A.K. Frailey's Blog, page 5
March 1, 2024
Psychological Safety
A feeling of psychological safety encourages positive behavior in both professional and personal settings. Still, in our modern world, where boundaries are crossed randomly and often, we need inner defense systems.
Psychologically speaking, fiction serves humanity well. There is a reason why libraries and bookstores flourished during war times. As a bookseller, Amazon didn’t grow humongous by chance. The nature of a story takes the reader someplace else, offering a respite from present reality.
It’s still winter here, and though the temperature has kindly risen above the Arctic zone of late, the damp chill in the air still adds speed to my steps as I make my daily rounds. While patting various doggy heads and giving tummy rubs to cats who flop at my feet in desperate need of a little loving, I find myself torn between the glory of winter starkness and the dream of spring sunshine.
News today—much of it frightening, grievous, and perplexing—leaves us wondering what to believe and how to manage an overwhelming reality we can’t simplify, full of wounded people we cannot heal. Being misunderstood by others swirling in the mix adds another layer of discomfort to our disturbingly far-from-the-sun world.
How do we defend ourselves? Does escaping into imaginary worlds offer psychological safety? For me—yes! As a writer and a reader, I process real-world realities better if I get away from them and consider the core issues from a distant perspective, allowing characters (As well as authors) to play out various scenarios and see what happens.
I am reading a short story, a novel, and I am plodding through a dense biography this week. The short story entitled Mr. Cat by Eleanor Arnason enchanted me. Even the early symptoms of the stomach flu didn’t bother me as I climbed inside the story and got to know the fascinating characters and their dilemma. The plot revolves around an unusual cat who wants to buy a dragon and all the trouble that brings him. Though it was never stated and there wasn’t a hint of a “lesson to be learned” in the story, the notion of having to rethink plans in the light of unexpected consequences shone a light on personal realities.
I also read a suggested novel about a witch, The Witch of Tessingham Hall by Sinead Spearing, and though uncomfortable with a few profane words scattered about and the whole notion of “magic and witchcraft,” I forged ahead and discovered a much deeper story with a stronger moral base than I expected. The author did not inspire my confidence in her astute understanding of the moral conundrum of evil and curses, but she was able to introduce a character of faith and allow him to offer a bit of wisdom. The comment about Catholics being the ones to respond to the issue of evil “because they still believe it” made me sit up and take notice. It was a profound comment that even the author may not have realized when she wrote it. It suggested that we are works in progress and may scatter shafts of light even when we are not so enlightened ourselves.
The Heart of a Woman: The Life and Music of Florence B. Price is not an easy read. It’s a dense academic work with a huge amount of research behind it. It details the struggle of a professional black woman in the US during the early 1900s as she attempts to gain the recognition she deserves. The history of Black Americans has been told through so many narrow channels that this resource offers a breakthrough of factual content along with an inspiring life story. Serendipitously, I have had to manage a second-hand conflict with someone whose background I understood better after reading this book. I may never truly comprehend other people’s perspectives, but I can accept that painful history still shapes the lives of those around me.
The light of perspective nurtures growth and healing. The time to rethink old narratives, consider other people’s perspectives, add the space necessary to abandon the untrue and unworthy, refuse unjust blame while keeping compassion alive, and simply enjoy fresh scenery, offers peace of mind, which is a key ingredient in psychological safety. Mental balance and chosen attitudes go a long way toward positive behavior. In today’s frenetic, overanxious climate, a source of psychological safety might just be a good book.
A. K. Frailey is the author of 18 books, a teacher for 35 years, and a homeschooling mother of 8. Make the most of life’s journey. For novels, short stories, poems, and non-fiction inspirational books, check out A. K. Frailey’s Amazon Author Page
My Road Goes Ever On, Spiritual Being, Human Journey
“Fresh inspiration for the day on life, love, and overcoming obstacles with faith.” ~CBM
It Might Have Been and Other Stories
“One of the strengths of the collection is the author’s ability to create an entire world in just a few pages, leaving the reader wanting more.” ~Gina Mitchell
“Great book on the ageless battle of good vs evil…it gives depth and increased meaning to the thoughts and hearts of the characters.” ~Reader
“It’s a delightful experience to explore the unexpected twists and turns within the narrative, making it a perfect choice for relaxation and entertainment.” ~Brian Mccoppin
For a complete list of books by A. K. Frailey, book trailers, and reviews, check out A. K. Frailey’s Books Page For translated versions of A. K. Frailey’s Books, check out A. K. Frailey’s Translated BooksPhoto https://pixabay.com/pt/illustrations/arvores-rostos-di%C3%A1logo-nervos-6361892/
The post Psychological Safety first appeared on The Writings of A. K. Frailey.
February 2, 2024
Literarily Possible
Over the years, I have followed what is Literarily Possible, crafting my best work while attempting to put it before readers’ eyes. Then I get on with life.
Though “doing the impossible” is often romanticized as part of the “Hero’s Journey” the recognition that we all have limits and some things, even noble endeavors, simply can’t be accomplished as we wish is part of the human journey.
To write words on paper or the blank slate of a Word doc is not that difficult. Good ideas can be had by dozens. There are certainly plenty of old ideas and “real-life” stories that could be worked into fresh material. I’ve read and edited plenty of “good ideas.” I’ve even written a few. But crafting a good idea into a worthy novel is another task altogether. There is a lot more that goes into “writing” than writing.
As a college student, I realized that though I had experienced a great deal, I had not sifted through those experiences well enough to put them into any sort of order. I didn’t have the distance to understand what they meant, and I most certainly didn’t have the larger world context to put them into proper perspective. I put off both writing and publishing for several years. Good thing, too.
Later in life and once the ingredients of a good story had come together, my ideas still needed a great deal of work. Rewriting is part of writing. So is professional editing, proofreading, and formatting. Taking words apart and refitting them together so that they flow sensibly and beautifully produces more than a body of written words. Literature is an art form. Words not only speak but they can also sing. On the page and in the mind and heart.
So though I cannot honestly say that I—even yet—craft great literature, at least I can state that I do enjoy the crafting process, playing in the mud of wordy sentences, squeezing meaning from alphabetical nonsense, and dancing with poetical sounds. All doable. When time permits and thinking space allows, words flow and stories grow.
