E.C. Stilson's Blog, page 86

Negative Effects of Writing Memoir

I've felt stilted lately.

    When Miss Priss read my blog, she let me have it--WHAM. Do you remember her? She's practically my mortal enemy. Well, that confrontation did not go well.








    If you'd like to read more about her beauty and RUDENESS, please go HERE . 
    Anyway, then The Gol den Sky --my book about Zeke--started spreading like crazy.  Suddenly everyone knew his story.  I went bowling and a stranger stopped me in the parking lot.  "EC Stilson!" she said. I just looked around. "EC!  Elisa, it's you.  Everything you've gone through.  When Zeke died and your dad had cancer.  But so much of the book was filled with humor! I'll never forget it . . . Will you sign my book?"  And she actually had my book in her car!

    I kept looking behind me, thinking no one would recognize me and want my signature.  I stuttered and she waited kindly. After a moment, we talked and I smiled. It made my day, really, but that meeting marked the beginning of some bad times.

    People in my memoirs started reading them. Great folks who I'd never written bad things about called to apologize in case they'd hurt me.

    "That wasn't you," I told one man.

    "Thank God," he said. "I felt terrible."   

    Another dear, DEAR friend called.  "That was me," she said, describing a certain part of the story.

    "NO, it wasn't.  That's someone else who's related--twice removed--you don't even know them.  Oh wait, do you know so-and-so?  Crap, you do."  I bit my nails because I'd lied and it was her!

    "But we had this exact conversation."

    "And it's funny how many people I've had that conversation with."

    I called back later and confessed. She was great about it, but I cried for a long time.

    The point is, my son died. I released his story so his life would continue somehow; I never meant to hurt anyone.  But I was honest.  THEY made those choices.  If you've read the book, you might remember the woman who said, "Zeke would have lived if I'd had more faith."  Well, she even read the book!


The Golden Sky

 



    But back to the point, I'm a passive person. So for all of these people to call me, it's felt like the apocalypse.  Most people have been amazing, saying they're sorry.  Others have been defensive claiming their family would never say such things.  But everything in the book is true, and it's out there.  Maybe I shot myself in the foot, or maybe I'm turning into a stronger person.  Either way I feel stifled.  



     So many hilarious things have happened lately but I've worried, thinking I can't write about them. But this morning I woke up and decided, Who Cares!  I'll write about the beautician who nearly shook, cutting my hair after she found out I'm a writer.  "Will you write about me?"

    Originally my answer had been 'no,' but after a comment like that?  Hell, yes.

    So, is it better to be prim and proper, to never 'tell it like it is' because of the consequences?  

    I don't think so.

    I'm tired of feeling stilted.  If people don't like me, or what I write, it's okay.  I want to be honest, to be a fantastic writer, and the only way to get there is to keep writing what I know--writing it how it is.



Your thoughts?   

Cover Reveal for OPEN DOORS: FRACTURED FAIRY TALES Anthology

Only 9 days left to submit a story for the OPEN DOORS: FRACTURED FAIRY TALES anthology.




Click the cover for story submission details.

 




Thanks to Shear Luck Photography for the perfect cover!

Today--1st Signing With My Brother in SLC!

Do you remember when I gave my brother the finger last Halloween?  





You can go here to read that post:


I Gave My Brother the Finger


Well, we're always pulling pranks on each other, helping out with books and having fun.  Today we'll be at a book signing, playing music together.  I can't wait.  It's at a library with a glass elevator!  It'll be amazing to ride in that sucker!



Anyway, if you're in the SLC, UT area and would like to come see us, here are the details:




SLC Main Library
210 East 400 South 

Salt Lake City, UT 84111
(801) 524-8200

 11am - 5pm 


Also, if you'd like to check out my brother's amazing book, please go HERE .


  




Have a great day.  I'll post pictures soon.

How to Bum a Gum!

