C. Rudolph Barlow's Blog, page 3

I Can’t Smell the Roses

Relax: re-lax |riˈlaks| verb, 1) make or become less tense or anxious • rest or engage in an enjoyable activity so as to become less tired or anxious.

I actually had to look the word up because I don’t know how to relax anymore. Tired and anxious I have down pat, but relax? Forgetaboutit. I’m actually wondering if it’s even possible “in today’s day and age” [dun dun dun!] to relax.

Everyone has endless lists running amok in their brains, right? Like when you are trying to fall asleep, and the dreaded List Spigot releases a waterfall of never ending to do’s into your subconsciousness. How, when you’re driving in the car, you suddenly get from point A to point B on autopilot because you were trying to figure out how to get a birthday present, fill out school paperwork, finish a presentation for work, and determine what’s for dinner – all in a day you’ve already totally overbooked.

Case in point: I love nature. Love, love, love, love, love nature. Growing up, I remember sitting on the front hill of my yard and smelling the sap coursing through the veins of the trees. Feeling the freshly mowed grass clipped to a precise height file through my fingers. Even watching the clouds as they whispered the secrets of angels to one another in the sky.

Now, if I try to sit on a hill and take in the surroundings, my once peaceful brain rattles off replies to emails, new shoes for the children to be bought, and, oh yeah, a note to self to check the level in the oil tank.

Have I lost the ability to silence myself or have my senses been dulled with age and responsibilities? Or has technology and “stuff” replaced my beloved nature? Are my computer, iPhone, house, and car really that needy? Because nature isn’t needy. I am the one that needs her to stay whole and well-grounded. But how do I get back to her? To clarity?

Since I can’t seem to smell the roses anymore, I need to seriously weed my garden. Like a beautiful, unspoiled field in the country, its quiet magic is fed by its simplicity. It can breathe. If I built a house, and then a town, and then a city on that field, it would eventually become so complicated that I wouldn’t be able to see the soil that was once its foundation. I would have suffocated it.

I think that’s what I’ve done: Built a beautiful life and then overcomplicated it. I need this to do that. Wouldn’t it be great if we had x to make y easier. Boy oh boy, wouldn’t the kids love to have ______. Quite frankly, I can’t smell the roses because I’ve buried them under ten tons of manure.

So it’s time to start digging. Time to silence my head and reintroduce myself to my heart. It’s time to feel the sting of a few thorns to get to the beauty of the rose; those being my family and my well-being. And as the trowel breaks through the unnecessary layers, I bet it will smell great.

Filed under: Uncategorized Tagged: balance, life, nature, relaxation, writer, Writing

You’ve Been Terminated

Wow. I’ve never heard those words before in my 20+ year marketing career. But guess what? I heard them on Monday. And it wasn’t in a cool Arnold Schwarzenegger voice either. Because, in my head, his voice would have made it a little less real. “Our strategy going forward is such that we no longer have a need for the services of a marketing department,” said the non-Arnold voice to my co-worker and me. Double wow.

I’m a firm believer in fate and faith. One guiding the other on a path unknown to me, but influenced by me nonetheless. And I believe that attitude is everything. So did I get totally ticked off and rip apart my office like Ms. Disgruntled Employee would do? Um, no. Did I cry and say, “How could you do this to me? How am I going to support my family?” Ok, so I did well up a bit, but again I was not angry.

Why? Because along with fate and faith I forge my own destiny. I am not defined by a turndown, rejection, or even a company that has decided I’m no longer part of their strategy. I’m defined by…me. And I like to define myself by writing words that will make people feel better, by the way I nuzzle my children in bed and tell them they are my world, and by saying hi to a stranger in the hopes to erase anything negative that was said to him before our eyes met. To be kind even when all I want to do is scream. To understand that maybe I wasn’t a good fit. To realize that this round peg needs to stop forcing herself into square holes.

So as I turn the corner on the unknown, I’m realizing that I haven’t been terminated, I’ve been liberated. More importantly, as I turn the corner, I’ll look to fate who winks while knowing just what’s going to happen next, while faith takes my hand and tells me, “Don’t worry, my child, it’s going to be ok. Your destiny awaits. All you need to do is turn the page and I’ll give you the ink to write your very own story.”

