S.R. Karfelt's Blog, page 33

Quantum Physics Detention Home

Photo Credit: LaDonna Cole

LaDonna Cole recently published her first novel. It’s a Young Adult story about a kind of quantum physics detention home. This quantum physics interest is something I share with LaDonna, for real. When I say I read everything I mean it. LaDonna made the sad mistake of agreeing to be interviewed here in the glitter globe, so let the games commence.
Who put the bop in the bop shoo bop shoo bop?  That would be Sir Gonagan Beuford O'Mally, famous Bard of the 1600's. I know you're shocked, right? You thought it was Elvis, didn't you?  'fess up.
Seriously though, my glitter globian interest in quantum physics is fueled in large part by the fact that I have a qubit brain. Qubits as you well know can store both 1’s and 0 at the same time, enabling them to perform multiple calculations simultaneously, all well and good, except they forget their memories in less than a second. What fueled your interest in quantum physics?  I read an article that said something like, waves and particles cannot be seen until they are observed. They call that popping a quiff. (Thank you, Physicist Fred Alan Wolf for that amazing term.) Which leads us right back to Elvis, you know. (Brownie points to the first person who knows the connection!)  Anyway, it struck me that it sounded very familiar.  I remember a passage I read in the Bible that said He calls "things that are not as though they are." And another one that says "while we do not look at the thingswhich are seen, but at the things which arenot seen. For the things which are seen are temporary, but the things which are not seenare eternal."  And I thought, hmm, there is something to this. I've been studying quantum physics since then. I find it fascinating.
I’ve described your book in my words, would you like a turn?Sure! 
Abducted to exotic worlds in quantum spheres, a 16 year old beauty, Kate Wilson, and a team of teen misfits confront inner monsters and demons brought to life by quantum science. Dragons, aliens, sentient tornados, and tree dwelling natives terrorize them as they fight for survival on strange planets and other worlds, and struggle to overcome emotional turmoil and mental illness.  Kate is torn between sizzling passion and loyal stability, when two very different boys vie for her attentions. Trapped between self-loathing and independence, Kate must choose to live with horrifying consequences or kill the monster who loves her. A romantic thriller with action packed adventure, passion, science fiction and fantasy overtones for young adult readers of all ages. 
Few books that I’ve read have ever provided a theme song like yours did. I have Christina Perri’s song “I Have Loved You for a Thousand Years” just crammed in my head, stuck between Vampire Weekend’s “Oxford Comma” and The Token’s version of “The Lion Sleeps Tonight”.  As a psychiatric nurse can you recommend a way to knock those songs loose? If you find a way will you tell me?  Right now I have the Immortal Song, the actual theme song of the book, playing in my head. My friend Annie Adams put it to a wonderful tune and I haven't been able to forget it.
Were you inspired to write the “I Have Loved You for a Thousand Years” scene from hearing that song, or was it a coincidence? No one will ever believe me, but I wrote the scene before I heard the song. When I did hear the song, I almost had a wreck. "No WAY!" was my reaction as I stared at the radio, then had to jerk the wheel to stay in my lane. After that it became one of my favorites. I'm so glad it is a good song, or else I probably would have scrapped the scene.
What default songs are stuck in your head? The last song I heard usually takes a couple of hours to be crowded out. But most of the music in my head comes in the form of original ditties and songs that match the mood of the moment.  When I heard Gungor's "This Is Not the End", I couldn't believe that someone had listened inside my brain and made a song that sounds exactly like what plays in my head most of the time.  http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=t5Cjt83wWDk (sorry about the doggy breath add attached to it. Ick.)
I know for a fact that you live your life on the ragged edge, LaDonna. What have you done this year that has pushed you out of your comfort zone? The biggie is stepping out there to publish. HUGE departure from keeping my writings to myself. Also, I traveled abroad for the first time. I went to London with my son and 150 students and parents from his school. I can't begin to describe what that did for my trove of writing inspiration. Full to overflowing!  Then I went to the Bahamas with my daughter and found bliss. Beautiful tropical waters and island atmosphere will be making an appearance in my future books, absolutely. I found out that snorkeling is the THANG! Loved it. Can't wait to do it again and again. Traveling is a passion and luckily an occupational necessity for writers.

