Sarah Martin Byrd's Blog, page 13

Suffer the Little Children

Mark 10: 13-16

13) And they brought young children to him, that he should touch them: and his disciples rebuked those that brought them.

14) But when Jesus saw it, he was much displeased, and said unto them, Suffer the little children to come unto me, and forbid them not: for of such is the kingdom of God.

15) Verily I say unto you, Whosoever shall not receive the kingdom of God as a little child, he shall not enter there-in.

16) And he took them up in his arms, put his hands upon them, and blessed them.

Once upon a time in the land of un-cared for children there lived a little girl, a small boy, and a stuffed giraffe. All day long the little girl longed for her parents to take notice of her. To pat her on the head and say, “I love you.” Or better yet, feed her. At night the small child would lie in bed breathing in the smell of her urine stained mattress. Her cover was that of a rat gnawed blanket. She tried to remember what she had eaten that day, and all she could think of was a small handful of stale cereal, and some water. Her little tummy rumbled and twisted inside her protruding stomach. Sleep came slowly; a dirty, old, stuffed giraffe didn’t easily satisfy a hungry belly. But, the tiny bit of a girl with the matted brown hair and eyes too big for her face snuggled up to Mr. Giraffe anyway.

On the other side of the bed the little girl’s year-older brother laid on his back, arms folded behind his head, staring at the ceiling. When finally his baby sister’s tears are silenced by sleep, he gently reaches over and pulls the nasty blanket up under her chin. The six-year-old boy is his little sister’s only dependable caregiver.

Neither has seen their parents awake all day. Both lie in a drunken, drug induced coma. Never once caring if there is food in the house, or clean clothes for themselves or their children to wear. The little boy doesn’t remember there ever being sheets on the bed or a hot supper in the oven. He’s afraid to go to school for fear something will happen to his sister. Some would call these children abused, but that would not be the true definition for these tikes. They are prisoners of war, held captive by circumstances of birth.

These two small tots are not alone in the land of un-cared for children. There’s three-year-old Annie, whose mother’s depression comes and goes. Annie spends a lot of time locked in a closet. Mommy says it’s for her own protection.

Seth lives with his poor grandpa, a man who is broke and too old to even care for himself, much less an energetic nine-year-old. Seth gets into a lot of trouble at school. He’s different, and most of the other students treat him that way. If they only knew what goes on in his world after the school bell rings.

Eight-month-old Layla depends on her grandmother for care. She will never know who her daddy is, because her mother doesn’t even know. Layla’s mom loves herself, and pills more than her baby girl. When she does come around, she hardly notices the bright-eyed bundle. Layla’s grandma should be enjoying her retirement, cruising around with not a care in the world, but instead she’s changing messy diapers and getting up at the crack of dawn to feed her hungry grand daughter. Does she complain, no? She just wants little Layla to know that she is wanted. Grandma’s only pray is that she will stay healthy enough to raise little Layla. For without her, she would have no one.

I could go on and on about the kids who live in the land of un-cared for children. Some of these circumstances may seem exaggerated, but I’m afraid to tell you that they are sugar-coated compared to the way some children have to survive.

My heart aches when I look into the eyes of some of these innocent offspring. I see things that I think some cannot. Why? Maybe because there were times in my childhood that I wasn’t sure I’d survive. I guess I see myself in those eyes. Little hearts become easily scared. And, as we all know scars never go away. They may fade with time, but they never leave us.

Jesus speaks of the little children often in His word. He rebuked His disciples for not letting them come to him. Jesus proved His love for the children when he took them up in His arms and blessed them. Are we not to live by Jesus’ example?

I know many of you, like myself, know children who live in conditions un-fit for an animal. What can we do about it? Lot’s of times, unfortunately, nothing. But, we need to be aware of the small things we might do. Give a child a hug. Wrap them up in yours arms, dirt and all. Listen to them. Let them know they are valuable, not only to you, but especially to God. Make them feel special in some small way.

April is National Child Abuse Prevention month. Five children die every day from abuse. We can help change the life of a child this April. How? By caring enough to put action to our words. A report of child abuse is made every ten seconds. Approximately 80% of children that die from abuse are under the age of 4.

For more information and statistics go to, www.childhelp.org or call the National Child Abuse Hotline at: 1-800-422-4453. Crisis counselors are available 24/7. Please help save the children.

Guardian Spirit, a lady’s journey to freedom from abuse for her and her children. http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=x_AEq4...

What’s My Genre?

I recently finished reading my seventeenth novel written by, Mary Higgins Clark titled, I’ll Walk Alone. I hadn’t read one of her books in a couple of years and had forgot what a talented writer she is. For thirty-five years she has been writing heart-pounding thrillers. She truly is the queen of suspense.

However, I do I know why I switch around and read so many different writer’s work. I get bored reading the same author all the time. Before I was half way through I’ll Walk Alone I knew the villain, and it wasn’t the person Mary Higgins Clark was leading you to believe it was. Enough said. I don’t want to ruin the ending for you.

I keep a list of books I’ve read. Yes, I’ve been hooked by Danielle Steele and am not ashamed to tell you that I have read fifty-five books written by her. But, I haven’t read any of Danielle’s work in a couple of years. Why, because they were becoming too predictable.

