whether or not I believe this will be a decision either of them look back on years from now and wish they'd let someone a little older and wiser advise them about.<br />
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She's a great girl. Pretty and smart. Responsible and driven. She's a year or so older than our son and has already earned an Associates Degree. He's loved her since he was sixteen. She will make him happy. She already makes him happy.<br />
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I can't say exactly what I might have told him, if my son had asked me what I thought about an elopement. But I can guarantee it would have been something like, "Don't. Wait. I know what I'm talking about, and if you'll just wait a little while things will work out so much better."<br />
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Now that the deed has been done I can see that my probable reaction is precisely why he didn't consult me or anyone else for that matter. His father and I were both married at twenty, though not to each other, and while in the past I might have hoped this fact alone would have served as some warning to my young son, I now accept that not only can he not use my and his father's "failures" when contemplating his own decisions, but that our missteps will not necessarily be his missteps. He's learned from the experiences that have shaped his parents by proxy. He and his wife (my God, it's still so weird to think those words much less see them in print) are not their parents. They are leagues ahead of where we were and starting their life together with surer footing than we were capable of for years.<br />
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Still, waiting wouldn't have been the hardest part. It never is. In marriage or in life. The hardest parts will come later. I hope my son and new daughter-in-law will let us be there for those times, that they'll trust us to spare them what pain we're able to.<br />
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My marriage at the age of twenty didn't last. I no longer own the mobile home my first husband was so careful with. I've been through at least three more cable providers. But I still have the scar I foolishly earned one day that I just couldn't wait. Deep down I guess I don't really regret any of it. I don't think my son will either.<br />
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<br />miclowery77http://www.blogger.com/profile/14448243180522151043noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8621340771196835022.post-30311436073890032412015-10-02T13:39:00.001-07:002015-10-02T16:02:27.549-07:00Cow Down!<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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I saw the carcass of a dead cow on Interstate 20 driving into work this morning: an entire 1,000 plus pound heifer laying cattywhompus across the fast lane during morning rush hour just six miles or so from Downtown Birmingham, Alabama. The sight of her puzzled me, and all day I have wondered how she came to be there.<br />
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Initially, of course, I assumed the black behemoth to have been struck by a speeding car, no doubt surprised to find a half-ton of livestock moseying down the interstate, but the ol' gal, despite being clearly deceased, looked pretty good considering and there were no bits of car strewn about the way I imagine there would be when a vehicle collides unexpectedly with a domestic bovine.<br />
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My second theory is that Miss Bess crossed the westbound side of the interstate only to encounter the concrete retaining wall separating the west and eastbound sides, whereupon she died of fright or maybe even exhaustion from the prospect of hauling herself over the barrier. The world may never know.<br />
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While fascinating, interstate cattle isn't the most shocking thing I've ever seen on the road. As a sort of Flashback Friday post, I leave you with a reminder of what remains the WEIRDEST, FUNNIEST, MOST DISTURBING THING THAT HAS EVER HAPPENED TO ME! I still can't think about it without laughing.<br />
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Click the link below to see for yourself:<br />
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<a href="http://michelle-lowery-combs.blogspot.com/2014/09/nekked-and-afraid.html" target="_blank">Nekked & Afraid</a>miclowery77http://www.blogger.com/profile/14448243180522151043noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8621340771196835022.post-40818440506436709572015-09-07T17:26:00.000-07:002015-10-11T20:25:07.666-07:00A-hole Kids Have Lost Their Minds<div class="MsoNormal">
According to many of today’s “mommy bloggers”, there’s
currently a worldwide epidemic of asshole children. Visit the <a href="http://kidsareassholes.blogspot.com/" target="_blank">kidsareassholes</a> blog, or the <a href="https://www.facebook.com/MothersAgainstAssholeKidsmaak" target="_blank">Mothers Against Asshole Kids</a> and <a href="https://www.pinterest.com/zoedelilah/kids-are-just-adorable-mini-assholes/" target="_blank">Kids Are Just Adorable Mini Assholes</a>
Facebook and Pinterest pages and you’ll see what I mean.</div>
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While most parents can think back to an incident when their
three-year-old destroyed the entire house with a single granola bar or screamed
so loudly for candy that wasn’t purchased that everyone in the supermarket parking
lot believed they were being beaten, and think, “yeah, that was an asshole
move,” there are others who think referring to toddlers and prepubescent
children as stupid, incompetent, and detestable (Webster’s definition of <i>asshole) </i>crosses the threshold from edgy
joke into inappropriate parenting. In fact, Healthyday.com calls such
references “verbal child abuse," along with any name-calling, swearing, indirect
criticism, and sarcasm.</div>
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While I can agree that regularly referring to innocent
toddlers engaging in toddler behaviors with putdowns makes me uncomfortable, I feel no such discomfort when the moniker is used to describe
teenagers behaving badly. After puberty has begun, all bets are off.</div>
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[Photo Credit: Me, I made this and it's freaking hilarious!]</div>
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I get it: teenagers are CRAZY—like literally have stuff
going on in their brains that turns them into insane people, but the resulting
asshole behavior HAS GOT TO STOP! As the mother of four assho—er, teenagers—I
am at my wits end!</div>
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[photo credit: <a href="http://columbian.com/">columbian.com</a>]</div>
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I recently heard a TED Talk scientist refer to adolescence
as “the period of life that starts with the biological, hormonal, and physical
changes of puberty and ends at the age at which an individual obtains a stable,
independent role in society.” Dear Lord! I can’t wait that long for my kids to
cut the shit!</div>
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This summer, the Summer of Freedom as my kids must have been
referring to it in their addled minds, I witnessed behaviors from my children
that I used to sit back and wrongly judge “slacker parents” over.</div>
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The oldest of my brood got five tattoos in a span of four
short months—all but one of them in a foreign country where I have no idea of the
industry’s regulations and safety procedures, and one of them containing an
error. This has been one of my biggest fears since seeing all the examples of
regrettable tattoos on Facebook and TV shows like Bad Ink. The horror! #1
assures me that the erroneous ink is an easy fix, but I have yet to receive a
picture of the corrective work. I have begged him to stop the madness!</div>
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It wasn’t long before #1’s misdeeds were eclipsed by his younger
sister—my kids seem to be in some sort of twisted competition to see who can
kill me with stress and worry first and most gruesomely. My oldest daughter, my
National Honor Society student and Homecoming Princess, was cuffed and stuffed into
the back of a police car until I could get to her for changing t-shirts inside
her car in apparent view of a skatehop waiter with 20/20 vision in pitch
darkness. (If only she’d changed before
ordering a side of cheese sticks, she may have avoided the witness who was able
to somehow differentiate a solid blue bra from a bikini top in July from 50
feet away at 10:00 p.m., but I digress.) Pissed as I was, I thought the
handcuffs were a little much, but the cop let her go with the warning, “There
are a lot of things you can’t do in public. Taking off your clothes is one of
‘em.” Wouldn’t she know this if not for her hormone-befuddled and
junk food driven brain?</div>
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Not to be outdone, my middle child has also recently thrown
his hat into the ring of Mom’s Death Match, by skipping school three times the
month of August and then having the audacity to forge excuse notes from me with
grammatical errors! I got a call from the school secretary when one of the
closings was followed by a colon instead of a comma.</div>
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“Thank you:</div>
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Michelle Combs”</div>
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<i>Aw, hell no! </i>All I
can say is that he deserved the paddling he got, for that damned misused colon if nothing else, along with the punishment we
levied at home.</div>
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There have been other instances. A couple of them teamed up
and snuck out of the house after 12 a.m., supposedly for McDonald’s McDoubles. I didn’t know those were tempting enough food items to risk losing driving
privileges over, but apparently to the insane teenage brain, much like Sonic
cheese sticks, they too are irresistible. The car the Princess and my own junior
aspiring writer share to get back and forth to athletic practices and an
after-school job is currently parked at a relative’s house some five miles away
until the two can come to their collective senses. We all hope it doesn’t take
until they’ve obtained their “stable, independent roles in society.” It’s been
a real pain having to cart them around everywhere again.</div>
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This summer has made me long for the days when the worst my
kids were doing was causing me umpteen trips to the ER for skittles and shit
they were shoving into their nostrils and ear canals. I no longer begrudge the money
they cost me by flushing my car keys, favorite earrings, and any other object
at hand down the toilet every time my back was turned. I’d settle for my
youngest son pooping in the bathroom air-conditioning vent as a toddler again
over the shenanigans of asshole teenagers any day.</div>
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On the bright side,
today is Labor Day, the official END OF SUMMER, and #1 turns twenty tomorrow!
That’s one of the brood into adulthood, one of the five stable and having
claimed his independent role in society. Surely with a little swearing,
indirect criticism, and sarcasm I can survive the adolescences of the others, no matter what those HealthyDay writers think.</div>
miclowery77http://www.blogger.com/profile/14448243180522151043noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8621340771196835022.post-44409222786695022202015-05-15T19:22:00.000-07:002015-07-09T08:31:35.823-07:00Fractured Days Cover Reveal<br />
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<br />
Alpena, MI (April 22, 2015) – World Weaver Press (Eileen Wiedbrauk, Editor-in-Chief) has announced <i>Fractured Days</i>, the highly anticipated sequel to <i>Shards of History</i> by Rebecca Roland, will be available in trade paperback and ebook Tuesday, June 9, 2015.<br />
<br />
Praise for <i>Shards of History</i>:<br />
<br />
“One of the most beautifully written novels I have ever read. Suspenseful, entrapping, and simply … well, let’s just say that <i>Shards of History</i> reminds us of why we love books in the first place. 5 out of 5 stars!”<br />
— <i>Good Choice Reading</i><br />
<br />
“A must for any fantasy reader.”<br />
— <i>Plasma Frequency</i><br />
<br />
"A passionate tale that will engage both young adults and more weathered fantasy readers.”<br />
— <i>NewMyths.com</i><br />
<br />
“Fast-paced, high-stakes drama in a fresh fantasy world!”<br />
— <i>James Maxey, author of the Dragon Age trilogy</i><br />
<br />
“Roland’s beautifully woven, suspenseful debut novel draws readers into a groundbreaking fantasy panorama and resonates in the heart with its genuine, personal portrayal of loyalty, relationships, and sacrifice. I eagerly await more stories about the Jegudun and Taakwa!”<br />
— David J. Corwell y Chávez, author of <i>“Encounter at Boca del Diablo” (Tales of the New Mexico Mythos)</i><br />
<br />
Malia returns home the hero of a war she can't remember. The valley burning under the Maddion's invasion, the fate of her late husband, the way she resolved the long-time distrust between the Taakwa people and the wolfish, winged Jegudun creatures--all of it has been erased from her memory. Malia hopes to resume training as her village’s next clan mother, but when the symbiotic magic that she and the Jeguduns used to repair the valley’s protective barrier starts to consume more and more of her mind, she's faced with the threat of losing herself completely.<br />
<br />
A powerful being known as "the changer" might hold the solution to her vanishing memories. But the Maddion's new leader, Muvumo, also seeks the changer, hoping the being will cure them of the mysterious illness killing off his people. Meanwhile, Muvumo's bride hopes the changer can bring about a new era, one in which she and the other Maddion women no longer need to hold onto their greatest secret.<br />
<br />
<i>Fractured Days</i> will be available in trade paperback and ebook via Amazon.com, Barnesandnoble.com, Kobo.com, <a href="http://worldweaverpress.com/">WorldWeaverPress.com</a>, and other online retailers, and for wholesale through Ingram. You can also find <i>Fractured Days</i> on <a href="https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/25121031-fractured-days">Goodreads</a>.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg0DtCPRxxcNdQEw3KpHVt6H9xb9jvmqaPaj9vW0yqkQaxFCRihL1ek0265mUONFw2afXb-i7YQl6RVq4V2Ka5hqJWJ1hrMDzYKugJRk0g8x0NCv8HR7lEPy1kpqXqpZZ2U8sq7E1-YphlT/s1600/Rebecca+Roland.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg0DtCPRxxcNdQEw3KpHVt6H9xb9jvmqaPaj9vW0yqkQaxFCRihL1ek0265mUONFw2afXb-i7YQl6RVq4V2Ka5hqJWJ1hrMDzYKugJRk0g8x0NCv8HR7lEPy1kpqXqpZZ2U8sq7E1-YphlT/s1600/Rebecca+Roland.jpg" /></a></div>
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Rebecca Roland is the author of the <i>Shards of History</i> series, <i>The Necromancer's Inheritance</i> series, and <i>The King of Ash and Bones</i>, and <i>Other Stories</i>. Her short fiction has appeared in publications such as <i>Nature, Fantastic Stories of the Imagination, Stupefying Stories, Plasma Frequency,</i> and <i>Every Day Fiction</i>, and she is a graduate of the Odyssey Writing Workshop. You can find out more about her and her work at <a href="http://rebeccaroland.net/">rebeccaroland.net</a>, her blog <a href="http://rebeccarolandwriter.blogspot.com/">Spice of Life</a>, or follow her on <a href="https://twitter.com/rebecca_roland">Twitter @rebecca_roland</a>.<br />
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<br />miclowery77http://www.blogger.com/profile/14448243180522151043noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8621340771196835022.post-74321224610389878622015-04-15T13:55:00.000-07:002015-04-15T13:57:23.789-07:00Crossing the Finish Line: 8 Steps to Finishing Your Manuscript<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";">I’ve met many fellow writers who answer
probably the most often asked question among our species “So, what are you
writing?” with an answer like “Well, I have about three (five or even ten)
novels that I’m working on that I just can’t seem to finish.” Sometimes the answer will even be something
like “I’ve been working on a novel for the past twelve years, but I don’t know
if I’ll ever finish it.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";">As hard
as starting the manuscript for a novel is, finishing is often harder. While I repeatedly tell those
that I mentor that it’s the writing itself that makes them writers, it’s only
finishing that will make them novelists. And crossing the finish line isn’t
easy for any us. The second novel of my
<i>Genie Chronicles </i>series took me an interminable amount of time to write. An unforgivable amount of time were I with
another press maybe. I’ve learned to
finish the hard way.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";">If the
process is taking much longer than you want, or if you’re beginning to lose
motivation to finish your manuscript, consider taking these steps:<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";"> <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">STEP #1 Stop
Starting New Projects<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";">Stop it
right now! As tempting as it may be latch onto a dazzling new story idea and
disappear down another rabbit hole with it, don’t do it.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";">Keep
making notes on any ideas that you want to refer back to at a later date, but
make a promise to yourself that you won’t start any new projects until you’ve
completed at least one of your WIPs.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">STEP #2 Assess
You Current WIPS (Works in Progress)<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";">If you
have multiple writing projects going on but nothing’s getting finished, it’s time
to determine which of these WIPs are worth completing and which aren’t.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";">Ask
yourself which story you believe in most. Which is eating away at you to be
told? Perhaps that novel you started in high school or college isn’t the one
you should be writing now. Like everyone
else, writers grow and evolve. Make sure you’re writing the story only you can
tell.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";">Separate
active projects that still excite you from the dead ones you’re willing to part with and any you think you’d rather set aside to revisit sometime in the future. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">STEP #3 Choose
One Project and Commit, Commit, Commit<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";">Just
one—because something has to be your priority or nothing’s getting done!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";">This
doesn’t mean you can’t work on a side project when you need a break from the
world and characters of your Priority WIP, but it does mean that any time and
energy you devote to that other project will come <b>after</b> you’ve committed the lion’s share to your Priority WIP.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";">If you’ve
made any commitments to agents, publishers, or readers, those committed to
projects must absolutely come first.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";">Choose a
single project as your priority—one that you will cross the finish line with!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">STEP #4 Be
Accountable<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";">Nothing
motivates me to write more than a reader asking when my next book will be
available. A few months after the
release of my first, <i>Heir to</i> <i>the Lamp</i>, when the initial hubbub (mostly from
people I know) had died away, it was easy to forget that I had a legitimate
readership waiting for more of my genie story, not to mention a publisher to
whom I’d promised additional books.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";">With the
inevitable writer’s block, technological malfunctions, social media, a family
and Netflix all clamoring for a writer’s attention, it can be difficult to
hammer out a blog post some weeks much less devote hours to an entire novel,
but if you’re serious about finishing your manuscript, you’ll make it work.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";">Being
accountable to my publisher World Weaver Press, my local writers’ group, and
writers/readers I’m fortunate enough to get to interact with at conferences
helped me finish <i>Solomon’s Bell</i> and launch headlong into the third book in the
series, <i>The Island of Antirrhodos</i>.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";">Be
accountable to those you’ve told a finished novel is in your near future. I
promise—they’re cheering you on!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">STEP #5 Set Milestones…and Start Reaching Them<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";">Some
helpful milestones may include:<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";"><br /></span></div>
<ul style="margin-top: 0in;" type="disc">
<li class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";">Finishing an outline<o:p></o:p></span></li>
</ul>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";">Before
the experience of my second book, I would have rather been beaten than complete
an outline for a WIP. I thought they were too restrictive and stifled creativity.
