This Year's Christmas Card - part 3 of series

O Star whose light was brighter than

Any ever seen by man,

To lead them all to see the sight,

Of manger meek and miracle's night.

O Shepherds! He chose you! Come, See!

Because He Himself, One destined to be,

Will take up His Staff and lead us - free!

O Tiny Babe with lamb at side,

Who became The Lamb died, crucified,

For any and all who'd come to Him,

And in His Holy Truth abide.

Above you see  my husband's art work and to the right my poem, which is on the back of the card. This is the third in a series of a limited edition of Christmas cards that we are selling! They'll be at the book signings, but are on sale now for $1.00 each (card/envelope). 

The first year is  no longer available, but last year's, which depict the manger with angels surrounding it, is still available in a very small quantity. I'll have them at the book signings also, or you can pick them up now. The price is the same.

Some folks are framing them and using them as part of their Christmas decor. 

There will be two more in this series, a card for Christmas 2013 and 2014.

More soon on the book signings!

Coming Soon: A Book Signing Near You

I'm getting excited! As many of you know, I have three books being published. The last one has headed to the printers. That means I'll have be having book signings soon.

"Out on a Limb of the Family Tree" is the hardest, most satisfying, and most enjoyable thing I've ever written. It all started in 1997 with a short story. That short story is  now the prologue to the book. I finally finished that book in May of this year. Whew! And by finish, I mean I finished the first draft. I've been an editing fool ever since, and I tell you, I had to stop. I could go right now to the finished product and make twenty changes. This could  have been worded differently. She should have said it this way. And so on. But so far, the folks that have read it said it made them laugh and feel a little melancholy too. Appalachia, our way of life, is fleeing. I miss so much of it already. I hope I captured the flavor of the Appalachian language without it being too overbearing. I intergrated true stories, woven in and out of fiction in several scenes. Sometimes it's a whole story, sometimes a sentence or two that is true inside a purely fictional tale.  But the life of Missouri Pickett and her family is every bit real in the sense that you will recognize them all in your own family, if you have been born and raised Appalachian. The book is over two hundred pages, but I think it's a pretty quick read.

"Signs from God" was finished September of last year. Well, the writing was...not the illustrations (book cover, and 3 inside). This book took me about nine months to write. It's three hundred some odd pages, and it's a "fun" book. It's about life in general, romance, comedy, and a big dog. I hope it makes you smile a lot.

"The Christmas Closet and Other Works" is a combination of short stories and poems about Christmas (of course!). Some have been done for years; the first one, for which the book is named, was done in January. It is one of my most favorite short stories I've ever written. One of the stories in this book won first prize in a short story contest many years ago. I think it's a sweet book, and great for that gift you are looking for to give a friend or someone whose name you drew at a party, or your children's teacher, etc. Although it kind of looks like a children's book on the cover, it isn't.

BEWARE: there is an issue with our favorite fella in the red suit, and if a child under ten or so doesn't have an issue yet, read it first. It all gets resolved by the end of the story, but I don't want to put doubts in your child's head!

Next blog: I'll have photos of the book covers... hope you like them!

I Love Getting Up in the Middle of the Night

I love getting up in the middle of the night.

Awakening gradually, your body tells you it can’t wait till morning. I roll over and sit up. As I toss the covers, gooseflesh rises on my limbs. The air is cold, crisp and quick on my skin. Throwing my legs over the side of the bed, my feet fumble for the thick slippers lying on the rug so they may escape the hard floor that will feel like an ice rink. I gaze about the room, still fuzzy headed from sleep. The cat, sleeping at my back, looks up at me and blinks in confusion. Then she puts her head back down, and covers her eyes and nose with a paw. The dog, sleeping on her blanket next to my side of the bed, doesn’t even twitch.

The nightlights in the bedroom and bath cast a golden glow, a gentle light that settles around the baseboards. I shuffle to the bathroom as quietly as I can, so my sleeping husband can continue undisturbed. The full moon is glaring at me through the skylight, and I squint at it, trying to make the blurred edges sharper, but without my glasses, I fail.

Climbing back into bed, I scoot way down under the quilts. The flannel sheets are soft and still very warm. I feel my skin begin to heat up immediately. The cat puts it in reverse and nestles underneath my shoulder blade with her back. She seems to always know exactly where the pain is there, and soothes it with her higher body temperature. That’s a God thing, for sure.

As I drift back off to sleep, snuggled safe and content, I think once again: I love getting up in the middle of the night.

As long as I can go right back to my nest, while it’s still warm and inviting.

My Misspent Youth

I quit school in the third grade. Yep. Didn't go a full day the last six weeks. Now you may be asking  how I got away with that. It's a long story, but that's never stopped me before. Here goes:

Something happened to me at school one day. And I was terrified to go back. My parents threatened to spank me, they prayed with me, they tried to bribe me, they dragged me physically to the school house. I would become so upset I would throw up.

Now, it wasn't that I didn't want to go to school - I did - desperately. I did online preparation every night for the next day. By online, I mean telephone line. I called my best friend and she would carefully tell me every homework assignment there was. I picked out my clothes. I had my notebooks and books and purse by the front door so I could grab them on the way out.

But the next morning, I would be an emotional wreck and  just couldn't do it.