Putting my work before readers is another challenge altogether. My latest endeavors included writing to every Christian and every Illinois newspaper, magazine, and online resource I could find—pages of them—and sending an introductory letter with contact information. The outcome of that exercise has yet to be seen. It may be little more than silence. Sobeit. Limitations are real.
Since December 2023, I have continued to write for literary journals and notable magazines. In this, I have found some version of success. Though it has been a challenge, I have enjoyed creating work for journals and magazines with their readership specifically in mind. Good thing that my inner literary acrobats like to run across unknown landscapes toward unexpected adventures.
Here’s my list of submissions up to date. My Literarily Possible is not dependent on acceptance but on living creatively.
American Short Fiction—Short Story—She Would Fly
Bellevue Literary Review—Essay Reflection—Life Is Not as It Ought to Be
Next Generation Short Story Contest—Short Story—Living Art
Arcturus—Short Story—Learn Anything Useful
Flare Journal—Essay Reflection—AI and Creative Nature
Narrative—Short Story—The Veil
The New Yorker—Short Story—Thought Reader
London Review of Books—Short Story—On Our Present Course
Rethinking Schools—Essay Reflection—A Humanitarian Inspiration
Guideposts—Essay Reflection—We’ve No Less Days
Harpers—Short Story—Witty and Sly
Along with the usual life issues, keeping the refrigerator stocked with enough food to keep the bodies and souls of my family together, I have also been assisting two GED students to reach their educational goals. Both have passed all their tests—except for math. I am working with them as needed to accomplish their worthy goals. My second student, Matt, had been forging ahead despite incredible odds. He has suffered from Cerebral Palsy since he was born and is wheelchair-bound. Yet he does not give up. No matter the setback, he finds a way to move on. An amazing guy who makes the ordinary trials of my day pale into insignificance. He is undoubtedly one of the reasons why I don’t get as dispirited as I used to about roadblocks and unmet expectations. As Matt has shown me in Living Color, life is meant to be crafted as carefully as any great story. Make it sing—even if you’re occasionally off-key.
I’ve also accepted two new editing assignments that have kept me busy. One value of editing is remembering that the little things matter. Each author has his or her unique voice, which should be respected, but words have a way of getting tangled from the head to the page. Seeing the sheer variety of ways we can lose our meaning is a great incentive to try harder to keep a straight, true line while writing.
My cemetery work has been fairly quiet of late, though I have a state report to fill out, which I dread. Never comfortable with official forms, I usually sidle up to them like a hunted animal, fearful of hidden snares. Being a volunteer with nothing to hide, I should brazen my way through the form with the confidence born of honest dedication. But that’s not my way. I tread across the landscape of official reports with all due caution. Probably just as well.
March will bring Illinois Primaries, so election judges will once again gather for official training, this time in February. Always amazed at the dedicated souls who show up, listen, learn, and carry out their service, I find I can’t begrudge my time. I am a citizen, and I want our democratic process to succeed. Though we have an imperfect realization of noble ideals, still, it’s still best to keep trying. Giving up doesn’t do much good.
It’s freezing cold today with snow still on the ground and ice expected tomorrow. I am supposed to take my two youngest for their last few Drivers Ed classes this week. Monday school may be canceled. Though I am eager to see the end of the Drivers Ed journey, I look back on teaching my eldest boys to drive in an old van that had electrical issues (the windshield wipers would go on and off at will) and the door had a habit of falling off unexpectedly, and I realize that we have come a long way. Once my two youngest pass their final tests and get their last hours in, this will make a total of eight competent drivers on the road, most often heading to classes or to work. Teaching a young person to drive is not easy—in my experience—but the fruit of diligence and speed praying is sweet. The job gets done.
Please remember me in your good thoughts and, if you pray, keep us in yours, as my readers are always in mine.
A. K. Frailey is the author of 18 books, a teacher for 35 years, and a homeschooling mother of 8. Make the most of life’s journey. For novels, short stories, poems, and non-fiction inspirational books, check out A. K. Frailey’s Amazon Author Page
“The history is fascinating, the characters are uniquely intriguing, the plot is very rich, and the events are fascinating.” ~OnlineBookClub
“Highly imaginative and intelligently executed, Last of Her Kind is a spellbinding science fiction that is rich in imagery, rippling with conflict, and peppered with deeply moving scenes.” ~ The Book Commentary
It Might Have Been and Other Stories
“A well-crafted collection of contemporary short stories that offers insight into the human experience, with all its joys and sorrows.” ~Gina Mitchell
My Road Goes Ever On, Spiritual Being, Human Journey
“I loved reading Ann’s wise, hope-giving thoughts about life and love. Truly, life is the art of overcoming obstacles and becoming stronger to live a fuller life. Beautiful work!” ~Ksenia
For a complete list of books by A. K. Frailey, book trailers, and reviews, check out A. K. Frailey’s Books Page For translated versions of A. K. Frailey’s Books, check out A. K. Frailey’s Translated BooksPhoto https://pixabay.com/pt/illustrations/ai-gerado-castelo-livro-escrever-8453146/
The post Literarily Possible first appeared on The Writings of A. K. Frailey.
January 5, 2024
Book Dreams
Book Dreams keep me moving forward despite the treacherous landscape life sometimes lays before my feet. To wallow in “what is not” or “what might have been” is to slip into self-pity, which rarely does anyone any good.
The end of 2023 challenged the status quo in my established writing habits. Two major factors forced me to rethink how I managed my writing career up to this point. First was the overall lack of sales, which reflected a lack of “reach” or making the necessary connections to my kind of readers. The second was a Facebook fiasco when my personal page was hacked and suspended by Meta. A loss of thousands of connections seemed to portend a tragic downturn in sales, but to my surprise, sales for the month increased.
Taking a hard look at my historical approach to media, I had to admit that the advice to “get on social media” did not pan out as planned. Social media channels reflect an overwhelming and turbulent current that opposes the kind of trust and personal relationship needed to gain authentic readership. In addition, paid services almost always cost me more money than they returned. Furthermore, professional marketers tried hard but were only as good as their connections—which usually were not specifically targeted to my audience. General “good ideas” can become expensive rabbit holes that lead nowhere in particular.