I was wrong. Having an outline means
having a plan for where your novel is going.
Of utmost importance is knowing how your story will end. Know your ending and use an outline to write
to it.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";"> </span><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif;"> </span></div>
<ul style="margin-top: 0in;" type="disc">
<li class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";">Writing every day<o:p></o:p></span></li>
</ul>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";">Making
corrections isn’t writing. Research isn’t
writing. Revising and tinkering aren’t
writing. If you spend all of your time
editing, researching and revising, you can’t finish your novel. You <b>won’t</b>
finish this way. This realization was the hardest for me to come to as a writer.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";"><br /></span></div>
<ul style="margin-top: 0in;" type="disc">
<li class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";">Completing a major section of the novel</span></li>
</ul>
<div>
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span></div>
<ul style="margin-top: 0in;" type="disc">
<li class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif;">Hitting word count goals for day, week, month, etc</span></li>
</ul>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";">A
friend and fellow writer posts her daily word count
goals and successes to social media. Watching her make
and achieve those goals goes a long way in encouraging me that I can do it,
too.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";"><br /></span></div>
<ul style="margin-top: 0in;" type="disc">
<li class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";">Completing a 1<sup>st</sup> draft<o:p></o:p></span></li>
</ul>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">STEP #6 Remove
Distractions Whenever Possible<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";">Television,
social media, the chaos of a home with children (sometimes literally) bursting
through the drywall: these are all
distractions I wrestle with (sometimes literally) on a daily basis. While it’s
important to be willing to take advantage of the opportunity to write anytime
and anywhere that opportunity presents itself, we’re all susceptible to
distraction and it’s helpful to take measures that enable us to make the most
of the writing time we have available to us.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";">When I’m
focused on a WIP—and I mean really focused and ready to commit, commit, commit—I
turn off the television and my cell phone at the very least, and leave home for
quieter surroundings when it’s absolutely necessary. If something happens that pulls me away or irreparably
breaks my concentration, I try taking a quick walk or completing some small
task like folding a load of laundry while I mentally act out a bit of action or
dialogue from the story until I’m refocused.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";">Those
are things that work for me. Identify what distracts you from your WIP and take
steps to at least temporarily remove those distractions.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">STEP #7 Decide
What “finished” Means to You<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";">Will “finished”
mean:<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";"><br /></span></div>
<ul style="margin-top: 0in;" type="disc">
<li class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";">your story has a beginning, middle, and end? <o:p></o:p></span></li>
<li class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";">you’ve written 65,000 words and proofread them?<o:p></o:p></span></li>
<li class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";">you’ve shared the work with a writers’ group,
beta readers, or critique group and revised it?<o:p></o:p></span></li>
</ul>
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<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";">“Finished”
can mean any or all of those things. Obviously a manuscript you plan to
self-publish versus one you plan to query may be considered “finished” using
different criteria.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";">Without
a clear definition of “finished” you risk your project going on and on
forever. It’s been over a week since I
sent in my revised draft of <i>Solomon’s Bell </i>and I know without a doubt that were
it not for clear parameters I set for myself concerning the “finished”
manuscript, I’d still be revising and editing today—even though the time for
all of that will come in the publisher’s editing phase over the next few
months, I would have kept doing it over and over again before sending it on had
I let myself.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";"> Decide what you want your manuscript to look
like when you cross the finish line with it and work toward that product.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">STEP #8 Be
Kind to Yourself<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";">You’re
writing a novel—accomplishing something relatively few people ever
accomplish! Reward yourself for hitting
those milestones in Step #5 with something positive, something you love to do
and gives you joy. Time away from the
work that is writing can serve as a much needed escape and allow for the
recharging your mind needs to keep going.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";">For me
it may be an episode of Game of Thrones or Orange is the New Black when I’ve
finished a chapter; an afternoon at the zoo with my husband and kids or dinner at a
restaurant when I’ve completed a major section; a gathering with family to toast
the acceptance of the manuscript for publication.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";">Some
writers can bang out a novel and race toward the finish line in a matter of
weeks, but for the majority of us it’s a long and arduous journey. Be kind to yourself along the way.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";">Do you have other writing tips that have helped you finish a project? I'd love for you to comment with them below.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";">Happy writing! See you at the finish line!</span></div>
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miclowery77http://www.blogger.com/profile/14448243180522151043noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8621340771196835022.post-11266494766515587782015-03-14T20:20:00.000-07:002015-03-14T20:24:38.597-07:00How I Came to Know Two Part-Time Indians<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";">One of the most exciting things
that can happen to someone who loves books is to stumble upon and immediately
fall in love with a writer whose work has somehow remained previously unknown
to said book lover. This happened to me
this week in A BIG WAY, resulting in the kind of<a href="http://www.urbandictionary.com/define.php?term=BookGASM&defid=3544595" target="_blank"> bookgasm</a> perhaps only the
wormiest of bookworms can fully appreciate.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjxTgXKaoe46d10ikEw6vIyLg9r06vGqjBDRZ10chpCq20g4oVlCd1wOCudnjTGqT1JEW5r1z7J6EiepnzKf7RLmltHXJ2pEvaixDG1qO1JD5x0Mp2HGk498XSpwUWy0-PDE5qa4HuXSnri/s1600/True+Diary.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjxTgXKaoe46d10ikEw6vIyLg9r06vGqjBDRZ10chpCq20g4oVlCd1wOCudnjTGqT1JEW5r1z7J6EiepnzKf7RLmltHXJ2pEvaixDG1qO1JD5x0Mp2HGk498XSpwUWy0-PDE5qa4HuXSnri/s1600/True+Diary.jpg" height="320" width="211" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 200%; text-indent: 0.5in;">I’d had the audio edition of Sherman
Alexie’s </span><i style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 200%; text-indent: 0.5in;">The Absolutely True Diary of a
Part-Time Indian</i><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 200%; text-indent: 0.5in;"> downloaded onto my kindle since way back in 2013 when I
finally decided to give it a listen while applying my various layers of
Revitalift and moisturizer last Tuesday morning. (My love and possible
addiction to Revitalift has been well documented on this blog.)</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";">As the adult child of a
(deranged?) parent who very recently decided and declared to the world that he
himself, clear blue-eyed and fishbelly white, is in fact—regardless of five
generations of known family history—an Indian, I chose Alexie’s YA novel on a
whim, its title reminding me of my estranged father who was then parading
around our small town wearing the World’s Shortest, Curliest Braids and
slathered in a self-tanner that gave him the hue of a Dorito rather than a
Cherokee. I would read the title on my virtual
kindle bookshelf and later my iPad and have a sad laugh, but for over two years
I never delved into the book—partly, I think, because I was still coming to
terms with the race/culture appropriation of my father and all the feelings of
regret, anger, and shame that have come along with it.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";">I suppose this would be a good
time to reiterate that I don’t usually choose the books I plan to read based on
reviews. I’m a reader that’s most often
won over by title and cover design, though I do read jacket copy and have chosen
many books based on interviews with authors I’ve heard on NPR. I love me some NPR, y’all. (Revitalift and NPR…I’m vain but informed.)<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";">If I had bothered to read any of
the reviews available on <a href="https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/693208.The_Absolutely_True_Diary_of_a_Part_Time_Indian" target="_blank">Goodreads</a> or <a href="http://www.amazon.com/Absolutely-True-Diary-Part-Time-Indian/dp/0316013692" target="_blank">Amazon</a> for <i>The Absolutely True Diary of a Part-Time Indian, </i>I would have
learned that the book is a semi-autobiographical YA novel and that its author
Sherman Alexie is a Spokane Indian, poet, writer, performer, cartoonist, and filmmaker. Any fears that I had of encountering some version
of my father in its pages would have been stifled, and I could have gotten on
with that bookgasm years ago!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";">As is true with any book I fall
in love with, before I’d even finished the story I was Googling Sherman Alexie
for articles and interviews. Who was
this man whose words so captivated my heart and mind? How much of his life was
like that of Arnold Spirit, Jr. from the book? Who influenced him as a writer?
What other works did he have available? Why did I not know of him earlier? I
mean, he’s a PEN/Hemingway Award winner for goodness sake!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi5Z1LsKcJaM8_zIMTe15XptDeEDXKgNJ4h2cp0P1qpjJOPQzfFIIqdgqMqeFZEXwepq7vGNogx6D-xoUembILqB8rBIvwmxDmFFGwUspr4pYdEZIFcoBJ2tR5X-YppJgrd5qWH8cmmML2b/s1600/sherman+alexie.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi5Z1LsKcJaM8_zIMTe15XptDeEDXKgNJ4h2cp0P1qpjJOPQzfFIIqdgqMqeFZEXwepq7vGNogx6D-xoUembILqB8rBIvwmxDmFFGwUspr4pYdEZIFcoBJ2tR5X-YppJgrd5qWH8cmmML2b/s1600/sherman+alexie.jpg" height="276" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">[photo credit: The Seattle Times]</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";">I would learn that Sherman Alexie
is a preeminent voice in Native American literature, that he was born with the
same medical issues as the protagonist in <i>Part-Time
Indian</i>—issues that set him apart and made him a target for ridicule and
bullying for most of his young adolescence; that like Arnold Spirit, Jr. he
grew up on the Wellpinit Reservation and faced many of the same situations in
the book; that he first knew he wanted to become a poet and writer after
reading the poem “Elegy for the Forgotten Oldsmobile” by Adrain C. Louis—which induced
for him his own kind of bookgasm, no doubt—and that he had many, many
short-stories, poems, novels, cartoons and at least one film out in the world for me to
enjoy.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjh40MC8vEldKp_QWOY7hCAGAW04tfmr-N9oXUvKg977JiWMsHWUkv2xOxU97n2DqeR-xatGT2dWcUhMWtxcbi8xfMTEcJUdqDvO07GpcEHCyg4_AsXlSeNaYMDL_L-9aLbu9c7SrO8I9SV/s1600/Alexie+Cartoon.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjh40MC8vEldKp_QWOY7hCAGAW04tfmr-N9oXUvKg977JiWMsHWUkv2xOxU97n2DqeR-xatGT2dWcUhMWtxcbi8xfMTEcJUdqDvO07GpcEHCyg4_AsXlSeNaYMDL_L-9aLbu9c7SrO8I9SV/s1600/Alexie+Cartoon.jpg" height="226" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">[Illustration by Sherman Alexie from The Absolutely True Diary of a Part-Time Indian, copyright Little Brown Books for Young Readers]</td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";">In his work, Alexie illuminates
the despair, poverty—and, yes—alcoholism that often shape the lives of Native
Americans living on reservations. His
words, infused with humor in the case of <i>Part-Time
Indian, </i>evoke sadness and indignation but ultimately leave readers with a
sense of respect and compassion for characters in tough situations—characters
involved with crime, alcohol, and even drugs, struggling to survive under the
weight of poverty, a constant battering (both figuratively and literally) by
white American society, and overwhelming feelings of powerlessness and
self-hatred. And he does it all with so
much love: love for his flawed
characters and their equally flawed families, love for his people, love for his
culture, and love of hope for a better future for anyone who dares to chase a dream
instead of letting it die inside them.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";">Maybe that’s all my own father is
doing really: chasing a dream, as
misguided and inappropriate as it may be. Wish he’d dreamed of being a dad,
present and fully participatory, though. That would have been something. I promise to make a full apology, both in
private and publically, if he’s ever deemed medically insane, which isn’t
altogether unlikely.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";">Below is my Goodreads review of <i>The Absolutely True Diary of a Part-Time
Indian:<o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";">I love, love, love this
semi-autobiographical novel about Arnold Spirit, aka Junior, a Spokane Indian
from Wellpinit, WA!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";">As heartbreaking as it is
humorous, The Absolutely True Diary of a Part-Time Indian poignantly explores
the realities of Reservation life for one fourteen-year-old Native American,
"born with water on the brain", who refuses to give into hopelessness.