Photo Credit: LaDonna Cole

The sphere has landed! Welcome to the next jump in the adventure. Leave a comment on this page and collect the item for your survival pack.Take this item with you, write it down or copy/paste into a doc: The answer to the question "Who put the bop in the bop shoo bop shoo bop?"

Screeeeech! The sphere is coming! Your next stop is: J. S. Bailey on Facebook
If this was your first and now is your last stop, go to LaDonna's author page on Facebook where The Torn release party is going on! Enter all of your answers into a comment under the pinned post, Falling Spheres, for a chance to win the Grand Prize package.

BLANK RULES VI

Photo Credit: S. R. Karfelt




After lunch Jimmy West had chocolate milk dried in the corners of his mouth. When Carole looked at him, he squeezed spit out between his lips and let if fall in a long string, trying to reach the top of his desk with it. Carole ignored him and he sucked it back up loudly. “We have a special treat today,” Mrs. Kuzik said. “It’s too hot to go outside, but Mr. Hogue’s class loaned us a fan and the second Boxcar Children’s book, Surprise Island! Usually you don’t get to read this story until you’re in Second Grade. So this is a special treat, and we’re going to read two chapters today. Put your head on your desk, and I’ll plug in the fan.”With the rest of the class, Carole put her head on her desk. The windows were open, and the scorching sun had moved up and over top the school. The fan felt good blowing the dusty desert air over her. She listened with all of her might, Benny and Violet weren’t living in the boxcar anymore, they had a family where they belonged now. She could see the story inside her head, like a nice dream.

            Jimmy West poked his bandaged arm against her elbow. Carole kept her eyes closed and turned her head away, towards the freckled girl, not caring to see what Jimmy was doing with his spittle. He poked again, more insistently. Carole focused on the tale Mrs. Kuzik painted with her words, but the poking pulled her away. Finally she turned her head in his direction, opening an eye to Jimmy’s idiotic grin, his head motioning for her to look under his desk. Carole lifted her elbow and peeked down, expecting to see he’d stolen Mia’s jump rope or learned to pick his nose with his other hand. It was much worse. Jimmy’s pants were unzipped, and he held his little boy part in his hand waving it to and fro, like an old boneless finger. The voices in Carole’s head protested. Disgust and anger shot through her and something new rose up from deep inside. This she would not allow.             In one smooth movement Carole’s head lifted off her desk, her hand slid into Sarah’s desk and found the girl’s wooden ruler. In two seconds she’d whipped it out and slapped it across Jimmy West’s dancing part with all of her might. It made a slapping sound that echoed through the room, the ruler broke in half and a piece flew off. Jimmy screamed. His chair toppled over and he just lay there continuing to scream. Mrs. Kuzik hurried across the room, the Boxcar Children book still in her hand. It took her almost eleven seconds. The voices in Carole’s head were shouting about broken laws and retribution, she’d disobeyed and the black dreams descended.
            “Girl, I’ve never had anyone thrown out of school in First Grade before. Did you break his finger on purpose too?” Marsha’s brown eyes were clear and deep, like a root beer bottle glinting in the sunshine. “It doesn’t matter to the Thatchers either way. They don’t put up with any sort of trouble. I just need to know, so I can pick your next place.”            “Yes,” Carole whispered. The voices didn’t like that she told Marsha, even if it was true. Never tell what you can do! They will destroy you! Black dreams rolled through her head making sure she understood. She had to squint to see past them. “I shouldn’t have hit him so hard.”            “You shouldn’t have hit him at all! You’re not going to be able to go to school at El Vista anymore. That’s not the kind of thing a boy will forget.”Marsha put her straw handbag on her desk and pointed at a chair beside it. She didn’t have an office like the other social workers. She had an old green metal desk sitting in the hall near the bathroom. Carole sat in the chair, and Marsha nodded at a man walking past and called him Sir. He said hello to Marsha in the same type of pretend friendly voice that the Thatchers used to talk to their foster children. In the green chair, Carole wrapped her arms around her legs. Goose bumps made little hairs stick up on her arms and legs. Duke would have nobody to run the desert with. The edges of her heart burned a bit. She would have nobody to run the desert with. Duke had Earl."Your teacher was having you moved to sixth grade next year anyway. She got hold of the Orphanage and managed to get your age straightened out too, you’re officially ten. Your birthday is Christmas day. Sister Mary Josephine said that is the birthday for all orphans who don’t have their own. Don’t fret Miss Carole, I’ll find you a new place. Just don’t be beatin’ on boys, okay?”

