Sarah Martin Byrd's Blog, page 16

Waste Not, Want Not

Looking back over the past fifty years so much has changed. Females are living longer. In 1960 a woman's life expectancy was 72.2 years, now it is 82 years. If I am one of the higher averages I've got about thirty more years. What will the coming days offer? A few things I'm sure of, more aches and pains, probably loss of memory, more gray hair and wrinkles. Those may be bad things but I know there will be all kinds of wonderful things too. Watching children, grandchildren and great-grandchildren grow and become independent individuals. Peaceful moments as we age and become more comfortable in our own skin, even if that skin is sagging. There will be magnificent sunrises and full moons, fall foliage and white snow.

Isn't it a shame that we forget our blessings? When we don't see the beauty around us because there is too much "stuff" that we don't need in our way. There is so much to be thankful for that sometimes I am overwhelmed with humbleness. If I were to live to be one-hundred-years old I could never repay The Lord for all he's given me.

Just looking back fifty years here's a few things that I have now that I didn't have then: A bathroom, yes an inside toilet. There wasn't the luxury of toilet paper either; if you were lucky you had a piece of brown paper bag or a huge poplar tree leaf. Paper towels were non-existent in my early years. We used a dishtowel. Soda pop was seldom seen at home, but it was a treat when my grandpa bought us cola's when we were helping him in tobacco.

Too many vehicles are another major waste. We have a car, truck and an SUV. Plus three work trucks and a tractor. Now mind you all these vehicles are pretty old, ranging from 1979-2008 but in actuality we could do without two of those personal vehicles. Look at the saving in taxes and insurance. Not to mention oil changes and regular maintenance. Years ago we had one vehicle and if we were lucky a bicycle. Not a golf cart or four-wheeler… a plain old, no gear, foot-braked bicycle.

Then there is food. Oh my goodness at the food that is thrown away. Thank goodness I have cats that eat our leftovers. When I open my refrigerator or pantry door, I see more than can be eaten in a year. Not to mention all the canned goods I preserved this summer in the basement. Some of us have so much while others are starving. Not all the way out in Somali either, right her in our own country. World Hunger day is coming up in October, lets be generous. Maybe cut back on our rations and share with others. There is also the local Tri-County Christian Crisis Ministry. They are always in need of food to share with the less fortunate. Growing up we ate dried beans, potatoes, food preserved from the garden and pork from a pig we'd raised ourselves, and we never ate out. My how times have changed.

Back then I had two pairs of shoes and a few sets of clothes. Now I have a closet packed full of things I don't need. In the early 60's you chose shampoo from a list of maybe ten varieties from the five and dime downtown, now there are two entire aisles of different brands at WalMart. Growing up we didn't have zip lock freezer bags, we used freezer boxes or bags with twist ties, and when we emptied the bag we washed it out and used it again. Same with tin foil wiped it off and re-used it. Some much is wasted in today's world. I recycle my aluminum cans and newspapers but there is so much more I could do.

Electronics is another thing that has changed drastically. We had a television when I was growing up but it was black and white and picked up only one channel. Now, counting our campers we own seven TV's and they are all hooked up to a satellite. How wasteful is that? And, I don't even like watching TV. Phones. Somewhere around 1966 we got our first telephone. It had a rotary dial and we were on a party line. That wasn't much fun because our shared line was with the pastor of our church. He had two little boys and they were forever leaving the phone off the hook. My daddy said words the preacher wouldn't want to hear when that happened.

I was looking around yesterday and took in all the waste around my house. There is an un-used television and VCR/DVD player in the basement. A refrigerator that was given to us that we don't need, a printer that works great except the lightning ran in on it and fried the faxing part. I just can't bring myself to throw these items away. So I'm going to load them up, plus a whole lot more "stuff" and off to Goodwill I'm going.

One last thing I want to share with you. In 1969 when we finally got an inside bathroom my daddy wouldn't let me and my siblings run but about an inch of water in the tub, just enough to rinse the soap off. He said it was wasting not just water, but hot water. I am still stingy with water. I do fill up the tub a bit more than I did all those years ago, but what my daddy instilled in me stuck. When my granddaughter spends the night she always asks, "Gigi, can't I have just a little more water?" At these times I shut out the voice of my daddy and, waste or not I fill her up.

Something to Think About

Fourteen years ago I took my second trip to New York City. My daughter Wendy was turning eighteen and planning a trip to Switzerland and she'd never flown. I wanted to be with her for her first flying experience. So off we go into the wild blue yonder. I'll never forget the look on her face when we took off. Amazing memories were made on that trip.

One that's especially etched in my mind is standing at the base of The World Trade Center Towers. I remember looking up and thinking, how big and, how beautiful. The grounds around the towers were so well kept. It was almost like being in a park. And to think four years later airplanes manned by men who were filled with hated would shatter the towers… and so many lives.