I’ve been reading biographies of famous authors for years, and my focused interest of late has lay with Beatrix Potter, who wrote and illustrated children’s stories, Robert E. Howard, who wrote Sword and Sorcery/Weird Fiction, and Harper Lee who wrote one outstanding book, yet each were highly influential writers who touched humanity in unprecedented ways. The writers I’ve read about this year lived unique lives, and none of them had it easy. Even early fame has its drawbacks.
What struck me most powerfully about their experiences was the sympathetic connection between the specific writer and his or her readers. Well beyond geographic or nationalistic identities, religious preferences, and economic or social standing, each author transcended their place and time and managed to connect to the unquantifiable, sometimes mislabeled, parts of the human experience—body, mind & soul.
Though these authors’ personal choices sometimes horrified me—as in Howard’s decision to kill himself—their struggle to understand the world and his or her quest to partake in the human conversation, to add their voice to the human chorus, speaks to the deep seeded human need for authentic connection as individuals in the greater wholeness of our human race.
Though writing is not necessarily referred to as a spiritual experience, creating art in any form is, in my mind, akin to dreaming, praying, meditating, and reaching beyond self toward the greater human journey and supernatural realities, which no one this side of the grave can fully define or explain.
So a new year begins, but eternity continues as it always has—reaching out and reaching within. I must do the same.
This year I am allowing myself dedicated prayer time, a slower unhurried pace to ponder whatever life brings my way—be it a frolicsome squirrel, a flat tire, or a new GED student. I am also reaching out to newspapers and magazines—introducing myself and my work, querying literary journals with stories and reflections they might find acceptable, querying literary agents, and following wherever the characters in my newest novel might lead.
So far, I’ve received abundant silence, four rejections, two generous interviews, and one “let-me-take-a-closer-look-and-get-back-to-you” email.
Only the good God knows what this new year, 2024, will bring. But I’ll keep dreaming…
A. K. Frailey is the author of 18 books, a teacher for 35 years, and a homeschooling mother of 8. Make the most of life’s journey. For novels, short stories, poems, and non-fiction inspirational books, check out A. K. Frailey’s Amazon Author Page
It Might Have Been and Other Stories
“heartfelt, down-to-earth stories filled with real-life experiences and emotions that you can almost feel like you are experiencing them as you read. She’s one of the best authors I’ve ever read.” ~Ron
My Road Goes Ever On, Spiritual Being, Human Journey
“I loved reading Ann’s wise, hope-giving thoughts about life and love. Truly, life is the art of overcoming obstacles and becoming stronger to live a fuller life. Beautiful work!” ~Ksenia
My Road Goes Ever On A Timeless Journey
“The author blends articles that bring fresh inspiration for the day on life, love, and overcoming obstacles with faith.” ~CBR
For a complete list of books by A. K. Frailey, book trailers, and reviews, check out A. K. Frailey’s Books Page For translated versions of A. K. Frailey’s Books, check out A. K. Frailey’s Translated BooksPhoto https://pixabay.com/pt/photos/mulher-cama-sonhe-sono-2714174/
The post Book Dreams first appeared on The Writings of A. K. Frailey.
December 8, 2023
New Directions
New Directions in life can bring all sorts of fresh opportunities. Recently I have had to face the harsh realities of our technological world. My debit card was hacked and then my Facebook account was hacked and suspended. The bank helped me with the debit card, but Facebook has hard and fast rules, and it’s a tough terrain to navigate. I realized that I had picked up quite a few suspicious followers, and they were linking through many of my online systems but, silly me, I stepped in the wrong puddle and found my account sinking into a hacked account abyss.
It’s one of those moments when I have to make a hard call: start over and try to rebuild an account that had taken me years to build or simply go in a fresh direction. I have chosen a fresh direction. No hard feelings for Facebook. They have every right to suspend an account that threatens the safety of their world. I am just sorry to have lost contact with the many followers who were legitimately interested in my work.
For 2024, my goal is to continue writing, but instead of posting new stories, poems, and reflections on my website every Friday, I will apply to various literary journals and magazines to see what luck I may have in a new environment. Plus, some of them actually pay! What a “novel” idea. I will continue to post updates and excerpts at least once a month. More information can be found in my monthly newsletter. It’s on the bottom of the Home page if you’re interested in signing up.
I have completed the next Newearth novel, Newearth Progeny.
Clare wants a baby of her very own but without the messy pregnancy complications. A biomb, an eager Cresta scientist with good intentions, and an innocent Neanderthal whose DNA can save an entire race from extinction set in motion a dangerous future the Eternals worried about but could not halt.I am applying to literary agents to see if I might find a larger home for my work.
The next novel, Newearth Relevance is in the works with all sorts of interesting new characters telling me about their lives, challenges, hardships, visions, and, most of all, what makes their lives worth living.
As a side note, my Facebook Glendale Cemetery account was also suspended, so I hope to address that issue through our developing non-profit group Let’s Grow Fillmore. Perhaps we can join forces—adding updates on the wonderful supporters of Glendale Cemetery along with new developments in our small town? We shall see what exciting new directions a Facebook suspension means for down-to-earth followers interested in making a real difference in people’s lives.
As for the whimsical picture I used, it brings me a strange sense of joy to imagine gnomes, elves, fairy folk, and beings just beyond our sight who might celebrate a meal together on a snowy evening. The best of us allows our imaginative God to speak to us through our creative nature, and perhaps, if we are lucky, we will move beyond temporary disappointments and step boldly forward in new directions.
A. K. Frailey is the author of 18 books, a teacher for 35 years, and a homeschooling mother of 8. Make the most of life’s journey. For novels, short stories, poems, and non-fiction inspirational books, check out https://www.amazon.com/author/akfrailey
“Woah! What a splendid novel… This book is fantastic sci-fi, featuring unique characters. Frailey definitely seems like a well-read individual who knows how to write.” ~Emily Henry
“Science fiction at its best! Creative, thought-provoking, and visual.” ~Lindens
My Road Goes Ever On, Spiritual Being, Human Journey
“A collection of insightful and encouraging blog posts from the author. The author blends articles that bring fresh inspiration for the day on life, love, and overcoming obstacles with faith.” ~CBM
My Road Goes Ever On A Timeless Journey
“Sometimes I feel sad about things, personal and…the world, and find inspiration in your stories.” ~Edith Fréccia
For a complete list of books by A. K. Frailey, book trailers, and reviews, check out A. K. Frailey’s Books Page For translated versions of A. K. Frailey’s Books, check out A. K. Frailey’s Translated BooksPhoto https://pixabay.com/pt/illustrations/ai-gerado-natal-elfos-inverno-neve-8376836/
The post New Directions first appeared on The Writings of A. K. Frailey.