This got me to thinking about my own writing. Now that I’m working on book number four, I’m wondering if my readers will think my work is predictable? I hope not. I really don’t want to be classified in one particular genre. My first published novel is young adult, and I am finding myself drawn to writing in a young person’s voice, but I’m not stuck there. My first and third novel, In the Coal Mine Shadows and The Color of My Heart are both a bit gritty. Not intended for the young at heart.

I have other authors that I’ve followed through the years, Sandra Brown, twenty-seven books read, Nora Roberts, fourteen, Fern Michaels, thirteen. The list goes on and on. Looking back through my notebook I see Kathleen Woodwiss’s name and remember how much I loved Ashes In The Wind and Shanna, and Jude Deveraux’s, The Summer House. I even got into reading the gory tales by John Saul for a while. After making myself finish book number six, titled, The Right Hand of Evil, I was pretty sure John Saul must be evil himself to think up such horrific stories, and about children too!

Since keeping track, I can count over seventy-five different authors I’ve read books by. Some of the best stories were by first time authors, like Katherine Stockett, Mary Netreba, Shauna Kelley, and L.Y. Marlow. A couple of these gals are famous and the other two, like me, are struggling to be noticed by the literary world. Maybe we’ll get there someday and maybe we won’t. Either way we’ll keep trying.

A friend of mine, who has read all three of my books, emailed me the other day. Knowing I’m having trouble with my tendonitis elbow she said, “Please don’t stop writing, you’re too good.” She’ll never know how much those words meant to me. She didn’t have to say them, so, I think she really meant them. We all need encouragement, no matter how thick skinned we seem.

I am so thankful for everyone who has read my book, Guardian Spirit. It blesses my heart when people stop me on the street or in the grocery store and ask me when I’ll have another book for sale. Some are acquaintances, others are strangers, but you are all a part of me, because you have read my inner thoughts. What we write is a reflection of ourselves. No, I don’t want to be classified in one particular genre, but I do want to be known as the writer with a lot of heart, an inspiration, sort of mysterious and captivating, magical you might say.

Before the end of this year, hopefully one way or another I’ll have another book on the market for you to read. And, I can assure you of one thing; I don’t think you’ll say it’s just like the first one. Books are like children. They may have the same parent but they are all different. Even if you have ten kids, each will be unique in its own way. That’s what I want to do. I want to create with the same genes, but change up the hair, the personality, and the intrigue.

Every one of us comes from the same breath of life. Some don’t believe that, and I really feel sorry for you, but it’s a fact. We all have different talents and qualities. Some of us are nurturers, some are leaches, others will give you the shirt off their backs, but it takes all of us to make up this old world. One of the best parts of growing older is being able to accept people for who they are, and what they believe.

Not every book will be as great as James Alexander Thorn’s, Follow the River, and some will be better. The awesome part of reading is that you never know what you’ll find when you turn those pages. As the story twists and weaves it’s way into our minds sometimes I think I have the ending all figured out. Many times I’m right, but the best books are the ones that leave me thinking: Wow, I wasn’t expecting that.

What is my genre? Let’s see… Young adult, historical fiction, multicultural, Christian, inspirational, family saga, suspense, those are just a few of the ways I classify my writing. Even if I have a dozen novels published, I hope you will be pleased when you open each one and find something you didn’t expect. I like surprises, don’t you?

What's My Genre?

I recently finished reading my seventeenth novel written by, Mary Higgins Clark titled, I'll Walk Alone. I hadn't read one of her books in a couple of years and had forgot what a talented writer she is. For thirty-five years she has been writing heart-pounding thrillers. She truly is the queen of suspense.

However, I do I know why I switch around and read so many different writer's work. I get bored reading the same author all the time. Before I was half way through I'll Walk Alone I knew the villain, and it wasn't the person Mary Higgins Clark was leading you to believe it was. Enough said. I don't want to ruin the ending for you.

I keep a list of books I've read. Yes, I've been hooked by Danielle Steele and am not ashamed to tell you that I have read fifty-five books written by her. But, I haven't read any of Danielle's work in a couple of years. Why, because they were becoming too predictable.

This got me to thinking about my own writing. Now that I'm working on book number four, I'm wondering if my readers will think my work is predictable? I hope not. I really don't want to be classified in one particular genre. My first published novel is young adult, and I am finding myself drawn to writing in a young person's voice, but I'm not stuck there. My first and third novel, In the Coal Mine Shadows and The Color of My Heart are both a bit gritty. Not intended for the young at heart.

I have other authors that I've followed through the years, Sandra Brown, twenty-seven books read, Nora Roberts, fourteen, Fern Michaels, thirteen. The list goes on and on. Looking back through my notebook I see Kathleen Woodwiss's name and remember how much I loved Ashes In The Wind and Shanna, and Jude Deveraux's, The Summer House. I even got into reading the gory tales by John Saul for a while. After making myself finish book number six, titled, The Right Hand of Evil, I was pretty sure John Saul must be evil himself to think up such horrific stories, and about children too!

Since keeping track, I can count over seventy-five different authors I've read books by. Some of the best stories were by first time authors, like Katherine Stockett, Mary Netreba, Shauna Kelley, and L.Y. Marlow. A couple of these gals are famous and the other two, like me, are struggling to be noticed by the literary world. Maybe we'll get there someday and maybe we won't. Either way we'll keep trying.