Such a shame we lost those landmarks, but buildings can be repaired and towers re-built. The real shock lies in the fact that one minute life was normal, then the next instant, mayhem. One morning a little girl or boy said goodbye to their mommy or daddy, fully expecting them to be back at their school that afternoon to pick them up, but they were never to see them again. Can you imagine the thoughts of those children as they waited for their parents to come and get them?

9-11 was the biggest world catastrophe of my lifetime. Others recall world wars, Pearl Harbor, earthquakes, hurricanes and tidal waves, but I'll always remember that morning as one that changed our lives forever. After the reality of what had happened sank in I left work and traveled a few miles to my church. I had a key to our old sanctuary so I slipped in and made my way to the alter. Sinking down to my knees I prayed. Just like I had forty-three years before when I'd prayed for Jesus to come into my heart. I prayed for all the ones who had died that day and their families, for the un-known, myself, and for the ones who held so much hate in their hearts. The horror of that day was staggering.

For years and sometimes even now, when I hear a plane over head I wonder if friend or foe is flying it. Yes, lives and landscapes were changed on September 11, 2001, New York City, the Pentagon and a field in Pennsylvania. I also know that hearts were changed. Non-believers quickly sought refuge in God and became believers.

That brings me to the main point of this blog. If we think 9-11 was one of the worst things to happen in history, think about the chaos that will occur in this world when Jesus appears and calls His children home. Air plane pilots, bus drivers, train and subway engineers, and mom's and dad's driving vehicles will one moment be there, then in the twinkling of an eye they will have disappeared. I don't know what I'll be doing when The Lord comes to get me and it doesn't really matter. All I know is that I'll be gone, whether from the grave or taken up alive.

The world's worst disaster will be left to those who have never accepted Jesus as their Lord and Savior. No one knows the hour or day, but God's word promises that it will happen. The question I have for you is, are you ready? I pray you are, because I'd hate to have my friends, loved ones, or even my enemies left behind.

1 Thessalonians 4: 16 – 18

16) For the Lord himself shall descend from heaven with a shout, with the voice of the archangel, and with the trump of God: and the dead in Christ shall rise first:

17) Then we which are alive and remain shall be caught up together with them in the clouds, to meet the Lord in the air: and so shall we ever be with the Lord.

18) Wherefore comfort one another with these words.

As you read this I hope you are comforted, if not, then you probably have some un-resolved business with God. Think about it.

Labor-less Day

Labor Day 2011 found me home from a weekend at New River. Sitting in front of the computer keying in this weeks blog. Then trying to finish up the final edit of my next novel, The Color of My Heart. Before long I'll be printing out the completed copy. Then, as with my other novels I'll let one of my best friends, Kay Martin read it. I've also promised another good friend, Shelby O'Toole that she can read it too. My daughter, Wendy might want to read through it again since there have been many changes since she read it last year.

It has been a bit over two years since I started this novel. It took me about fourteen months to write the first draft. That was October of last year, so the other ten months have been spent editing, and re-writing. I should have finished it up several months ago, but I took some time off to spend with my sick aunt during her last days.

There is so much emotion that goes into writing a novel. I'll always remember this one as the one I breathed life into as my aunt was breathing her last. It's sad to think she'll never be able to read this novel. Oh well, enough of all this gloomy talk. I am so excited about this manuscript. My editor and I are working on the synopsis for the back cover this week, while I finish up the edit.

I guess you could say I'm laboring on this Labor Day, but it's hard to call what you love doing as labor. I've found during this past year that writing a book is the easy part. Promoting it is a whole new ballgame: Festivals, book clubs, schools, and individuals. I'll tell my story to anyone who will listen. I've got several festivals lined up over the next eight weeks.

This Saturday I'll be in Winston-Salem at BookMarks Festival of Books. The festival will be held on Sixth and Trade Streets, from 10:00am-5:00pm. I will be at the Main Stage area in booth number twelve, with author Angela Kear. This should be a fun day if the weather holds out and the hurricane that's riding out in the Atlantic doesn't decide to pay us a visit. I love these gatherings. I suppose because I enjoy talking, especially about my work. It's sometimes tiring, but I still have a hard time calling it labor.

Then on Saturday, September 24 I'll be at The Pumpkin Festival in Elkin with Richard Nance. Richard and I always have a good time sharing booths at festivals. If you haven't read his novels look him up on the Internet. The name of his series is The Hidden World Chronicles.  I loved his books. They make you wonder what's "really" going on in this world.

Next, Richard and I will be at The Davie County Festival of Books in Mocksville, Saturday, October 1 from 9:00am-4:00pm, Shelton Vineyards on Saturday, October 8, and the Dobson Fall Festival Saturday, October 22. Please come out and join us and enjoy the beautiful fall days.

Well to keep it short and sweet I'm going to sign off, but not before I share with you a few words from my next novel. I can't wait for people to start reading it.

November 1858

Jekyll Island, Georgia

Just like every morning when I woke up on the ship, I look down at my toes. Then I wiggle them, so I can feel them too. That first night, a rat chewed the ends right off a little young'un's foot. That boy looked to be about half a year, just old enough to be cutting his first tooth, which made him sort of fitful.

