Today's feature author is:
LISA SAMSON
and her book:
Goodbye Hollywood Nobody
NavPress Publishing Group (September 15, 2008)
ABOUT THE AUTHOR:
Lisa Samson is the author of twenty books, including the Christy Award-winning Songbird. Apples of Gold was her first novel for teens
These days, she's working on Quaker Summer, volunteering at Kentucky Refugee Ministries, raising children and trying to be supportive of a husband in seminary. (Trying . . . some days she's downright awful. It's a good thing he's such a fabulous cook!) She can tell you one thing, it's never dull around there.
Other Novels by Lisa:
Hollywood Nobody, Finding Hollywood Nobody, Romancing Hollywood Nobody, Straight Up, Club Sandwich, Songbird, Tiger Lillie, The Church Ladies, Women's Intuition: A Novel, Songbird, The Living End
Visit her at her website.
Product Details
List Price: $12.99
Paperback: 192 pages
Publisher: NavPress Publishing Group (September 15, 2008)
Language: English
ISBN-10: 1600062229
ISBN-13: 978-1600062223
AND NOW...THE FIRST CHAPTER:
Monday, July 11, 6:30 a.m.
I awaken to a tap on my shoulder and open my eye. My right eye. See, these days it could be one of four people: Charley, Dad, Grampie, or Grammie.
“’Morning, dear!”
Grammie.
Oh well, might as well go for broke. I open the other eye.
“Did you sleep well?”
I shake my head and reach for my cat glasses. “Nope. I kept dreaming about Charley in Scotland.” We sent her off with her new beau, the amazing Anthony Harris, two days ago. “I imagined a road full of sheep chasing her down.”
“That would be silly. They would have to know she hates lamb chops.” Grammie sits on my bed. Yes, my bed. In their fabulous house. In my own wonderful room, complete with reproductions of the Barcelona chair and a platform bed of gleaming sanded mahogany. I burrow further into my white down comforter. I sweat like a pig at night, but I don’t care. A real bed, a bona fide comforter, and four pillows. Feather pillows deep enough to sink the Titanic in.
She pats my shoulder, her bangled wrists emitting the music of wooden jewelry. “Up and at ’em, Scotty. Your dad wants to be on the road by seven thirty.”
“I need a shower.”
“Hop to it then.”
Several minutes later, I revel in the glories of a real shower. Not the crazy little stall we have in the TrailMama, which Dad gassed up last night for our trip to Maine. Our trip to find Babette, my mother. Is she dead or alive? That’s what we’re going to find out.
It’s complicated.
The warm water slides over me from the top of my head on down, and I’ve found the coolest shampoo. It smells like limeade. I kid you not. It’s the greatest stuff ever.
Over breakfast, Grampie sits down with us and goes over the map to make certain Dad knows the best route. My father sits patiently, nodding as words like turnpike, bypass, and scenic route roll like a convoy out of Grampie’s mouth.
Poor Grampie. Dad is just the best at navigation and knows everything about getting from point A to point B, but I think Grampie wants to be a part of it. He hinted at us all going in the Beaver Marquis, their Luxury-with-a-capital-L RV, but Dad pretended not to get it.
Later, Dad said to me, “It’s got to be just us, Scotty. I love my mother and father, but some things just aren’t complete-family affairs.”
“I know. I think you’re right. And if it’s bad . . .”
He nods. “I’d just as soon they not be there while we fall apart.”
Right.
So then, I hop up into our RV, affectionately known as the TrailMama, Dad’s black pickup already hitched behind. (Charley’s kitchen trailer is sitting on a lot in storage at a nearby RV dealership, and good riddance. I’m hoping Charley never needs to use that thing again.) “Want me to drive?”
He laughs.
Yep. I still don’t have my license.
Man. But it’s been such a great month or so at the beach. So, okay, I don’t tan much really, but I do have a nice peachy glow.
I’ll take it.
And Grampie grilled a lot, and Grammie helped me sew a couple of vintage-looking skirts, and I’ve learned the basics of my harp.
I jump into the passenger’s seat, buckle in, and look over at my dad. “You really ready for this?” My heart speeds up. This is the final leg of a very long journey, and what’s at the end of the path will determine the rest of our lives.
He looks into my eyes. “Are you?”
“I don’t know,” I whisper. “But we don’t really have a choice, do we?”
“I can go alone.”
I shake my head. “No, Dad. Whatever we do, whatever happens from here on out, we do it together.”
“Deal.”
Headquarters of the FIRST group. A blogger alliance that publishes the first chapter of fiction books on the first day of each month. Join us!
Friday, October 10, 2008
Got Character?
Remember I'm here to post about books with great characters. What's my definition of a great fictional "character"?
A heroine (in this case, not the hero, since we're talking about the softer gender, here.)whose got spunk, guts, is fallible, but leans on God when she's in trouble and when she needs answers to life's problems. She's memorable, strong enough to stick to her principles, and not afraid to fall on her knees to talk with her Father. She's not ashamed of her purity, and knows that virtue brings its own rewards.
Does that sound like you? I hope so. If not, keep coming back as I discuss character issues, and how some fictional (and real) heroines are dealing with them.
More soon,
Linore
A heroine (in this case, not the hero, since we're talking about the softer gender, here.)whose got spunk, guts, is fallible, but leans on God when she's in trouble and when she needs answers to life's problems. She's memorable, strong enough to stick to her principles, and not afraid to fall on her knees to talk with her Father. She's not ashamed of her purity, and knows that virtue brings its own rewards.
Does that sound like you? I hope so. If not, keep coming back as I discuss character issues, and how some fictional (and real) heroines are dealing with them.
More soon,
Linore
Sunday, October 5, 2008
It is time to play a Wild Card! Every now and then, a book that I have chosen to read is going to pop up as a FIRST Wild Card Tour. Get dealt into the game! (Just click the button!) Wild Card Tours feature an author and his/her book's FIRST chapter!
You never know when I might play a wild card on you!
Today's Wild Card author is:
and the book:
Whitaker House (September 2, 2008)
ABOUT THE AUTHOR:
Born and raised in west Michigan, Sharlene MacLaren attended Spring Arbor University and graduated with an education degree. Now happily retired after teaching elementary school for 31 years, ‘Shar’ enjoys reading, writing, singing in the church choir and worship teams, traveling, and spending time with her husband, children, and precious grandson. A Christian for over forty years, and a lover of the English language, Shar has always enjoyed dabbling in writing—poetry, fiction, various essays, and freelancing for periodicals and newspapers. Her favored genre, however, has always been romance. She remembers well the short stories she wrote in high school and watching them circulate from girl to girl during government and civics classes.
Sharlene’s books have had the opportunity to reach readers all across the world. The subject matters she touches on have changed hearts and lives resulting in a general fiction nomination for BOOK-OF-THE-YEAR by the American Christian Fiction Writers Association, various appearances on United Christian Broadcasters, Babbie's House, Harvest TV, and an extremely significant online presence.
Shar is a speaker for her local MOPS organization, is involved in KIDS’ HOPE USA, a mentoring program for at-risk children, counsels young women in the Apples of Gold program, and is active in two weekly Bible studies. She and her husband, Cecil, live in Spring Lake, Michigan with their lovable collie, Dakota, and Mocha, their lazy fat cat.
Other Books by Sharlene MacLaren:
Through Every Storm (ACFW finalist for Book of The Year 2007!)
Spring's Promise
Little Hickman Creek Series:
Each story in MacLaren’s Little Hickman Creek series depicts Kentucky in the late 1800s, focusing on a little town better known today as simply Jessamine County. Titles in the series include Loving Liza Jane (April ‘07), Sarah, My Beloved (October ‘07), and Courting Emma, (Spring ’08).
Visit the author's website.
Product Details:
List Price: $9.99
Paperback: 399 pages
Publisher: Whitaker House (September 2, 2008)
Language: English
ISBN-10: 1603740562
ISBN-13: 978-1603740562
AND NOW...THE FIRST CHAPTER:
Dan Matt son pushed the speed limit on Highway 6, feeling wild and reckless. With both windows down, radio blaring, map stretched out on his lap, he sped past a sign reading Oakdale: 10 Miles and breathed a sigh. Not far now, he told himself. With his back muscles aching and his stomach (and gas tank) nearly empty, he was more than a litt le anxious to reach his destination.
Along the way, he had noted several large farms, their rickety fences lining the roadside. Here and there, cows and horses huddled in groups, grazing on thinning,
grassy knolls. Restless and impatient, he ran his fingers through his thick, black hair, then reached down and turned up the volume on the radio. At the sounds of a familiar country tune, he began humming along with the radio until his cell phone started vibrating. He yanked it from his pocket, flipped open the cover, and spoke a hurried greeting.
“Danny, where are you?”
He should have known his sister would inquire after him before the day was done. “Hi, Sam. I’m not far from Oakdale.”
“Well, I miss you.” It was hard to ignore the pouty tone.
“Already? I just left this morning.” He forced a smile. Lately, it took a lot for one to come naturally.
“It doesn’t matter. Things are not going to be the same around here without you.”
“Things have not been the same for a long time, Samantha,” he corrected.
Had it really been more than a year since his life took a sharp, screeching turn? Even now, the past memories tangled with his present senses.
“That’s true, but did you have to move away? These things take time, Danny, and the constituency did give you six months to rest up and collect yourself,” she said.
Collect myself? Is she kidding? Six months had barely been enough time to shake off the numbness before reality set in. He swallowed down an angry retort.
“We’ve been over all this, Sam. It’s for the best.”
“Leaving your congregation was for the best?” she asked.
“Sam…”
“Folks were just starting to heal. I don’t think you gave it enough time.”
Sam was nothing if she wasn’t forthright about her feelings. Of everyone in the family, she’d been the most adamant about him sticking it out with his congregation.
Did she think this last-minute conversation might convince him to turn around? It was almost enough to make him chuckle.
“I did what I had to do. Hanging around wasn’t doing my parishioners any good.”
“Do you know that for sure?”
He heaved an enormous sigh. “I was their pastor, Sam, but I was the one who needed shepherding.”
“God uses imperfect people all the time.”
“Maybe so, but a church needs strong leadership. What kind of pastor stands in front of the pulpit Sunday after Sunday and offers nothing more than a few babbling words? Shoot, Sam, even I had trouble following my sermons.”
Samantha giggled. “I have to admit, they were going from bad to worse.”
“There you have it,” he murmured, mindlessly reading passing billboards.
“I was kidding.”
“No, you weren’t. Did Mom put you up to this phone call, by the way?”
“Nope. In fact, she told me to leave you alone.”
“Smart woman.”
A tiny pause silenced Sam for a moment. “When are you going to stop blaming yourself for the accident?”
At her question, he tightened his grip on the steering wheel. “Who said I was?”
“It’s pretty obvious, although why you would is a mystery to me. You weren’t even with them when it happened.”
“Precisely. That, my dear, should explain my guilt.”
“So, you’re saying if you’d been with them it wouldn’t have happened? That’s silly. And what about this? If you’d been driving, you might all be dead. That was a treacherous storm.”
“I gotta hang up, Sam. I’m getting closer to town.”
“Dan, answer me this,” she persisted.
“What?” He gritted his teeth against his growing perturbation.
“Besides blaming yourself, do you also blame God?”
He sighed. “I am so tired of talking about this.”
“Just answer me.”
“I don’t know.” Some things were just too hard to put into words.
“Shall I discount all your past sermons about trusting God even through the tough times? I still remember you preaching at John Farhat’s funeral. You looked straight into his wife’s eyes and said, ‘We would never see the stars, Ellen, if God didn’t sometimes take away the day.’”
A ball of guilt formed a tight knot in his chest. How many people had he hurt in his leave-taking? Worse, how many had he led astray? “Let it go, Samantha.”
“I suffered, too, you know. I lost a sister-in-law and a precious niece. And think about Mom and Dad….”
Her voice drifted off as Dan watched the road ahead. “Gotta go, Sam. I’ll call you soon.”
He clamped the cover of the receiver down hard and stuffed the thing back in his pocket, then quickly yanked it back out, opened it up, and hit the off button.
Oakdale City Limits
Dan breathed deeply when he passed the familiar landmark. He’d visited Oakdale only briefly before, but something about its tranquil setting brought a sense of peace and belonging. Its rambling old oaks, fields of wild flowers, ageless pines nestled on faraway hillsides, and timeless brick homes surrounded by flower beds held a kind of idyllic appeal.
He passed an ancient cemetery and instinctively slowed, its sight only adding to his pensive mood. Cemeteries did that to him.
Andrea… Her name shot out of nowhere.
He pushed the accelerator. “God,” he muttered, “what were You thinking? Taking my family away from me was a rotten trick.”
Dan flipped the turn signal at the entrance to Oakdale Arms Apartment Complex, his new stomping ground—at least until he got a grip on himself. He saw the large moving van sitting in the parking lot. It contained a minimum of furniture, enough clothes to get by, and only those memorabilia that wouldn’t cause undue pain. He’d already made payment to the moving company, and the driver had said he would be back for his truck in a couple of days. Moving companies didn’t often operate that way, but since the driver was an old friend, he’d made special arrangements.
Dan parked the car, got out, and stretched. Oakdale looked like a nice enough community—quiet and pleasant, with a friendly aura. Its appeal was almost tangible. Maybe this would be his answer to finding some much needed peace.