Junior refuses not to care, and the novel follows him in his attempt to escape
the only future the Rez has to offer: one of poverty, alcoholism, and the death
of dreams. His determination causes him
to become both outsider and outcast as he moves between the worlds of the
Reservation and the white high school in Reardan, WA.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";">Five minutes into reading the
book, I had laughed out loud and cried! Sherman Alexie is among the best
writers of our time, and to read his words--stories of Native Americans by a
Native American--should be required for all students at some point during their
curriculum. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";">What I was most surprised to
learn while reading the book is that Sherman Alexie (and so many of his
characters) is a poet. His first published works were poems and even his YA
novel reads like poetry. Take this
excerpt from the book for example:<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";">"You've been fighting since
you were born," he said. "You fought off that brain surgery. You
fought off those seizures. You fought off all the drunks and drug addicts. You
kept your hope. And now, you have to take your hope and go somewhere where
other people have hope."<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";">I was starting to understand. He
was a math teacher. I had to add my hope to somebody else's hope. I had to
multiply my hope.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";">"Where is hope?" I
asked. "Who has hope?"<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";">"Son," Mr. P said.
"You're going to find more and more hope the farther and farther you walk
away from this sad, sad, sad reservation." (5.163-5.168)<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";">Poetry. You MUST read The
Absolutely True Diary of a Part-Time Indian! I plan on reading Sherman Alexie's
other works as well.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
miclowery77http://www.blogger.com/profile/14448243180522151043noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8621340771196835022.post-13837966854999818992015-02-05T13:37:00.000-08:002015-02-05T13:37:33.491-08:00Haters Gonna Hate, BUT NOT ON MY WATCH!<div class="MsoNormal">
You won’t win any popularity contests in small town Alabama
when you purport to be a Christian that’s voted for Barak Obama for President TWICE,
supports marriage equality nationwide, and openly doubts the Bible in its
entirety and current translation as the LITERAL word of God.</div>
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I love my home state, its culture, and (most of) its people,
but I am emotionally burdened every day by its history of hate and intolerance
because it’s a history that I feel Alabama refuses to completely leave in the
past.</div>
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On the 23<sup>rd</sup> and 26<sup>th</sup> of last month,
U.S. District Judge Ginny Granade struck down the State of Alabama’s 1998 law
and 2006 constitutional amendment banning same sex marriage in two separate rulings. This week a federal appeals court denied
Alabama’s request to stay that lower court’s decision, opening the door to
matrimony beginning February 9, 2015 to couples long denied the right, setting
off a veritable crapstorm of hate and condemnation the likes of which Alabama
hasn't seen outside of annual Iron Bowls since I was born in 1977. That’s counting September 11<sup>th</sup>,
2001.</div>
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You heard that right, ladies and gentlemen, large portions of the State
of Alabama despise homosexuals more than it hates terrorists, which makes the two
groups more similar in temperament than either would care to admit.</div>
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I have grown weary, so weary of constantly battling very vocal pockets of racism, hate and discrimination close to home when I encounter them on social media,
in my children’s school, or while I’m just out and about. Something about my
smiling white face must say to others, “Come, sit with me. Let’s talk about how
much you loathe the President of the United States of America, his uppity wife,
and all the foreigners and queers sending our nation to Hell in a handbasket.”</div>
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My youngest son was in 1<sup>st</sup> grade during the 2008
Presidential election and as we watched the results pour in via television at a
restaurant, Barak Obama was the early frontrunner. This disturbed my
six-year-old considerably and he decried loudly to all within earshot, “Oh, no!
Bawak Obama will be a tewwible pwesident.” He’d heard more than a little at
school about the doom and destruction the brown man on the TV would unleash on
the nation if elected. I was pissed, to
say the least. I prefer to be the only one indoctrinating my young children, if
you please. And I prefer to indoctrinate them with an open mind, compassion,
and empathy. (Unless we’re talking about
Scientologists—in that case I make it perfectly clear that those people are completely
INSANE! Entitled to their beliefs, but nuttier than squirrel turds.)</div>
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<br /></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgCPGQlqNPTLK3q596MnF6JxYO3x_aTea70HB9rMrTbF0NYtxRInNkcup95K5V8lpGv95vKudNhBaoMyt53ImmDjd09zxKS0Hi-TNyrKp2ITfv0PkrUwI-cj70oOHCFTYhmbkelIQ-t38jJ/s1600/barak+and+michelle.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgCPGQlqNPTLK3q596MnF6JxYO3x_aTea70HB9rMrTbF0NYtxRInNkcup95K5V8lpGv95vKudNhBaoMyt53ImmDjd09zxKS0Hi-TNyrKp2ITfv0PkrUwI-cj70oOHCFTYhmbkelIQ-t38jJ/s1600/barak+and+michelle.jpg" height="227" width="320" /></a></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
This is one of the same reasons my family and I are
currently not members of one of the bazillion churches in our county. I crave
fellowship with other Christians, long for a worship experience that I feel
draws me closer to my creator, but I haven’t found those untainted by a dose of “homosexuals will burn in hell” that I can’t stomach and
won’t subject my children to. </div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
We’ve been condemning people to Hell in Alabama because of
who they love since our state was founded. Before the gays it was those guilty
of miscegenation. I’ve tried to draw this parallel when supporting marriage
equality. There was a time when the people of Alabama supported via
constitutional amendment the outlawing of marriage between people of mixed
races. Some Southern Christians thumped their Bibles and declared the practice
a sin. When the ban on these unions was lifted, couples still faced
discrimination from ministers, Justices of the Peace, and venues that didn’t
want to see them wed. There are mixed-race couples today in Alabama that will
tell you they and their children are STILL sneered at and discriminated against
in 2015! IN 2015!!!</div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
This morning a popular radio personality based in Birmingham
but syndicated across the county has called for the Probate Judges in Alabama to
take a stand and “refuse to sign same-sex marriage licenses” and even goes so
far as to cite Martin Luther King, Jr. as a reference point for doing so.</div>
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<em><span style="background: white; color: #363636; font-family: "Georgia","serif";">“If you are a Christian and a probate judge do you condone a
version of marriage that goes against God even though it's the current law of
the land? </span></em><span class="apple-converted-space"><i><span style="background: white; color: #363636; font-family: "Georgia","serif";"> </span></i></span><em><span style="background: white; color: #363636; font-family: "Georgia","serif";"><a href="https://kinginstitute.stanford.edu/king-papers/documents/letter-birmingham-jail"><b><span style="color: #305cb6; text-decoration: none; text-underline: none;">Martin Luther
King Jr. in his letter from a Birmingham jail</span></b><span class="apple-converted-space"><b><span style="color: #305cb6; text-decoration: none; text-underline: none;"> </span></b></span></a>covered this when explaining
to fellow pastors why he would continue to break ‘unjust’ laws.” ---Rick Burgess<o:p></o:p></span></em></div>
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<br /></div>
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He went on to add, “<em><span style="background: white; color: #363636; font-family: "Georgia","serif";">Christians have the same freedoms given to all
people of this country to fight to raise their families in a society that best
reflects their convictions. It's time to fight."</span></em></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Until the Civil Rights Act of 1964, many white Alabama
Christians fought for their "conviction" that segregation was a Biblically sound
practice that spared their families from the horrors of race-mixing. Thank God
the federal courts interceded then, too.</div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I suppose if people
could hold to their particular religious convictions while respecting others’
basic rights, I could roll on, none the worse for wear. The two don’t have to
be at odds. Don’t like gay marriage? Don’t
get one. But don’t stand between two people and their rights to equal
protection under the law. In forty years you’re going to look ever as much the
bigot as George Wallace standing in the door of the University of Alabama.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQl6CFg3NFdE0LRVu3XTV1VdKMrZx6yZ9M6jR3TKHZp-zUYcj8trEPX7kreSk8T0g3COfJbBIOtlNnoUYb8YcgAFyF1jfv-H-RUJl2cneDz7bvwFLMKQ7axUdbBcS2M52A6DHmLRfxBunP/s1600/George+Wallace.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQl6CFg3NFdE0LRVu3XTV1VdKMrZx6yZ9M6jR3TKHZp-zUYcj8trEPX7kreSk8T0g3COfJbBIOtlNnoUYb8YcgAFyF1jfv-H-RUJl2cneDz7bvwFLMKQ7axUdbBcS2M52A6DHmLRfxBunP/s1600/George+Wallace.jpg" height="320" width="256" /></a></div>
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<br /></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
I’m tired of the hate. So tired. The days of marriage
inequality are over, and a better day is dawning for same-sex couples. That
reality makes me smile and gives me strength to go out into my beloved State
and keep prodding people to show more compassion, empathy and understanding,
ever the while moving farther and farther away from our shared history of intolerance. </div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg5NjDNu5oqrO2TA53vBHzjUD5yxWoGVTA5ywT46S67MQFzMbutIyjXCVGZwq66nCgLpzmEAKFdw8nHSD_oeb2ZlVkxWejZloOOLjNCWTEufrEHtnzqCRTm9v8C4b_aWilNQlR9Wn3nrk5G/s1600/love+equals+love.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg5NjDNu5oqrO2TA53vBHzjUD5yxWoGVTA5ywT46S67MQFzMbutIyjXCVGZwq66nCgLpzmEAKFdw8nHSD_oeb2ZlVkxWejZloOOLjNCWTEufrEHtnzqCRTm9v8C4b_aWilNQlR9Wn3nrk5G/s1600/love+equals+love.jpg" height="209" width="320" /></a></div>
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[photo credit: mediamatters.org]</div>
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miclowery77http://www.blogger.com/profile/14448243180522151043noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8621340771196835022.post-73809204868731756832014-12-16T06:30:00.000-08:002016-02-04T19:32:29.779-08:00Funerary Buffoonery<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif";">Experiencing
the death of someone you’ve loved deeply is hard. Grief is real—and most people have a difficult time working through it. While there’s much information out there about the
stages of grief, some people are still caught off guard when those of us, as we limp through loss and bereavement, exhibit behavior that is, well...off.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif";"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif";">Sometimes it can be hard to discern whether any unusual behavior witnessed at a funeral is the result of someone in the throws of grief allowing emotion rather than reason to guide their actions, or whether they're simply someone who's never been instructed on basic funeral etiquette. To that end, and inspired by recent events, I offer the following tips for minimizing funerary buffoonery.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif";"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif";">I’d like
to start by saying that you can almost guarantee that the amount of foolishment
you’re likely to witness at a funeral is directly proportionate to the size of
the decedent’s family. This is especially true in the South where often times
there’s that person that wants to get in the casket with the departed. Or
faints. Or wants the inheritance they fear might not be coming to them and
tries to take the jewelry. If you’re attending funerary services for someone
with a large family, be extra prepared.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif";"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif";">Tip #1—Attend sober.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<b><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif";"><br /></span></b></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgK4qNclosPz1SllznvNVUsq0jCSV6u9rfa2O2tdQL3RGXahLCxQDasDb3xXNk_nGTN0i3tif9psMdTKdO77VWFD2phWRZbFf5xfFuTOHh1Nb-jwurRcG-sQJwyOze84OjG2gdeyLk5SsMm/s1600/no-drugs-alcohol-iso-label-lb-2198.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgK4qNclosPz1SllznvNVUsq0jCSV6u9rfa2O2tdQL3RGXahLCxQDasDb3xXNk_nGTN0i3tif9psMdTKdO77VWFD2phWRZbFf5xfFuTOHh1Nb-jwurRcG-sQJwyOze84OjG2gdeyLk5SsMm/s1600/no-drugs-alcohol-iso-label-lb-2198.png" width="320" /></a></div>
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<b><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif";"><br /></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif";">Unless
you are the parent or spouse of the deceased and have been prescribed some kind
of sedation to get you through what I can only imagine is <b>the most difficult thing you will ever do in life</b>, DO NOT attend a funeral service
under the influence of any mind-altering medications or illicit drugs.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif";"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif";">If you
happen to be someone that has battled virtually a lifetime of addiction, do
your loved one a solid and make every effort to attend their funeral sober—especially
if prior to their death you have experienced weeks if not months of sobriety. A
relapse may inevitably be part of your grieving process, but trust me, you CAN
find the strength to wait until your loved one is interred before you begin a bender that takes a room full of grieving friends and family of the
deceased with you.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif";"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif";">Tip #2—Select an appropriate outfit.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<b><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif";"><br /></span></b></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjI9OZz_Mrgh5E-6k2bgOsTfhz1_fFDpPU2Ux-d1T522APCT5TXuC-EHpsgHqF7j8EPwKa8MTnN8eJwZaY8NJYrDS6HaDRTZIDnuYYrwSz9QUfCkxIZGyT0U52KrjiU2GY_ioRyZeazyGR6/s1600/Funeral+Attire.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjI9OZz_Mrgh5E-6k2bgOsTfhz1_fFDpPU2Ux-d1T522APCT5TXuC-EHpsgHqF7j8EPwKa8MTnN8eJwZaY8NJYrDS6HaDRTZIDnuYYrwSz9QUfCkxIZGyT0U52KrjiU2GY_ioRyZeazyGR6/s1600/Funeral+Attire.jpg" width="298" /></a></div>
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<b><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif";"><br /></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif";">This
doesn’t mean you have to wear all black, but a conservative outfit is
best—especially if the services are being conducted in a church or sanctified
place.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif";"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif";">Once you
have committed to said appropriate outfit, please continue to wear it for the
duration of the funerary services. At no
time should you ever disrobe during a funeral for any reason. Even if the
reason is that you are geeked out of your mind and the funeral home’s
thermostat setting of 58 degrees Fahrenheit has you feeling like your skin is
about to melt off, keep your cloths ON. All of them.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif";"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif";">If you
should encounter someone at a funeral that is obviously a.) high and/or b.)