A friend of mine, who has read all three of my books, emailed me the other day. Knowing I'm having trouble with my tendonitis elbow she said, "Please don't stop writing, you're too good." She'll never know how much those words meant to me. She didn't have to say them, so, I think she really meant them. We all need encouragement, no matter how thick skinned we seem.

I am so thankful for everyone who has read my book, Guardian Spirit. It blesses my heart when people stop me on the street or in the grocery store and ask me when I'll have another book for sale. Some are acquaintances, others are strangers, but you are all a part of me, because you have read my inner thoughts. What we write is a reflection of ourselves. No, I don't want to be classified in one particular genre, but I do want to be known as the writer with a lot of heart, an inspiration, sort of mysterious and captivating, magical you might say.

Before the end of this year, hopefully one way or another I'll have another book on the market for you to read. And, I can assure you of one thing; I don't think you'll say it's just like the first one. Books are like children. They may have the same parent but they are all different. Even if you have ten kids, each will be unique in its own way. That's what I want to do. I want to create with the same genes, but change up the hair, the personality, and the intrigue.

Every one of us comes from the same breath of life. Some don't believe that, and I really feel sorry for you, but it's a fact. We all have different talents and qualities. Some of us are nurturers, some are leaches, others will give you the shirt off their backs, but it takes all of us to make up this old world. One of the best parts of growing older is being able to accept people for who they are, and what they believe.

Not every book will be as great as James Alexander Thorn's, Follow the River, and some will be better. The awesome part of reading is that you never know what you'll find when you turn those pages. As the story twists and weaves it's way into our minds sometimes I think I have the ending all figured out. Many times I'm right, but the best books are the ones that leave me thinking: Wow, I wasn't expecting that.

What is my genre? Let's see… Young adult, historical fiction, multicultural, Christian, inspirational, family saga, suspense, those are just a few of the ways I classify my writing. Even if I have a dozen novels published, I hope you will be pleased when you open each one and find something you didn't expect. I like surprises, don't you?

Road Trip: Destination Unknown?

There's nothing like an adventurous road trip to clear your head and let your tendonitis elbow rest. I love to hit the highway with no particular destination in mind except to forge deeper into the old South.

All we knew when we struck out on a trip last week was that we were going to Alabama, Mississippi and Louisiana. Why, because we had never been to those states. My husband, Jerry only has five more states to visit and he will have been in all fifty. I have twelve more. Slowly but surely we're checking each one off our bucket list.

On the first day of our six-day excursion we are five and a half hours into the trip and trapped. There are cars, trucks, tractor and trailers, and SUV's all around us. Going through Downtown Atlanta, the ten to twelve lanes of traffic were jam-packed. Not my idea of a leisurely, Saturday, afternoon drive. The big city is not for me. Give me a two-lane highway with gentle rolling hills and cows grazing on each side of the road over city lights any day. Scarlet and Rhett, you can have Atlanta.

Camping on the road is truly an amazing experience. I've stayed at some pretty grand places in my day: A resort in Cancun Mexico, Kauai, and some ritzy place in New York City, but those spots don't hold a candle to my old salvage yard RV. Inside I have everything I need, plus, I get to sleep on my own sheets with my favorite pillow, not to mention the atmosphere in a campground. People who camp are a different breed; we're earthy folks who love to be outside enjoying God's creation.

Each night as Jerry and I sat in a different campground we tentatively planned the next day's excursion. I've learned that if I travel the same path every day I experience the same things, the same scenery, sounds and souls. How boring is that?

The first night of our trip we stayed in Montgomery, Alabama. The campground wasn't anything fancy but it did have cable TV. I know, cable TV and camping? Oh well, what can I say we're "modern" campers. The next morning our destination was the white sandy beaches of Gulf Shores, Alabama.  Here we camped on the Intercoastal Waterway, chilling out while watching boats pass by. We walked a short distance to the marina and had supper at Lulu's. Lulu's is owned by Lucy Buffett, Jimmy Buffett's sister. Neither she, nor Jimmy was there, but the food and atmosphere were great.

Day three came early. We headed to Fort Morgan, Alabama to ride the ferry across Mobile Bay to Dolphin Island, then on to downtown New Orleans and Bourbon Street. You're thinking, Sarah Byrd on Bourbon Street? Well, maybe in my younger day. I was not impressed. I didn't see the draw factor. Maybe I missed the sparkle. I suppose the promise of going to Houma, Louisiana, home of J. Paul from the swamp people show was overshadowing the partying town, either that or I'm getting really old.

Day four took us deep in to alligator country. We booked a swamp tour with Munson's World Famous Swamp Tours in Schriever, Louisiana. The two hour boat ride into the bayou revealed lots of hungry gators, some really unusual birds, probably a couple of dozen raccoons, buzzards, a bald eagle, an apple blossom snail and a snake. Yes, the two-hour trip was more than worth the twenty bucks a piece that it cost. We didn't meet J. Paul, but our boat captain's sister lives next door to him. Close enough for me to say I know him, don't you think?

