Laura Brewer's Blog, page 9

Memories Like Snapshots of Time

Ever notice how early childhood memories are like snap shots of random events? I was reminded of one this morning when I found out a childhood friend may be visiting. One of my earliest memories is this image of us playing with matchbox cars in their driveway. That’s all, just my friend, his brother and I, sitting in the dust and gravel, playing with the cars. I can smell the dust and feel the summer sun. I know we were laughing. I must have been around 4 years old.

Everything else about that visit is a mystery. We lived in different states, so our families didn’t see each other often. I have no idea why we were there, or what else happened. Just that one image. My greater knowledge as an adult can fill in some of those blanks, but the child remembered only those things.

Children capture the essence of life in those snapshot images. They seem distilled to remove unnecessary data. As adults, we rarely remember things so unencumbered with irrelevancies. In thinking about it, I realized the only times I have even come close, as an adult, were in highly emotional times, such as when my father died and I was in a grief induced fog most of the time for several days. Some were from joyful, but hectic, times.

Could it be that, during those unfocused or hectic periods, our distraction occasionally frees the gift we had as children to grasp those essential images? What are we missing because we spend too much time focused on irrelevancies? Does it really matter what Mary Smith wore to the picnic Saturday, or who won the World Series? Isn’t the important part that you saw Mary Smith and had a great time, or the smile on you child’s face when someone hit a home run? Aren’t those the images we should file away in our memories?

So, what are your favorite or earliest snapshots?

Review: Heir to the Luima Legacy by Gabrielle Poplar

Two Brothers Struggle to Inherit a Throne. Or was it about their Father’s Attention? - Gabrielle Poplar

Review – 4 Stars

Heir to the Luima Legacy fits comfortably in the YA fantasy category, like a cozy sweater. The story starts a little slow for those of us who read the first book, but picks up the pace. Ms. Poplar’s solid world building and character development are even better this time around. With a solid, well executed plot Heir captivates. Young Meryl faces his world shifting to something he never expected. He manages to delay some of the more onerous parts of his heritage as he and his friends are caught up in the struggle for the survival of their kingdom. His brother is another matter. I think we all have a cousin, somewhere, that Nestor reminds us of. Poplar holds out slim branch of hope for Nestor’s redemption, but it remains to be seen if he will grasp it. I find it refreshing to have faith, and the strength it imparts, so central to the story.

On the technical side, there is room for improvement in the writing. I’d like to see the phrasing and grammar tightened up in the next book, as well as allowing us a deeper contact with her characters. Her writing reminds me of the early work of some, now well known, authors. Poplar is clearly a young writer still developing her own style. That’s okay, even Shakespeare didn’t come out as a full-blown talent. He grew it. I look forward to watching her talents grow as her technical skills approach her abilities in world building and character development, not to mention solid storytelling. This is an author to watch.

I will be waiting for the next book in the series. What, exactly, is in the little box?

See more from Gabrielle Poplar at her website http://www.gabriellepoplar.com/

Treasure of the Holy Bible

I came across this in some family papers and wanted to share it with you.

This was written by my uncle, Frank Blair, Jr., October 28. 1951, while on the Sea of Japan enroute to South Korea.

 

 

Each word between these covers

Is food for hungry souls.

‘Tis peace for all who labor

Within the Master’s fold.

 

‘Tis joy and light and gladness

When all outside is void.

And for each one who’s burdened.

Sweet peace to be enjoyed.

 

It warms the coldest winter,

Makes bright the darkest night

And marks the narrow pathway

Once hidden from human sight.

 

They span the widest valley,

They chart the deepest sea,

Make worlds one tiny object

Transversed by majesty.

 

And further yet they lead us

Into Eternity.

The perfect way for Christians –

Faith, Hope and Charity.

Pied Piper of the Woods

Life in the middle of 50 acres of woods can be – ah – different. Don’t get me wrong, I prefer it to any other mode of living and can’t wait to get back to it. It still makes for some strange tales. Backwoods and animals go together, we had several. Animals seem to delight in surprising humans, or making them laugh.