When the morning light shown into our dungeon, his momma saw the real reason he screamed all night long. When she saw them little baby toes all chewed up, she sat into screaming too. So momma took the baby boy, and when the water got to us, Momma poured a lot of it over the nubs. The blood made a little creek that swirled around our feet. All the peoples pushed back away from the bloody mess, back against the boards of the pit. Into the darkness where the bugs and spiders lived, I think I am more scared of spiders than blood so I stayed with momma and that young'un.

Then Momma started a movin'. She took her underslip and tore off pieces and wrapped them real tight around that boy's foot. That baby finally cried till I reckon there was no cryin' left in him and he fell asleep.  Then his own momma took him back.

Momma's white underslip turned bright red where it was wrapped around that little fellers feet. I know what's under them blood-soaked rags. I close my eyes and try not to see, but I know I won't ever forget what chewed up baby toes look like!

I hope this made you want more? Keep your fingers crossed as I start sending queries to agents next week. Thanks guys for all the encouragement, and especially for reading my stuff.

When the Cat's Away… the Thieves Will Play

If you follow me on Facebook you know I recently took a trip out west. We visited Mount Rushmore, Yellowstone and Glacier National Park, the Grand Teton Mountains, the Bad Lands of North Dakota and then back home via the Great Lakes. It was a wonderful journey. God created some really beautiful landscapes here in the United States. From hills to mountains to prairies, each state is unique in it's own special way. But as usual, after taking a trip I found the best place to be is home.

Yes, I am a homebody. I can stay snuggled up in my house for days at a time. Though quite regularly I must venture out into the sunshine for a Vitamin D fix. I almost never get cabin fever, even in the winter. Nothing I have is fancy, but boy is it comfortable. My end of the couch, the rocking chair on the porch, my favorite frying pan, a good cup of coffee from my old mug, my kitty cats and my granddaughter. Goodness did I ever miss home.

During the eighteen days I was away I started to heal from my aunt's recent death. It was a special time of renewing of body and spirit. I feel energized and ready to sink my teeth into some good reading, writing, and of course, editing. The guts of my next novel, "The River Keeper" was born on this trip. As we wound through valleys and speed down the interstate my trusty pencil was penning words that someday I hope will be read by you.

The birth of a new novel is all consuming. It is the first thing you think of when you wake up and the last thing that's on your mind when you go to bed. And of course all during the night you wake to another twist in the plot or a character change. The birthing of a novel is like that of a child. Each one is unique in it's own way. What's between the binders may look the same, but as the story grows, it develops its very own personality.

I've always had a fear of losing one of my novels due to a computer crash, or an accidental push of the wrong button. So I back my important stuff up in Dropbox. It's a handy way to store information that you are working on. You can also easily go back and forth from desktop to laptop using Dropbox. I also have a fear of lightning running in on my computer and frying it or someone breaking in and stealing it. So much would be lost, about seven years of me gone forever.

While on our trip no one broke into my house and stole my computer, but an intruder did prize open our storage-building door and steal our lawnmower, weed eater, leaf blower, two boat motors, and a few other things. I simply detest a thief. Someone who sneaks through the shadows of night, preying on objects that other people's hard earned money has bought. A thief is a low life, no good bum. If you're hungry, please, just ask me and I'll give you food.

The sad part of a thief's life is that when they sell their loot, food is not purchased, but more than likely drugs are. What a person will do for one more pill, or a whiff of something up their nose is beyond me. An addict will steal from his or her own grandmother. There is no limit to what a person will do if drugs rule their life. So please, think twice before you take that first pain pill. I've seen some fine people destroy their lives after becoming addicted to prescription drugs.

When the call came from our daughter early that morning I knew something was wrong. We were hundreds of miles away in Montana and couldn't very well do anything about it though. The news could have ruined our trip, but it didn't. You know why: Because possessions can be replaced. My family was well and safe and that's all that mattered. As for the low life's that stole our stuff, well God Bless your little pea pickin' hearts. Me and Smith and Wesson are praying for you.

Guest Blogger Chris Speciale

This will be my last guest blogger from Carteret County, the grand finale so to say. A really great story! I have so enjoyed working with these young people. Every submission I received was really good. Again, I say, please do not be discouraged if your submission was not chosen. Some were just a bit too graphic for my taste.

Chris Speciale

Senior

Croatan High School

Two Dolphins

Two dolphins twirled and danced together in the wide, spacious seas. As two

inhabitants of the waters, they would know that the seas hold millions of tales and stories

of passing fishermen and passing warships and passing dump freights. The two dolphins

never really thought much of the passersby, but spent time with them whenever they

could-the fishermen especially enjoyed the company. As the two dolphins danced, one

would sooner or later spy a small boat hanging like a cloud above them. While they

acknowledged it, they simply continued their dance before they decided to go meet the

strangers.

