It’s an honor to write this guest post — and to be RRBC’s Spotlight Author for February!
My membership in RRBC began when I published Bravura six years ago, so I feel its journey and my own are forever connected. I am in no way a great member, like so many of you are. But I am proud to be a member and participate as much as I can. Along the way many of you have inspired me too.
The model of an international, online book club is pretty unusual — I do not know of any other like it. I know of casual book clubs online, sure. But none with the array of memberships benefits (and requirements), submission opportunities, conferences, workshops and radio shows like RRBC has! Whew!
Now with the COVID-inspired demand for Zoom meetings and online performances/readings from authors, theaters, and musicians alike, the RRBC model seems even more ahead of its time. We as members of RRBC have been fortunate to already have been doing all the online gatherings that people around the world had to get used to this past year, many for the first time.
For those not familiar with RRBC, there are many ways to get involved: reading others’ work, reviewing others work, supporting other writers on social media, being inspired by the accomplishments of others, participating in the workshops and conferences, listening to the radio shows. There are also many ways membership is extremely helpful too: getting your work read, reviewed, marketed; pursuing educational growth; being eligible for award and contest opportunities; getting published in anthologies; and drum roll, improving as a writer!
More than anything, I’ve realized that RRBC’s requirement to review others’ work is essential. We are often self-absorbed as writers — but getting out of ourselves long enough to immerse ourselves in the writing worlds of others only helps us as writers — and people. It helps us see how other writers deal with the same challenges we face, and how their approach differs from ours. It also reminds us we are not alone! Although I am sometimes late in posting my reviews because of my life’s craziness, the desire to engage with others through their work has grown since being with RRBC, and I am very grateful for that and have learned much from the experience.
To borrow from JFK: Ask not what RRBC can do for you — ask what you can do forRRBC. Why? Because when you give, you receive and grow and are encouraged so, so, so much more!
Thank you, RRBC, Nonnie and the entire team, for all the ways you have encouraged me — and especially for this honor to be the Spotlight Author this month!
Onward!
—-
Author Bio
Lisa Kirazian writes fiction, plays, screenplays, and also directs for stage and screen. Her writing has appeared in the Los Angeles Times, Performing Arts Magazine, San Diego Union Tribune and many other publications. She is in demand as a speaker and has been a guest on KPBS Public Radio and at various conferences. Lisa is a graduate of Stanford University.
Several of her screenplays have placed in major competitions and festivals. Twelve of her stage plays have been produced across the U.S. and have won numerous awards, including a few publications. She also directed and wrote the adapted screenplay of the short film, “Reflection Day.”
Her novels include BRAVURA, APPASSIONATO, and now CADENZA, the three books of “The Music We Made” series, following three generations in the Driscoll family of musicians and inspired by her experience as a violinist. The series is also being developed for television.
Lisa lives in San Diego with her husband and two daughters and is involved in the Armenian community locally, nationally and abroad.
Book Summary:
In CADENZA, the final book of “The Music We Made” series, the young tenor Brian Martin finds himself on the cusp of superstardom and marriage, until he is compelled to leave behind his distinguished musical family, and his fiancé, in London, to visit the U.S. to see where his famous late grandmother, Maggie Crawford, the only other opera singer in the family, grew up. His journey takes him to Marshall, Minnesota, and Maggie’s hometown high school, where he meets the music teacher, Laura Jones, who helps him with his family history in more ways than he could have imagined.
RRBC/RWISA Author, Robert Fear is on tour with his fabulous and diverse memoirs! It is my pleasure to host him here today. And there is a GIVEAWAY!!
(1) $10 Amazon gift card
Welcome to the third and final day of my 4WillsPub 3-day blog tour.
During this tour, I have been sharing with you some background to the three memoirs that I have self-published. As a special offer to readers of the tour, I have reduced the Kindle price on each book to 99c/99p (RRP $4.99/£3.99) on Amazon US and UK.
Here are the links to the memoirs that have been featured:
Summer of ’77: Beaches, bars and boogie nights in Ibiza
Background
For my next book, I was itching to write a memoir about the six months I spent on the Spanish island of Ibiza in 1977, when I was 21.
I started planning the book in 2017. It was fortunate that I still had the letters I received while working the season in Ibiza. Otherwise, I would have found it difficult remembering what happened over forty years ago. I transcribed the letters and created a timeline around them. This triggered memories of events from the time and I started writing.
After much prevarication and self-doubt, I completed the final chapter in May 2019. Then I began self-editing my words and making the story concise and readable.
Next steps included the choice of a title, commissioning a cover design and writing the blurb.
Then came a professional edit which reduced the word count by 10% and gave a real polish to the memoir.