He would go into the apartment he’d leased, then make a call to his old high school friend who’d offered him the construction job. He took in the sights and smells around him, felt the warmth of the summer sun on his back, and believed in his heart of hearts that he would find answers right here in this lovely little bedroom community on the outskirts of Chicago.
A hair-raising scream roused Callie May from her sleep-drugged state at precisely six fifty-six on Sunday morning. “Nooo,” she groaned, burying her head beneath her pillow. Hadn’t she just closed her eyes five minutes ago? Just give me another hour, Em. But as the screams rose in decibels, she surrendered to the fact that her eight- month-old baby was hungry and needed attention.
On her way to the nursery, she adjusted the thermostat. Early sun reached its spindly fingers through the half-drawn blinds, sending shafts of light through the kitchen window. Looks like another sunny day, she mulled. Too bad she couldn’t say the same for her spirits.
Emily’s pouty sob gave way to instant smiles when Callie walked through the door. “You’re a stinker, you know that?” she chided while lowering the bar on Emily’s crib and lifting the baby into her arms.
“Waking Mommy when she had just fallen asleep.”
Emily smeared a wet, warm kiss across Callie’s face, making Callie chuckle in spite of herself. “You think you can win me over with your kisses?”
After a hasty diaper change, Callie hoisted the baby on her hip and headed for the kitchen. “Ba-ba-ba-ba,” Emily chanted along the way, oblivious to her mother’s less- than-chipper mood, her recent “B” sounds coming out in an attempt to say “bottle.” Of course, Callie’s father begged to differ. “She’s trying to say ‘Grandpa,’” he claimed.
Pulling open the fridge door, she spotted a bottle of formula and snatched it off the shelf, then pushed the door shut with her hip. “Cold or hot?” she asked, holding the bottle under the baby’s nose. Emily reached for the bottle and steered it to her mouth. “Guess that answers that,” she said, tipping Emily back in her arms while the baby suckled.
As she reached for a mug for tea, a sudden racket in the hall outside her door sparked her interest. Yesterday, someone had started moving into the vacant apartment across the hall, but she’d been too self-absorbed to pay much attention. Now, however, she found herself padding across the room for a peek through her peephole.
At first, she saw nothing through the tiny hole in her door. But then, a tall, strongly built man emerged from the apartment, large crate in hand. He looked to be about her age—perhaps in his mid- to late-twenties. He paused just briefly, as if pondering something, giving her a chance to study his handsome, sober face with its clear-cut lines, generous mouth, and thick crop of black hair. An unexpected shiver scampered up her spine.
Even through the tiny opening, she sensed his angry mood; she saw it in his crinkled brow and clenched jaw.
He looks mad enough to spit poison. Who is he?
A squirming Emily forced her away from the door. She told herself that the man was of no concern to her, and not to mind his dark and dangerous appearance, never mind that her marriage to an abusive man had ended mere days ago and she was feeling vulnerable.
She had enough things to worry about without adding a dodgy-looking character into the mix.
Dropping into a soft chair, she gathered her baby close and blew out a loud breath. While Emily finished off the last few ounces of formula, Callie leaned back and closed her eyes. If the stranger held down the noise, she might be able to catch a few more winks before getting ready for church.
“What? You’re pregnant?” he screamed. “You finagling witch!”
An angry fist shot out and hit her square in the jaw, knocking her to the floor. Pain seared her face like fiery talons while a gasp of air pushed past her lungs. She skidded across the hardwood floor and slid up against the wall.
“Don’t hate me, Thomas. I—I didn’t mean for it to happen. Please…”
“Shut up!” he ranted, reaching for a fistful of her hair and yanking her head around till it snapped. “You’re gonna get rid of that mistake in your belly, you hear me?”
The urge to retch consumed her. Mistake? Timidly, she raised her face to him.
“I—I can’t do that.”
“You can and you will,” he wailed, pulling her hair until it nearly ripped from her scalp. She screamed with pain. Sneering, he dropped his hand and tramped to the door.
He wrenched his coat from its hook and pushed his arms through the sleeves. “I’m going out! I can’t stand the sight of you!”
When he slammed the door behind him, she lowered herself, exhausted, into a rumpled heap on the floor.
Her own sobs and the beads of sweat that dotted her forehead were what roused her from the nightmare. It wasn’t the first time she’d dreamt it, and it was unlikely to be the last. Shaken but relieved, she swabbed her brow with the back of her hand. Thomas was in Florida. She was in Illinois. The marriage was over—as was the abuse. Now, if she could just rid herself of the terrifying memories.
Along the way, he had noted several large farms, their rickety fences lining the roadside. Here and there, cows and horses huddled in groups, grazing on thinning,
grassy knolls. Restless and impatient, he ran his fingers through his thick, black hair, then reached down and turned up the volume on the radio. At the sounds of a familiar country tune, he began humming along with the radio until his cell phone started vibrating. He yanked it from his pocket, flipped open the cover, and spoke a hurried greeting.
“Danny, where are you?”
He should have known his sister would inquire after him before the day was done. “Hi, Sam. I’m not far from Oakdale.”
“Well, I miss you.” It was hard to ignore the pouty tone.
“Already? I just left this morning.” He forced a smile. Lately, it took a lot for one to come naturally.
“It doesn’t matter. Things are not going to be the same around here without you.”
“Things have not been the same for a long time, Samantha,” he corrected.
Had it really been more than a year since his life took a sharp, screeching turn? Even now, the past memories tangled with his present senses.
“That’s true, but did you have to move away? These things take time, Danny, and the constituency did give you six months to rest up and collect yourself,” she said.
Collect myself? Is she kidding? Six months had barely been enough time to shake off the numbness before reality set in. He swallowed down an angry retort.
“We’ve been over all this, Sam. It’s for the best.”
“Leaving your congregation was for the best?” she asked.
“Sam…”
“Folks were just starting to heal. I don’t think you gave it enough time.”
Sam was nothing if she wasn’t forthright about her feelings. Of everyone in the family, she’d been the most adamant about him sticking it out with his congregation.
Did she think this last-minute conversation might convince him to turn around? It was almost enough to make him chuckle.
“I did what I had to do. Hanging around wasn’t doing my parishioners any good.”
“Do you know that for sure?”
He heaved an enormous sigh. “I was their pastor, Sam, but I was the one who needed shepherding.”
“God uses imperfect people all the time.”
“Maybe so, but a church needs strong leadership. What kind of pastor stands in front of the pulpit Sunday after Sunday and offers nothing more than a few babbling words? Shoot, Sam, even I had trouble following my sermons.”
Samantha giggled. “I have to admit, they were going from bad to worse.”
“There you have it,” he murmured, mindlessly reading passing billboards.
“I was kidding.”
“No, you weren’t. Did Mom put you up to this phone call, by the way?”
“Nope. In fact, she told me to leave you alone.”
“Smart woman.”
A tiny pause silenced Sam for a moment. “When are you going to stop blaming yourself for the accident?”
At her question, he tightened his grip on the steering wheel. “Who said I was?”
“It’s pretty obvious, although why you would is a mystery to me. You weren’t even with them when it happened.”
“Precisely. That, my dear, should explain my guilt.”
“So, you’re saying if you’d been with them it wouldn’t have happened? That’s silly. And what about this? If you’d been driving, you might all be dead. That was a treacherous storm.”
“I gotta hang up, Sam. I’m getting closer to town.”
“Dan, answer me this,” she persisted.
“What?” He gritted his teeth against his growing perturbation.
“Besides blaming yourself, do you also blame God?”
He sighed. “I am so tired of talking about this.”
“Just answer me.”
“I don’t know.” Some things were just too hard to put into words.
“Shall I discount all your past sermons about trusting God even through the tough times? I still remember you preaching at John Farhat’s funeral. You looked straight into his wife’s eyes and said, ‘We would never see the stars, Ellen, if God didn’t sometimes take away the day.’”
A ball of guilt formed a tight knot in his chest. How many people had he hurt in his leave-taking? Worse, how many had he led astray? “Let it go, Samantha.”
“I suffered, too, you know. I lost a sister-in-law and a precious niece. And think about Mom and Dad….”
Her voice drifted off as Dan watched the road ahead. “Gotta go, Sam. I’ll call you soon.”
He clamped the cover of the receiver down hard and stuffed the thing back in his pocket, then quickly yanked it back out, opened it up, and hit the off button.
Oakdale City Limits
Dan breathed deeply when he passed the familiar landmark. He’d visited Oakdale only briefly before, but something about its tranquil setting brought a sense of peace and belonging. Its rambling old oaks, fields of wild flowers, ageless pines nestled on faraway hillsides, and timeless brick homes surrounded by flower beds held a kind of idyllic appeal.
He passed an ancient cemetery and instinctively slowed, its sight only adding to his pensive mood. Cemeteries did that to him.
Andrea… Her name shot out of nowhere.
He pushed the accelerator. “God,” he muttered, “what were You thinking? Taking my family away from me was a rotten trick.”
Dan flipped the turn signal at the entrance to Oakdale Arms Apartment Complex, his new stomping ground—at least until he got a grip on himself. He saw the large moving van sitting in the parking lot. It contained a minimum of furniture, enough clothes to get by, and only those memorabilia that wouldn’t cause undue pain. He’d already made payment to the moving company, and the driver had said he would be back for his truck in a couple of days. Moving companies didn’t often operate that way, but since the driver was an old friend, he’d made special arrangements.
Dan parked the car, got out, and stretched. Oakdale looked like a nice enough community—quiet and pleasant, with a friendly aura. Its appeal was almost tangible. Maybe this would be his answer to finding some much needed peace.
He would go into the apartment he’d leased, then make a call to his old high school friend who’d offered him the construction job. He took in the sights and smells around him, felt the warmth of the summer sun on his back, and believed in his heart of hearts that he would find answers right here in this lovely little bedroom community on the outskirts of Chicago.
A hair-raising scream roused Callie May from her sleep-drugged state at precisely six fifty-six on Sunday morning. “Nooo,” she groaned, burying her head beneath her pillow. Hadn’t she just closed her eyes five minutes ago? Just give me another hour, Em. But as the screams rose in decibels, she surrendered to the fact that her eight- month-old baby was hungry and needed attention.
On her way to the nursery, she adjusted the thermostat. Early sun reached its spindly fingers through the half-drawn blinds, sending shafts of light through the kitchen window. Looks like another sunny day, she mulled. Too bad she couldn’t say the same for her spirits.
Emily’s pouty sob gave way to instant smiles when Callie walked through the door. “You’re a stinker, you know that?” she chided while lowering the bar on Emily’s crib and lifting the baby into her arms.
“Waking Mommy when she had just fallen asleep.”
Emily smeared a wet, warm kiss across Callie’s face, making Callie chuckle in spite of herself. “You think you can win me over with your kisses?”
After a hasty diaper change, Callie hoisted the baby on her hip and headed for the kitchen. “Ba-ba-ba-ba,” Emily chanted along the way, oblivious to her mother’s less- than-chipper mood, her recent “B” sounds coming out in an attempt to say “bottle.” Of course, Callie’s father begged to differ. “She’s trying to say ‘Grandpa,’” he claimed.
Pulling open the fridge door, she spotted a bottle of formula and snatched it off the shelf, then pushed the door shut with her hip. “Cold or hot?” she asked, holding the bottle under the baby’s nose. Emily reached for the bottle and steered it to her mouth. “Guess that answers that,” she said, tipping Emily back in her arms while the baby suckled.
As she reached for a mug for tea, a sudden racket in the hall outside her door sparked her interest. Yesterday, someone had started moving into the vacant apartment across the hall, but she’d been too self-absorbed to pay much attention. Now, however, she found herself padding across the room for a peek through her peephole.
At first, she saw nothing through the tiny hole in her door. But then, a tall, strongly built man emerged from the apartment, large crate in hand. He looked to be about her age—perhaps in his mid- to late-twenties. He paused just briefly, as if pondering something, giving her a chance to study his handsome, sober face with its clear-cut lines, generous mouth, and thick crop of black hair. An unexpected shiver scampered up her spine.
Even through the tiny opening, she sensed his angry mood; she saw it in his crinkled brow and clenched jaw.
He looks mad enough to spit poison. Who is he?
A squirming Emily forced her away from the door. She told herself that the man was of no concern to her, and not to mind his dark and dangerous appearance, never mind that her marriage to an abusive man had ended mere days ago and she was feeling vulnerable.
She had enough things to worry about without adding a dodgy-looking character into the mix.
Dropping into a soft chair, she gathered her baby close and blew out a loud breath. While Emily finished off the last few ounces of formula, Callie leaned back and closed her eyes. If the stranger held down the noise, she might be able to catch a few more winks before getting ready for church.
“What? You’re pregnant?” he screamed. “You finagling witch!”
An angry fist shot out and hit her square in the jaw, knocking her to the floor. Pain seared her face like fiery talons while a gasp of air pushed past her lungs. She skidded across the hardwood floor and slid up against the wall.
“Don’t hate me, Thomas. I—I didn’t mean for it to happen. Please…”
“Shut up!” he ranted, reaching for a fistful of her hair and yanking her head around till it snapped. “You’re gonna get rid of that mistake in your belly, you hear me?”
The urge to retch consumed her. Mistake? Timidly, she raised her face to him.
“I—I can’t do that.”
“You can and you will,” he wailed, pulling her hair until it nearly ripped from her scalp. She screamed with pain. Sneering, he dropped his hand and tramped to the door.