***
Copyright 2013, S. R. Karfelt
All rights reserved

BLANK DODGEBALL V

Photo Credit: Pika Miklitsch
That horse is what a teen does with an Amazon gift card. Just saying. I happen to find it amazing. What do you think? It makes me want to give teens Amazon gift cards for all occasions. By the way it also has no correlation with today's blog, which is a continuation of the deleted scenes from my upcoming novel, BLANK - a shieldmaiden's voice. BLANK is the second book in the Warriors of the Ages series. 

This is the fifth scene, all listed over ----> and numbered. 

BLANK - The Dodgeball Scene - Deleted scene #5 by S. R. Karfelt (all rights reserved)


            Dodge-ball was Carole’s favorite game even though they played it inside, in the room used as the cafeteria at lunch. Today it smelled like the pizza burgers that the voices wouldn’t let her eat. There were eight doors and Carole could reach the closest in three seconds. Except for Carole, the whole class wore sneakers, even the gym teacher, Mr. Hogue. Sneakers protected the floor he told them again, giving Carole’s hard scruffy shoes an unhappy look. Carole wondered why they didn’t have to protect the floor at lunch. Mr. Hogue picked his two favorite students, Robert Morrison and Timothy Miller, and they chose teams. Carole hoped she wouldn’t get on the same team as Jimmy West. Jimmy always got picked first, and Carole and Sarah Lightfoot were picked last. Today Carole got lucky. The foster care girl with the wrong kind of shoes was picked second to last, over the girl from the reservation with boogers on her sleeve.
            The voices started nagging Carole to get tagged out as soon as the first ball was thrown. Jimmy West hit a boy right in the face with the ball, and the gym teacher blew his whistle and hollered at him. The voices didn’t usually make her go out first, but they never even let her be the last girl tagged out. Jimmy West grinned at her as he threw the ball straight at her head. Mr. Hogue’s whistle sounded shrill and echoing in the gym. Carole reached up and caught the ball solidly just an inch from her face. From the corner of her eye she saw Mr. Hogue’s whistle fall out of his mouth and then he smiled. Carole sized the angle, located Jimmy’s left index finger and threw the ball as hard as she could. It made a delightful sound as it cut through the air too fast for eyes to follow well. Jimmy was still looking at her and grinning when it caught his finger. Carole was certain she heard it snap.#          The voices knew Carole had done it on purpose. They were mad and they were mean. They showed her men punished in terrible ways, their bodies beaten and cut. She wanted to shut the images out, but couldn’t, they were inside her head. Carole watched, while the voices shouted at her, afraid to leave the bed even to run. Duke climbed beneath the blanket with her, and shivered against her feet like he could see the black dreams too. The hot red sun had popped over the horizon before the voices stopped. Carole sat up, glad they shut up, and still glad she’d thrown the ball at Jimmy West. Yanking the covers off the dog, Duke sat up, tongue lolling out the side of his mouth. It looked like he was smiling too.

            Bus 407 ran late that morning. Carole walked into Mrs. Kuzik’s First Grade classroom after the bell, and all heads turned towards her. She saw the entire room in an instant, like she always did. There were twenty-two pupils, ten boys and twelve girls, including her. The green chalkboards had been washed and looked nice and new, instead of dusty like they often did. There was a stick of blue chalk in the tray beneath them, that meant today was a math day. Carole liked math, there was only one right answer to math questions. Mia Taylor’s pretty beaded jump rope was on teacher’s desk. That meant Mia had been caught jumping rope inside again. What worried Carole was that dark haired Sarah Lightfoot sat at her desk!

            “Carole, I was hoping you weren’t sick. Was the bus late again?” Mrs. Kuzik came towards her, her tan colored shoes ticking over the linoleum floor. “I’m afraid Jimmy West’s finger was broken during the dodge-ball game yesterday. He can’t write now, not until it heals, so he’s going to need help. I know it was an accident, but since you did throw the ball, the rule is that you will sit beside him and help him with his writing.” The voices inside Carole’s head rejoiced, approving of this punishment. Justice comes in many forms. You will make restitution to this boy.