Upon the cloud lay two humans, one was a peasant, the other a princess. The peasant

was given the order by the king of England to sail the princess safely to America, and he

was doing a great job of it… that was until their ship sunk. The captain and the crew of it

was lost to the bottom of the sea, somewhere miles behind the two dolphins, deep within

the abyss. The peasant, luckily, was quick on his feet and took the princess and himself

aboard the small boat, where they now were. Unfortunately, the ship sank three days ago,

and since then, neither of the two had eaten anything, and they had just gulped down their

last drops of freshwater. Plus the princess was getting cold.

"I have three cherries in my pocket," the peasant said to the princess. The peasant

couldn't be more than forty years old, but his voice still sounded young and clear, and

was projected with a healing comforting tone. "You will eat when I say so–I don't know

how far from land we are just yet."

The princess sat curled up in a ball on the seat of the small boat. "I am starving! I

must eat!" She yelled, with a voice similar to the peasant's, only lighter and more

feminine and smooth.

The peasant agreed, but ignored her. She could live a while longer… in fact she had

to-that was his job. He looked out to the sky in the direction they were coming from and

observed large gray clouds. Those clouds weren't there earlier. "There's a storm coming."

"What do you propose we do about it?" The princess nagged.

Frankly, the peasant thought the only thing to do was let it pass and pray it doesn't

sink their tiny boat. But the chances of that looked deathly unlikely and gave the peasant

a sickening feeling at the end of his gizzard.

"My job is to protect you until you get to America," the peasant answered.

The princess hugged herself and started to shiver. "I wish I was like one of those

dolphins," she said randomly.

"What dolphins?" The peasant asked, confused.

"Look below us," the princess suggested. Apparently, while the peasant had his eye

on the storm, he had become too distracted to notice the two dancing dolphins swimming

beneath their boat. "I'd like to be like one of those dolphins too." He spoke aloud.

Then he reconsidered his thought. "I wonder if I can catch one and we can eat it."

The princess rolled her eyes to him, "Smart, man, real smart. How will you cook it?

You're not gonna burn this boat to make a fire. And even if we had a fire, I wouldn't

allow you to do such a killing anyway."

The peasant looked down in regret for such a stupid thought, and cursed himself. She

was right–about the first thing she said, at least. He couldn't understand the last thing she

said. "Why wouldn't you allow me to?"

The princess groaned in annoyance. "Just look at those creatures. Would you really

destroy such a beautiful, joyous love such as theirs?"

The peasant shook his head, "I suppose not."

"You wouldn't because I wouldn't let you."

"Even if you were starving and we could supply fire?"

"Never under any circumstances!"

The peasant clicked his tongue inside his mouth. "Weird."

"Heartless!" She insulted back.

Let's hope I don't have to prove you wrong, there, the peasant thought, worried about

the oncoming storm.

Hours passed, and the two people sat silent for most of the time, only speaking when

they had to on matters that pertained to getting the princess to land. As the hours passed,

the sunset, and the storm came closer, and the winds picked up, and the waves grew

larger, and the whole world became thrice more violent than it was only hours ago. The

world became a battlefield.

The peasant had fed the princess his three cherries. She told him they tasted like mud.

The peasant apologized, but they couldn't have been too bad, else the princess would

have spit the cherries back out.

The peasant also had to resort to taking off his shirt and let the princess cover herself

with it. But it didn't seem to help much. As the world fell darker, warmth bled from the

princess like a wound over her entire body. She was shivering everywhere, and the

peasant felt helpless.

The ends of the storm were directly above them now. The storm started with a

downpour of rain, then that was followed by the crashing of waves as the ocean became a

gallery of rapids.

The princess was soaked, and both her arms were stretched to both ends of the boat

with her hands clinging to the edges like they were her diamonds.

Meanwhile the peasant was doing his best to sit or stand higher than the princess at all

times. He couldn't predict when the first lightning may strike… its approach is always all

too silent.

"Don't worry," the peasant assured the princess. "You're going to make it to

America."

The princess didn't shake her head or nod… she simply shut her eyes and prayed to

herself, holding on to the boat, hoping it won't flip over and drown her.

Then the peasant could see a large wave building a few dozen yards behind them.

"Hang on, princess," he warned.

It was as if God's fist had just punched the ocean.

The wave slammed down onto the surface of the water, and waves came rushing

forward. Half of the water dug underneath the boat, while the other half splashed up and

jumped into and over the boat–altogether pushing it forward who knows how fast!

Then came the thunder. A magnificent clap of thunder broke through the clouds and

filled the skies!

That was when the princess tried to speak to the peasant, but he could not understand.

"I can't hear you over the thunder!" He screamed. Then the revelation occurred…

Thunder! While the thought that he had just heard thunder was delightful, it was at the

same time terrifying! The peasant was delighted that no lightning had struck him… but

what was terrifying was the question why? Unless there was another poor ship below this

storm that stood higher than they were on this ocean of chaos, it could only mean one

other thing…

"Land!" The princess's voice was heard at last!

The peasant turned around to see a lighthouse and shadows of trees and silhouettes of

majestic buildings. They were almost home!

