Sarah Martin Byrd's Blog, page 5

“The Manger Mouse” is Going to Mast General Store

I am so excited! Matty, the manger mouse has found a new home at Mast General Store in Boone and Hendersonville. That’s right. Matty has crept into the hearts of those Mast General Store executives, just like he quietly sneaked into the manger to sleep at baby Jesus’ feet the night Jesus was born.

 

When my publisher, Ambassador International emailed me several weeks ago and told me they were talking to the corporate office at Mast General Store about possibly stocking my, and Debbie’s (Debbie Wall is the illustrator) little mouse book I was beyond words. This may not seem like a big deal to most, but if you’re in the book writing business you know that to get your work into any big retail chain is an accomplishment.

 

And, not only is Mast General Store going to stock The Manger Mouse, they have invited Debbie and I to both locations for book signings. We will be in Boone, NC on Friday December 6th from 1pm until 5pm. And the next day, Saturday, December 7th in Hendersonville, NC from 1pm until 5pm. This is the perfect opportunity to come out to either one of these wonderful stores and do some Christmas shopping. What better gift than a signed copy of the greatest story ever told, the birth of Jesus?

 

For those of you who haven’t been introduced to Matty the manger mouse I’d like to share a couple of reviews:

 

“We just bought and read your book “The Manger Mouse”. We bought it today at the Pumpkin Festival. My granddaughter that we bought the book for is being brought up in a Christian home. The meaning behind this book will carry with her for the rest of her life. I read it to her with tears in my eyes. We were able to feel the presence of the Lord as we read it. We have been so blessed to be able to own this book for our home. Thank you for following the Lord in writing it. I would recommend this to anyone…adult or children… there is such a blessed meaning to the story!”

Lulu

 

“Oh my, Sarah, the Manger Mouse is wonderful. I actually cried reading it. I am so proud of you. Your love of the Lord comes through in the book. Thank you for writing such a wonderful story that tells of the “greatest story ever told.”

Linda

 

“All of Sarah Byrd’s books have heart and soul, and “The Manger Mouse” is no exception! It teaches us that no matter how small and lowly we may feel, that God always has a greater plan for our lives. When Matty, the baby mouse found the courage to step away from all he had known, he found “the greatest gift ever given”. This book is beautifully illustrated and is for the young and the young at heart.”

Karen

 

“There are so many lessons to be learned from this book, but the one that I felt touched my heart the most was the fact that God can use us all. It does not matter whether we’re tall, short, weak, or strong. We don’t have to be the most popular or the prettiest creature to grace this earth. He has a plan for all of us and has graciously given us all gifts and talents that He has given us to use. Sometimes the gifts we give don’t seem very important in our eyes, but God sees what we do and the intentions that are intended. Sarah is so gifted and is using her talents. Everyone needs this book, especially when you are feeling low in spirit.”

Pamela

 

Thank you to all who have reviewed The Manger Mouse. If you haven’t posted a review on Amazon, I would appreciate it if you would go to Amazon.com and look The Manger Mouse up and post your own personal review.

 

Matty, Debbie and I are looking forward to seeing you at Mast General Store.

 

 

On another note, I’m looking forward to being at the Third Annual “Christmas in Clingman” event this Saturday, November 23rd at Clingman Community Center, Clingman, NC. The festival will be open 8am until 2pm. Debbie Wall, the illustrator of “The Manger Mouse” will be with me at Clingman signing copies. Proceeds from vendor space will purchase Thanksgiving dinners for families in the area. Please come out and support this community event.

Holiday “To Do” List

After attending a Holiday Open House at GG’s Framed Art and Gifts in Statesville, North Carolina this past weekend, and with a chance of snow in the forecast I have begun to get the holiday jitters. After all it is only six weeks until Christmas.

 

Every year when I start thinking about all there is to do in such a short time my heart starts racing and my chest feels tight. Why, oh why do I let the “to do” list steal my Christmas joy?

 

My “to do” list consists of first of all a “list” of names I’ll be buying gifts for this year. Keep in mind that I made this “list” a few weeks ago, long before Halloween, or even the thoughts of Thanksgiving. As the shopping list grows so does my anxiety. What to get this person, what not to get this other person? What to buy for the one who has everything? What to buy for the person who never likes anything you get, and you know even before you pay good money for this old Scrooge’s gift you’ll have to return it.