December 1, 2023
OldEarth Ishtar Encounter Audible
I am happy to announce that the second book in the OldEarth series, OldEarth Ishtar Encounter Audible is now available. Madrid Castillo did an outstanding job.
Ishtar halted and stared ahead at a barren landscape. His long, unkempt hair blew around his dirt-smeared face. A rough beard sprouted along his jawline, accenting the hollows of his cheeks.
The sun rose into a hazy sky. Clouds swirled through the red glow of an angry firmament that bespoke of troubles in the heavens. A sharp breeze blew, and a line of pine trees behind him groaned in warning.
His toes bled onto the hard rocky ground. Ishtar peered at his torn skin and clothes—a ragged loincloth and a sleeveless tunic—hung loosely about him as if they might sail into the wild wind. Long strands of hair obscured his vision, but his ears thrilled to the howling wind through the heavy pine boughs. His lean body, sunken to near emaciation, bowed to the tempest. Neither fear nor pain accosted him.
He waited. But death did not come. Pain did not come. Sorrow did not fill his heart. He felt nothing. He cared for nothing. He wondered if he had, in fact, become nothing. Was he a man or had mere shadow engulfed his very being?
Without thought, he strode on.
The sun crawled overhead as he paced out his measured steps. Slipping on an incline, he instinctively grabbed hold of a rock embedded in the dirt to steady his balance. He climbed for time uncounted and, without interest, crossed a flat expanse.
Finally, the fog-ridden landscape cleared. To his utter amazement, he peered across an enormous desert. After an entranced moment, he glanced down at his torn feet and realized with the first tremor of fear that he stood with his toes pointing over a vast and mighty cliff edge. If he took one more step, he would fall to a bone-crushing death.
In the distance, mountains dwarfed the hills he had already ascended. Purples, blues, and pinks vied with one another to create a rainbow landscape over the barren land.
He gasped, sucking in the breathtaking beauty. Tears coursed down his cheeks. Grimacing in pain, he curled his toes around the rocky ledge. Birds, swirling in the heights, crisscrossed one another in innocent delight, dancing for him alone.
Ishtar raised his hand to his face and brushed his hair behind his ear. He stared at the glorious sky, never looking down to the depths that beckoned.
A vision of Pele, her gentle eyes set in her perfectly oval face, wisps of hair swirling as if in the evening breeze, swayed before him. But unlike the birds, she gazed upon his troubled face. A faint message traveled through the harsh wind. “You live, Ishtar. Begin again.”
Ishtar’s heart pummeled his chest. Begin again? He was an exile, an outcast—no longer a man. Twice cursed. Was redemption possible after such a fall?
The birds faded like specks of dust into the horizon as his vision paled into vaporous clouds. He stared into the suddenly clear blue sky and wiped away fresh tears.
He took one step back.
A. K. Frailey is the author of 18 books, a teacher for 35 years, and a homeschooling mother of 8. Make the most of life’s journey. For novels, short stories, poems, and non-fiction inspirational books, check out A. K. Frailey’s Amazon Author Page
OldEarth Ishtar Encounter Audible
“The story was wonderful and well written.” ~Culver
OldEarth Aram Encounter Audible
“I was drawn into a world and its characters from early on in the story, and my interest only developed as I immersed myself into this well-developed and intriguing epic tale.” ~Jim S
“Well written…and adventure-filled. Readers both young and old will enjoy.” ~My Book Addiction
“Frailey has a wonderful knack for developing characters and plot lines…I enjoyed my journey with the different characters as they learned and grew from their experiences…” ~Laura O
“a remarkably effective mix of bittersweet romance and murder mystery—one that also examines the dynamics of politics and power as well as cultural conflicts via the personal perspectives of a family of intriguing, earnest characters.” ~Kirkus Review
For a complete list of books by A. K. Frailey, book trailers, and reviews, check out A. K. Frailey’s Books Page For translated versions of A. K. Frailey’s Books, check out A. K. Frailey’s Translated BooksPhoto https://pixabay.com/pt/illustrations/fantasia-deserto-camelos-tempestade-4755222/
The post OldEarth Ishtar Encounter Audible first appeared on The Writings of A. K. Frailey.
November 24, 2023
Loveable Libraries & Bookstores
No matter how dominant Artificial Intelligence may become in our society, there will always be a place in my heart for Loveable Libraries & Bookstores.
I’m sitting outside under a canopy of yellow-gold leaves and understand—in the depth of my being—why Tolkien filled the magical land of Lothlorien with late autumn colors. There is something surreal about rustling, twirling golden leaves above, and the soft crunch of a soft brown carpet of foliage underfoot. Drowsy peace fills me, and I find myself in a living dreamland.
It’s unusual to be sitting in the backyard without a coat this time of the year, but I’ll enjoy the sunny warmth and peaceful beauty along with the blue jays, cardinals, sparrows, squirrels, and various other critter-kind who are bustling about in surprised joy.
This week I’ve been pondering libraries and bookstores, wondering if they are doomed or pointing the way toward something we always knew but almost forgot. As far as I know, our town of Fillmore never had a library of its own. The nearest library was a volunteer project set up by worthy individuals in the next town over. Unfortunately, it closed a couple of years back. COVID did not help. Its demise seemed inevitable at the time. Lots of great books but not enough interest.
Still, my kids are insatiable readers, so I went to the larger town of Hillsboro and paid the annual fee (since I was out of the district) to borrow their books. The librarian told me that they were moving to a new building and expanding. I thought she must be mad. How on earth would she manage to keep a library vibrant in a post-COVID world with millions of online books and Amazon freebies?
I was in for a surprise. When I was finally able to get over there—with my daughter who needed fresh books—I discovered a community center armed with the latest technology, meeting rooms, private workstations, public computer stations, and much more. Heck, they even had a puzzle table where anyone could join in the fun.
What was more surprising was my daughter’s love of the place. Their selection of history and biography books attracted her like bees to honey. Sure, I can buy books for her from Amazon, but since she doesn’t always know what she wants, a taste of several books gives her lots of options, without the guilt of having asked for a book she later discovers she doesn’t like.
