Jessica L. Elliott's Blog, page 15
March 13, 2014
A Little Green
Last week I struggled with "technology" as a writing prompt. This week the prompt is "green". With St. Patrick's day coming up this was a pretty easy one to do. I love holidays of all kinds and St. Patrick's Day is no exception though I am neither Catholic nor very Irish (just one family line going really, really far back). But who doesn't enjoy an excuse to wear green, feel lucky and celebrate culture? So may the luck of the Irish be with you as you enjoy this "green" story. Next week check in for a "silhouette" story.
It was a beautiful spring day. The clover was fragrant and shimmering like an emerald in the sunlight. Lazy clouds drifted through the azure skies as Cairan skipped along the little path towards the old ruins. Her fiery red curls glinted like copper as they bounced about her shoulders. She heard birds singing above her. What a glorious day for a festival! She sang along with the birds, her little voice lilting to a cheerful melody.
A loud noise made her stop and look about, her sharp eyes darting to and fro for the source. She ducked behind a large stone and listened, the little points of her ears pricking. Ahead she saw giant forms tromping about. Leprechaun seekers no doubt, she thought distastefully, her up-tilted nose wrinkling. She would have to be extra cautious on her way. As quiet as a ghost, she tiptoed off the path and into the forest of clover. While it was unlikely the big folk would notice the minuscule path, she didn't want to take any chances. She pulled the hood of her emerald green cloak up over her hair as she continued her journey.
"I'm just sure I hear a wee voice over there," one of the humans said, wandering too close in her direction for comfort. She stopped again, hiding behind a large clump of clover.
"Ach, you're hearin' things again. There's naught here but birds and clover."
"Me grandda says there's little people in these parts. He's even caught one before."
The other voice scoffed, "Your grandda drinks too much. If there were such a thing as a leprechaun and your grandda had caught one, why's your family poor as church mice, eh?"
"'Cause they always trick him out of their gold, that's why. They're mischief makers."
"Children's stories. Now come on, let's have our lunch and be back to work. Old man Donnelly expects that fence done up today."
"All right," the other said reluctantly.
She watched them curiously. A mischievous gleam twinkled in her gold-brown eyes. Though she knew she shouldn't, Cairan began following the two men. She told herself that since they were going in the direction she needed to go anyway, that she wasn't really following them. They just happened to be going her way.
They stopped by a broken wall of the ruin. She was just about to continue following them when she heard a faint whisper. "Cairan, Cairan come here."
She turned and saw her friend Rory motioning to her. She glanced in in the direction of the men before scampering over to him. "What?"
"Just what do you think you're doin'?" he asked, scowling at her.
"Rory, it's just a bit of fun."
"And I suppose you'll still think it fun when they catch you and take your wee fortune?"
"Catch me?" Cairan laughed. "As if they could."
"Don't go temptin' Fate or she's liable to give you what you ask for," Rory replied. He then smiled, his aqua eyes sparkling like gems. "Come on now, I've found somethin' you might be interested in."
"What?"
"It's a surprise."
Cairan smiled and followed Rory into the safety of the ruins, the big folk forgotten.
It was a beautiful spring day. The clover was fragrant and shimmering like an emerald in the sunlight. Lazy clouds drifted through the azure skies as Cairan skipped along the little path towards the old ruins. Her fiery red curls glinted like copper as they bounced about her shoulders. She heard birds singing above her. What a glorious day for a festival! She sang along with the birds, her little voice lilting to a cheerful melody.
A loud noise made her stop and look about, her sharp eyes darting to and fro for the source. She ducked behind a large stone and listened, the little points of her ears pricking. Ahead she saw giant forms tromping about. Leprechaun seekers no doubt, she thought distastefully, her up-tilted nose wrinkling. She would have to be extra cautious on her way. As quiet as a ghost, she tiptoed off the path and into the forest of clover. While it was unlikely the big folk would notice the minuscule path, she didn't want to take any chances. She pulled the hood of her emerald green cloak up over her hair as she continued her journey.
"I'm just sure I hear a wee voice over there," one of the humans said, wandering too close in her direction for comfort. She stopped again, hiding behind a large clump of clover.
"Ach, you're hearin' things again. There's naught here but birds and clover."
"Me grandda says there's little people in these parts. He's even caught one before."
The other voice scoffed, "Your grandda drinks too much. If there were such a thing as a leprechaun and your grandda had caught one, why's your family poor as church mice, eh?"
"'Cause they always trick him out of their gold, that's why. They're mischief makers."
"Children's stories. Now come on, let's have our lunch and be back to work. Old man Donnelly expects that fence done up today."
"All right," the other said reluctantly.
She watched them curiously. A mischievous gleam twinkled in her gold-brown eyes. Though she knew she shouldn't, Cairan began following the two men. She told herself that since they were going in the direction she needed to go anyway, that she wasn't really following them. They just happened to be going her way.
They stopped by a broken wall of the ruin. She was just about to continue following them when she heard a faint whisper. "Cairan, Cairan come here."
She turned and saw her friend Rory motioning to her. She glanced in in the direction of the men before scampering over to him. "What?"
"Just what do you think you're doin'?" he asked, scowling at her.
"Rory, it's just a bit of fun."
"And I suppose you'll still think it fun when they catch you and take your wee fortune?"
"Catch me?" Cairan laughed. "As if they could."
"Don't go temptin' Fate or she's liable to give you what you ask for," Rory replied. He then smiled, his aqua eyes sparkling like gems. "Come on now, I've found somethin' you might be interested in."
"What?"
"It's a surprise."
Cairan smiled and followed Rory into the safety of the ruins, the big folk forgotten.
March 6, 2014
Not Quite a Story
This is really more of an essay than it is a story, but I've hit a block and this is all I could think of to write. Enjoy! Next week the prompt is "green".
I know I promised to have this for Wednesday, but I spent all day staring at a blank page. I'd write a few lines and then scribble them out. I just wasn't being inspired by technology like I had been the other prompts.
I suppose some of that is how I view technology. It's a means to an end, but not really something that I find overly inspiring or important. Don't get me wrong, I appreciate modern technology. I'm glad that I have an alarm clock that attempts to wake me up in the morning. I'm grateful for a weather radio that warns us of storms in the area. I appreciate being able to connect with friends I no longer live close to with a few clicks of a button. I love being able to go through the publishing process with ease. Technology can be a very good thing.
But even a good thing can be taken too far.
See, I'm a nature girl. Not a hippy. Not a tree-hugger. I don't go au natural to say I'm "greener" than you. I just love nature. I love being outdoors. I love the feel of sunshine on my face and wind in my hair (good thing I live in Kansas, right?). I love the smell of rain and the taste of freshly-picked berries. I just love nature.
I also love books. I love everything about them! You could say I have an addiction and you'd probably be right. I have to feel the pages turning in my hands. I have to smell the ink and the paper. The best smell in the world? A bookshop! It smells like pure creativity! So many great and wonderful ideas in one setting. I have to hear the crinkly sound of new pages and the whisper of old ones.
Yes, I have an addiction which is why I will probably never own or use an ereader. It's not because I think they're bad, per se. I just prefer to enjoy the entire experience that reading offers me. And I can't stand reading off of a screen for long amounts of time which is why I always order a proof copy of my books. It's not just to make sure it looks right. It's so I can edit comfortably.
I understand that for some people and situations an ereader would be beneficial. But I can't help but wish that people weren't so obsessed with gadgets. We're losing the art of real conversation. We're losing the experience of books. Children are losing out on imaginative play because everything has buttons, bells and lights. Those aren't necessarily bad things, but whatever happened to playing out in the yard with a ball? What happened to reading a story and using your imagination to decide the voices and setting?
Recently our public library received a grant which allowed them to refurbish their play area. My kiddos love the library and my son was very excited about the new toys. Among them were baskets with books and toy ereaders to go with them. You pick a book, push the corresponding button on the ereader and then turn the pages and match the shapes with the ereader to read a story. When I first saw them and watched my son "read" a story this way. I was tempted to look into getting something like it for him. You see, my son's love for stories is directly correlated to how far behind I am in my projects. The farther behind I am, the more stories he wants me to read to him. I could see how useful this would be. He could still read lots of stories and I could get my work done. But the more I pondered the idea, the less I liked it. My son is developing the same addiction I have. He has to turn the pages. He loves the feel of a book in his hands. And he loves to hear Mommy sound silly as she makes up voices which he sometimes imitates and often tells Daddy he's doing wrong when it's his turn to read. He's learning to love the experience of a book. I also knew that if I got the set of books with an ereader, I would miss out on time with him. Time that I love. Time that he needs. I wouldn't need to read the story. And if I did, perhaps I'd be the one who was making the "wrong" voice. The ereader also wouldn't pause to take learning moments with my children that I do. It wouldn't ask him to predict what would happen next. It wouldn't ask him if the character had made a good or bad choice. It would just read to him. While that's certainly not a bad thing, I don't know that it's the best way to teach my child to love reading.
Technology is a good thing. It brings a lot of good into this world. But I think we need to be cautious how enthralled we become by it. We need to remember to disconnect sometimes. We need to remember to not just read a story, but to experience a book.
I know I promised to have this for Wednesday, but I spent all day staring at a blank page. I'd write a few lines and then scribble them out. I just wasn't being inspired by technology like I had been the other prompts.
I suppose some of that is how I view technology. It's a means to an end, but not really something that I find overly inspiring or important. Don't get me wrong, I appreciate modern technology. I'm glad that I have an alarm clock that attempts to wake me up in the morning. I'm grateful for a weather radio that warns us of storms in the area. I appreciate being able to connect with friends I no longer live close to with a few clicks of a button. I love being able to go through the publishing process with ease. Technology can be a very good thing.
But even a good thing can be taken too far.
See, I'm a nature girl. Not a hippy. Not a tree-hugger. I don't go au natural to say I'm "greener" than you. I just love nature. I love being outdoors. I love the feel of sunshine on my face and wind in my hair (good thing I live in Kansas, right?). I love the smell of rain and the taste of freshly-picked berries. I just love nature.
I also love books. I love everything about them! You could say I have an addiction and you'd probably be right. I have to feel the pages turning in my hands. I have to smell the ink and the paper. The best smell in the world? A bookshop! It smells like pure creativity! So many great and wonderful ideas in one setting. I have to hear the crinkly sound of new pages and the whisper of old ones.
Yes, I have an addiction which is why I will probably never own or use an ereader. It's not because I think they're bad, per se. I just prefer to enjoy the entire experience that reading offers me. And I can't stand reading off of a screen for long amounts of time which is why I always order a proof copy of my books. It's not just to make sure it looks right. It's so I can edit comfortably.