Filed under: Life Tagged: jobs, life, personal, work, writer, Writing

An Interview with…Myself

I’ve been reading all of these great “author interviews” and since no one is beating down my door for an interview (save for Arline Fleming – thank you!) I thought I’d conduct “An Interview with Myself.”  So here goes (of note: I’m in a goofy mood):

Me:  So what made you decide to write a book?

Myself:  I believe it was a mid-life crisis.

Me:  No, seriously.  What was the epiphany?

Myself:  Ha ha ha, you said “phany”.  That’s funny.

Me:  Ooookay, let’s try another question.  Who is your main character, Theo, based on?

Myself:  My son.

Me:  What specifically about your son makes Theo who he is?

Myself:  Theo is eleven years old and my son is eleven years old.  It was simple math.  Although I suck at math, so I guess it wasn’t that simple.

Me:  So you would say you are more of a right-brainer?

Myself:  More like a no-brainer.

Me:  Excuse me?

Myself:  Did you toot?

Me:  No!  Did you?!?!

Myself:  You would know.

Me:  This is ridiculous, I’m trying to have a serious conversation with you.

Myself:  This is ridiculous, I’m trying to have a serious conversation with you.

Me:  Ugh!  Ok, let’s try to get back on track.  Are you working on a second book?

Myself:  Yes.

Me:  How far have you gotten?

Myself:  In life or on the book?

Me:  On. The. Book.

Myself:  I’m on chapter four, but would be on chapter five by now if I wasn’t interviewing myself right now.

Me:  I’m the one interviewing Myself.

Myself:  Me, Myself, hey, where’s I?

Me:  Wait, what?  But you wanted to do the interview!

Myself:  I believe it was you who suggested it and I agreed.

Me:  Fine!  I’ll answer the questions then myself.

Myself:  But I’m Myself, so that’s not gonna work.

Me:  Can you at least answer one question?!?

Myself:  Sure.

Me:  WHY DID YOU WRITE A BOOK?

Myself:  Because I wanted to bring smiles to millions of little faces.

Me:  Finally!  That’s a great answer.  What’s your biggest wish right now?

Myself:  World peace.

Me:  That’s nice, but I meant with regard to the book.

Myself:  Oh.  That a wonderful literary agent will say these magic words to me, “I’ll represent you.”

Me:  What if that doesn’t happen?

Myself:  I’ll cry like a big ol’ baby.  Can I go work on book two now?

Me:  Sure, I’ll help you.

Myself:  That’s ok, I can handle it.  I don’t want it to be all about Me.

Me:  You’re sooooo funny.

Myself:  It takes one to know one.

Me:  I know.

Myself:  You found I!

Filed under: Uncategorized

Living Under a Rock

When you’ve lost your father, Father’s Day takes on a whole new meaning.  It is not about celebrating the presence of someone special in your life anymore; it is about treasuring the special presents they gave you.  It is not about seeing them in person; it is about celebrating them as a person.  On this day, instead of driving to see them to pay tribute to their fabulous “dadness”, you make your own personal journey to pay homage to their memory.  I like to combine the two by driving to visit him where my last memory of him exists – to where he is buried.

As we do every year on Father’s Day weekend since my dad passed in 2007, my husband and children made our annual trek to the cemetery to simply say, “Hi, Dad.”  While some think it is a ridiculous notion to think you are actually visiting someone in a cemetery, somehow it brings me comfort to know that the destination holds a marker stone that bears his name.  Seeing that familiar, strong, and memorable name permanently etched into the granite makes me feel well grounded.  That was always one of the tenants of his parenting style – that my sister and I were part of a bigger picture.  We were special, but belonged to a greater good.  Everyone and everything had its rightful purpose and place.  He truly set the example by befriending every chipmunk in the yard with daily meals of sunflower seeds, and by making sure every bird had a well-crafted birdhouse and plenty to eat as well.  Yes, my father personified kindness and opened himself up to everything around him.  From his insatiable desire to read and understand any word he laid his eyes on, to making friends wherever he went.  Whether he was hunkered down in the Korean War or traipsing around the golf course back here in America to play a few rounds with is buddies, he experienced it all.  He lived life.

