Friday, August 31, 2012

She Enraged an Evil Witch--That Would Suck!

Aliya Fisher knows nothing about her true heritage until a vindictive sorceress kidnaps her brother and sister. The young adventurer must take up her birthright, battle strange creatures, and find the Sword of Senack if she hopes to best the witch. But even if Aliya finds the famed weapon and survives the perilous oceanic journey, the enchantress is far more than she appears. How does one defeat an immortal who lusts for revenge?

     The Sword of Senack AND nine other books will be free through Wayman Publishing from September 2nd - 4th.
    For more info about that book fair, and a chance to win $200, please go HERE

Thursday, August 30, 2012

Bible Girl & the Bad Boy

The book practically cried for me to spare its life, and for a moment I thought I’d rather burn in Hell than lose something my brother had given me in love. The pastor nudged me, though, and my heart turned to ice.
    I thought of all those hours my brother had read to me. I thought of all that time he’d invested.
    I couldn’t throw it into the fire; not the last book of the trilogy. That funny little dwarf stared at me from the cover. Then, I closed my eyes. I stepped so close to the flames they almost ate my skin. I tore the book in front of those kids. I put on quite a show throwing in a section at a time because I couldn’t stand sending the whole thing in at once. When the last pages went up in flame, and the dwarf on the cover curled with death, I dropped to my knees and cried. The kids all hooted and screamed in ecstasy, thinking I’d been freed, when the ropes of religion had just twisted tighter.

Bible Girl & the Bad Boy, AND nine other books will be free through Wayman Publishing from September 2nd - 4th.
    For more info about that book fair, and a chance to win $200, please go HERE

Wednesday, August 29, 2012

Remembering Our Loved Ones

    This always makes me tear up; I wondered why since everything seems so long ago.
    Zeke was born in 2002, died in 2003.

    I guess it makes me cry because this book was my link to Zeke.  I'd pushed so many memories from my mind, and rereading the journal brought everything to the surface again, reconnecting me with my son, enabling me to remember the struggles I had with Cade.  So I cry, not because Zeke's gone, but because this trailer is a reminder that one day we'll be together again, and that miracles are happening all around us, even if we don't realize what's going on. 

   My book, The Golden Sky, AND nine other books will be free through Wayman Publishing from September 2nd - 4th.

    Other authors have teamed up with us as well, and some have agreed to give as much as 10% of their profit to the American Diabetes Association!
    For more info about that book fair, and a chance to win $200, please go HERE.

Monday, August 27, 2012

Labor Day Celebration!

Welcome to the Labor Day Book Fair! 

Wayman publishing has teamed up
with many phenomenal authors
to bring you this Labor Day weekend event.


For three whole days
--September 2-3-4--
you can download these featured 

e-books  for FREE.
Don't forget to come back then.

. . . And . . .

You can download many other books
to entertain you in the days ahead.

Discover Upcoming Books!

Author’s biography The author was born in Athens, Greece in 1955 and is a dual U.S. / Greek citizen. After obtaining his Engineering Sc. B. degree in mechanical engineering from Brown University in 1977 he went on to Harvard Business School where he earned his MBA in 1979. He is married and has two children and lives in Athens but often visits America (Boston where his daughter studies and his son works). He is currently employed by the largest Greek manufacturing Co. (10% of Greek exports) as the Senior Financial Analyst. His interests include poetry, romance fiction and actively following economic developments in the U.S. and Europe.
Coming Soon!

 More Details Coming Soon!


. . . Also . . .

You can enter to win CASH or physical books
by outstanding authors such as
Valerie Bowen,
Adrienne deWolfe,
Peter Thomas Senese,
Lucy Swing,
Kara Tollman. 

In honor of Melynda Fleury--who has bravely been fighting diabetes and almost completely lost her eyesight--Wayman Publishing and Rick Gualtieri are also donating 5-10% profit from select physical book sales to the American Diabetes Association

We hope you'll enjoy discovering new authors and their stories
at our Labor Day Blogfest and Book Fair.