grieving the loss of someone very dear to them, and that person begins to take off his or her clothing, even as the
officient standing in front of the closed casket in the funeral home
sanctuary calls for a moment of prayer, remember that a gasp of shock or
surprise will likely have zero effect on the offender’s behavior and only draw
their manic, paranoid ire. If you care enough for them, grab that discarded
clothing and see Tip #3.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif";"><br /></span></div>
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<b><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif";">Tip #3—Know the exits.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<b><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif";"><br /></span></b></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhj5rXivjsPqhKnF4oBNW4CBxQ3xsrZiNCwli1xTO1W649ycGhyphenhyphenIDsORLxX4bGud_U1kG7z_4icRWHu_fyVBrL97BHMaMRR-YS0PEG3EsgyObjiuE0bBPXhtd3WPE-Bgg1d1Gu4HpACXc_5/s1600/exit.gif" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="160" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhj5rXivjsPqhKnF4oBNW4CBxQ3xsrZiNCwli1xTO1W649ycGhyphenhyphenIDsORLxX4bGud_U1kG7z_4icRWHu_fyVBrL97BHMaMRR-YS0PEG3EsgyObjiuE0bBPXhtd3WPE-Bgg1d1Gu4HpACXc_5/s1600/exit.gif" width="320" /></a></div>
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<b><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif";"><br /></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif";">This is
something to keep in mind wherever you go, but doubly so for funerals. You never know when it may be necessary to
extricate someone who is acting not quite right from an embarrassing situation
until that person has gotten hold of himself or sobered up a little. They’ll
thank you later.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif";"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif";">Tip #4—Turn your cell phone off
or leave it in the car. At the very,
very least make sure your ringtone isn’t set to Buckcherry’s <i>Crazy Bitch.<o:p></o:p></i></span></b></div>
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<b><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif";"><i><br /></i></span></b></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjYVpVIaE5z5EzP2KQht3s0ppzg4ywVDLqZAlSTsE-ozA-orlc1-4rvC3BdwBy945lZF2hVQLefLjj17YDshNXyxNxGcCmvz0touji6Vy-nQPtQ6J_Ng9PaCkQDIZwDwewDqANYwGOqXPMz/s1600/smartphone_10_medium.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjYVpVIaE5z5EzP2KQht3s0ppzg4ywVDLqZAlSTsE-ozA-orlc1-4rvC3BdwBy945lZF2hVQLefLjj17YDshNXyxNxGcCmvz0touji6Vy-nQPtQ6J_Ng9PaCkQDIZwDwewDqANYwGOqXPMz/s1600/smartphone_10_medium.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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<b><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif";"><i><br /></i></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif";">If you’re
seeing a movie, play or lecture, attending a church service, or seeing your
grandmother off to the Hereafter, leave your phone in your car. If you fail to
do so, for the love of all that is good in the universe, DO NOT TAKE A CALL
DURING THE EULOGY!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif";"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif";">It has
also become necessary to caution (most often but not exclusively) young and
inherently stupid “mourners” not to tweet or post to social media from funeral
services. #grandmasfuneral #sobored #Ihatetheseoldsobstories<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif";"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif";">Not
cute. #kissthatinheritancegoodbyeyoulittletwatwaffle<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif";"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif";">Tip #5—Share something positive
about the deceased with fellow funeral attendees.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif";"><br /></span></b></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjRlX9gMRQdxnslX_4sFWeJa-7rYMeR2hYa-U1SSYJ7Ew_KbSwWLU-JqefgBlE5i3UzcxDpj6nJUdcwXpb2hdDk0lrmYilcnVmL13QxC8Rqz_IDbGfhcxkj8zkzNklPoOGtxCkPzMNQKZPB/s1600/think+before+you+speak.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="276" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjRlX9gMRQdxnslX_4sFWeJa-7rYMeR2hYa-U1SSYJ7Ew_KbSwWLU-JqefgBlE5i3UzcxDpj6nJUdcwXpb2hdDk0lrmYilcnVmL13QxC8Rqz_IDbGfhcxkj8zkzNklPoOGtxCkPzMNQKZPB/s1600/think+before+you+speak.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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<b><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif";"><br /></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif";">This is
where the most people get into trouble.
It can also result in the most awkward of unfortunate funeral
experiences.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif";"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif";">Take for example what one commenter shared on Reddit:<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif";"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif";">“My
grandmother and I went to my uncle’s funeral who committed suicide. My aunt and my uncle’s mistress were both
there. Noticing that they were both
overweight, my grandmother said loudly, ‘If I had to choose between those two
heifers, I’d kill myself too.’”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif";"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif";">Yikes!
My own grandmother was apt to make such inappropriate comments at family
gatherings. So much so that an aunt once
threatened her that she was going to start telling people, “We’ve only got
Mamaw from The Home on a day pass and we’ll have to be leaving early to get her
on back before they lock the gates.” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif";"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif";">Awkward
conversations or exchanges are common when talking to the grief stricken. Take this little ditty, from another Reddit commenter:<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif";"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif";">“About
15 years ago, my mom died. She wanted to be cremated and scattered with
wildflower seeds in a field, so we gathered the family and took her ashes and a
half-full, 5-gallon bucket of seeds to a field in a small town in Texas to
scatter.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif";"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif";">With the
family surrounding us, my father opened my mom’s ashes and dumped them into the
bucket with the seeds. He stuck his hand in and began to mix.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif";"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif";">‘You
want a glove or something, Dad?’ I asked.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif";"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif";">‘Why?’
replied Dad. ‘I’ve touched your mother before.’<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif";"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif";">‘Yeah,’
I said, ‘but to the wrist?’<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif";"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif";">The
crowd was aghast. Dad glared. Some of Mom’s family still doesn’t talk to me.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif";"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif";">If the officient
of the services (with the family’s permission, of course) asks if anyone wishes
to share any remembrances of the deceased, remember the setting. There may be a
more appropriate place to share your memories of the departed than a sanctuary.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif";"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif";">Sheena
Bryant, in an article titled “Let’s All Do Better: Crazy Things I’ve Seen at
Funerals” on madamenoir.com, shared this experience:<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif";"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif";"> “…the moment my super sanctified older cousin
walked to the mic during remarks and reflections at my aunt’s funeral. She began to talk about the ‘real good times’
her and my aunt had ‘out in the world before Christ’ and told everyone
listening that there was a special friend she used to call I Hear Ya’ Baby and
proceeded to say—at the front of the church—‘I Hear Ya’ Baby, if you’re here
would you stand up?’ When it became quiet enough to hear crickets and
everyone’s face was frozen in a blank stare, she continued, ‘I Hear Ya’ Baby,
if you won’t stand then just wave at me so I know you in the building.’ She
waited for several moments without a response from I Hear Ya’ Baby. Awkward.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif";"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif";">While
recently attending the funeral of an elderly woman with a very large family, I was witness to a bizarre
and uncomfortable story during the “open mic” portion of the services where one
of the decedent’s daughters relayed how her small Chihuahua and another
relative’s dog had proceeded to mate right on the Hospice bed of her dying
mother, becoming “stuck together three times!” The heartbroken woman, who obviously loved and had cared for her mother, went on to clarify for
the crowd that her little dog was “fifteen years-old…too old to be doin’ that!”
and how the mating session had coincided with a “prophetic” dream her mother
had about being led through the gates of Heaven by the very dogs going at it on
the bed beside her.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif";"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif";">I looked
from the speaker to the Baptist preacher sitting a few feet from the casket at
the front of the sanctuary and back again. Was this real life? Preacher’s face
said yes, but his body appeared to be paralyzed as he didn’t move an inch.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif";"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif";">The bereaved daughter continued, recounting for her audience how her Chihuahua's pregnancy took an unfortunate turn. “We didn’t expect the puppy to be born for a while,
but then it started to come early. My little dog had trouble. She’s just a tiny
thing and the puppy got stuck. Well, we
had to violate my little dog…and I mean with everything from Vaseline to vegetable
oil, but it was no use. Her pelvis just
wouldn’t let go of that puppy! And,
Momma, well Momma came to herself there in the bed and said, ‘It’s okay. I
understand now. That puppy is gonna guide me through the gates of Heaven.’”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif";"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif";">I fidgeted.
I squirmed. I began to sweat and to consider removing some of my clothing before I remembered Tip #2. I looked for the exits. And still
the Baptist preacher maintained his stoicism and his seat.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif";"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif";">Sometimes
that’s all you can do. Maintain your composure. Chalk up the craziness you’re
witnessing to grief and sleep deprivation and pray for peace and comfort and
maybe an intervention for the ones who need them.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif";"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif";">When
people are grieving, they may not be the most rational. They may give into
their emotions and behave in bizarre ways. If you’re prepared for that, it’s
easy to counteract that behavior with compassion and perhaps even an offer of
help. That doesn’t mean that in the midst of those shenanigans you shouldn’t be
straining to commit to memory every possible second of the incident to pass
along to someone like me who will share it with the blogosphere. Because Good
Lord—it’s theatre, people! “Life is fleeting,” says Sheena Bryant of Madame
Noire, “but boy is it interesting…and may I add that funerals are too?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif";"><br /></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif";">So how
about you? What’s the craziest thing you’ve ever witnessed at a funeral? I’m positively
dying to know!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
miclowery77http://www.blogger.com/profile/14448243180522151043noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8621340771196835022.post-26777818193916046902014-11-20T07:32:00.000-08:002014-11-20T07:32:53.567-08:00The Underdog Story, A Guest Post by Katie Clark<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; margin-bottom: 5.0pt;">
Who doesn’t
love an underdog story? Think of guys like quarterback Tom Brady, and let’s not
forget Cinderella. Underdogs are easy to root for because humans are equipped
with compassion, and it’s easy to have compassion on the person everyone is stepping
all over.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; margin-bottom: 5.0pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; margin-bottom: 5.0pt;">
For readers,
connecting with a character on a visceral level is vital to their enjoyment of
a book. That’s why the underdog is so popular in books, and really in all of
life.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; margin-bottom: 5.0pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; margin-bottom: 5.0pt;">
The dystopian
genre is ripe with underdogs. The dictionary.com definition of dystopia states,
“<span class="oneclick-link">a</span> <span class="oneclick-link">society</span> <span class="oneclick-link">characterized</span> <span class="oneclick-link">by</span> <span class="oneclick-link">human</span> <span class="oneclick-link">misery,</span> <span class="oneclick-link">as</span> <span class="oneclick-link">squalor,</span> <span class="oneclick-link">oppression,</span> <span class="oneclick-link">disease,</span>
<span class="oneclick-link">and</span> <span class="oneclick-link">overcrowding.” A
character who lives in this environment, but who ultimately strives to overcome
it, is certainly facing an uphill battle. They are, with all certainty, an
underdog.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; margin-bottom: 5.0pt;">
<span class="oneclick-link"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; margin-bottom: 5.0pt;">
<span class="oneclick-link">The dystopian genre was something I’d never read until the
Hunger Games hit the shelves. Even then, I only read these books because I’d
heard so much about them. Little did I know it would quickly become my favorite
type of book. Conflict? Check. Mystery? Got it! Romance? Yep, that too (often
times though not always). <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; margin-bottom: 5.0pt;">
<span class="oneclick-link"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; margin-bottom: 5.0pt;">
<span class="oneclick-link">When it came time to write Vanquished, book one in my
Enslaved series, I had studied the genre well. However, the seeds for this
story started long before I’d read my first dystopian story. I’d had an idea
for years—an idea for a character. She was strong yet vulnerable. She wanted to
follow the rules, but for some reason couldn’t. I didn’t understand her, who she
was, or where she was coming from; but I knew she was there. I’d also been
given the challenge to write a story set in a world where there was no Bible.