 

Don’t get me wrong; I love to buy for people, especially if I know it is something they really want. But in this day and time if a person wants something they go out and buy it for themselves. I remember Christmas time as a child. There wasn’t all this commercialism, at least not at my house anyway. Our tree was cut from the woods around my house and we were lucky if it got put up a week before Christmas not a month before like most people do today.

 

My mama didn’t spend weeks going from mall to mall searching for presents either. Back in the day we got what we needed, clothes, underwear and shoes. I did get toys, but not twenty, just two or three. My best childhood memories are of my daddy bringing home stick candy, mixed nuts and a bag of oranges and tangerines. If these small pleasantries were all that was offered to kids today they would call the cops on us for abuse.

 

We have become so spoiled, living so much richer than we were raised. Now don’t get me wrong I’m preaching to the choir. Every year I promise myself I am not going over board, but then I think, maybe I’ll just get the granddaughter a couple more things and before I know it she has a mountain of stuff that she doesn’t really need or will appreciate.

 

This year I hope I will be able to stick to my guns and not let that “to do” list ruin the joy of Christmas. After all Christmas is not presents, it’s not even getting together with family. Christmas is Jesus. It is the time of year we celebrate the birth of our Lord and Savior.

 

Luke 2:10

And the angel said unto them, Fear not: for, behold, I bring you good tidings of great joy, which shall be to all people. 

Remembrances

1 Corinthians 13:12

For now we see through a glass, darkly; but then face to face: now I know in part; but then shall I know even as also I am known.

 

November 3rd, 2013 marked the thirty-first anniversary of the passing of my daddy, Billy Thomas Martin. On a lonesome autumn night a massive heart attack took the life of the only earthly father I’ll ever have. Even after all these years I cannot wrap my head around living without my daddy. He was far from perfect but I know he loved me, and I loved him even as God loves me with all my imperfections.

 

There are so many things I wish he could have stayed around to see, like my daughter Wendy growing up and becoming a wonderful young woman. She was only three when he died. It’s funny that Daddy would wrap his arms around his granddaughter Wendy and snuggle up to her on the couch, and pet her silly. He was never an affectionate man with his own four children. It’s strange how a grandchild can mellow a tough old man’s heart.

 

Daddy didn’t get to know his great-granddaughter, Emma but the Bible tells me that we will know each other for who we are in heaven. Oh what a reunion day it will be. My daddy and granddaughter would have had a lot of interesting conversations. Emma would have given her great grandpa a run for his money. Literally, she would probably have talked him into giving her the farm. Emma didn’t meet my daddy on earth but I tell her a lot about him. She will have no remembrances of him except for the things I share with her about his life.

 

As the day’s pass and the years multiply I can see the twilight of youth fade into the dark of night. I feel my life slipping away, migrating toward only remembrances of me. Years after I’m gone what will people say about Sarah Martin Byrd? How will you be remembered?

 

These are a few things I hope people will remember about me when I’m long gone.

Sarah knew she was a sinner saved by grace. She loved and trusted God with all her heart.
Sarah loved her family unconditionally.
Sarah loved her friends, and her cats.
Sarah had a unique imagination and enjoyed putting her thoughts down on paper.
She loved to read, great, and not so great books.
She was country through and through and proud of it. She was born a country girl and died a countrified old lady.
Sarah loved the mountains, the rivers, and the ocean. Put her outside amongst God’s creation and she was happy.
Sarah liked to dig in the earth and watch things grow. She loved the land.
In her youth she enjoyed the game of softball.
Once upon a day she thought she would enjoy owning a horse. That didn’t really work out so well, the horse, or Sarah one was too stubborn for each other.
 Sarah tried to treat people like she’d like to be treated herself.
Sarah stood up for what she believed in even if she was the only one on her side.

 

Sorry for my rambling, I’m feeling a bit melancholy. Life is really so short. We may not think that what we do while on earth really means anything, but as I look back at all the remembrances of parents, grandparents, aunts, uncles, cousins and friends who have passed on I know that they left me with something, a part of them. Maybe not a physical trait, but a piece of what’s inside them. Live, love, laugh and have no regrets when your time comes to depart this earth. Our earthly days are short, but the remembrances that we leave behind are eternal.