Day five found us programming our Tom Tom for home, but not before traveling on the Natchez Trace Parkway. This two-lane road is 444 miles long and stretches from Natchez, Mississippi to Nashville, Tennessee. It is a lot like the Blue Ridge Parkway that runs through my home state of North Carolina.  After traveling several miles on the parkway and seeing a couple of red foxes and lots of wild turkeys we pulled off at a sign that read, " The Emerald Mound."

The Emerald Mound is the second largest Native American ceremonial mound in the United States. It's original name was Selzertown site and dates back to somewhere between 1200 to 1730. Later the name was changed to Emerald Mound after a nearby plantation. The mound covers eight acres. As Jerry and I climbed the steps to the artificial plateau it felt sort of spiritual. At the top gazing down at our RV below I wondered about the Native Americans who had once trod on the same ground where I now stood. It was sort of like I was trespassing. Then we saw the bear scat, and knew it was time to go. The old fellow was probably close by protecting this sacred ground.

If I hadn't left the safe haven of my home I would never had seen these amazing things, nor would I have slept along the banks of the Mississippi River and watched a tiny tug boat push thirty-five barges up the river. I would not have happened upon the Noccalula Falls in Gladsden, Alabama, or rode an elevator 260 feet into Lookout Mountain in Chattanooga, Tennessee, then strolled down a carved out path of rock, one-half mile into the mountain to see the magnificent Ruby Falls.

I saw black squirrels, which are pretty rare and rumor has it that if you see one you'll have good luck. Must be true, because most of the time I feel like the luckiest lady on earth. I wouldn't have heard the story of an Indian maiden who threw herself into the Noccalula Falls because she did not want to marry a brave from another tribe that she did not love. Look at all I would have missed if I had not ventured into lands unknown.

In life I long to hike along trails un-traveled, but in death I want to be sure of my destination. As Easter approaches, knowing there is an empty tomb, I rest assured that when all my earthly voyages are over I will make one final journey. To a place like none I have ever experienced. To a land where there is no darkness or pain, a paradise of beauty beyond imagination. My final GPS entry is set for heaven. High gas prices won't keep me away, because I have a one-way ticket, and the price has already been paid by my Lord and Savior, Jesus Christ.

John 14:3

And if I go and prepare a place for you, I will come again, and receive you unto myself; that where I am, there ye may be also.

Thank God for Boot Straps

Most young people don't know what a boot strap is. I have a pair of cowboy boots that date back to the 1970's. At the top are loops for me to put my fingers in so I can pull them on. I haven't worn those boots in probably twenty years, but I can't seem to part with them. They've danced a jig or two in their day and there's also a hunk of leather missing from the toe where the one and only horse I ever owned stepped on my foot. (That's another story.) Boy, if those boots could only talk.

I look back on those days and I cringe at some of the stuff I did. I also stand proud at the thought of things accomplished. I'm not one to talk about myself but I want to share a couple of things with you. Even positive gals like me get down and out sometimes. Being the control freak that I am I'm having a hard time with menopause, hot flashes and all the other stuff that comes with age. These life changes are completely out of my control so, all I can say is: Lord help me, and my family, to get through this.

Another situation that seems completely out of my control is finding an agent to represent my next novel, The Color of My Heart. I've sent out over one hundred queries and still counting. When do I stop? When do I throw my hands up and say, "This just isn't working?"

I went to the doctor this morning for my six-month lab work to monitor my cholesterol, and such. While I was there I had the doctor look at my elbow, which has been giving me a fit for a couple of months. The final verdict: tendonitis. Typing and writing for hours every day have my tendons inflamed. Miss Doctor Lady told me she could give me oral steroids or a shot of steroids in the elbow. But, she was honest. She told me that the shot might last only a month. She said that as long as I was over working the tendons in my right arm I would have the inflammation and pain. So unless I give up my writing I'm going to hurt.

That is not good news to someone who stays on the computer or laptop for hours, every day. So, all this has got me to thinking. What am I supposed to do with the rest of my life? What would I be doing if not writing my stories? I have no idea. I think I could be a good volunteer at Hospice, and I know that would be very rewarding, but would I be happy? Would I be doing what I'm destined to do?

I don't know about you guys, but sometimes I can feel the devil breathing down my neck; the hot, steamy air from his lungs penetrating my skin, blistering me to my very soul. Any time I get down and out, wondering which way to turn, I have to remind myself that old Satan doesn't want me to succeed, so I must be getting pretty close to finding an agent or, maybe, I just need to go at it on my own, like I did with Guardian Spirit, and find myself a publisher. I might even venture into the land of self-publishing.

Either way, I'm going to reach down, link my fingers in the rich smelling leather of those old boot straps of mine and pull myself up out of this muck of self-groveling. I believe those boots, and myself have a few more stories to tell, and not even the booger-man himself is going to stop me. Look out world, Sarah Martin Byrd is not going to quit living and roll over and die just because of a few setbacks. I'm ready, but I'm not in a hurry to give up on this old world. Even with the hot flashes and tendonitis, life is good. We must never forget that getting old is a privilege denied to many. Count your blessings, not your aches, pains and disappointments. There may be rainy days, but the rainbow is never far away.

Spring Forward, Fall Back: Exactly What Time Is It Anyway?