No “last word” or “final authority”, so to speak. Again, this idea sat in the
back of my brain, but I didn’t know what to do with it.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; margin-bottom: 5.0pt;">
<span class="oneclick-link"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; margin-bottom: 5.0pt;">
<span class="oneclick-link">It wasn’t until after I’d read the Hunger Games that I
finally understood that this female character I’d been thinking about belonged
in the Bible-devoid story I’d been challenged to write. The pieces came
together at last, and Vanquished, Deliverance, and Redeemer were born.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; margin-bottom: 5.0pt;">
<span class="oneclick-link"><br /></span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://www.amazon.com/Vanquished-Enslaved-1-Katie-Clark/dp/161116401X/ref=asap_B00CLFIVYO_1_2?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1416497219&sr=1-2" target="_blank"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgc496R_njA17tmHvTa1FuK2H2mf1Z7l7uqwzdg7hI4eQ74JXE2qvBySZRKZG9HzgrPRcV0pQz_fZUUiTp89qmWUxIcuWU6101Qh4y-hbRQqon1CV0e2z4Tcs4odoqdCq2mwrC5GkBBqxnI/s1600/Vanquished_ws11576_680.jpg" height="320" width="195" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; margin-bottom: 5.0pt;">
<span class="oneclick-link"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; margin-bottom: 5.0pt;">
<span class="oneclick-link"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; margin-bottom: 5.0pt;">
<span class="oneclick-link">My main character, Hana, lives in a future society where
poverty and sickness are rampant, but medication and other resources are
limited. When she learns that the society leaders are withholding the medicines
needed to save her dying mother, she wants to know what other secrets they’re
keeping. It sets her on a path of discovery, including the fact that the God
she’d been told was myth might not be myth at all. Hana faces normal life
challenges along the way, making new friends and tough choices, but in the end
she must choose—keep the leaders’ secrets, or take a stand.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; margin-bottom: 5.0pt;">
<span class="oneclick-link"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; margin-bottom: 5.0pt;">
<span class="oneclick-link">Still not sure about the dystopian genre? I encourage you
to give it a try. You’ll most likely find all of your favorite story elements,
and honestly, who doesn’t love an underdog?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; margin-bottom: 5.0pt;">
<span class="oneclick-link"><br /></span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjCXEg3GoQmCbrVpInkxzPzkEbhpKQGBgsHDXS3IwXTzZnfIqWsD7NqJJIeXvAvkRUNp_VdkxirateyPQawOwqPMotWrusTnVNoah9UoSjmD-vJGNFkCISTOmRDBe3VbDjGRuz5Dqokcsc7/s1600/DSC_8889.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjCXEg3GoQmCbrVpInkxzPzkEbhpKQGBgsHDXS3IwXTzZnfIqWsD7NqJJIeXvAvkRUNp_VdkxirateyPQawOwqPMotWrusTnVNoah9UoSjmD-vJGNFkCISTOmRDBe3VbDjGRuz5Dqokcsc7/s1600/DSC_8889.jpg" height="320" width="213" /></a></div>
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<span class="oneclick-link"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; margin-bottom: 5.0pt;">
<br /></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%;">
<span style="line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">KATIE CLARK writes young adult speculative fiction,
including her dystopian </span><a href="http://www.katieclarkwrites.com/"><span style="line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">Enslaved Series</span></a><span style="line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">, made up of <i>Vanquished, Deliverance, </i>and<i> Redeemer</i>. Paperbacks are available now,
and ebooks release on November 22, 2014. You can connect with Katie at her </span><a href="http://www.katieclarkwrites.com/"><span style="line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">website</span></a><span style="line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">, on </span><a href="https://www.facebook.com/pages/Katie-Clark/235090733187928?ref=bookmarks"><span style="line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">Facebook</span></a><span style="line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">, or on </span><a href="https://twitter.com/KatieClarkBooks"><span style="line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">Twitter</span></a><span style="line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">.<a href="https://www.blogger.com/null" name="_GoBack"></a><o:p></o:p></span></div>
miclowery77http://www.blogger.com/profile/14448243180522151043noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8621340771196835022.post-41183165765424104712014-11-07T14:08:00.001-08:002014-11-08T06:54:18.620-08:00Freaks & Geeks<div class="MsoNormal">
It wasn’t that long ago that I knew very little about the
world of sci-fi/fantasy, comic book and pop culture conventions. I grew up mildly aware that there were such
people in the world called Trekkies that dressed up as members of some Star
Fleet ship or another and gathered in large cities far away from my home in
rural Alabama, and much later I had a younger brother that was an avid gamer
that delved into the world of RPGs and anime conventions, but I didn’t understand
or connect with any of those folks.</div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
To a certain extent I can say that I admired the Trekkies’
dedication to their fandom and my brother’s commitment to embody a character
for a Con so completely that he cut his coveted long hair to get a certain look
just right, but as far as I was concerned Star Trek nerds were…well, nerds…and
the only thing I knew about anime were the names of a few Pokemon and that
Sailor Moon’s outfit was a little sexier than I thought any clothing on a kids’
cartoon series should be.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
My much younger brother was angsty and impatient with my
lame agedness, and I never took the time to delve too deep into his geekdom, so
we never bonded over the culture the way I now wish we’d been able to. Fast forward a few years and I meet my first
ENTIRE FAMILY of cosplay enthusiasts.
The Smiths: A surgeon, her City
Board of Education member husband (who happened to also be my kids’ favorite
soccer coach), and their young sons, spend their free time dressing up like a
small hoard of Jedi’s and waiting all year for Star Wars weekend at Disney
World to make an annual pilgrimage.
They’re an All-American family living in my home town in a respectable
neighborhood in an awesome log-cabin style home, the basement of which is
filled wall-to-wall with some of the coolest Star Wars memorabilia that I’ve
ever seen, peppered with many photos of the Smith Family in full Star Wars
regalia. The Smiths weren’t awkward and angsty the way my teenage brother had
seemed to me years earlier. I didn’t get
the impression that they dressed up like sci-fi characters to fit in or find
acceptance the way I (wrongfully) suspected my brother did. The Smith<a href="https://www.blogger.com/null" name="_GoBack"></a>s were cool
and respectable and fun, and they helped me reevaluate and try to better
understand my brother and his love of cosplay and Con culture.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Newly enlightened as I was, I still hadn’t explored a Con
for myself, however. I’d come to think of Trekkies and other followers of
fandoms like my brother and The Smiths in new ways, though, and came to
understand that cosplayers and Con goers shared a few traits: on top of being completely devoted to their
various fandoms, they were also incredibly intelligent, enthusiastic,
accepting, and wildly creative.<br />
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
When I finally delved into the world of Cons it was in a big
way. After attending Nashville’s
Southern Festival of Books last October as an author vendor, I was invited to
sit as a panelist the following week at WizardWorld, Nashville’s largest
Comicon event. I was super excited as I
arrived at the Country Music Hall of Fame dressed in my customary garb for
author functions: heels, slacks and a
sensible blouse. I have a picture of
Darth Vadar strangling me with The Force in that get-up that is absolutely
PRICELESS!<br />
<br />
Anyway, I had tons of fun at WizardWorld,
met lots of awesome folks—including Henry Winkler who was an absolute riot and
so gracious to his fans—and got to sit on a really great panel about
researching while novel writing. (I ask
you, can you get any nerdier than that?)</div>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg3Rifv7tNp6vvaNgEgdyVfF_ph8N_d3WaabQ959cCUg3Q14r1bDTrAaqFVfaRzs6KjPfI_ie3-bhljm3Bwh-VWIWrxXdZkk-vlY_Df3yNuLyYTJ3fLgXeNtPPnVf13woi2TUrXRzLuGrJy/s1600/wizard+world+2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg3Rifv7tNp6vvaNgEgdyVfF_ph8N_d3WaabQ959cCUg3Q14r1bDTrAaqFVfaRzs6KjPfI_ie3-bhljm3Bwh-VWIWrxXdZkk-vlY_Df3yNuLyYTJ3fLgXeNtPPnVf13woi2TUrXRzLuGrJy/s1600/wizard+world+2.jpg" height="213" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">[Photo Credit: www.asmize.com]</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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Since WizardWorld I’ve attended a few more conventions as a
guest:</div>
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<br /></div>
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Alabama Phoenix Festival in Birmingham,
Alabama;</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgxSlYtusNGm5VAsH5flCMXu0kuuJ7EFOiRb6g2kuBkkY5WZCKXb8WBRtOweD4Tzx0FJooA9UnqR_XdRsIv9nAqi9yLo3LkDOZsFYfId4tE6NCO6-BvFYylHl_667yaTM_7cfHpdu1CbRuv/s1600/APF+2014.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgxSlYtusNGm5VAsH5flCMXu0kuuJ7EFOiRb6g2kuBkkY5WZCKXb8WBRtOweD4Tzx0FJooA9UnqR_XdRsIv9nAqi9yLo3LkDOZsFYfId4tE6NCO6-BvFYylHl_667yaTM_7cfHpdu1CbRuv/s1600/APF+2014.jpg" height="213" width="320" /></a></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh700lqCIbeESipAP2TIsNi1nU2gM4JYY5wNni9MUgI76amLiLNBk6o61MP6a0Vv7IzegBpbZwi4MWKlL8NxWNzNYGuDe67D-QR6AU9g0j0lETUxivjSitgJS8IU0nxn6ZQOKXlQj2m69bN/s1600/APF+2014-4.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh700lqCIbeESipAP2TIsNi1nU2gM4JYY5wNni9MUgI76amLiLNBk6o61MP6a0Vv7IzegBpbZwi4MWKlL8NxWNzNYGuDe67D-QR6AU9g0j0lETUxivjSitgJS8IU0nxn6ZQOKXlQj2m69bN/s1600/APF+2014-4.jpg" height="213" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><div style="text-align: center;">
[Photo Credit: APF/Facebook]</div>
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<div style="text-align: center;">
The Geek Gathering in Muscle Shoals;</div>
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and YomuCon in Tuscaloosa.</div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">[Photo Credit: Ben Flanagan/al.com]</td></tr>
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I've had the BEST of times, made many friends, and met countless incredibly talented cosplayers. I'm hooked!<br />
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I’ve stopped wearing my author clothes to Cons for the most part—the Geek Gathering had some fabulous event shirts that I loved—but I haven’t worked up the courage for cosplay…yet. More and more these days I think on what kind of costume I might be brave enough to don one day. My heart belongs to the world of Harry Potter, but I’m a little too old…and rotund…for Hermione. There’s always Professor Sprout I guess. She’s a fatty, too. Or Madam Hooch, maybe? I love her hair! It would be quite the way to come back from that embarrassing Harry Potter Trivia loss I suffered onboard a Carnival cruise this past summer due to missing one lousy Madam Hooch question. I’ll have to think on it some more.<br />
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In the end, it doesn't matter if I go to my next Con as Professor Sprout, Madame Hooch, or just plain, awkward
Author Woman; I know I’ll still have a great time and fit right in.</div>
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miclowery77http://www.blogger.com/profile/14448243180522151043noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8621340771196835022.post-12763678456158161502014-10-28T10:20:00.002-07:002014-10-28T10:20:57.148-07:00In the Army Now<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";">Life has
been different in the Lowery-Combs House since August when we reluctantly
handed our oldest child over to the United States Army. It was a decision #1 made early on during his
Senior year of high school so we knew his leaving was coming after graduation
in May. That, however, didn’t make it
any easier to watch him being driven away from our local recruitment station in
a van full of other young recruits without knowing when we’d next hear from him.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif;">I cried
for ten days straight.Every time I folded a load of laundry, went to the
grocery store, cooked a meal, or heard one of my other children walk through
the door after school, I cried for the son who I’d not be tending to, feeding,
or greeting at the end of a day for perhaps a very long time if ever again—my
son would be a man when I saw him again, after all, and a soldier, highly
trained to be capable, responsible and self-sufficient.</span><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif;"> </span><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif;">I mourned for the boy who counted on me for
matching socks and clean underwear, the boy who preferred his sandwiches
prepared without any condiments, please, and kissed me goodnight every night
before bed when his much younger siblings had stopped doing so years ago.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";">I
worried constantly. Was #1 truly
prepared for the harshness of a Drill Sergeant whose job it was to transform
him from a boy civilian to a combat-ready warrior? Was he physically ready for training? How would he cope with too little sleep and
barely enough food to function? Was he
regretting his decision to join? What
would his fellow trainees be like? Would
they support one another? And what about all those guns? He’d shot one of our garage windows out with
a pellet gun a few weeks before his high school graduation, and now someone was
going to put a M4, a few grenades and a rocket launcher in his hands? <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";">With his
absence I came to appreciate anew many of my son’s attributes that I began to
understand would make him a successful soldier. He’d been the first of my
children to lend a hand when needed. He was my go-to for errands in town. I could trust him implicitly with my car,
debit card, and important family business. He had a knack for keeping his younger siblings from killing one another
in my absence, even when they drove him completely nuts. He accepted
responsibility and rarely complained. He was quick and strong. He respected
authority. He had great manners. I
recited these qualities to myself day and night whenever doubt and fear about
how he was holding up crept in.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";">For
almost three agonizing weeks our family waited for word from our SIT (Soldier
in Training), during which time I joined a Facebook group for families with
trainees at his Army base. Having others
to talk to with similar worries and questions helped tremendously, and I learned
a good deal about the BCT (Basic Combat Training) and OSUT (One Station Unit
Training) experiences. I was also
introduced to a site that published training photos for purchase. Seeing with my own eyes #1 training and apparently
succeeding did more to ease my apprehension than probably anything else. His father had teased me in the beginning
about my cyber-stalking of his base and platoon, my pouring over hundreds of
photos, hoping for even a glimpse of our son, but when I had pictures of #1 to
show for it, his dad was thrilled that I’d been so determined.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";">The following weeks were tough, but through photos
we watched our son and his Company complete rope courses and land navigation
exercises, exit a gas chamber (gagging, weepy and snotty), throw grenades and
fire an assortment of American Military weapons. Through his letters, we learned about the
physical and mental challenges #1 was overcoming as well. With few and unpredictable phone calls we
gauged the success of his platoon. In some
ways, I hardly recognized the man my boy was becoming with every passing week.