            Carole sat next to Jimmy West. Bits of dried snot dotted one side of poor Sarah Lightfoot’s desk. Carole looked at Jimmy West, his left hand was bandaged in a hard plaster cast and the entire arm was strapped in a sling over his chest. Carole couldn’t help it, she smiled, pleased. He would not be picking his nose and wiping it on anyone for awhile. Jimmy narrowed his eyes and burped her name, but she just slid the green sheet of paper off his desk and printed his name neatly on the top right corner using Sarah’s chewed pencil.

            Copying easy math problems off the board for both her and Jimmy West, Carole added and subtracted in her head. She waited while Jimmy slowly tried to count the simple sums with one hand. The numbers took shape in her head instantly, she could add, subtract, multiply and divide long columns of numbers, though all Mrs. Kuzik had taught them were simple two digit equations. Jimmy West had trouble with sevens and nines, and Mrs. Kuzik always said he was the best in class. It made Carole mad, and she filled in her sheet quickly. Do not get them all correct. You must never reveal what you know. Grabbing a big pink eraser, she rubbed some of the answers out and wrote them incorrectly, scowling at the sheet of paper. The entire morning was easy math that Carole had to mark wrong. At least Jimmy was too busy doing sums to burp her name.
***Copyright 2013, S R. KarfeltAll rights reserved 

BLANK RECESS IV

Photo Credit: S. R. Karfelt


The voices lectured her all through recess. They never let Carole run too fast or win at kickball. And they never let her push red-headed Jimmy West to make him shut up. He called her Carole Stank, and burped her name. Some of his friends called her that too, but nobody else could burp as good as Jimmy West. They all laughed when Carole lost the game. No one knew she only lost because the voices made her. Mad, she stormed to the school building and slid down against the hot bricks, putting her head on her knees. Jimmy did his dumb victory dance that involved wagging his backside in her direction, but she would not care! Carole sulked, imagining what she’d like to do to him, and the voices ranted, condemning her thoughts.             After recess Mrs. Kuzik made everyone, including Jimmy West, put heads on their smooth wooden desks. Then she read them a story. Every day she read a new chapter. First it had been a story about little girl who lived on a prairie. Then it was a sad story about a buffalo that made Carole’s eyes fill with tears and her heart ache with sympathy. Now it was a story about children who lived in a boxcar. Carole memorized those details wishing she could have lived in a boxcar instead of the Orphanage. The voices didn’t think that was very fair after everything that Sister Mary Josephine had done for her.            Ignoring the voices to focus on the boxcar story, with her head resting on her arms, Carole noticed Jimmy West being mean to someone else. His desk was in the row behind hers, on the very end and near the open door to the hall. Today Jimmy was picking his nose and Sarah Lightfoot tried to scoot away from him without lifting her head off her desk. Sarah had smooth black hair and a dark face, and when Jimmy wasn’t burping Carole’s name, he was wiping boogers on Sarah. The little freckled girl, on the far side of Sarah, elbowed her when she got too close. Nobody in Mrs. Kuzik’s class played with Sarah. At recess Sarah played with Joyce and children from other classes. Children who had smooth black hair and dark faces like they did.
            Sarah’s dark eyes narrowed to slits. The freckled girl jabbed an elbow into Sarah pushing her away. Resigned, Sarah took her place within easy reach of Jimmy’s wiping finger, but he pointed it at something he was hiding under his desk. Whatever it was upset Sarah worse than boogers, because she buried her face in her arms and let Jimmy wipe away, without even trying to move again. Carole let her mind move back a row and search, but sensed nothing that wasn’t plain old Jimmy West. She watched for a few seconds, noting that Jimmy West was left-handed. Then she turned her head, resting it on her arms, and closed her eyes. 