I understand that for some people and situations an ereader would be beneficial. But I can't help but wish that people weren't so obsessed with gadgets. We're losing the art of real conversation. We're losing the experience of books. Children are losing out on imaginative play because everything has buttons, bells and lights. Those aren't necessarily bad things, but whatever happened to playing out in the yard with a ball? What happened to reading a story and using your imagination to decide the voices and setting?
Recently our public library received a grant which allowed them to refurbish their play area. My kiddos love the library and my son was very excited about the new toys. Among them were baskets with books and toy ereaders to go with them. You pick a book, push the corresponding button on the ereader and then turn the pages and match the shapes with the ereader to read a story. When I first saw them and watched my son "read" a story this way. I was tempted to look into getting something like it for him. You see, my son's love for stories is directly correlated to how far behind I am in my projects. The farther behind I am, the more stories he wants me to read to him. I could see how useful this would be. He could still read lots of stories and I could get my work done. But the more I pondered the idea, the less I liked it. My son is developing the same addiction I have. He has to turn the pages. He loves the feel of a book in his hands. And he loves to hear Mommy sound silly as she makes up voices which he sometimes imitates and often tells Daddy he's doing wrong when it's his turn to read. He's learning to love the experience of a book. I also knew that if I got the set of books with an ereader, I would miss out on time with him. Time that I love. Time that he needs. I wouldn't need to read the story. And if I did, perhaps I'd be the one who was making the "wrong" voice. The ereader also wouldn't pause to take learning moments with my children that I do. It wouldn't ask him to predict what would happen next. It wouldn't ask him if the character had made a good or bad choice. It would just read to him. While that's certainly not a bad thing, I don't know that it's the best way to teach my child to love reading.
Technology is a good thing. It brings a lot of good into this world. But I think we need to be cautious how enthralled we become by it. We need to remember to disconnect sometimes. We need to remember to not just read a story, but to experience a book.
March 3, 2014
Late Again
Sorry, this should have been up on Wednesday. But that was my sweetheart's birthday, so I just spaced it. But now it's here, an "animal" story. Last week I took you briefly to Maltisten and I intend on expanding that story further. I'm not happy with how it turned out. I was rushing and that never shows my best work. Anyway, this week we're back in Sanalbereth. I'm sure some of you have wondered how Allegra got Obsidian in the second book. Here's your answer. And this Wednesday tune in for a "technology" story.
Allegra awoke early. The winter sun was barely over the horizon, shrouded by cold, misty fog. There were only a few days of winter break left, but she looked forward to going back to school. She missed Lucian dreadfully, though she would not have admitted it to anyone. He was off questing, probably having a grand adventure and she was still in training. She sighed as she slowly got out of bed, the chill air making her shiver as she changed for the day.
When she arrived in the dining hall, her father greeted her with a smile. "Good morning, my star. Did you sleep well?"
She nodded and sat down. "Is Mom feeling any better?"
"I'm afraid not, so I've grounded her to her room. I thought we'd go to town today to purchase any supplies you might need for your quest.You know you won't have the opportunity after graduation."
"I guess I hadn't thought of that," she replied. "What all did you have in mind?"
"Well, you'll need a good sword properly fitted to you. While Lucian's practice swords have served you well during your training, you need one meant for your hands. Though Lucian's hands are small, yours are smaller still."
"True, I guess we get it from mom."
Lysander chuckled, "Certainly not from me. Anyway, you also need durable traveling clothes and a strong horse who can take you anywhere you need to go in any conditions."
"Sunset Rose wouldn't like that at all. I'm afraid I've rather spoiled her," Allegra admitted.
"She's a dressage horse," he shrugged. "Most are spoiled."
Nodding, Allegra asked, "So when do we leave?"
"As soon as you finish your breakfast."
Within a couple of hours, Allegra was at Phillip's stables. He bowed as they approached. "Good day, Your Majesties. What can I do for you?"
"I need a strong horse for traveling," Allegra replied. She'd been leading the conversations at most of the stops and her father allowed her to. He knew she needed to be able to fend for herself once her quest started.
Phillip glanced at the king who nodded. "Very well, Princess. If you wish, you can go to the ring and I'll bring some of my horses to you to choose from."
"Do you mind if I just look about for a few moments?"
"No, of course not," Phillip said, though he looked surprised.
Allegra began walking slowly down the rows of stalls. She glanced at each horse before continuing on her way. Most of the horses seemed oblivious to her presence and she passed by them immediately. She needed a horse that was alert and observant. She paused a couple time when horses would turn and look at her, but would resume her walk when they would look away, disinterested.
As she walked, a great horse stuck his head out of the stall to look at her. She stopped. Warm, chocolaty eyes looked back at her, reflecting intelligence and curiosity. His coat was shaggy for the winter and darker than a moonless night. His mane and tail were thick, long and wavy while his hooves were half-hidden under short feathering. He nickered softly in greeting, his face kind and gentle.
Allegra reached into her pocket and pulled out the sugar cubes she'd brought with her from home. "You're a handsome fellow," she said, offering the sugar to him. "What do they call you?"
"His name is Obsidian, Princess," Phillip replied. "He's a very fine gelding and a hard worker."
"How's his termperament?" Allegra asked. Her eyes never left the horse as she stroked his neck. Part of her wondered in he would become bored and look away from her as the other horses had, but he never did.
As Phillip spoke, Obsidian regarded the young lady before him with interest. People didn't come to the stables often in the wintertime. She looked small and frail to him, though he recognized a fire in her eyes that he'd seen in many young colts. He could tell she was stronger than she appeared. Her hands were gentle and her face kind. As the people continued to talk, he found himself hoping that this girl would take him home.
"I think he's the one I want," Allegra said when Phillip finished telling her about Obsidian's qualities."
"Allegra, dear, don't you think you should look at more than one horse?"
"Why? Obsidian hasn't stopped paying attention since I came over. That shows high intelligence. He is strong and has a good temper."
"You should at least ride him first."
"I was planning on it."
Phillip led them to the riding ring as Lysander continued trying to get Allegra to consider other horses. "This is a big horse, Allegra, what if you need a boost? How will you find one while questing?"
Allegra laughed. "When have I ever needed a boost, Daddy?"
Soon they arrived at the ring where Phillip's daughter was working a spirited bay. "Mariah, please take Symphony back to his stall. We'll work him again later."
"Yes, Papa."
Once the ring was available, Allegra mounted and put Obsidian through his paces. Each gait was smooth and lively. He followed every command with perfection. Despite the horse's wide girth, Allegra felt completely comfortable in the saddle. She reined him in and dismounted. "I'll take him."
"Allegra, he's a fine horse, but think before you buy too hastily. Every prince has to have a white or grey horse. Don't you think you should consider that?"
"But I'm not a prince, I'm a princess. Therefore that rule, among others, doesn't apply."
"Look at his feather. That fur is silky and clean now, but how will you keep it that way?"
"I'll groom him the best I can just as I will myself. Honestly, Daddy, I have more important things to worry about than how silky his feather is. He's perfect for me and I'm getting him."
Lysander looked at the defiant gleam in his daughter's eyes and sighed, "You win. How much is he Phillip?"
Eight hundred Simari, Your Majesty. We can take care of that in my office if you like."
"Very well. Allegra, take Obsidian to the carriage."
"Thank you, Daddy!"
"He'll be a good horse for you, Princess. He's been blessed by the Fairy King..."
Allegra hardly heard him as she led her new horse away. Having ordered her sword and clothes earlier that day, she was beginning to feel more prepared than she had since discovering that she would be going on a quest rather than her prince, Adrian. "You and I are going to have an adventure together, Obsidian. I'm glad you're going with me."
He whinnied and flicked his tail. He was happy to go with this auburn-haired girl wherever this adventure might take them.
Allegra awoke early. The winter sun was barely over the horizon, shrouded by cold, misty fog. There were only a few days of winter break left, but she looked forward to going back to school. She missed Lucian dreadfully, though she would not have admitted it to anyone. He was off questing, probably having a grand adventure and she was still in training. She sighed as she slowly got out of bed, the chill air making her shiver as she changed for the day.
When she arrived in the dining hall, her father greeted her with a smile. "Good morning, my star. Did you sleep well?"
She nodded and sat down. "Is Mom feeling any better?"
"I'm afraid not, so I've grounded her to her room. I thought we'd go to town today to purchase any supplies you might need for your quest.You know you won't have the opportunity after graduation."
"I guess I hadn't thought of that," she replied. "What all did you have in mind?"
"Well, you'll need a good sword properly fitted to you. While Lucian's practice swords have served you well during your training, you need one meant for your hands. Though Lucian's hands are small, yours are smaller still."
"True, I guess we get it from mom."
Lysander chuckled, "Certainly not from me. Anyway, you also need durable traveling clothes and a strong horse who can take you anywhere you need to go in any conditions."
"Sunset Rose wouldn't like that at all. I'm afraid I've rather spoiled her," Allegra admitted.
"She's a dressage horse," he shrugged. "Most are spoiled."
Nodding, Allegra asked, "So when do we leave?"
"As soon as you finish your breakfast."
Within a couple of hours, Allegra was at Phillip's stables. He bowed as they approached. "Good day, Your Majesties. What can I do for you?"
"I need a strong horse for traveling," Allegra replied. She'd been leading the conversations at most of the stops and her father allowed her to. He knew she needed to be able to fend for herself once her quest started.
Phillip glanced at the king who nodded. "Very well, Princess. If you wish, you can go to the ring and I'll bring some of my horses to you to choose from."
"Do you mind if I just look about for a few moments?"
"No, of course not," Phillip said, though he looked surprised.
Allegra began walking slowly down the rows of stalls. She glanced at each horse before continuing on her way. Most of the horses seemed oblivious to her presence and she passed by them immediately. She needed a horse that was alert and observant. She paused a couple time when horses would turn and look at her, but would resume her walk when they would look away, disinterested.
As she walked, a great horse stuck his head out of the stall to look at her. She stopped. Warm, chocolaty eyes looked back at her, reflecting intelligence and curiosity. His coat was shaggy for the winter and darker than a moonless night. His mane and tail were thick, long and wavy while his hooves were half-hidden under short feathering. He nickered softly in greeting, his face kind and gentle.
Allegra reached into her pocket and pulled out the sugar cubes she'd brought with her from home. "You're a handsome fellow," she said, offering the sugar to him. "What do they call you?"
"His name is Obsidian, Princess," Phillip replied. "He's a very fine gelding and a hard worker."