Goats are good to have around. They eat all sorts of nasty things other animals wouldn’t touch, like poison ivy and privet. After the garden was done, we let our four roam wherever they wanted to keep back this invasive growth. Now, my husband had been in the habit of taking a long walk in the woods daily (weather permitting) and I often went with him. Within days of gaining their freedom of the property, the goats decided they’d like the walk in the woods too. The dogs, and sometimes the cats, were already following us on these morning treks. Even the chickens would follow as far as the edge of actual woods.

The goats, however, waited for us. If they thought we were late, they’d come to the house to get us. So here we go, walking through the woods trailed by dogs (making side trips to chase rabbits and squirrels), a cat or two (investigating the invisible), and four goats (browsing along the way). If the goats looked up to see us getting ahead of them, they’d bleat for us to wait and come gallumping along to catch up.

Sometimes it felt we were Pied Pipers, gathering animals as we went. Or on military maneuvers. Bella and Tazy, the dogs, switched out taking point and patrolling the flanks of our little troop. The cats were rear guard. The goats would more or less surround us, seemingly oblivious to any hazards. They weren’t of course, coyote packs wandered in the area. They wouldn’t let us go in the woods alone.

Hunting season came. Our son headed off to his tree stand early one morning. They tagged along. He was walking in the woods. He was walking deeper in the woods than they usually went. Gamely, they followed – all the way to his tree stand. Disgusted, he led them home and we had to shut them in the barn until after he left again.

One day, he went to check for tracks and the goats just had to follow. He took a different trail this time. They came to the stream.

Goats truly hate getting wet. I have seen them bolt for the barn at the first sprinkle of rain or flurry of snow. Humans use stepping stones to cross this stream. The goats used the stepping stones too, but they jump. This worked just fine for the first three, but the stone worked loose. The young buck jumped to the stone and was promptly dumped in the stream. He stood up, shaking water from his horns. The others looked on with astonishment. He joined his barn mates with an air of “I meant to do that.”

I look forward to a return to mountains. Probably not the same mountains, but I know we will soon have a collection of animals again to enrich our lives. And too keep us safe in the woods.

Seasons of Change

Turmoil is all around me, in the world and in my life. Sometimes I am the calm in the center of the storm, other times it sweeps me away from where I think I should be.

It is a season of change.

The urgent, joyful growth of Spring, gives way to the steady productivity of summer. The gathering in of Fall finds rest in the sleepiness of Winter. All these have their own special beauties, as well as their own challenges. I find it hard to love one season over another.

They all speak to me.

The season of change is different, a part of both and neither at the same time. Transitions are full of uncertainty, erratic shifts, and sudden storms. The old does not want to let go, the new sometimes grabs control. All of nature teaches us, if we listen. This season of change is often a season of extremes, incredible beauty and raging storms. We must appreciate the beauty and peace, while preparing ourselves for the inevitable harsh weather that comes with it.

Our lives are like that. Transitions are hard, full of challenges, but they are full of joy too. There are times you look fondly on the seasons past or, with hope, to the one ahead. Sometimes, you watch the swirling storm and find beauty in it. Awesome moments of beauty and peace are to be found in the most horrific of times. They are given to strengthen and help us see.  It is a season of change.

Instead of fighting the change, see it for what it is. When possible, embrace it. When it rages around you, recognize its transient nature and look for the beauty that may be hidden in it. Hard as it may be to see sometimes, once a change is accomplished, life will settle down again.

“We’re Doing It Wrong – A study said so”

Oh my! I just read that a study has shown that we may get really sick if we wash our clothes in cold water.  Why, our clothes could be just full of all kinds of nasty germs. I know, I’ll start pulling all the clothes out and rewashing then, a few at a time, to kill ‘em all  - just in case. I guess that means I have to throw out my favorite wool sweater and the silk scarf too.

But wait, didn’t the study last week say there wasn’t enough bacteria in our bodies? Yes, I remember, it said we were sterilizing everything to death – literally. That killing off all the bacteria in our world was causing everything, from cancer to car accidents.

A new study said eggs are good for you after all and help your body digest cholesterol. My doctor had been telling me for years that studies said eggs were bad and would make my cholesterol higher. What a relief! I love eggs and not eating them did nothing to lower my cholesterol anyway. Now I know why, the study says so.

