Leta P. Hawk's Blog, page 14

Amazon, you hit like a bitch.

Having just had my first ever removed-review, I’ll share this.

The Never Ending Book Basket

It’s taken me a bit of time to write this post, but I figured it’s about time to share the utter nonsense that’s happened between me and Amazon, and how a company that I once highly respected, has now become one that I have zero respect for.

I’ve thought about writing this post for weeks, what I would say and how I would capture everything that’s happened, and I’ll be honest with the fact that this post has taken on many forms, but finally I decided that it would just be easiest to state the facts.

So here it goes…

This is the first email I got from Amazon. As some of you know, on February 24th I was sent an email from Amazon letting me know that I could no longer post reviews on their website, and that all of my previous reviews had been suppressed or removed…

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Contrast

 

Last week, my son’s elementary school had Open House. My husband, older son, and I went with the youngest to see his classroom and to look at the Science Fair projects. This was the first time my older son has been back to the elementary school since starting middle school this past fall.

We walked in, and Wesley looked around as though seeing the place for the first time. As we started down the hallway towards Wayde’s classroom–Wesley had the same 3rd grade teacher, so he was very familiar with his surroundings–he commented, “This place seems so small now.”

I looked at him, somehow the same uncertain little boy who’d been afraid to make that step into 6th grade, and yet somehow so different, so much more mature and confident, and I wondered, not for the first time, when that change had taken place.

Then I looked at Wayde, my baby. He’s not a baby anymore, but he hasn’t yet made any of the great leaps in confidence and personality that his brother has. Yet he, too, is different than he was at the beginning of this school year.

I’m a stay-at-home mom, so I see my kids’ lives in great detail every day. So much of my focus is on them, yet I often don’t detect the little changes that occur in them with every passing day. It’s often not until someone points something out to me–he’s gotten so tall, when did his voice change?–that I take a step back and process what they’re seeing.

And sometimes, those changes scare me, for they mean that my babies aren’t babies anymore. They’re getting bigger, and older, and closer to spreading their wings and leaving the nest.

I’m so not ready for that.

For all the times I’ve wished they were a little older, a little more self-sufficient so that I could begin focusing just a little bit on the things I’ve put aside so that I could put my time and energy into their lives, now that it’s happening, I’m not ready.

I’ve heard so many pastors and parents advise, “Appreciate those growing up years. The days are long, but the years are short.” And now I’m beginning to realize just how true that is.

 

Contrast

“Don’t Flop” by @DaneCobain

M.L. Flickinger

This month I’m featuring a few guest posts by my fellow writers to celebrate #NationalPoetryMonth. My first guest is the talented Dane Cobain.  :)

Don’t stop the madness

or your arrogant anguish,

and don’t drop the bottle

in the bottom of a coffin,

because you’ve got wings

and you’re not afraid to use them.

You could see for miles,

and the city lights

flare up and falter,

pin pricks for Angels

dancing slowly

on the cusp of a big black hole,

those creatures of light

who fight for their right

to survive.

Your lungs are a telescope;

your thighs are signposts

pointing north beyond the wall,

where bored whores draw straws

and sleep with minotaurs,

sheathing swords

on the back of a horse.

Don’t flop

or drop your lances;

enhance the dance

of the woodland fairie,

or blur your motion

until your emotions

are potent,

sells spells and potions

to…

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Handwritten in the Past

 

My husband recently had surgery, so he’s been off work for most of the past month. Now that he’s on the mend, he’s been on a mission to clean the house from one end to the other. It’s hard to believe the amount of stuff we’ve accumulated that we now have to sort through and either get rid of or organize.

Probably the most fascinating things I came across were the cards, letters, and even graded papers from my college and seminary days. I was especially interested in those pieces that had handwritten notes or comments on them. There’s just something about reading a personal note from years ago, written in someone’s own unique handwriting.