 

 

 

A Pilgrimage to the Summit

Isaiah 2:3

And many people shall go and say, Come ye, and let us go up to the mountain of the Lord…

 

This past weekend my husband, Jerry and I made our annual pilgrimage to the top of Stone Mountain. The mountain covers over 14,000 acres in Wilkes and Alleghany Counties in North Carolina, has a 25-mile pluton, and a 600-foot granite dome. It is really an awesome place to visit if you enjoy hiking, camping, waterfalls, nature at its richest, and a step back in time.

 

The hike up the mountain to the summit is a pretty good challenge for a couple that is fast approaching sixty-years-old. For the past twenty odd years we have joked about whether or not we’ll be able to make the climb. This year as we watched several buzzards flying over-head we were wondering if they knew something we didn’t. To be on the safe side I pulled out my cell phone to make sure I had service in case we needed to call 911.

 

All joking aside, truth is I’m not the spring chicken I once was. I used to be able to turn cartwheels, stand on my head, jog for a mile, and not worry about the 4.3 mile round trip to the top of Stone Mountain. Now I would be afraid to try those tricky twists and turns for fear of breaking a bone. I’m not saying we should just sit down and fade into the sunset, but God did give us a brain, and I think He expects us to use it. Accepting the aging process is not an easy feat. But we were born to die. Something so natural should be grasped with joy.

 

I think back to the ones who settled in the shadow of Stone Mountain. The first homesteaders were the Hutchinson family. They came to reside at the base of Stone Mountain in the 1850s. John and Sidney Jane Brown Hutchinson built a log cabin in 1855. In this tiny house John and Sidney Jane raised a family of eight children. One of these eight, John, grew up and married Matilda. One of their children was named Mary Elizabeth. She married Miles Blackburn and to them was born seven children, one of which was my husband’s grandmother, Pearl Eva Blackburn Byrd, (September 5, 1896 – May 25, 2000.) Yes, you did the math right she was almost 104 years old when she died. That’s a lot of sunsets.

 

As a young boy in the 1950s, before the Hutchinson homestead was deserted, Jerry can remember traveling up the back side of the mountain in a jeep to visit his cousins. He was very young so that’s about the only memory he has of the mountain when his ancestors still resided there.

 

After many years the cousins either moved down from the mountain or died out. In 1969 in order to preserve the heritage of a time long passed the state of North Carolina purchased the Hutchinson property and several hundred acres of land to establish Stone Mountain State Park. Descendents of John and Sidney Jane, Jim and Ruth Hutchinson were provided a lifetime right option to the Hutchinson Homestead.

 

Almost thirty years passed before funding was available to restore the homestead. Restoration of the property began in 1997. Over a period of two years, the cabin was totally reconstructed and the outbuildings were refurbished or replaced, road and accessibility improvements were made, artifacts were collected for display, and educational exhibits were developed to depict life on a North Carolina mountain homestead in the late 1800s and early 1900s.

 

My husband’s Grandmother Pearl, and his Uncle Ken’s voice were used on some of the educational exhibits. If you visit the living room exhibit inside the house Pearl will tell you about plucking feathers from the ducks in the spring to stuff their pillows. In front of the barn Uncle Ken will tell how the oxen and mules were used to till the land. All around the homestead you can listen to voices resounding memories of the past.

 

So when I say my husband and I make an annual pilgrimage to Stone Mountain its not just to test our stamina. It’s to visit the past, to trod where great-great-grandparents once walked the land. To gaze up at the massive hunk of stone and wonder how a family came to live at the base of such a proud and majestic mountain? And, to also wonder how they could have ever left?

 

To learn more about Stone Mountain State Park visit their website at: http://www.ncparks.gov/Visit/parks/st...

