L.C. Russell's Blog
May 1, 2013
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December 19, 2012
A Quiet Has Fallen…
Perhaps it is my imagination, or a misplaced notion stemming from a deep seated wish, but whatever the case, I have begun to notice a quiet in the public places I’ve visited since the senseless tragedy in Newtown, Connecticut. I first noticed it in the grocery store. With the busy holiday rush folks still scurried at the same pace, still shopped with the same sense of frenzied purpose, but there was something different about it all that wasn’t there a week ago. A lady in front of me at the checkout line offered to let me go ahead of her because, as she pointed out, I only had three items and she a cart full. I watched people hold doors, sometimes for several exiting shoppers. More hands pressed bills into red kettles while wishing holiday greetings to the bell-ringers and each other. Drivers paused in parking lanes, waving as passengers stepped in front of them. People smiled–actually made eye contact and smiled as I entered the post office with an armload of parcels. Those standing in the long line showed an unusual tolerance for the wait. It has been the same everywhere I’ve gone these past five days. The Houston area is a large, hectic place and far removed from the New England town upon which so much sorrow has been visited. Yet, there is an unmistakable change. No one but the Media is bantering about gun control, or arming teachers, or anything at all remotely linked to violence, or the perpetration of it. It is as if society as a whole has grown weary of intolerance and brutality. The people I’ve encountered in the past few days seem a little sadder, a little quieter and a good deal kinder. Perhaps it is all just my imagination–or perhaps those twenty little angels have spread their wings across our country.
December 16, 2012
Welcome..!
Hi Everyone!
I write the November series fantasy novels. November Atwood is a teenage girl who is destined to travel back into time to overcome the evil Astaroth, a vile collector of souls. She is determined to try to put right the depravity he has unleashed throughout the ages. But amidst the turmoil and sorrow springs a love when November meets Thomas Parris, the son of the village vicar. Can love survive between a 21st century girl and a boy from the 17th? Only time knows that.
In addition to the November series, I also pen the Student Loan Mystery series. Death by Student Loan introduces Mariah Garrett who, after locking herself away for four years in her deceased aunt’s Victorian house by the sea, has managed to earn her PhD online and develop a severe case of Agoraphobia. But she’s got bigger problems than a $100,000 student loan and an aversion to the great outdoors–Mariah has a human head in a Tupperware bowl, stashed in her pantry–and it’s going to take a tumble down an old staircase into 1957 to help her get rid of it!
At present, I am working on a third series: The Nile Coal Vampire Mystery series. I think the tag line pretty much says it all–”Suppose Jack the Ripper was a vampire all along” Watch for Nile Coal in the fall of 2013.
As for me? Well, I live with my husband, daughter, our two horses, a Rottweiler named Munroe and a pair of persnickety cats in southeast Texas.
Thanks for visiting!
January 3, 2012
Hello world!
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August 12, 2011
How To Be Happy in Your Skin–Build a Sanctuary
I watched CNN this morning–checking in on the Dow Jones which has been swinging back and forth like a garden gate in a gale. But a story about a woman in her mid-50′s drew my attention from the financial fracas. It showcased a woman who was extolling the fact that she liked to dress (and act) like her two twenty-something daughters. This peppy mid-life mom says she finds "fulfillment" in the fact that her daughter's dates often think she's a "sister." The 3 minute piece showed her shopping for and sharing her daughters' wardrobe of skimpy tops and tight jeans. And ended with her touting the miracles of modern cosmetic enhancement. On the heels of that came a commercial for an upcoming segment of 74 year old Jane Fonda plugging her newest book and raving about "Boomer women" going under the knife. And I thought–why? Why are we so unhappy in our own skins? Could it be we seek that thing that's torn away from us too soon in life–unconditional acceptance? And then the what if's started to form a thought chain that I let unravel.
Think about it. Babies are happiest when mom (or dad) hold them close, or interact one-on-one. This give and take is unconditional. No strings. Animals react to each other positively or negatively the same way. Even if they snarl, growl or hiss–it is done on a level playing field. Animals don't operate on the basis of looks. They accept each other unconditionally be it instant hatred or attraction. And when animals want nurture, they retreat to their packs, or mate–or to a den or doggy bed or to the human who dispenses unconditional acceptance.