Now, I’m not one who buys into handwriting and personality theory; I don’t gain insights into anyone’s character based on the slant of their letters or the way they cross their T’s. However, one note quickly written on a scrap of notepaper gave me an unexpected glimpse into my mother’s personality.

This unassuming piece of paper had a few lines scribbled on it, and I struggled to make out what it said. Imagine my surprise when it turned out to be some lines of poetry. You see, I used to write poetry, but my parents thought poetry was a waste of time and discouraged my efforts. Why then was I holding a piece of paper with a few sets of rhyming couplets written in my mother’s hand?

I decided to plug those lines into Google to see if perhaps they had been jotted down from a book. Again to my surprise, they turned out to be lines to an older love song. I’m not sure if it surprised me more to think my mom wrote her own poems or to find that she’d jotted down song lyrics from the radio.

For the longest time, I sat gazing at that scrap of paper, trying to read into the handwriting and see back through the years to understand the woman I never knew. What happened over those decades that turned my mother away from poetry and song lyrics? Did she have dreams she gave up on? Was she maybe not as happy in her married life as we thought she was?

Not surprisingly, there were no answers for me in that scrap of paper, and I reluctantly relinquished it to the trash pile. But it did make me think about how rare it is these days to send handwritten correspondence. Even greeting cards these days are often sent online or just mass-printed at some distant company. Sometimes even the senders’ names are computer-generated.

It makes me somewhat sad to think that future generations will be less likely to find handwritten treasures among their parents’ and grandparents’ collections.

Handwriting

Grandma Katie’s Quilts

Patch by colorful patch

She pieces them together–

Red-and-black plaid here,

Blue calico there–

Making kaliedescope patterns

On a background of white.

She learned her craft

As a little girl,

No bigger than the granddaughter

Gazing over top

Of the quilt frame.

“Children then didn’t have TV,”

Grandma Katie says.

“We spent spare time

Practicing tiny stitches

By hand on scrap cloth.”

Before the age of twelve,

She had pieced a quilt that went with her

When the tapestry of her life

Grew to include another.

“A quilt is thrift sewn together with love.

Scraps of cloth weren’t wasted,

But laid aside

To craft winter warmth.”

Grandma Katie’s long-ago childhood

Slowly took shape for the spellbound child

As each patch was lovingly placed

Into her newest quilt.

As the aged crafter’s hair

Reflects

The metallic hue of her needle,

Her fingers no longer

Fly across the fabric.

Still, her craft continues.

Though the stitches may be

Uneven

And not as tiny as they once were,

A beautiful blanket of love

Is still presented for

Every wedding, every birth

That adds a patch to this family quilt.

Colorful

1983: Cruel Summer

From Amazon Bestselling Author Amber Lynn Natusch

Isadora Lancaster is in hell.

She passed on a European vacation with her parents, choosing instead to spend an amazing summer with her boyfriend. But that plan changed when she walked in on him and another woman.

Now Izzy’s stuck in a town she’s avoided since high school, and has to face uncomfortable truths about her past—including the best friend that abandoned her during their senior year. The boy that broke her heart.

“1982: Cruel Summer” is a stand-alone, new adult romance novella.

******************************************

Before the internet…before sext messages, selfies, like buttons, and d**k picks…epic loves and broken hearts played out offline, on mixtapes that became the self-made soundtracks of a generation.

Love in the 80s: A New Adult Mix is a collection of ten contemporary romance, new adult, stand-alone novellas set in the 1980s.

Written by award-winning and bestselling authors, one digital novella will be released on the last Friday of each month January – October in 2016.

The title of each love story will be a hit song from the year that the novella represents. The totally awesome authors include: Casey L. Bond, Lindy Zart, Cambria Hebert, Amber Lynn Natusch, Misty Provencher, Rebecca Yarros, Rachel Higginson, RK Ryals, Cameo Renae and Chelsea Fine.