"How's his termperament?" Allegra asked. Her eyes never left the horse as she stroked his neck. Part of her wondered in he would become bored and look away from her as the other horses had, but he never did.
As Phillip spoke, Obsidian regarded the young lady before him with interest. People didn't come to the stables often in the wintertime. She looked small and frail to him, though he recognized a fire in her eyes that he'd seen in many young colts. He could tell she was stronger than she appeared. Her hands were gentle and her face kind. As the people continued to talk, he found himself hoping that this girl would take him home.
"I think he's the one I want," Allegra said when Phillip finished telling her about Obsidian's qualities."
"Allegra, dear, don't you think you should look at more than one horse?"
"Why? Obsidian hasn't stopped paying attention since I came over. That shows high intelligence. He is strong and has a good temper."
"You should at least ride him first."
"I was planning on it."
Phillip led them to the riding ring as Lysander continued trying to get Allegra to consider other horses. "This is a big horse, Allegra, what if you need a boost? How will you find one while questing?"
Allegra laughed. "When have I ever needed a boost, Daddy?"
Soon they arrived at the ring where Phillip's daughter was working a spirited bay. "Mariah, please take Symphony back to his stall. We'll work him again later."
"Yes, Papa."
Once the ring was available, Allegra mounted and put Obsidian through his paces. Each gait was smooth and lively. He followed every command with perfection. Despite the horse's wide girth, Allegra felt completely comfortable in the saddle. She reined him in and dismounted. "I'll take him."
"Allegra, he's a fine horse, but think before you buy too hastily. Every prince has to have a white or grey horse. Don't you think you should consider that?"
"But I'm not a prince, I'm a princess. Therefore that rule, among others, doesn't apply."
"Look at his feather. That fur is silky and clean now, but how will you keep it that way?"
"I'll groom him the best I can just as I will myself. Honestly, Daddy, I have more important things to worry about than how silky his feather is. He's perfect for me and I'm getting him."
Lysander looked at the defiant gleam in his daughter's eyes and sighed, "You win. How much is he Phillip?"
Eight hundred Simari, Your Majesty. We can take care of that in my office if you like."
"Very well. Allegra, take Obsidian to the carriage."
"Thank you, Daddy!"
"He'll be a good horse for you, Princess. He's been blessed by the Fairy King..."
Allegra hardly heard him as she led her new horse away. Having ordered her sword and clothes earlier that day, she was beginning to feel more prepared than she had since discovering that she would be going on a quest rather than her prince, Adrian. "You and I are going to have an adventure together, Obsidian. I'm glad you're going with me."
He whinnied and flicked his tail. He was happy to go with this auburn-haired girl wherever this adventure might take them.
February 24, 2014
Reader Interview
Last week on the Facebook page I asked you to give me questions that you wanted answers for about myself, my writing and my books. I got lots of responses and so here it is, a reader interview with questions from you! If you were unable to ask a question for this interview, have no fear. I'll plan on doing another one in a few months and you can be planning some fun questions for me to answer then. In the meantime, here are the answers you've been waiting for! I tried to organize the questions into some kind of categories so they'd make sense together. But I think any way you read them, they'll offer new insight into what I'm working on, what's out and who I am as a writer.
How did you choose how many main characters would be in Charming Academy?
That’s actually a funny question. My original idea was that there would be only three main characters: Lucian, Kaelen and Adrian. Theirs were the original stories that I told my brother at bedtime. But then George started loudly declaring that he was more important than I was making him out to be and Jacobi said that if George got to be important why couldn’t he be important too. Long story short, it was easier to let the characters lead on this one. So in the end five became the magic number and so far it has worked out rather well.
Were any of those characters inspired by friends or family members?
Yes and no. How’s that for vague? ;) Since when I started telling and writing the stories I was still single, most of the princes have various elements that I idealized in men from physical traits to personality traits. There are elements of people that I know in each of them, particularly in Lucian. He actually has a lot of my dad in him, like his lovely poetry (when he’s trying). He also has a lot of elements of my husband, particularly his missing out on subtle hints and getting frustrated by them (love you honey!). The princesses also have elements of people that I know. Allegra turned into a princess version of me, though it’s Moira who shares my dislike of the color pink. Some of my minor characters have been based more specifically on friends and family, particularly Julie and Sondra in Prince Charming’s Search. But as far as my main characters are concerned, they’re mish-mashes of personalities I’ve known while also having their own distinct personality traits.
Which story will be next in the “Charming Academy” series?
I plan on telling Kaelen’s story next. Working title is “Becoming Prince Charming”.
When did you become interested in fantasy fiction?
I’ve always loved fairy tales and folk stories. My mother read them to me when I was a young girl and I’ve loved them since.
How do you keep the storylines consistent across the books – do you have a timeline that helps you keep track of when a particular event happens?
I really should make a timeline because nothing frustrates me more when reading a series than inconsistencies. But what I’ve done with the books so far is keep a copy of the first two nearby so that I can double check with what I already have written. On the one hand, that works out better for me since my stories have a tendency to take turns I didn’t plan on. But a timeline would be helpful too. I’ll have to start on that. ;)
If you could meet any author (living or deceased) who would it be?
So many to choose from! If I had to pick just one, I believe I would most like to meet J. R. R. Tolkien. I’m fascinated by the fact that not only did he create his own little world, but he created the languages that went in it.
What is your favorite book or books?
That’s a toughie! I love reading and every book I’ve read has impacted me in a different way. If I had to pick one specific favorite, I would probably say The Three Musketeers. I love the adventure, the romance and the vivid descriptions! But I also love The Hunchback of Notre Dame, 20,000 Leagues Under the Sea and many other great books!
What are your future hopes for your books?
Ideally, I’d love to hook a big publisher just because it would take a lot of the marketing pressure off of me. I’m a pretty decent writer, but a terrible salesman. I hate feeling like I’m bothering people with my writing. But for now my plans are to just keep plugging away and writing the stories that I love. Hopefully someday I’ll be able to get them published through a traditional publisher and maybe even win the William Allen White award! That would be the greatest accomplishment a Kansan girl like me could achieve!
I know you’re a Kansas girl. Are you planning to write any Kansas stories?
Yes. This summer I’ll be doing some research for a novel based on the short story I wrote for Kansas Day. While I wasn’t born here, I was definitely bred here and Kansas is in my blood! Many of the stories I have written have been based in Kansas, even if they don’t specifically say so. But I will be writing a book set on a Kansas homestead sometime in the next couple of years. Right now that one is still in the research stages.
What’s your next series called?
Oh heavens! I haven’t even finished the first one yet! :) In all seriousness, I’m not currently working on another series, though I am playing with the idea of writing a series about a girl who wants to be a historian or archaeologist. Haven’t played out all the details in my head yet, but they would be history mysteries, because that’s one thing that I love!
Where do you keep future characters: in a notebook, in your mind, or start a story and later develop him or her?
I use a variety of ways to keep track of future storylines and characters. Sometimes I write down a few idea in a notebook to come back to later. Other times I do character sketches in a sketchpad, jotting down a few key character traits on the page. And some I just hang onto in my mind until I’m ready to use them. It all depends on the character and how long I think it will be before I get to their story.
How do you come up with names for your characters?
With few exceptions, most of my character names come from an old Baby Name book my college roommate got for me. A couple of characters, Lucian and Allegra, actually came to me with a name. Some are names that I really love but doubt that I could convince my sweetie to use on a child or they don’t appear in our family history so I nix them since I made the rule that our kiddos’ names needed to be family names (such as Portia Grace who will appear in a later book). Any way they come to me, I put some thought into the meaning of the name and origin so that it makes sense to the reader.
Do you name your characters in your books after people you know?
I do occasionally. Usually it’s because they have a name that I really like or the name is fitting of the time that I am writing in. Sometimes I purposely name characters for people I know, such as in Prince Charming’s Search when I used my mother-in-law and her sister for two of the characters who help Jacobi.
Do you jot notes down about a situation, character, location, smell or such to weave into a story later?
Sometimes I do. Often when I do, these kind of details are written down during my research phases. Otherwise, I just kind of write as I go; the details coming as the story does.
When did you start writing?
My mother says I started writing as soon as I could hold a pencil. I can’t really remember a time in my life that I wasn’t writing or weaving stories. It’s always just been part of who I am. I started writing more seriously in high school, then on and off through college. Once I graduated I was able to devote more of my time and energy into really writing out the stories that were in my mind.
Do you ever plan to write a story knowing how you want it to go and then get surprised along the way with an unexpected twist in the story?
All the time! I think every book I’ve ever written has had something happen that I absolutely didn’t plan on which has changed how other elements occurred. It can be frustrating, but that’s probably a big part of why I don’t do a lot of outlining before I start to write. I know that something is going to change along the way, even if I don’t want it to.
When did you know you wanted to be a writer?
As a kindergartner I had a whole list of occupations I intended to have, including author. But I think first grade is when it was sealed in my mind as something I really wanted. I wrote a silly little story about dinosaurs that I was able to present to the kindergartners and I knew then that I wanted to be a storyteller.
The descriptions of the places and characters are very vivid. Do you visualize them in your head or use other ways to “see” them?
First of all, thank you! I try to make my descriptions as close to a picture as words can do. Much of it is visualized in my head. I have an overactive and very vivid imagination, so it’s easy for me to do that. But I also sketch out scenes and characters to give me visuals to work with. I like to use personal experience to include all the senses, such as what a place smells like, how certain fabrics feel and sound, etc.
How do you find time to write with little ones to care for?
How indeed! I’d love to say that I have a magical way of finding time, but the truth is it’s a struggle! On days when one or both of them naps, I can usually squeeze in some writing time during the day. But most often I do it early in the morning before they wake up or late at night after they’ve gone to bed. Since those are my most productive times of day anyway, it works out all right for me. Often when I get to the end of a story I spend a lot of very, VERY late hours working on it just to get through it. But there are unfortunately many days that I just don’t get to my writing because my kiddos are my top priority.
What is your favorite way to research for a story?
Traveling! When I describe a location, I want it to be so real that someone who has lived there forever would feel right at home. You can only get so much from pictures. Even with some of my fictitious locations, I talked to people who have lived in similar places to get an idea of the smells, sights and sounds. I also love to read and do quite a bit of it when I’m researching.
When an idea comes, how do you go about researching for it?
It depends on the idea. When I started writing the “Charming Academy” series, I reread many of the old fairy tales. I wanted to be familiar with the parts of the story that make it memorable, such as the glass ball down the well in “The Frog Prince” or the glass slipper in “Cinderella”. Once I had those elements figured out, I then researched various aspects of the characters’ preparation. I watched videos, read books and searched the internet about the various topics I was writing about. When I work on stories taking place in real places, I like to go to them and spend time absorbing the sights, smells, feelings and sounds there.