Have you ever wanted to do something bad, but didn't have the constitution for it?  Then you decided to do something else, something completely silly.  Well, in Junior High I wanted to be friends with the skaters, but they didn't want me around because I wouldn't smoke cigarettes.  Well, that's when I started chewing gum.  But just to be on the "wild side" I wouldn't just chew gum, I'd bum it too. 



I remember walking around school.  "Hey man, can I bum a gum?"

    People probably thought I was nuts, but I KNEW I was cool.

    Then when some sap actually gave me gum, I'd chew it really obviously.  Everyone knew that I had gum AND good breath too!







There was this one day when the back pocket on my pants got ripped in gym.  One of the skater girls let me borrow a pair of her jeans.  She cracked me up because she didn't like the clothes her mom sent her in and her locker held an array or awesome skater clothes.  That gem of a girl actually let me pick a pair of pants to borrow.  They were a few sizes too big, but I didn't care.  Plus that skater had a belt and she was amazing since she had an arsenal of coolness in her locker!

    I wore those pants.  I strutted around the halls.  It wasn't cool to merely have those saggy-butt pants on though, so I chewed gum while wearing those stylers.  I bet I winked at a few kids who passed by.  I waved.  "Hey, dude."  I even said "dude" to the girls.

    That was a great day until the girl next to my locker saw me.  Now this girl was huge.  She was the queen of all skaters, one of the tallest kids in ninth grade and one of the meanest.  It's funny when I think back; I never even asked her what her name was, I was a seventh grader who didn't dare.  I was too busy trying to save my own life.  She'd always threaten to take my ice cream at lunch, or sit on me if I looked at her wrong.  Once she told me I was like a 7/11 gas station; open twenty-four hours a day.  I didn't know what she meant.  I remember wondering how that could be bad if it meant I worked extra hard and never quit!  It may sound funny to you, but that girl scared me.  She had a butt bigger than a triple-trailer semi.  And if she sat on me, that sucker meant sure death to a little junior high kid like me.

    I'd do anything and everything to avoid her.  She reminded me of Sloth from Goonies. But that day I felt tough.  I had borrowed skater pants and TWO pieces of gum.  I chewed really big and stood next to my locker.  "Sloth" eyed me.

    "What's happening, man?" I asked, deciding to let her be my friend.  I was sick of being afraid.

    Sloth groaned.  Her face swiveled like it could spin in 360's all by itself.  I wondered if she was possessed as she asked, "Did you just call me . . . a man?"

    Come to think of it, she could pass for a guy.  I hadn't meant it that way though!  I really hadn't.  "I j--j--just said it because it sounded cool."

    "You think it's cool . . . to call me a man?"  She popped her knuckles.  They were big knuckles.  That's when I swallowed my gum.

    Now I know you should never swallow gum.  It has all these health risks.  My brother even told me once that the gum would never EVER come out of my body and it could grow a gum tree--or something like that.  I never forgot his words and as I swallowed those two pieces, I felt bad for myself.  Would the gum ever come out?  Would it grow a twin tree since I'd been chewing a couple pieces?

    I'd never known how to stand up to Sloth, but as I thought about that gum, I got as angry as my twelve-year-old body would allow.

    "Hey everyone.  This punk called me a man!"

    People started crowding around.  They gasped in response to her words.

    "I didn't call her a man," I whispered, then gaining strength from the gum inside my belly I continued, "I said, what's happening, man."  I'd expected everyone to cheer, tell me how awesome that was, but no one did.  I swore I heard crickets.

    "You heard her.  She called me a man!"

    Everyone booed.

    "But she made me swallow my gum!"  Crickets . . .

    So there was no way to handle things.  I thought about hiding in my locker, offering her a piece of someone else's gum.  I didn't know what to do until the girl I'd borrowed the pants from stood next to me.  I could do this.  I knew I could be strong.

    "You've been mean to me all year," I said.  "And I just wanted to tell you something."