The moment of truth came when I passed the draft copy to a group of beta readers at the start of September. The response was very positive, and I published Summer of ’77: Beaches, bars and boogie nights in Ibiza on October 27th, 2019, my 64th birthday.
Favourite Review
Book Description
A holiday can change everything…
…it did for Fred.
He went on a two-week break with three friends to the Spanish island of Ibiza in July 1976. It was so enjoyable they all vowed to come back for the following season.
In April 1977, Fred returned to Ibiza, alone, in pursuit of his dream.
Behind him, he left his family, his girlfriend, and a promising career in banking.
Challenges lay ahead.
This would be no holiday.
He needed a place to stay and to find work that would sustain him through the next six months.
This true to life memoir follows 21-year-old Fred’s adventures as he acclimatises to living abroad. In a time before instant communication, he keeps in touch with family and friends by letter. They are his lifeline to home.
If you enjoy reading about people’s life-changing experiences, then this book is for you.
Robert Fear has lived in Eastbourne on the south coast of the UK for half his life. He moved there to be with Lynn, his future wife, and is still there with her over thirty years later. As cat-lovers, they have taken on several rescue cats over the years and are owned by three now.
For his day job, Robert works as a self-employed software consultant. In his spare time, he writes, edits, and self-publishes books.
Robert’s interest in travel goes back to his twenties when he spent most of his time abroad. His experiences included: a summer in Ibiza, hitch-hiking around Europe, and touring the USA and Canada. His most eventful trip was in 1981 when he travelled through Asia.
Born into a religious sect known as the Exclusive Brethren, his father, John, took the brave step of leaving it with his young family when Robert was nine years old. Robert never saw his grandparents again but is thankful for being able to grow up outside this restrictive group. His life has been full of adventures he would never have experienced otherwise.
To follow along with the rest of the tour, please visit theauthors’ tour pageon the 4WillsPublishing site. If you’d like to book your own blog tour and have your book promoted in similar grand fashion, please clickHERE. Thanks for supporting this author and his work!
There is nothing like a fresh new Christmas story from Santa’s workshop to keep the spirit of Christmas going into the new year! And that’s what W.J. Scott has done. I’ll let her tell you about it!
In March 2019, my sister (who lives in Canada), visited me in New Zealand, and we embarked on a memory tour. We revisited places from our childhood, including Queenstown, where our grandmother used to live.
Our great-grandfather had been an engineer on the iconic century-old coal fired steamship, the TSS Earnslaw, back in the day when it transported stock and supplies across Lake Wakatipu. We enjoyed a delightful sunny cruise to Walter Peak High Country Farm.
During our travels, we set a challenge, to each write a 1500 word story. I chose to write a Children’s Christmas story, based on a writing prompt from my Aspiring Author Series, and that’s how, ‘Sleighed’, came to be created.
Wendy Scott has a New Zealand Certificate in Science (Chemistry), which allows her to dabble with fuming potions and strange substances, satisfying her inner witch.
Wendy writes short stories, fantasy, and children’s novels. Her books have won multiple awards.
One of the creeds she lives by is to always – Live a life less ordinary!
The RAVE REVIEWS BOOK CLUB is all about supporting, uplifting and promoting authors. And Shirley Harris Slaughter is a great supporter of others. So, this month, it’s her time to shine!
Not only does she have a newly polished re-release of “Our Lady of Victory,” but she has a birthday on the 28th, which is also the day she co-hosts the RAVE WAVES show, RATERS NOT HATERS.
Shirley was chosen for the Spotlight Author for the month of November, so she is being celebrated in a big way!
If you missed my interview with her on the RAVE WAVES show, #RRBCBringOnTheSpotlight, you can catch the replay below. It was a ton of fun! Especially when her two sisters showed up! 🙂
Blurb: This is a second edition with updates on the state of this historic church. In the original publication files were lost then resurfaced with content altered along with missing photos during transition from one publisher to another. Such is the fate of an Independent Author. This book evolved out of years of frustration at the total disregard and lack of respect for the contributions of Black Catholics in the city of Detroit. The author says, “We are not mentioned in the pages of history along with the other Catholic churches that sprung up during the World War II era, and that needed to be corrected.” The author did fulfill one dream since publication … that this church can now be found on the web even though it has merged with another church. It is now called Presentation-Our Lady of Victory Catholic Church.
I had the privilege of reading and reviewing this book!
I know nothing about the catholic church or religion and I learned a lot from reading the factual account of the establishment and demise of Our Lady of Victory, a black catholic church in Detroit, Michigan. While names and locations didn’t mean anything to me, the main focus of the book was the sense of community and the difficulties that came when there was forced blending. I admired the strength the author’s mother showed, struggling to provide for her children as a single mother and her determination to see that they received a good education and religious background. This is true preservation of a piece of history for future generations to learn from that might otherwise have been lost. It is relevant to today’s society as an example of how racial discrimination can destroy lives. My hat is off to this author for her detailed account of the birth and death of this church and the names, dates, and events she chronicled.