 

 

 

 

Port-a-John Protocol

I am so glad to be at home today writing this blog. Twelve out of the past twenty-three days I’ve been attending fall festivals and book signings. Thankfully I have a couple of weeks reprieve. Actually I only have four more book events scheduled for the year. You can find the dates and locations on my website: www.SarahMartinByrd.com

 

It has been an amazing three weeks since The Manger Mouse was released. Matty the mouse is scampering around everywhere. Matty has traveled to several different states in the USA, and yesterday a lady bought a copy to take to Ecuador. Matty has become a world traveler.

 

I feel very fortunate to be able to attend festivals, meeting people, and sharing Matty’s message with the world. However there is one part of festival life that I simply hate, and that’s the bathroom facilities. Port-a-John’s are not my favorite thing. But what’s a girl to do when she is at a festival for twelve to fourteen hours a day? It’s not like you can hold “it” that long. I’d much rather squat behind a bush than venture into one of those things. But squatting in front of thousands of people would be a sure way of landing my naked butt in the local jail.

 

Having had lots of experience with Port-a-Johns these past few years I’ve come up with a list that I refer to as my “PP” or “Port-a-John Protocol” list. I’d like to share a few things on my “PP” list.

 

Always go to the bathroom before you leave home and never, ever, have that second cup of coffee before you leave the house.
Use the “PP” early in the day. As the hours progress the “PP” gets fuller, and more disgusting. So that means you must stop drinking liquids at noon.
Never, ever sit on the seat. In fact try to squat as high up as you possibly can so hopefully by the grace of God nothing from down under splatters back up on you.
While squatting don’t touch the door with your head. Who knows what sort of coodies linger on the walls of these green monsters?
Before you go inside take a deep breath, and hold it no matter what, even until death.
Never, no matter how tempted you are, do not, and I mean, doooo… notttt… look down in the hole. There are some things that blue water cannot hide.
Pray that the hand sanitizer dispenser is not empty. And just in case God’s not listening to you for one reason or another take your own disinfectant.
Do not carry anything in the “PP” that you can’t strap around your neck. Trust me, there are no dry spots to sit your purse, your child, or yourself.
Always roll your pant legs up before entering the “PP”. I’ve yet to find a “PP” where the floor is not wet. And, we all know what that wet is. YUCK!
Lastly, the most important thing. If for some reason your butt touches the sticky, sodden seat immediately try to wipe the horror from your mind, and your backside. Then engage the hand sanitizer. Apply it everywhere skin is showing. And, then when you get home burn your clothes and take a bath in bleach.

 

Hope these suggestions help when faced with using a Port-a-Potty. Always remember, a girls gotta do, what a girls gotta do. But that don’t mean we’ve got to like it.  

Marketing Your Writing At Festivals

I never would have thought I would some day look back at my twenty years in newspaper sales and be thankful? Selling space in a small town, tri-weekly newspaper was not the easiest thing in the world to do, but I have to admit it was probably easier than selling air space for a radio station. At least with a newspaper you can hold something in your hand.

 

My sales experience has certainly come in handy while trying to market my two novels, Guardian Spirit, The Color of My Heart, and my recently released children’s picture book titled, The Manger Mouse. Setting up shop at festivals makes for many long and tiresome days, but those hours spent can be very rewarding and profitable, if you’re willing to “work it.”

 

“Working it,” means you’ve got to interact with the crowd. Every person who passes your booth is a potential buyer. Does every festival attendee that meanders by your space pick up one of your books and automatically fall in love with it? No. You have to draw them in, and do some fast-talking.

 

Here are a couple of suggestions: Try to make eye contact as they are walking by your booth, and ask this question, “Do you enjoy reading?” Some will automatically answer, “No.” Others might hem-haw around and say, “Sometimes.” To these you politely say, “Have a nice day” and let them be on their way. But if they answer, “I love to read,” then that’s when you reel them in and start telling them a little snippet about your book, or books.

 

With my children’s picture book I look for potential grandparents, parents of young children, and even expectant parents. You’d be surprised how many mommies and daddies want to buy their unborn child a Christmas present, especially a children’s picture book about the night Jesus was born.

 

Another important thing is to display your work so people walking by can easily see what you’re selling. That means your table needs to be as close to the front of your tent as possible, near the crowd. And, it never hurts to have a bowl of candy sitting mid center either. Make sure your books are the prominent focal point.