    "What?" she barked.  I knew she was getting ready to sit on me.  She grabbed me by the front of my shirt and my feet dangled like a marionette.  Her eyes grew into big orbs.  They had red around them, like she hadn't slept in years.  That was the first time I felt bad for the Sloth.  She was tired, and there was so much aggression inside of her.  I wondered what her family life was like.  I forgot about my borrowed pants and the gum in my belly.  I forgot about the kids around and my awesome family.  I forgot everything and just felt bad for that girl.  Every time I saw her, I worried for myself.  The truth was I should have been praying for her!

    "What did you want to say?" she yelled at me as she held me against my own locker.

    I faltered and must have sounded so pathetic, so absolutely little.  "I want to be friends and I don't want you to sit on me.  You've given me a fear of butts."

    She continued staring at me, but I swore part of her hardened lips began cracking showing her loosening resolve.

    I felt so bad, I wanted to say something nice, anything to show that someone cared.  Enough that she didn't need to be mean to feel good inside.  So as she held me painfully by my shirt, I said the first thing that popped into my head.  "You have beautiful eyes . . . for a bully."

    Her eyebrows went from strained to a sort of comfortable confusion.  She looked at me, then snorted and dropped me to the ground.  Everyone started laughing.  Sloth left the hallway and our audience filtered from the area by my locker.  A guy patted me on the back as he walked by and whispered, "Nice one.  I've never seen anyone handle her like that especially a seventh grader."

    I smiled as I watched him walking away.  I was glad I'd stood up to her because I'd realized something important; it's always good to see things through other people's eyes.  I'm glad it happened, but I couldn't have done it without my borrowed pants and my bummed gum!

Just a Rotten Pumpkin--Halloween Ideas

    First off, I just read the CUTEST Halloween book.  You have to check it out.


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     It has amazing reviews, plus the eBook is currently FREE! 


Click HERE to see more. 


Onto the story of the day:

     The Scribe (my ten-year-old) is a lot like me.  Last year she told me one of her theories. "When you make something, art or music, part of your soul goes into it," she said.

    I nodded; I've told her that many times.  When I really play my violin, or when I sit down and write something important, I might as well just pry open my ribs and show people what makes my heart beat.  (Sorry for the visual, but Halloween is coming after all!)

    "Well, that's why I'm worried about my pumpkin," she said.

    "Why?"

    "Because, I drew the face on it, and even helped with the carving.  I loved that stupid thing and now my soul went into it."

    "When I said your soul went into your work, I didn't mean it like that."

     "But, Mom, I can feel my soul IN the pumpkin!  I bet that's how Voldemort felt with those horcruxes.  He spent loads of time making them, when all he needed was a few pumpkins."  

    I managed to hold a straight face.  "You know, if you can feel it . . . maybe you're right."  I didn't want to ruin the moment because she obviously felt very smart AND proud to be even more intelligent than a famous villain.

    She stood like the toughest baseball player and folded her arms.  "I'm just worried.  My soul went into that thing.  When the pumpkin starts getting old and rotting, if it still looks happy, that means I'll have a good soul.  If it rots and ends up looking scary or sad . . . well, that means I've always had a bad soul."

    "Scribe, that isn't how it works."

    "Don't try to make things better now that I know," she said. "I'm old enough to see what kind of soul I'll have when I grow up.  I've seen it time and again.  Tommy is a great kid; his pumpkin smiled when it rotted.  But Tawnie, I don't want to spread mean things, but her pumpkin looked worse than a grumpy, old frog."

    "She has a bad soul?"

    "Not yet, Mom.  That's what her soul will look like when she grows up.  It's kind of shocking since she's so nice now, but you never know how kids will turn out unless you have a pumpkin, or time to just watch 'em grow up.  

    "Anyway, all kids have good souls.  Didn't you know that?" she asked.

    "It makes sense."       

    "Of course it does," she said.  "All true things make sense.  So, I guess we'll just have to wait and see what happens when my pumpkin rots.  I hope it'll still be smiling.  I'd hate to be an evil adult.  I'd probably be a bad driver if that happens and then people would roll down their windows and yell at me all of the time, like in the movies."

