S.M. Bjarnson's Blog, page 15

"If you can guess what is in my pocket you can have it." -S.M. Bjarnson

                “If you can guess what I have in my pocket, you can have it?” The pocket was as empty as the old man’s soul.“This is a childish game, papa. Can you just simply give me the items you so secretly hide in your trousers?” The young lady folded her arms neatly behind her back. “Now child, where would you find your sense of adventure, your sense of prideful imagination if there wasn't a guess to be given?” Twiddling his fingers about, he struck no key or compass.“Is it a key to my new flat? You've promised me something grand, shall that be the answer you are searching for?” Sweet as her smile was, grandfather new all too well where it had gotten her, and most days he underfed the idea of where it had gotten him.“Surely, nonsense if you suppose there is a building hiding in these old slacks.” They shared a controversial laugh; the park had become vacant. The morning was all they took together. This man and his granddaughter, stole their morning bread and ate it by the rivers bend. Sunlight streaming beneath the open branches of the sycamore trees. Thievery was a sport. Entitled to quite more than any necessary needs, they were shoplifting for the thrill. His age was solemnly deteriorating. Her beautiful young age was blossoming like a lotus in spring, awing. Lessons and teachings were performed and then vastly inadequate. The young woman’s intelligence came not from the text in books, rather the predicament of precarious occasions. The grandfather her supposed protector suspected his last breaths early on. Huffing her breath in the cool of the crisp air. She shuffled her boots about, making squeaks in all the curves. There were rumors, she was a part of that he had been involved with. Both ending their social status lives. “A sweet or two. The moon. The stars, the secrets to the universe, all of the above?” Reaching over to caress his rosy cheek, a quiet chill had come over him. “Papa?” His cheek frigid with embarrassment. “My darling, continue with your speculations please.” The vibrations rang out upon the paved pathway. He heard her began to hum a tune he knew all too well. It gravitated toward him, aching in his bones. “A marble? A jewel, a ring of sorts? Is it my inheritance early on?” This girl used to be a child once, he thought. He saw her skipping in his memories in her tights and dress’.“Part of it, maybe.” Visions became blurry. Hearts began to slow, one day they would all stop.“The family business? Your lake house?” Her guesses began to weigh on him as he looked around at all he was leaving behind. Were they the things he had worked so hard for, for so long for? Were they inevitably worth his family’s lives, especially that life of his only granddaughter? Questions hung around his head like a noose being dangled in front of his exhausted eyes.Whisking away the static in her hair, she knelt down at his knee. Standing by his side when all others chose to flee. Her palm open to his honesty. His heart open to the mercy she provided. Guilt swallowed the man whole, and he gladly let it gobble his being. Crumbs of bellowing hope long washed away. Characters of influential all bashing your truly good name. No longer his name, he realized it was now hers and he had squandered it in vain. Times were rough, no excuses had been made. The knowledge of the crimes committed were cast away. Far from recollection, far from someone’s paperwork, the secrets were deep in now some Joe’s swimming hole.  He fumbled with his large fists exiting the pouches. Letting one hand fall open he began to speak.“An apology.” The wrinkles lining every accountability of his mournful life. “An apology is in my pocket. I have been holding it in that cloth outlet for quite some time, for a number of years. It is now my gift I wish to give you, my one ultimate gift. It is for you. I have given you many things, a wealthy life and a bothersome existence.” His voice began to grovel. His hands began to shake. “So, I am sorry.” The fists were laid open, unwilling to take back the present he had exposed.
S.M. Bjarnson

Just a reminder of how the blog week days roll!

Here is a play by play for weekly days & topics!

Monday: MotivateIn retrospect, I will be writing a article or two about getting the writers or readers inspired.Tuesday: A Tale or twoToday is a day for storytelling. Either from you or one of my close acquaintancesWednesday: Wisdom of the WorldWednesday is the day for writing wisdom & marketing enlightenment.Thursday: Free DayGive ME a Break. :) Friday: For EverybodyPromote your dope! I feature a music video of an artist I admire, a poem or a short story from fellow colleagues.  Saturday: Sneak PeeksSneak Peeks of my new upcoming novels. The cover reveal or insert I allow to flow through my writer's hands. Sunday: Let's Have Fun Today! A recipe or crafts I love to share! I <3 pinterest! Follow http://www.pinterest.com/crazii09bjarns/
If you would like to post with me on the days I post new things about other creative artists in the world. Thank you to all who view and enjoy the articles I post, I am very excited to contribute to your livelihoods!Email me and we will have loads of fun collaborating! :) Hooray!