Just a little further!

And then came another unexpected punch to the ocean by God Almighty! The world

shook around them and the peasant was dizzy. He could not look at the land and wait to

arrive; he must keep his eye on the princess. She was still in the boat–thank goodness!

She was frozen and soaked, but she was still alive and on board.

And no one heard it coming, and nobody saw it until it came, and the peasant didn't

feel it until it touched him, and in less than one second, a branch of blue lightning

descended from the black clouds and scorched the peasant.

And the peasant could just hear the gods toying and taunting him from above. They

were saying, "Let's see how long this monkey can burn."

The peasant was willing to accept that challenge.

After the strike came, the princess was blinded for a while, and then noticed how

warm the peasant was. With the strength she still had, she crawled on the bottom of the

boat for two feet until she reached the peasant and she sat up again, and she held on to the

peasant's body, and she began to warm up. The feeling was miraculous!

Although to the peasant, the feeling was dreadful. "Don't worry," he forced himself to

speak through burnt lips, "You're going to make it to America." And my supply of heat for

you will probably keep you warm until you reach land. I'm going to die tonight, the

peasant knew, but it will save the princess. She might have died if she had to take any

more cold.

"Let's see how long he burns," the gods laughed in his face. The peasant accepted

them–this was his punishment for all those sins he's committed in his life. Let them

punish me. They can't stop me from protecting the princess.

The two were like that for a long time. No more lightning struck the boat, and no

more thunder was heard. And the rain calmed a little, and the waves had grown smaller.

Hours passed.

The princess did not realize the peasant was dead when he was. She only took

advantage of the heat that he gave off. The eye of the storm was directly above them

now, and the small boat finally reached shore.

The princess climbed out of the boat, shaking and starving, but relieved to touch the

sand again, and relieved to feel the ground once again. When the peasant did not follow,

the princess actually ran back into the boat to tell him the good news! But then she saw

that the peasant was indeed dead.

For a few seconds, the princess seemed to imitate the peasant's state. She was

breathless… shocked at the unbelievable scene before her. But she inhaled a huge breath

of air, and then knelt down in the boat in front of the peasant and she wept at his feet.

And she wept as the rest of the storm passed by… the clouds were dissolved, empty

of rain and exhausted of all the lightning they had held.

Hours passed, and the princess wept.

Suddenly, she heard the call of two dolphins behind her. She turned around to see the

fins of the sea mammals singing a mournful eulogy for the brave peasant, who sacrificed

his worthless life for the glorious one the princess was bestowed by her king father to her.

Then the princess laid the peasant down in the small boat, and she folded his hands

over his chest, and she gently closed his eyes with her fingertips. Then she stepped out

onto shore…and she pushed the small boat-now an open coffin-out into the wide, endless

blue ocean.

The princess stood at the edge of the beach with the water washing her feet every

minute, watching the small boat drift slowly away from her. Then, as if they wanted to

carry it with them, the two dolphins swam on either sides of the boat underneath it. The

princess listened to the crying dolphins and watched until the boat was completely out of

sight, and the mourning of the two dolphins was nothing more than a faint echo.

But the words of the peasant continued to echo even louder. "Don't worry. You're

going to make it to America."

And so she did, just as the peasant had promised. And to it, the princess made a

promise of her own.

"You will not have died in vain, my friend." She swore, and shut her eyes to see

infinite darkness ahead of her.

Guest Blogger Bennah Lightbody

Guest Blogger Bennah Lightbody

Welcome to another guest blogger from Carteret County. I have to admit this story reached right in and shattered my poor old heart into a thousand pieces. Bennah says she enjoys writing because it is a way to express her self without getting pity or being judged. I know you'll enjoy her heart-felt story.

Bennah Lightbody

8th Grade

Broad Creek Middle School

I was eleven months old. My mother has put me in my car seat. I have no idea what traumatic event is getting ready to happen. We get to the pre-school and pick up my two year old sister Noelle. My mother starts the car again and we hear the soothing sound of a smooth running car engine. As we drive down the road it becomes clear to me that my older sister recognizes the wildly shapes flying by my window, so I begin to get excited.

When we arrive to our destination I recognize the figure coming towards the car, it's my beloved grandmother. My mother hands us over to our grandmother and speeds away. My sister and me were excited at first to see our grandmother, who we love very much. But we missed our mother. When my dad arrived later that afternoon, with eyes filled with tears we noticed something must be wrong.

Days without seeing our mother turned to weeks, then to months. Now it has evolved into years. Where has my mother gone is the question my sister and I ask ourselves every day.

We also ask: Was it our fault? Were we not good enough? Were we a burden?

Guest Blogger Jordan Stinnett

This week I'd like to welcome Jordan Stinnett as my guest. She's written a very good story, one that has a valuable lesson woven into it. Jordan warned me that the end of the story is kind of PG-13. I found it to be tragic. I will leave the ending for your imagination to fill in. At the end of the story I've tagged a couple of websites that are helpful if you are ever involved in a domestic violence situation. Thanks for sharing Jordan.