This month we have 11 awesome writers on tour, showcasing their writing ability via short snippets of their never-before-seen written works of art. Each day, one author will be profiled on multiple blogs until the next day, when it will be another author’s turn to shine in our spotlight.
We invite you to check out each piece, no matter which blog you find them on, and then let the author know what you thought of their work via the comments sections. After enjoying the piece, we ask that you visit the author’s RWISA Profile Page here on the RWISA site, where you will find more of their work to enjoy.
You could say the trajectory to that strange Christmas Eve began on the Saturday before, when Mother and Father took us to Wanamaker’s in Philadelphia. There were five of us, counting my two little brothers and me, and we were there on our yearly trek to see the renowned Wanamaker’s Christmas tree and hear Christmas music played by a live orchestra.
After the concert, we wandered around the store, admiring the decorations. Mother was especially taken by the centerpiece on one of the tables in the furniture department. There, a pineapple, resplendent in a coating of golden spray paint, nestled on a platter filled with fresh pine boughs and sparkling ornaments.
“Oh, isn’t that lovely,” exclaimed Mother.
“I think it’s stupid,” said Father. Father was usually a cheerful person, full of jokes and funny stories, but that day he was grumpy, facing the prospect of having to eat lunch in Wanamaker’s Mezzanine Restaurant, where, as he put it, “They only have lady food.”
Mother rolled her eyes at me like she did sometimes, now that I was thirteen, and apparently had been admitted into the Sisterhood of Aren’t Men Silly. I rolled my eyes back at her, straightened my shoulders, and stood straight and proud.
Mother worked feverishly all that week to prepare for the holiday and finally, on the afternoon of Christmas Eve, we all decorated the tree. In those days in our house, the tree was brought into the house on Christmas Eve and not a day before. Father would spend hours groaning, shouting, and trying not to curse as he secured the tree to the walls. You read that correctly. Father was sure that the tree would escape its confines when left to its own devices, wreaking havoc, and so would place it in a corner and tether it to each wall with nails and the thickest string he could find. Only then could our tree, safely restrained, be adorned.
The tradition was that we would listen to Christmas carols as we all performed our assigned decorating duties. Finally, Father would finish with gobs of silver tinsel and, with a flourish, turn on the lights. After the “oohs” and “aahs” died down, we would head to the dining room for Christmas Eve dinner.
That’s how things usually went. On this particular Christmas Eve, though, as we were filing into the dining room, a loud shriek emanated from the direction of the kitchen.
“Oh, SSSSSHIP!”
Mother shot Father a look. “Aunt Alice.” she said.
I should have mentioned that my Great Aunt Alice was visiting. She was extremely old and, on holidays, came to stay with us. We kids loved Aunt Alice. She was funny, though not always intentionally so, told us fabulous stories which she made up herself, and she loved to curse. This was a great learning experience as I saw it. However, my parents had recently had a discussion with Aunt Alice about this behavior. I listened in, rooting for Aunt Alice, and it went like this:
Father said, “There are children here, Aunt Alice. Think of the children.”
“But you curse, and you’re my favorite nephew,” Aunt Alice replied.
Father countered with, “Look, Aunt Alice, that’s different. I’m a man, and I was in the Navy during the War.”
Aunt Alice, voice rising, shot back, “Oh, come on. What a crock of—”
“Stop!” yelled Father.
“POOP,” Aunt Alice screamed. “I was going to say POOP.”
Mother chimed in, “That was better, Alice. Crude, but better.” Then she swooped in for the finish. “Alice, Dear, you are so creative! Why, all those stories you tell, I’m sure you will have no trouble coming up with interesting things to say when you’re upset. If you want to keep coming here to be with us and the children, that is. It’s completely up to you.”
“Dag blig it,” said Aunt Alice.
So on that night, hearing that strange cry, Father rushed in the direction of the sound and we all followed. I, for one, hoped it meant a ship was visible from our kitchen window, though we lived nowhere near a body of water. That would have been a treat.
But there was Aunt Alice in the kitchen, crawling along one of the counters and opening and closing the cabinets, a fairly tricky situation. Father caught her just as she was tumbling from the counter, having been pushed off by the cabinet door she was trying to open.
“Aunt Alice, what are you doing?” Father shouted. “You could have broken your hip.”
“Forget my bleeping hip,” Aunt Alice shouted back. “Where did you people hide my flipping glasses?”
Father pointed to the glasses dangling from the ribbon around her neck.