I think that was the thing that troubled him the most at the end of his life.  He was diagnosed with cancer on August 22nd and died on Thanksgiving morning – exactly three months later.  I believe the swiftness of his death is what caught him off guard the most.  Never did he think his “end” would be so rapid.  No bucket list.  No sewing up loose ends.  No second chances.  But what he didn’t realize is that he didn’t need any more time.  During the 74 years my father inhabited this earth his impact was impressive.  His wake and funeral were packed.  His wife, my mom, still loved him more than anything else in the world.  His daughters worshipped him.  And his grandchildren reeled with joy at the very mention of his name.  My father loved life and it loved him right back.  We loved him.  No, he didn’t need any more time – he had accomplished it all.

So on the day before Father’s Day a few years ago, my husband, my three small children, and I took the 30-minute drive to read his name.  To lay my eyes upon the words etched in that headstone.  We were coming off a wonderful morning that included the boys’ yearend baseball picnic.  Each one of them busily comparing trophies while their baby sister happily babbled alongside them.  You see, I became pregnant with my daughter just one week after my father died.  She is named after him because we truly believe my father sent her down to us.  Thanks, Dad.

As our car turned from the roadway to meet the winding path of the cemetery drive, the boys perked up seeing that we had reached our destination.  My middle son was so excited, he said to his big brother, “E!  E!  This where Grandpa lives!  Remember?  Do you remember he lives here?  Oh!  Right there, right there!  Grandpa lives under that rock!”

Yes, the “rock” that displayed his name.  The rock I was so desperate to reach.  The rock that bore witness to a person I had known for all of my life.  But no, he did not live under that rock.  Never a day in his life was he isolated, ignorant or obtuse.  My wonderful little boy had summed it up so beautifully for me – so innocently.  My father lived life to its fullest, never under a rock.  It was that simple.  He wasn’t there under that rock.  He lived in the lawn that surrounded his headstone, in the tree above his grave that provided blessed shade on a hot day, the wind that whispered in my ear as I stood there.  He was everywhere.

So live while you are living, learn everything you can, aspire to accomplish greatness, respect every moment, and perpetuate love.  My father’s life taught me this and his death made it real.  Do what you can now, because there is plenty of time when you are done breathing, to live under a rock.

Peace.

Filed under: Uncategorized Tagged: Authors, dads, Father's Day, Writing

Hello? Kids?

I have to say, I am quite social media savvy. That is, if I’m talking to adults. It is a primary part of my day job and I [stupidly] thought it would translate seamlessly to my night job as an author. An author who has penned a book for kids. For kids. One more time…for kids. Who are ten to twelve years old. Do you see my problem? If not, let me explain…

Sure, I’ve been working the social media channels whenever I get the chance; specifically to attract moms and dads – those with influence over my target market. I’ve blessedly made some inroads in rallying the cause of trying to help another mom realize her dream. However, 9 times out of 10, they aren’t the folks reading the book, their child is. So if their child LOVES it, that’s nice, but it more often than not ends there. No word of mouth, no Facebook posting, no Twitter shout-out, no messages blowing up their peeps phones, and no five star reviews on Amazon. Nada, nothing, bupkis.

And the sad part is…I’m DYING to talk to them. Which characters did they like? What did they think of the Monstrosities? Do they think Theo was asleep or awake the whole time? Did they see the twist coming? On and on. Oh sure, I’ve pressed my sons, niece and nephews ad nauseam, but they KNOW me. Don’t get me wrong, their feedback has been invaluable, but I’d love an unbiased chat with a bunch of kids. So much so, I’m going straight to the big guy and have officially put it on my Christmas list. In fact, here is my letter to Santa:

 

Dear Santa,

Growing up with the last name Rudolph has certainly had its pluses and minuses. Being part Irish, the red nose thing was inevitable (and unfortunate at times.) I powered through, though, and have come to love my name and all that it represents. In fact, it is very deer to my heart.

However, I digress. I am writing because I am now a full fledged adult per my driver’s license and I only want one thing for Christmas – to hear the voices of children who have read my book. To hear their gleeful songs rise up like the Whos in Whoville to a crescendo atop Mt. Crumpit. To see a sparkle in their eyes, their jumpy squirrel bouncing as they retell their favorite part, and their imaginations catch on fire as they play act each and every scene.

Rudolph has seen you through many a storm to brighter skies. I only hope you have it in your big velvet bag to repay the favor to his humble namesake. Please, let me hear the children.

Sincerely,

Cindy Rudolph Barlow

P.S. If you have time to throw world peace in there as well, that would be awesome.