You know, I really hate making my bed every morning, I wonder if there is a study on how psychologically destructive that might be? If I can’t find one, I could always apply for a grant to study the issue.

A Crystal Sky

A dome clear and cold

Black crystal fractured by diamonds of light

My spirit seeks to touch, to reach

Starry splendor, glorious night

Earthbound, I watch enthralled.

 

 

She Sleeps

Sun shines on fiery leaves of Fall

Sweet memories

Like butterflies in gardens past

Whose color fades.

She sleeps

And dreams

Of love, of peace.

 

A spark of lucid light, in eye appears

Returns to see

Awake to fleeting day as truth appears

Lost laughter rings.

She sleeps

And dreams

Of Spring now past.

 

Where slipped the fervent breeze

Of future whispering?

Lost in the flowing storm of life

Now fading.

She sleeps.

 

Inspired by my mother, who has Alzhiemers.

Narethi Rising – Excerpt

The following excerpt is from the new trilogy I am working on set on a Sorth some 3000 years before the time of Selarial and Alcar. It chronicles the Clan Wars and what came out of it, good and bad.

Narethi Rising

Sengra huddled deeper into the copse of brush as Hesran’s soldiers searched. She stilled her outer mind, laying a covering over her thoughts of the green life about her.  The Sisha wanted to fight, but instinct told her to hide.  The life she was carrying was too precious to throw away. It was sometime before they moved on and she was safe.

They had lost her blood trail, but she had to rebandage her mangled foot before she left this small haven or they would pick up it again. The young life enwombed stirred, her mind beginning to wake.  Sengra had to get to Killian’s Clan Hold before her daughter’s birth. That human would protect what the other sought to destroy. She rested a short while before the sense of urgency drove her from her hiding place to wind a painful way down the mountain.  She kept to as steep a way as she could manage in her condition. At her worst, she was still better in the heights than Hesran’s butchers.

It took two more brief rests before she made it to the foothills. Sengra felt her body weakening with every step. Despair began to creep into her mind, darkening her thoughts. She had lost so much blood. She wouldn’t have the strength to make it. She lay panting on the sun warmed rocks. In her current state, it would be another day of travel to reach the Hold. She didn’t have another day.

“Sisha! What happened?” The voice in her mind was different, strong as the bones of the earth. Dimly, she scented a Runner, one of the other sentient species on their world. One the Sisha had a guarded friendship with.

“Hesran, slaughtered all…Must get to Killian…Must tell…” Her thoughts were as mangled as her foot. She heard rustling and the sound of hoof on rock, but it seemed a far off thing.

“Come! Mount, I will carry you.”

She raised her head to see the Runner had positioned himself next to her. All she had to do was crawl onto his smooth back. She staggered to his side and fell across his back, protecting her cub. She sighed with relief and her world went dark.

 

“Motheeerr!” Lianna’s thought echoed in the courtyard as she ran towards the gate.

The guard was ahead of her, opening the gate and standing aside to allow Merrin to bring in his bloody burden. He swiftly closed the gate and locked it. At the same time, he set off the alarm with a swift mental touch.  The Clan Mother was halfway across the paving before the rest of the clan began to gather.

“Bring her closer to the hall please, Merrin. We need to get her into the infirmary,” Deiadri, the Clan Mother, ordered.

Sengra heard the familiar voice and struggled to lift her head. “Too late, help…cub”

Deiadri heard Killian swearing even as she read the Sisha’s condition.  How in the Light had she made it this far? She swiftly gestured to the guards, the cub was coming now, whether this was a good place or not.  They could at least get her off Merrin’s back. Killian and the guard were gently lifting her off and positioned her comfortably on her side, Killian’s tunic her only padding.

“Lianna, get me an unused ithis pad,” she ordered as she deepened her assessment.  She let her mind sink into Sengra, pouring strength into her friend.

“Deiadri, do not waste your strength. Join with me, my friend.”