“Oh,” she said. “Well, it’s about frogging time.”
Finally at the table, all proceeded well, although Mother seemed distracted. She cleared the dishes and started toward the table with our desert, at which point Aunt Alice laid her head on the table and moaned, “Oh, why won’t they let me have a beer?”
“You know why, Aunt Alice,” Father said. “You’re on that new heart medication and the doctor said you can’t drink.”
“But you’re drinking,” she said, pointing to Father’s glass of wine.
“Now, look Aunt Alice,” Father began, but Mother interrupted him.
“Don’t worry, dear, I’ll get you something,” she said, patting Aunt Alice on the shoulder, and winking at Father. She signaled to me to follow her into the kitchen.
“She’s been so good, with the non-cursing,” Mother said. “I better come up with something. Do you think we could fool her with some grape juice?”
I was honored to be included in this weighty decision and offered my solution. “Let’s add vinegar,” I said. That will make it taste like wine, I bet.”
“Hmmm,” said Mother. “Well, I don’t drink, because I think it tastes terrible, so I’m not sure . . .”
She filled a crystal goblet with grape juice and topped it off with a splash of white vinegar. She handed the glass to me. “How does it taste?” she asked.
I took a sip and immediately spit it out. “Yuck!” I said. “It tastes terrible.”
“Well then, that should do,” said Mother.
She took the glass to the dining room and handed it to Aunt Alice, who brightened up and took a sip.
“Ah,” she said. “Now that’s more like it.”
After we settled again, I noticed that Mother still seemed distracted, which I attributed to all the work she had been doing the past week. But suddenly, after desert, she threw her hands to her face and cried out, “Oh, no! I forgot to spray a pineapple!”
Father sat back, threw his napkin on the table, and burst into hearty guffaws. “Oh, Mary,” he said, “now that’s a good one. A pineapple! Heh, heh, heh, like that silly thing we saw last week?” He shook his head. “Mary, I have to say, every once and a while you come out with a good one.” He wiped his eyes and grinned in Mother’s direction, then stopped cold when he saw her face. “You were kidding, Mary, right? Kidding about that funny pineapple thing? Mary? Sweetheart?”
But Mother rushed from the room and we could hear the sounds of things being thrown around in our pantry closet—pots clanging, wrappers rustling, cans and boxes colliding. Before long, Mother emerged, a look of relief on her face, displaying the elusive fruit—one glorious pineapple. We all applauded, and Father sprang from his chair to escort her back into the room. But Mother glared at him. “I have things to do,” she said.
Father looked like he wanted to go after her, but Aunt Alice tugged on his sleeve. “Can I have more of this wine?” she asked. “It’s delicious.”
I washed and dried the dishes, and soon it was time for my brothers and me to go to bed. I heard Father call to Mother once, asking if he could help, but she shouted back, “You just leave me a-lone.” I imagine after that he kept what is known as a low profile.
On Christmas morning everyone jumped out of bed, eyes shining, faces bright with smiles, even Mother.
And what a beautiful sight lay before us. The Christmas tree glimmered in the darkened living room, surrounded by gaily wrapped gifts. And visible through the archway was the dining room table, draped with a golden cloth and graced with an arrangement of fragrant pine boughs and glittering gold Christmas ornaments. Nestled in the greenery sat the singular, spectacular, gilded pineapple.
“Oh, Mary,” said Father. His face flushed and his eyes looked a little watery. “It looks beautiful.”
“Well, I’ll be a son of a—,” began Aunt Alice, but Mother grabbed her elbow.
“Don’t even think it,” she whispered. Then she smiled her lovely smile and said, “Let’s all just wish each other” and we all chimed in—
“Merry Christmas!”
***
Thank you for supporting this member along the WATCH “RWISA” WRITE Showcase Tour today! We ask that if you have enjoyed this member’s writing, please visit their Author Profile on the RWISA site, where you can find more of their writing, along with their contact and social media links, if they’ve turned you into a fan.
We ask that you also check out their books in the RWISAcatalog. Thanks, again, for your support and we hope that you will follow along each day of this amazing tour of talent by visiting the tour home page! Don’t forget to click the link below to learn more about today’s profiled author:
This month we have 11 awesome writers on tour, showcasing their writing ability via short snippets of their never-before-seen written works of art. Each day, one author will be profiled on multiple blogs until the next day, when it will be another author’s turn to shine in our spotlight.
We invite you to check out each piece, no matter which blog you find them on, and then let the author know what you thought of their work via the comments sections. After enjoying the piece, we ask that you visit the author’s RWISA Profile Page here on the RWISA site, where you will find more of their work to enjoy.