Love in the 80s: A New Adult Mix was created by UTOPiAcon founder, Janet Wallace, and is co-produced with award-winning book cover designer, Regina Wamba (together they are WaWa Productions).

 

KEEP READING TO SEE THE COVER

AND LEARN MORE ABOUT THE BOOK!

1983: Cruel Summer

by Author

Series

A Love in the 80’s Novella

Genre

Contemporary Romance

Publisher

Independent

Publication Date

April 29, 2016

 

 

About Amber Lynn Natusch

Amber Lynn Natusch is the author of the bestselling Caged, as well as the Light and Shadow series with Shannon Morton. She was born and raised in Winnipeg, and speaks sarcasm fluently because of her Canadian roots. She loves to dance and sing in her kitchen—much to the detriment of those near her—but spends most of her time running a practice with her husband, raising two small children, and attempting to write when she can lock herself in the bathroom for ten minutes of peace and quiet. She has many hidden talents, most of which should not be mentioned but include putting her foot in her mouth, acting inappropriately when nervous, swearing like a sailor when provoked, and not listening when she should. She’s obsessed with home renovation shows, should never be caffeinated, and loves snow. Amber has a deep seeded fear of clowns and deep water…especially clowns swimming in deep water.

To learn more about Amber and her books, visit www.amberlynnnatusch.com.

Author Links

Subscribe to Amber’s Newsletter

Scarlet Darkwood–Words We Never Speak

Author: Scarlet Darkwood

Published: February 15, 2016








When a new guy comes to town, she hopes their burgeoning relationship will take her mind off the chaos and restore order. Her wish is shattered when gruesome events occur unexpected, and she’s left fighting them off one nasty surprise after the other. Worse, she must choose between two men who vie for her attention. One of them desperately wants something from her. The other is not what he appears. 

Scarlet Darkwood is an author with Booktrope, along with publishing other material as an indie publisher. Writing in several genres allows her to unleash her imagination in different directions, creating stories for different audiences. From a young age, she’s enjoyed writing and keeping diaries, but didn’t start creating novels until 2012. She’s a Southern girl who lives in Tennessee and enjoys the beauty of the mountains. She lives in Nashville with her spouse and two rambunctious kitties.

Review: Scarlet Darkwood’s “Words We Never Speak”

 

Kit has it all going for her–a job she loves, her cousin’s childhood home that now houses the Historical Society, and an adoring new boyfriend. Then things start to unravel. First, it seems she is being haunted by the ghost of her high school boyfriend. Then her cousin caves in to pressure from a local developer to sell the Stothwell Mansion so he can demolish it and build new condos. Finally, a mysterious new man enters her life and disrupts the cozy relationship she has with Dwight. As she and her coworkers fight to save the historic mansion, she begins receiving threatening messages and packages. She has to figure out who is threatening her before it’s too late.

This is a fairly fast-paced story that kept me turning pages even after declaring that I needed to stop reading for the night. For the most part, I enjoyed the suspense and the mystery that weaved their way through the plot. The paranormal elements were well-written and not overdone, so they were quite believable.

My only real irritation was Kit herself. I wanted to smack her around over her involvement in the love triangle she had with Dwight and Steven. At some points she was quite physical with both of them, which really made me question her character a bit. Without revealing the ending, I was pleased that she finally ended up with the one she did. I have to admit, I kind of suspected what would happen with the other man, but that resolution was well done as well.

My Closet Was Never Shy

In high school, I was very quiet, studious, and shy. I was content to hide behind a book and watch the world ignore me. I rarely did anything to draw attention to myself, except when it came to my wardrobe.

I always had an eye for mixing colors and patterns that most people, even in the 80s, found odd. A lot of classmates made fun of my fashion sense, or lack thereof, but I continued creating memorable outfits nonetheless.