In preparing to write the book(s), do you know how they will end what you start? Do you have some sort of outline you fill in or does the story unfold as you tell it?
When I write a book, the easiest way to describe it is like hearing a story for the very first time and trying desperately to capture all the details before you miss something! I rarely use an outline and when I do it’s very generic. I do have a certain idea of how a story will end, but even there I am often surprised. For example, in Prince Charming’s Search I intended for Jacobi to have an epic battle with the villain at the end before rescuing Clarissa. When you read the story, you will find that the epic battle didn’t exactly go as I planned. I often have unplanned characters and events that I have to somehow work into what I was planning. Most of the time, I just scrap my plans and see where the characters take me.
What is the most satisfying thing in writing?
I love the feeling when I finish a story and am ready to release it to you, my readers. Being able to share a new story with you is the best part of being a writer. Getting it ready and out to you makes all the research, writer’s block, work and worry worthwhile!
How did you choose how many main characters would be in Charming Academy?
That’s actually a funny question. My original idea was that there would be only three main characters: Lucian, Kaelen and Adrian. Theirs were the original stories that I told my brother at bedtime. But then George started loudly declaring that he was more important than I was making him out to be and Jacobi said that if George got to be important why couldn’t he be important too. Long story short, it was easier to let the characters lead on this one. So in the end five became the magic number and so far it has worked out rather well.
Were any of those characters inspired by friends or family members?
Yes and no. How’s that for vague? ;) Since when I started telling and writing the stories I was still single, most of the princes have various elements that I idealized in men from physical traits to personality traits. There are elements of people that I know in each of them, particularly in Lucian. He actually has a lot of my dad in him, like his lovely poetry (when he’s trying). He also has a lot of elements of my husband, particularly his missing out on subtle hints and getting frustrated by them (love you honey!). The princesses also have elements of people that I know. Allegra turned into a princess version of me, though it’s Moira who shares my dislike of the color pink. Some of my minor characters have been based more specifically on friends and family, particularly Julie and Sondra in Prince Charming’s Search. But as far as my main characters are concerned, they’re mish-mashes of personalities I’ve known while also having their own distinct personality traits.
Which story will be next in the “Charming Academy” series?
I plan on telling Kaelen’s story next. Working title is “Becoming Prince Charming”.
When did you become interested in fantasy fiction?
I’ve always loved fairy tales and folk stories. My mother read them to me when I was a young girl and I’ve loved them since.
How do you keep the storylines consistent across the books – do you have a timeline that helps you keep track of when a particular event happens?
I really should make a timeline because nothing frustrates me more when reading a series than inconsistencies. But what I’ve done with the books so far is keep a copy of the first two nearby so that I can double check with what I already have written. On the one hand, that works out better for me since my stories have a tendency to take turns I didn’t plan on. But a timeline would be helpful too. I’ll have to start on that. ;)
If you could meet any author (living or deceased) who would it be?
So many to choose from! If I had to pick just one, I believe I would most like to meet J. R. R. Tolkien. I’m fascinated by the fact that not only did he create his own little world, but he created the languages that went in it.
What is your favorite book or books?
That’s a toughie! I love reading and every book I’ve read has impacted me in a different way. If I had to pick one specific favorite, I would probably say The Three Musketeers. I love the adventure, the romance and the vivid descriptions! But I also love The Hunchback of Notre Dame, 20,000 Leagues Under the Sea and many other great books!
What are your future hopes for your books?
Ideally, I’d love to hook a big publisher just because it would take a lot of the marketing pressure off of me. I’m a pretty decent writer, but a terrible salesman. I hate feeling like I’m bothering people with my writing. But for now my plans are to just keep plugging away and writing the stories that I love. Hopefully someday I’ll be able to get them published through a traditional publisher and maybe even win the William Allen White award! That would be the greatest accomplishment a Kansan girl like me could achieve!
I know you’re a Kansas girl. Are you planning to write any Kansas stories?
Yes. This summer I’ll be doing some research for a novel based on the short story I wrote for Kansas Day. While I wasn’t born here, I was definitely bred here and Kansas is in my blood! Many of the stories I have written have been based in Kansas, even if they don’t specifically say so. But I will be writing a book set on a Kansas homestead sometime in the next couple of years. Right now that one is still in the research stages.
What’s your next series called?
Oh heavens! I haven’t even finished the first one yet! :) In all seriousness, I’m not currently working on another series, though I am playing with the idea of writing a series about a girl who wants to be a historian or archaeologist. Haven’t played out all the details in my head yet, but they would be history mysteries, because that’s one thing that I love!
Where do you keep future characters: in a notebook, in your mind, or start a story and later develop him or her?
I use a variety of ways to keep track of future storylines and characters. Sometimes I write down a few idea in a notebook to come back to later. Other times I do character sketches in a sketchpad, jotting down a few key character traits on the page. And some I just hang onto in my mind until I’m ready to use them. It all depends on the character and how long I think it will be before I get to their story.
How do you come up with names for your characters?
With few exceptions, most of my character names come from an old Baby Name book my college roommate got for me. A couple of characters, Lucian and Allegra, actually came to me with a name. Some are names that I really love but doubt that I could convince my sweetie to use on a child or they don’t appear in our family history so I nix them since I made the rule that our kiddos’ names needed to be family names (such as Portia Grace who will appear in a later book). Any way they come to me, I put some thought into the meaning of the name and origin so that it makes sense to the reader.
Do you name your characters in your books after people you know?
I do occasionally. Usually it’s because they have a name that I really like or the name is fitting of the time that I am writing in. Sometimes I purposely name characters for people I know, such as in Prince Charming’s Search when I used my mother-in-law and her sister for two of the characters who help Jacobi.
Do you jot notes down about a situation, character, location, smell or such to weave into a story later?
Sometimes I do. Often when I do, these kind of details are written down during my research phases. Otherwise, I just kind of write as I go; the details coming as the story does.
When did you start writing?
My mother says I started writing as soon as I could hold a pencil. I can’t really remember a time in my life that I wasn’t writing or weaving stories. It’s always just been part of who I am. I started writing more seriously in high school, then on and off through college. Once I graduated I was able to devote more of my time and energy into really writing out the stories that were in my mind.
Do you ever plan to write a story knowing how you want it to go and then get surprised along the way with an unexpected twist in the story?
All the time! I think every book I’ve ever written has had something happen that I absolutely didn’t plan on which has changed how other elements occurred. It can be frustrating, but that’s probably a big part of why I don’t do a lot of outlining before I start to write. I know that something is going to change along the way, even if I don’t want it to.
When did you know you wanted to be a writer?
As a kindergartner I had a whole list of occupations I intended to have, including author. But I think first grade is when it was sealed in my mind as something I really wanted. I wrote a silly little story about dinosaurs that I was able to present to the kindergartners and I knew then that I wanted to be a storyteller.
The descriptions of the places and characters are very vivid. Do you visualize them in your head or use other ways to “see” them?
First of all, thank you! I try to make my descriptions as close to a picture as words can do. Much of it is visualized in my head. I have an overactive and very vivid imagination, so it’s easy for me to do that. But I also sketch out scenes and characters to give me visuals to work with. I like to use personal experience to include all the senses, such as what a place smells like, how certain fabrics feel and sound, etc.
How do you find time to write with little ones to care for?
How indeed! I’d love to say that I have a magical way of finding time, but the truth is it’s a struggle! On days when one or both of them naps, I can usually squeeze in some writing time during the day. But most often I do it early in the morning before they wake up or late at night after they’ve gone to bed. Since those are my most productive times of day anyway, it works out all right for me. Often when I get to the end of a story I spend a lot of very, VERY late hours working on it just to get through it. But there are unfortunately many days that I just don’t get to my writing because my kiddos are my top priority.
What is your favorite way to research for a story?
Traveling! When I describe a location, I want it to be so real that someone who has lived there forever would feel right at home. You can only get so much from pictures. Even with some of my fictitious locations, I talked to people who have lived in similar places to get an idea of the smells, sights and sounds. I also love to read and do quite a bit of it when I’m researching.
When an idea comes, how do you go about researching for it?
It depends on the idea. When I started writing the “Charming Academy” series, I reread many of the old fairy tales. I wanted to be familiar with the parts of the story that make it memorable, such as the glass ball down the well in “The Frog Prince” or the glass slipper in “Cinderella”. Once I had those elements figured out, I then researched various aspects of the characters’ preparation. I watched videos, read books and searched the internet about the various topics I was writing about. When I work on stories taking place in real places, I like to go to them and spend time absorbing the sights, smells, feelings and sounds there.
In preparing to write the book(s), do you know how they will end what you start? Do you have some sort of outline you fill in or does the story unfold as you tell it?
When I write a book, the easiest way to describe it is like hearing a story for the very first time and trying desperately to capture all the details before you miss something! I rarely use an outline and when I do it’s very generic. I do have a certain idea of how a story will end, but even there I am often surprised. For example, in Prince Charming’s Search I intended for Jacobi to have an epic battle with the villain at the end before rescuing Clarissa. When you read the story, you will find that the epic battle didn’t exactly go as I planned. I often have unplanned characters and events that I have to somehow work into what I was planning. Most of the time, I just scrap my plans and see where the characters take me.
What is the most satisfying thing in writing?
I love the feeling when I finish a story and am ready to release it to you, my readers. Being able to share a new story with you is the best part of being a writer. Getting it ready and out to you makes all the research, writer’s block, work and worry worthwhile!
February 19, 2014
An Imaginary Vacation
It's been a busy week. Prince Charming's Search has been released and is now available through Amazon and my website Hopefully in the next couple of months I'll be able to get it formatted into an ebook, but it'll just depend on how life is going then. Now it's time for a "landscape" story. I love to travel and I love to read about exotic places both real and imagined. As I've read The Hobbit to my children, I've reveled in his detailed descriptions of the land he created. So this week I'll write about one of my favorite areas in my own made-up world: Maltisten. Tomorrow I'll be writing up my reader interview with questions from you. The only problem is I've only gotten one question! Be sure to stop by my Facebook page and ask your questions. They can be about anything. I'd love to know what you're curious about.
Anyway, now to a "landscape" story. Check in next week for an "animal" story.
Maltisten was a small shoreline province in the fairy-ruled empire of Sanalbereth. In the northwestern corner of the country, Maltisten was a land of beautiful summers and cold winters. The air smelled always of sea-salt. The king and queen of the province had a seaside castle built of rough seastone, embellished with shells and and the impressions of ancient sealife. It was small, by castle standards, a place where they often brought their family to vacation during the lovely summer months.