***
Copyright 2013, S. R. Karfelt
All rights reserved

BLANKING III

Photo Credit: BFF




Hide. Hide, hide, hide. The voices lectured. Act like they do. Never tell. Never show yourself. Carole kept her eyes closed, pretending she was still sleeping. They knew she was faking, they always knew. How she hated those voices, maybe more than the black dreams that showed what would happen if she didn’t listen. Thoughts of black dreams about being hurt by tools, like those in Mr. Thatchers’ shed, made her shiver. Breathing dirty water up her nose or being set on fire would be worse than the voices, if those things really happened. She shivered. It happens, you know it happens. Something warm sat on her leg, despite the unfamiliar bulk in the dark Carole knew it was Duke’s head. Sharing her meals with Duke and Earl had won their loyalty, that and the fact that she never pulled their tails or teased. Reaching down she put her hand near the dog, his nose immediately slid beneath it, tossing it onto his head for scratching. Everything had to be Duke’s idea, or he didn’t like it, except food.            Pushing her awareness through the house, Carole’s mind searched, making certain that all were asleep. The Thatcher family was tucked quietly in their beds upstairs. Earl slept on the floor near his master’s bed. Carole couldn’t see them, but she could sense the dog’s quicker breathing and his furry body near the slower breathing and slightly less furry body of Mr. Thatcher. The four foster boys were downstairs in the big bedroom just across the hall from her, a sheet hung where a door belonged. Mr. Thatcher said boys couldn’t be trusted behind closed doors. Considering that every night poor Joyce was forced to sleep on the floor, Carole thought Mr. Thatcher might be right. In her room, the other two foster girls – sisters – were cuddled together on their shared cot. It wasn’t necessary to use the inside of her head to feel for the even breathing of the girls. Their soft breaths were so close Carole knew that Liz, the eldest, had sneaked to bed without brushing her teeth again.
            Duke moved. He always knew when the timing was right. Carole rolled onto her side and reached beneath the bed and pulled out her shoes. Running in her black and white saddle shoes was ruining them, but running in the desert barefoot was impossible. Fortunately plenty of shoe polish hid the scuffs. Despite ten children and a house to tend to, Mrs. Thatcher didn’t miss much. Carole slid silently across the wooden floor and crawled out the open window, hauling Duke’s willing and eager body right behind her for their evening run.
***Copyright 2013 S. R. KarfeltAll rights reserved 

BLANK SPOTS II

Photo Credit: Wonder Bread


At dinner Carole sat low in her seat, hoping no one noticed her. There were twelve people at the big table. The two skinny dogs with curling tails and tucked under bottoms prowled around the edges. They showed Carole their teeth when she looked at them. Carole’s chair was furthest from the back door, and her sweaty thighs stuck to the red plastic seat. The kitchen was hot with cooking. If a desert breeze came through the torn screen door, it didn’t get very far in that hot room. Hungry, Carole drank every drop of her milk and ate all her carrots as fast as she could chew. She ate her potato skin and all, and then she furtively licked the butter off her slice of Wonderbread. Finished with everything the voices allowed, pork chop and soggy bread remained on her chipped pink plate, untouched. The sight of that food filled Carole with dread. It had been altered, changed. A strange wavering light seemed to emanate from the meat and bread, like heat waves off the road. The voices said that kind of food was forbidden, but Mrs. Thatcher had said she had to eat it, and Carole still felt hungry. At the thought of disobedience, a haze dropped over her eyes and the scent of decay replaced the smell of homemade food. A black dream put the taste of dirty food in her mouth. Carole gagged, and the voices shouted. Never eat dirty food. You will cease to be. You will die. Averting her eyes from poisonous looking waves floating over food on the table, she shivered in the hot kitchen, fighting to keep the good food down. The boy next to her, chewed with an open mouth, his flat back eyes on her. Carole focused on him, hoping it would help. His name was Joyce, and chubby rolls of cinnamon colored skin peeked out beneath his shirt. He had shiny black hair and the voices quieted while she stared at him.Joyce opened his mouth to display an abundance of half chewed meat, imitating her gagging. With the scent of rot still firmly in mind, Carole’s stomach roiled. Joyce then turned to share his genius with the boy on his other side. Carole palmed her bread and meat, hiding it under the table. The boy on the other side of Joyce didn’t appreciate his show, and a furtive scuffle ensued. Most of the kids watched the covert fighting and Carole took the opportunity to toss the food into the space between her chair and Joyce’s. Almost instantly a dog’s head appeared in the spot. Daringly Carole patted the scruffy short fur once before snatching her hand back.
***Copyright 2013, S. R. KarfeltAll rights reserved.