He wrenched his coat from its hook and pushed his arms through the sleeves. “I’m going out! I can’t stand the sight of you!”
When he slammed the door behind him, she lowered herself, exhausted, into a rumpled heap on the floor.
Her own sobs and the beads of sweat that dotted her forehead were what roused her from the nightmare. It wasn’t the first time she’d dreamt it, and it was unlikely to be the last. Shaken but relieved, she swabbed her brow with the back of her hand. Thomas was in Florida. She was in Illinois. The marriage was over—as was the abuse. Now, if she could just rid herself of the terrifying memories.
Saturday, October 4, 2008
This Time, the Author is a Feisty, Female Character!
Okay, so it's not fiction. But Joyce Meyer is a real-life "heroine" living the ultimate adventure: Following God with a passion! Hearing His voice! Does it get much more exciting than that? Read on, to discover more of what this feisty female character can teach YOU about living a life that pleases the Lord.
It is time to play a Wild Card! Every now and then, a book that I have chosen to read is going to pop up as a FIRST Wild Card Tour. Get dealt into the game! (Just click the button!) Wild Card Tours feature an author and his/her book's FIRST chapter!
You never know when I might play a wild card on you!
Today's Wild Card author is:
and the book:
How to Hear from God: Learn to Know His Voice and Make Right Decisions
FaithWords (August 13, 2008)
ABOUT THE AUTHOR:
JOYCE MEYER is one of the world's leading practical Bible teachers. A #1 New York Times bestselling author, she has written more than seventy inspirational books, including The Confident Woman, Look Great, Feel Great,and the entire Battlefield of the Mindfamily of books. She has also released thousands of audio teachings as well as a complete video library. Joyce's Enjoying Everyday Life® radio and television programs are broadcast around the world, and she travels extensively conducting conferences. Joyce and her husband, Dave, are the parents of four grown children and make their home in St. Louis, Missouri.Visit the author's website.
Product Details:
List Price: $13.99
Paperback: 304 pages
Publisher: FaithWords (August 13, 2008)
Language: English
ISBN-10: 0446691240
ISBN-13: 978-0446691246
AND NOW...THE FIRST CHAPTER:
God Talks to People Every Day
Read Chapter 1 in How to Hear from God. Then read in your Bible the Scriptures designated below and answer the questions that follow. When you finish, check your answers in the answer key provided at the end of this book.
TO WHOM DOES GOD SPEAK . . . AND HOW?
God has spoken to all people in their inner consciousness, through creation of the natural world and through creating within man an inner void that only God can fill.
1. Read Romans 1:19-21.
a. To what part of a person does God make Himself evident?
b. What does God reveal about Himself to all mankind through His creation?
c. What happens when people do not honor and glorify God, even when they know and recognize Him as God?
2. Read Romans 14:12.
What is required of each of us?
3. Read Isaiah 26:8-9.
a. What is our heartfelt desire?
b. Whom does our soul yearn for?
c. What does our spirit seek?
WHAT DOES GOD SAY TO ALL MEN AND WOMEN?
God speaks to men and women for very specific purposes—He speaks to them so they may know what is lasting and what isn’t, so they may carry out His will, so they may live forever, and so He may direct their daily footsteps.
4. Read 1 John 2:17.
a. What passes away and disappears?
b. What remains forever?
5. Read Proverbs 3-6.
What does God promise to the person who seeks to know, recognize, and acknowledge Him?
6. Read Jeremiah 29:11-14.
a. When does God hear us?
b. When does God reveal Himself to us?
c. What does God reveal to us when we seek Him and pray to Him?
d. What does the Lord do for us when we find Him?
WHAT DOES THE HOLY SPIRIT SPEAK TO US?
God speaks to those who seek to follow the leading of the Holy Spirit in all they do. The Bible says all people can hear from the Holy Spirit if they will only seek God and receive Jesus as their Savior and receive the Holy Spirit Whom the heavenly Father sends.
7. Read Luke 11:13.
To whom does God the Father give the Holy Spirit?
8. Read John 1:32-33 and John 14:15-20.
a. Who is the One Who baptizes with the Holy Spirit?
b. Where does the Holy Spirit reside?
c. What does it mean to be baptized in the Holy Spirit?
d. Why can’t the “world” (unbelievers) receive the Holy Spirit?
9. Read John 16:12-13 and John 14:26.
a. Into what does the Holy Spirit guide us?
b. What does the Holy Spirit announce and declare to us?
c. What does the Holy Spirit cause us to recall?
10. Read John 6:45.
As those who listen to and learn from the Father, Who is our personal Teacher?
WHAT DOES THE HOLY SPIRIT KNOW TO TELL US?
The Holy Spirit knows all about us—all about the way we should conduct our lives—and about God’s plans and purposes. The Bible gives us examples of men and women who have heard from the Lord, including great details about God’s plans and purposes, as well as the consequences of their obeying the Lord’s instructions.
11. Read Matthew 10:30, Psalm 139:16, Acts 17:26-27.
What does the Holy Spirit know about us?
12. Read Matthew 7:13-14, Deuteronomy 30:19, and Jeremiah 21:8.
a. How does the Bible describe the “gate” through which the Holy Spirit leads us?
b. How does the Bible describe the “way” the Holy Spirit leads us to follow in life?
c. What critical choice does the Holy Spirit help us to make?
13. Read Genesis 6:13-17.
a. In this passage, what did God tell Noah that He was going to do?
b. What did God tell Noah to do?
14. Read Exodus 7:1-5.
a. In this passage, what did God tell Moses about Pharaoh?
b. What did God tell Moses about Aaron?
c. What did God tell Moses that he was to do?
d. What did God tell Moses about the way Pharaoh would respond to Moses’ message?
e. What did God tell Moses would be the end result?
15. Read 1 Corinthians 2:10-13.
a. What does the Holy Spirit unveil and reveal to us about God?
b. Why does the Holy Spirit reveal to us the thoughts of God?
WHAT ARE GOD’S PROMISES TO LEAD AND GUIDE US?
The Lord promises to be our Shepherd—to lead and guide us in the paths He desires for us to walk. He tells us that we will have the ability to hear His voice. God speaks to us—our role is to listen intently for what He has to say to us and then to obey Him fully.
16. Read Ezekiel 34:11-16.
In this passage, what does the Lord promise to do for His sheep?
17. Read 1 John 2:27.
a. What does this verse say about the permanent source of guidance that we have in the Holy Spirit?
b. What does this verse say the anointing of the Holy Spirit teaches us?
c. What does this verse challenge us to continue to do?
18. Read John 10:4-5.
As His “sheep,” what did Jesus say about our ability to hear and follow Him?
19. Read Psalm 46:10.
What is the best way for us to hear from the Lord?
20. Read John 2:5.
What should our response be when the Lord speaks to us?
PRAYER TIME
As you have read Chapter 1 and have completed this chapter of the workbook, has the Lord spoken to your heart and mind about His desire to speak to you personally on a regular, daily basis?
I invite you to use the space below to write out a prayer to the Lord, asking Him to speak to you about the matters in your life that are of greatest concern to you. Ask Him to speak to you about His plan for your life. Ask Him to give you an open heart to hear what He says. And . . . express your desire to obey whatever it is He tells you to do.
Copyright © 2004 by Joyce Meyer
Read Chapter 1 in How to Hear from God. Then read in your Bible the Scriptures designated below and answer the questions that follow. When you finish, check your answers in the answer key provided at the end of this book.
TO WHOM DOES GOD SPEAK . . . AND HOW?
God has spoken to all people in their inner consciousness, through creation of the natural world and through creating within man an inner void that only God can fill.
1. Read Romans 1:19-21.
a. To what part of a person does God make Himself evident?
b. What does God reveal about Himself to all mankind through His creation?
c. What happens when people do not honor and glorify God, even when they know and recognize Him as God?
2. Read Romans 14:12.
What is required of each of us?
3. Read Isaiah 26:8-9.
a. What is our heartfelt desire?
b. Whom does our soul yearn for?
c. What does our spirit seek?
WHAT DOES GOD SAY TO ALL MEN AND WOMEN?
God speaks to men and women for very specific purposes—He speaks to them so they may know what is lasting and what isn’t, so they may carry out His will, so they may live forever, and so He may direct their daily footsteps.
4. Read 1 John 2:17.
a. What passes away and disappears?
b. What remains forever?
5. Read Proverbs 3-6.
What does God promise to the person who seeks to know, recognize, and acknowledge Him?
6. Read Jeremiah 29:11-14.
a. When does God hear us?
b. When does God reveal Himself to us?
c. What does God reveal to us when we seek Him and pray to Him?
d. What does the Lord do for us when we find Him?
WHAT DOES THE HOLY SPIRIT SPEAK TO US?
God speaks to those who seek to follow the leading of the Holy Spirit in all they do. The Bible says all people can hear from the Holy Spirit if they will only seek God and receive Jesus as their Savior and receive the Holy Spirit Whom the heavenly Father sends.
7. Read Luke 11:13.
To whom does God the Father give the Holy Spirit?
8. Read John 1:32-33 and John 14:15-20.
a. Who is the One Who baptizes with the Holy Spirit?
b. Where does the Holy Spirit reside?
c. What does it mean to be baptized in the Holy Spirit?
d. Why can’t the “world” (unbelievers) receive the Holy Spirit?
9. Read John 16:12-13 and John 14:26.
a. Into what does the Holy Spirit guide us?
b. What does the Holy Spirit announce and declare to us?
c. What does the Holy Spirit cause us to recall?
10. Read John 6:45.
As those who listen to and learn from the Father, Who is our personal Teacher?
WHAT DOES THE HOLY SPIRIT KNOW TO TELL US?
The Holy Spirit knows all about us—all about the way we should conduct our lives—and about God’s plans and purposes. The Bible gives us examples of men and women who have heard from the Lord, including great details about God’s plans and purposes, as well as the consequences of their obeying the Lord’s instructions.
11. Read Matthew 10:30, Psalm 139:16, Acts 17:26-27.
What does the Holy Spirit know about us?
12. Read Matthew 7:13-14, Deuteronomy 30:19, and Jeremiah 21:8.
a. How does the Bible describe the “gate” through which the Holy Spirit leads us?
b. How does the Bible describe the “way” the Holy Spirit leads us to follow in life?
c. What critical choice does the Holy Spirit help us to make?
13. Read Genesis 6:13-17.
a. In this passage, what did God tell Noah that He was going to do?
b. What did God tell Noah to do?
14. Read Exodus 7:1-5.
a. In this passage, what did God tell Moses about Pharaoh?
b. What did God tell Moses about Aaron?
c. What did God tell Moses that he was to do?
d. What did God tell Moses about the way Pharaoh would respond to Moses’ message?
e. What did God tell Moses would be the end result?
15. Read 1 Corinthians 2:10-13.
a. What does the Holy Spirit unveil and reveal to us about God?
b. Why does the Holy Spirit reveal to us the thoughts of God?
WHAT ARE GOD’S PROMISES TO LEAD AND GUIDE US?
The Lord promises to be our Shepherd—to lead and guide us in the paths He desires for us to walk. He tells us that we will have the ability to hear His voice. God speaks to us—our role is to listen intently for what He has to say to us and then to obey Him fully.
16. Read Ezekiel 34:11-16.
In this passage, what does the Lord promise to do for His sheep?
17. Read 1 John 2:27.
a. What does this verse say about the permanent source of guidance that we have in the Holy Spirit?
b. What does this verse say the anointing of the Holy Spirit teaches us?
c. What does this verse challenge us to continue to do?
18. Read John 10:4-5.
As His “sheep,” what did Jesus say about our ability to hear and follow Him?
19. Read Psalm 46:10.
What is the best way for us to hear from the Lord?
20. Read John 2:5.
What should our response be when the Lord speaks to us?
PRAYER TIME
As you have read Chapter 1 and have completed this chapter of the workbook, has the Lord spoken to your heart and mind about His desire to speak to you personally on a regular, daily basis?
I invite you to use the space below to write out a prayer to the Lord, asking Him to speak to you about the matters in your life that are of greatest concern to you. Ask Him to speak to you about His plan for your life. Ask Him to give you an open heart to hear what He says. And . . . express your desire to obey whatever it is He tells you to do.
Copyright © 2004 by Joyce Meyer
Friday, October 3, 2008
An Interviewer Asked Me This Question....
When I did an interview with Reader Views once, my interviewer asked, "Do you think some readers resonate with the characters and become them - maybe in a fantasy sort of way?"
I'm printing my answer to that question here because I get talking about heroines we love, and why. Here's the answer:
I definitely get disgusted with a book if the heroine is stupid, even in relationships. T!hat's why I'll try to post about GOOD books here. Stay tuned....
I'm printing my answer to that question here because I get talking about heroines we love, and why. Here's the answer:
Linore: Absolutely. That’s why we like pretty heroines we can admire; I think every reader of every book is vicariously living that book. But we must be able to understand their motivations. We also need to be able to recognize when they make mistakes, but still be rooting for them. If you have a really stupid heroine it will annoy the reader because you want her to be smart, like you, maybe even smarter. She’s got to show you what you could be; she represents possibilities, hopes and dreams. But if she’s too stupid or foolish you no longer want to identify with her and I think that would be a drawback.
I definitely get disgusted with a book if the heroine is stupid, even in relationships. T!hat's why I'll try to post about GOOD books here. Stay tuned....
Thursday, October 2, 2008
She's Got PMS? Here's Help!