The castle was surrounded by beautiful gardens. Flowers of every type and description grew there, particularly roses, of which the king was quite proud. He spent many hours tending to his plants, which thrived under his watchful care.
From the gardens one could hear the sound of the waves breaking against the nearby sands. A large pond, seemingly isolated from the sea, was also nearby. Amphibians and fishes made the pond their home. The skies opened wide and brilliant blue for miles around as the sun gleamed and glinted on the seawater.
It was a quiet place, broken only by the rolling of the waves and calling of seagulls. In the evenings as the sun sank, breathtaking sunsets splashed across the sky, turning waves to fire in a dazzling display. At night, the stars were mirrored in the glassy surface of the sea. The gentle waves played a lullaby with the crickets and night birds. It was a land that had been untroubled for many years. But when the young prince, Lucian, graduated from school, some things were bound to change.
Anyway, now to a "landscape" story. Check in next week for an "animal" story.
Maltisten was a small shoreline province in the fairy-ruled empire of Sanalbereth. In the northwestern corner of the country, Maltisten was a land of beautiful summers and cold winters. The air smelled always of sea-salt. The king and queen of the province had a seaside castle built of rough seastone, embellished with shells and and the impressions of ancient sealife. It was small, by castle standards, a place where they often brought their family to vacation during the lovely summer months.
The castle was surrounded by beautiful gardens. Flowers of every type and description grew there, particularly roses, of which the king was quite proud. He spent many hours tending to his plants, which thrived under his watchful care.
From the gardens one could hear the sound of the waves breaking against the nearby sands. A large pond, seemingly isolated from the sea, was also nearby. Amphibians and fishes made the pond their home. The skies opened wide and brilliant blue for miles around as the sun gleamed and glinted on the seawater.
It was a quiet place, broken only by the rolling of the waves and calling of seagulls. In the evenings as the sun sank, breathtaking sunsets splashed across the sky, turning waves to fire in a dazzling display. At night, the stars were mirrored in the glassy surface of the sea. The gentle waves played a lullaby with the crickets and night birds. It was a land that had been untroubled for many years. But when the young prince, Lucian, graduated from school, some things were bound to change.
February 12, 2014
Romance? Not Really...
Today's prompt is "red", more than likely because Valentine's Day is just around the corner. (By the way, in case you missed yesterdayPrince Charming's Search is officially available Friday, but you can start ordering today!)I didn't particularly feel like writing something mushy-gushy, Valentine-y for the prompt. So I started thinking about red. As a color it's intense and vibrant, being linked to a wide array of human emotions. There's an awful lot you can do with red, but if you do too much it can be overwhelming. So I thought I'd make red more of an accessory (kind of literally) in this story. Next week I'll be writing based on the prompt "landscape". For now enjoy a "red" story...
She wrapped the scarf about her neck, almost as an afterthought, as she opened the door to go outside. As she locked her apartment door behind herself, fluffy snowflakes kissed the crimson wool of her scarf. It stood out against her charcoal coat and the cascading, dark brown curls spilling from beneath a maroon beret. Snug in her winter wear, she began walking across the street and through the campus grounds to class. The warmth of the color seemed to add to the scarf's efficiency, keeping her cozy and comfortable. She walked at a calm pace. It wasn't far to the building and she had time enough to get there. No sense rushing when it was so peaceful out.
Haphazardly pulling on a scarlet sweatshirt, the young man grabbed his backpack before sprinting from the dorms. He'd lost track of time again and knew that this time the professor would dock points from his grade if he came in late. He was already sitting at a C and couldn't afford to lose more points. Ignoring the cold, he continued running until he reached the building.
He took the stairs two at a time, panting when he reached the top. But he didn't pause for breath. Speed-walking, he saw a girl with a red scarf ahead of him walking slowly. He could see an open folder poking out from the sides and could tell her attention was on organizing its contents. Desperate to be on time, he tried to move around her, but misjudged the distance. He knocked her arm, scattering her papers across the floor.
"Hey, watch it!" The girl bent to start picking up the folder.
"Well next time don't be so slow," he retorted, continuing to the classroom. There were a couple minutes to spare. He thought about the irritating girl outside who was probably going to be late. His grandmother would have tanned his hide if she'd seen his behavior. For a moment he debated going out to help. It was his fault, but he also knew the bell would ring soon.
He didn't have the chance to go out. Just as the bell rang, the girl rushed inside, her crimson scarf sliding down her shoulder and a mess of papers in her arms. She saw him looking at her and glared back before taking her seat near the front of the room.
As the professor started class, he watched the girl reorganize her folder. Her hands worked quickly, bright red nails popping out against the white sheets of paper. He felt bad for making her late and messing up her folder. He decided to apologize after class.
Once her papers were reorganized, the young woman took out her notebook and began taking notes. She was glad this professor typically did not start his lectures right away. It had given her time to clean up the mess caused by that scruffy moron. The fact that he hadn't bothered to help, hadn't even had the decency to apologize, infuriated her. But she tried to keep her attention on class and not on the guy in the red sweatshirt.
When the lecture was finished, the professor asked them to turn in their assignments. She took the maroon folder to the basket at the front of the room before going back to her seat to gather her things.
AS she was tying the crimson scarf about her neck, the guy who'd knocked her over walked up. She scowled, "What do you want?"
"Look, I'm sorry about earlier," he began. "I've been late a few too many times as is and can't afford to lose any more points. This class is hard enough, right?"
Her expression didn't change much as she shrugged. "Whatever. Nothing was lost so don't worry about it."
"I should still apologize. It was rude of me not to help."
"Really, it's no big deal."
"Is there a way for me to make it up to you?"
She eyed him curiously. "What did you have in mind?"
"Coffee in the library?"
A hint of a smile tugged at the corners of her lips. "Make it a cocoa and you've got a deal."
They started outside silently. Flurries clung to the scarlet sweatshirt and charcoal coat. "I don't think we've really met before. My name's Greg."
"I'm Ruby," she smiled, the wind playing with the ends of her crimson scarf.
She wrapped the scarf about her neck, almost as an afterthought, as she opened the door to go outside. As she locked her apartment door behind herself, fluffy snowflakes kissed the crimson wool of her scarf. It stood out against her charcoal coat and the cascading, dark brown curls spilling from beneath a maroon beret. Snug in her winter wear, she began walking across the street and through the campus grounds to class. The warmth of the color seemed to add to the scarf's efficiency, keeping her cozy and comfortable. She walked at a calm pace. It wasn't far to the building and she had time enough to get there. No sense rushing when it was so peaceful out.
Haphazardly pulling on a scarlet sweatshirt, the young man grabbed his backpack before sprinting from the dorms. He'd lost track of time again and knew that this time the professor would dock points from his grade if he came in late. He was already sitting at a C and couldn't afford to lose more points. Ignoring the cold, he continued running until he reached the building.
He took the stairs two at a time, panting when he reached the top. But he didn't pause for breath. Speed-walking, he saw a girl with a red scarf ahead of him walking slowly. He could see an open folder poking out from the sides and could tell her attention was on organizing its contents. Desperate to be on time, he tried to move around her, but misjudged the distance. He knocked her arm, scattering her papers across the floor.
"Hey, watch it!" The girl bent to start picking up the folder.
"Well next time don't be so slow," he retorted, continuing to the classroom. There were a couple minutes to spare. He thought about the irritating girl outside who was probably going to be late. His grandmother would have tanned his hide if she'd seen his behavior. For a moment he debated going out to help. It was his fault, but he also knew the bell would ring soon.
He didn't have the chance to go out. Just as the bell rang, the girl rushed inside, her crimson scarf sliding down her shoulder and a mess of papers in her arms. She saw him looking at her and glared back before taking her seat near the front of the room.
As the professor started class, he watched the girl reorganize her folder. Her hands worked quickly, bright red nails popping out against the white sheets of paper. He felt bad for making her late and messing up her folder. He decided to apologize after class.
Once her papers were reorganized, the young woman took out her notebook and began taking notes. She was glad this professor typically did not start his lectures right away. It had given her time to clean up the mess caused by that scruffy moron. The fact that he hadn't bothered to help, hadn't even had the decency to apologize, infuriated her. But she tried to keep her attention on class and not on the guy in the red sweatshirt.
When the lecture was finished, the professor asked them to turn in their assignments. She took the maroon folder to the basket at the front of the room before going back to her seat to gather her things.
AS she was tying the crimson scarf about her neck, the guy who'd knocked her over walked up. She scowled, "What do you want?"
"Look, I'm sorry about earlier," he began. "I've been late a few too many times as is and can't afford to lose any more points. This class is hard enough, right?"
Her expression didn't change much as she shrugged. "Whatever. Nothing was lost so don't worry about it."
"I should still apologize. It was rude of me not to help."
"Really, it's no big deal."
"Is there a way for me to make it up to you?"
She eyed him curiously. "What did you have in mind?"
"Coffee in the library?"
A hint of a smile tugged at the corners of her lips. "Make it a cocoa and you've got a deal."
They started outside silently. Flurries clung to the scarlet sweatshirt and charcoal coat. "I don't think we've really met before. My name's Greg."
"I'm Ruby," she smiled, the wind playing with the ends of her crimson scarf.
February 11, 2014
Just in the Nick of Time!
I bet you thought I forgot about doing my writing challenge last week, didn't you? Truth is I did not forget, but my computer was out of commission and due to the weather the local library was closed so I didn't have a good way to type up and submit my "Hands" story. But I did write it in my notebook and now on the last day of my "week" I am getting it up for you to see. This past week I also read through and edited the proof copy of Prince Charming's Search. Now the edits are complete and it's available through my estore though the official release date is Valentine's Day.
But without further ado, a "hands" short story. Check by tomorrow for a "red" story...
Her fingers repeated the familiar up and down pattern of her stitches. "Idle hands are the devil's playground," her mother used to say. As a result, Ida's hands were almost always busy doing something. Today as warm sunshine poured through her open window, Ida's hands were cross-stitching. Long fingers once quite nimble trembled slightly as she repeated the pattern. Up and then down. Up and down again
As her fingers worked, Ida's mind wandered. Her hands, now gnarled with age, scars and pesky arthritis, had in her younger years been smooth, nimble and fair. Her skin showed a lifetime of work like old leather, soft yet deeply tanned and spotted. Her nails were neatly trimmed and now a shocking shade of turquoise her mother would never have approved of. Proper young ladies did not paint their nails such outlandish colors. Courtesy of her teenaged granddaughter, Ida now had nails her mother would faint at. Though she had fussed and argued at the time, Ida couldn't help but admire the subtle sparkle of the nail polish. It was pretty, though she never would have admitted it to Kayla, and awoke in her the girl she was before.