But once we humans leave the sanctuary of early childhood (and it seems to be getting earlier all the time) we fail to build our own. We are naked apes roaming into an ever-increasingly hostile world trying to gather shiny items to make us happy, or feel superior. Our quest for something–what it is we're not really sure, takes us far from that early sanctuary. We look and we seek and still we drift further from our goal. We doubt ourselves and the world shows us we're naked and not worthy again and again until we begin to mutilate ourselves to try to fit an ideal that is unattainable–when all along all we want is to be accepted. When all along we should be crafting a place (even if it's only in our minds) where we can retreat–regroup and enjoy the uniqueness of "me." There is no one else quite like "you." Build a sanctuary of unconditional acceptance–you'll be amazed how liberating it is.
'Till next time….fantastically yours, L C
July 30, 2011
so far this terrible program has only succeeded in giving...
so far this terrible program has only succeeded in giving me a HEADACHE..!
July 27, 2011
All the Kings Horses couldn't put Amy Winehouse together again.
The little girl with the brave contralto voice could not be contained even in grade school. Talent rarely stays quiet for long. By 14 she was already writing music as well as performing for anyone who would listen. And listen they did, especially those with an ear for the sound of a hefty cash flow.
It's sometimes said that pure talent springs from the pristine well of the demonic world—once sipped it becomes all-consuming. In Amy's case an argument might be made for the first taste of the bitter harvest of the poppy.
Some suggest that her husband Blake Fielder-Civil introduced her to the wide and wondrous world of ecstasy and barbiturates. Still others argue no, it was her parent's divorce and the death of her grandmother that unleashed the demons that would nip at her heels throughout her short life. Either way, 27 years isn't much time to figure things out and still entertain the world. It can be done—some do a bang-up job of it and live to a ripe old age, and some just get banged up.
Bob Dylan may have said it best all those years ago (and he should know):
Nobody feels any pain
Tonight as I stand inside the rain
Ev'rybody knows
That Baby's got new clothes
But lately I see her ribbons and her bows
Have fallen from her curls…..
…Yes, I believe I'll go see her again
Nobody has to guess
That Baby can't be blessed
Till she finally sees that she's like all the rest
With her fog, her amphetamine and her pearls
She takes just like a woman, yes she does
She makes love just like a woman, yes she does
And she aches just like a woman
But she breaks just like a little girl. "Just Like A Woman" (1966)
Amy Jade Winehouse got banged up along the path she chose and she broke—just like a little girl.
Amy Jade Winehouse (14 September 1983 – 23 July 2011) …your voice still lingers. 
(November in Salem: the bargain of witches)
All the Kings Horses couldn't put Amy together again.
The little girl with the brave contralto voice could not be contained even in grade school. Talent rarely stays quiet for long. By 14 she was already writing music as well as performing for anyone who would listen. And listen they did, especially those with an ear for the sound of a hefty cash flow.
It's sometimes said that pure talent springs from the pristine well of the demonic world—once sipped it becomes all-consuming. In Amy's case an argument might be made for the first taste of the bitter harvest of the poppy.
Some suggest that her husband Blake Fielder-Civil introduced her to the wide and wondrous world of ecstasy and barbiturates. Still others argue no, it was her parent's divorce and the death of her grandmother that unleashed the demons that would nip at her heels throughout her short life. Either way, 27 years isn't much time to figure things out and still entertain the world. It can be done—some do a bang-up job of it and live to a ripe old age, and some just get banged up.
Bob Dylan may have said it best all those years ago (and he should know):
Nobody feels any pain
Tonight as I stand inside the rain
Ev'rybody knows
That Baby's got new clothes
But lately I see her ribbons and her bows
Have fallen from her curls…..
…Yes, I believe I'll go see her again
Nobody has to guess
That Baby can't be blessed
Till she finally sees that she's like all the rest
With her fog, her amphetamine and her pearls
She takes just like a woman, yes she does
She makes love just like a woman, yes she does
And she aches just like a woman
But she breaks just like a little girl. "Just Like A Woman" (1966)
Amy Jade Winehouse got banged up along the path she chose and she broke—just like a little girl.
Amy Jade Winehouse (14 September 1983 – 23 July 2011) …your voice still lingers.
(November in Salem: the bargain of witches)