 

A fellow author was set up a few tents down from me this weekend. Saturday morning he was complaining about how few sales he had on Friday. I had to be honest with him. I told him I had walked by his booth the previous day and had not even noticed he had books for sale, and he had five displayed. He was also selling framed art so when I strolled by I only saw the pictures in the background, his book covers blended right in with the artwork. I didn’t have time to see if he changed his display, but at the end of the day on Saturday he did report that his sales that day had been great!

 

I think the main thing you have to do to sell books is to be nice to folks, and, of course have written a great story for them to read. Some people just want to meander in and chitchat, others want to tell you their life story, while others trot by in a near run to get by you. Whatever the case, I listen, answer sincerely and show God’s love to all people, whether they buy a book or not.

 

I’ll end with a quick little funny thing that happened this past weekend at The Autumn Leaves Festival. I snagged a lady with the usual, do you enjoy reading, line. She answered, “No, I can’t read.” I answered, “Well, I’ve got a children’s picture book, you can look at the pictures.” Guess what, she walked away with a copy of The Manger Mouse in her hand.

 

Friend, and fellow author of The Hidden World Chronicles, Richard Nance with whom I always share a tent looks up at me when the lady is out of earshot and says, “ Well that beats all, I’ve never seen anyone sell a book to someone who can’t read.”

 

My motto: Where there’s a will, there is surely a way.

 

Tough as Nails

Tough as Nails

 

“In honor of all breast cancer victims, survivors and their families.”

 

In my early twenties while doing a self-breast exam, I felt a lump. I will never forget that feeling. My legs turned to jelly and my heart pounded so loud I could almost hear it strumming. Not me, I couldn’t have breast cancer, I’m too young, too full of life, and, I like my boobs and want to keep them.

 

That was my first mammogram, and I’ve had one every year since. The lump turned out to be one of several fibroids, and because of those blessed fibroids my doctor recommended that I get a yearly mammogram.

 

Fast forward two decades, I’m now in my early forties. It’s the day for my annual physical. I’m lying on the steel-cold examining table, flesh bared to the world. My doctor is lingering a bit too long while examining my left breast. Okay mister, I know they’re nice, but this is a bit too weird. Then the dreaded question: “Have you felt anything different during your self-breast exams?” I answer, “The twins are so lumpy I can’t really tell what I’m feeling.”

 

Exam over, I’m sitting across from “weird doctor man” and he rolls his stool up close to me, looks me in the eye and says, “I want you to see a surgeon. ” Time stops, I’m choking, I can’t breathe. Huge drops of liquid threaten to burst from my eyes. My mind flashes back twenty years to the first lump. A surgeon, well this is it. My life is about to change forever.

 

I met with a surgeon and after an exam, and some tests it was confirmed; I didn’t have cancer, but I did indeed have old, bumpy, lumpy, fibroid ridden boobs. In fact these were the surgeon’s very words, “You’re fine, you’ve just got old boobs.” Never, have I been so happy to have someone say I have ancient boobs.

 

None of us know if we’ll be the next cancer victims. There are no guarantees in life. We can try to take care of ourselves, eat lots of foods with antioxidants, exercise into a size 6, drink plenty of water and that still may not be enough. Cancer does not discriminate: Young, old, rich, poor, white, black, pretty or ugly. It latches its creepy, crawling fibers around our inner most being and squeezes the joy, and sometimes life from us.

 

But this blog is not about me; it’s about all whose diagnosis was not good like mine. I have three special friends who were not as blessed, or lucky as I’ve been. Their prognosis was not “old boob syndrome.” Theirs was the worst, breast cancer. One friend is almost a twenty-year survivor. She chose to have a total mastectomy. Another friend is close to being a ten-year survivor. She had a mastectomy and reconstructive surgery at the same time. And, the other friend has just been declared cancer free. She had a lumpectomy. Every case is different. A woman has to decide for herself the right course of treatment.

 

A few days ago I had the privilege of attending the Fall Fitting Event at Bridge Street Pharmacy in my hometown of Elkin. This event is held twice a year for women who have had mastectomies. They had An ABC Breast Care Specialist on site for private fittings and consultations. I met some amazing, strong and beautiful women. I was honored to have been asked to share the day with them.