Jordan Stinnett

Tenth Grade

East Carteret High School

My Summer at Silver Lake

How could this be happening? I can't believe it. I was captivated by his lies. Swept off my feet. I knew it was too good to be true. It doesn't matter anymore. Nothing does. No one can save me now.

Summer, it was finally here. I'm almost bursting with excitement. Today was my last day with my mom. You see, when I was 6, my parents split. They had differences in life and what they wanted out of it. My father, Jack, was more of an easy-going free spirit. My mom wanted to settle down and have a big family. So, she moved to Arizona with her sister, Meredith, while my father stayed in Minnesota. He lives in a small town, barely anyone around, but I love it there. What can I say? I miss him. Only seeing him every other summer makes missing him that much harder. But anyways I just got finished packing. I'm staying for 3 months, so I'm double checking everything I need.

"Haley! We have to get to the airport! We're late." Mom thunderously yelled.

"All right Mom. Coming".

I fumble down the steps with my luggage, almost tripping. Great, Aunt Meredith is driving. It's not that I don't like her. I mean she's family. But she always has something negative to say about Dad.

Thirty minutes of non-stop Meredith talking on the way to the airport. She should really get her own talk show. I don't think she would ever run out of things to say. As we pull up I rush into the huge, glassy doors and hurry to get in line. They quickly check my bags and I get seated on the plane. I get a seat to myself, luckily. Across the aisle from me, I see a girl about my age, 16. She has brown shiny hair to her mid-back. Gosh, she had the deepest brown eyes I have ever seen. I noticed she was wearing the same blue, lacy tank top as I was.

"Hey, nice top," I said to her with a warm smile.

"Thanks! Same to your self," she replied.

"My name's Amber, nice to meet you."

She seemed super nice so we quickly became friends. I found out that she happened to be going to the same Minnesotan town I was. Her mother lives there, her father died when she was 3. Surprisingly, we have a lot in common. We love Italian food, Taylor Swift, and Nicholas Sparks love stories. We talked for the entire flight; at the end we exchanged phone numbers.

When I stepped off the plane and gave Amber a hug goodbye I immediately scanned the airport for a sign of my dad. I walked to the center, where a sign read Welcome to Silver Lake, Minnesota. The walls were a welcoming shade of peach, odd for an airport, but it felt like home to me. Fliers covered the walls for announcements of town dances and fairs. Just as I began to read one for The Annual Silver Lake Fairfest, someone wrapped their arms around my back. I turned around shocked with fear, only to see the blue joyful eyes of my father staring down at me.

"I sure did miss you, ladybug."

He has called me that since I was a kid, and I almost cried with happiness at the sound of his voice.

"Oh Daddy, I missed you!"

After our greetings of, how's Arizona been? And, how's your mother? He picked up my luggage and ushered me to the parking lot. It was nice to see his familiar Carolina blue pickup in the lot. He only lived about 10 minutes down the road, but we seemed to be in the car for at least 25.

"Dad, where are we going?" I skeptically ask.

"Do you remember Fred's Diner, just down the road from the Laundromat?" He replies.

Not at all remembering I say, "Oh yeah, of course".

Watching images of trees and cottages fly by me out the window we head to the diner. As we walk in we are greeted by our waiter, gosh, wasn't he handsome? His soft, blonde hair with tinges of light brown made me melt. He had deep greenish-blue eyes that were as deep as the ocean. His nametag read: Hello, my name is Luke. But I wasn't looking at the nametag but rather his muscular arms about to pop out of his shirt. As we got seated, I don't remember a thing about dinner, just him. I barely touched my food, or held a substantial conversation with Dad. He was the only thing on my mind.

The next few days with Dad were great. I even asked him if we could go to the Fairfest in the fairgrounds Friday at noon. He said he had to work, but I was free to go and enjoy myself.

Friday morning, I straightened my golden blonde hair and let it flow down my back. It was very hot outside so I chose a yellow tank top and some daisy duke cut-off shorts. I ran downstairs and grabbed an apple for breakfast, and headed out the door. Amber met me there, and we decided to play some games. We had been playing the test your strength game when a group of guys got in line behind us. Amber barely hit it at all, even exerting all her force. It was my turn. I slammed down the rock hard mallet and the bell dinged, huh I guess I'm stronger than I thought. I recognized one of the guys behind us; I could remember those eyes anywhere. It was Luke.

He walked over to me and said, "Hey, I was just wondering if maybe sometime you would want to hang out? Maybe do something fun this evening?"

I was too giddy to speak. So Amber spoke up and said, "We would love to," with a smile.

"Alright see you guys at the beach under the pier at 10?"

We agreed and continued our day with cheesy prizes and cotton candy. Amber came back to my house to get ready, and then we headed for the pier.

The moonlight danced off the ocean waves and shone beautifully on the sand. As we approached the pier we saw about 5 guys around a fire.

"Hey, glad ya'll could make it," one of Luke's friends called to us.