One of my favorite outfits was a handmade set of overalls in a very bright fish print. Since I am a Pisces, I squealed ecstatically when I found the fabric at the Ben Franklin craft store. It was a fuschia background adorned with multicolored fish outlined with bold black lines. I bought the fabric and a pattern for overalls and quickly pieced it together one weekend. The following week, I paired them with a black turtleneck and accessorized with an over-sized red shirt, black boots, and a necklace made of disco-ball beads.

Another favorite high school outfit was entirely black and white, but my mom said the way I combined the pieces made the outfit “too outlandish” for school. I wore it anyway. This ensemble consisted of my ubiquitous black turtleneck paired with a billowy white skirt. I topped it off with a white vest, a thick black leather belt, black tights, and white ballerina slippers. It was quite stunning, although I didn’t wear it very often because white and I…um…really didn’t get along.

My weird fashion followed me right into college, where I continued to have fun with colors and textures. One of my favorite outfits from freshman year consisted of a bright yellow pantsuit that I topped off with red boots, a shaker sweater in red or turquoise, and a black hat adorned with red and yellow leis from a Hawaiian-themed party. One of my professors gushed about my creativity the first time I wore this combination to class. He said, “Debby, that is a wonderful outfit! You look like a tourist enjoying an exotic vacation.” An exotic vacation. Yes, a far cry from English Composition I.

Unfortunately, my fashion has calmed down somewhat over the years. However, I still have an eye for loud colors and unusual patterns, much to the dismay of my husband and children.

The Clothes (May) Make the (Wo)man

 

IMHO–A Mini Rant About the Complexities of Church and Faith

 

For most of my life, I have identified with being Christian, a Christ-follower. I have gone to church faithfully (well, except for my college days, but that’s another post) since I was nine, and I rarely had any problems with the experience. Aside from the nosy old biddies that seem to be part and parcel of every congregation regardless of denomination or location,for the most part, church has been enjoyable, peaceful, and uplifting.

Lately, however, I find myself a bit disillusioned and at times disconnected from something that I used to look forward to on a weekly basis. It may have a lot to do with where my family is attending church right now, although I’m not sure if it’s a personality issue, a spiritual issue, or a denominational issue, but I can honestly say that I don’t feel the same about going to church as I once did. And I know I’m not alone. A lot of people seem to feel this disconnect with something that used to be such an integral part of their lives.

I struggle to find a single word to describe my dissatisfaction, but a number of my non-churchgoing friends immediately label it as hypocrisy. I’m not sure that I would label it that strongly, but some things I’ve observed over the past few years have really caused me to question my faith life and organized religion. Let me explain a little of what I mean.

One thing I’m having trouble with is how quick some churchgoing Christians are to re-label things in order to make certain practices more “Christian.” This came to the forefront for me again yesterday, Easter Sunday. Oops, I forgot; we aren’t supposed to call it Easter anymore. This was brought up in my adult Sunday school class last Easter. Oops again. Easter is not a Christian holiday; it is a pagan festival honoring the goddess Ostara, and it focuses on fertility and rebirth. By calling the celebration of Christ’s Resurrection Easter, we are cheapening what Christ did on the Cross and placing our sights on things we should not even acknowledge.

In some ways, I get that. Of course we are not, as Christians, supposed to focus on pagan practices and celebrations, so I understand why some pastors and other believers strive to call the day Resurrection Sunday instead of Easter. Like a lot of other people, a change like that is difficult to make, when I have been calling the day Easter all my life, as a lot of others have done. But it’s not the suggestion to re-label the holiday in itself that irritates me. It’s the attitude that those who still wish others “Happy Easter” are somehow less Christian than those who use the greeting “Happy Resurrection Sunday.” Sounds a bit like the Merry Christmas/Happy Holidays quandry, doesn’t it?

That in itself is perplexing enough, but what really made my head throb yesterday was that amid the “Happy Easter” bashing I was still hearing, someone in our Sunday school class bemoaned the fact that her children that morning didn’t come running in all excited about what the Easter bunny left in their Easter baskets. Wait, I thought we weren’t supposed to acknowledge the pagan celebration with its eggs and bunnies?