 

Debbie, the equipment manager at Bridge Street Pharmacy grabbed my hand when I got there that day and said, “Come with me. I want to show you something.” In the fitting room hung four frames that held some pretty wild looking bras. Under each was script describing each bra. I was touched to tears. Alexis Owen wrote the inscriptions. I want to share parts of what each said.

 

Shattered:

The mosaic bra represents the initial shock that a woman and her family go through when she is first diagnosed with breast cancer. The broken mirror signifies the distorted self-image that a woman faces as she goes through the drastic treatments associated with breast cancer.

 

Surgery:

The post surgical bra donated by Wear Ease, Inc. represents an important step in a woman’s recovery process. These bras are worn home from the hospital after a mastectomy procedure.

 

Renewal:

Recovering from breast cancer can be a long and difficult process. Many people are aware of the side effects associated with chemo and radiation therapies, but don’t consider the long-term side effect associated with breast cancer surgery, such as lymphedema. This bra represents the long emotional journey a woman takes to feel whole again after bring diagnosed.

 

Tough Titties:

This tougher than nails bra was inspired by the strength and courage of every woman that has been diagnosed with breast cancer.

 

Cancer can shatter us, slice us open and devour our earthly bodies, but with time comes healing and renewal. Tough titties may sound crude, but being tough is a way of life for all those who are fighting cancer. Remember, you’re not alone, Jesus knows all about having to be tougher than nails. God bless you all.

 

 

A Quiet Place

Matthew 14:23

After he had dismissed them, he went up on a mountainside by himself to pray…

 

Mark 6:31

Then, because so many people were coming and going that they did not even have a chance to eat, he said to them, “Come with me by yourselves to a quiet place and get some rest.”

 

After an amazing day with my friend, Debbie Wall the illustrator of, “The Manger Mouse” signing copies of our new children’s picture book on Saturday at The Yadkin Valley Pumpkin Festival in Elkin, NC my husband and I snuck off to a far away place in the woods. A spot where the mountains meet the sky and the fog shrouds the lofty peaks. We traveled to my third favorite point on this earth. My home in Elkin is first, and my camper on the New River is second.

 

Cades Cove, Tennessee holds a special place in my heart and life. I can go to this haven and forget all my worries and to-do-lists… well almost. For twenty years I have journeyed up Highway 40 or Highway 81 to the Smoky Mountains. I either travel through Gatlinburg, or, Pigeon Forge depending on the route I choose to take. Notice I said I travel “through” these tourist traps. I have no desire to stop and take in a music show, or, shop at the hundreds of places that stretch for miles lining both sides of the street through these towns. Now there’s nothing wrong with doing that it’s just not my thing

 

There is a far, fairer land I’m destined for. A place where deer, turkey, coyote, fox, wolves, and black bear roam freely. A spot where you can dip your toes in a crystal clear stream, take a hike on one of the many trails, or just sit by Abram’s Falls and think of nothing but how at peace you are. Or, you might want to tour the gristmill, meander through Carter Shields cabin, or stop and say a silent prayer in the old Primitive Baptist Church.

 

Even with all the people crowding the one-way, eleven-mile loop I can still find the magic of the mountains, and, the people who once lived there. I can close my eyes and picture a huge mama bear shooing her cubs up a tree so they’ll be out of reach of us humans who come in droves to spot the magnificent creatures. I can hear the clanging of the bell that once hung around the milk cows neck when she came in from the meadow for her evening milking, and, the laughter of children as they ran barefoot chasing butterflies.

 

To have lived back in the late 1800’s when Cades Cove was an active community would have been a hard, but wonderful life. Back then we wouldn’t have had to worry about the government shutting down, and we probably wouldn’t have known it if it had. People back then grew their own food, raised a hog or two to slaughter, hunted deer and trapped for beaver and mink in the nearby streams. They were self-reliant. I often tell people I should have been born a hundred years ago. I love the land, the mountains, and, it’s creatures. But most of all I yearn for the peace that I find in this wonderland called Cades Cove. Even Jesus needed a quiet place to rest sometimes.

 

(Hope to see you at the Autumn Jubilee at Dan Nicholas Park in Salisbury, NC this Saturday and Sunday, October 5-6.)