   

    So, last night we googled "Rotting Pumpkins."  I've realized, when it comes to pumpkins, The Scribe can spot a bad soul from a mile away.  

    "See," she said pointing, "whoever carved that one was really bad.  And whoever did that, is an angel in waiting."

    Here are some of the pictures we saw:









    "A really sweet person carved that," the Scribe said about this picture, "probably an old lady."

    "Because all old ladies are nice?"

    "Most of them," she said, "the ones who like baking."










 

    "What about this one?" I asked.

    "That's a perfect example of someone who has a bad soul.  Poor kid, I bet they don't even know what's coming!"












    "And this?"

    "That's one of the angels in waiting I told you about.  The kid who carved that is probably even nicer than I am right now!"















    "That person was okay, not really bad or good," she said.

    "Why?"

    "'Cause it's not smiling or frowning."















    "And that," the Scribe hushed when she saw this last picture, "was carved by the most evil soul around."

    "Seriously?  Why?"

    "It doesn't even have a face!  The thing fell in on itself because the evil was too strong."






    So, can you remember what your rotten pumpkins looked like last year?  What does your soul really look like?

Hansel and the Hippie

I'm trying to work on a submission for the second Open Doors Anthology.  And I better hurry--it's due by 10/31!  

    By the way, if you like writing fun short stories, go check it out.  It's open to anyone. HERE's the link.



Anyway, as I've worked on my story, I remembered something from two years ago.



    The Hippie (who was six at the time) began reading a book.

    "Once upon a time."  She cleared her throat.  "Two children lived with their father who was a woodcutter.  Now in this house, there was nothing to eat, so the woodcutter's wife pulled her husband aside and said, 'take the children into the middle of the forest and leave them there or we'll all starve'."  At this point all of my children gasped, except for Doctor Jones who cooed and tried to eat a piece of garbage off the floor.

    "He didn't do it, did he?" The Hippie asked.

    "Haven't you heard the story of Hansel and Gretel?" I asked.

    "Yeah, but Grandma Gertie told us a better version.  The kids went into the forest even though their parents told them not too.  Then they got lost because they'd been bad."

    I laughed at the ceiling.  Leave it to Gertie (Cade's mom) to weave a moral into the story.  "Well, this is the real story.  You won't believe what happens next.  Go on."







    "The woodcutter took them deep into the forest.  He told the children to stay put while he cut wood, then he never came back."  The Hippie read about the forlorn children and the trail of breadcrumbs.  She read about a yummy house and a wicked witch.  They all paled when Gretel pushed the fiend into the oven, then nodded when Hansel found his wood-cutting-father in the woods again.

    After The Hippie finished, she shut the book and frowned, less than pleased.

    "What's wrong, honey?" I asked.

    "I don't like that story.  It wasn't written good."

    "Are you kidding?  It had adventure . . . candy . . . magic.  Plus, it's pretty famous."

    "That doesn't make it good."  She folded her legs Indian-style and stared at me.  "Take that bread.  What kind of a kid would leave a trail of food in the forest?  Animals eat food.  That makes me think they were either dumb or wanted to get lost."

    "Maybe she was little."

    "She wasn't younger than six and I'd know better than that.  Anyway, the worst part of the story is that they forgave the father.  He left them in the forest.  How did they know he wouldn't do it again?"

    I swallowed.  Social Services would have taken those kids away in a heartbeat.  Sure he didn't try to eat them like the witch did, but he was almost as bad.  He left them for the animals to get!  Maybe that evil wood cutter should have gotten the death penalty!  Plus, what happened to his wife?  I love how they never "say" step-mom.  What happened to that beast who wanted to have all the food to herself?  I hope she died of obesity!  I shook my head; in all the years that I've heard the story of Hansel and Gretel, I never once questioned the forgiveness factor. 