Does anyone in the world think there is something wrong with messing with the sun's true time, or, "standard time" as we call it? Frankly, I've never understood it. When I was a youngster I enjoyed the longer days. I could romp around in the woods and play outside until bedtime. As an adult these longer summer days are not filled with play, but work.

Daylight savings time wears me out. It's hard to shut down. By six or six-thirty every day I like to make my way inside. Stir up some supper, take a bath, and relax. But now that daylight savings time has been declared, there's three more hours of daylight at six o'clock in the afternoon. It's hard to stop doing outside work when there are weeds to pull, beans to pick and sunlight left to do it in?  To go straight from busy to bed is impossible for me. Therefore, I do not like setting my clocks forward.

I really don't get it. In early March it doesn't get dark until six-thirty. What's wrong with that? If we keep the clocks on standard time by June it will be daylight until seven or seven-thirty. Isn't that enough daylight to get everything done outside that we need to?

The first recorded mention of Daylight Savings Time was way back in 1784. Benjamin Franklin didn't like the idea of changing the time. Franklin said, "People need to get up when the sun rises." He even proposed that church bells should be rung and cannons be set off to wake people at the crack of dawn. That's where his slogan, "Early to bed, early to rise, makes a man healthy, wealthy and wise," came from.

I tend to agree with Mr. Ben Franklin about keeping the time by the way the Lord set the sun in the sky. The old saying, "It's not nice to mess with Mother Nature," surely applies to daylight savings time. But what's a body to do? I've known old timers to keep their watches set on standard time during daylight savings time. A couple of times over the years I've been stubborn and left my watch on standard time too. But that gets frustrating after a while, and I give in and adjust my watch to man's time, not the suns.

There are many countries around the world that do not use daylight savings time, including one state in the good old USA, Arizona. So unless I want to move across the country I guess I'll have to accept the inevitable and spring forward just like everybody else.

But, that doesn't mean I have to like it. There are documented assumptions as to why daylight savings time is a good thing, but nothing has been completely proven to back these assumptions up. No studies have shown that by going on daylight savings time more energy is conserved. No one can prove to me the world is a better place because of the time change. To me it's like telling God He is wrong, of course we humans know better than Him, so we'll just change time.

When we take it upon our selves to alter the rotation of the earth I think we're really messing up. During daylight savings time when the sun is straight overhead it should be high noon, but it's not, it's one o'clock.

Before fancy time pieces our ancestors looked to the sky for the time of day. I'm sorry, but I think God knows a bit more about the sun than we do; after all He hung the darn thing. He plainly told us in Genesis that he gave us the sun for several reasons and one of them was for signs. Like, here's your sign, look at the sun if you want to know the time of day. Something to think about, don't you think?

Genesis 1:14

And God said, Let there be lights in the firmament of the heaven to divide the day from the night; and let them be for signs, and for seasons, and for days, and years:

Researching, a Morning With Bob Pate

I met a man last week that had been dead since February 8, 1987. That's right, twenty-five years deceased. This man, who most refer to as the River Man and I spent a little over two hours behind closed doors, alone, on the campus of Wilkes Community College last Tuesday. And, I wasn't scared one bit.

Here's how it all began. Over a year ago I was visiting with my friends, Bonnie and Dr. Hal Stuart. Dr. Stuart was asking me about my future writing endeavors, so I proceeded to tell him about a story that was forming in my mind. The setting was to be along the New River in Alleghany and Grayson counties.

Dr. Stuart asked me if I knew of a man named Bob Pate? I hadn't. He told me I should go up to the Wilkes Community College Library and read about his oral histories. Okay, I thought, but why? Then he told me Bob Pate played a major role in stopping the New River from being dammed up by a hydroelectric power plant that was to have been built in the early 1970's. Now I was interested. This was fitting right in with the novel I was soon to begin, called The River Keeper.

About 20,000 words into writing the river keeper's story, I knew it was time to pay Bob Pate a visit. It seemed I couldn't write another word until I researched the River Man.

The librarian at Wilkes Community College was most helpful. She brought me two videos, and about a dozen manila folders stuffed full of information about Bob Pate. For the next two hours I sat mesmerized by the River Man while local historian, Jay Anderson, was interviewing him. The interview took place a couple of years before Bob Pate's death. Honestly, I could write a book about the River Man. We connected in so many ways. He was drawn to rivers and old people, and I am too.

I've always felt comfortable around my elders; though the older I get the harder it is to find someone older than me. But really, Bob Pate, who lived in Hamptonville, got his first taste of public recognition during an environmental battle while working to prevent the damming of the New River in 1976. Though he is probably best known for the 400-plus mile canoe trip that he led down the Yadkin River in 1982 from the W. Kerr Scott Dam near Wilkesboro to Georgetown, South Carolina. The trip led to the formation of the Yadkin River Trails Association and the creation of more than a dozen new parks and access sites along the river.

As the River Man drifted down the Yadkin he stopped and chatted with the locals, many who were getting along in years. Pate began to realize that soon these people would pass on and their life story would die right along with them. So, a dream formed in Pate's mind. He would video these people and let them tell their stories. This is a quote from Pate, copied from the September 1985 issue of The State magazine. "The oral history is a spin-off of our river trips. It was meeting the people along the river and having to leave and know I might never see them again that got me to realizing how important these human treasures were and that we needed to preserve them."