 

As I sit here staring at my Facebook page, Twitter feed, and Amazon listing, I do so all the while refreshing my browser like a lifelong gambler pulling on a slot machine handle. No triple cherries and no coins pouring forth onto the floor like an endless stream of validation.

So kids, if you are looking for me, please tell me how to play hide and seek. Until I can find my way out of the “ain’t got no feedback” paper bag, know that I’m just sitting here waiting on Santa, hoping that he REALly is all that and a bag of presents. And that he’ll deliver your thoughts to me with a big red bow.

That, or your parents see this blog post and decide to get you a Facebook account based on my plight. For that you can thank me later with a “hey, girl!” direct message and a page like. But only after I’ve asked you a billion questions about the book. And possibly five more questions after that.

Peace.

Filed under: Uncategorized Tagged: Authors, Children's Books, epic fantasy, social media, Writers

So Much to Say

With all that has happened this past week, I feel as though a lot of people are compelled to write down their feelings; to be heard. Everyone has so much to say. We used to talk to one another at the local diner, or on our way through the grocery store aisles, or even via a quick chat with the neighbor as we went out to get the mail. Nowadays, it seems as though the bulk of the talking is done in writing via blogs, social media posts, feed updates, comment sections, and the like. Much like I am doing right now. I have a lot to say, so I write while you read. Then I’ll read what you write. And so it goes as huge amounts of information enter our brains unfiltered, going around and around until we process how we feel about any given subject…or get overwhelmed.

Last week, two bombs tore a rift in a 117 year old tradition, compelling people to run in to help those who could not run away; a fertilizer plant explosion shook Mother Earth in Richter scale proportions a few days before Earth Day; a man formerly known as an Elvis-impersonator sent ricin-laced letters to elected officials, while elected officials chose not to listen to the majority of the people who elected them and instead chose to vote down background checks for gun applicants.

On these subjects and more, everyone has something to say. Including me, it seems. Why do we crave so much information? Why do some type for hours until their fingers are numb, while others read every word until their eyes are bloodshot? I think we have so much to say simply because we can. It is the beauty of our liberty here in America to be able to speak and read freely. Open dialogue is a gift not to be taken lightly because it connects us. Language is what elevates us as humans. It is what forms everything from marriage proposals to ideologies. Words can be painful, happy, drive one to kill, save a life, or command a dog to sit. They are in one word – impressive.

It is when words are used in a technological vacuum that they lose their true meaning and become distorted – to the point where we have nothing important to say or have any value to add anymore. Similarly, when we are no longer able to speak face-to-face with our neighbor and learn about them – truly hear what they have to say through their accompanying facial expressions and mannerisms, that the personal connection language makes is relegated to lines of type preceded by a blinking cursor.

The irony of me typing this is not lost on me. However, I do invite you to now go out and talk to a human being face-to-face about the events of this past week. Listen to what they have to say, impart your thoughts upon them, and walk away knowing you made a made a connection because you not only heard their words, but you saw their tears.

Many in-person bonds were made through the tragedies of last week. A runner who stopped to comfort a wounded stranger, a nurse who held the hand of a dying women whose name he did not know, or a couple who stopped to bequeath a well-deserved medal on a young woman who was robbed of her personal victory. Few words were spoken, yet they had so much to say. It was their actions that spoke volumes.

In closing, I invite you to always follow this golden rule whether online or in person, “If you don’t have anything nice to say, don’t say anything at all.”

Peace.

Filed under: Uncategorized Tagged: Authors, boston marathon, Writers

Are You Smart?

What defines intelligence? Is it your GPA, IQ score, or merely the fact that you can find your way out of a paper bag with ease? Is it that you know a lot about a little or know a little about a lot? I have thought long and hard about this, simply because I’m saddened by seeing folks be so mean and disrespectful to each other on social media platforms, all in the name of extolling how smart they think they are. And because, to me, kindness outweighs intelligence. So I have a theory on intelligence – or being informed as I prefer to call it. (That is why being “Informed” plays such a big part in Theo’s journey in my book.)

In order to be informed, you need three things: 1) exposure, 2) understanding, and 3) retention.

1) Exposure – unless you have seen, heard or felt it, you wouldn’t know about it. So next time someone doesn’t know what a word means that is commonplace to you, don’t roll your eyeballs and tell them, “How dumb can you be?” Because [gasp] they might have never heard the word before it came out of your mouth. Instead, re-explain what you mean in simpler terms so that they can learn from you. Lift them up.