Wednesday, August 22, 2012

He Loved Us Despite Everything

    So many funny things happened while we were in Carbon County.  Maybe I'll write about those sometime, but right now, I need to tell you about my experience on Sunday morning.
    I put my violin at a playing position.  The theater lights shone bright even when I closed my eyes.  Guitar chords swam around, trying to coax melodies from my soul.
    Was all this real?  Were Cade and I seriously about to play music in a theater that had been turned into a church?  I told the pastor days before I'm so lost and confused; I don't know exactly what I believe.  One day I'm a Christian, one day I'm the biggest hypocrite to ever live.  "I love God, though," I'd said, "more than anything.  And my idea of Heaven is playing music for God, even if just once."  
    I told him all that before Cade said how we weren't cut out to play in church.  "I'm ignostic," Cade had said, holding his guitar case tightly.
    "See?" I'd told the pastor.  "We can't play in church.  That would be like the blind leading the blind."
    He smirked.  "God has a plan for you two.  And I'm not one of those pastors who cards people at the door.  If you're up for it, I really want you two and your mom to play in church Sunday morning.  Will you?"
    Cade surprised me by nodding.  "All right.  We'll be there."   
    And we were.  But it was so much harder for me than I'd expected.  

The fact remains, I left church and my previous beliefs for many reasons.  If you've read Bible Girl and the Bad Boy, you know people gave me an exorcism and that's a big part of the reason I ran away when I was seventeen.  Almost everyone who hears that laughs, but it isn't funny to me, not really.  I try laughing and smiling about it when everyone else does . . . even if, that was one of the scariest moments of my life.  I thought those church people might physically hurt me, so excited to be confronting a "demon"-possessed, rebellious girl.  Every time I tried standing, they pushed me back down saying the "demon" was acting up.
    So this past Sunday, I stood under those searching theater spotlights at church.  My hand shook as I played my violin.  Loud, vibratory notes came out at first, and then that was it, the music sucked me in.  God's love filled me from the inside out as if a shell fell away.  I didn't worry about exorcisms or judgmental church folk I once knew.  Instead, my fingers blurred playing faster and faster all over the strings.  My mom picked up the beats on the drums, our instruments echoing each other as the guitars did the same, swelling and growing more powerful.  I imagined--like I always used to--playing for God.  I could almost picture Him smiling at us, because in that moment we weren't just giving Him an offering, we were the offering, and I no longer worried about being good enough, or kind enough.  I guess I just hoped He'd take me as I am--the real me, who's been trying everything I can to succeed just so He'll love me.
    I tried not crying, the beats from the drums, shook to my core, the pastor's voice sang strong, new words that weren't part of any song--yet--this was our song, created from jungle drums and a violin that wouldn't be tamed.
    I looked at Cade strumming his guitar like crazy, closing his eyes and listening like I had just before.
    That's when I cried, feeling something so strong, no matter what crazy things I've gone through, or the fact that I left God, He's never left me and He always had a plan.
    There we were, even if I turned away for years, running from an exorcism, hiding after Zeke passed away. God was always waiting.

    This is a simple post, but I wanted you to know, no matter what you believe, God loves you.  He loves all of us. 

    I posted this picture yesterday, but I had to again since the guy in the blue is the pastor.  I'm so glad he let us play in church, and loved us despite everything.

    Thank you Andrew and Terri!
    To visit their site, please go HERE

    If you'd like to hear our music, please visit this link.
    Or watch this video:

    Also, one of my favorite romance books is free right now, if you want to check that out go here: Texas Outlaw (Wild Texas Nights, Book 1)

Monday, August 20, 2012

We traveled for my writing!

Just a quick update.  Cade and I traveled for the second time for my writing.  We played music and I signed books on the side.  This was such a blast, playing at four different places and signing at three!  

    Here are some pictures:

We're the sixth down, performing for the Balance Rock Eatery & Pub.

Doing a sound check before the art festival started.

Getting ready for a gig the next day.

Us playing at the New Life Ministries booth.  These people are AMAZING and have been so supportive of my writing.
Also, my mom is in the pink, playing the congas.  

Another one.

Since N. L. M. supports the arts, they had wonderful dances, music and acting throughout the service--our kids absolutely loved it.
Plus, this church used to be a theater and it has THE BEST acoustics. 
Here's a picture from a sound check at New Life Ministries.  My mom played the drums with us here, too.  If you haven't heard her play, you have to check out This Link.