My mother tells me the last day I went, she had forced me to go with her. When she left me I had tried to run out the front door and the principal was holding me by the arms (poor Mr. Martin!) as I screamed and sobbed after her, begging her  not to leave me. She said when she got to work she vowed, crying herself, that if I never went to school another day for the rest of my life, she was done. She'd never make me go again.

I probably didn't stay that whole day. Every time I went, I managed to sneak away at some point and walk home.

They finally took me to a child psychologist. That sounds fine, as many children are sent to pediatric psychologists today. But that was 1962, folks. It just wasn't done. But they were beside themselves, and I guess this was the only thing left.

I remember he was a nice guy, and we chatted. (I think I thought he was cute, too.) He made a few recommendations. The man never figured out what was really wrong, because I had buried it so deeply inside I didn't know, much less know how to tell him. 

Recommendation one; have my I.Q. tested (shut up), and two, maybe I did not want to go to school because, since my Daddy had started working at Lockheed, I couldn't see him except on weekends, unless I was home...nah. I  mean, I loved my Daddy, but that wasn't it. I didn't care where I was, with our without him, as long as I wasn't at school.

Well, (and I stick my tongue out at all my so-called friends) they tested my I.Q. and it was BIG. Ha. So there. The school suggested I skip on to fourth grade and see if that stimulated me. I had a fit! I didn't want to leave my friends. Were they nuts?

The story ends with my staying at my grandparents every day and my grandfather bringing me home when Mother got off work. Easy-peasy. Don't know why they didn't think of that to start with!

As a side note: When Anna Kate, my twenty-two year old daughter was ten months old, my grandmother was in the hospital at Easter. She wasn't sick, they were running tests on her heart. The nurses colluded to allow us, along with my sister-in-law and 13 month old niece, to visit her room, with the babies all dressed up in their Easter finery. My grandmother's roommate just  happened to be my poor old third grade teacher.

She lamented how she had suffered that year, not sleeping well, trying to figure out what in the world was wrong, and had she done something to contribute to my distress. The lady was now up in her nineties, and I felt like a dog. I assured her she had  nothing to do with it, that I had loved her dearly.

So, she asked, what in the world happened to you at school to make it so terrible for you?

Fifty years later? Still stumped.

So Little Time, So Many Words...

I read every chance I get, which means all time time. I remember being five and wanting to read so badly I'd memorize the "Nancy" comic strip after my parents read it to me several times, walk across the road, and "read" it to my grandparents. It was that important to me. What a world it opened up when pretend became reality!

I guess writing came naturally after that, the urge to do what I'd been passively participating in. So, about fifth grade I began to write short stories. I didn't  have many critics among my ten year old followers, so I  naturally thought I was a great writer!

Great or not, I have a drive inside me that has nothing to do with success in the  publishing business.  I read Stephen King's "On Writing" and felt such relief that I was not the only person on the planet that has people coming alive in their heads demanding release because they have a story to tell. I am nothing but a vessel for these folks. Many times I have no idea what's going to happen until it flows out my fingers onto the page. I will admit the relief of reading King's similar circumstances of being held hostage by these characters in our minds was tempered a little by it being - well - Stephen King. If ya know what I mean, and I think you do.

I've won some contests, some awards, and many compliments along the way. The thrill of seeing something I'd written turn into a real book that people actually purchase is almost beyond words. But of course, I can always find words.

In a few weeks, because of some weird direction of God's, I will have three books coming out together. One, "Signs from God" was finished September last year, but I couldn't seem to get the illustrator to cooperate (cough, David Hill, cough). The other novel, "Out on a Limb of the Family Tree" has been labored over off and on since 1997. It just happened to get finished last spring. And the final book, "The Christmas Closet and Other Works" came about from encouragement that folks want to buy little books about Christmas as gifts to friends, teachers, etc. The collection has stuff written  years ago up to January of this year.

So, when I know dates of book signings, I'll be hollering about it. Because, even if you don't buy a book, I'm  honored to see friends there. Makes my  heart sing!

Photo for new release "Out on a Limb of the Family Tree"

Oh Deer!

This morning, as I was eating breakfast and gazing out at the autumn beauty of the woods, I saw two deer come into the yard, nosing around for food that we leave out for birds.

It reminded me of a few years back, before The Fall (not Adam and Eve but my falling down and changing my life forever). After work, I would walk for twenty  minutes, three evenings a week.

This particular evening it was snowing, and there was already an inch or so on the ground. My world seemed absolutely silent. I couldn't even hear my own footsteps.

As I topped a rise in the road, I was brought to an abrupt halt. Standing before me were at least twelve deer, the nearest one so close I could have reached out and touched it.

They were as startled as I, and for several seconds nobody moved. They stared at me, I stared at them.

Have you ever noticed how large and pointy a buck's rack is? Have you ever noticed that deer are pretty big?

For a moment I thought I was going to be trampled by a herd of deer, and my heart began to pump rapidly.

I smiled tentatively at them and said, "Hey."

The one nearest me stomped the ground, huffed, and started them all doing the same.

The next word I said I can't print, but it was sorta like "Oh, dear!" Only spelled differently.

The the buck, who was on the other side of the herd from me, stomped and huffed and took off - in the other direction. The does followed him, and soon all I saw were the white flags of their tails as they disappeared over the ridge.

Now, never in my life would I have thought I'd be afraid of Bambi's family.

But I was.