Deiadri let her thoughts twine with the Sisha, seeing what the Sisha saw.  More importantly, knowing what the Sisha knew. Killian was at the edges of that mental link and she pulled her husband closer.  He needed to know this.

The memories blossomed in their minds as chaotic scenes from a nightmare.  Hesran’s soldiers had descended on the Sisha clan in the night. It wasn’t clear yet, how Sengra had managed to escape the slaughter, but she was fairly sure no one else had. Sengra sent other information, compressed into a tight bundle that she must have prepared earlier. Then the feline shuddered. She pulled Deiadri with her to surround the tiny cub, soothing, preparing it for entry into the world.

“Clan Mother, accept this little one as your own. Versha will have no other Clan now.”

It wasn’t quite a question, but Deiadri gave the commitment anyway. She allowed her mind to fill with all the compassion she had to give, welcoming the little one at the same time. When the cub instinctively groped for her mother’s mind, she encountered Deiadri entwined with the fading presence of Sengra. Deiadri cushioned the cub’s awareness as Sengra shuddered in one massive contraction. As soon as the cub emerged, Sengra sighed and was still.

Deiadri brushed away tears impatiently. Versha, as Sengra had named her, needed her attention. She looked up and saw Lianna stroking Sengra’s golden head, a look of profound sadness on her face.  The ithis pad was forgotten in her other hand.

“Lianna, I need the pad now.” Deiadri messaged Versha’s ribs, encouraging good strong breaths. Now, she used the rough pad to clean the newborn, mimicking the strokes a Sisha would have used to remove every bit of the birth fluids from her fur.  The contact awakened her mind a little more. Still unformed, the cub’s thoughts broadcast hunger, trying to crawl, mewling piteously.

“Quiet, little one,” she whispered as she gathered the cub in her arms to cradle against her. She looked up at the gathered Clan.

“It appears that we have a new member of the Clan. I take the cub, Versha, as my own daughter.” She looked up at Killian as he helped her to her feet. His mind brushed hers in warm approval.

“Versha is indeed a part of Clan Talmanor.  Let it be recorded,” his voice carried the emotion of the moment to everyone. Then his face hardened. “Everyone who hasn’t already done so, arm yourselves.  It seems Hesran is on the move. Double the watch. Nethal, get on the com and get the word out to the other Clans.” He turned to lay a hand on the Runner’s shoulder. “Merrin, my thanks for your assistance.  I know you need to get back to your patrol, but if you would remain until we digest the information Sengra brought, you can better inform your Chief of what has passed.”

“I will await your council, Clan Lord.” He nodded and went to find some water.

Deiadri smiled tenderly as Lianna peered at the newest member of the family. Her eldest daughter reached out to caress the soft fur. When the gentle touch brushed Versha’s cheek, she mewled louder, turning towards the touch.

“I think she’s hungry mother. What will you feed her?”

“Milk, of course. Avigail will not mind sharing.” Lianna’s mind radiated astonishment, but Deiadri was hearing humor from everyone else. “Child, human and Sisha are not really all that different. Though, I think I’ll be eating a lot more fresh meat for a while.” She reached out to tousle Lianna’s silky hair. “Come, let’s introduce Avigail to her new sister, shall we?”

As they went into the Hold, Killian asked the guard captain to make arrangements for Sengra’s burial. He knew he had Clan duties to attend, but he keenly felt the need to be part of this initial bonding.

When he entered their private rooms, Deiadri was already seated, holding out one arm for her birth daughter. Lianna adored her baby sister and took any opportunity to hold her. Killian stood by his wife’s chair, one hand on her shoulder and looked down at his two very different daughters.

His thoughts were twined with Deiadri’s as the infants nursed. For a timeless moment, all else receded. They joined in projecting love, comfort, and security to them. It was done with care. The mind of an infant was delicate. They let their combined thoughts cradle them like a blanket. Together they extended the shield they had around Avigail’s mind to include Versha. The shield would protect them until they were able to protect themselves. Killian felt the formless thoughts of the two infants beginning to mesh slightly under the mutual parental shield.

“They are trying to link!” Lianna whispered.

Deiadri smiled. “Yes, I think they are. I have heard of twins doing this, but…” She looked up at Killian and he felt all her wonder at that thought.