2) Understanding – I can teach you all day long about the theory of relativity, but if you don’t have the mental capacity to understand what I am teaching you, then you won’t learn it. Everyone’s brain is built a little bit differently. One person may excel at math, while another is excellent at history. Does it make the math person stupid at history or the history person stupid at math? I sure hope not, because then that would mean I’m an absolute idiot at math. 

3) Retention – So I spent all day teaching you about the theory of relativity, and while you understood it long enough to take the test and ace it, you forgot all about it in a few years because you went on to be an English scholar, get married and have three beautiful children. Information relative to your everyday life started to imprint on the brain cells previously dedicated to the theory of relativity. Which, ironically, makes intelligent relative, no? So if you were able to retain the information at one point and then not now, does that make you smart then and stupid now? Nah.

That is the beauty of our world. The fact that each of us operates and understands things differently is what adds diversity to our lives. So next time you get annoyed at someone who doesn’t think like you, remember they might be able to school you on how to grow a successful vegetable garden. And if you think they don’t know anything more than you do, then remember that arrogance is uglier than ignorance. 

As mentioned, I’ve thought about this more and more lately as I’ve seen examples of one person calling out another on their ignorance. And as I read through my book again and again and see mistake after mistake, I cringe. But then I realize something basic, something important, and something that levels the playing field for all of us – I’m human. Yes, folks, I make mistakes. And I will continue to do so for the rest of my life. More importantly, I will continue to learn and become more informed for the rest of my life as well. If someone wants to point out that I’ve used a semi-colon improperly; (whoops, there it is!) please do so – kindly. I don’t know it all and want to learn more. I want to better myself everyday and inspire those around me to do the same.

Where do I net out on all of this? I think it is more important to be kind than smart – or right. WHOA, STOP THE PRESSES! So am I saying we should give up on grammar, algebra, and the like? Of course not, because that would be stupid. Rather, I believe if we all helped, taught in an inspiring way, and opted for a positive vs. a negative spin on our interactions with others, then we would be in a better place. A place where we can all be smart.

Peace.

Filed under: Uncategorized Tagged: Authors, Children's Books, Einstein, fantasy, intelligence, Writers

Big Words, Little Minds

When I set out to write, Theo’s Mythic, I knew two things. The first would be that the book would contain words that kids would have to look up. [Gasp!] The second thing was that it would be a non-linear narrative because kids think in random tangents. For example, a five second conversation with one of my children could run the gamut of, “Look ma, a squirrel!”, “There’s a ball!”, “Where’s the art project with the penguin I made last year?”, “How many M&M’s do you think I can fit in my mouth?” and so on. Therefore, the characters and storyline weave and bend, to and fro, but then all converge at the end. Just how a child thinks.

As for the first thing, the “big words”: A few people have questioned if the use of them was a wise decision. Does that make for good commercial fiction? Would the words be problematic? To which I reply, “So if a teacher gave you a math problem you didn’t understand, that would be the end of it?” My goal is to teach and challenge children to be so much more. Learning the word enigma is just as easy as learning its synonym, mystery. In fact, it is one letter shorter, so really the big word, by way of letter count, is actually – mystery. So why the word enigma is considered the big word is a mystery to me.

As mentioned in a previous post, my father would make me look up every word I came across that was not familiar. He would also use big words in routine conversation. In fact, many of my favorite moments with him began with, “Do you know what that word means?” Like one day in particular – we were standing in the yard of my first house while he explained what a deciduous tree was. I’ll never forget that moment, or the evergreen pine that prompted the conversation that I wouldn’t have to worry about raking leaves in the front yard.

Big words get a bad rap and kids are smarter than just sitting around to watch Jane run – in a straight line. And to be quite honest, some big words are just so fun to say, like, obtuse. Obtuussse. Fun, no? How about supercalafragalisticexpialadoshus? Ok, so maybe that isn’t an official word, but Mary Poppins sure knew how to have a whole lotta fun! And if a word with 33 letters can be learned and roll off the tongue, then any word can.

As part of the teaching process, I tried to put the word into context, so that the rest of the sentence or paragraph would lend itself to explaining the word or words used. After all, I don’t want to totally disrupt the reading flow every two seconds with, “We pause this reading for an important dictionary look-up.”

So do I think little minds can handle big words? Yes, I unequivocally do.