We still buy books! Lots of them. But the taste-and-see variety available at a friendly library allows us to pursue a much greater spectrum of interests. And there is much to be said for a welcome center for knitting/quilting circles, tutoring sessions, community meetings, and a warm inviting place to read and study without having to buy copious cups of coffee. Memories of the hours I spent at UWM’s multi-level library, finding the perfect corner to settle down and read, still fill me with the happy glow of peace and good fortune.
Bookstores offer much the same sensation but with the personal pride of a business owner who loves his or her work. I know of two bookstores that have closed over the years, but like the land of Lothlorien and the fabled halls of literature, I trust in the deep yearning within human beings to touch the pages of their favorite books, in much the same way that we need to caress our children, pat a dog, cuddle a kitten, and embrace our family and friends.
As impersonal AI and online services invade our world ever more deeply, I pray to God that we don’t forget the value of dedicated librarians and passionate bookstore owners.
May we have the opportunity to search through countless shelves, find a quiet corner to spread out our selection, and then delight in choosing our next adventure. Or, if very blessed, perhaps we will pluck the perfect illustrated storybook off a shelf, then scurry home with our child through the cold and rain to read it together with a cup of cocoa waiting for us.
Though I now sit in an autumn yard in the late afternoon with birds chattering overhead and a couple of silly dogs meandering through the thicket, I know with certainty that every truly mystical, magical land has at least one library and probably more than a few bookstores. Even in Lothlorien. And Tolkien—like me—loves them.
A. K. Frailey is the author of 18 books, a teacher for 35 years, and a homeschooling mother of 8. Make the most of life’s journey. For novels, short stories, poems, and non-fiction inspirational books, check out A. K. Frailey’s Amazon Author Page
My Road Goes Ever On, Spiritual Being, Human Journey
“Fresh inspiration for the day on life, love, and overcoming obstacles with faith.” ~CBM
My Road Goes Ever On A Timeless journey
“Sometimes I feel sad about things, personal and…the world, and find inspiration in your stories.” ~Edith Fréccia
The Road Goes Ever On—A Christian Journey Through The Lord of the Rings
“I was really challenged and uplifted by this book.” ~Baumgardner
For a complete list of books by A. K. Frailey, book trailers, and reviews, check out A. K. Frailey’s Books Page For translated versions of A. K. Frailey’s Books, check out A. K. Frailey’s Translated BooksPhoto https://pixabay.com/pt/illustrations/livros-prateleiras-6344402/
The post Loveable Libraries & Bookstores first appeared on The Writings of A. K. Frailey.
November 17, 2023
Educational Parenting Story
In this Educational Parenting Story, an experienced teacher discovers that an honest perspective may change her in ways she little expected.
Grace knew all about parents, but she tried her darndest to love them anyway. Married, though childless (to her mother’s chagrin), after five years as principal of the local grade school and junior high, she felt like a mother to hundreds. She understood children’s emotional roller coasters all too well, having vivid memories of her own trials and tribulations. Few kid encounters discombobulated her tranquil spirits. Her childhood enemy, Libby Lawrence—who remarkably became a best friend and mentor—had taught her the magical keys to serenity: clear boundaries and an honest perspective.
Such wisdom she was forever sharing with the forlorn students who, for some stupid infraction, mindless cruelty, or petulant fit of revenge, sat on the wood frame chair set before her desk.
In her second year as principal, she’d even gone so far as to have a mural painted in primary colors on the cafeteria wall, depicting a brilliant sun shining on pine-clad mountains, a distant stream rushing toward lush fields, and a country home with a fenced garden. Family members worked and played while high-flying birds, scampering wildlife, and even a hive of busy bees managed their own affairs. She liked to call it “Intertwining Harmonies.” Healthy boundaries helped to keep the whole perspective accurate. Most kids didn’t have a clue what she was talking about, but they liked the mural well enough.
Most parents agreed with their kids.
Until Joy.
The name should have clued her in. As was so often the case, people either lived up to their names or defied them. Rather like Eeyore of Whinny the Pooh fame, Joy seemed determined to scatter pessimistic gloom wherever she went. The first time she brought her five-year-old son to kindergarten, she held the child’s hand so tight that he squirmed away the first chance he got. Ran right for the he-man side of the room where the little boys were plowing trucks over Barbie dolls, sending the little girls into screaming fits.
Immediately Joy jumped into the fray and tried to save the dolls.
Not one girl offered to help, and the boys tumbled back astonished.
The teacher, a blithely competent woman with a passel of her own grown children merely tinkled a tiny bell and waved a storybook with kings, castles, and a terrifying dragon on the cover. The kids swarmed over, honed in on the thick carpet, and arranged themselves with minimal jostling.
It took every ounce of diplomatic persuasion to get Joy to leave her progeny with the teacher and the dragon.
“You don’t think he’ll have nightmares tonight…over all this?”
With a light touch, Grace steered Joy to the front door. “All of what?”
Joy halted before the steel double doors and crossed her arms, a petulant expression on her face. “He’s never been away from home before, separated from me. We’ve raised him with every care. Those other boys seemed a bit rough, and, though he knows what a dragon is, he’s always been assured that they aren’t real. How about if someone says that they are?”
Though she never remembered patronizing a child, Joy realized that her voice oozed superior knowledge as she responded. “Dragons are a part of life, Joy. That’s what true education helps us to discover, what real dragons look like.”
Anguish rose in Joy’s eyes, but she turned away before another word could be said.
Grace shook her head as she went back to her duties. Children could be excused much, being innocent in the ways of the world. But a mother? A woman well beyond her own childhood? At that point, ignorance became a sin not easily forgiven. Her heels clicked like rocks tapping over solid ground. Well, the mother wasn’t her concern; she would focus on the son.
Weeks and then months passed, with Joy’s concerns for her child punctuating every special event. She called with questions about their field trip to the city museum, asking for a detailed itinerary. In the back of the gymnasium, she stood through each school assembly, her arms crossed and her face set in watchful anxiety. She even volunteered in the kitchen for the lunchtime rush, undoubtedly not to be of service to the community but rather to keep her eyes plastered on her kid. It took every ounce of Grace’s patience to meet these intrusions in her well-run world with the diplomacy needed to not offend while keeping firm boundaries.