“So, we’ll be breaking new ground. You are the Clan Mother.” He had never been so proud of his wife, or grateful for her bountiful heart. Killian recalled his duty. “I will leave you to rest. You’re going to have your hands full, I think. I can delay no longer.” With a last caress of thoughts, he went to a corner to tap the information Sengra had paid such a price to bring them.

 

By the time he returned to the main hall, visitors had arrived. Clan Doriath and Clan Ravlien were close enough for their leaders to make the trip quickly. Killian raised a hand to forestall questions.

“My friends, Hesran has made another move on our allies.  He just slaughtered the Sisha Clan Gethrie. Sengra made it out, only because she was already coming to bring us news. Hesran made a spurious clam that the Sisha had been attacking his flocks and used that as an excuse to destroy them.” Killian paused, letting them vent their outrage for a moment.

“What he is really after are the uthreil mines recently discovered in Clan Gethrie’s territory. Sengra gave me the location of the mines and asked me to make sure he has no profit from this act.”

“We had better warn the other races too, Hesran has always wanted human dominance on the planet.  From what your guard said, he’s using those slug casters again, even though the Clans all agreed to outlaw them,” Orlan, Clan Lord of Doraith said. He was the oldest among them and had seen this brewing decades ago. Not that very many had listened. Killian had.

“Killian, what are your plans?” Ferrlis, the new Clan Lord of Ravlien, asked.

“That is part of why I called you. All I have had time to do so far is increase security. I tripled it at the port. I don’t want Hesran interfering with the comstat launch next week. We all need to look to our defenses and probably increase the patrols in the city.” He paused, looking hard at Ferrlis. “I don’t know about you, but I have already told my Clan to stay under arms. You’d be wise to do the same. I have been trying to get All the clans to see reason for a while now. Your sword is the best psychic focus you can have in a fight and you know it. It is not going to reach out and bite someone on its own.”

“Easy, Killian.  It’s not me you have to convince,” Ferrlis protested, “it’s the Clan Mother.”

“I’ll have Deiadri talk to Nalina. If she can’t explain reality to her, no one can.” He grinned. His wife was renowned for a tongue more pointed than any weapon ever forged. She didn’t show that side often.  She didn’t have to.

“The idea of a visit might be enough to convince her.” Ferrlis smiled wryly.

“We need more information on what he’s planning. I propose we send a group of our best scouts in to keep watch and collect information. We can’t actually move on him until we know what he’s set against us,” Killian suggested.

“Wise thought, but let’s not wait long. I don’t know about you, but I don’t want him getting settled into the mines and increasing his arms. Most of my clan is ready to go now.  They have been agitating for something for the past three years,” Orlan said. “What about the non-combatants, after things break?”

Killian smiled. “I had an idea the other day that might work. You know that huge mountain where Deiadri found her talisman?  It happens to have several extensive caves, though the openings are well concealed.  We could house all three of our full clans in there indefinitely if we had to.” He shook his head. “I couldn’t believe it either, even when I saw it.  Some of the galleries are huge. There is a source of fresh water and, with the traces of the crystalline uthreil in the mountain, Deiadri believes the entire thing could be warded so nothing gets through that the Clan Mothers do not allow.”

“I don’t want to hide in a cave, Killian. We need to deal with Hesran, his Clan Kesthian, and the others like him.  You do know there are at least four other Clans that are in agreement with his aims?” Ferrlis said.

Orlan spoke up before Killian could take offense. “I believe what he means is to have a plan to move the non-combatants to the caves for safety.  Otherwise, I can guarantee Hesran will use them as hostages.”

Killian snorted. “You mean he will try. Still, we would be stronger with the little ones safe. I talked with Conlar and all Clan Nabeth agrees, he said.”

“Only what I would have expected.  Who else?” Orlan asked.

“Corrian, Beshuin, and Eduin are with us for certain.” Deiadri said, entering the hall. “Tinaith will most likely come along. Their Clan Mother has been gravely ill and I doubt they will commit until she improves. Most of the other Clans are trying to stay neutral.” Her mouth twisted in a grimace of distaste.