I wondered how the experience was changing him in other ways. How would he be
when we saw him in late October for Family Day?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";">This
past weekend I got my answer. #1 is
doing GREAT! He’s healthy, disciplined and focused. He was a little tired and always, always
hungry; but he loves the Army and is ready to complete his training. He had a
few stories to tell…he’s been able to see both the humor and critical
importance of his experiences so far. There was a new tenderness between him
and his brothers and sisters that comforted me and warmed my heart. He could
tell how much he’s been missed. It was a great visit but bitter sweet, too. It
was hard to watch him have to turn and walk away from us again.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The Gang's All Here</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhy3n9YDSO-eh8c5b_ueUD-RXOUwdiQp5hqxSt5YG0YP9JUkCU-ucYzJ2Rn8afzcJKx8g5CFGHgdn1081bXk6gB8zdbm5BTyOpeDhcxOuJo1rJMV_MlUmEfHvJj454M67lNnM96T0N4SQVb/s1600/Christopher+and+Dan2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhy3n9YDSO-eh8c5b_ueUD-RXOUwdiQp5hqxSt5YG0YP9JUkCU-ucYzJ2Rn8afzcJKx8g5CFGHgdn1081bXk6gB8zdbm5BTyOpeDhcxOuJo1rJMV_MlUmEfHvJj454M67lNnM96T0N4SQVb/s1600/Christopher+and+Dan2.jpg" height="320" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">"Reunited, and it feels so good!"</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjsH0XOYll3CC9pNAVtvfzYSvseJ88g7XYBarMzsMEdI6ukr81BD93J99YBKuuQJNFuGyTbmTYJTH-yqaSVnyQ_OlCeNbBzFLZdKTR4jM7NiXwi8oWtO40qrK9z65NqNkYrA8L5bIuXCmHz/s1600/christopher+and+Dan+3.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjsH0XOYll3CC9pNAVtvfzYSvseJ88g7XYBarMzsMEdI6ukr81BD93J99YBKuuQJNFuGyTbmTYJTH-yqaSVnyQ_OlCeNbBzFLZdKTR4jM7NiXwi8oWtO40qrK9z65NqNkYrA8L5bIuXCmHz/s1600/christopher+and+Dan+3.jpg" height="320" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">We think Danann may have found her calling.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjNsBf1Ir4bXBHX6ayJqMn02ITwI_lg8fNe7X4NLhuH0X12t3OlN-l9i_S_aSfBqPC5j5ojk8jTyuvzRmaPQqtrgxswlhCOsfq2dkmBV0dz2rGvpnvLWAcKDHknu9HO8FoKqTiIIuJLHLWn/s1600/Christopher+and+Dan+4.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjNsBf1Ir4bXBHX6ayJqMn02ITwI_lg8fNe7X4NLhuH0X12t3OlN-l9i_S_aSfBqPC5j5ojk8jTyuvzRmaPQqtrgxswlhCOsfq2dkmBV0dz2rGvpnvLWAcKDHknu9HO8FoKqTiIIuJLHLWn/s1600/Christopher+and+Dan+4.jpg" height="320" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Big Brother to the Rescue!</td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif;">As he enters his second phase of training, I have less trepidation. My son is an American Soldier. He’s got this. Hearing him recite, with his Company, The Soldier’s Creed was the only assurance of that I needed. We still miss his everyday presence in our home—I still get teary eyed over the last pork chop in a pan that would have been his—but we hold him closer in our hearts than ever before. We’re in the Army now, and we couldn’t be prouder. Hooah!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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miclowery77http://www.blogger.com/profile/14448243180522151043noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8621340771196835022.post-49431869294886282512014-09-17T05:43:00.000-07:002014-09-17T05:43:25.998-07:00Amalia Dillin Guest Post & Giveaway<h1>
BEYOND FATE Character Spotlight: Elah the Goddess</h1>
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<a href="http://www.amazon.com/Beyond-Fate-Gods-Book-ebook/dp/B00NLX9ZT0" target="_blank"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjXBRGSdRd99CqQSkGtURK7jYOJNHy9OgYJ8ypYRILMK67VXLG_n6FOFHYhJYcH_wSC0ccvmK1sBqgwgbK12mVNyxofUSxn-gVZ7J35BIR_iJsI13D1rfAdaknhl9c9oawzTGMwFJyVbyPY/s1600/Beyond+Fate.jpg" height="320" width="212" /></a></div>
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BEYOND FATE introduces us to some new characters, and
while I don’t want to spoil anything for you, I did want to talk a little bit
about Adam and Eve’s daughter, the Goddess Elah. <br />
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Writing Elah was a huge challenge for me, because inside
the Fate of the Gods world, she’s the next level up in terms of power and
omniscience. Unlike Thor or Athena, she has her fingers in every pie, parts of
her (and Elohim’s) spirit spread throughout Creation, from the Host to the men
and women and children born and living every day. She has only to look and the
world is revealed through their eyes. <br />
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But that also makes her less human, and less
understandable. Thor is a god of the common man, with his goats and his drinking
and brawling, but Elah is something else altogether. In many ways, she IS
Creation, and it is only through her will that the world as Eve and Adam and
Thor know it is maintained. It’s a lot of responsibility, and for Elah, likely
a lonely position to be in – there are very few others who operate at her
level. And of those residing on earth, Bhagavan is likely the singular
exception. Which makes him, potentially, her most powerful enemy, too.<br />
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I settled for writing her as I would any other character –
a third person limited approach. But I couldn’t help but wonder how much more I
was missing. Is there a constant stream of information in the back of her mind?
How does she sort through it all, if so? Is it like Adam and Eve, where they
have to make a conscious choice to read the mind of a person near them, or does
she just see every thought, even the deepest darkest secrets, unless she makes
a conscious decision <i>not</i> to? How
disconcerting would that be to the people around her?<br />
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And I’m not the only one who wonders about the answers to
those questions or who worries about how much Elah knows, or might discover.
There are plenty of Fate of the Gods characters who are deeply concerned for
their privacy as well – <br />
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But you’ll have to read BEYOND FATE to find out how they
cope with the new and very powerful Goddess in their midst!</div>
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<o:p><br /></o:p></div>
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<o:p>Here's your chance to win a copy!</o:p></div>
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<o:p><br /></o:p></div>
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<a class="rafl" href="http://www.rafflecopter.com/rafl/display/70b9a02412/" id="rc-70b9a02412" rel="nofollow">a Rafflecopter giveaway</a></div>
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<span style="background-color: white;"><strong style="color: #444444; font-family: 'Droid Sans', sans-serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 22.5px;"><br /></strong></span>
<strong style="color: #444444; font-family: 'Droid Sans', sans-serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 22.5px;">Amalia Dillin</strong><span style="color: #444444; font-family: 'Droid Sans', sans-serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 22.5px;"> began as a Biology major before taking Latin and falling in love with old heroes and older gods. After that, she couldn't stop writing about them, with the occasional break for more contemporary subjects. Her short stories have been published by Daily Science Fiction and Birdville magazine, and she's also the author of the FATE OF THE GODS series and HONOR AMONG ORCS, the first book in the Orc Saga. Amalia lives in upstate New York with her husband, and dreams of the day when she will own goats--to pull her chariot through the sky, of course.</span><br />
<span style="color: #444444; font-family: 'Droid Sans', sans-serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 22.5px;"><br /></span>
<span style="background-color: white;"><span style="color: #444444; font-family: 'Droid Sans', sans-serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 22.5px;">Learn more about Amalia at </span><a href="http://www.amaliadillin.com/" style="color: #47b403; font-family: 'Droid Sans', sans-serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 22.5px; text-decoration: none;" target="_blank" title="">www.amaliadillin.com</a><span style="color: #444444; font-family: 'Droid Sans', sans-serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 22.5px;">.</span></span><br />
<span style="background-color: white;"><span style="color: #444444; font-family: 'Droid Sans', sans-serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 22.5px;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="background-color: white;"><span style="color: #444444; font-family: 'Droid Sans', sans-serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 22.5px;"><a href="http://www.amazon.com/s/ref=nb_sb_noss_1?url=search-alias%3Dstripbooks&field-keywords=amalia+dillin&rh=n%3A283155%2Ck%3Aamalia+dillin" target="_blank">More from Amalia Dillin and the Fate of the Gods series</a>:</span></span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh6TaHWyQTISmcz4C5ONd7XzlgBJhnPUvyssWhAlGqED0hGk6mbF6CuqFy7R5VGOrb4iz7VXA-GCp6zxoXVxULxpwt6cZGSfn7LkRtaZwyNuCmgXPP9Y2GlhBGYGmno-T6jFxUzXVSfDXWN/s1600/Forged+by+Fate.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh6TaHWyQTISmcz4C5ONd7XzlgBJhnPUvyssWhAlGqED0hGk6mbF6CuqFy7R5VGOrb4iz7VXA-GCp6zxoXVxULxpwt6cZGSfn7LkRtaZwyNuCmgXPP9Y2GlhBGYGmno-T6jFxUzXVSfDXWN/s1600/Forged+by+Fate.jpg" height="200" width="133" /></a></div>
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiU7-HwxMJpGL7R8OUX_xjKVSEnt2FeHl8sTAUW9f8Av3bYMMoJ-SvzSQCPGHUrsMrghTiGrdMGvINwXelumrMU0MalS3Rg7a5RvY_DUkrzVCwYW_8I3XAD3RsOXUopU12apzuD_MtZHXVw/s1600/Fate+Forgotten.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiU7-HwxMJpGL7R8OUX_xjKVSEnt2FeHl8sTAUW9f8Av3bYMMoJ-SvzSQCPGHUrsMrghTiGrdMGvINwXelumrMU0MalS3Rg7a5RvY_DUkrzVCwYW_8I3XAD3RsOXUopU12apzuD_MtZHXVw/s1600/Fate+Forgotten.jpg" height="200" width="133" /></a><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJquTG_QGma1yssL-lecDMZlB7Eeyv5ipC3Kqt6IBxHMpYMGBe-eeZXtuANYvsaHFOC53E4wh0cBUB9BhEjvTRjys6vpRAFN5l9SC27O0wylxNWiw4sjGyAHWfOu_tIrda24iMw3bc-H3M/s1600/Tempting+Fate.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJquTG_QGma1yssL-lecDMZlB7Eeyv5ipC3Kqt6IBxHMpYMGBe-eeZXtuANYvsaHFOC53E4wh0cBUB9BhEjvTRjys6vpRAFN5l9SC27O0wylxNWiw4sjGyAHWfOu_tIrda24iMw3bc-H3M/s1600/Tempting+Fate.jpg" height="200" width="133" /></a></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEghZ_y9ku7HjzEX2LEY60pmRm3B3HNEnqYZou4WOLkFxj-iVBZMwnqIB7cb5aop5KHwth7P76eQh4YVlUD-0WvuF1w7e5hsdSLFDT95wZBBDtQLA88nhDvv1PgzbNCQQudBIEnmh-xjH4o-/s1600/Taming+Fate.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEghZ_y9ku7HjzEX2LEY60pmRm3B3HNEnqYZou4WOLkFxj-iVBZMwnqIB7cb5aop5KHwth7P76eQh4YVlUD-0WvuF1w7e5hsdSLFDT95wZBBDtQLA88nhDvv1PgzbNCQQudBIEnmh-xjH4o-/s1600/Taming+Fate.jpg" height="200" width="133" /></a></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEguA54lKZ6wuv9OpO8oYQ_wCrw-XSG-nCooByroEtk3kSIuEg3RQvgn-dtsnbSkFSU-EGVgoSlFzWAALCxSU6emf5JMIJFNr2_c2hOre7qvP8ziXrKaVEKW9qc8aW3_AyZws1duHbBYKhVJ/s1600/A+Winter's%2BEnchantment.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEguA54lKZ6wuv9OpO8oYQ_wCrw-XSG-nCooByroEtk3kSIuEg3RQvgn-dtsnbSkFSU-EGVgoSlFzWAALCxSU6emf5JMIJFNr2_c2hOre7qvP8ziXrKaVEKW9qc8aW3_AyZws1duHbBYKhVJ/s1600/A+Winter's%2BEnchantment.jpg" height="200" width="133" /></a></div>
<br />miclowery77http://www.blogger.com/profile/14448243180522151043noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8621340771196835022.post-6183180649348596932014-09-10T15:49:00.000-07:002014-09-10T15:49:53.438-07:00Nekked and Afraid<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgxj5UGXnbA_bnwBV3Ed2_-xbDY4ZZkNTrOlQquqLHyPTu9J9OhJI5rqKysrbpzyK_o6ZJSKiE5JY4OZH8Td33Mp7s1kRYNHT2a5NzIR8I5Xv3cLOh8SKFSD5d3i55Tuyhv7O1NsK4WebjF/s1600/259345-stock-photo-nature-tree-animal-calm-forest-dark.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgxj5UGXnbA_bnwBV3Ed2_-xbDY4ZZkNTrOlQquqLHyPTu9J9OhJI5rqKysrbpzyK_o6ZJSKiE5JY4OZH8Td33Mp7s1kRYNHT2a5NzIR8I5Xv3cLOh8SKFSD5d3i55Tuyhv7O1NsK4WebjF/s1600/259345-stock-photo-nature-tree-animal-calm-forest-dark.jpg" height="320" width="280" /></a></div>
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A fully-grown butt nekked man ran into the street in front
of my minivan at 3:30 p.m. today. I’ll wait while you reread that sentence.</div>
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Nekked Man sprang from the bushes on the left side of the
rural road I happened to be traveling, dashed across the black top with all the
grace and enthusiasm of a baby elephant, and then halted before turning to…urm…face
me.</div>
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Naturally I was alarmed. At 36 years-old, I have never seen
a fully-grown nekked man in broad daylight in the Great Outdoors. I took my
foot off the accelerator and scanned the left side of the road, looking for
whatever may have sent Nekked Man scurrying into the street after apparently devouring
only his clothing, but saw nothing. I dared a few glances at Nekked himself, trying
to decipher if he was injured or bleeding, but too embarrassed to look at his
face. And that’s when things got…interesting.</div>
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It took me a second to realize that Nekked was just kind
of standing there. Despite the ample overgrowth along the right side of the
road, Nekked didn’t throw himself into the bushes or attempt to conceal himself
in any way. He just stood there: tall, virtually hairless, and glowing
fishbelly white in the afternoon sunshine. </div>
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Like any good Southerner, I knew what must be done when
confronted with a roving nekked man during peak school bus traffic hours. At a
stop sign in the fork of the road, out of sight from Nekked, I called The Law.</div>
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A friendly receptionist at my local Sheriff’s Office
answered the phone. “Hello,” I said, “I need to…urm…make a report.”</div>
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“I’m sorry, m’am, but you can’t make a report over the
phone, you have to come in to do that.”</div>
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Crap! Guess I should have called 911. Nekked’s junk, while
impressive, hadn’t seemed to warrant an actual emergency call.</div>
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“Um, well, I only needed to let someone know that there is a
fully-grown nekked man running across and along Old Sulpher Springs Road in
Alexandria right this very minute.”</div>
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“Let me transfer you to Dispatch,” Ms. Friendly answered.</div>
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Dispatch had a few questions for me that I was ill prepared
to answer. Specifically, they wanted to know if I could provide a description of
Nekked.</div>
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“Well, not really,” I said.