    "They killed the witch, right?" The Hippie asked and I nodded.  "Then why didn't they forget about their father and just live in the candy house?  That's way better than living with someone who left you in a forest."

    I seriously didn't know what to say.  "So you wouldn't have forgiven him?  He was their dad."

    "He wasn't a good one,"  The Hippie said.

    The Scribe smiled really big, and nodded.  "Yeah, there's a difference between forgiving and just being stupid.  Hansel and Gretel, well, they were stupid." 

    So, that was the end of storytime and now my kids will never look at fairytales the same, which kinda sucks worse than brimstone.  I told Cade what The Hippie said.

    "She wouldn't forgive the father?" he asked.

    "No, can you believe she even thought of that?"

    "Wow," Cade said.  "I better not get on her bad side."






Anyway, I have two questions for you: 

What would you have done?  

Would you have forgiven your father, 

or gone to live in the magical candy house?

My Child Was Taken. What Should I Do?

I've never had to ask myself the terrible questions this title suggests.

But with 125,000 American and 20,000 Canadian children
anticipated to be internationally abducted over the next decade, parents
must realize that they are only 3 degrees of separation from having
this impact their life.





Today I'd like to share info about Peter Thomas Senese & the I CARE Foundation.




In his capacity as a best-selling author, producer, child advocate, and founding director of the I CARE Foundation, Peter Thomas Senese has shared that in order to stop international parental child kidnapping, raising awareness and providing accurate information to others is critical.



In order to help other parents protect targeted children Mr. Senese has created the 'Chasing Parents' educational documentary film series that is shared here.



International parental child abduction is a serious issue that we all need to be aware of.  Please take the time to educate yourself.






CHASING PARENTS

Educational Documentary Series 

Produced and Narrated by Peter Thomas Senese





Part I - International Parental Child Abduction Overview by Peter Thomas Senese





 

 

Part II - Warning Signs Of International Parental Child Abduction by Peter Thomas Senese




 

 

Part III - International Parental Child Abduction In Progress by Peter Thomas Senese




 

 

Part IV - Reunification and International Parental Child Abduction by Peter Thomas Senese




 

 

Part V - International Parental Child Abduction Overview by Peter Thomas Senese




 

 

Part VI - New Laws, Policy Modification & Reforms Needed To Protect Children From International Parental Child Abduction by Peter Thomas Senese




 

 

Part VII - The Western Hemisphere Travel Initiative and International Parental Child Abduction and Human Trafficking by Peter Thomas Senese





 

 


Please visit the I CARE Foundation's website to learn more about the foundation's work.





Please check on the official website of Chasing The Cyclone or the official website of Peter Thomas Senese for more information.



Peter Thomas Senese is the author of the critically
acclaimed novel Chasing The Cyclone that shares a story of a parent's
dedication to his child.  Along with Mr. Senese's ongoing financial
support to help targeted children of abduction, Peter Thomas Senese
continues to donate 100% of his book proceeds to the I CARE Foundation.



Click here to purchase Chasing The Cyclone




 

A Hag in a Fairytale

P. S. This picture has nothing to do with today's post.  I just have a thing for ninjas.


    I took the Scribe (my oldest daughter) to the mall to sell books and hand out flyers.

    There's something magical about being the Scribe.  I remember that whenever I hang out with my kid.  

    Every time someone walked by at the mall, she'd run over and hand them a flyer about my book.  She had no idea I'd pay her real money (vs. the Monopoly kind I gave her in kindergarten).  All she knew was that we sat next to The Popcorn Hut, and if she helped, she'd get to try the white chocolate popcorn.

    So, things went well, until some people were mean.

    "What's wrong with them?" the Scribe asked when two people said they didn't know what we were selling, but they WERE NOT interested.  Realization suddenly lit her eyes.  "Wait, I know what's happening. We're seeing into people's souls, knowing if they're nice or not.  Wow, salesmen must know everything about how people really are inside." 