BLANK SPOT

Busily editing the second book in the WOA series. So much behind the scenes work goes on, but I'm not fussing - never think that - because I adore traveling between universes. Even the somewhat creepy, dark world of Private Carole Blank, USMC. She's the warrior you'll be getting acquainted with in BLANK - a shieldmaiden's voice, Book Two in the Warriors of the Ages series, by S. R. Karfelt*.

Right now scenes are being reworked and deleted for the sake of flow. Oh, the pain, the pain of chopping up my baby. So what I'm going to do is toss some deleted scenes out into the metaverse. I think I have enough to fill a black hole. Feel free to let me know what you think, or just drive on by.

Photo Credit: S. R. Karfelt-Keating

Foster Care meant children who didn’t belong. At least that is what the Thatcher children told Carole as soon as Marsha deposited her in their front room. Mr. and Mrs. Thatcher had seven foster children, and three realchildren they informed her. Becky, Patty, and Scott Thatcher were real, and had bedrooms upstairs by their parent’s room. The foster children slept on cots downstairs, boys in one room, girls in another. They had two dogs that snapped at you if you tried to touch them. Scott Thatcher pulled their tails and raced up stairs covered in worn carpet. The dogs nipped savagely at his heels, but he escaped into the safety of the bathroom. Slinking back down the stairs in bad tempered defeat, both dogs lunged for little Becky. Carole wrapped a thin arm around her and hauled the pink frilled girl onto the safety of the banister, free from chomping teeth.“Ow!” Becky complained. “That hurt you idiot!” Carole let go of her and Becky climbed down the far side of the perch, keeping the banister bars safely between her and the dogs. She sniffed, smoothing her fluffy dress. “They wouldn’t bite me anyway. They’re my family’s dogs.” Both dogs shoved their snouts between the railings, snapping at her. Becky leaned precariously away, struggling to keep her balance. Carole slid down beside her, again wrapping an arm around the girl. She leapt the few feet to the floor below and released the startled girl. The dogs raced down the steps after them. Becky pushed off Carole and ran away. Carole waited for the dogs, jumped nimbly over them, and bolted. Both dogs chased Carole into the kitchen where she slammed the door in their snarling faces.Standing at the sink, Mrs. Thatcher ignored the growling and scratching coming through the door. Drying her hands on her big red apron, she ordered two big girls to set the table properly, water pitcher in front of Mr. Thatchers’ place. “And what’s your name again?” There was something sharp about her brown eyes as she took in Carole’s disheveled appearance. Carole lifted a thin leg and tugged one sock properly back into place. “Carole Blank, Ma’am.” Marsha, the social worker, had told Carole that everyone was Ma’am or Sir, unless they told her otherwise.“I am not cooking you homemade bread and beans, or whatever that woman said you had to eat. I don’t cater to picky eaters. You’ll eat what is on your plate or you’ll get punished just like the rest of them. People aren’t allergic to food, that nigger doesn’t know what she’s talking about.”The voices shouted in Carole’s head. If you eat dirty food you die. She pressed her lips together. Mrs. Thatcher had promised Marsha she would give her the food like her file said. Mrs. Thatcher had taken the list from Marsha and smiled. Mrs. Thatcher was a liar, and she said ugly words. What was a nigger? Because Marsha wasn’t one, but maybe Mrs. Thatcher was.
***
Copyright 2013 S. R. Karfelt
All rights reserved.