Filed under: Uncategorized Tagged: Authors, Children's Books, epic fantasy, middle grade fiction, Writers

The Birth of Theo

On March 7, 2013, Theo’s Mythic was “born”, a.k.a. published.  Theo’s conception, if you will, happened one night in my bedroom.  I was growing restless in my job and knew it was time to move on.  But to what?  So one night, as I was reading in bed and turned the last page of the book in my hands, I turned to my husband and said, “I’m going to write a novel.”

I had been working in corporate America my entire career and was yearning to do something more creative – more me.  I don’t have a single complaint about all of the years I’ve written, travelled, presented, created, and marketed for the company I was working for, as I’ve learned so much and have been truly blessed to have worked with so many extraordinary people.  But in 2009, after the death of my father and the birth of my daughter, a lightbulb blew up in my head and I knew it was now my time.  Time to shake off the familiarity and comfort of an office and a desk, and redress myself in the newness of writing something for which I, alone, could take ownership.

Can I write?  Who knows.  One of my majors in college was art and the one thing I learned from that, is that one person can look at a picture and be enamored, while another is unabashedly unimpressed.  I’ve already found a bunch of “mistakes” in my published book and take comfort in the fact that J.K. Rowling said she can’t comfortably read Harry Potter without cringing at the mistakes.  I guess it makes it fun for the blooper finders and reminds me of one very important fact – I’m human.

Regardless of the comma corrections, misplaced apostrophes and such, I’m proud of the fact that I took a chance.  For without courage, without strength, without conviction, and a dash of adventurism, all I was left with was the everyday nagging of two little words, “what if…”  I want the children who read, Theo’s Mythic, to feel the same way.  That if one person, with a very vivid imagination, can breathe life into her dream by simply typing one word after another, then nothing is impossible.

So while the birth of Theo wasn’t planned, it will forever serve as one of the greatest leaps of faith of my life.  I encourage everyone to take a leap to do something good, constructive, and inspiring – and no matter what, be true to all that you Wannabe.  Peace.

Filed under: Uncategorized Tagged: Authors, Blogs, book series, Books, Children's Books, epic fantasy, middle grade fiction

Imagine Nation

My Imagination at Work

I was going over my book the other day with my aunt and was taken aback by how dumbfounded she was as to how I came up with the overall idea, creatures, characters and the like.  I have a crazy imagination and thought everyone had the same thing.  Apparently not, according to her.  Doesn’t everyone see walking trees when they are driving to work?  No.  Doesn’t everyone talk in funny voices throughout the day?  Ah, no.  Doesn’t everyone constantly think about how to make something funny, off kilter and unbelievably believable?  Nope.  And that surprises me, to no end.

I’ve always relied on my imagination and I love looking at the world in a quirky way.  Being rooted too deeply in reality and that which is heavily weighted in the present makes me feel chained.  Letting my mind go is liberating and a whole lot of fun.  When I’m writing I get to go places.  My imagination is simply a passport to travel to worlds unknown.  I’ve been blessed to have been able to see much of America and am always amazed at how things are the same, but different.  People live in houses, but the construction might be different.  Flowers bloom, but they might be of a different species than I’m familiar with seeing.  It is the same thing with writing.  I see people, an environment, creatures and circumstances – but they are all native to the world I am creating.  Taking the familiar into the unfamiliar is the wonderful basis for exploration.  Going into the unknown.

One thing I hope to impart upon my children, as well as all children who I’m lucky enough to have read my book, is that an imagination is a gift.  It may help you escape from a difficult situation or it just may be an outlet from the ordinary.  But most important of all, your imagination it is the part of yourself that allows you to dream.  Envisioning a new take on the ordinary has led to classic novels, the iPod, the internet, setting foot on the moon, curing diseases, awe-inspiring art and music, revolutions that birthed freedom and so much more.  So being a nation of dreamers doesn’t mean that we are flighty or without grounding, it means we embrace that which is yet to be explored.

As I rely on other great and interesting minds for the music that floats through my ears, and to photographers who capture a precious moment in time, and to those that cured polio so that my children’s bodies would be strong – I give back Theo’s Mythic to all of those who don’t have an imagination as crazy as mine.  So welcome to my world – and imagine that.

Filed under: Uncategorized Tagged: Authors, Blogs, Books, Children's Books, middle grade fiction, Writers, Writing