A Christmas Story For Sale

I am so excited! Last week my first children’s picture book arrived at my front, no, actually it was at my back basement door via a FedEx truck. I don’t know what it is about this little book that makes it so special to me. Maybe it’s because I wrote it for my granddaughter, Emma. Or, it might be because it is a Christmas story, or maybe it’s because an old friend from way back when illustrated it.

 

Since writing this story a few years ago there have been times when I thought I would never find an illustrator. I talked with several artists that I knew asking them if they’d read my story, The Manger Mouse and consider doing the illustrations. One was a tattoo artist who does beautiful work. I even sat down several times and tried to pencil the image of a mouse myself. I found out really quick that I’d better stick to words instead of trying to draw images.

 

I asked my very own sister, Gail if she’d try. When we were growing up Gail would sketch the most beautiful scenes.  Unfortunately she stopped drawing. A busy life stole her talent. She didn’t have time, or take the time to hone her craft. A few weeks passed after giving her the story and I asked her how the drawing was going. She answered,“ I can’t draw anymore.” I really don’t know if you can lose a gift like that, but I guess the old saying must apply. If you don’t use it, you’ll lose it. Wouldn’t that have been so cool, sisters creating a picture book together? Maybe someday my sister and I will try again.

 

Back in October of 2010 I heard that an old classmates mother had passed away. Debbie Wall and I used to spend the night with one another in elementary school and stomp around in the creek below my house. Of course I would go and pay my respects to her, and her family after the passing of her mother.

 

At the funeral home Debbie and I were talking about old times and where life had taken us. Debbie now lived in Richmond, Virginia and was an artist. She did portraits of animals and sketches of old barns and such. Debbie offered to email me some of her work.

 

In a few days I got an email from her and attached were some pictures that she had drawn. I fell in love with the warmth of her sketches. The scenes were alive with color and feeling. At that time I wasn’t seriously considering trying to get The Manger Mouse published. I hadn’t even submitted it to a publisher. So I didn’t really think about asking Debbie about doing the illustrations.

 

Fast-forward almost two years.  I submit The Manger Mouse to my publisher and they love the story and want to publish it. They tell me they will even supply the illustrator. Problem solved. Not. I didn’t want a stranger drawing the pictures for Emma’s Christmas story. I wanted someone I knew.

 

After being let down once again by yet another “want to be illustrator” I became frustrated and decided to just forget it. It wasn’t meant for this little story to be told to the world. Then images of Debbie’s rustic barns started floating through my mind. I think, what the heck. What can it hurt? I’ll give this thing one more chance. So I email Debbie and ask her if she’d consider the job. We began talking and I send her a copy of The Manger Mouse. Pretty soon we were discussing deadlines, book dimensions, and sketch width and depth. That was over a year ago.

 

The Manger Mouse has been a labor of love, determination and mutual respect, author to illustrator, and illustrator to author. There were times this past year when I thought, Why am I doing this? Debbie and I are both in over our heads. Yes, I can write a pretty good story, and no doubt Debbie can draw beautiful pictures, but, neither one of us knew one thing about the mechanics of how to create a children’s picture book.

 

Not knowing the meaning of the words, “give up” we trudge forward. After Debbie’s many hours of research and sending tons of emails back and forth to the design department at our publishing house, Ambassador International we finally were ready to submit the story, and illustrations to the publisher. Debbie even broke her shoulder about half way through drawing the illustrations. The Devil worked really hard to stop the presses on this little book.

 

I truly believe that any two other women would have thrown in the towel. But God had a plan in mind when he brought two like-minded kids together back in grade school. He knew that forty years later these old buddies would meet again and deliver a book to the world that would glorify Him. Two old friends with a streak of stubbornness were the pair to get this job done. To God be the glory, and to His Son, Jesus I dedicate the release of this story and art.

 

This Saturday, September 28th Debbie is traveling down from her home in Richmond, Virginia and will join me at the Pumpkin Festival in our hometown of Elkin, N.C. Together we’ll be signing copies of The Manger Mouse. I don’t know about you, but I think it’s pretty special that two old friends who hadn’t seen each other in three decades reunite to publish a book together.