The final Wednesday before Thanksgiving, Grace headed to the school assembly with more than the usual pep in her step. She’s just discovered that she was expecting a baby, and her exuberance knew no bounds. The slight nausea she had felt in the morning was finally wearing off, allowing her happiness full expression as she greeted the eager faces before her. Her rousing speech, reminding everyone, from preschoolers to the antiquated librarian, that life itself was a gift to be treasured each day, eventually gave way to the junior high chorus and 4th-grade pageant that would end their day before the holiday break.
Only the sight of Joy standing by the door yanked Grace’s high-flying mood from the heavens. Without premeditated thought, her insides seething, Grace click-clacked her way to the back of the room and confronted the annoying little woman who couldn’t seem to find happiness in anything and was forever doubting Grace’s abilities.
She charged in for the kill. “What are you doing here?” She wagged a finger in the woman’s face. “You seem hell-bent on destroying what small faith your son might have in the larger world. I suggest that you peel your over-anxious hands off your son and let him grow up strong and healthy, so he can enjoy a bit of life before you damage him permanently.”
Suddenly the room was unnaturally quiet.
Grace glanced over her shoulder. There had been a lull in the program and her voice had risen higher than she had anticipated. A crowd of faces stared at her.
Her stomach clenching against a return of her nausea, Grace forced a confident smile and offered a “don’t-mine-me” wave. She offered redirection in a happy sing-song tone. “We’ve only got a few minutes left, so finish up before the buses arrive.”
Her fury returning full force, Grace slammed her glare on Joy who, with her wide staring eyes, now bore a strange resemblance to the run-over Barbie dolls. Before tears could gather, the little woman turned on her heel and was out the door.
Queasiness rising, Grace marched down the hall, convincing herself that it had been a confrontation long overdue. After a detour to the bathroom and then a quick check on the busses lined up at the front entrance, Grace soon found herself back at her office.
Her shock at seeing Joy standing before her desk almost demanded a return trip to the bathroom. A sudden memory of the first time she had entered this very same room, determined to right an old wrong, flashed in her mind. But she was a new woman now. A better, more informed human being with all the wisdom that healthy boundaries and an honest perspective could offer.
Still, something in her quaked when she met this strange woman’s solemn gaze. Taking a moment to gather her composure, she swept around the desk and slid onto her office chair, a solid professional structure. She looked up and waited. Honestly, what more can I say?
Her trembling hands clasped in a tight grip, Joy stood before the desk like a penitent child, though there was such an expression of deep sorrow on her face, that her whole body exuded something frightful, a terrifying, hidden truth.
Grace had no idea what to make of it. She’d seen many uncertain parents, woeful children, and other oddities in her life, but nothing to compare to this. What is wrong with this person?
Joy’s voice barely rose above a whisper. “I suppose it’s my fault. I should have explained the situation to you from the first. But, well, it’s why we moved here…to get away from it all.” Her gaze rose, and she leveled her dry-eyed stare at Grace. “Three years ago, my family and I went shopping at Kingfords in Salemond.”
That was enough.
Grace’s mind shattered, and her stomach revolted. Shame flooded her cheeks. Everyone in the country knew what happened at Kingford in Salemond three years ago. It would take decades to forget. Terrified of the answer she knew she must ask Grace clutched the edge of her desk. “Was any of your family…”
“My sister was killed outright, and my husband lost part of his right leg. He tried to be a hero…but the second explosion caught him.”
How did I not know this? Grace tugged at a tiny shred of her dignity, her voice dropping into a cavern. “You could have told me.”
“Why? Being cautious is not a crime. I never interfered, just asked questions and stayed involved. I’m naturally an anxious person…my mother died in a car accident when I was young. But you demand a level of trust few people can give these days.” Her gaze softened. “I was not questioning your professional abilities, Grace. I simply do not trust the world.” Her gaze turned inward, her eyes revealing a strength and determination Grace had never noticed before. “As you said, dragons are a part of life.” She straightened, suddenly taller. “I won’t let them to eat my son.”
Grace’s hand clasped her belly. In the greatest sympathetic understanding of her life, rising even higher than the mountaintop experience with Libby Lawrence, she felt true communion. Suddenly, dragons terrified her.
Rising to her feet, Grace came around the desk and placed her hand on Joy’s shoulder. “I owe you an apology. I just became a mother myself. Should have been more sensitive.” Expelling a regretful sigh, she gestured to the door. “Let’s go find your boy.”
Joy stepped forward with a glance directed at Grace. “We’ll help each other fight the dragons?”
A choking sensation stopped all words, but Grace managed to nod. She opened the door, thanking God that there were parents willing to lead the charge.
A. K. Frailey is the author of 18 books, a teacher for 35 years, and a homeschooling mother of 8. Make the most of life’s journey. For novels, short stories, poems, and non-fiction inspirational books, check out A. K. Frailey’s Amazon Author Page
It Might Have Been and Other Stories
“heartfelt, down-to-earth stories filled with real-life experiences and emotions that you can almost feel like you are experiencing them as you read. She’s one of the best authors I’ve ever read.” ~Ron
One Day at a Time and Other Stories
“A delightful collection of short stories that draw you in, wanting more…This book of short stories evokes smiles, tears, and reflection. The author has a unique writing style that captures your attention from the first sentence…” ~Reedsy/Discovery, Gale Kaufman
For a complete list of books by A. K. Frailey, book trailers, and reviews, check out A. K. Frailey’s Books Page For translated versions of A. K. Frailey’s Books, check out A. K. Frailey’s Translated BooksPhoto https://pixabay.com/pt/illustrations/ai-gerado-professora-escola-7976793/
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November 10, 2023
Life and Hope Poetry
In this Life and Hope Poetry, we fly with nature and discover the beauty waiting for us after a long journey, part of wholeness, an ever-singing song.
What should be,
Hoping and living,
Only the dying might see.
Blustery autumn days send geese soaring high,
Honking to their fellows, harvested fields go by.
Familiar nests and bountiful food long gone,
Speed and direction lead, hurrying them along.
Toward a new life,
Warm sun without winter’s strife.
From good to better yet,
Young and vigorous keep moving, can’t stop and set.
The old and feeble lag far behind,
Plans and fortunes falter within a wandering mind.