They all had beer. And a few were smoking. All I noticed were Luke's handsome eyes.

We sat down and one kid looked at Amber and said, "Hey baby, how's about me and you have a little fun?" And tried to give her a forceful, sloppy kiss.

"Haley, I'm leaving, get away from me creep."

As we got up to leave, repulsed, I heard Luke say, "Where do you think you're going? There's no leaving now."

I turned around and saw a flash of silver as he pulled out a knife. He grabbed me by the arm with a firm grip and dragged me, kicking and screaming to the beach house beside the pier….

The rest of Jordan's story paints a very ugly picture of what might happen if you trust the wrong people. Never go to private locations with someone you don't know. Stay with a crowd you know.

*National Domestic Violence Hotline: 1-800-799-7233 or www.ndvh.org

*Help for Teens, "Love Doesn't Have to Hurt",

www.apa.org/pi/families/resources/lov...

Back to School

Since August is back to school month I am dedicating the first four weeks of this month to the students of Carteret County. Back in April the administration of Carteret County invited me to their schools to speak to the students about my novel Guardian Spirit and to talk about my journey to become a published author. I visited Croatan High, Broad Creek Middle, Morehead Middle, Newport Middle, Beaufort Middle, Atlantic Elementary, and Harker's Island Elementary. Before leaving each school I offered the students an opportunity to submit a sample of their writing to me. I will be posting some of their creations on my blog site this month. In today's blog I want to feature an excerpt from two students. Then the following three weeks three more students will share my space.

Why am I doing this: Simply because I like to encourage young writers. I want them to reach for the stars and while on their way I want them to tell us about it. How can their light shine if it's hidden away in a secret notebook? I want to thank each and every one of you who submitted your work to me. I was amazed at the emotion that flowed into your stories. If you don't see your work posted it was probably because some of it was a bit too graphic for me. Anyway, I'm going to shut up and let these young people speak. Enjoy these excerpts from Brianna, Geneveive and Megan.

Brianna Pearson

Seventh Grade

Broad Creek Middle School

Dancing- Chapter 3

"Dance with me." It wasn't a question.

Turning to meet her eyes, Jadeite saw a challenge burning within their depths. Nodding, he offered her his hand, and led her out to the dance floor. As the pair twirled about the room, the crowd could practically feel the heat emanating from them. Entranced by the music, and more by each other, they never noticed the small crowd they were attracting.

Jadeite could practically touch her soul as they continued to allow the music to guide them. She was wild, strong, and passionate, his Firebird. And he could tell from that look in her eye that he had more than met her challenge. He was her equal–on the battlefield, in court, and on the dance floor. Hopefully, this would be the beginning of something more.

Geneveive Muehlenkamp and Megan Eason

Seventh Graders

Broad Creek Middle School

Dear Diary,

Here I am again. Mom and Dad were, you can probably guess fighting again. I told them I would be back in the house in about 15 minutes. So I can still write for a little while.

I envy you Diary. You don't have to go through this torture I go through every day! If we could just trade places for a day you would be writing in me the same way I write in you. So people tell me to just live life to the fullest and don't let anything bother me. But it's hard when all your parents do is argue.

They probably won't even remember my birthday next month! They are constantly fighting! Sometimes I wonder if I will have to call 911 so there won't be any lives lost. I don't know why they don't stop. Is it me? What made them hate each other so much for some reason?

Dad comes home late now and Mom tells me that he is probably with another family. But I don't believe that Dad would do that to us, right? I mean he was the one who married my Mom and had me. He wouldn't just leave us for another family, right? And Mom is forgetting stuff more now because her new job is challenging to her. Dad said that she does it because she only cares about herself. But that can't be true, can it? I mean, she does cook for us every night and buys us new clothes and washes them and the dishes and cleans the house. If she did only care about herself, would she do any of that stuff? Well, I don't think so.

I think they both are just blind to what is really in front of them because of everything that is going on in our lives…

I hear someone stomping past the shed. Well I've got to go Diary.

See ya later.

Angela.

Lost Sleep and Snuggles

Everyone out there who has been following me knows I've not had a lot of time to read as of late. I did however finish a really good book a few weeks ago. I'd heard about it and when I saw a display of the novel at a local store I couldn't resist the urge to purchase Heaven is for Real by Todd Burpo with Lynn Vincent. Could almost four-year old Colton Burpo really have visited heaven? Did he meet a grandpa that he'd never known and a sister that no one on earth had ever seen because she was lost due to a miscarriage?

I thought the book was genuine. I know there are all kinds of phenomena's out there that cannot be explained. Some try to unravel everything, but I'm telling you some situations are just the way they are and can't be deciphered. Just like the Bible. I don't understand a whole lot of it, but I sure do believe it! Could Colton have touched the hand of Jesus and flew with the angels? Yes, I believe he did.

The novel also brings to life the struggles of a mom and dad as they watch their precious little son slowly disappear before their very eyes and they are helpless to do anything about it. How devastating it would be to watch your child lie dying. I cannot even imagine how a person's heart could withstand such pain and agony.