It is time to play a Wild Card! Every now and then, a book that I have chosen to read is going to pop up as a FIRST Wild Card Tour. Get dealt into the game! (Just click the button!) Wild Card Tours feature an author and his/her book's FIRST chapter!
You never know when I might play a wild card on you!
Today's Wild Card author is:
and the book:
The SOS for PMS: Practical Help and Relief for Moms
Harvest House Publishers (September 1, 2008)
ABOUT THE AUTHOR:
Mary Byers is a professional speaker and writer whose passion for transforming lives is evident in every project she takes on. In her first book with Harvest House Publishers, The Mother Load: How to Meet Your Own Needs While Caring for Your Family, Byers teaches women how to take care of themselves so that they can nurture a happy, healthy family. The mother of two lively children, she offers down-to-earth suggestions, spiritual truths, and real-life advice on how to juggle family responsibilities while creating a balanced life through supportive friendships, stress-relieving laughter, regular exercise, rejuvenating solitude, and an intimate relationship with the Lord. The founder of Word Works, Byers graduated from Indiana University with a Bachelor of Arts Degree in Telecommunications. She is also a Certified Association Executive. Byers and her husband, Stuart, reside in Illinois with their two children.Other books by Mary:
How to Say No...and Live to Tell About It
Extraordinary Women: Secrets to Discovering the Dream God Created for You
Visit the author's website.
Product Details:
List Price: $11.99
Paperback: 192 pages
Publisher: Harvest House Publishers (September 1, 2008)
Language: English
ISBN-10: 0736921702
ISBN-13: 978-0736921701
AND NOW...THE FIRST CHAPTER:
There's Yellow Caution Tape in the Kitchen Again
Callie O'Keefe stood in the bathroom crying. Her two children, ages four and two, were outside the closed door, listening to their mother sob. Abby still felt the sting of her mother's hand on the back of her head. She'd made her younger sister cry, setting her mother off and resulting in the physical smack that seemed to come from nowhere with the speed of a rattlesnake strike. Abby stood in the hallway confused. Though she was the one who had been struck, her mother was the one crying.
As her children stood bewildered outside the bathroom door, Callie cried into a bathroom towel. "Lord, please help me stop this," she begged. "This is not the kind of mom I want to be!" This prayer had been uttered at least once a month for many years as she struggled with depression, anger, and fits of unpredictable behavior that descended on her prior to the onset of menstruation.
It was the same every month. The familiar twinge of oncoming cramps alerted her that her period would begin within the week, which meant she had to watch her words and actions very carefully. Each PMS battle started the same. Callie resolved to "do better and be kinder." And each resolution was quickly broken when her children set her off by arguing, complaining that the other got the bigger piece, or spilling a glass of milk at the very moment Callie's ability to cope was at its lowest. And it wasn't only the children who were bruised by her irrational behavior. Her husband, Steve, was just as likely to be the target of a tirade that she would later regret. Some nights it was so bad she'd wait until he was asleep and then slink into the guest room to bed down for the night. That way she wouldn't have to face him in the morning and see the hurt in his eyes.
As sobs racked her body, Callie grieved the fact that each month she seemed
to get worse. What had started as mild PMS in her 20s was now cause for serious concern. Two children in the house and an inability to control her words and emotions was a combustible combination. Callie knew she was doing damage to the family and feared the long-term consequences.
She raised her head from the towel, looked into the mirror, and saw the face of a mother in agony. Surely I'm not the only one who's out of control like this every month, she decided. Callie remembered a neighbor down the street who had once mentioned at a party that her husband had nicknamed her "The Human Hurricane" because of the damage she did regularly while in the clutches of PMS. At the time Callie laughed because she couldn't imagine quiet, gentle Amber turning into anything close to a hurricane. But after the morning Callie just experienced, she now believed it was possible.
After rinsing her face with cool water, Callie opened the bathroom door and sat on the floor next to Abby. She gathered her sweet daughter into her lap, rested her chin on the top of Abby's head, and murmured the words she'd had to say so many times before: "Abby, mommy lost her temper, and she's very sorry. I was angry that you made Jessica cry, but how I handled it was inappropriate. I'm so sorry."
Abby's response was the same as always. "It's okay, Mommy. I love you." The ease with which she offered forgiveness amplified Callie's pain.
After hugging Jessica, Callie headed to the phone to make two calls. First, she'd call her physician to make an appointment to discuss her symptoms. Then she'd call Amber, the Human Hurricane, and ask if she'd come over some afternoon for a cup of coffee while the children napped. She finally realized she needed help and couldn't fight the PMS battle alone.
Though the phone calls were small steps, they would pay big dividends. By acknowledging the problem, Callie placed herself on the road to healing.
allie is like me--and many women I know who suffer from severe PMS. We don't want to act the way we do. We're normally fairly balanced, kind people. We love our husbands and children. And yet, when triggered, we speak words we regret in an ugly tone
of voice. We overreact. Sometimes we punish our children physically. Sometimes we rebuke them by ignoring them or withholding our love. One mother I interviewed confessed that, while under the influence of PMS, she ran away for a day when she felt she could no longer take the pressure of mothering.
Do you know you suffer from PMS? Or are you wondering if you do? Let's start by taking a closer look at the symptoms.
Physical Symptoms
acne
bloating, water retention, weight gain
breast swelling and tenderness
bruising
changes in bowel habits (constipation/ diarrhea)
decreased sexual desire
dizziness
fatigue, lack of energy
food cravings, especially for sweet or salty foods
leg cramps
nausea
nipple discharge
pain (headaches, aching muscles and joints, cramps, low back pain)
rashes
sensitivity to light
shakiness
sleep pattern changes and/or insomnia
sweating
swelling of hands and/or feet
vaginal irritation
Behavioral and Emotional Symptoms
anger
anxiety
decreased alertness
depression, sadness, hopelessness
forgetfulness
inability to concentrate
indecision
irritability
loneliness * paranoia
loss of control * suicidal thoughts
mood swings * unexplained crying
nightmares * withdrawal from family and friends
panic attacks
These are just a few of the 150 or so PMS symptoms that have been identified. Individually they are often manageable. When combined, they can be debilitating. According to WebMd:
Although 85 percent of women experience PMS at times in their lives, about 40 percent are significantly affected.
While most women first experience PMS in their mid20s, PMS becomes even more common among women in their 30s.
PMS can come and go during the reproductive years, and symptoms may worsen as a woman approaches perimenopause in the late 30s or 40s.
Severe PMS symptoms may be premenstrual dysphoric disorder (PMDD), which affects up to 8 percent of women.1
For the purpose of our discussions, I'll be dealing with PMS. However, if you suffer from PMDD, please note: The symptoms you are wrestling with are more severe than regular PMS indications. Because of that, it's even more essential that you be proactive in developing a personal coping plan. The unexpected, unpredictable nature of PMDD mood swings, depression, and feelings of being overwhelmed make it extremely detrimental to mothering. The sooner you respond to the monthly tsunami that sweeps you away each month, the better off you and your family will be.
Mothers, be encouraged! You are not alone in the PMS battle, and you are not imagining your symptoms. Here's what a physician wrote about her own challenge each month:
When I asked my mother for help she could only offer sympathy. She told me that I'd probably grow out of it as I got older. Instead, it got worse. My PMS continued all through my medical training at Northwestern University in Chicago. One week out of the month I was in too much pain to do my work properly. I still remember the many afternoons when I had to leave the medical or pediatric ward. I went to the medical student on-call room and lay there in agony with severe nausea and cramps. My body swelled up so badly that I couldn't bear to bump against anything. The cysts in my breasts became large and tender. I was the only woman student on many of my rotations, and my symptoms made me feel inferior to and different from the male students. My moods fluctuated terribly. Part of the month I would feel calm and relaxed--like everyone else. But before my period I became quarrelsome and hard to deal with. I became much more sensitive to imagined or real slights and put-downs. I craved sugar and went on junk-food binges. Often I'd steal away and cry, not knowing how I was ever going to get through my training.2
Another physician wrote:
It is clear that PMS exists because among the thousands of women I have listened to, I have never had one say that each month, after her period, she loses self-esteem or fights with her husband or wants to kill herself. I have never heard a woman say that she wanted to feel postmenstrually as well as she does each month premenstrually. I've never heard a woman say, "You know, I get irritated easily, but premenstrually nothing could bother me."3
I'm sure you can identify with some of the symptoms and emotions
just expressed. Though reviewing the list of symptoms in this chapter
and realizing you have many (or all!) of them can be alarming, I hope
you also experience relief and comfort. I remember hearing about PMS for the first time and thinking, I have that! I was so relieved to understand the cause for my wild mood swings and unpredictable behavior.
It's one thing to understand why questionable behavior is occurring. It's another to do something about it. In retrospect, that's where I dropped the ball. There were many reasons that my new awareness did not lead to behavioral changes. Mostly, I was not willing to admit to myself or anyone else that I was unable to control my emotions and the resulting actions. To do so would have required admitting a weakness, something I wasn't willing to do. (Then I became a mother. Suddenly all my weaknesses showed up, en masse, the minute I arrived home from the hospital with that bundle of pink blanket and joy in my arms!)
In addition to not wanting to admit my struggle, since I was married when my PMS worsened, it was much easier to blame my husband for my problems and expect him to be the one to change. Needless to say, that plan failed dismally.
It wasn't until I noticed that once a month my normally upbeat, positive nature melted into hopelessness, helplessness, and apathy that I begin to consider getting help. Honestly, the help wasn't so much for me as it was for my family. Month after month of irrational, uncontrollable, and unlike-me behavior finally took its toll. After struggling mightily to manage the unmanageable each month, I finally got down on my knees and admitted to God that I needed help. Then, like Callie, I called my doctor, acknowledged the problem to a friend (who, it turned out, had also been struggling alone with the problem), and admitted to my husband that "Black Tuesday" at our house was a result of my hormones--and not his shortcomings as a husband. (More on this later.)
My willingness to surrender was the turning point in my battle with PMS. By acknowledging it and being proactive, I've been able to lessen the effects on my family and me. Though I certainly haven't perfected my response, my family and I are more hopeful about it than we've ever been.
Skulking around, hoping PMS will go away on its own doesn't work. Admitting that there is a problem, enlisting help, searching for solutions that work, and making the changes necessary to minimize the effects of PMS are the only ways to slay the hormone dragon.
That's what this book is about: finding hope and taking back your life. Are you ready?
Callie O'Keefe stood in the bathroom crying. Her two children, ages four and two, were outside the closed door, listening to their mother sob. Abby still felt the sting of her mother's hand on the back of her head. She'd made her younger sister cry, setting her mother off and resulting in the physical smack that seemed to come from nowhere with the speed of a rattlesnake strike. Abby stood in the hallway confused. Though she was the one who had been struck, her mother was the one crying.
As her children stood bewildered outside the bathroom door, Callie cried into a bathroom towel. "Lord, please help me stop this," she begged. "This is not the kind of mom I want to be!" This prayer had been uttered at least once a month for many years as she struggled with depression, anger, and fits of unpredictable behavior that descended on her prior to the onset of menstruation.
It was the same every month. The familiar twinge of oncoming cramps alerted her that her period would begin within the week, which meant she had to watch her words and actions very carefully. Each PMS battle started the same. Callie resolved to "do better and be kinder." And each resolution was quickly broken when her children set her off by arguing, complaining that the other got the bigger piece, or spilling a glass of milk at the very moment Callie's ability to cope was at its lowest. And it wasn't only the children who were bruised by her irrational behavior. Her husband, Steve, was just as likely to be the target of a tirade that she would later regret. Some nights it was so bad she'd wait until he was asleep and then slink into the guest room to bed down for the night. That way she wouldn't have to face him in the morning and see the hurt in his eyes.
As sobs racked her body, Callie grieved the fact that each month she seemed
to get worse. What had started as mild PMS in her 20s was now cause for serious concern. Two children in the house and an inability to control her words and emotions was a combustible combination. Callie knew she was doing damage to the family and feared the long-term consequences.
She raised her head from the towel, looked into the mirror, and saw the face of a mother in agony. Surely I'm not the only one who's out of control like this every month, she decided. Callie remembered a neighbor down the street who had once mentioned at a party that her husband had nicknamed her "The Human Hurricane" because of the damage she did regularly while in the clutches of PMS. At the time Callie laughed because she couldn't imagine quiet, gentle Amber turning into anything close to a hurricane. But after the morning Callie just experienced, she now believed it was possible.
After rinsing her face with cool water, Callie opened the bathroom door and sat on the floor next to Abby. She gathered her sweet daughter into her lap, rested her chin on the top of Abby's head, and murmured the words she'd had to say so many times before: "Abby, mommy lost her temper, and she's very sorry. I was angry that you made Jessica cry, but how I handled it was inappropriate. I'm so sorry."
Abby's response was the same as always. "It's okay, Mommy. I love you." The ease with which she offered forgiveness amplified Callie's pain.
After hugging Jessica, Callie headed to the phone to make two calls. First, she'd call her physician to make an appointment to discuss her symptoms. Then she'd call Amber, the Human Hurricane, and ask if she'd come over some afternoon for a cup of coffee while the children napped. She finally realized she needed help and couldn't fight the PMS battle alone.