Flapping wings plowing through the air,
No longer possible for those with aged care.
On and on in eager lines, the strongest they will go,
While the weak and trembling, sorrowfully must slow.
Dropping from the fair bright sky,
Feather spent with weary head, one returns,
In twirls and turns,
Leaving the flock, goodbye.
Near a rippling pond, it lands.
Hardpacked ground, whipping wind, and waving grass commands.
Alone now, unmindful of the race above,
Silence broken only by the cooing of a dove.
Is this the plan for a creature so noble and so brave?
Faithful years of nesting, flying strong, to stop on such a solemn grave?
Yet as it was, is, and ever will be,
On this journey land and sea,
A time to flourish and to thrive lasts but an hour or two,
Forget we every moment has a limit due.
Finally, when no answering call can make,
Hopes and lives become, honestly, only for God’s good sake.
Imperfect our winged flight,
Directions obscured by focused sight.
Now sky opens, earth and sun belong,
Part of wholeness, an ever-singing song.
The dove knows nothing of the geese’s distant sky,
For it never ever flew so gloriously high.
But in contented understanding, she flutters closer by,
And settles down in harmony, offering her soft and gentle sigh.
See what should be.
From lonely self to journeys joined but free.
Always living, ever dying, from such souls grew,
Life and hope anew.
A. K. Frailey is the author of 18 books, a teacher for 35 years, and a homeschooling mother of 8. Make the most of life’s journey. For novels, short stories, poems, and non-fiction inspirational books, check out A. K. Frailey’s Amazon Author Page
“This poem moved my heart and soul with its extraordinary beauty. Thank you!” ~Elisabeth
For a complete list of books by A. K. Frailey, book trailers, and reviews, check out A. K. Frailey’s Books Page For translated versions of A. K. Frailey’s Books, check out A. K. Frailey’s Translated BooksPhoto https://pixabay.com/illustrations/cave-sea-fantasy-sunlight-birds-6278323/
The post Life and Hope Poetry first appeared on The Writings of A. K. Frailey.
November 3, 2023
Aliens Encounter Humanity Novel
In this Aliens Encounter Humanity Novel, a guardian from Lux tries to explain humanity’s worth to his son, who only sees the human race’s many failures.
August
Sunday Night
Cerulean sat with his arms spread wide over the back of the bench, his head back, soaking up the last of the day’s warm sun.
Viridian sat hunched next to him, his head propped on a clenched fist, while one foot jiggled in furious repetition.
The park pulsated with the ebb and flow of visitors. A man threw a Frisbee to his dog, putting on quite a show. The majority of people strolled about the autumn grounds in pairs or jogged along singly, trying to get in a quick workout before the evening light disappeared. One mother attempted to wipe dripping ice cream from her young son’s face, only to have him push her away with a shrill, exhausted whine.
Cerulean opened his eyes, flicked a glance at his son’s jostling foot, and gazed at the scene. Parenthood is never easy. The day had been hot and humid, but as August was coming to a close, a hint of summer’s end wafted through the rustling leaves. He breathed in the earthy scent noticing the gray clouds building on the western horizon.
Cerulean tapped his fingers together. “You never realize humanity’s struggles until something goes wrong. When everything is in working order, you marvel at simple beauties. Amazing what people go through: colds, headaches, broken bones, diseases, mental disorders, even the natural process of growing up or growing old has its variety of suffering.” He tipped his head casually toward his son and whispered, “Are you ready?”
Viridian slammed his foot on the ground and sniffed, “Ready to suffer, you mean? I’ve suffered since the first moment you brought me here. I just can’t see what holds your interest. I’ve been all over the countryside and spent a whole month following a kid from the inner city, but I feel less admiration for them now than ever. They’re either spoiled and whining or poor and ruthless. Nobody cares, and everybody complains.”
Cerulean felt a flush creep up his cheeks. “There is some truth in what you say, but it’s not the full truth.” He glanced at his son and sighed. “There are other guardians besides me. Maybe it’s time you went with someone else for a while.”
Viridian’s eyes brightened. “You mean with another race?”
“No…not yet. Opportunity is still before you. Eventually, you must make your own choice. I always thought you’d follow in my footsteps, but I can’t force you….” He nodded to a man who crossed in front of him. “And perhaps this isn’t right for you. Still, I think you should give them a little more time. I’m observing Anne, but there are whole nations and cultures you have yet to see. There are guardians all over. Do some research; discover where you might like to go next; make contact with a guardian from an area that interests you. You’ve got a whole world to choose from.”
Looking across the park, Viridian pursed his lips. “I’d rather try another race, but if I have to stay here, I think I’d better go someplace else. I want to do something productive, and that’s just not happening here.” He crossed his arms; his hands balled into fists. Leaning toward his father, his eyes narrowed. “Will I be able to choose another form?”
Cerulean nodded and opened his mouth, but Viridian was quicker. “Good, I hate this one. I never considered how limiting humans’ perceptions would be.” Viridian gazed into the distance and shrugged. “I’m certainly not learning much.”
With a slow sigh, Cerulean stood and surveyed his environment.
“Learning doesn’t come from others; it comes from inside. But, perhaps it would be best to go where your father won’t be tempted to lecture you so much.”
Across the street, the door to the doctor’s office swung open and Anne stepped out.
Cerulean watched as Anne buckled herself into her vehicle and drove away. “She’s heading home.”
Staring up at the sky, Viridian extended his hand. “It’s going to rain. The park will empty in a minute. Should I leave now and make arrangements to try a different place?”
Anne’s car disappeared around a corner.
Cerulean’s gaze shifted to his son. “There’s nothing to stop you. But aren’t you even curious how the appointment went, what she’ll tell her husband?”
Viridian shrugged. “She’s pregnant. That’s obvious enough. She’ll tell her husband, and they’ll be happy—for a while. It all seems rather pointless.”
Cerulean cleared his throat with a raspy huff. “She’s not so different from us.”
“Humans are very different from us.”
The first drops of rain fell as Cerulean forced his temper into submission. He looked Viridian in the eye and gripped his shoulder. “I hope your next venture is more to your liking.”
Shrugging off his father’s hold, Viridian nodded, his gaze fixed in the distance. “Me, too.” He blinked away.