One of Pate's favorite interviews was with Rebecca C. "Becky" Goforth of the Windy Gap section of Wilkes County. She had been a teacher at Shady Grove School in the early 1940's. Here is some sound advice that Miss Becky left us with that we should abide today. "No one ought to teach school unless they can see the soul inside a child." All I've got to say about that is, AMEN Miss Becky!

I also found that Bob Pate had interviewed my great uncle, Raymond Pruitt, from the Friendship community in Surry County. Pate states in the article that Raymond Pruitt is a true backwoodsman. Pruitt tells the time by the sun and doctors with herbs. He grows and eats ginseng. Uncle Raymond's quote from The State magazine says, "They say it'll (ginseng) make you hug the women." Then he proceeds to tell Pate, "I hug them pretty good – especially the good-looking ones." I'm told Uncle Raymond always was a lady's man.

The story of Bob Pate and his expeditions are endless. He made over 150 videotapes of elderly people and events in Wilkes, Surry, Yadkin and Iredell Counties. Later he traveled to southern Mexico exploring rivers, and the people who lived along them.

In the interview with Jay Anderson Pate speaks often of his wife Dorothy, she was always with him on his river excursions. "Dorothy," Pate says, "Would do the cooking and take care of all our medical needs. But, she made it perfectly clear from the beginning that if I turned her over in the canoe, the cooking would stop. I was real careful."

I could go on and on about this man and his love of rivers, people, and the outdoors. Pate was a man that would much rather stand behind a camera than in front of it. I am so thankful for the two hours I spent with him and would suggest you take the time to do the same. There is so much to be learned from this quite, humble man. Here is a quote from Pate during the video interview. "Probably when I die everybody will be sad because I'm not going to leave anything." Pate goes on to say, "I'm going to the river Jordan and whoever owns me can come get me there."

Pate and his wife Dorothy received the Governor's Award in 1983 for their volunteer work in protecting the environment. He literally gave his all for the preservation of our waters. His love for the river can be felt as he talks about his work. I'll close with my favorite quote from Pate, "When you go out on the river, it is another world. It can take you on it's back and ride you and show you some of the most beautiful things you have ever seen." I feel exactly the same way when I'm out on the water.

Can a person be soul mates with a spirit? Yes, I believe they can, because I found mine with Bob Pate. Thank you River Man for sharing your life with me. And, thank you Dr. Hal Stuart for introducing us. You never know what might turn up when you're doing a little research. There are treasures everywhere, if we'll only seek them.

Beware of the Big, Bad, She-Wolf Agent

Recently on my quest to find an agent an interesting thing happened. On January 13, I emailed a query to a certain literary agency; I'll call the Big Bad Wolf Literary Agency. On January 30, I received an email back from them saying, they'd love to read my entire manuscript.

Wow! Was I excited? I wasn't crazy about the fact that they wanted me to mail them a hard copy, but I burned The Color of My Heart onto a CD and hurried it down to my buddies at the local copying store. I bundled the manuscript up in a padded envelope, paid the postage and sent it on it's way to the Big Bad Wolf Literary Agency. I am so glad that most literary agencies, and publishing companies have gone green. But, there are still a few agencies that want that feel of paper in their hands.

I anxiously awaited a response from the Big Bad Wolf Literary Agency, one, two, three, ten, twenty days passed. Then, on February 21st I went to the mailbox and found a letter hand addressed to me. It didn't feel like the normal rejection letters I've received. For one thing it was too thick. And, it wasn't a SASE that I had included in my query packages because the handwriting wasn't mine.

When I glanced at the return address I realized the envelope was from the Big Bad Wolf Literary Agency to whom I had mailed my novel. Too excited, or scared to open the letter; I laid the envelope down on the kitchen counter and busied myself with a few morning chores. The bold handwriting kept staring at me until finally I opened it.

The Big Bad Wolf Literary Agency said they had enjoyed my story very much and thought others would also. The Big Bad She-Wolf who had signed the letter went on to say she thought she could find a suitable publisher for my work. The envelope also included a three-page contract! Yes, that's right a contract between the Big Bad Wolf Literary Agency and Sarah Martin Byrd. I skimmed the pages thinking everything looked pretty good and stuck it back into the envelope. Later that day I sat down and read the contract thoroughly.

First red flag: The contract stated that it would be binding for one year.

Second red flag: The contract said The Big Bad Wolf Literary Agency would represent "all" my work for the year's duration. Did that mean they would have control over my other novel, In the Coal Mine Shadows, and the one I'm writing now, The River Keeper, plus my children's stories?

Third red flag: On the first page of the letter it stated that they, the Big Bad Wolf Literary Agency would charge no fees, that they would cover expenses for photocopying, postage, and phone calls out of the country, and other. Then on page two, section 5 of the contract it stated: Authors shall submit a payment in the amount of $225.00 for the processing of their work to cover these fees. The agent will not expand more than $50.00 without prior agreement with the Author. So, by that I learned the $225.00 would only be the beginning of the money The Big Bad Wolf Literary Agency would be asking me for.