Living Books

Living books is a term for books that basically become part of your psyche, something that you relate to on a deep visceral level. Sometimes it can be just a line from a book, but it can be a character that touches you, a philosophy, whatever. You know how, especially in movies, the whacked character is running around with a copy of J. D. Salinger’s Catcher in the Rye? I suppose that could be considered one, but mostly a living book would touch your life for the better, like that line in Anne Frank’s Diary of a Young Girl “I still believe that people are good at heart.” We all know that Anne’s life ended in the Bergen-Belsen concentration camp. For me that line was written on my heart in the tragedy column, but it is that line that took root inside me, and to this day, and no matter how I end, I will believe it is true.
Upton Sinclair’s The Jungle is another one for me. The part where all the little pigs are being herded up a ramp to be processed, and the horrible excess of a seemingly mindless meat processing facility surrounds the reader, and Sinclair tosses out, “And now was one to believe that there was nowhere a god of hogs, to whom this hog personality was precious, to whom these hog squeals and agonies had a meaning?” I read The Jungle out loud (ouch) to my hunter son, and we both shuddered. I think of it sometimes, when I look at that case of hams at Costco. I honestly doubt he thinks of it while archery hunting, but I know, though I had to almost hog-tie that boy to get him to listen to that book at first, in the end he agreed it was brilliant.
Not all living books go in the tragedy column. While I sit here writing on a rainy morning the line “and they sat in the house all that cold cold wet day” often springs to mind. Thank you Dr. Seuss. If you’re a fan of Horton Hears a Who, you should know that even my dog – when he’d done something particularly foul – was aware that the quote “BOIL THAT DUST SPECK” meant he was in trouble. I can actually clear a room with that quote. When Mom isn’t happy…right? Then there is the wonderful Kevin Henkes quote from his children’s book, Chrysanthemum, “The day she was born was the happiest day in her parent’s lives…” For years my daughter lit up at that line – while my son wilted a bit if she quoted it to him – which she of course would never have done ten or twenty thousand times.

You get the gist of what a living book is I’m sure. Now share yours. For better or worse, good, bad, or funny, what books have attached themselves to your DNA? And what line, if you don’t mind sharing?

FREE Books FREE FREE FREE

WOA - Warrior of the Ages Book Giveaway


The old-fashioned kind of book made out of genuine paper. Gen-You-Wine Paper.Autographed. Legibly. Okay, autographed.Delivered to your address, FREE.With a mini skeleton key tucked inside.Oh, and a matching bookmark.Because I know how to do FREE.
by S. R. Karfelt
Nothing is free. FALSE!

So not true. Like oxygen, laughter, and eye contact, ten copies of my Action Adventure novel, Warrior of the Ages, are free!

Free is a great price.

You just click the widget below and will be instantly transported to the Goodreads site.

Caveat? You have to live in the USA. Why? Because the publisher just saw the bill for shipping a pile of WOA books to UK and Australia from my last giveaway, and they said something subtle to me like, WHAT THE HECK?! So not paying for this! We said USA!

Oopsie.

That totally cut into my dark chocolate fund. I had to dress up on Halloween and go door to door on my knees pretending to be a kid just to score some chocolate for my addiction.

And it was all milk chocolate. Bleh.

Of course I'm kidding. Who would do that? Well, I possibly would, but fortunately for me I happen to know where someone's secret chocolate drawer is, and it is closer than crawling around the neighborhood.

So this month's giveaway is USA USA USA.

So what's the book about? You could check out the video trailer on YouTube for WOA.

You could click over to Amazon - or wherever you like to get your books and see for yourself - but all that extra clicking is exhausting.

This is the blurb from the back cover.

Immortality means one thing to Kahtar. Duty.
For millennia the ancient immortal warrior has returned to guard his people from the outside world. This time, Kahtar must moonlight as a cop to guard the entrance to paradise.
Beth White is drawn to the idyllic little village of Willowyth, Ohio, unaware there is a terrifying reason for her unnatural attraction. She soon learns a place full of secrets is nowhere to hide her own.
When a man's duty is to protect his kind from outsiders, what happens when he discovers one of his own living in the wrong world?

Where is truth and honor when worlds collide?
Though it's about a lot more than that. It's about never being able to escape your past. It's about belonging. It's about prejudice. It's about endurance. And that's just the part about the stinky dog.

I like big books and I cannot lie. I mean I like big stories. So if you do too, gather your energy and click away!






 

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    Goodreads Book Giveaway
 

   

       
   

   

     

          Warrior of the Ages
     
     

          by S.R. Karfelt
     

     

         
            Giveaway ends December 06, 2013.
         
         
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            at Goodreads.
         
     
   
   


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My name is Stephanie Karfelt and I'm the writer, as evidenced by the fact that it is 3:32 a.m. in the morning and I'm writing a blog. It's what I do. I can only hope that this blog is in some small fraction as humorous to you during daylight hours as it is to me and my muse in the middle of the night.