Looking around at the nearly empty park, Cerulean watched a couple sprint off arm-in-arm. A squirrel scampered to the safety of his nest, and rain-defying birds twittered their hearts out, refusing to be subdued by the impending storm. Surprise brought a smile to his lips as he realized that even in its lonely, rainy, late afternoon dimness, a playground still charmed him. He carried that thought with him as he disappeared from sight.
A. K. Frailey is the author of 18 books, a teacher for 35 years, and a homeschooling mother of 8. Make the most of life’s journey. For novels, short stories, poems, and non-fiction inspirational books, check out A. K. Frailey’s Amazon Author Page
“Highly imaginative and intelligently executed, Last of Her Kind is a spellbinding science fiction that is rich in imagery, rippling with conflict, and peppered with deeply moving scenes.” ~ The Book Commentary
“This is a very interesting story, and I do like the world that the author built. It’s a story about survival, what people will do, and how much they will give up in order to stay alive. Riveting! This author brings the story to life. The characters are so real, it’s like being with them within the story. This journey was very unpredictable. It’s literally out of this world!” ~AmysBookShelfReviews
“This book is nothing short of amazing. The first two books were amazing, but the author outdid herself this time.” ~Lauren Stanley
For a complete list of books by A. K. Frailey, book trailers, and reviews, check out A. K. Frailey’s Books Page For translated versions of A. K. Frailey’s Books, check out A. K. Frailey’s Translated BooksPhoto https://pixabay.com/pt/illustrations/cora%C3%A7%C3%A3o-amor-chama-amantes-homem-1137259/
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October 27, 2023
Revitalization
Revitalization of a small town offers the best of my childhood vision and brings fresh meaning to the term home-sweet home.
Back in the day—ancient history to some folks—I’d sit in my city high school classroom, restless, feeling completely out of place. There was only one thing that held my interest. It was a picture poster on the wall depicting a winding country road, which gently meandered toward a distant farmhouse. Oh, Lord, how my whole being longed for that mystical place…a distant harmony calling my soul to a life of peace and joy I hardly knew.
I grew up in a fractured family on Milwaukee’s east side, took a city bus to and from school, and generally managed my way in a world I rarely understood. I figured I was doomed to be a stranger in a strange land forever.
Fast forward a few decades, as a married woman with a baby and another on the way, my husband and I passed through a small town named Fillmore, one of hundreds that we had passed through in the intervening years, and my childhood yearning sprang to life again. I wanted to explore, so we drove around and discovered a “For Sale” sign posted outside a country home on a dead-end lane, just off a winding road not unlike the classroom poster. In the front yard, a glorious pine tree stretched high into the sky, and mysterious woods beckoned to me from the backyard.
I can never explain, exactly, but I knew from that moment that I was looking at my home, the one I had longed for without being able to define or describe it.
A few miracles later, we owned that house on Possum Lane.
It took time to get adjusted to the rural setting where possums take their street name seriously and wander about in happy abandon, but my heart never wavered. I met various critters, wild and tame, with the curiosity and naive innocence of a city slicker too embarrassed to ask if the term “hens” meant female chickens.
For the first years, my attention revolved solely around my growing family and then the sickness and death of my husband. I was truly amazed when towns folk showed up to offer their condolences and support. I didn’t know their names, but I soon recognized their sincerity. As with the hidden depth of that long-ago poster, I discovered rare authenticity in small-town neighborliness.
Over the years, I have gotten to know my neighbors a bit better, visiting my elder friends, sharing snacks and copious cups of tea, and listening to vibrant memories of weekly raffles, town get-togethers, and community living that I had never imagined outside of a television screen. Eventually, I joined the Election Judge crew and met more people, ever more amazed at the generational tethers joining family and friends.
I accepted the position as secretary/treasurer of our local cemetery and was astonished to learn that people actually offered donations for the upkeep of their cemetery. I never thought twice about cemeteries before, certainly never felt the slightest personal obligation to one. Fillmorians’ consistent generosity floored me. It wasn’t just about giving money, it was taking the time to see that gravestones were straightened, that walkways remained clear, that vets were honored, that loved ones were remembered and cherished, no matter how long they had been gone. Still takes my breath away. Probably always will.
This year, a new adventure began with a small-town revitalization project called “Let’s Grow Fillmore!” Monthly meetings turned into weekly sessions to organize a Saturday afternoon band and a corn hole tournament, bringing folks together to brainstorm, share knowledge, and ideas. Somehow or another I managed to slip into the secretarial role for the developing non-profit community project, but once again I became aware of the unique reality behind small-town life. It’s not a place, it’s a spirit, a mindset.
Since I don’t know that many people and I have no shared educational history or family ties, I sometimes feel like a kid looking in the window at a foreign land. I can hardly imagine the generational memories, the family transitions, sacrifices, and the depth of understanding the members of this community share with a glance or a knowing look.
Saturday was the first event for Let’s Grow Fillmore! with volunteers offering pumpkins and kid games, a corn hole tournament, food available at the Grun Box, and the Cody Ryan Band playing outside the Liquor Box in the afternoon. It was a small event since the non-profit status is still in the works, but as far as the community was concerned, it was friends and family gathering, having fun together, and supporting each other. As I walked around and watched, I realized that this is what revitalization is really all about.
I’m a lot older than that kid in her high school class, wishing she were somewhere else, but I must give thanks to the vision granted to me those long years ago, for though the road may have been rough at times, I am home now. There is nowhere else I’d rather be.
A. K. Frailey is the author of 18 books, a teacher for 35 years, and a homeschooling mother of 8.Make the most of life’s journey.For novels, short stories, poems, and non-fiction inspirational books, check outA. K. Frailey’s Amazon Author Page
My Road Goes Ever On, Spiritual Being, Human Journey
“A collection of insightful and encouraging blog posts from the author. This book is a daily devotional style book, as the author blends articles that bring fresh inspiration for the day on life, love, and overcoming obstacles with faith.” ~CBM
My Road Goes Ever On A Timeless journey
“Sometimes I feel sad about things, personal and…the world, and find inspiration in your stories.” ~Edith Fréccia
For a complete list of books by A. K. Frailey, book trailers, and reviews, check out A. K. Frailey’s Books Page For translated versions of A. K. Frailey’s Books, check out A. K. Frailey’s Translated BooksPhoto https://pixabay.com/pt/photos/interior-estrada-de-enrolamento-6612537/
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