 

Looking forward to seeing you on Saturday.

A Christmas Story For Sale

I am so excited! Last week my first children’s picture book arrived at my front, no, actually it was at my back basement door via a FedEx truck. I don’t know what it is about this little book that makes it so special to me. Maybe it’s because I wrote it for my granddaughter, Emma. Or, it might be because it is a Christmas story, or maybe it’s because an old friend from way back when illustrated it.

Since writing this story a few years ago there have been times when I thought I would never find an illustrator. I talked with several artists that I knew asking them if they’d read my story, The Manger Mouse and consider doing the illustrations. One was a tattoo artist who does beautiful work. I even sat down several times and tried to pencil the image of a mouse myself. I found out really quick that I’d better stick to words instead of trying to draw images.

I asked my very own sister, Gail if she’d try. When we were growing up Gail would sketch the most beautiful scenes. Unfortunately she stopped drawing. A busy life stole her talent. She didn’t have time, or take the time to hone her craft. A few weeks passed after giving her the story and I asked her how the drawing was going. She answered,“ I can’t draw anymore.” I really don’t know if you can lose a gift like that, but I guess the old saying must apply. If you don’t use it, you’ll lose it. Wouldn’t that have been so cool, sisters creating a picture book together? Maybe someday my sister and I will try again.

Back in October of 2010 I heard that an old classmates mother had passed away. Debbie Wall and I used to spend the night with one another in elementary school and stomp around in the creek below my house. Of course I would go and pay my respects to her, and her family after the passing of her mother.

At the funeral home Debbie and I were talking about old times and where life had taken us. Debbie now lived in Richmond, Virginia and was an artist. She did portraits of animals and sketches of old barns and such. Debbie offered to email me some of her work.

In a few days I got an email from her and attached were some pictures that she had drawn. I fell in love with the warmth of her sketches. The scenes were alive with color and feeling. At that time I wasn’t seriously considering trying to get The Manger Mouse published. I hadn’t even submitted it to a publisher. So I didn’t really think about asking Debbie about doing the illustrations.

Fast-forward almost two years. I submit The Manger Mouse to my publisher and they love the story and want to publish it. They tell me they will even supply the illustrator. Problem solved. Not. I didn’t want a stranger drawing the pictures for Emma’s Christmas story. I wanted someone I knew.

After being let down once again by yet another “want to be illustrator” I became frustrated and decided to just forget it. It wasn’t meant for this little story to be told to the world. Then images of Debbie’s rustic barns started floating through my mind. I think, what the heck. What can it hurt? I’ll give this thing one more chance. So I email Debbie and ask her if she’d consider the job. We began talking and I send her a copy of The Manger Mouse. Pretty soon we were discussing deadlines, book dimensions, and sketch width and depth. That was over a year ago.

The Manger Mouse has been a labor of love, determination and mutual respect, author to illustrator, and illustrator to author. There were times this past year when I thought, Why am I doing this? Debbie and I are both in over our heads. Yes, I can write a pretty good story, and no doubt Debbie can draw beautiful pictures, but, neither one of us knew one thing about the mechanics of how to create a children’s picture book.

Not knowing the meaning of the words, “give up” we trudge forward. After Debbie’s many hours of research and sending tons of emails back and forth to the design department at our publishing house, Ambassador International we finally were ready to submit the story, and illustrations to the publisher. Debbie even broke her shoulder about half way through drawing the illustrations. The Devil worked really hard to stop the presses on this little book.

I truly believe that any two other women would have thrown in the towel. But God had a plan in mind when he brought two like-minded kids together back in grade school. He knew that forty years later these old buddies would meet again and deliver a book to the world that would glorify Him. Two old friends with a streak of stubbornness were the pair to get this job done. To God be the glory, and to His Son, Jesus I dedicate the release of this story and art.

This Saturday, September 28th Debbie is traveling down from her home in Richmond, Virginia and will join me at the Pumpkin Festival in our hometown of Elkin, N.C. Together we’ll be signing copies of The Manger Mouse. I don’t know about you, but I think it’s pretty special that two old friends who hadn’t seen each other in three decades reunite to publish a book together.

Looking forward to seeing you on Saturday.