ReRun Monday ~ Topic: Pets (Sorta)

Photo Credit:  Stephanie Karfelt
Once Zeus had a pet snake named Houdini. At least that was the name he eventually earned, being as he escaped and roamed the house at will. In an effort to keep the snake confined, Zeus duct taped the lid on Houdini’s cage. Returning home afterwards, Zeus discovered his snake wrapped in duct tape and dangling dejectedly from the roof of his cage. Since I tend to brake for butterflies, Zeus considers me an animal lover. So he brought me his duct taped snake, as though I’d know what to do about it. Though the man is a big, tough giant and all, I could tell he was attached to this two foot reptile and resisted the urge to put it in an airtight bag and toss it into the trash while I could. I called the vet. The Vet laughed really hard, and repeated the story several times to coworkers. I kept the phone tight against my ear, so Zeus wouldn’t hear them laughing. It isn’t a good idea to laugh at a giant over his pet snake. And that is how I ended up wedged in a tiny bathroom with a giant, soaking a duct taped snake in a sink full of warm water. As the Vet predicted, Houdini was more than a little ill-tempered about having duct tape peeled off his body. He lost quite a few scales in the process, but Zeus kept a firm grip on his head as I worked. Perhaps you’re apathetic about Houdini’s fate, or perhaps you’ll be happy to know he lived – though he was forevermore a few scales short. Photo Credit:  Arthur's Free Snake ClipArtPeople are odd about their pets, aren’t they?  I’d like to think it bodes well for our species that we can love even the sorriest, most unlovable creatures so fiercely. Surely you know someone who has a cat or dog that is anything but worthy – but that is pampered and loved inexplicably. My BFF had a cat once, I forget its name. Let’s call it Humper, because that is what that cat did. It specifically liked to have at it with anything that belonged to BFF. Her hats, slippers, pillow, etc. It was a big, fat, white thing that pretty much shed and made love to BFF’s belongings. Oh, it slept in her dresser drawer and ate on her kitchen table too. When Humper went to the great dresser drawer in the sky, he was in the process of jumping off the kitchen table after eating. He ate – alive – and landed – well, dead. BFF told me about this over the phone. Though I clamped my hand over my mouth as fast as I could, she heard the inappropriate laugh that escaped. Let me just take this opportunity to apologize to my BFF again for my demented sense of humor. (Normally she appreciates it, but everyone has their limits.)  It wasn’t funny that the cat died – it was just the visual that got to me.Clyde T. Brown is an East Texas cowboy, chaws tobacco, drives enormous gas guzzling vehicles, and in all the time that I’ve known him I have understood about 10% of anything he said due to the plug in his mouth and his accent. Clyde also has a pile of teeny dogs that look like mops. Am not sure how many there are, they move a lot and are hard to count. When Clyde goes anywhere, he takes the horde with him. I ran into him in a parking lot once, and he put an arm out the window to gesture towards something. I gasped in horror. It looked as though he’d almost lost the appendage to a shark attack. Since there are hardly any sharks in Texas, I asked what happened. Couldn’t really understand much of the answer, but apparently the horde had turned on him when he was feeding them. For me that is a deal breaker, but I’ve never had a pet horde. Photo Credit: Stephanie Karfelt
Unless you count the butterflies, (but they were more of a scientific study to my way of thinking) wherever I’ve lived in North America I raised Monarch Butterflies. Thousands of them. It started as a Kindergarten project, and eventually morphed into a migration tagging project through The University of Kansas ( http://www.monarchwatch.org/ ). I won’t give you the dissertation on what can be learned studying the insects, but I will tell you that my family cringes when they see milkweed, and my daughter has never recovered from the summer of exploding chrysalis’s. A few gross of butterflies can endear you to your neighbors, they tend to hang around once you release them – so there were usually butterflies around our house. But a few gross of caterpillars can have quite the opposite effect, especially if your neighbors stop by during litter box cleaning hours. Photo Credit:  Stephanie KarfeltHave you or someone you know ever loved an unlovable pet?  Your Mother’s Doberman that once ate an entire Thanksgiving turkey?  The Rat-Terrier that once ate your Easter basket?  A pet mouse that escaped and ate a curtain?  How about those guppies that teach young children that some parents do eat their young?  What is the best or worst pet story you have?