My husband and I live in a retirement community that has a continuum of care. He is paraplegic and I have been his caregiver since 2013. Several months ago, my husband was diagnosed with advanced prostate cancer. A bone scan showed the cancer had spread to many parts of his body. As my husband became weaker, I realized I needed help to care for him.
Now my husband is in a rehabilitation unit. Unfortunately, COVID-19 prevents me from seeing him. I live on the 18th floor of the high-rise and my husband lives on the third floor. We are near each other, yet so far away. Being apart from each other made us feel stressed, frustrated, and down.
Then I received a notice in my mailbox. A new program was starting. Family members could make appointments to see their loved ones. Only two family members could visit at once and they had to follow strict rules. My daughter called the contact number and was given an appointment date and time. We were super excited.
Before my daughter arrived, I talked with my husband’s physical therapist. It was difficult to understand him because of his mask. He had difficulty understanding me because of my mask. I felt like we were going to do charades at any minute. Still, meeting the therapist gave me a chance to ask questions. Every question yielded the same answer: “That’s not in my pay grade.” What the heck did that mean?
A nurse came into the room and greeted my husband with, “Hi Handsome!” She seemed proud of her greeting. In fact, she turned to my husband and asked, “Every time I walk into your room, I say that, don’t I?” My husband answered “yes” in a flat, discouraged voice. The nurse didn’t pick up on his voice inflection and seemed validated by my husband’s reply.
My daughter and I stayed for two and a half hours and my husband coughed most of the time. As we left the rehab floor, we met the director of nursing. Of course, we grabbed the opportunity to talk with her. We made sure there were six feet between us. The director was patient, attentive, sympathetic, took notes, and said she would give the matter her attention.
Did I have the power to change anything? This question rattled around in my mind for hours. That evening, I sat down at the computer and wrote a heartfelt email to the director of nursing and carbon copied the director of the retirement community. This is the letter. I modified the wording to maintain confidentiality.
Dear ______________,
Thank you for meeting with me and my daughter this afternoon. I am aware that my husband may have declined physically and mentally. I am also aware that he doesn’t feel well, hasn’t slept well since he was admitted to the rehab unit, and feels isolated and depressed.
My husband has been coughing for three weeks. He feels so badly I don’t know how he could endure physical therapy, let alone benefit from it. He feels so badly he would just as soon die. Before we make a final decision on Supportive Living, I would like him to get some sleep and for his cough to subside.
I have gotten confusing information from nurses. Yes, my husband has pneumonia. No, he doesn’t have pneumonia. Communication is my business and the communication from staff on the unit has been poor.
The physicians who founded the clinic believed the needs of the patient come first. After I talked with the physical therapist I was confused and sad. I asked him several questions and his answer was always the same: “That’s not in my pay grade.” This is not the answer I expected from a clinic employee or physical therapist. I was also upset by the attitude a couple of nurses exhibited. They treated my husband like a foolish old man in a wheelchair. Like every patient, my husband deserves to be treated with respect and dignity.
I share these thoughts with you out of concern and love. My husband and I have been married for 63 years. We went together for four years before we married. This is a difficult time of life. At a time when we are most vulnerable, life demands the most from us. I am my husband’s wife and advocate and will not fail him as his life draws to a close.
The next day I received a call from the director of nursing. Since I had been tested for COVID-19 twice and the tests were negative, administration did not think I was a health risk and could visit my husband daily. I was astonished. “I’m going to cry,” I admitted to the nurse.
My story is not unique. There is an advocacy warrior inside you—a person ready to stand for love, quality care, and human dignity. But we must assume this role thoughtfully. Note important dates, such as hospitalization, on the calendar. File important documents in a safe place. Keep a log if you think it is necessary. Follow the chain of command. Speak in a calm voice and be civil. Remember, there is a difference between being persistent and being pushy.
You and I do not know our strength until we are tested. We are stronger than we realize. Most importantly, our loved ones need us. As my husband asked, “What happens to people who don’t have an advocate?” The famous children’s author, Dr. Seuss, explained advocacy better than I. “Unless someone like you cares a whole awful lot, nothing is going to get better. It’s not.”
Advocacy takes many forms—better healthcare, better transportation, better education, better architecture, better laws, a welcoming community, and more. One person can make a difference. Maybe the time has come to unleash the advocacy warrior in you.
***
Thank you for supporting this member along the WATCH “RWISA” WRITE Showcase Tour today! We ask that if you have enjoyed this member’s writing, please visit their Author Profile on the RWISA site, where you can find more of their writing, along with their contact and social media links, if they’ve turned you into a fan.