The last place we played at was a family reunion for my mom's side.  My family is so awesome!
We had the best time this past weekend.  Thanks to everyone who came out to hear us play and have books signed. 

This is a short video from a sound check before the arts festival.

Thursday, August 16, 2012

Someone Broke Into Our House--An Anniversary

If you've read my blog for a while, you know our house has been broken into several times.  At first, I didn't want anyone realizing these stories were about me, until it happened on my birthday in February.  Then I couldn't take it anymore--the nervous feeling every time I'd go to sleep--the fact that I've had to take shooting lessons because we didn't know who this person was/is.  What they were breaking in for. . . .  The fact that Cade was never home--this list goes on.
    If you want to read that post, please go HERE.
    Well, I have great news today because we haven't had another break-in since February!  And (on the bright side) if we ever do, this person has prepared me because although I was very disoriented the first time this happened in the middle of the night, now I know this isn't just a nightmare.  Evil people are out there.  In some ways we have no control over what trials we'll face in life.  Like when my son died, or when my dad had cancer.  Getting the house broken into has been terrifying, but the best we can do--all of us--is be prepared and have faith that God has a plan.  

    Someone read book reviews from The Golden Sky the other day.  You can see that here. Anyway, they sent me an email that said, "Those book reviews are great. You seem to have the perfect life."
    Did they realize that's a memoir about the hardest time of my life?  The only reason I've had any type of success is because I've taken the hardest things in my life and tried turning them into something good.
    Zeke died, and now anyone who needs help dealing with loss and grief, they can read his story even though it almost killed me reading it for content over and over. 
    That experience showed me who I want to be. I don't want to let things get me down. Life is what you make it, really.
    I thought about all of this today because it's close to the anniversary of the worst break-in we've had.  People say writing about things helps, so I've decided to talk about this a little bit more today and share some pictures for the first time.
    Like I wrote in a previous post, we've had to replace three doors from all of the damages done over the past several years.
    Here are the pictures:
The cop said they took a crowbar to the door and literally pried the metal from the wood.

This is the door on the other side where the trim popped from the wall.
Before they could break into this house door, the cop/detective said they broke into the man door by shouldering it.

    How do you handle hard times?  Have you dealt with something like this?

Wednesday, August 15, 2012

Live Life: To Have A Lot of Heart

   I've played the violin since I was six--and always had a lot more heart than talent. Just before turning sixteen, I learned that a very advanced orchestra had try-outs. They only accepted older teenagers and early twenty-year-olds, basically being a stepping stone to play in the larger state orchestras. I practiced for months, at least three hours every day and when the audition came and went, the conductor called me. "Why do you want to play in my orchestra?" she asked, shocking me with a personal phone call.
    "I can't imagine anything more amazing.  I've practiced for hours every day and since I'm younger and I might not be as good as some of the other people, I even prayed."
    She chuckled. "I'm not considering you because of your ability. It's because you have heart.  You'll work harder to learn what you need to--and you'll appreciate this more than most of the others. You're in."
    "You won't regret this!" I jumped up and down with the phone.  "I swear!" As part of the second violins, I got to play alongside the Utah Symphony and for The Nutcracker ballet. It was the experience of a lifetime. But more than that, the conductor's words never left me. 
   As I write novel after novel, or take my violin to play music with Cade at book signings, I remember how far "heart" can take people.

    It's amazing what dreams we can accomplish if we work hard and believe.

Cade and me playing:

For more of our music, please go HERE
Click THIS LINK for a list of my books.

Friday, August 10, 2012

Why is it so hard to start homework?

If there's one thing that makes me feel like an idiot, it's doing homework with my kids.  "What's 8 times 12?" The Hippie asked.
    What the Hell?  Our nation goes into recession and suddenly third graders have to know times tables up to twelve!  This IS NOT helping the recession.  Poor, hardworking parents--just making it by--have to worry about putting food on the table AND looking like idiots in front of their kids.  I've stayed up nights studying.  I can't even remember half of the math problems I used to know.