Though the phone calls were small steps, they would pay big dividends. By acknowledging the problem, Callie placed herself on the road to healing.
allie is like me--and many women I know who suffer from severe PMS. We don't want to act the way we do. We're normally fairly balanced, kind people. We love our husbands and children. And yet, when triggered, we speak words we regret in an ugly tone
of voice. We overreact. Sometimes we punish our children physically. Sometimes we rebuke them by ignoring them or withholding our love. One mother I interviewed confessed that, while under the influence of PMS, she ran away for a day when she felt she could no longer take the pressure of mothering.
Do you know you suffer from PMS? Or are you wondering if you do? Let's start by taking a closer look at the symptoms.
Physical Symptoms
acne
bloating, water retention, weight gain
breast swelling and tenderness
bruising
changes in bowel habits (constipation/ diarrhea)
decreased sexual desire
dizziness
fatigue, lack of energy
food cravings, especially for sweet or salty foods
leg cramps
nausea
nipple discharge
pain (headaches, aching muscles and joints, cramps, low back pain)
rashes
sensitivity to light
shakiness
sleep pattern changes and/or insomnia
sweating
swelling of hands and/or feet
vaginal irritation
Behavioral and Emotional Symptoms
anger
anxiety
decreased alertness
depression, sadness, hopelessness
forgetfulness
inability to concentrate
indecision
irritability
loneliness * paranoia
loss of control * suicidal thoughts
mood swings * unexplained crying
nightmares * withdrawal from family and friends
panic attacks
These are just a few of the 150 or so PMS symptoms that have been identified. Individually they are often manageable. When combined, they can be debilitating. According to WebMd:
Although 85 percent of women experience PMS at times in their lives, about 40 percent are significantly affected.
While most women first experience PMS in their mid20s, PMS becomes even more common among women in their 30s.
PMS can come and go during the reproductive years, and symptoms may worsen as a woman approaches perimenopause in the late 30s or 40s.
Severe PMS symptoms may be premenstrual dysphoric disorder (PMDD), which affects up to 8 percent of women.1
For the purpose of our discussions, I'll be dealing with PMS. However, if you suffer from PMDD, please note: The symptoms you are wrestling with are more severe than regular PMS indications. Because of that, it's even more essential that you be proactive in developing a personal coping plan. The unexpected, unpredictable nature of PMDD mood swings, depression, and feelings of being overwhelmed make it extremely detrimental to mothering. The sooner you respond to the monthly tsunami that sweeps you away each month, the better off you and your family will be.
Mothers, be encouraged! You are not alone in the PMS battle, and you are not imagining your symptoms. Here's what a physician wrote about her own challenge each month:
When I asked my mother for help she could only offer sympathy. She told me that I'd probably grow out of it as I got older. Instead, it got worse. My PMS continued all through my medical training at Northwestern University in Chicago. One week out of the month I was in too much pain to do my work properly. I still remember the many afternoons when I had to leave the medical or pediatric ward. I went to the medical student on-call room and lay there in agony with severe nausea and cramps. My body swelled up so badly that I couldn't bear to bump against anything. The cysts in my breasts became large and tender. I was the only woman student on many of my rotations, and my symptoms made me feel inferior to and different from the male students. My moods fluctuated terribly. Part of the month I would feel calm and relaxed--like everyone else. But before my period I became quarrelsome and hard to deal with. I became much more sensitive to imagined or real slights and put-downs. I craved sugar and went on junk-food binges. Often I'd steal away and cry, not knowing how I was ever going to get through my training.2
Another physician wrote:
It is clear that PMS exists because among the thousands of women I have listened to, I have never had one say that each month, after her period, she loses self-esteem or fights with her husband or wants to kill herself. I have never heard a woman say that she wanted to feel postmenstrually as well as she does each month premenstrually. I've never heard a woman say, "You know, I get irritated easily, but premenstrually nothing could bother me."3
I'm sure you can identify with some of the symptoms and emotions
just expressed. Though reviewing the list of symptoms in this chapter
and realizing you have many (or all!) of them can be alarming, I hope
you also experience relief and comfort. I remember hearing about PMS for the first time and thinking, I have that! I was so relieved to understand the cause for my wild mood swings and unpredictable behavior.
It's one thing to understand why questionable behavior is occurring. It's another to do something about it. In retrospect, that's where I dropped the ball. There were many reasons that my new awareness did not lead to behavioral changes. Mostly, I was not willing to admit to myself or anyone else that I was unable to control my emotions and the resulting actions. To do so would have required admitting a weakness, something I wasn't willing to do. (Then I became a mother. Suddenly all my weaknesses showed up, en masse, the minute I arrived home from the hospital with that bundle of pink blanket and joy in my arms!)
In addition to not wanting to admit my struggle, since I was married when my PMS worsened, it was much easier to blame my husband for my problems and expect him to be the one to change. Needless to say, that plan failed dismally.
It wasn't until I noticed that once a month my normally upbeat, positive nature melted into hopelessness, helplessness, and apathy that I begin to consider getting help. Honestly, the help wasn't so much for me as it was for my family. Month after month of irrational, uncontrollable, and unlike-me behavior finally took its toll. After struggling mightily to manage the unmanageable each month, I finally got down on my knees and admitted to God that I needed help. Then, like Callie, I called my doctor, acknowledged the problem to a friend (who, it turned out, had also been struggling alone with the problem), and admitted to my husband that "Black Tuesday" at our house was a result of my hormones--and not his shortcomings as a husband. (More on this later.)
My willingness to surrender was the turning point in my battle with PMS. By acknowledging it and being proactive, I've been able to lessen the effects on my family and me. Though I certainly haven't perfected my response, my family and I are more hopeful about it than we've ever been.
Skulking around, hoping PMS will go away on its own doesn't work. Admitting that there is a problem, enlisting help, searching for solutions that work, and making the changes necessary to minimize the effects of PMS are the only ways to slay the hormone dragon.
That's what this book is about: finding hope and taking back your life. Are you ready?
Tuesday, September 30, 2008
Single Sashimi
It is time for the FIRST Blog Tour! On the FIRST day of every month we feature an author and his/her latest book's FIRST chapter!
The feature author is:
and her book:
Single Sashimi
Zondervan (September 1, 2008)
ABOUT THE AUTHOR:
Camy Tang is a FIRST Family Member! She also is a moderator for FIRST Wild Card Tours. She is a loud Asian chick who writes loud Asian chick-lit. She grew up in Hawaii, but now lives in San Jose, California, with her engineer husband and rambunctious poi-dog. In a previous life she was a biologist researcher, but these days she is surgically attached to her computer, writing full-time. In her spare time, she is a staff worker for her church youth group, and she leads one of the worship teams for Sunday service.
Camy Tang is a FIRST Family Member! She also is a moderator for FIRST Wild Card Tours. She is a loud Asian chick who writes loud Asian chick-lit. She grew up in Hawaii, but now lives in San Jose, California, with her engineer husband and rambunctious poi-dog. In a previous life she was a biologist researcher, but these days she is surgically attached to her computer, writing full-time. In her spare time, she is a staff worker for her church youth group, and she leads one of the worship teams for Sunday service.
Sushi for One? (Sushi Series, Book One) was her first novel. Her second, Only Uni (Sushi Series, Book Two) was published in March of this year. The next book in the series, Single Sashimi (Sushi Series, Book Three) came out in September 2008!
Visit her at her website.
List Price: $12.99
Paperback: 336 pages
Publisher: Zondervan (September 1, 2008)
Language: English
ISBN-10: 0310274001
ISBN-13: 978-0310274001
AND NOW...THE FIRST CHAPTER:
Single Sashimi
By
Camy Tang
Chapter one
Venus Chau opened the door to her aunt's house and almost fainted.
"What died?" She exhaled sharply, trying to get the foul air out of her body before it caused cancer or something.
Her cousin Jennifer Lim entered the foyer with the look of an oni goblin about to eat someone. "She's stinking up my kitchen."
"Who?" Venus hesitated on the threshold, breathing clean night air before she had to close the door.
"My mother, who else?"
The ire in Jenn's voice made Venus busy herself with kicking off her heels amongst the other shoes in the tile foyer. Hoo-boy, she'd never seen quiet Jenn this irate before. Then again, since Aunty Yuki had given her daughter the rule of the kitchen when she'd started cooking in high school, Jenn rarely had to make way for another cook.
"What is she cooking? Beef intestines?"
Jenn flung her arms out. "Who knows? Something Trish is supposed to eat."
"But we don't have to eat it, right? Right?"
"I'll never become pregnant if I have to eat stuff like that." Jenn whirled and stomped toward the kitchen.
Venus turned right into the living room where her very pregnant cousin Trish lounged on the sofa next to her boyfriend, Spenser. "Hey, guys." Her gaze paused on their twined hands. It continued to amaze her that Spenser would date a woman pregnant with another man's child. Maybe Venus shouldn't be so cynical about the men she met. Here was at least one good guy.
Trish's arms shot into the air like a Raiders' cheerleader, nearly clocking Spenser in the eye. "I'm officially on maternity leave!"
Venus paused to clap. "So how did you celebrate?"
"I babysat Matthew all day today." She smiled dreamily at Spenser at the mention of his son.
Venus frowned and landed her hands on her hips. "In your condition?"
Trish waved a hand. "He's not that bad. He stopped swallowing things weeks ago."
"I'm finally not wasting money on all those emergency room visits," Spenser said.
"Besides, I got a book about how to help toddlers expect a new baby." Trish bounced lightly on the sofa cushion in her excitement.
"And?" It seemed kind of weird to Venus, since Trish and Spenser weren't engaged or anything. Yet.
Trish chewed her lip. "I don't know if he totally understands, but at least it's a start."
A sense of strangeness washed over Venus as she watched the two of them, the looks they exchanged that weren't mushy or intimate, just . . . knowing. Like mind reading. It made her feel alienated from her cousin for the first time in her life, and she didn't really like it.
She immediately damped down the feeling. How could she begrudge Trish such a wonderful relationship? Venus was so selfish. She disgusted herself.
She looked around the living room. "Where is -- "
"Venus!" The childish voice rang down the short hallway. She stepped back into the foyer to see Spenser's son, Matthew, trotting down the carpet with hands reached out to her. He grabbed her at the knees, wrinkling her silk pants, but she didn't mind. His shining face looking up at her -- way up, since she was the tallest of the cousins -- made her feel like she was the only reason he lived and breathed. "Psycho Bunny?" he pleaded.
She pretended to think about it. His hands shook her pants legs to make her decide faster.
"Okay."
He darted into the living room and plopped in front of the television, grabbing at the game controllers. The kid had it down pat -- in less than a minute, the music for the Psycho Bunny video game rolled into the room.
Venus sank to the floor next to him.
"Jenn is totally freaking out." Trish's eyes had popped to the size of siu mai dumplings.
"What brought all this on?" Venus picked up the other controller.
"Well, Aunty Yuki had a doctor's appointment today -- "
"Is she doing okay?" She chose the Bunny Foo-Foo character for the game just starting.
"Clean bill of health. Cancer's gone, as far as they can tell."
"So that's why she's taken over Jenn's domain?"
Trish rubbed her back and winced. "She took one look at me and decided I needed something to help the baby along."
Jenn huffed into the living room. "She's going to make me ruin the roast chicken!"
Venus ignored her screeching tone. "Sit down. You're not going to make her hurry by hovering." She and Matthew both jumped over the snake pit and landed in the hollow tree.
Jenn flung herself into an overstuffed chair and dumped her feet on the battered oak coffee table.
Venus turned to glance at the foyer. No Nikes. "Where's Lex?"
"Late. Where else?" Jenn snapped.
"I thought Aiden was helping her be better about that."
"He's not a miracle worker." Spenser massaged Trish's back.
"I have to leave early." Venus stretched her silk-clad feet out, wriggling her toes. Her new stilettos looked great but man, they hurt her arches.
"Then you might not eat at all." Jenn crossed her arms over her chest.
Venus speared her with a glance like a stainless steel skewer. "Chill, okay Cujo?"
Jenn pouted and scrunched further down in the chair.
Venus ignored her and turned back to the game. Her inattention had let Matthew pick up the treasure chest. "I have to work on a project."
"For work?"
"No, for me." Only the Spiderweb, the achievement of her lifetime, a new tool that would propel her to the heights of video game development stardom. Which was why she'd kept it separate from her job-related things -- she didn't even use her company computer when she worked on it, only her personal laptop.
A new smell wafted into the room, this one rivaling the other in its stomach-roiling ability. Venus waved her hand in front of her face.
"Pffaugh! What is she cooking?"
Trish's face had turned the color of green tea. "You're lucky you don't have to eat it. Whatever it is, it ain't gonna stay down for long."
"Just say you still have morning sickness."
"In my ninth month?"
Venus shrugged.
The door slammed open. "Hey, guys -- blech."
Venus twisted around to see her cousin Lex doubled over, clenching her washboard stomach (Venus wished she could have one of those) and looking like she'd hurled up all the shoes littering the foyer floor.
Lex's boyfriend Aiden grabbed her waist to prevent her from nosediving into the tile. "Lex, it's not that bad."
"The gym locker room smells better." Lex used her toes to pull off her cross-trainers without bothering to untie them. "The men's locker room."
"It's not me," Jenn declared. "It's Mom, ruining all my best pots."
"What is she doing? Killing small animals on the stovetop?"
"Something for the baby." Trish tried to smile, but it looked more like a wince.
"As long as we don't have to eat it." Lex dropped her slouchy purse on the floor and walked into the living room.
Aunty Yuki appeared behind her in the doorway, bearing a steaming bowl. "Here, Trish. Drink this." The brilliant smile on her wide face eclipsed her tiny stature.