We ask that you also check out their books in the RWISAcatalog. Thanks, again, for your support and we hope that you will follow along each day of this amazing tour of talent by visiting the tour home page! Don’t forget to click the link below to learn more about today’s profiled author:
This month we have 11 awesome writers on tour, showcasing their writing ability via short snippets of their never-before-seen written works of art. Each day, one author will be profiled on multiple blogs until the next day, when it will be another author’s turn to shine in our spotlight.
We invite you to check out each piece, no matter which blog you find them on, and then let the author know what you thought of their work via the comments sections. After enjoying the piece, we ask that you visit the author’s RWISA Profile Page here on the RWISA site, where you will find more of their work to enjoy.
Today’s feature is from Linnea Tanner!
The King’s Champion
by Linnea Tanner
At dawn tomorrow, I compete with every reputed warrior in our kingdom to become the King’s Champion. Defeating my opponents is almost an impossible feat for any man, much less a woman. Even so, I will triumph and win my father’s respect.
As the king’s eldest daughter, I vow to protect him and everyone in his kingdom. I stand ready to defend my father in mortal combat against any challenger vying for his crown. A true champion emblazons courage, loyalty, and sacred love for her king and family. But first, I must tell you my tale that seeded my desire to combat every warrior in the kingdom and stand by my father as his champion.
When I was barely five winters old, my mother and I gathered with villagers to greet my father, astride his coal-black stallion. Returning from war, he was like a god towering over his worshippers as he rode through their midst. They welcomed him with chants and cheers. Snowflakes danced around him, also celebrating his return.
Shivering, I covered my mouth with both hands, suddenly ashamed about my appearance. Boys had earlier taunted me, “You have a donkey’s jaw and bray like one, too.”
My nursemaid, a woman with ample bosoms spilling out of her low-cut dress, shooed the boys away and told me, “Don’t listen to them. You have an overbite, that is all. They’re jealous of you. You can beat anyone of those whelps.”
Her words didn’t make me feel better, though, as I studied the reflection of my face on a polished metal mirror. My upper jaw hung over my bottom lip. My upper front teeth protruded outward, making it hard for me to eat and speak clearly. Hence, I remained quiet most of the time.
When my father approached us on his horse, I drew out of my muse and swallowed hard with anticipation of speaking to him.
“What do I say to him?” I muttered to my mother.
“Only speak when he tells you to do so,” my mother instructed.
Fiddling with my plaid cloak, I recalled waving good-bye to my father in a season of blooming wildflowers before he left for war. My mother told me then, “He sails across the narrow sea to fight for a foreign army. By winter, he’ll return home.”
During the summer and fall seasons, I never gave my mother’s words consideration about my father’s return. He was out of sight and ceased to exist in my mind.
My little sister’s soft touch on my hand grabbed my attention. She looked at me with pathetic-looking eyes. The day before, she had fallen into the hearth and caught on fire. The queen’s guard—my only true adult friend—pulled her out of the flames.
After my father dismounted onto the soggy ground, he no longer appeared a giant. He didn’t look like other men in the village with a clean-shaven face and cropped wheat-golden hair. He also didn’t resemble me one bit. My hair was dark like my mother, and my acorn-brown eyes were the same color as the warrior who saved my sister.
Father embraced my mother, then pulled away and stared at her bulging belly. “Gods above, how did you get so big?”
Mother’s burning scowl made my father whither like a green sprout under a hot sun. At that moment, I didn’t like my father for his cruel comment. He must have seen the displeasure on my face because he apologized, “Forgive me, my love. Battle hardens a man’s words.”
Wiping a tear from her eye, my mother turned to me and said, “Vala, greet your father.”
I felt like a fish gulping for air as my father bent over and squeezed my chin with his fingers. “Hmm, you look as strong as an ox,” he said amiably, but the disappointment on his face shouted, You’re as ugly as a donkey!
Conflicting emotions grappled with me. I only wanted Mother in my life, not Father. I burst into tears—a sign of weakness.
Father gave my mother a contorted, baffled look. “What did I do to make her cry?”
Mother’s eyebrows arched in a warning for me to stop my bawling. I bit my lower lip and fought back sobs.
He shifted his ice-cold blue eyes to my little sister. “What happened to Morgana? She looks like she was in a dogfight and got the worse of it.”
My sister’s wails spurred mine. Neither of us could stop crying despite my mother’s glower. The nursemaid’s hefty bosoms smacked against my face as she grabbed my hand and reached for my sister’s arm. She dragged us both away from the people’s peals of laughter to the silence of the Great Hall. Halting near the central hearth, where my sister had fallen, she thumped my forehead with her fingertips. “Shame on you. Why did you make such a fuss in front of the king? I learned you better than that!”
I wanted to shout at the top of my lungs, “I didn’t do anything wrong,” but snapped my mouth shut when I saw her eyebrows rise like a storm. She would answer my protest with a swat on my rear end.