    After doing homework--for hours--I took the kids to the movie store so they could get a real education. I counted my cash wrong and the clerk tapped his fingers on the counter.  "You're a dollar short," he said.
    I'd battled my own self-worth until I couldn't count ones correctly.  "I'm sorry." I smiled, hiding my pain and handing him another dollar.  "Every time I've had a baby I've lost a fourth of my brain."  Then I threw in some math skills--just to feel competent. "I've had five kids--you do the math.  Now I'm in the negative."
    "That isn't true," The Hippie said to me and the clerk.
    "Sure it is," the clerk said without missing a beat as he turned to my daughter. "Where do you think your brain came from?"
    Thank God for the movie store.  I told you that's the best place for kids to get an education!
    So if you're a kid reading this and you googled "Why is it so hard to start homework?"  The answer is, because it's painful, but you have to do it--so you can be witty like the clerk at the movie store.  Seriously, awesomeness does exist and the man just proved it.

Onto other news, Wayman Publishing has a Facebook page.  But they need likes.  If you have a chance can you like their page because it'll bring good karma your way--honestly it's worth a shot!

In closing, I'm trying to amass my army--well not really but that sounded cool.
To join a blogfest I'm hosting, please go HERE

Thursday, August 9, 2012

What Do Women Talk About When Guys Aren't Around

Me: "You don't swallow gum. When you're done with it, you throw it in the garbage. You don't put it on the wall--in your sister's hair--on the dog! You throw gum in the garbage! So what do you do?"
    My son: "I poop a lot." 
    Great . . .

I remember another silly gum story from last year.  But before you watch it, let me give you some info.
Melynda (on the left) has been battling diabetes and now complete loss of her eyesight. Any support we can show her would be so appreciated.  She's such an awesome, strong, amazing woman!
For more info about that, go HERE.

And now, the video. 
"Gum and Hell"

Melynda's Labor Day Blogfest and Book Fair

Sign up to join a Labor Day Blogfest and Book Fair. Sunday September 2nd -Tuesday the 4th. (Some free eBooks included!) 

    In honor of Melynda Fleury--who has bravely been fighting diabetes and almost completely lost her eyesight--Wayman Publishing is offering unlimited free downloads of their top ten bestselling books to all entrants during this event! 
    In addition, we're featuring some phenomenal books you should check out AND giving away X-amount of Cash (announced after Blogger signups completed). 
    Other bloggers can join in for this great opportunity to gain new traffic. We're excited to spread the word about some fantastic authors and Wayman Publishing; we hope you'll join us for this fun event. 

Feel free to grab this button:

    The first links to enter are free with the agreement that you will post the button and information about this giveaway on your site. Any additional links will be $3 for Social Network links and $5 for RSS/Email Subscriptions. 

Wednesday, August 8, 2012

Are animal activists taking things too far?

On the 23rd of July, after putting glue and glitter all over the dog AND themselves, my toddlers brought dish soap into the bathtub. While I tried shampooing our white husky and cutting her hair, bubbly water went everywhere. I thought I'd lose my mind, but I breathed and things seemed okay, until yesterday.

Let's back up. If you're new here, you need to know something about me. I don't hide things. When I wanted implants, everyone knew. When I was depressed about my son's death--I even released a book about it.  When I got in a big pretend-fight with my buddy--in front of a condemned house--we took pictures!

 Check out Melynda HERE (on the left) and me doing the ballerina two-step (on the right). That's The Hippie (my middle daughter) up front.
    And as I'm sure some of you noticed . . . I never got that boob job because we simply . . . can't afford it.

    So, now that you know how shallow, sad, silly and upfront I can be--solely from these examples--I have to tell you yet another blatantly honest story about how animal activists can take things too far!