Venus smelled something pungent, like when she walked into a Chinese medicine shop with her dad. A bolus of air erupted from her mouth, and she coughed. "What is that?" She dropped the game controller.
"Pig's brain soup."
Trish's smile hardened to plastic. Lex grabbed her mouth. Spenser -- who was Chinese and therefore had been raised with the weird concoctions -- sighed. Aiden looked at them all like they were funny-farm rejects.
Venus closed her eyes, tightened her mouth, and concentrated on not gagging. Good thing her stomach was empty.
Aunty Yuki's mouth pursed. "What's wrong? My mother-in-law made me eat pig's brain soup when I was a couple weeks from delivering Jennifer."
"That's what you ruined my pots with?" Jennifer steamed hotter than the bowl of soup.
Her mom caught the yakuza-about-to-hack-your-finger-off expression on Jenn's face. Aunty Yuki paused, then backtracked to the kitchen. With the soup bowl, thankfully.
"Papa?" Matthew's voice sounded faint.
Venus turned.
"Don't feel good." He clutched his poochy tummy.
"Oh, no." Spenser grabbed his son and headed out of the living room.
Then the world exploded.
Just as they passed into the foyer, Matthew threw up onto the tiles.
Lex, with her weak stomach when it came to bodily fluids, took one look and turned pasty.
A burning smell and a few cries sounded from the kitchen.
Trish sat up straighter than a Buddha and clenched her rounded abdomen. "Oh!"
Spenser held his crying son as he urped up the rest of his afternoon snack. Lex clapped a hand to her mouth to prevent herself from following Matthew's example. Jenn started for the kitchen, but then Matthew's mess blocking the foyer stopped her. Trish groaned and curled in on herself, clutching her tummy.
Venus shot to her feet. She wasn't acting Game Lead at her company for nothing.
"You." She pointed to Jenn. "Get to the kitchen and send your mom in here for Trish." Jenn leaped over Matthew's puddle and darted away. "And bring paper towels for the mess!"
"You," she flung at Spenser. "Take Matthew to the bathroom."
He gestured to the brand new hallway carpet.
Oh no, Aunty Yuki would have a fit. But it couldn't be helped. "If he makes a mess on the carpet, we'll just clean it up later."
He didn't hesitate. He hustled down the hallway with Matthew in his arms.
Venus kicked the miniscule living room garbage basket closer to Lex. "Hang your head over that." Not that it would hold more than spittle, but it was better than letting Lex upchuck all over the plush cream carpet. Why did Lex, tomboy and jock, have to go weak every time something gross happened?
"You." Venus stabbed a manicured finger at Aiden. "Get your car, we're taking Trish to the hospital."
He didn't jump at her command. "After one contraction?"
Trish moaned, and Venus had a vision of the baby flying out of her in the next minute. She pointed to the door again. "Just go!"
Aiden shrugged and slipped out the front door, muttering to himself.
"You." She stood in front of Trish, who'd started Lamaze breathing through her pursed lips. "Uh . . ."
Trish peered up at her.
"Um . . . stop having contractions."
Trish rolled her eyes, but didn't speak through her pursed lips.
Venus ignored her and went to kneel over Matthew's rather watery puddle, which had spread with amoeba fingers reaching down the lines of grout. Lex's purse lay nearby, so she rooted in it for a tissue or something to start blotting up the mess.
Footsteps approaching. Before she could raise her head or shout a warning, Aunty Yuki hurried into the foyer. "What's wron -- !"
It was like a Three Stooges episode. Aunty Yuki barreled into Venus's bent figure. She had leaned over Matthew's mess to protect anyone from stepping in it, but it also made her an obstacle in the middle of the foyer.
"Ooomph!" The older woman's feet -- shod in cotton house slippers, luckily, and not shoes -- jammed into Venus's ribs. She couldn't see much except a pair of slippers leaving the floor at the same time, and then a body landing on the living room carpet on the other side of her. Ouch.
"Are you okay?" Venus twisted to kneel in front of her, but she seemed slow to rise.
"Venus, here're the paper towels -- "
Jenn's voice in the foyer made Venus whirl on the balls of her feet and fling her hands up. "Watch out!"
Jenn stopped just in time. Her toes were only inches away from Matthew's mess, her body leaning forward. Her arms whirled, still clutching the towels, like a cheerleader and her pom-poms.
"Jenn." Spenser's voice coming down the hallway toward the foyer. "Where are the -- "
"Stop!" Venus and Jenn shouted at the same time.
Spenser froze, his foot hovering above a finger of the puddle that had stretched toward the hallway. "Ah. Okay. Thanks." He lowered his foot on the clean tile to the side.
Aiden opened the front door. "The car's out front -- " The sight of them all left him speechless.
Trish had started to hyperventilate, her breath seething through her teeth. "Will somebody do something?!"
Aunty Yuki moaned from her crumpled position on the floor.
Smoke started pouring from the kitchen, along with the awful smell of burned . . . something that wasn't normal food.
Venus snatched the paper towels from Jenn. "Kitchen!" Jenn fled before she'd finished speaking. "What do you need?" Venus barked at Spenser.
"Extra towels."
"Guest bedroom closet, top shelf."
He headed back down the hall. Venus turned to Aiden and swept a hand toward Aunty Yuki on the living room floor. "Take care of her, will you?"
"What about me?" Trish moaned through a clenched jaw.
"Stop having contractions!" Venus swiped up the mess on the tile before something worse happened, like someone stepped in it and slid. That would just be the crowning cherry to her evening. Even when she wasn't at work, she was still working.
"Are you okay, Aunty?" She stood with the sodden paper towels.
Aiden had helped her to a seat next to Lex, who was ashen-faced and still leaning over the tiny trash can. Aside from a reddish spot on Aunty Yuki's elbow, she seemed fine.
Jenn entered the living room, her hair wild and a distinctive burned smell sizzling from her clothes. "My imported French saucepan is completely blackened!" But she had enough sense not to glare at her parent as she probably wanted to. Aunty Yuki suddenly found
the wall hangings fascinating.
Venus started to turn toward the kitchen to throw away the paper towels she still held. "Well, we have to take Trish to the hospital -- "
"Actually . . ." Trish's breathing had slowed. "I think it's just a false alarm."
Venus turned to look at her. "False alarm? Pregnant women have those?"
"It happened a couple days ago too."
"What?" Venus almost slammed her fist into her hip, but remembered the dirty paper towels just in time. Good thing too, because she had on a Chanel suit.
Trish gave a long, slow sigh. "Yup, they're gone. That was fast." She smiled cheerfully.
Venus wanted to scream. This was out of her realm. At work, she was used to grabbing a crisis at the throat and wrestling it to submission. This was somewhere Trish was heading without her, and the thought both frightened and unnerved her. She shrugged it off. "Well . . . Aunty -- "
"I'm fine, Venus." Aunty Yuki inspected her elbow. "Jennifer, get those Japanese Salonpas patches -- "
"Mom, they stink." Jenn's stress over her beautiful kitchen made her more belligerent than Venus had ever seen her before. Not that the camphor patches could smell any worse than the burned Chinese-old-wives'-pregnancy-food permeating the house.
At the sound of the word Salonpas, Lex pinched her lips together but didn't say anything.
Aunty Yuki gave Jenn a limpid look. "The Salonpas gets rid of the pain."
"I'll get it." Aiden headed down the hallway to get the adhesive patches.
"In the hall closet." Jenn's words slurred a bit through her tight jaw.
Distraction time. Venus tried to smile. "Aunty, if you're okay, then let's eat."
Jenn's eyes flared neon red. "Can't."
"Huh?"
"Somebody turned off the oven." Jenn frowned at her mother, who tactfully looked away. "Dinner won't be for another hour." She stalked back to the kitchen.
Even with the nasty smell, Venus's stomach protested its empty state. "It's already eight o'clock."
"Suck it up!" Jenn yelled from the kitchen.
It was going to be a long night.
***
Venus needed a Reese's peanut butter cup.
No, a Reese's was bad. Sugar, fat, preservatives, all kinds of chemicals she couldn't even pronounce.
Oooh, but it would taste so good . . .
No, she equated Reese's cups with her fat days. She was no longer fat. She didn't need a Reese's.
But she sure wanted one after such a hectic evening with her cousins.
She trudged up the steps to her condo. Home. Too small to invite people over, and that was the way she liked it. Her haven, where she could relax and let go, no one to see her when she was vulnerable --
Her front door was ajar.
Her limbs froze mid-step, but her heart rat-tat-tatted in her chest like a machine gun. Someone. Had. Broken. Into. Her. Home.
Her hand started to shake. She clenched it to her hip, crushing the silk of her pants. What to do? He might still be there. Pepper spray. In her purse. She searched in her bag and finally found the tiny bottle. Her hand trembled so much, she'd be more likely to spritz herself than the intruder.
Were those sounds coming from inside? She reached out a hand, but couldn't quite bring herself to push the door open further.
Stupid, call the police! She fumbled with the pepper spray so she could extract her cell phone. Dummy, don't pop yourself in the eye with that stuff! She switched the spray to her other hand while her thumb dialed 9 - 1 - 1. Her handbag's leather straps dug into her elbow.
Thump! That came from her living room! Footsteps. Get away from the door! She stumbled backwards, but remembering the stairs right behind her, she tried to stop herself from tumbling down. Her ankle tilted on her stilettos, and she fell sideways to lean against the wall. The footsteps approached her open door.
"9 - 1 - 1, what's your emergency?"
She raised her hand with the bottle of pepper spray. "Someone's -- "
The door swung open.
"Edgar!" The cell phone dropped with a clatter, but she kept a firm grip on the pepper spray, suddenly tempted to use it.
One of her junior programmers stood in her open doorway.
Copyright (c) 2008 by Camy Tang
Requests for information should be addressed to:
Zondervan, Grand Rapids, Michigan 49530
By
Camy Tang
Chapter one
Venus Chau opened the door to her aunt's house and almost fainted.
"What died?" She exhaled sharply, trying to get the foul air out of her body before it caused cancer or something.
Her cousin Jennifer Lim entered the foyer with the look of an oni goblin about to eat someone. "She's stinking up my kitchen."
"Who?" Venus hesitated on the threshold, breathing clean night air before she had to close the door.
"My mother, who else?"
The ire in Jenn's voice made Venus busy herself with kicking off her heels amongst the other shoes in the tile foyer. Hoo-boy, she'd never seen quiet Jenn this irate before. Then again, since Aunty Yuki had given her daughter the rule of the kitchen when she'd started cooking in high school, Jenn rarely had to make way for another cook.
"What is she cooking? Beef intestines?"
Jenn flung her arms out. "Who knows? Something Trish is supposed to eat."
"But we don't have to eat it, right? Right?"
"I'll never become pregnant if I have to eat stuff like that." Jenn whirled and stomped toward the kitchen.
Venus turned right into the living room where her very pregnant cousin Trish lounged on the sofa next to her boyfriend, Spenser. "Hey, guys." Her gaze paused on their twined hands. It continued to amaze her that Spenser would date a woman pregnant with another man's child. Maybe Venus shouldn't be so cynical about the men she met. Here was at least one good guy.
Trish's arms shot into the air like a Raiders' cheerleader, nearly clocking Spenser in the eye. "I'm officially on maternity leave!"
Venus paused to clap. "So how did you celebrate?"
"I babysat Matthew all day today." She smiled dreamily at Spenser at the mention of his son.
Venus frowned and landed her hands on her hips. "In your condition?"
Trish waved a hand. "He's not that bad. He stopped swallowing things weeks ago."
"I'm finally not wasting money on all those emergency room visits," Spenser said.
"Besides, I got a book about how to help toddlers expect a new baby." Trish bounced lightly on the sofa cushion in her excitement.
"And?" It seemed kind of weird to Venus, since Trish and Spenser weren't engaged or anything. Yet.
Trish chewed her lip. "I don't know if he totally understands, but at least it's a start."
A sense of strangeness washed over Venus as she watched the two of them, the looks they exchanged that weren't mushy or intimate, just . . . knowing. Like mind reading. It made her feel alienated from her cousin for the first time in her life, and she didn't really like it.
She immediately damped down the feeling. How could she begrudge Trish such a wonderful relationship? Venus was so selfish. She disgusted herself.
She looked around the living room. "Where is -- "
"Venus!" The childish voice rang down the short hallway. She stepped back into the foyer to see Spenser's son, Matthew, trotting down the carpet with hands reached out to her. He grabbed her at the knees, wrinkling her silk pants, but she didn't mind. His shining face looking up at her -- way up, since she was the tallest of the cousins -- made her feel like she was the only reason he lived and breathed. "Psycho Bunny?" he pleaded.
She pretended to think about it. His hands shook her pants legs to make her decide faster.
"Okay."
He darted into the living room and plopped in front of the television, grabbing at the game controllers. The kid had it down pat -- in less than a minute, the music for the Psycho Bunny video game rolled into the room.
Venus sank to the floor next to him.
"Jenn is totally freaking out." Trish's eyes had popped to the size of siu mai dumplings.
"What brought all this on?" Venus picked up the other controller.
"Well, Aunty Yuki had a doctor's appointment today -- "
"Is she doing okay?" She chose the Bunny Foo-Foo character for the game just starting.
"Clean bill of health. Cancer's gone, as far as they can tell."
"So that's why she's taken over Jenn's domain?"