This past weekend my seven-year-old granddaughter was staying with me. On Saturday morning she started complaining with a tummy ache. She never complains so I knew something was going on. By late afternoon she was still not feeling well and her belly-hurt bad. By Sunday morning she had diarrhea and at eight-thirty that night she threw up and was running a temperature. At ten o'clock with a fever of 102.2 she was able to keep down the fever reducing medicine and fall asleep.

If I felt of her forehead one time during the night I felt of it a hundred. She slowly cooled off and by two in the morning she felt normal and slept peacefully. Then at six-thirty Monday morning she woke up bright eyed and bushy tailed. Amazing recovery.

All during her sickness I couldn't help but think of little Colton. Emma had the same symptoms that he had, nausea, diarrhea, fever, and low energy. I thought: could Emma have appendicitis like Colton? Would it bust during the night putting little Emma's life in danger as it had Colton's? When your child or grandchild is sick nothing else in the world is as important as them getting well. Worry is something we shouldn't do but I don't think it is humanly possible to not fret over our loved ones.

That night was not the first I'd ever stayed up and tended a sick child and it probably won't be the last. I can't help but think of the mom's and dad's who snuggle up to their ailing child, praying there will be a miracle and their baby will be alive when the darkness turns to dawn.

I have a friend and neighbor whose young son has recently been diagnosed with ALD disease. From what I've read this is a horrible sickness, but one that a bone marrow transplant can possible help. So I beg of you. To all who read this, please contact The National Bone Marrow Register and see what you have to do to get on the bone marrow donor list. I have been on it for probably twenty years and have been a match twice. The first time they found someone who matched better. The last time was three years ago and we were only a few days from the harvest when the woman to whom the marrow was to go got much sicker and was not able to receive the marrow.

So please. As you lie awake with a sick child, or as you snuggle up to them breathing in their essence and feeling the softness of them; think of all who may be doing the same thing but also praying for a miraculous healing: A miracle that can only come from someone's unselfishness. Go to this website http://www.marrow.org/ or call toll free 1-800-627-7692 and sign up to be a donor today!

North Carolina Author

I have experienced lots of proud moments these past ten months since Guardian Spirit was released. So many people have told me how they fell in love with the Madison family and all my animal characters. I know I've been neglecting my literary work while tending my sick aunt, but now I'm back on task and typing away. Last week my publisher at Lucky Press, LLC sent me a message that Guardian Spirit had been added to the UNC-University Library. Only this morning have I had time to go to the Read North Carolina Novels website and check it out.

I am so proud to be on the list of over seven hundred North Carolina authors. If you go to the Read North Carolina Novels website and click on list of authors, you'll find my name at the bottom of the "B" column. Just seeing my name printed there makes me smile. I am so humbled by this and yet excited that someone thought my novel was worthy to be included with so many other wonderful manuscripts set in our beautiful state of North Carolina.

Here's the review for Guardian Spirit that the UNC-University Library posted:

Sarah Martin Byrd. Guardian Spirit. Athens, OH: Lucky Press, 2011.

Survival for Millie and her two young children, Sadie and Sammy, requires thoughtful planning, strong willpower, and magic. When Millie finally musters the courage to leave her abusive husband, Brad, in Texas and to hide in the Blue Ridge Mountains of North Carolina, she knows that she is walking into a world of uncertainty. Brad is likely to look for her with a vengeance, so Millie must distrust most people. The medication she needs for her cancer treatment makes using aliases impossible. Finally, nearly a quarter century has passed since she saw her beloved grandmother Ann. Is she still alive? Will she want to see her long-lost granddaughter? Will contacting Ann put her life in danger?

As Millie, Sadie, and Sammy make a cozy home in Ann's abandoned cabin, Millie introduces her children to the nature of the mountains. Life goes well until Brad begins to hunt for his family and locates Ann.  The family appears to be in jeopardy, and it would be if it were not for Millie's new doctor, Dr. Townsend. He has been having strange visions of the family, and his elderly Cherokee grandmother tells him about links between the Trail of Tears and Millie's family's ordeal. Dr. Townsend and his grandmother are with Millie, Ann, and the children when Brad finds them, and they protect them. When Sadie and Sammy witness their father's inexplicable disappearance, they realize that their mother was right: there is magic in the Blue Ridge Mountains.

I hope you will all join me for some upcoming events this fall. The Bookmarks Festival in Winston-Salem on Saturday, September 10th. Then there is The Pumpkin Festival in Elkin on Saturday September 24th. I'll be at The Davie County Festival of Books at Rich Park in Mocksville on Saturday October 1st. And finally on my list is the Dobson Fall Festival in Dobson Saturday October 22nd. I have some other events I'm working on and will post them on my website at www.sarahmartinbyrd.com as they are confirmed.

If you've read my novel and would like to post a comment on the Read North Carolina Novels website, it would be greatly appreciated. Thank you for being so patient with me as I attended my aunt on her journey to heaven.