    I went into a store yesterday.  The Zomibe Elf zoomed around as I waited to pay for my items. He made an instant friend since kids are experts at doing that.  They hollered together and I blushed with embarrassment.  "Zombie! Stop screaming and . . . licking the cart. You aren't a dog."
    The cashier's eyes perked with interest when I said the word 'dog.'  That should have been the first sign that things headed to a dangerous place.
    "How are you, Elisa?" she asked, scanning canned soup.  "You're looking awfully frazzled."
    Ummm . . . gee.  Let's see why?  The Zombie Elf's new friend suddenly clutched onto my leg while I tried hefting groceries from my cart.  I looked back sweetly at his mother in a kind "get this leech off me or I might explode face"--unfortunately she didn't get the hint.
   "I am frazzled." I clenched my teeth.  "Last month, the kids put glue all over the dog--that was . . . exciting. Then today I didn't eat breakfast or lunch and was starving. I'd just made some boiling-hot soup and set it on the table when my two-year-old pulled the table cloth and the soup fell in my lap!"
    "Oh. My. Gosh," the cashier gasped.  "Is the dog okay?"
    What the hell!  Is the DOG okay!  The dog . . . who gets pampered and loved all freakin' day?  She gets naps--actual naps.  And treats!  She got a lovely glitter makeover in July, then a bath and a massage.  A haircut and a rubdown.  What I wouldn't do for all of that!  Yet I get boiling soup dumped in my lap and God forbid--the dog got a spa treatment!!!
    I fumed, "The dog . . . is fine."
    The random child still held my leg and the mother's weak attempts at 'No Johnny. No.' weren't stern enough.
    "Can you let go?" I said in such a high voice I'm surprised glass didn't shatter somewhere in the store. "Sweetie."  Random child!
    "I HATE my mother!" Johnny yelled up at me.
    The Zombie Elf fisted his hands then, and put them on his hips. "Well this is my mother, buddy.  Go find your own!"
    The other boy let go and The Zombie Elf hugged me in his place.  As we walked out of the store I had to giggle.  Despite all the crap my four kids put me through as I'm trying to write novel after novel and have a successful career, kids sure make life interesting.  I'm not resentful anymore--I'm glad the dog got a spa treatment and I'm glad God taught me a lesson about hot soup--when you have toddlers, it's best served cold.

Monday, August 6, 2012

Bones Speak

Bones Speak
By Shane Stilson

His body lay on the cradle of concrete; the flesh stripped away, the spaces between the bones made more poignant by the absence of the organs that should have been there. No longer did the mottled flesh stretch across emaciated bones, he had been restored to a state of beautiful by crematorium fire.
    While still alive, the cancer had eaten his mind and body until I no longer recognized the man I’d grown to love. But, here he was! In the mountains of central Japan, in the region he had lived for over fifty years. Here he was on the concrete slab, in the city crematorium, next to the municipal garbage dump.
    His pure white bones screamed at me. “I’m here, Shane. Do you hear me? Take care of your wife, my daughter. Take care of my grandchildren, the last surviving memory of me on earth.”
    They had exhumed his slab the same way it had gone in. None had touched his sacred remains since my wife pushed the button to release the cleansing fire. An hour later, she huddled at my side, weeping, her father’s delicate skeleton before us.
    A man, dressed in the clean but simple jumpsuit of a recycling plant worker took up a pair of massive chopsticks from a small pedestal situated to the side, but still on top of the concrete cradle. He motioned for each of us to take up a pair of our own and removed the lid from one of two urns beside the chopsticks.
    “I did not get to see my last grandchild before I died,” the bones said. I stared back in shock. “It is your responsibility to remember me to him.”