By now my elation was doused to a flicker of hope. I got on the computer and started googling the Big Bad Wolf Literary Agency. On the surface the company looked pretty good. A small boutique agency, the she-wolf sounded very personable. She said that being a writer herself she understood the entire writing process and what it took to market a client's work to publishers. The she-wolf's blog page stated that she had thirty clients and had been a literary agent since 1998. Was the she-wolf speaking the truth or, only telling me what I wanted to hear in hopes I'd drop that $225.00 check in the mail?

When I looked the Big Bad Wolf Literary Agency up on Preditors and Editors, at http://pred-ed.com/, they said, "This agency is not recommended, they charge fees." That was the only negative thing I could find about them, so still somewhat hopeful I emailed the she-wolf with my concerns and asked her to email me the names of authors that she represents and her recent sales to publishing companies

The next morning I had an email from the she-wolf telling me she would have the list to me before the end of the day. That was six days ago and I have yet to see her client list or hear from the she-wolf. If I had signed that contract I can only imagine how many $250.00 money orders that she-wolf would have asked for.

What have I learned from this? I will research every agent I query more thoroughly. I will use credible resources such as, Writer's Market, and Jeff Herman's Guide to Book Publishers, Editors and Literary Agents. Just because an agency pops up on a google search doesn't mean they are legitimate.

Here are a few questions that we, as authors should ask potential agents.

1)    How long has your agency been in business?

2)    Are you a member of AAR?

3)    Would you send me a list of authors represented and titles you've sold to publishing companies?

4)    How many staff members do you employ?

5)    How often will you report to me, the author, of any progress, or lack of concerning the placing of my work with a publishing company?

6)    Ask to see a sample contract.

There are all kinds of other questions that we should ask. Does the literary agency send 1099 forms at the end of the year? Do they give detailed sales reports, including gross and net income? We should even ask what happens in the event of our death? And, one last very important question: If the agent and author decide they are not compatible, can the contract be broken?

I hope this blog helps others, like me, who are strolling through the dark forest, hoping to find the right way to turn in this crazy world of publishing. I don't want you to be deceived by the Big Bad Wolf Literary Agency. If something doesn't feel right, if your gut is telling you to step away, then you'd better listen and find another path. Looks, as well as fancy words can be deceiving.

In our quest for representation let us not rush into something just because we are impatient. There are pesky, old, she-wolves out there everywhere ready to pounce on those of us who have been raised to treat others, as we, ourselves want to be treated. On the other hand I know there are hundreds of respectable literary agencies and publishing companies. Again, I suggest you purchase one of these two books below, or both, to aid you on your journey to publication.

Writers Market, where and how to sell what you write, 3,500 listings for book publishers, consumer magazines, trade journals, literary agents, and more. Jeff Herman's Guide To Publishers, Editors, & Literary Agents. Who they are! What they want! How to win them over! Either book may be purchased at any major bookstore, ordered by your local bookstore, or online at http://www.amazon.com.

A Ghost, a War, and a River – A Weekend in Rockford, North Carolina

Rockford, North Carolina, founded in 1790, incorporated in 1819 was the county seat of Surry County until it was moved to Dobson in 1851. Today what was once the Southern Railway still meanders along the Yadkin River through Rockford. You won't have to pay the quarter that R.F. Bland charged to cross the Yadkin River on the first bridge that was built in 1900 by the piano-seller. Or, venture over the low water bridge that was built in 1962, then, replaced with the new, modern, high-rise bridge built in 2002. (Personally I loved the low water bridge.) What you will find in the quaint little village of Rockford will pleasantly surprise you.

Step back in time, to 1865 when Union General George Stoneman led 6,000 cavalrymen from Tennessee into western North Carolina to disrupt the Confederate supply lines, destroy mines and ironworks and to free prisoners at Salisbury.

On their way they stopped by Elkin Manufacturing Company, established by Richard Gwyn and several family members sometime around 1850. The detachment of Stoneman's cavalry under Colonel William Parker found cooperation, food and shelter there on April 1, 1865 and spared the mill. You can find the historical marker at 111 South Front Street, Elkin, North Carolina.

In April 1865, troops commanded by Union Brigadier General Alvan C. Gillem devastated the Jonesville Male and Female Academy, a school affiliated with the North Carolina Conference of the Methodist Church. They broke chandeliers and school equipment marking the end of the school. Fortunately the raiders didn't take the school bell into possession. The bell still rings today at the First United Methodist Church, Jonesville, North Carolina.

In Siloam, the raiders encountered resistance from Confederate Major Richard Reeves and a colonel who was recuperating in the major's house. The two Southerners fled after killing a Union trooper and escaped. Stoneman's men tried to burn the Reeves House but were unsuccessful.

At the intersection of Buck Shoals Road and Windsor Road, Hamptonville Union raiders rode three abreast down a narrow dirt road on a path of destruction. Local residents reported that the troopers burned everything along the way.

Then General Stoneman's raiders passed through Rockford on April 1 – 2, 1865 on their way to Virginia. Rumor has it that troopers stopped long enough to enjoy an ale, harass citizens and create many local stories about the event. Today those tales of the past are recalled on the front porch of the Rockford General Store.