Trish rubbed her back and winced. "She took one look at me and decided I needed something to help the baby along."
Jenn huffed into the living room. "She's going to make me ruin the roast chicken!"
Venus ignored her screeching tone. "Sit down. You're not going to make her hurry by hovering." She and Matthew both jumped over the snake pit and landed in the hollow tree.
Jenn flung herself into an overstuffed chair and dumped her feet on the battered oak coffee table.
Venus turned to glance at the foyer. No Nikes. "Where's Lex?"
"Late. Where else?" Jenn snapped.
"I thought Aiden was helping her be better about that."
"He's not a miracle worker." Spenser massaged Trish's back.
"I have to leave early." Venus stretched her silk-clad feet out, wriggling her toes. Her new stilettos looked great but man, they hurt her arches.
"Then you might not eat at all." Jenn crossed her arms over her chest.
Venus speared her with a glance like a stainless steel skewer. "Chill, okay Cujo?"
Jenn pouted and scrunched further down in the chair.
Venus ignored her and turned back to the game. Her inattention had let Matthew pick up the treasure chest. "I have to work on a project."
"For work?"
"No, for me." Only the Spiderweb, the achievement of her lifetime, a new tool that would propel her to the heights of video game development stardom. Which was why she'd kept it separate from her job-related things -- she didn't even use her company computer when she worked on it, only her personal laptop.
A new smell wafted into the room, this one rivaling the other in its stomach-roiling ability. Venus waved her hand in front of her face.
"Pffaugh! What is she cooking?"
Trish's face had turned the color of green tea. "You're lucky you don't have to eat it. Whatever it is, it ain't gonna stay down for long."
"Just say you still have morning sickness."
"In my ninth month?"
Venus shrugged.
The door slammed open. "Hey, guys -- blech."
Venus twisted around to see her cousin Lex doubled over, clenching her washboard stomach (Venus wished she could have one of those) and looking like she'd hurled up all the shoes littering the foyer floor.
Lex's boyfriend Aiden grabbed her waist to prevent her from nosediving into the tile. "Lex, it's not that bad."
"The gym locker room smells better." Lex used her toes to pull off her cross-trainers without bothering to untie them. "The men's locker room."
"It's not me," Jenn declared. "It's Mom, ruining all my best pots."
"What is she doing? Killing small animals on the stovetop?"
"Something for the baby." Trish tried to smile, but it looked more like a wince.
"As long as we don't have to eat it." Lex dropped her slouchy purse on the floor and walked into the living room.
Aunty Yuki appeared behind her in the doorway, bearing a steaming bowl. "Here, Trish. Drink this." The brilliant smile on her wide face eclipsed her tiny stature.
Venus smelled something pungent, like when she walked into a Chinese medicine shop with her dad. A bolus of air erupted from her mouth, and she coughed. "What is that?" She dropped the game controller.
"Pig's brain soup."
Trish's smile hardened to plastic. Lex grabbed her mouth. Spenser -- who was Chinese and therefore had been raised with the weird concoctions -- sighed. Aiden looked at them all like they were funny-farm rejects.
Venus closed her eyes, tightened her mouth, and concentrated on not gagging. Good thing her stomach was empty.
Aunty Yuki's mouth pursed. "What's wrong? My mother-in-law made me eat pig's brain soup when I was a couple weeks from delivering Jennifer."
"That's what you ruined my pots with?" Jennifer steamed hotter than the bowl of soup.
Her mom caught the yakuza-about-to-hack-your-finger-off expression on Jenn's face. Aunty Yuki paused, then backtracked to the kitchen. With the soup bowl, thankfully.
"Papa?" Matthew's voice sounded faint.
Venus turned.
"Don't feel good." He clutched his poochy tummy.
"Oh, no." Spenser grabbed his son and headed out of the living room.
Then the world exploded.
Just as they passed into the foyer, Matthew threw up onto the tiles.
Lex, with her weak stomach when it came to bodily fluids, took one look and turned pasty.
A burning smell and a few cries sounded from the kitchen.
Trish sat up straighter than a Buddha and clenched her rounded abdomen. "Oh!"
Spenser held his crying son as he urped up the rest of his afternoon snack. Lex clapped a hand to her mouth to prevent herself from following Matthew's example. Jenn started for the kitchen, but then Matthew's mess blocking the foyer stopped her. Trish groaned and curled in on herself, clutching her tummy.
Venus shot to her feet. She wasn't acting Game Lead at her company for nothing.
"You." She pointed to Jenn. "Get to the kitchen and send your mom in here for Trish." Jenn leaped over Matthew's puddle and darted away. "And bring paper towels for the mess!"
"You," she flung at Spenser. "Take Matthew to the bathroom."
He gestured to the brand new hallway carpet.
Oh no, Aunty Yuki would have a fit. But it couldn't be helped. "If he makes a mess on the carpet, we'll just clean it up later."
He didn't hesitate. He hustled down the hallway with Matthew in his arms.
Venus kicked the miniscule living room garbage basket closer to Lex. "Hang your head over that." Not that it would hold more than spittle, but it was better than letting Lex upchuck all over the plush cream carpet. Why did Lex, tomboy and jock, have to go weak every time something gross happened?
"You." Venus stabbed a manicured finger at Aiden. "Get your car, we're taking Trish to the hospital."
He didn't jump at her command. "After one contraction?"
Trish moaned, and Venus had a vision of the baby flying out of her in the next minute. She pointed to the door again. "Just go!"
Aiden shrugged and slipped out the front door, muttering to himself.
"You." She stood in front of Trish, who'd started Lamaze breathing through her pursed lips. "Uh . . ."
Trish peered up at her.
"Um . . . stop having contractions."
Trish rolled her eyes, but didn't speak through her pursed lips.
Venus ignored her and went to kneel over Matthew's rather watery puddle, which had spread with amoeba fingers reaching down the lines of grout. Lex's purse lay nearby, so she rooted in it for a tissue or something to start blotting up the mess.
Footsteps approaching. Before she could raise her head or shout a warning, Aunty Yuki hurried into the foyer. "What's wron -- !"
It was like a Three Stooges episode. Aunty Yuki barreled into Venus's bent figure. She had leaned over Matthew's mess to protect anyone from stepping in it, but it also made her an obstacle in the middle of the foyer.
"Ooomph!" The older woman's feet -- shod in cotton house slippers, luckily, and not shoes -- jammed into Venus's ribs. She couldn't see much except a pair of slippers leaving the floor at the same time, and then a body landing on the living room carpet on the other side of her. Ouch.
"Are you okay?" Venus twisted to kneel in front of her, but she seemed slow to rise.
"Venus, here're the paper towels -- "
Jenn's voice in the foyer made Venus whirl on the balls of her feet and fling her hands up. "Watch out!"
Jenn stopped just in time. Her toes were only inches away from Matthew's mess, her body leaning forward. Her arms whirled, still clutching the towels, like a cheerleader and her pom-poms.
"Jenn." Spenser's voice coming down the hallway toward the foyer. "Where are the -- "
"Stop!" Venus and Jenn shouted at the same time.
Spenser froze, his foot hovering above a finger of the puddle that had stretched toward the hallway. "Ah. Okay. Thanks." He lowered his foot on the clean tile to the side.
Aiden opened the front door. "The car's out front -- " The sight of them all left him speechless.
Trish had started to hyperventilate, her breath seething through her teeth. "Will somebody do something?!"
Aunty Yuki moaned from her crumpled position on the floor.
Smoke started pouring from the kitchen, along with the awful smell of burned . . . something that wasn't normal food.
Venus snatched the paper towels from Jenn. "Kitchen!" Jenn fled before she'd finished speaking. "What do you need?" Venus barked at Spenser.
"Extra towels."
"Guest bedroom closet, top shelf."
He headed back down the hall. Venus turned to Aiden and swept a hand toward Aunty Yuki on the living room floor. "Take care of her, will you?"
"What about me?" Trish moaned through a clenched jaw.
"Stop having contractions!" Venus swiped up the mess on the tile before something worse happened, like someone stepped in it and slid. That would just be the crowning cherry to her evening. Even when she wasn't at work, she was still working.
"Are you okay, Aunty?" She stood with the sodden paper towels.
Aiden had helped her to a seat next to Lex, who was ashen-faced and still leaning over the tiny trash can. Aside from a reddish spot on Aunty Yuki's elbow, she seemed fine.
Jenn entered the living room, her hair wild and a distinctive burned smell sizzling from her clothes. "My imported French saucepan is completely blackened!" But she had enough sense not to glare at her parent as she probably wanted to. Aunty Yuki suddenly found
the wall hangings fascinating.
Venus started to turn toward the kitchen to throw away the paper towels she still held. "Well, we have to take Trish to the hospital -- "
"Actually . . ." Trish's breathing had slowed. "I think it's just a false alarm."
Venus turned to look at her. "False alarm? Pregnant women have those?"
"It happened a couple days ago too."
"What?" Venus almost slammed her fist into her hip, but remembered the dirty paper towels just in time. Good thing too, because she had on a Chanel suit.
Trish gave a long, slow sigh. "Yup, they're gone. That was fast." She smiled cheerfully.
Venus wanted to scream. This was out of her realm. At work, she was used to grabbing a crisis at the throat and wrestling it to submission. This was somewhere Trish was heading without her, and the thought both frightened and unnerved her. She shrugged it off. "Well . . . Aunty -- "
"I'm fine, Venus." Aunty Yuki inspected her elbow. "Jennifer, get those Japanese Salonpas patches -- "
"Mom, they stink." Jenn's stress over her beautiful kitchen made her more belligerent than Venus had ever seen her before. Not that the camphor patches could smell any worse than the burned Chinese-old-wives'-pregnancy-food permeating the house.
At the sound of the word Salonpas, Lex pinched her lips together but didn't say anything.
Aunty Yuki gave Jenn a limpid look. "The Salonpas gets rid of the pain."
"I'll get it." Aiden headed down the hallway to get the adhesive patches.
"In the hall closet." Jenn's words slurred a bit through her tight jaw.
Distraction time. Venus tried to smile. "Aunty, if you're okay, then let's eat."
Jenn's eyes flared neon red. "Can't."
"Huh?"
"Somebody turned off the oven." Jenn frowned at her mother, who tactfully looked away. "Dinner won't be for another hour." She stalked back to the kitchen.
Even with the nasty smell, Venus's stomach protested its empty state. "It's already eight o'clock."
"Suck it up!" Jenn yelled from the kitchen.
It was going to be a long night.
***
Venus needed a Reese's peanut butter cup.
No, a Reese's was bad. Sugar, fat, preservatives, all kinds of chemicals she couldn't even pronounce.
Oooh, but it would taste so good . . .
No, she equated Reese's cups with her fat days. She was no longer fat. She didn't need a Reese's.
But she sure wanted one after such a hectic evening with her cousins.
She trudged up the steps to her condo. Home. Too small to invite people over, and that was the way she liked it. Her haven, where she could relax and let go, no one to see her when she was vulnerable --
Her front door was ajar.
Her limbs froze mid-step, but her heart rat-tat-tatted in her chest like a machine gun. Someone. Had. Broken. Into. Her. Home.
Her hand started to shake. She clenched it to her hip, crushing the silk of her pants. What to do? He might still be there. Pepper spray. In her purse. She searched in her bag and finally found the tiny bottle. Her hand trembled so much, she'd be more likely to spritz herself than the intruder.
Were those sounds coming from inside? She reached out a hand, but couldn't quite bring herself to push the door open further.
Stupid, call the police! She fumbled with the pepper spray so she could extract her cell phone. Dummy, don't pop yourself in the eye with that stuff! She switched the spray to her other hand while her thumb dialed 9 - 1 - 1. Her handbag's leather straps dug into her elbow.
Thump! That came from her living room! Footsteps. Get away from the door! She stumbled backwards, but remembering the stairs right behind her, she tried to stop herself from tumbling down. Her ankle tilted on her stilettos, and she fell sideways to lean against the wall. The footsteps approached her open door.
"9 - 1 - 1, what's your emergency?"
She raised her hand with the bottle of pepper spray. "Someone's -- "
The door swung open.
"Edgar!" The cell phone dropped with a clatter, but she kept a firm grip on the pepper spray, suddenly tempted to use it.
One of her junior programmers stood in her open doorway.
Copyright (c) 2008 by Camy Tang
Requests for information should be addressed to:
Zondervan, Grand Rapids, Michigan 49530
Hey!You can also listen to Camy's interview on a podcast HERE
If there's one thing that makes us love a book, it's loving the heroine. Fiction is full of heroines that we just can't get enough of. From Anne Shirley to Elizabeth Bennet to Scarlett O'Hara, if SHE'S GOT CHARACTER, we'll love her. This blog is dedicated to the books by authors who are creating strong "characters" today--one book at a time.
Tuesday, August 5, 2008
Monday, May 5, 2008
The Swimsuit Club-On Hold!
I will get back to this novel and finish it. Jason and Sharona
are insisting upon it! But the reason the blog posts have stopped for now is because my publisher is interested in a different work from me right now. It's called, The House in Grosvenor Square," and is the sequel to Before the Season Ends, my first regency (Jane Austen era) novel.
If you think only contemporary characters have all the fun, think again! This book is a blast-I'm having such fun with it, and you will, too.
For updates on it, check out my website and sign up for my mailing list. In addition to great Regency content, you'll hear about all my writing-related news--including the return of the Swimsuit Club!