    The man in the jumpsuit continued as though he hadn’t heard or found talking bones to be common place. He used his chopsticks to pull a small bone near the skull from the surrounding ash. “This bone is one that makes up the inner ear,” he said.
    My wife and I took the piece together and placed it in the smaller urn. The piece broke as it fell, revealing the soft tan of baked marrow inside. The process continued, a fragment of eye socket, the final link in the right index finger, a segment from around the nose, all were deposited inside.
    The partially erect skull, half buried in ash, stared up at me. “Do you remember that time at the base of Mount Fuji?” At the restaurant? When I told you it wasn’t you who was funny?” it asked.
    “I remember,” I whispered.
    “I’m not sorry,” it said.
    “I know. It’s not in your nature to be sorry.”
    The bone emancipator held up a tooth. The open doors let in a cool breeze of mountain air, but it failed to stir the palette of white and gray hues beneath him. “Your father had amazing teeth. Most teeth of people this age don’t survive the fire.
    “I loved my teeth,” the crusty white incisor confirmed. A breathless pause followed and let in the rustling of bamboo of the forest outside. “Do you forgive me?” it asked. The man holding the tooth placed it on the pedestal. My wife picked it up and put it into the small jar. The man locked the tooth away, along with the other bits as he placed the lid atop the urn.
    “Yes,” I said.
    The jump-suited man took both chop sticks in one hand, placed them against the balled neck of the right femur and broke off the ball by pushing at the top of his instruments of dissection. He placed the dislocated joint on the pedestal and my wife transferred it to the now uncovered larger urn.
    “Thank you for finding my high school yearbook,” the spherical piece echoed from the bottom of the container.
    “It took forever to clean out that shed.” I smiled. “There was fifty year old junk buried beneath thirty year old crap with worthless ten year old trinkets stacked on top of that. It was like excavating for the lost city of Tanis.”
    “You’ve always been too wordy,” the jar resonated at me.
    “I know, it’s in my nature,” I said.
    Something shifted and I looked down. A piece of rib had broken off on its own accord. “Does she love me?” it asked.
    “Does she love you?” I tested the words with my tongue. The man in the jumpsuit had followed my gaze and immediately relocated the fragmented rib to the pedestal.
    “Does she love me?” it asked again from its new position. It was not an easy relationship my wife had endured with her father; not with the drinking, or the long hours at work, or the fact that they were both so headstrong a boulder would break if it came against their will.
    My wife’s chopsticks reached across the void and gently lifted the frail bone from the stone. Tears streaked her face. Her other hand shot out to catch the treasured cargo in a moment of doubt, in case it should fall, but her transport of it remained true. She placed it in the urn and stared at the jar as though it was her heart she had put inside.
    “She loves you,” I said.
    “I know,” the rib called, its voice muffled inside of the container. “She just told me.”
    The last urn was filled and the lid returned to its proper position. The man packaged the jars in a black satin box with a white cross on the front and presented it to my wife with a bow.
    We left the crematorium and my wife turned to me as we drove away. “I can’t believe you asked me if you could take a picture.”
    “He was so beautiful. I want to always remember him like that. I could feel his presence there.”
    My wife looked at me as I negotiated a hair pin corner through the cave of bamboo trees around us. “Well, I guess you’ll just have to write a story about it then.”