Motivation for the last day of the Month

How do I describe the last month, hectic,  enjoyable, pleasant, chaotic, lovely! :) There are times when mixed emotions are never a bad thing. Here we are completing the first rotation of my monthly, weekly, daily schedule for being an avid writer/blogger/posting extraordinaire. What I would like to say is never give in to the stereotypes people classify you as. Never look the other way when one is being wounded. Always stand up to those parts of you that are so passionately driven to take you down. Believe you are only capable of delivering that story in your hands, enjoy that no other could create the same exact replica because they are not you, they have not experienced your life in a personal manner. To the days that never seem to end and the words that will always be speaking to you, have a cup of tea and take a break. You made it through this month. Cheers! Onward to the next :) Let Literature Heal You. -S.M. Bjarnson

Mounds Layer Cake Recipe

I really love cakes with poured ganache on top — if you’re not so great at cakes but want something that looks nice, this is really the best way.  It covers up any imperfections in your frosting and the pretty drips distract the eye.  Plus, a little extra chocolate is never a bad thing.PrintMounds Layer CakeIngredientsCake:2 cups sugar1 cup Dutch Process Cocoa Powder (I used Hershey's Special Dark)1 3/4 cups all purpose flour1 1/2 tsp baking powder1 1/2 tsp baking soda1 tsp salt2 large eggs1/2 cup vegetable oil1 cup buttermilk3/4 cup boiling waterFilling:14 oz bag sweetened, shredded coconut1 can sweetened condensed milkFrosting:1 cup (2 sticks) salted butter, slightly softened1/3 cup cream of coconut (I buy this in a squeeze bottle with the drink mixers)1/4 cup heavy cream3 cups powdered sugarGanache:1/2 cup semi sweet chocolate chips1/2 cup heavy cream1/4 cup light corn syrup (you can use honey if you are opposed to corn syrup)InstructionsPreheat oven to 350. Grease and flour three (9) inch round pans. If you only have two pans, just fill one pan a little more than the other. You will split the taller cake in half.Bake your cake: In the bowl of your mixer, combine sugar, cocoa powder, flour, baking soda, baking powder, and salt. Add eggs, oil, and buttermilk and beat on medium speed for two minutes. Scrape sides of bowl and stir in boiling water. Divide batter into cake pans (batter will be thin) and bake for 30 minutes or until tops spring back until lightly touched. Allow cakes to cool in pans for about 5 minutes, then remove to cooling racks to cool completely.Prepare filling: In a large bowl, combine coconut and sweetened condensed milk. Refrigerate until ready to use.Prepare ganache: In a microwave safe bowl, combine chocolate chips and heavy cream. Microwave for about 2 minutes, stopping every 30 seconds to stir until smooth. Stir in corn syrup and refrigerate until slightly cooled and thickened.Prepare frosting: In the bowl of your mixer, beat butter, cream of coconut, and heavy cream on medium speed until smooth. With the mixer set on low, slowly add powdered sugar. Once the powdered sugar is just barely mixed in, increase speed to high and beat for one minute until fluffy.Assemble cake: Spread coconut filling between 3 layers (if you only made 2 cakes, split one in half). Frost with coconut frosting, and spoon ganache on top to the very edges of the cake, letting it drip down the sides. Garnish with a scoop of coconut filling if desired.NotesKeep uneaten cake stored in refrigerator.This is seriously one amazing cake.http://www.confessionsofacookbookquee...

Circus in Me: Sneak Peek 4

She was taken back beneath excitement to something of gleam or gallant. They gravitated toward her, wanting to accept her, partake of her journey. She shivered in her conforming seat, contemplating these lifestyles almost in a judging manner but not quite. Her hand was never raised in disapproving motions. She merely volunteered to be a rescue. As you would a lost dog, a homeless cat or any other pathetic animal you couldn’t help find but adorable.They like her, they pulled at her. Bringing her into an embrace she had never experienced. Doc, the ringmaster placed a comforting hand on her shoulder welcoming her into his family of misunderstood individuals. He lead her down the line of performers. First the Bearded Lady, Mona, then Doc the manager and caretaker of the animals, Katarina, the tattooed beauty. The triplet acrobats near her age eyeing her shape and figure. She walked amongst these odd individuals; her fear unbearable now. She came to the conclusion she must shout out for some sort of help, but what kind of assistance was she asking for? A departure? A rescue from these odd fools, who she seemed to belong too, or maybe just maybe a helping hand. The mystic, Arunia, smiled at her as she lent an open hand, her voice was simple, but pretty. She hushed Trae Lai’s fears; she was home.

S.M. Bjarnson 

Street Electric Violinist Bryson Andres: Secrets

Talk about talent! This guy is at the top of the food chain when it comes to electric violinist!