“Greetings, Clan Mother.” Both visitors rose, bowing with fingertips to forehead in formal salute.

Killian rose to take her hands in his, adding a warm brush of his mind against hers. “Are the girls asleep then?”

She smiled. “They are curled up together and I don’t think an alarm would wake them.”

“Two? You have twins?” Ferrlis blurted out and then ducked his head.

Killian answered for her, his voice full of sadness and pride. “Sengra died even as she gave birth to Versha. Deiadri took her as our own. Avigail seems pleased to have a sister.”

“Lords, dinner is almost ready. Can the rest of this discussion wait?”

They agreed with such speed, Killian suspected they had already missed one meal today. “I think we were about done with planning until we get more information anyway.”

 

Later that evening, he linked with Deiadri to share the events of the day.  They found the added perspective of sharing memories frequently made things clearer.

“Having everyone trained in arms is the right thing to do, love.  Nalina will come around. I’ll talk to her tomorrow. If I show her what happened to Clan Gethrie she’ll understand, finally.”

“You’d link with her?”  Killian’s mind radiated surprise.  That was seldom done outside one’s family unless you were talking with one of the other races. Sisha could not manage human speech any better than humans could speak theirs.

“I have been thinking lately, that if we did that more often, there would be a lot less misunderstandings between clans.” She brought him into the thought process, and the idea expanded to breathtaking proportions. They saw it had barely comprehensible consequences for their world. Deiadri felt her talisman grow warm where it lay on her breast. Not yet, maybe not even in her lifetime, but a time would come when mind links were the most common form of communication. She had no idea how she knew this. Killian gazed at her talisman in wonder as it glowed, pulsing with the beat of her heart.

“How?”

“Clan Mothers occasionally have these insights, though this is the first time it’s happened to me. Let’s take that training idea a step farther, Killian.  We have Deeclan of Nabeth already improving the way we shield to work against different types of weapons. I think we should start training everyone, especially the young, in further development of these gifts.”

“I know you aren’t proposing the kind of evil explorations Hesran and his ilk are doing, so what do you mean?”

“I’m still trying to think it through, love. There are a lot of things we already know how to do, but we have relied on tech too often instead of practicing our gifts.  I know we can keep a passive psychic guard on any perimeter, even a camp.  If Clan Gethrie had done that, they wouldn’t now lie dead. We know how to use the dar crystals to enhance communications, even in the comstats. So why not use them between individuals for secure links, like between scouts?”

Killian mulled over the idea, looking for holes in her logic. “It would take discipline.”

“And the arts of war do not?”  Insistent hungry thoughts intruded into their rapport. A second later, the thoughts doubled.  They both burst out laughing.

“Well, I guess I’m not going to get a nap after all. We’ll talk to the Clan at breakfast about it. Get some sleep, love.”

Tom Clancey, We Will Miss You

Tom Clancey, one of my favorite authors, died on Tuesday, Oct 1, 2013. He was 66.  He was well known for writing military/political thrillers, several of which have been made into movies, such as Patriot Games, The Hunt for Red October, and The Sum of All Fears. If I had to pick a personal favorite, it would be The Bear and The Dragon. Growing up during the Cold War, I found it captivating that America should help Russia defend against the Chinese. The very idea of such a possibility in fiction seemed to bode well for the future.

He had an uncanny ability to get inside the head of his characters, both good and not so good, or even evil, and keep it credible. I can tell you, that’s not so easy to do. His ability to weave intricate plots from multiple approaches, not just multiple pov’s, will always be an inspiration. How many authors can write the military/intelligence/political/economic and personal aspects as a tapestry of interlocking threads to what is really one plot?

I learned much of the craft of writing about things military and political from reading his books. He wrote in current time, I write a world that has never existed, yet I feel we connected. He never knew I was his student, yet he taught me about the dynamic of events. From him, I learned to look for the hidden motivations in my antagonists, as well as my protagonist. He was not afraid to delve into the heart and soul of a character and realistically relay what he found.

I regret not ever having written him to tell him of this. Now it is too late.  Rest In Peace Tom.

 

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