For more info about my brother, Shane, please check out his book

I don't even know what to follow that up with.  Shane, this story is so touching.  Thanks for guest posting on my blog today.
In closing, a review is up for Crazy Life of a Writing Mom!  You can read that HERE.
I can also be found guest posting today about my
Ford 99 at Mommy Adventures

Thursday, August 2, 2012

Happy Birthday, Hippie--How to Beat a Bully

The Hippie is eight today!  I can't believe how fast time flies.
 She was so sweet and she's still such a doll.
The Hippie (left) and The Scribe (who looks more like a hippie here on the right)

So, in honor of her birthday, I thought I'd repost one of my favorite stories.  Here goes . . .

How to Beat a Bully

I witnessed something and it makes me so mad!
When I drove to school, to get The Scribe and The Hippie, I knew something was very wrong.
They walked in nervous steps and seemed to forget the place we normally meet. They walked faster and faster, looking behind them until I realized three girls imitated their every move. One of the girls was big and tall; she looked at least a couple grades older than The Scribe. I thought the other two girls were in The Scribe's class.
So, I did what any good mother would do. I rolled down my windows and stalked them quietly. That's when I heard the biggest girl yell at my kids. "You sure are ugly!" She elbowed her cronies before snorting up a storm. As they laughed, I wanted to jump out of my car and pummel that kid. But I gripped the steering wheel instead. I wanted to see what my girls would do.
"Can't you hear us?" one of the girls from The Scribe's class hollered. "We said you're ugly!"
That's when The Scribe and The Hippie turned around. They were so busy, they still didn't notice I was following them. The Hippie looked at the girls; she seemed absolutely unperturbed. She had on a darling twirl dress, pigtails and two bows in her hair.
The Scribe looked down at her and said, "Don't move. I've got this."
But The Hippie refused to obey her sister. She looked up at those kids, one of which was probably four grades above her and said, "That's too bad you think we're ugly because I think you're beautiful."
I watched their resolve crumble. They cracked a smile at The Hippie and the big bully said, "You know, you're all right. Maybe you can join our gang someday, but the thing is . . . we weren't calling you ugly anyway. We were calling your sister ugly."
I held my breath as I watched the whole thing unfold. This was The Scribe's time to shine. Maybe she'd take The Hippie's brilliant lead and hand out a truthful compliment. I knew she thought about it. I saw it in her beautiful green eyes, but the thing is, The Scribe is a spitfire. She doesn't take crap from anyone and she refuses to say something just to say it.
The Scribe glared at them, and as her eyes looked across the ground, she grinned wider than the Nile. "You think I'm ugly? Everyone can have their own opinion, but I know something for a fact and it's that you're bullies. You're scared bullies!"
This didn't sound like it was headed to a Heavenly place. The big girl started balling her fist. Her stance changed to a fighting stance. I wanted to jump from the car. "We're not scared of anything . . . especially ugly . . . little . . . girls!" the big kid said.
That made The Scribe madder than a hatter. I knew it would since they'd just taken measurements last week and she's the second shortest kid in her class. She hates being short! Her face paled with anger and that's when The Scribe bent down and picked up a worm. 
 "Fine, if you're so tough!" She waved the worm next to the big girl's face and the bully jerked back in fear. My oldest daughter's eyes lit with excitement. Then she pushed the worm near all of the bullies' faces. I couldn't believe my eyes. She'd gone from the victim to the victor.
You wouldn't believe how funny that looked. Now to understand, you need to realize how gorgeous The Scribe is. I know every parent says this about their kids, but when we lived in Santa Monica, a lady paid The Scribe one hundred dollars for one picture of her. She's been on greeting cards and other things. She's really a pretty kid and it just cracks me up that she's such a tomboy.
"If you're so tough, and you want to bully me, then lick it! Show me you're brave enough to lick this worm," The Scribe said.
"Get it out of my face," one girl shrieked.
"You're so weird. This is why we hate you," her friend said.
All three of them turned to run, but before they left completely, the big girl said, "This isn't over, Shorty. You're so weird. You'll never fit in here."
As they turned, The Scribe threw the worm and it landed in the back of the big girl's hair. I covered my mouth and gasped; that bully still had no idea the worm wriggled in her hair!
My girls laughed really hard. "What are you going to do about them tomorrow?" The Hippie asked.
"Oh, leave that to me." The Scribe chuckled. "I have a great idea."
They started walking back to our designated pick-up spot and I found it funny they still hadn't spotted me or the car. "Do you really think they're pretty?" The Scribe asked The Hippie. "No one that mean can be pretty."
"God made them too, didn't He?" said The Hippie.
"Yeah, but they're so mean." The Scribe paused. "Do you think I'm ugly?"
The Hippie hugged her sister. "You're beautiful! Don't let them make you sad."
I honked after that, and my girls saw me. I had tears in my eyes because even though they fight, they'll always be there for each other. I love those girls so much.
"How long have you been here?" The Scribe asked.
"Just barely. Why?"
"No reason." The Scribe suddenly grinned as she leaned into the back of the seat.
"What are you smiling about?" I asked.
"Nothing. I'm just happy it rained today. I love worms."
So, I didn't say much to them about bullies or anything else. Maybe I should have. Maybe I should have reprimanded The Scribe for throwing a worm in some kid's hair. But I felt they'd done an all right job of handling the situation and I was proud they hadn't let people walk on them like people walk on me.

Wednesday, August 1, 2012

My Brother's First Book Came Out Today!!!

I'm so proud of Shane.  Yahoo!

Here's my review of Middle Damned--which just came out today and is amazing:

An action-packed book that I couldn't put down. Not only did this draw me in with the steampunk afterlife ideas, I felt so part of the characters' journeys and relationships as if living in the strange world Stilson so skillfully created. The sections with the two brothers were perfectly written, interweaving conflict and bonds transcending even death. This is a book I'll never forget. 

The book can be found at these three locations:

Physical Book

For more info about Shane, please go here 

On a side note, I can be found at these two places today.

Guest Post at Another Author
Author Interview & Book Feature at Books are Magic