“He was white, tall, adult, and well…nekked. To be honest when I saw that he didn’t look
hurt and that he wasn’t gonna try and hide his nekkedness from me, I was afraid
to look directly at him. I’m pretty sure
he’s the only nekked man you’re gonna come across out there this time of day,
though.”</div>
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I have done nothing the rest of this afternoon but wonder if
The Law caught up with Nekked. I am most likely to live another thirty-six
years without ever again encountering anyone like him. The thought fills me
with both immense relief and weird disappointment. Thanks for the memories,
Nekked!</div>
miclowery77http://www.blogger.com/profile/14448243180522151043noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8621340771196835022.post-4166957755652631712014-08-22T06:13:00.000-07:002014-08-22T06:13:29.366-07:00My Respite From YA: A Spotlight on Blood Chimera by Jenn Lyons<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: 16.8pt; margin-bottom: 12.0pt;">
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Faithful readers and followers know that I am a huge YA fan. That doesn't mean, however, that I don't also enjoy novels geared more toward adult readers. On the rare occasion that I feel like a full-fledged grownup, or when I'm simply in need of a respite from the angst and turmoil that is coming-of-age while attempting to thwart an enemy even greater than Calculus--like say an entire dystopian government--I often turn to paranormal mystery.</div>
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Parts fiction, fantasy, and horror, the basic structure of a paranormal mystery is that of a mystery story...more often than not, a detective mystery. Someone has been murdered or some other serious crime has been committed. Who (or what) did it? Because it's paranormal, that answer could range from vampires, ghosts, or werewolves to a myriad of other dark fantastical beings. Awesome, huh? And what better escape from reliving over and over again (the sometimes funk of) maturing into a young adult?</div>
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Susan Abel Sullivan's<i> Cleo Tidwell</i> series has been a recent favorite, so when I began to feel particularly grownup this week, I was delighted to discover another of World Weaver Press's latest paranormal mystery releases: <span style="line-height: 16.8pt;"><i>Blood Chimera</i> by Jenn Lyons.</span></div>
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<span style="line-height: 16.8pt;">Here's what you need to know:</span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg08Qsy-JYZd6aDMVEvUmEqb9O1k3sI_JgfIleY2jb-lUz7LnIzD6DzSEE2NyYe2ILcwzm-oQ3-rbFvNDwSh8mVnZoyMiXvZG6udcTdCFjI2L2CTE-NVLXN7tWKvXIOOjSB_3QSQEgXfCUQ/s1600/BLOOD+CHIMERA+banner.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg08Qsy-JYZd6aDMVEvUmEqb9O1k3sI_JgfIleY2jb-lUz7LnIzD6DzSEE2NyYe2ILcwzm-oQ3-rbFvNDwSh8mVnZoyMiXvZG6udcTdCFjI2L2CTE-NVLXN7tWKvXIOOjSB_3QSQEgXfCUQ/s1600/BLOOD+CHIMERA+banner.jpg" height="162" width="320" /></a></div>
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<b><i><span style="color: #444444; font-family: "Segoe UI","sans-serif"; font-size: 10.5pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Some ransoms aren’t meant to be paid. </span></i></b><span style="color: #444444; font-family: "Segoe UI","sans-serif"; font-size: 10.5pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Kidnap and Ransom negotiation used to be
straightforward. The bad guys kidnap someone, and K&R expert Jackson Pastor
negotiates their release, skillfully traversing a maze of bloodthirsty
monsters: criminals, terrorists, police, and especially the FBI.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: #444444; font-family: "Segoe UI","sans-serif"; font-size: 10.5pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">But that was before he
met real bloodthirsty monsters.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: #444444; font-family: "Segoe UI","sans-serif"; font-size: 10.5pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">When Jackson Pastor
arrives in Los Angeles to help a new client recover his kidnapped wife, he
finds himself dropped in the middle of a 500-year-old war between rival
European and Mexican vampire clans, a conflict that threatens to escalate into
a full-on public gang war. Worse, Jackson hasn’t been brought to Los Angeles to
be a negotiator.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: #444444; font-family: "Segoe UI","sans-serif"; font-size: 10.5pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">His new boss wants to
turn him into an assassin.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: #444444; font-family: "Segoe UI","sans-serif"; font-size: 10.5pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">With Jackson about to
be caught in the middle of a war, his only hope of escape may lie with a secret
FBI monster-hunting task-force led by a very dangerous, eccentric wizard.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: #444444; font-family: "Segoe UI","sans-serif"; font-size: 10.5pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Which could be a
problem, since Jackson’s a monster himself.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<i><span style="color: #444444; font-family: "Segoe UI","sans-serif"; font-size: 10.5pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Blood
Chimera</span></i><span style="color: #444444; font-family: "Segoe UI","sans-serif"; font-size: 10.5pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"> is a gritty,
noir-style mystery of paranormal proportions where nothing is as it seems, not
even the term </span><i><span style="color: #444444; font-family: "Segoe UI","sans-serif"; font-size: 10.5pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">vampire</span></i><span style="color: #444444; font-family: "Segoe UI","sans-serif"; font-size: 10.5pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";">Excerpt:</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";">“How are you feeling, Mr.
Pastor?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";">I looked down at myself. I seemed
to be hale and hearty enough, with all the right number of limbs in all the
right places. My ribs didn’t ache when I breathed and my arm wasn’t swollen. I
felt great, but I looked ready to play one of the walking dead. “Like I need a
bath,” I told him. “And clothes would be nice.” There’s nothing quite like
being naked and filthy in front of a lot of people who aren’t, to make you all
self-conscious about it.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";">He nodded. “You’ve looked
better.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";">“Why do you have me in a cage?” I
shook my head. “What happened?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";">“I would think the reasons for
the cage would be obvious. You don’t remember?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";">“No, of course I don’t remember.
I was Tez’s prisoner and then--” I looked over at the carcass in the corner. I
swallowed. “Who did that?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";">“You did.” Darius said as he took
a swig of his beer. “You also wrecked one of my vans.” He pointed to an
unmarked black van over in the garage area. The back doors were hanging
awkwardly and the metal was twisted. Great gouges had been raked into the door
and sides as if something had tried to smash its way out with some kind of very
sharp ram.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";">I blinked at that. “That--that
couldn’t have been me. I didn’t--”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";">“Oh, you very much did. We had a
hell of a time getting you back here. We were lucky you were stunned by the
explosions, and even luckier that we had tranq darts. That--” he pointed to the
rotting, fly-infested pile of flesh using the long black feather. “--used to be
a pair of goats. Juan thought you might revert if we fed you something. As it
happens, he was right.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";">I felt sick to my stomach, and, although
I certainly wasn’t going to mention it to Darius, a bit peckish.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";">Goat wasn’t as filling as human.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: 'Segoe UI', sans-serif; font-size: 10pt;"> </span><b><span style="font-family: 'Segoe UI', sans-serif; font-size: 10pt;">Read it now, direct from World Weaver Press </span></b><span style="font-family: 'Segoe UI', sans-serif; font-size: 10pt;">in</span><span style="font-family: 'Segoe UI', sans-serif; font-size: 10pt;"> </span><span style="font-family: 'Segoe UI', sans-serif; font-size: 10pt;"><a href="https://www.worldweaverpress.com/store/p54/Blood_Chimera_%28ebook%29.html" target="_blank" title=""><span style="color: #2585b2; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;">ebook</span></a></span><span style="font-family: 'Segoe UI', sans-serif; font-size: 10pt;"> </span><span style="font-family: 'Segoe UI', sans-serif; font-size: 10pt;">or</span><span style="font-family: 'Segoe UI', sans-serif; font-size: 10pt;"> </span><span style="font-family: 'Segoe UI', sans-serif; font-size: 10pt;"><a href="https://www.worldweaverpress.com/store/p13/Blood_Chimera_%28Blood_Chimera%2C_1%29.html" target="_blank" title=""><span style="color: #2585b2; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;">trade
paperback</span></a>, or from any of these retailers:<br />
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(Kindle)</span></a><br />
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(paperback)</span></a><br />
<a href="http://www.amazon.co.uk/gp/product/B00MMRTO2O" target="_blank" title=""><span style="color: #2585b2; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;">Amazon UK</span></a><br />
<a href="http://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/blood-chimera-jenn-lyons/1116394713" target="_blank" title=""><span style="color: #2585b2; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;">Barnes
& Noble</span></a><br />
<span style="color: #2585b2; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;"><a href="http://store.kobobooks.com/en-US/ebook/blood-chimera-1" target="_blank" title="">Kobo</a></span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Segoe UI, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;">Add to Goodreads!</span><br />
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<a href="https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/18656290-blood-chimera?from_search=true" target="_blank"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjUMdzeV-xttpyOM56ODooo_51WTAOMxYUOyeWobRSLgEUUf_7OOH2EgN8yFcxvt12c9MucQFYs2ntY1ah-LCZyjigPelOb2N5LctM4sUE8V0Bmg1jeXGQtzHoNvaG7kcIu15ce2HWxWbxA/s1600/goodreads.png" height="86" width="200" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: Segoe UI, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;"><u><br /></u></span>
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<img alt="Jenn Lyons" src="https://www.worldweaverpress.com/uploads/2/3/6/5/23652778/895061188.jpg?233" /><br />
<strong><span style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; color: #444444; font-family: 'Segoe UI', sans-serif; font-size: 10.5pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></strong>
<strong><span style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; color: #444444; font-family: 'Segoe UI', sans-serif; font-size: 10.5pt; line-height: 115%;">Jenn Lyons</span></strong><span style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; color: #444444; font-family: 'Segoe UI', sans-serif; font-size: 10.5pt; line-height: 115%;"> lives in
Atlanta, Georgia, with her husband, three cats and a lot of opinions on
anything from Sumerian creation myths to the correct way to make a martini. At
various points in her life, she has wanted to be an archaeologist,
anthropologist, architect, diamond cutter, fashion illustrator, graphic
designer, or Batman. Turning from such obvious trades, she is now a video game
producer by day, and spends her evenings writing science fiction and fantasy.
When not writing, she can be found debating the Oxford comma and Joss Whedon’s
oeuvre at various local coffee shops.</span><br />
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<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="color: #444444; font-family: Symbol; font-size: 10.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Symbol; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.5pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Symbol;">·<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 7pt; line-height: normal;">
</span></span><!--[endif]--><span style="color: #444444; font-family: "Segoe UI","sans-serif"; font-size: 10.5pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Website: <a href="http://jennlyons.com/" target="_blank" title=""><span style="color: #2585b2; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;">JennLyons.com</span></a><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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miclowery77http://www.blogger.com/profile/14448243180522151043noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8621340771196835022.post-927566014477652972014-07-20T21:13:00.003-07:002014-07-21T06:19:13.647-07:00Slow and Steady Wins the Race?Some of you may be aware of this already, but I've spent the past couple of months toiling as a field hand on my sister and brother-in-law's farm/plan to end world hunger.<br />
<br />
While the work has been extremely rewarding--my family has never eaten so well in the history of my being in charge of meal planning, procurement, and preparation--the death of the prepackaged meal has come at the cost of my timely completion of the second book in my Genie Chronicles, Solomon's Bell.<br />
<br />
Farming has not proven conducive to creativity in my experience. Sure, I still talk to my characters while I water the green beans with the very sweat cascading from my brow as I bake like a crab cake in the Alabama sun, but mainly I just wish for a genie in the form of a tiny tornado that would gleefully take out half of the rows I'm supposed to pick before lunch. I haven't much mental energy left after a day in the dirt and itchy squash, zucchini and okra plants. That I manage not to claw my own skin off because of the chiggers seems like accomplishment enough some evenings.<br />
<br />
I am taking advantage of less demanding days to write, but I think the sun has liquefied parts of my brain. Today I wrote for NINE STRAIGHT HOURS and got down a mere 597 words. That's less than 67 words per hour! Still, I got them down and I'm pretty satisfied with them and the direction of the story. In celebration, I'm sharing them here (with a few others for context) as a sort of teaser. I hope you enjoy them!<br />
<br />
Remember me, as I labor away this summer in the Green Bean Forest. And pray for rain--it's good for the crops and gets me out of the fields for awhile to write!<br />
<br />
(Unedited Excerpt: Genie Chronicles, Book Two: Solomon's Bell, All Rights Reserved)<br />
<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgDSzY1ur8E4bnLOrTVZxINvDHjpvRI8RSLhCYxhF-jbpEV0mDHSEPhfAqrmfrK3rxQPCWoE_KrC6hbeLxYBZu7GqMNaDuWJcxjpbJ9FScWx3x7GWTFn0J-RzZNAixhGf0ZM-THtkGkGH6K/s1600/Golden+Lane.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgDSzY1ur8E4bnLOrTVZxINvDHjpvRI8RSLhCYxhF-jbpEV0mDHSEPhfAqrmfrK3rxQPCWoE_KrC6hbeLxYBZu7GqMNaDuWJcxjpbJ9FScWx3x7GWTFn0J-RzZNAixhGf0ZM-THtkGkGH6K/s1600/Golden+Lane.jpg" height="212" width="320" /></a></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
(The Shops of Golden Lane, Prague)</div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Arial Unicode MS";">The
old man’s bald scalp, the only part of him not wrinkled, protrudes from
the thick dark garment he wears and glows in the firelight. His nose is large and hooked, his bushy brows
heavy over eyes that hang like watery black moons in his weathered face. In the firelight, his dewy
eyes<a href="https://www.blogger.com/null" name="_GoBack"></a> make him appear on the verge of tears. He plucks a crumpled hat of some kind from a
wall peg near the door, shooing a fat yellow cat from its perch atop a stool
underneath, and places it over his glowing dome. He looks embarrassed for a moment, pursing
his narrow, thin lips as he makes minor adjustments to the cap, and this makes
me feel embarrassed, too. Caleb, Haley and I are strangers,
come to his door unexpectedly and uninvited, and it looks like we’ve caught him
in his night clothes.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Arial Unicode MS";">I
avert my eyes and see the cat dash through a narrowly opened door at the back
of the room. Then I take the opportunity
to study my surroundings for signs of the djinni I’ve detected. The front room’s primary purpose isn’t
altogether clear. There’s a sturdy
wooden counter near the center of the space, the top of which is crowded with a
number of small wooden trays, each one divided into compartments. Some of these hold glinting spools of bronze,
silver and gold thread. Others hold
semiprecious stones: topaz, garnet, jade, and opal. Along one side of the room a
rough worktop sits covered by more trays holding thin strips of dull metal and
partially unraveled spools of yarn that look like they’ve been dipped in liquid
gold. There are also cauldrons of
various sizes sitting alongside some kind of small press and racks of slender
tools. An apparent work in progress—a
string of sparkling orange topaz—lies
atop a small square table nestled in a corner and bathed in a pool of
light from a simple but beautiful gilt candelabra holding three candles of pale
yellow wax. In the opposite corner,
haphazardly stacked, sits a pile of books with leather bindings of a dozen
colors; the spines visible to me are marked with curling words and
symbols. <i>Books of magic</i>? A distinct
but faint odor reminding me of fireworks hangs in the air. Whatever this shopkeeper is up to, it almost
certainly involves magic.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Arial Unicode MS";">“What
is it that I can do for you?” the man asks, raising his arms and bowing his covered
head.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Arial Unicode MS";">“You
are Alois Kovar, are you not?” Haley asks, drawing all four feet, five inches
of her slight frame into a stance of confidence and command. “Goldsmith to the Maharal himself?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Arial Unicode MS";">The
man’s head jerks up, his orb-like eyes betraying his surprise. He looks from Haley to me and then to Caleb,
and seems to notice our appearances and clothing for the first time. “You are certainly well informed. I had not known my service to the Maharal to
be the knowledge of anyone so young…and foreign to the Great City.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Arial Unicode MS";">The
door leading to what I presume to be the inner quarters of the shop opens a few
more inches and the fat yellow cat slinks back into the room.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Arial Unicode MS";">“Marek!”