During the church service, I had another head-scratching moment when someone on the worship team related a story from her childhood. In the early days of her married life, when her daughters were very young, her family had traveled around as evangelists. Once, they got to a point where the money had run out, and they were waiting for God to provide. He did provide, by sending a woman who felt led to purchase a month’s worth of groceries for them. This happened close to Easter–Resurrection Sunday, darn it–and as they wandered through the local Costco, they passed a display of prepackaged Easter baskets, the kind with life-sized stuffed rabbits and tons of candy that cost around $40. The woman footing the grocery bill turned to them and asked, “Do you need Easter baskets for your children?” After a moment’s hesitation, she related that their response was, “Why, yes. Yes, we do.” Maybe I’m being petty or even judgmental, but I had a bit of an issue with that. Again, if Easter, Easter eggs, Easter Bunny, and Easter baskets are part of a pagan observance, then why didn’t they just politely refuse?

A similar beef I have with a lot of Christian churches, not just ours, is the uproar over celebrating Halloween. Again, I understand the desire to avoid the pagan and sometimes sinister associations that the day holds, and for a number of years, I refused to participate, trying very hard to fit in with the church we had recently begun attending. In an effort to show how godly and spiritual I was, I even taught a Bible study in which I spoke out against all the Halloween traditions that were rooted in pagan practices–trick or treating, costumes, pumpkin carving, apple bobbing, etc.

My resolve began wavering and then went completely out the window as I saw more and more churches throwing “Fall Festivals,” “Harvest Celebrations,” or “Hallelujah Parties” instead of traditional Halloween parties. On the surface, that seems like a good idea. But then I looked at the activities done at these parties: trunk or treat, costumes, pumpkin carving, apple bobbing. It struck me as odd that these things were okay when part of a Christian celebration, but not if they were part of a Halloween observance. It’s as though we have sanctified the activities by labeling them as Christian and placing them in a Christian-themed party.

Another aspect of church life that gets to me at times is the focus on the ways different congregations worship–traditional vs. contemporary, liturgical vs. charismatic or free-church. I grew up in a church whose worship was traditional and liturgical. Never did I feel stifled in that setting, and in fact, I often felt very reverent in the presence of God in that setting. The hymns made me think about the deep theology behind many of them, and the tunes often played through my head even outside of church. I loved the different parts of our order of worship–the corporate confessions and prayers, the weekly recitation of the UCC Statement of Faith and the Apostles Creed, the various sacraments, etc.

The church we are attending now is Pentecostal in nature, free of liturgies, a definite altar, robed pastors, and almost no hymns. We have a praise and worship team that performs contemporary music with lights, words on the big screens, and a lot of jumping around. For me, someone with occasional sound sensitivity, it’s very loud and not at all conducive to a worshipful setting. I feel I’m in a rock concert setting instead of a church setting.

Does that mean they’re wrong in their practices? No, I am not saying that. It’s quite obvious that many people do get into a worshipful mood with the songs they sing at our church, but I do not.

Again, here is where problems begin for me. While I have no problem with fellow church members enjoying and declaring their love for this type of worship, I do have a problem when they start putting down liturgical worship, or preferring old traditional hymns over the contemporary music. “If you’re following liturgies, you’re not allowing the Spirit to move in your church.” “How can corporate confessions and prayers really be meaningful and acceptable to God?” “People who worship in those churches aren’t really worshiping; they’re putting God in a box.” Isn’t it putting God in a box to say that He cannot move in a traditional setting?

Sometimes the trappings of my faith make me question more than anything I’ve ever questioned from the Bible. I do not doubt who Christ is or what he did for me. I simply find it harder to be among people who often seem more concerned with elevating themselves and their personal interpretations of Scripture above others who don’t believe exactly as they do.

IMHO