On March 3 – 4, 2012, Rockford General Store circa 1890 will host a civil war battle reenactment. Yes, that's right the War Between the States is going to break out again. Union General George Stoneman will be passing through Rockford in Surry County. I believe the Rebels have found out about it and "here say" is that they're going to be fighting against each other on Saturday March 3, at 10 am and 2 pm. Then, if there's anybody left, them Billy Yanks and Johnny Reb's will be finishing each other off about 1:30 on the following Sunday afternoon.

What a wonderful piece of history to re-discover. Living history weekend at Rockford General Store is one of the most authentic historical scenes I've ever experienced. The troops are dressed in civil war attire and the women are decked out as only a lady of the 1860's could be.

After you've sampled a homemade fried apple pie, drank a RC Cola, and viewed the old photographs of Rockford at the general store, you might want to visit some of the other historical sites in Rockford. You never know what you might find at the Jesse Lester Tavern, circa 1790. Last year while visiting with some locals on the front porch of the general store a conversation concerning ghosts arose. Now, I don't know if you're inclined to believe in ghosts, but there were some awfully convincing stories. One patron even emailed me pictures of orbs inside the tavern, and I saw the silhouette of one of Stoneman's raiders. I was told that spirit hunters often frequent the buildings in Rockford.

You might find a spook or two at the old Grant-Burrus Hotel ruins, circa 1796 or the deserted Mark York Tavern, circa 1850. And, you certainly don't want to miss the Rockford Methodist Church, circa, 1916. Here you'll see a Fresno painted by North Carolina artist, Tony Griffin titled, "Come Unto Me." Maybe there in the cemetery you can lay all those ghosts to rest or maybe you'll find a few new ones. Who knows?

Whether you're interested in the civil war, historical buildings or ghosts you'll be pleasantly pleased with a day spent in Rockford, North Carolina. More information can be found on The Rockford General Store's website at www.rockfordgeneralstore.com.

Have fun!

Cats in Heaven?

There was an old woman who lived in a shoe

She had so many cats she didn't know what to do.

A few days ago my granddaughter Emma and I were out in the front yard welcoming the latest edition to our cat family. A friend was riding by and hollered out the window, "You're the old woman who lived in a shoe." I don't know what in the world she could have been talking about. Surely it wasn't the fact that there were a half-dozen cats and kittens surrounding me.

I admit it. I have a weakness for poor little kitties. I have probably adopted at least a hundred in my life. Right now I have Gray-Gray, Twin, Fluffy Cheeks, Rabbit, Rose, Annie the orphan, and Carmel who has no tail. Then there are the strays that come and go, Yeller and her kitten Yeller, Big Jaws, Butterscotch, Gray Tom, Orange-White Tom, and yet another huge yellow Tom. Emma gives them most of their names.

All together there are about fifteen cats that are either full or part time residents of Byrd's Cathouse, Bed and Breakfast. Some kittens, like Annie have been dumped out because people know me, and know I'll feed them. One man even admitted he had dropped cats off at my house. And others like Carmel I adopted because the owners didn't want him, or maybe because I have a major weakness for bob-tailed cats. Some are neighbor's cats, and others like Yeller and her kitten are just wild cats that have lived here longer than I have.

A couple of years ago my husband found a beautiful little solid white kitten taped up in a shoebox. Can you believe that? I know everyone is not a cat lover. In fact I know people who simple hate cats. I've heard horrible stories about people shooting cats for sport, or running over them on purpose.

Cats are very special animals. Most are smart and loving. They even recognize their names. Each cat has it's own personality. Some cats want to be rubbed on all the time and others are distant. Each little kitty is unique in his or her own way, just like us. I have had cats that were mean and ornery. I've even had cats that didn't take care of their babies. But, I've also had mommy cats that would care for other mommy's kittens. Gray-Gray, my oldest mommy has let three different litters nurse at the same time.

All my cats stay outdoors, but I did have one that I kept inside for thirteen years. His name was Hecliff and even though he's been gone since July 20, 1998 he still lives on in our memory. Hecliff was a full-blooded Manx. He had no tail and his hind legs were a bit longer than his front ones, as is common for that breed. Hecliff had a horrible disposition. He would let you rub him on the head, but if you ventured toward his back or belly he would tear you up. He was not a people person. Friends and family knew they didn't mess with Hecliff. I still miss him sleeping at my feet. But I don't miss his clawing at my toes when I moved them under the covers.

Animals are so important to God that He created them even before He created Man. God did however appoint man to have dominion over the fish of the sea, and over the fowl of the air, and over the cattle, and over all the earth, and over every creeping thing that creepeth upon the earth. Doesn't that mean we are to take care of God's creation?

What happens to animals when they die? Do they go to heaven? Who knows? Maybe, maybe not. The Bible doesn't explain this to us. In the book, Heaven is for Real, little Colton says he saw animals in heaven just like on earth. Will old Hecliff be waiting on me when I walk through the gates into heaven? Will all the cats that I've cared for be there? Lord only knows, but if they are I'll truly be the little old woman who had so many cats she didn't know what to do. For I have loved hundreds.

Kitty cat, kitty cat, come play with me.

Stop chasing that mouse in the field,

And the bird in the tree.

Kitty cat, kitty cat, come play with me.

Genesis: 1:25

And God made the beast of the earth after his kind, and cattle after their kind, and every thing that creepeth upon the earth after his kind: and God saw that it was good.