   We were like the ugly hags in fairy tales--the ones who sit in the forest and wait to see if the peasants will be nice to them.  It was epic--I've never wanted to be ugly quite so much!  

    "You're right," I said.

    "Yeah."  She bit her lip, then continued, "We know everything . . . because we're salesmen!" 

   I nodded, suddenly feeling terrible for being rude to a vacuum salesman last week--seriously, what if he was an angel in disguise?

   I pulled myself from my thoughts as a new person walked closer.  "Hey, look at twelve o'clock."  The Scribe, that spy in training, looked right where I told her to.  "This person's going to be nice."  

    "You wanna make a bet?  He's a swerver if I've ever seen one!"

    "A swerver?" I asked.

    "Yeah, one of those people who don't even say anything; they just swerve out of the way instead of saying 'no thanks' or shaking their head nicely."

    I snorted.  "He is not a swerver.  He's a nodder, at the least."

    "Seriously, how much will you bet on it?" the Scribe asked.

    "Well," I dug through my pockets quickly, "how about a penny."  I set some change out and we shook on it.

    The man sauntered closer.  He looked at shops.  His plaid jacket reminded me of black licorice and mints all mixed up.  Then, that scoundrel of a man--who once had a twinkle in his eyes--acted mean to the Scribe!  He didn't talk. . . . He didn't nod.  He puckered right up as if he'd lost his dentures!

    "See." The Scribe giggled.  "Now, that is a swerver if I've ever seen one."

   "But how did you know?" I asked, thinking she's half-spy, half-physic--the best combination EVER.

    "Well, he did seem a bit cranky.  I knew he might swerve since he didn't have a cane."

    "'Cause people with canes can't swerve?"

    "Exactly.  So, they have to nod; it's obvious when you think about it."

    The day went quickly after that.  We met more nodders, swervers and "angels" as the Scribe called them.  We even met a cougher; the woman saw us and conveniently had an asthmatic fit right there in front of a posh manikin.

    It was a wonderful day, and the best part for me was when the Scribe and I got popcorn.  At one point, I giggled so hard, a kernel almost flew into my lung.

    "I learned something today," the Scribe said, pocketing all of the change she'd won from me, plus what she'd earned for helping.  "I learned that it's always good to be nice.  You never know what other people are going through.  And . . . if someone hands you a flyer, you should wait until they can't see you if you'd like to throw it away."

    I smiled through a mouthful of white chocolate.  "You know what I learned?"  I asked and she shook her head.  "I learned that you are a very hard worker AND a good judge of character.  I don't think I should bet against you anymore, though.  You're taking all of my money."

    "But why, Mom?  I like it when we make bets!" 

Our First Signing in California!

Here's a Sneak Peek of what we'll be doing at the Orange County Children's Book Festival tomorrow. 










If you're coming, we're excited to see you there!

Click the pic for more info.

My Overall Rating of Southern California

The Examiner reviewed Bible Girl & the Bad Boy! You can read that review HERE .



With our big signing in only a couple of days, Cade and I are getting pretty excited.  We'll perform and sign at the Orange County Children's Book Festival near the main entrance, on the way to the Storyteller Stage.  For more info about this upcoming Sunday's event, please visit this LINK .



   So, while we're getting ready, I thought I'd show you some fun pictures from our trip.




At first the Zombie Elf didn't know what to think of Knott's Berry Farm. 



Hippie, Dr. Jones, Zombie, Scribe



The Hippie (in the back) looked peaceful while Dr. Jones held her hands up--



  

again . . .





and again--I think her arms got tired!








The Zombie finally started enjoying himself, then he didn't want to leave.








Yesterday we went to the Aquarium of the Pacific.



 The kids got to pet stingrays,













sharks,

















 and even jellyfish!

 

Then last night we ate at Medieval Times.

This is the knight we rooted for:










So, my rating of Southern California is 5 out of 5 stars!  What a blast.  We're going whale watching again today--I can hardly wait.


I hope all of you are having a great day!