The nursemaid marched us through the high-vaulted, feasting hall into the adjoining living quarters where she corralled us like cattle in our bedchamber. “You get nothing to eat,” she bellowed and stomped out of the room, slamming the door behind her.
My sister covered her face with both hands and wept. Sitting on our straw-mattress bed we shared, I cuddled her like a baby in my arms to calm her.
“Shh … shush. No cry.”
She nestled her head against my shoulder and whimpered, “Vala, my Vala,” like a mantra until we both fell asleep in each other’s arms.
*****
Later, the bang of a closing door awoke me. I wiped the drowsiness from my eyes and found Mother sitting on our bed.
“Why did you cry when your father greeted you?” she asked.
“He … he’s so mean!”
Mother frowned. “He never said an unkind word to you.”
“He thinks I’m ugly!” I declared.
“That is how you see yourself,” she said, stroking the top of my head. “Your father only sees goodness in your heart.”
I looked down at my chest in bewilderment. “Father sees my heart? Can he also see the babies in your tummy?”
Mother sighed. “No. He knows”—she touched her belly—“they are in here. That is why he has returned. To make sure I’m safe. It’s hard bringing two babies into the world.”
“When will they come?” I asked, recalling how bloody a calf looks after being squirted out of its mother’s rear end.
“Too soon, I fear.”
I could see the angst in my mother’s eyes as her gaze drifted to the closed door.
“Is something wrong?” I asked.
“You must always obey and love your father,” her voice cracked. “I may not always be with you.”
My stomach dropped into what felt like a tidal wave. “Where are you going?”
“I want to stay here with you, my dear. But we don’t always get our wish.” She sighed as if trying to lift the worries of the world off her chest. “Your father is outside. He wants to give you something.”
“A gift,” I squealed with excitement.
Mother turned her gaze to the door and called out, “My king, you can come in now.”
When my father poked his head through, his face burst into a big grin. “Good aft, my precious daughters. Look what I’ve brought you from my travels.” He bound into the room like a frolicking fox and held out two carved, alabaster horse heads in the palm of his hand. He offered each one of them to my sister and me.
I took the horse head and fingered the attached leather strap. “An amulet?”
“Yes. Let me tie it around your neck,” my father suggested with a smile. “The horse is our family’s sigil—an animal guide that protects you.”
After he placed the amulet around my neck, I beamed with pride and clasped the carved horse head against my heart.
My father’s leathery face softened. “Vala, you must promise to watch over your little sister and the babies in Mummy’s belly once they are born. Can you do that for me? Will you protect them with your life and be the King’s Champion?”
A sense of pride swelled inside me with the honor he had bestowed upon me. “I am the King’s Champion.”
“Truly, you are,” he said, embracing me.
“I promise to protect my sisters,” I vowed, hoping the babies were girls.
And from that moment on, I aspired to be my father’s champion, embracing the strength to protect the weak and the oppressed.
***
Thank you for supporting this member along the WATCH “RWISA” WRITE Showcase Tour today! We ask that if you have enjoyed this member’s writing, please visit their Author Profile on the RWISA site, where you can find more of their writing, along with their contact and social media links, if they’ve turned you into a fan.
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This month we have 11 awesome writers on tour, showcasing their writing ability via short snippets of their never-before-seen written works of art. Each day, one author will be profiled on multiple blogs until the next day, when it will be another author’s turn to shine in our spotlight.
And, yes, you guessed it – today I”m up!
WALK TO YOUR OWN BEAT
2020 has been a year.
And that is a gross understatement. No one could have predicted the diverse levels of craziness we’d experience as the year unfolded.
Not only are we dealing with a worldwide pandemic that has us wearing masks and hiding in our homes, but here in the United States, we’ve witnessed hatred and divisiveness to a degree I could never have imagined. While we watched and perhaps joined people taking to the streets to protest injustices, we also saw organized groups invade our beautiful cities and set them ablaze. Everyone is in a hypersensitive mode. History is being erased with the dismantling and destruction of national monuments, while sports teams are changing their names because someone is offended.
The culmination of it all has left us reeling.
I do not watch the news, and that is a personal choice. I can name lots of reasons why I stopped, but the main one is, I do not believe even half of what they report. The media uses its power to incite and ignite more hatred and division amongst us.
Folks take to social media to try and coerce others to bend to their ideals and beliefs. And they do it in the most aggressive ways imaginable. It seems no one wants to allow their fellow man to have his or her own opinions. People are not willing to tolerate differences. Families are split by these differences, leaving children confused. We are allowing those in power to turn us into a society focused on isolation and fear.
So, what can we do?
I heard a song the other day that says it better than I ever could. The music artist is Brent Cobb, and he gave me permission to quote some of his lyrics.