For a few moments, her hands were still as she looked out the window. Her memories transformed her back into a youthful blonde with sparkling eyes and a zest for life. The perfume of wildflowers tickled her nose as she cut the stem of a daisy with her fingernail, enjoying the green stain it left behind.
"Aren't you done yet?" her little sister asked.
"Nearly. It takes time to make a daisy chian crown, Beth." She continued looking for flowers to add as her hands kept working. Pulling the last stem through, she placed the crown on her sister's head, smoothing the fiery curls with her fingers.
"Do I look like a fairy princess now?" Beth asked excitedly.
"Better. You look like a prairie fairy princess," Ida replied.
As Beth skipped away giggling, "Priaire fairy princess," over and over, Ida smiled and continued picking flowers. Her long fingers twirled the stems before piercing them and weaving them together into a second daisy chain crown. The sun shone down on her, warming her from head to foot.
With a smile she placed the crown on her head and called out to Beth, "Now I'm a prairie fairy princess too!"
"Bit old to be playing princess, aren't you?" a voice behind her asked.
Her hands clenched into fists as she turned to see a boy her age grinning down at her from horseback. "That's none of your concern, Thomas Randall."
Amusement danced in his dark blue eyes. "My humblest apologies, your highness," he said with a mock bow.
She heard her mother's voice calling her name. Glaring at Thomas, she took old of Beth's hand and snapped, "Apology not accepted," before running toward her house. Thomas' laughter echoed behind.
Old Ida laughed as her fingers resumed the up and down pattern of her stitches. That Thomas always was a little infuriating. It was one of the things that led to another scene in her life.
Up through the fabric and then down. Up again and down again.
Her memory shifted to a scene a few years after the daisy chain incident. Her hands felt warm and secure in those of Thomas Randall. His skin was rough and calloused from working the fields. But the warmth and love she felt seemed to smooth out the flaws until she couldn't think of a more perfect place for her hands to be. They stood together on the old bridge watching the sun sink to the horizon.
"I don't a lot, Ida. But I would give it all to spend my life with you. Will you be my prairie princess?"
Joy swelled in Ida's heart, but she couldn't help teasing the man who'd spent their childhood mocking her. "No." She waited just long enough for his face to fall before smiling, "I'd much rather be your prairie fairy princess."
His relieved laughter filled her ears as he squeezed her hands. "Of course, my prairie fairy princess."
Up through the fabric and then down. Up again and down again.
She remembered a perfect spring day when Thomas slipped a cool, golden band on her finger.
Up and then down. Up and down.
Days spent in the fields and gardens side-by-side with Thomas flitted by. Her hands lifted babies and then held little toddler hands. Her hands pulled weeds and planted seeds. Her hands kneaded bread dough and scrubbed floors.
Up and down. Up and down.
Her old hands held a single rose over a dark casket. The golden band on her left hand felt cold as sad raindrops mingled with her tears. Her fingers released the rose, watching it drop down into sweet Thomas' grave.
Up and down. Up. Down.
A knock on the door interrupted Ida's memories. "Mrs. Randall, your granddaughter is here to see you," the nurse said.
A smile spread over Ida's face as a young version of herself walked in. "Good afternoon, Grammy. How are you today?"
"I'm fine, darling. How are you?" she asked, embracing her granddaughter as she bent toward her.
"I'd be better if Bryce would leave me alone," the girl fumed.
Ida chuckled. "You've got to watch out for the ornery ones. You're liable to marry one of them, Kayla."
"Oh, Grammy, he's nothing at all like Grampa."
"Tell me about him, then," Ida replied, her hands resuming their dance with the needle. Up and down. Up. Down.
But without further ado, a "hands" short story. Check by tomorrow for a "red" story...
Her fingers repeated the familiar up and down pattern of her stitches. "Idle hands are the devil's playground," her mother used to say. As a result, Ida's hands were almost always busy doing something. Today as warm sunshine poured through her open window, Ida's hands were cross-stitching. Long fingers once quite nimble trembled slightly as she repeated the pattern. Up and then down. Up and down again
As her fingers worked, Ida's mind wandered. Her hands, now gnarled with age, scars and pesky arthritis, had in her younger years been smooth, nimble and fair. Her skin showed a lifetime of work like old leather, soft yet deeply tanned and spotted. Her nails were neatly trimmed and now a shocking shade of turquoise her mother would never have approved of. Proper young ladies did not paint their nails such outlandish colors. Courtesy of her teenaged granddaughter, Ida now had nails her mother would faint at. Though she had fussed and argued at the time, Ida couldn't help but admire the subtle sparkle of the nail polish. It was pretty, though she never would have admitted it to Kayla, and awoke in her the girl she was before.
For a few moments, her hands were still as she looked out the window. Her memories transformed her back into a youthful blonde with sparkling eyes and a zest for life. The perfume of wildflowers tickled her nose as she cut the stem of a daisy with her fingernail, enjoying the green stain it left behind.
"Aren't you done yet?" her little sister asked.
"Nearly. It takes time to make a daisy chian crown, Beth." She continued looking for flowers to add as her hands kept working. Pulling the last stem through, she placed the crown on her sister's head, smoothing the fiery curls with her fingers.
"Do I look like a fairy princess now?" Beth asked excitedly.
"Better. You look like a prairie fairy princess," Ida replied.
As Beth skipped away giggling, "Priaire fairy princess," over and over, Ida smiled and continued picking flowers. Her long fingers twirled the stems before piercing them and weaving them together into a second daisy chain crown. The sun shone down on her, warming her from head to foot.
With a smile she placed the crown on her head and called out to Beth, "Now I'm a prairie fairy princess too!"
"Bit old to be playing princess, aren't you?" a voice behind her asked.
Her hands clenched into fists as she turned to see a boy her age grinning down at her from horseback. "That's none of your concern, Thomas Randall."
Amusement danced in his dark blue eyes. "My humblest apologies, your highness," he said with a mock bow.
She heard her mother's voice calling her name. Glaring at Thomas, she took old of Beth's hand and snapped, "Apology not accepted," before running toward her house. Thomas' laughter echoed behind.
Old Ida laughed as her fingers resumed the up and down pattern of her stitches. That Thomas always was a little infuriating. It was one of the things that led to another scene in her life.
Up through the fabric and then down. Up again and down again.
Her memory shifted to a scene a few years after the daisy chain incident. Her hands felt warm and secure in those of Thomas Randall. His skin was rough and calloused from working the fields. But the warmth and love she felt seemed to smooth out the flaws until she couldn't think of a more perfect place for her hands to be. They stood together on the old bridge watching the sun sink to the horizon.
"I don't a lot, Ida. But I would give it all to spend my life with you. Will you be my prairie princess?"
Joy swelled in Ida's heart, but she couldn't help teasing the man who'd spent their childhood mocking her. "No." She waited just long enough for his face to fall before smiling, "I'd much rather be your prairie fairy princess."
His relieved laughter filled her ears as he squeezed her hands. "Of course, my prairie fairy princess."
Up through the fabric and then down. Up again and down again.
She remembered a perfect spring day when Thomas slipped a cool, golden band on her finger.
Up and then down. Up and down.
Days spent in the fields and gardens side-by-side with Thomas flitted by. Her hands lifted babies and then held little toddler hands. Her hands pulled weeds and planted seeds. Her hands kneaded bread dough and scrubbed floors.
Up and down. Up and down.
Her old hands held a single rose over a dark casket. The golden band on her left hand felt cold as sad raindrops mingled with her tears. Her fingers released the rose, watching it drop down into sweet Thomas' grave.
Up and down. Up. Down.
A knock on the door interrupted Ida's memories. "Mrs. Randall, your granddaughter is here to see you," the nurse said.
A smile spread over Ida's face as a young version of herself walked in. "Good afternoon, Grammy. How are you today?"
"I'm fine, darling. How are you?" she asked, embracing her granddaughter as she bent toward her.
"I'd be better if Bryce would leave me alone," the girl fumed.
Ida chuckled. "You've got to watch out for the ornery ones. You're liable to marry one of them, Kayla."
"Oh, Grammy, he's nothing at all like Grampa."
"Tell me about him, then," Ida replied, her hands resuming their dance with the needle. Up and down. Up. Down.
January 29, 2014
Happy Kansas Day!
Last week you read a "bokeh" story in which the character gets caught up in the fantasy world of a good book, blurring her reality. This week the prompt was "natural light". Being as today is Kansas Day, I decided to write a little Kansas story. This may turn into a larger story to be submitted to the Kansas Voices competition held by the Winfield Arts & Humanities Council. We'll just have to wait and see. Next week I'll be writing a story based on the prompt "hands". Should be fun! And now, to a "natural light" story...
Rose turned her face toward the sky. Sunlight bathed her in its warm, golden glow. A sigh escaped her lips. What a gorgeous day! The tall prairie grass whispered in the wind. Birds were chirping as they soared above her. There was hardly a cloud in the sky. The sweet, homey smell of Kansas filled her nostril.
She clicked her tongue, urging her horse to a trot. Mama would be waiting for her to come help with the chores. There would be kindling to gather and laundry to wash. AS she came closer to the homestead, her horse quickened its pace. She laughed. The old gelding knew his way home.
After reaching the barn, she put the horse in his stall and rubbed him down before filling his box with grain. She rubbed Blossom's forehead as the milk cow lowed contentedly. When she went to the house, Mama was standing on the porch with her hands on her hips. "And where have you been this morning?"
"Just out for a morning ride, Mama,"
"Well, get your breakfast and then do your chores," Mama replied, trying to look stern. But Rose could see the hint of a smile teasing the corners of Mama's lips.
"Yes, Mama."
Rose went inside just long enough to eat the cold johnnycakes waiting for her. then she went out to the chicken coop to collect eggs. The sun climbed higher through the open prairie skies as she worked gathering buffalo chips and twigs for kindling. There weren't a lot of trees nearby and the few there were mainly used for building.
She took turns with Mama churning butter, washing and hanging the laundry, cleaning house and tending the garden. She ground corn for meal and helped Mama make a fresh loaf of bread.
By mid-afternoon the house chores were finished and Rose sat with Mama on the porch. While Mama mended Papa's work shirts, Rose worked on her sampler, practicing her stitches on a piece of old mill sack. Mama always insisted on taking advantage of the afternoon sunshine to sew together rather than doing it in the house by firelight. The bright sunlight warmed them as they worked. Rose took a deep breath, the spring air filling her lungs with the perfume of wildflowers and wheat fields. Soon it would be summer and school would start again. She and her brothers would walk to the one-room schoolhouse together. She'd get to see her friends and the teacher, Miss Samson.