LORDE - Team (Audio)

How Your Friends Affect Your Creative Work, by David Burkus

Today is Wisdom Wednesday! Hooray today I am sharing with you an article about support groups, critisim teams and the inklings. Click to see the entire article by David Burkus.http://99u.com/articles/21521/in-praise-of-the-creative-support-group
How Your Friends Affect Your Creative Work by David Burkus
For the modern creative, it has never been easier to show your work to audiences around the world. Connective technology has made it possible to collaborate on and display your projects across time zones and borders. But all of this connectivity comes at a cost: anonymity. 
Criticism should strengthen the work and its creator. Consider the famous (or infamous) writing group the “Inklings.” This was a group of British writers that included J.R.R. Tolkien, C.S. Lewis, Charles Williams, and many other prominent authors and poets of the time.The purpose wasn’t to proudly show off finished works, almost everything read was a work in progress. In fact, legend has it that C.S. Lewis actually had to argue with Tolkien that the manuscript he’d been reading at meetings, working title The Lord of the Rings, was in fact strong enough for publication. But the primary purpose of the meeting was to just connect with similar souls and draw strength from each other. We’ll need their criticism first and we’ll need their support long afterward.—S.M. Bjarnson's thoughts:
 I can truly if not wholeheartedly agree. I wish there were a modern version of the inklings, if there is and somehow I have forgotten to sign up, please contact me for the criticism. As being a writer we need the outside interpretation of where our manuscripts are heading. If they are good and what needs a good fixing. We develop and always should understand that our helpful peers are trying to assist us on our situations as we do on theirs. We appreciate the time it takes them to indulge themselves into our writings and artwork. Our response their efforts to understand should be highly respectful. No not every living and breathing human being with applaud every single word written. You aren't here to please people, you are here to heal them, entertain them, enlighten them. Prove that you are better than what skepticism says. We are not just word makers. We are the creators of the new world.

Feeder of the Fish, S.M. Bjarnson

Feeder of the FishWith those who seek guidance and inspiration look unto your Heavenly Father and Savior as a feeder unto his fish. As we delegate our lives according to what fits us most and what we desire above all, we make certain judgments and make unique decisions to fit our beliefs. Let me now relate this to a feeder of a fish. The feeder tends to the fish helping them and guiding them through their troubled waters. But, the feeder may not always be around exactly when the fish is prepared to dine and be nurtured. Like us, we reach and await the spiritual food that the Lord has sent down to us.We await the guidance and motivation that the Lord holds out unto us all, waiting for us to take in a taste. Think for a moment now, that we are the fish in this pond or tank of water, our feeder being God our Lord, may send us inspirations and plant in our hearts guidance unto our beings. As the bits of food trickle down the water front we are able to feast and strive to go the biggest pieces that look the most fulfilling. We may feast upon the words he has sent down to us, but some do pass away and fall beneath us, unnoticed. For when we wait for our feeder to come and he does not, we feel saddened and find ourselves in despair.But, we must look for the inspirations he has already given us. The words and phrases we let slip through our fins and fingers, the ones we ignored and disregarded from our presence, because we see them as too small and unfulfilled.But, those bits of enrichment are the ones we need most in our souls most of allI plead with you and unto you and unto myself as well, that we seek and search for the hidden meanings the Lord has placed before us. Let us strive to find the meanings for ourselves and may we find our own inspirations and have our own understandings of the things we need to be enhanced by. So, then may we grow and excel to our spiritual potential and our emotional beings. So, I say unto you again, let us open our eyes unto the Lord our God and unto the inspirations from the scriptures. Let your soul go free and search for the inspirations you are looking to heal your broken heart and troubled soul.
Search and seek and find your own guidance in this world. S.M. Bjarnson

Speak up!

Wait. Wait for the time when you are allowed to speak and show a distinct emotion or feelings. Wait, for the time that will become your own and somehow the words will fall out of your own mouth as astounding recreation of solitude. What am I searching for? Or whom, how will I know? The search engine blinks for the question I cannot seem to ask. Will I end up just like the others have, misguided in a wave of love… I do not know how the approach is too happen or if true love exists, but I taste it on my breath as if I had eaten it for breakfast. I can follow the rhymes and times of the rhythm which made friends once become lovers, but I do not understand how or when the idea came about. Was it the touch that made them cave, or the notes upon the page? Either way, they had fallen down beneath the clouds, to become a part of the falling sky feeling in us all. One too many times our lives have come about into one another’s, and I cannot seem to let go of it, the idea of us. The feeling between our fingertips and the way we moved in the darkness, like we owned the light switch of happiness. Words, were carelessly placed among others ready for a dive in that was not theirs to swim about through, To Whom It May Concern we will all die very soon.Characters in a play do not realize who they are. Have they lost all sense of stability walking through their walls, I wonder as I watch, performing in such a way, do they see the light around them I have held so brutally to my own. Among others things I grant a farewell, to those who not have lost, but those who have yet won. Don’t push too many things or you may fall over yourself. The tide of change comes near, and you all run away in a chaotic fear. I cannot see, but maybe I don’t want too. As a blind fool once said, “I can be anything I want to be, no matter who says.”
Remarkable timing, remarkable lines upon lines of diseased places, places you have never been but write so carelessly about as if you brought up to be so cruel in their warm society of people.
S.M. Bjarnson