Blessings,
Linore
are insisting upon it!
If you think only contemporary characters have all the fun, think again! This book is a blast-I'm having such fun with it, and you will, too.
For updates on it, check out my website and sign up for my mailing list. In addition to great Regency content, you'll hear about all my writing-related news--including the return of the Swimsuit Club!
Blessings,
Linore
Wednesday, February 13, 2008
What is Beauty?
I've raised this question before, but writer Susan May Warren got me thinking in a recent post of hers in which she discusses how to create a memorable heroine for a novel. She says it is important to make your heroine beautiful--but what, after all, is beauty? Here's an excerpt of her post:
"Beauty – what is it? An informal Warren family poll elicits very different responses:
16 year old boy: Someone who is smart.
13 year old boy: A girl who can run fast. (not sure why)
11 year old boy: Nice hair.
15 year old girl: Someone who is unique.
Married old guy: Softness. Someone who is happy and cheerful.
What makes beauty? I think we can all agree that the bible points out that beauty comes from inside, and I agree. A crabby person, regardless of how beautiful, gives off a sheen of ugly. But a lovely person who exudes kindness can be very pretty.
When we’re creating a heroine, especially in a romance, but even in a suspense, she has to possess her own beauty. This is the other Secret Ingredient to a Strong Heroine. All heroines will have something about them that makes them pretty to the hero. They could be genuinely pretty – and then, only get prettier as the hero gets to know them. Or, they could be plain, and turn gorgeous as their inner nature is revealed. The key is, the hero has to see it, and appreciate it.
For example, let’s talk about one of my favorite actresses – Jodie Foster. Love her. She’s an amazing actress. However, I wouldn’t peg her as beautiful. One of my favorite movies of hers is Maverick, where she stars as a gambler against Mel Gibson. She’s a scamp, (and he likewise), doing what she has to get to into the big poker tournament (even stealing Mel’s money!). But the more she tricks Mel, and teases him, the more she turns irresistible to him. Her scoundrel ways is what draws him to her, and they make a perfect team.
What makes your heroine beautiful? And it’s not something physical – in fact, if she’s not physically beautiful, you have more to work with. You can draw out her other features, and then as the hero begins to see her in a new light, she’ll become gorgeous to him."
Just a few more thoughts on the ethereal quality that constitutes true beauty, as opposed to the material, physical emphasis of the world and the media. If you're not a writer, keep this in mind for yourself: It's not just what's on the outside that matters. Really! If you're not yet married, ask yourself how a guy who cares about you will behave; how will he treat you? If he cares for you, the real you, and not just the "outside" you--or just himself--would he ask you to do things you don't really want to? Would he pressure you, threaten you, or, God forbid, force you to do a physical act you don't wish to?
The answer is, a big, resounding, "NO."
And don't let anyone tell you otherwise.
Susan May Warren is the author of "Book Therapy", a blog for writers.
Join her list by writing to: booktherapy@susanmaywarren.com
"Beauty – what is it? An informal Warren family poll elicits very different responses:
16 year old boy: Someone who is smart.
13 year old boy: A girl who can run fast. (not sure why)
11 year old boy: Nice hair.
15 year old girl: Someone who is unique.
Married old guy: Softness. Someone who is happy and cheerful.
What makes beauty? I think we can all agree that the bible points out that beauty comes from inside, and I agree. A crabby person, regardless of how beautiful, gives off a sheen of ugly. But a lovely person who exudes kindness can be very pretty.
When we’re creating a heroine, especially in a romance, but even in a suspense, she has to possess her own beauty. This is the other Secret Ingredient to a Strong Heroine. All heroines will have something about them that makes them pretty to the hero. They could be genuinely pretty – and then, only get prettier as the hero gets to know them. Or, they could be plain, and turn gorgeous as their inner nature is revealed. The key is, the hero has to see it, and appreciate it.
For example, let’s talk about one of my favorite actresses – Jodie Foster. Love her. She’s an amazing actress. However, I wouldn’t peg her as beautiful. One of my favorite movies of hers is Maverick, where she stars as a gambler against Mel Gibson. She’s a scamp, (and he likewise), doing what she has to get to into the big poker tournament (even stealing Mel’s money!). But the more she tricks Mel, and teases him, the more she turns irresistible to him. Her scoundrel ways is what draws him to her, and they make a perfect team.
What makes your heroine beautiful? And it’s not something physical – in fact, if she’s not physically beautiful, you have more to work with. You can draw out her other features, and then as the hero begins to see her in a new light, she’ll become gorgeous to him."
Just a few more thoughts on the ethereal quality that constitutes true beauty, as opposed to the material, physical emphasis of the world and the media. If you're not a writer, keep this in mind for yourself: It's not just what's on the outside that matters. Really! If you're not yet married, ask yourself how a guy who cares about you will behave; how will he treat you? If he cares for you, the real you, and not just the "outside" you--or just himself--would he ask you to do things you don't really want to? Would he pressure you, threaten you, or, God forbid, force you to do a physical act you don't wish to?
The answer is, a big, resounding, "NO."
And don't let anyone tell you otherwise.
Susan May Warren is the author of "Book Therapy", a blog for writers.
Join her list by writing to: booktherapy@susanmaywarren.com
Tuesday, February 12, 2008
Anti-Ageing Run Amok
Today's post isn't directly related to the issues of the Club, granted; but I still had to include it here because it INdirectly affects each and every woman (and even men, but to a lesser degree) in Western culture.
Have you noticed that the trend to reverse aging is growing into a national obsession? It's often touted as a form of women's healthcare, but when it comes to cosmetic surgery to look younger, that just ain't healthcare, folks! That kind of "care" has a lot more to do with a woman's insecurities and self-perceived shortcomings--all which translate somewhere in the brain into being unlovable--and nothing at all to do with real health.
As usual, I'm going to say that the only healthy foundation for loving who we are has to come from loving who made us! Keeping in mind that we are given value by the God of the universe, no matter our age or appearance, can help us to avoid the pitfall of buying into today's youth culture. But, before I say more, why not click the TITLE of this post and go to a great article by Andrea Mann called, "Stop the Anti-Ageing Madness!" She's got more than a few things right.
Give it a quick look. (Click the TITLE of this post to go to the article.)
Have you noticed that the trend to reverse aging is growing into a national obsession? It's often touted as a form of women's healthcare, but when it comes to cosmetic surgery to look younger, that just ain't healthcare, folks! That kind of "care" has a lot more to do with a woman's insecurities and self-perceived shortcomings--all which translate somewhere in the brain into being unlovable--and nothing at all to do with real health.
As usual, I'm going to say that the only healthy foundation for loving who we are has to come from loving who made us! Keeping in mind that we are given value by the God of the universe, no matter our age or appearance, can help us to avoid the pitfall of buying into today's youth culture. But, before I say more, why not click the TITLE of this post and go to a great article by Andrea Mann called, "Stop the Anti-Ageing Madness!" She's got more than a few things right.
Give it a quick look. (Click the TITLE of this post to go to the article.)
Thursday, February 7, 2008
Join the Club!
Have you been keeping up with the girls in the Swimsuit Club? Why not "join the club" today by subscribing to this blog? You'll be kept informed of what's going on with Sharona, Angela, Frannie, Becky and Lisa, and there's always hunky Jason to read about, too.
While the Club is quiet right now (since the author is busy on another book, alas), it's a great time to join, since you can begin by catching up with past blog posts--do it by reading just one or two a day. Often there are links to take you elsewhere, a place that is of interest to one of the girls and will be to you, too. Why? Because their lives are like yours: full of womanish growing pains, surrounded by a sin-laden, oversexed culture, and with the same deep desires, longings, and love-seeking attitudes that fuel life. Ever feel that you're alone in this sojourn, looking for love but not finding what you need? You're not alone. Like I said--join the club.
While the Club is quiet right now (since the author is busy on another book, alas), it's a great time to join, since you can begin by catching up with past blog posts--do it by reading just one or two a day. Often there are links to take you elsewhere, a place that is of interest to one of the girls and will be to you, too. Why? Because their lives are like yours: full of womanish growing pains, surrounded by a sin-laden, oversexed culture, and with the same deep desires, longings, and love-seeking attitudes that fuel life. Ever feel that you're alone in this sojourn, looking for love but not finding what you need? You're not alone. Like I said--join the club.
Wednesday, January 30, 2008
Talk to Your Daughter Before the Beauty Industry Does
There are some issues that arise in the Swimsuit Club that strike a chord in my heart. I really feel for Frannie, Jeanine, Sharona, Angela and Becky. In their own way, each of these modern girls is dealing with an identity crisis--or is it simply a beauty crisis? Or is it both? If you've been following the blog and getting to know them, you won't be surprised that each had a marked difference in how they reacted to a video I'm posting today. It looks at our modern culture's idea of beauty from a startling perspective, and raises the question: What about you? Got some talking you need to do with a young girl in your life? Got some talking you need to do with yourself?
Now, take a moment and view the video by clicking on the HEADLINE of this post. (Where it says, "Talk to your Daughter Before the Beauty Industry Does.") You'll see what I'm talking about. Then, get talking!
Here's your opening statement/questions:
What is real beauty?
And, What is it about you that is beautiful and unchanging, and can never be taken away or made ugly?
For many women, these questions don't have good answers. Can you answer them for yourself?
Here's my stab at it: I submit that what is most beautiful and real for each and every one of us can't be seen at all: it's what's on the inside that counts. Not in some wishy-washy way, but in a very real sense that our true being is a spirit, made in God's image, made to last eternally! Wow, now that's beautiful! If you can really get that: that God made you on purpose, who you are, what you are, and wants a relationship with you--forever!!--just try to catch a glimpse of how beautiful that is. How beautiful you are; Then, and only then, can you answer the questions from a right perspective.
This doesn't mean that outward appearances don't matter: in a material world, they do. But I pray that you never, ever let them matter most.
Now, take a moment and view the video by clicking on the HEADLINE of this post. (Where it says, "Talk to your Daughter Before the Beauty Industry Does.") You'll see what I'm talking about. Then, get talking!
Here's your opening statement/questions:
What is real beauty?
And, What is it about you that is beautiful and unchanging, and can never be taken away or made ugly?
For many women, these questions don't have good answers. Can you answer them for yourself?
Here's my stab at it: I submit that what is most beautiful and real for each and every one of us can't be seen at all: it's what's on the inside that counts. Not in some wishy-washy way, but in a very real sense that our true being is a spirit, made in God's image, made to last eternally! Wow, now that's beautiful! If you can really get that: that God made you on purpose, who you are, what you are, and wants a relationship with you--forever!!--just try to catch a glimpse of how beautiful that is. How beautiful you are; Then, and only then, can you answer the questions from a right perspective.
This doesn't mean that outward appearances don't matter: in a material world, they do. But I pray that you never, ever let them matter most.
Tuesday, January 15, 2008
Want to help write the book?
If you know anything about me, then you won't be surprised when I say that contemporary romance isn't my usual genre. I do write romance, but my other book-length fiction is Regency romance; in other words, adventurous fun and romance during the era of Jane Austen's Pride and Prejudice..
I'm hard at work on my sequel to Before the Season Ends, my award-winning first book, which is why I'm inviting you to chime in now--while I take a break from finishing The Swimsuit Club,--to say what you'd like to see in the book. Read the posts on this blog, and get a feel for the characters. Then, let me know if there's an issue I haven't addressed that you think would be a good fit for the book. When I get back to work on this book, I'll take your ideas into consideration, and if I choose to add an element or character trait suggested by a reader--like you!--I'll award the person who thought it up with a free copy of the book when it's published, and a mention in my acknowledgements. If you haven 't already, you'll see your name in print!
What am I looking for? Sharona's got trust issues; Angela's got a techno-wizard of a kitchen, but no one around to put a ring on her finger. Frannie is a borderline anorexic(or not so borderline; you'll find out in the book). See the trend, here? Every lady in the club, as well as the fellows in the story, have a certain problem they really need help with. Tell me a problem you'd like to see addressed; and even which character should have to deal with the issue, if you know. Just leave your suggestions in the comment box. If you'd like to email me, tell me that in the comment box, and I'll get in touch with you. (Sorry--Tasteless SPAM forces me to cloak my email).
SO--get those ideas rolling in!
I'm hard at work on my sequel to Before the Season Ends, my award-winning first book, which is why I'm inviting you to chime in now--while I take a break from finishing The Swimsuit Club,--to say what you'd like to see in the book. Read the posts on this blog, and get a feel for the characters. Then, let me know if there's an issue I haven't addressed that you think would be a good fit for the book. When I get back to work on this book, I'll take your ideas into consideration, and if I choose to add an element or character trait suggested by a reader--like you!--I'll award the person who thought it up with a free copy of the book when it's published, and a mention in my acknowledgements. If you haven 't already, you'll see your name in print!
What am I looking for? Sharona's got trust issues; Angela's got a techno-wizard of a kitchen, but no one around to put a ring on her finger. Frannie is a borderline anorexic(or not so borderline; you'll find out in the book). See the trend, here? Every lady in the club, as well as the fellows in the story, have a certain problem they really need help with. Tell me a problem you'd like to see addressed; and even which character should have to deal with the issue, if you know. Just leave your suggestions in the comment box. If you'd like to email me, tell me that in the comment box, and I'll get in touch with you. (Sorry--Tasteless SPAM forces me to cloak my email).
SO--get those ideas rolling in!
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