Mama looked up to see Rose daydreaming. She smiled and set down the shirt she'd been mending. "Well, Rosey-girl, let's see your stitches."
Rose blushed and handed her mother the sampler. "Am I getting better?"
Chuckling, Mama looked at the letters Rose had been stitching. "Yes, I do believe you are, dear."
"Will I ever sew as beautifully as you do, Mama?"
"Only if you keep practicing," Mama replied, returning the cloth to her. "My stitches were once as uneven and crooked as yours are now."
Rose wanted to disagree, but in Mama's cedar chest was her first sampler and Rose knew that it looked very similar to hers.
The breeze tousled her hair and pulled at the strings of her bonnet. They continued to work while the sun shone down on them. soon Mama finished the last shirt and stood up. "I think it's time to go in and start supper. Papa and the boys will be in from the fields soon. They'll be hungry."
"Yes, Mama," Rose said. She put her sampler in her sewing basket and looked out once more over the fields of grain and prairie grass. The sun turned the fields into a patchwork of spun emerald and gold, dancing and waving in the wind. She took another deep breath allowing the smell of Kansas to seep into every particle of her body and deep into her soul. It was beautiful. It was brilliant and shining. It was comforting.
"Rose, are you coming?" Mama's voice chided from inside the cabin.
"Coming, Mama," Rose said. She took a last breath. She knew what Kansas smelled like as she turned to go inside. It smelled like home.
Rose turned her face toward the sky. Sunlight bathed her in its warm, golden glow. A sigh escaped her lips. What a gorgeous day! The tall prairie grass whispered in the wind. Birds were chirping as they soared above her. There was hardly a cloud in the sky. The sweet, homey smell of Kansas filled her nostril.
She clicked her tongue, urging her horse to a trot. Mama would be waiting for her to come help with the chores. There would be kindling to gather and laundry to wash. AS she came closer to the homestead, her horse quickened its pace. She laughed. The old gelding knew his way home.
After reaching the barn, she put the horse in his stall and rubbed him down before filling his box with grain. She rubbed Blossom's forehead as the milk cow lowed contentedly. When she went to the house, Mama was standing on the porch with her hands on her hips. "And where have you been this morning?"
"Just out for a morning ride, Mama,"
"Well, get your breakfast and then do your chores," Mama replied, trying to look stern. But Rose could see the hint of a smile teasing the corners of Mama's lips.
"Yes, Mama."
Rose went inside just long enough to eat the cold johnnycakes waiting for her. then she went out to the chicken coop to collect eggs. The sun climbed higher through the open prairie skies as she worked gathering buffalo chips and twigs for kindling. There weren't a lot of trees nearby and the few there were mainly used for building.
She took turns with Mama churning butter, washing and hanging the laundry, cleaning house and tending the garden. She ground corn for meal and helped Mama make a fresh loaf of bread.
By mid-afternoon the house chores were finished and Rose sat with Mama on the porch. While Mama mended Papa's work shirts, Rose worked on her sampler, practicing her stitches on a piece of old mill sack. Mama always insisted on taking advantage of the afternoon sunshine to sew together rather than doing it in the house by firelight. The bright sunlight warmed them as they worked. Rose took a deep breath, the spring air filling her lungs with the perfume of wildflowers and wheat fields. Soon it would be summer and school would start again. She and her brothers would walk to the one-room schoolhouse together. She'd get to see her friends and the teacher, Miss Samson.
Mama looked up to see Rose daydreaming. She smiled and set down the shirt she'd been mending. "Well, Rosey-girl, let's see your stitches."
Rose blushed and handed her mother the sampler. "Am I getting better?"
Chuckling, Mama looked at the letters Rose had been stitching. "Yes, I do believe you are, dear."
"Will I ever sew as beautifully as you do, Mama?"
"Only if you keep practicing," Mama replied, returning the cloth to her. "My stitches were once as uneven and crooked as yours are now."
Rose wanted to disagree, but in Mama's cedar chest was her first sampler and Rose knew that it looked very similar to hers.
The breeze tousled her hair and pulled at the strings of her bonnet. They continued to work while the sun shone down on them. soon Mama finished the last shirt and stood up. "I think it's time to go in and start supper. Papa and the boys will be in from the fields soon. They'll be hungry."
"Yes, Mama," Rose said. She put her sampler in her sewing basket and looked out once more over the fields of grain and prairie grass. The sun turned the fields into a patchwork of spun emerald and gold, dancing and waving in the wind. She took another deep breath allowing the smell of Kansas to seep into every particle of her body and deep into her soul. It was beautiful. It was brilliant and shining. It was comforting.
"Rose, are you coming?" Mama's voice chided from inside the cabin.
"Coming, Mama," Rose said. She took a last breath. She knew what Kansas smelled like as she turned to go inside. It smelled like home.
January 24, 2014
Not Competing Anymore
Well, it's happened again. An issue has come up, one that is very near and dear to my heart, and I am now going to pontificate a little. Okay, maybe a lot. Okay, okay, the truth is I'm going to rant and I hope that when I'm done you'll understand why I've decided I'm not competing anymore.
My husband often tells me when I've had a bad day that men have it so much easier than women. They don't have to deal with "Aunt Flow" or whichever euphamism you use for the monthly cycle. They don't generally have women stare at their crotch in the same way uncouth men and teenage boys stare at a woman's bust.They don't bear children or deal with pregnancy, beyond being a supportive and loving partner.
Usually when my sweetheart points out how easy men have it, I laugh it off. But today, I'd probably agree with him. Men, while typically more competitive than women, are not being caught up in the middle of a raging war of competition in what their role in life ought to be. Men are pretty unanimous in their role as a breadwinner, though the occasional stay-at-home dad is either frowned at or applauded depending on who comments. But I don't see them making a huge ruckus over whether they work, what type of job they have, or how often they travel/adventure. It just doesn't seem exist for them.
But for the past several decades, longer than I've even been alive, women have been thrown against each other in the battle of feminism. It has only gotten worse with the advent of social media. Every thing we do is subject to this battle. I've heard my mom talk about what it was like for her in the early and mid-eighties when this battle reached an all-time high. She told me once that I couldn't possibly imagine what is was like to be looked down on so as a stay-at-home wife and mother. "And I hope you never do," she told me. "People still think women should be strong and able to do anything, but it seems to have toned down."
Sorry Mom, having read this article, I think I understand better what you meant. I've never felt so put down, so despised by another woman before. It would be one thing if this was from a man. His opinion really wouldn't phase me much because as a man, he really holds no weight with the subject. It's the fact that this is from another woman. The fact that this woman seems to honestly and truly believe that to be a stay-at-home mother, or really a mother and wife at all, is to waste your life. The author's attitude towards marriage and motherhood is offensive, appalling and hurtful. For the first time, I understood what my mother had been saying.
The friend who shared the article is a young mom like me. Younger in fact. She is a beautiful young woman who has traveled, and is now working along side her husband to support their young family. I look up to her as a strong woman, capable and sure of herself and following her dream. She shared the article and commented that she plans on writing a blog post response and I can't wait to see what she has to say. But I wanted to respond as well.
As women we've been told that we can have it all. We can do anything a man can do and you better believe we can do it better, or you're just cowing to male supremacy. The term hausfrau, the beautiful German word which best translated would be stay-at-home wife, instead of being the endearing word that it was in its root became a word of derision. Women have been pulled into a battle of whether it was best to be a stay-at-home mother or a working mother. Either way you chose you were heralded by some and put down by others.
And now this woman would have us believe that if you are a wife or mother you've suddenly lowered your standards to being unworthy of anything. It doesn't matter if you stay home, it doesn't matter if you work. You are suddenly lower than dust because you got married and had a family.
STOP!!!
As women we have been given divine gifts from a loving God. Even if you don't believe in God, there are many feminine traits that lend themselves to nurturing, loving, and compassion. Traits which are predominately held by women. It doesn't mean that all women are cut out to be mothers any more than it means that a man cannot be compassionate. A woman can't be everything a man can be because she is not a man. Women can't do everything men can do better because we are not men. And we shouldn't have to be.
I find that having read the article I don't feel angry with the author as much as I feel sorry for her. She seems to have missed what being a woman can really be. The word feminism has been so altered by the movement of the same name that we've forgotten what it actually means. The word feminism refers not to becoming like men or being equal with men. Feminism means like a woman. It means becoming a better woman. It means embracing our feminine traits and using them for good.
For some of us, that means becoming mothers. I'll admit it. I would get a lot more done if I didn't have children. It's true. I would probably have already finished the entire "Charming Academy" series. I'd probably have the resources to really market it and get it into bestseller's lists. Yeah, I'd be able to travel if I chose and go on adventures. But that's not what makes my life so fulfilling.
I find fulfillment in my children. Yes, some of my writing time gets put off to build with Duplos. Some of it gets put off to take care of a sick child who needs me. Some of it goes away as I help my husband. But I wouldn't trade one precious moment with my children for all the bestselling novels in the world. I wouldn't trade a single evening with my husband for the most exotic dream vacation. My husband and children are my life. I love them with every fiber of my being. Their joys and successes bring me satisfaction, knowing that I helped them get there. Their pains and sorrows cut me to the quick as I try to find ways of filling their needs.
I'm not a brain surgeon. Neither are you, Miss Glass. I've never saved a life. But neither have you. I have filled my life with fulfilling relationships. I have made my own life, as simple and unpretentious as it may be, into an adventure. I've turned simple things into the extraordinary. I've brought life into this world. While I am not a brain surgeon or a doctor or a soldier or a traveler, my children could be. My children, the lives that I have brought into this world, could change the future. They can make this world a better place. But some have to choose to be mothers in order for life to continue. And don't forget, Miss Glass, the only reason you are here to write your embittered article is because a woman chose to be a mother.
Empowerment does not come from tearing others down. True empowerment comes from building up those around us. We as women whether we have children or don't, whether married or single, whether we are wealthy or poor, young or old, have the opportunity and responsibility to build each other up. What you choose to do with your life does not make you more important or influential than I am. It also doesn't make you less than what I am. Your life is yours and I will not try to tell you what to do with it. But don't you dare tear me down for choosing to be a wife and mother. This is my life. It's fulfilling, it's important, it's an adventure. But most important, it's MY life. I cannot imagine that you honestly find fulfillment in your life if you feel the need to tear women down so. But I hope that you do find fulfillment in your own ways. But allow me the same courtesy.