the old man shouts. The cat meows loudly
and, before I can do anything to stop it, is engulfed in a sudden convolution
of yellow smoke. I dash forward, grab
Haley, and shove her behind me. Caleb is
near. I can feel one of his hands on my
upper arm and hear him shout my name above the loud hum in the electrified air
swirling around my head. I look over my
shoulder to see my friend and foster sister fall to the ground, palms pressed
tightly to their ears against the noise.
Even the shopkeeper Alois Kovar crouches near the floor with his silly
cap pulled low and pressed to his ears.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Arial Unicode MS";">The
noise begins to fade, lifting like a dissipating fog. I regard the scrappy yellow-haired man
standing in front of me with genuine interest.
I’ve never met another genie other than Rashmere before. This <i>Marek
</i>is nothing like Rashmere, however, with his fluffy tufts of blond hair and
emerald green eyes. His smile is wide
and toothy but insincere and never reaches his cold, languid stare. Where Rashmere is calm and centered, Marek
seems nimble and spry with an innate capacity for cunning; he looks ready to
pounce. “What do we have here?” Marek
purrs.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Arial Unicode MS";"><br /></span></div>
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<br />miclowery77http://www.blogger.com/profile/14448243180522151043noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8621340771196835022.post-25065822883151591272014-06-08T11:35:00.000-07:002014-06-08T11:36:59.494-07:00Five Rules for Dating My Teenage Daughter<div class="MsoNormal">
Well, it’s happened:
my oldest daughter has come of dating age. I’m struggling with it more
than I did when her older brother reached this milestone. Maybe because he didn’t
do much casual dating; his first serious girlfriend was a year and a half older
and a Freshman in college. The girlfriend was responsible and intelligent and a
couple of hours away for most of their relationship. Number One son is now
successfully graduated from high school and enlisted in the US Army with nary a
pulverized-to-bits broken heart, STD or offspring to his name and I can’t help
feeling like we came through those first dating years unscathed. But now comes my first born baby girl and I’m
a mess.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I’ve decided that it would help not only my sanity but also
my daughter when screening potential dates if I were to hammer out a list of <b>FIVE RULES FOR DATING MY TEENAGE DAUGHTER.</b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 1.0in; text-indent: -.5in;">
1. I will meet you face-to-face and <b>WE WILL</b> have a conversation that may or
may not make you varying degrees of uncomfortable. I will ask questions like:</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 1.0in; text-indent: -.5in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 1.0in; text-indent: -.5in;">
a.) Who are your parents?</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 1.0in; text-indent: -.5in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 1.0in; text-indent: -.5in;">
b.) Where do you go to school/church? (You won’t
be penalized for these particular answers provided that you are, in fact, in
school somewhere and not a Scientologist.)</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 1.0in; text-indent: -.5in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 1.0in; text-indent: -.5in;">
c.) Do you/ have you ever used drugs or alcohol?</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 1.0in; text-indent: -.5in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 1.0in; text-indent: -.5in;">
d.) What did you score on your driver’s test?</div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 1.0in; text-indent: -.5in;">
e.) What is your <b>LATEST</b> ACT score? (Yes, you will have needed to make more than one
attempt at the ACT. How else am I to gauge your commitment to attending a college
or university?)</div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 1.0in; text-indent: -.5in;">
f.) What was the last novel you read? (Extra
points if it happens to have been mine—in which case you will be grilled extensively
about the characters, plot and themes of the book, just to make sure.)</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 1.0in; text-indent: -.5in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 1.0in; text-indent: -.5in;">
g.) If you could be a bat or a ball which would
you be and why? (I have no idea what this question is even supposed to ascertain,
but I was asked it in an interview for a bank teller job when I was 19 and I’ve
never been able to get it out of my head. If Compass Bank wants to know, so do
I.)</div>
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<br /></div>
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<br /></div>
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<br /></div>
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2. No tattoos.***</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 1.0in; text-indent: -.5in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
If
you’re dating my teenage daughter, I can assume that you yourself are also a
teenager. That being established, being tatted up and having made that<b> LIFETIME</b> commitment as a minor makes
me question your ability to exercise good judgment.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
***Exceptions
may be made for a single memorial tattoo of your Dearly Departed Momma provided
said tattoo is:</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: .5in; text-indent: .5in;">
a.) of professional quality</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: .5in; text-indent: .5in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: .5in; text-indent: .5in;">
b.) in good taste</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: .5in; text-indent: .5in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: .5in; text-indent: .5in;">
and</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: .5in; text-indent: .5in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: .5in; text-indent: .5in;">
c.) your Momma is actually deceased (If you are a
minor and have a tribute tattoo to your mother who is alive and well somewhere,
then you may have issues that preclude you from being a good match for my
daughter. Just sayin’.)</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: .5in; text-indent: .5in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEijFU8518Eb6kUS43awRFG_Myt2Dou3JFGBut2f0jfwiwwe84bfvpZVdG3nJbR3Z1WTULDe1xUJ_qscu_3C_1280hFUsX7I2kD3ZUjxdjezxL_AzqEWOAt4nOGMtL9MGsbmPRcJq7e0Kj2u/s1600/Mom+Tattoo.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEijFU8518Eb6kUS43awRFG_Myt2Dou3JFGBut2f0jfwiwwe84bfvpZVdG3nJbR3Z1WTULDe1xUJ_qscu_3C_1280hFUsX7I2kD3ZUjxdjezxL_AzqEWOAt4nOGMtL9MGsbmPRcJq7e0Kj2u/s1600/Mom+Tattoo.jpg" /></a></div>
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<br /></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
3. No offspring.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
And
I mean<b> EVERYTHING</b> from children to
unexplained rashes.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
4. You will be required early in your
dating relationship to meet my mother.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
The Princess & Her Mammy</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
When
you date one of my children, you’re basically dating his/her <b>ENTIRE</b> family. We are a package deal
with no real respect for personal boundaries. You will not outsmart Mammy. She
is the Boss of Foolishment and can sniff it out a mile away. She’s a bail
bondswoman <i>ala </i>Dog the Bounty Hunter
style. You <b>CANNOT</b> hide from Mammy. She will find you and bust down your door
armed to the teeth with wild hair and pepper spray.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjEbh6a0dwwOrRfBfO2vAvsZmaTAQblxKC7dfMlnhYD4fXpEVVZ78AEOWb2bIoA5wbsPfBuNg_2OZ-GdddRnLBrZFX8aQWMQ47aoHwQ-tiv0V3XUbuCVNbNueP5PjuuHyxw2lczCwDOYehd/s1600/dog-gun-badge-belt.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjEbh6a0dwwOrRfBfO2vAvsZmaTAQblxKC7dfMlnhYD4fXpEVVZ78AEOWb2bIoA5wbsPfBuNg_2OZ-GdddRnLBrZFX8aQWMQ47aoHwQ-tiv0V3XUbuCVNbNueP5PjuuHyxw2lczCwDOYehd/s1600/dog-gun-badge-belt.jpg" height="320" width="300" /></a></div>
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<br /></div>
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<br /></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
5. You will need to be respectful and
mannerly <b>AT ALL TIMES</b>.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgRfAT8zO7B2gyWYwTVWfxelIbFAUxHsze62tKg1BBNd_cuPavgbvxlLW97mlcf3yL1KkJEaJR8CdczZvtt_pdVSrVL0yvt9A3wVjTyFnM1wTU7QciPsRxVRZ5tfAq3kfJfyajKQdjE3wXD/s1600/6-tips-ofgood-manners.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgRfAT8zO7B2gyWYwTVWfxelIbFAUxHsze62tKg1BBNd_cuPavgbvxlLW97mlcf3yL1KkJEaJR8CdczZvtt_pdVSrVL0yvt9A3wVjTyFnM1wTU7QciPsRxVRZ5tfAq3kfJfyajKQdjE3wXD/s1600/6-tips-ofgood-manners.jpg" height="320" width="246" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
This
goes for how you treat and address my daughter, me, Mammy, the wait staff at
the restaurant where you dine, and the guy who takes your ticket at the movie
theatre. Manners matter, buddy. Remember that I’m watching. And so is Mammy
with her pepper spray.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
If
I tell you she’s to be home at 10 p.m., then by gosh she’d better be home at 10
p.m. no matter what kind of mountains you have to move to make that
happen. I won’t care that your “movie
ran over”, you’re “out of gas”, or you need to “make a stop somewhere” and therefore
“she’ll be a little late getting home.” Punctuality is a sign of respect and <b>you will respect me</b> and my daughter’s
curfew.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
So, that’s it. Five rules I believe the Princess and her
potential suitors can live with. I trust my daughter, who has shown me that she’s
a responsible young woman capable of good decision making, and I hope to trust
any young man that not only understands my need for a list, but happily submits
himself to it. As long as he can also produce those ACT scores and maybe his
CARFAX while he’s at it.</div>
miclowery77http://www.blogger.com/profile/14448243180522151043noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8621340771196835022.post-36229119024157480752014-05-21T09:08:00.000-07:002014-05-21T09:08:59.415-07:00Fae Cover Reveal & Giveaway<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgr_-oe6dUmN6U6FlBERthfnskjNaQ7XClvOxODht5f1HFX6HMOyVa1unw2DP4EHzk12Z0TSRm3sU4DLG59N-p-M9G-78fFq0c0sbAKi9Ix3Yzt73lUtduoIr4hyD7YWY_2arXwVMn1Znaw/s1600/FAE+cover.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgr_-oe6dUmN6U6FlBERthfnskjNaQ7XClvOxODht5f1HFX6HMOyVa1unw2DP4EHzk12Z0TSRm3sU4DLG59N-p-M9G-78fFq0c0sbAKi9Ix3Yzt73lUtduoIr4hyD7YWY_2arXwVMn1Znaw/s1600/FAE+cover.jpg" height="320" width="213" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-size: 10pt;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 10pt;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 10pt;">Meet Robin Goodfellow as you’ve never seen him before, watch damsels in distress rescue themselves, get swept away with the selkies and enjoy tales of hobs, green men, pixies and phookas. One thing is for certain, these are not your grandmother’s fairy tales. Fairies have been both mischievous and malignant creatures throughout history. They’ve dwelt in forests, collected teeth or crafted shoes. </span><b style="font-size: 10pt;"><i>Fae</i> </b><span style="font-size: 10pt;">is full of stories that honor that rich history while exploring new and interesting takes on the fair folk from castles to computer technologies and modern midwifing, the Old World to Indianapolis.</span><span style="font-size: 10pt;"> </span><i style="font-size: 10pt;">Fae</i><span id="yui_3_16_0_1_1400687727419_44354" style="font-size: 10pt;"> covers a vast swath of the fairy story spectrum, making the old new and exploring lush settings with beautiful prose and complex characters. Enjoy the familiar feeling of a good old-fashioned fairy tale alongside urban fantasy and horror with a fae twist.</span></div>
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<span id="yui_3_16_0_1_1400687727419_44343" style="font-size: 10pt;">With an introduction by <b id="yui_3_16_0_1_1400687727419_44365">Sara Cleto</b> and <b id="yui_3_16_0_1_1400687727419_44352">Brittany Warman</b>, and new stories from <b>Sidney Blaylock Jr.</b>, <b id="yui_3_16_0_1_1400687727419_44375">Amanda Block</b>, <b>Kari Castor</b>, <b>Beth Cato</b>, <b>Liz Colter</b>, <b>Rhonda Eikamp</b>, <b id="yui_3_16_0_1_1400687727419_44366">Lor Graham</b>, <b id="yui_3_16_0_1_1400687727419_44351">Alexis A. Hunter</b>, <b>L.S. Johnson</b>, <b>Jon Arthur Kitson</b>, <b id="yui_3_16_0_1_1400687727419_44374">Adria Laycraft</b>, <b>Lauren Liebowitz</b>,<b>Christine Morgan</b>, <b>Shannon Phillips</b>, <b id="yui_3_16_0_1_1400687727419_44367">Sara Puls</b>, <b id="yui_3_16_0_1_1400687727419_44342">Laura VanArendonk Baugh</b>, and <b id="yui_3_16_0_1_1400687727419_44373">Kristina Wojtaszek</b>.</span></div>
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