And even if you don't, it really doesn't matter. I'm happy with my life and nothing you say can change that. But for the ladies out there, let's have less competition and more compassion. There are enough demands on our time without adding one that is so detrimental to our minds, bodies and spirits. Love is a far more fulfilling emotion than disdain. Let us love one another.
My husband often tells me when I've had a bad day that men have it so much easier than women. They don't have to deal with "Aunt Flow" or whichever euphamism you use for the monthly cycle. They don't generally have women stare at their crotch in the same way uncouth men and teenage boys stare at a woman's bust.They don't bear children or deal with pregnancy, beyond being a supportive and loving partner.
Usually when my sweetheart points out how easy men have it, I laugh it off. But today, I'd probably agree with him. Men, while typically more competitive than women, are not being caught up in the middle of a raging war of competition in what their role in life ought to be. Men are pretty unanimous in their role as a breadwinner, though the occasional stay-at-home dad is either frowned at or applauded depending on who comments. But I don't see them making a huge ruckus over whether they work, what type of job they have, or how often they travel/adventure. It just doesn't seem exist for them.
But for the past several decades, longer than I've even been alive, women have been thrown against each other in the battle of feminism. It has only gotten worse with the advent of social media. Every thing we do is subject to this battle. I've heard my mom talk about what it was like for her in the early and mid-eighties when this battle reached an all-time high. She told me once that I couldn't possibly imagine what is was like to be looked down on so as a stay-at-home wife and mother. "And I hope you never do," she told me. "People still think women should be strong and able to do anything, but it seems to have toned down."
Sorry Mom, having read this article, I think I understand better what you meant. I've never felt so put down, so despised by another woman before. It would be one thing if this was from a man. His opinion really wouldn't phase me much because as a man, he really holds no weight with the subject. It's the fact that this is from another woman. The fact that this woman seems to honestly and truly believe that to be a stay-at-home mother, or really a mother and wife at all, is to waste your life. The author's attitude towards marriage and motherhood is offensive, appalling and hurtful. For the first time, I understood what my mother had been saying.
The friend who shared the article is a young mom like me. Younger in fact. She is a beautiful young woman who has traveled, and is now working along side her husband to support their young family. I look up to her as a strong woman, capable and sure of herself and following her dream. She shared the article and commented that she plans on writing a blog post response and I can't wait to see what she has to say. But I wanted to respond as well.
As women we've been told that we can have it all. We can do anything a man can do and you better believe we can do it better, or you're just cowing to male supremacy. The term hausfrau, the beautiful German word which best translated would be stay-at-home wife, instead of being the endearing word that it was in its root became a word of derision. Women have been pulled into a battle of whether it was best to be a stay-at-home mother or a working mother. Either way you chose you were heralded by some and put down by others.
And now this woman would have us believe that if you are a wife or mother you've suddenly lowered your standards to being unworthy of anything. It doesn't matter if you stay home, it doesn't matter if you work. You are suddenly lower than dust because you got married and had a family.
STOP!!!
As women we have been given divine gifts from a loving God. Even if you don't believe in God, there are many feminine traits that lend themselves to nurturing, loving, and compassion. Traits which are predominately held by women. It doesn't mean that all women are cut out to be mothers any more than it means that a man cannot be compassionate. A woman can't be everything a man can be because she is not a man. Women can't do everything men can do better because we are not men. And we shouldn't have to be.
I find that having read the article I don't feel angry with the author as much as I feel sorry for her. She seems to have missed what being a woman can really be. The word feminism has been so altered by the movement of the same name that we've forgotten what it actually means. The word feminism refers not to becoming like men or being equal with men. Feminism means like a woman. It means becoming a better woman. It means embracing our feminine traits and using them for good.
For some of us, that means becoming mothers. I'll admit it. I would get a lot more done if I didn't have children. It's true. I would probably have already finished the entire "Charming Academy" series. I'd probably have the resources to really market it and get it into bestseller's lists. Yeah, I'd be able to travel if I chose and go on adventures. But that's not what makes my life so fulfilling.
I find fulfillment in my children. Yes, some of my writing time gets put off to build with Duplos. Some of it gets put off to take care of a sick child who needs me. Some of it goes away as I help my husband. But I wouldn't trade one precious moment with my children for all the bestselling novels in the world. I wouldn't trade a single evening with my husband for the most exotic dream vacation. My husband and children are my life. I love them with every fiber of my being. Their joys and successes bring me satisfaction, knowing that I helped them get there. Their pains and sorrows cut me to the quick as I try to find ways of filling their needs.
I'm not a brain surgeon. Neither are you, Miss Glass. I've never saved a life. But neither have you. I have filled my life with fulfilling relationships. I have made my own life, as simple and unpretentious as it may be, into an adventure. I've turned simple things into the extraordinary. I've brought life into this world. While I am not a brain surgeon or a doctor or a soldier or a traveler, my children could be. My children, the lives that I have brought into this world, could change the future. They can make this world a better place. But some have to choose to be mothers in order for life to continue. And don't forget, Miss Glass, the only reason you are here to write your embittered article is because a woman chose to be a mother.
Empowerment does not come from tearing others down. True empowerment comes from building up those around us. We as women whether we have children or don't, whether married or single, whether we are wealthy or poor, young or old, have the opportunity and responsibility to build each other up. What you choose to do with your life does not make you more important or influential than I am. It also doesn't make you less than what I am. Your life is yours and I will not try to tell you what to do with it. But don't you dare tear me down for choosing to be a wife and mother. This is my life. It's fulfilling, it's important, it's an adventure. But most important, it's MY life. I cannot imagine that you honestly find fulfillment in your life if you feel the need to tear women down so. But I hope that you do find fulfillment in your own ways. But allow me the same courtesy.
And even if you don't, it really doesn't matter. I'm happy with my life and nothing you say can change that. But for the ladies out there, let's have less competition and more compassion. There are enough demands on our time without adding one that is so detrimental to our minds, bodies and spirits. Love is a far more fulfilling emotion than disdain. Let us love one another.
January 23, 2014
Finally Finished!
I know you've been waiting patiently. I've promised one date and then another. But now after months of writer's block, surprise characters and elements, twists I didn't see and plans falling through I can say that "Prince Charming's Search" is finally finished!
*insert angelic choirs singing the Hallelujah chorus*
Okay, it's not totally finished, but the writing part is done. Now I'm on to the editing process which thankfully is much quicker than writing. Because of a silly mistake (when copying and pasting to make sure format stays the same, it helps to change the words to fit the new title) I wasn't able to order the proof copy until today. But I won't be sitting idle waiting for the proof to arrive. Here's my plan:
During the days I'm waiting for this book to come, I'll be making some minor edits to the first two books. Don't worry, no plot changes or anything like that. Mostly I'll be checking my spelling/grammar to make sure that there are no mistakes (I'm not perfect after all). I'll also be adding a page to the back of the book discussing me as an author and all that fun stuff with my web address so that people can find more of my books. I'll also be making a little change to the book covers, adding the series title in. These changes aren't going to be any reason for you to buy a new book. But they might help others who are interested in reading more to find me a little easier.
Once the proof copy arrives, I'll be busily going through it checking spelling, grammar and the story in general.
Some of you may wonder why this book took so much longer than my last one did. There were a few reasons, many dealing with the every day obligations that I have as a wife and mother, particularly since there was a move involved while I was writing. But some of it was the story itself. As a retelling of Cinderella, this book was difficult for me to write. We all love Clarissa's sweet innocence in the first two books. Her easy smile and gentle personality. Placing her in a situation that was neither sweet nor gentle was difficult. And though much of the story deals with Jacobi and his search for her, it was also important to check in on Clarissa and see how she was faring as she awaited her Prince Charming. When we watch movies based on the fairy tales we grew up with, many of them soften the edges of the fairy tales, making them seem brighter and more magical. But all fairy tales have some darkness in them. Life was not easy for the princes and princesses who star in these tales. As I write my versions, I try to stay somewhat true to those old stories I read as a child. My stories aren't exactly like the stories my mother told me, but I try to keep the essential elements that make the story what it is. For instance, in Finding Prince Charming, Allegra needed to have a golden ball to fall into the well. This story is much the same. Certain elements needed to be present in order to make it work.
But it's now finished and ready for editing. The plan is to have it released for Valentine's Day. I'll keep you updated on what's going on with it, but mark your calendar. Valentine's Day a new fairy tale will be available for you to read!
*insert angelic choirs singing the Hallelujah chorus*
Okay, it's not totally finished, but the writing part is done. Now I'm on to the editing process which thankfully is much quicker than writing. Because of a silly mistake (when copying and pasting to make sure format stays the same, it helps to change the words to fit the new title) I wasn't able to order the proof copy until today. But I won't be sitting idle waiting for the proof to arrive. Here's my plan:
During the days I'm waiting for this book to come, I'll be making some minor edits to the first two books. Don't worry, no plot changes or anything like that. Mostly I'll be checking my spelling/grammar to make sure that there are no mistakes (I'm not perfect after all). I'll also be adding a page to the back of the book discussing me as an author and all that fun stuff with my web address so that people can find more of my books. I'll also be making a little change to the book covers, adding the series title in. These changes aren't going to be any reason for you to buy a new book. But they might help others who are interested in reading more to find me a little easier.
Once the proof copy arrives, I'll be busily going through it checking spelling, grammar and the story in general.
Some of you may wonder why this book took so much longer than my last one did. There were a few reasons, many dealing with the every day obligations that I have as a wife and mother, particularly since there was a move involved while I was writing. But some of it was the story itself. As a retelling of Cinderella, this book was difficult for me to write. We all love Clarissa's sweet innocence in the first two books. Her easy smile and gentle personality. Placing her in a situation that was neither sweet nor gentle was difficult. And though much of the story deals with Jacobi and his search for her, it was also important to check in on Clarissa and see how she was faring as she awaited her Prince Charming. When we watch movies based on the fairy tales we grew up with, many of them soften the edges of the fairy tales, making them seem brighter and more magical. But all fairy tales have some darkness in them. Life was not easy for the princes and princesses who star in these tales. As I write my versions, I try to stay somewhat true to those old stories I read as a child. My stories aren't exactly like the stories my mother told me, but I try to keep the essential elements that make the story what it is. For instance, in Finding Prince Charming, Allegra needed to have a golden ball to fall into the well. This story is much the same. Certain elements needed to be present in order to make it work.
But it's now finished and ready for editing. The plan is to have it released for Valentine's Day. I'll keep you updated on what's going on with it, but mark your calendar. Valentine's Day a new fairy tale will be available for you to read!