He sings about how people want to tell each other how to live and how to die. You don’t get too low, don’t get too high, which is precisely what the pharmaceutical companies exhort.
The best thing you can do is don’t listen too close. Walk on to your own beat. Keep ‘em on their toes.
What does that even mean? To me, it means staying true to your authentic self. Don’t be a part of the herd that follows blindly. Make decisions for your life based on your truth, not someone else’s. Go where your heart tells you to go. I genuinely believe your heart will never lead you wrong.
Then, rather than to try and convince others to follow your truth, tuck it deep inside where you can nurture it and make it grow. You will never persuade another person to change their way of thinking because of the words you speak, but you can lead by example. And you can keep them on their toes. Keep them guessing about you. In other words, don’t be so utterly transparent.
Maybe this says it better. Keep ‘em on their toes, your business outta sight. Make ‘em look left, if you’re gonna hang a right. If the pot’s hot, don’t let ‘em see your hand. Make ‘em gotta know what they wouldn’t understand. The best thing you can do when the ignorance shows, is walk on to your own beat, keep ‘em on their toes.
I love that! We live in an electronic age where privacy is a thing of the past. The only way to have real privacy is to be completely disconnected, including no cellphone.
I have had many experiences that prove to me we are always under observation. It’s easy to understand how an ad will randomly pop up after browsing for an Amazon item. But I have had things pop up about something relating to a simple conversation with a friend. Big Brother is listening. No, I’m not paranoid. Just honest and see reality.
I do not know where we are headed as a society. The rose-colored glasses part of me wants to believe this hatred, division, hypersensitivity, and deadly pandemic we are experiencing will all come to an end, and we will go back to living our lives peacefully. But reality tells me we will never go back to the way we were before all of this chaos hit.
We are forever changed by it all.
So, the big question remains, “Where do we go from here?”
I can only answer that question from my point of view, from my truth. I will continue to be kind. I will continue to share and celebrate others’ accomplishments. And I will continue to love my family and do my best to impart any hard-earned wisdom to my grandchildren.
I can’t visualize what this world will be like ten years from now. I can’t even picture it a year from now. So, I must live for today in the best and most honest way I know.
I will walk on to my own beat―do my best to keep ‘em on their toes, and my business out of sight. That does not mean I can stop caring or go numb. In fact, just the opposite. I will celebrate every positive moment life brings, and I hope you will join me. Together we are stronger. Together we can make a difference.
Together, we can keep ‘em on their toes!
Thank you for supporting this member along the WATCH “RWISA” WRITE Showcase Tour today! We ask that if you have enjoyed this member’s writing, please visit their Author Profile on the RWISA site, where you can find more of their writing, along with their contact and social media links, if they’ve turned you into a fan.
We ask that you also check out their books in the RWISAcatalog. Thanks, again, for your support and we hope that you will follow along each day of this amazing tour of talent by visiting the tour home page! Don’t forget to click the link below to learn more about today’s profiled author:
Story inspirations can come from anywhere and “Brother’s Keeper” came from a conversation with a family member. And while the circumstances depicted in this story are pure fiction, the seed was planted by a simple statement. I truly think that is what makes writers and artists different. My late husband used to talk about painting and how you don’t just see an object that you’re painting, you look into and beyond it. That never made any sense to me until I started writing my stories. Now, all these years later, I understand.
The main character, Quentin Marks, really came alive for me. He made an ultimate sacrifice for his younger brother.
Here’s the blurb:
Quentin Marks’ mother can only love one son, and from the day Rowdy was born, she makes Quentin, his little brother’s keeper. She demands that Quentin fix every problem for Rowdy and that he also protect him. The truth is, after a deadly snakebite, Quentin owes his very life to his little brother, a debt that will never be paid in full. Only now a man is dead, and once again, their mother calls on Quentin to make the problem go away and save Rowdy from prison. When is enough enough, and how much of his own life will Quentin Marks have to sacrifice?
AND, you guys get the premier viewing of the brand new book trailer for “Brother’s Keeper!” This was so much fun to make and my first time to experiment with video clips. Honest feedback welcome and appreciated!
The inspiration for “Brazos Wind” came from a song by the same title written by Texas singer/songer, Phil Hamilton. I had never attempted to write a western, but found that it came easily. I had no trouble putting myself back in the 1800s time period to write about Jack McClean and Savannah Logan.
Here is the blurb:
War-torn drifter, Jack McClean is left with nothing but bad memories, scars, and a restless soul. When he stumbles upon a burning homestead, and an unconscious woman, beside the Clear Fork of the Brazos River, he stops to render aid. Grieving widow, Savannah Logan, sees no reason to live, and only wants to join her husband and children in their graves. But, Jack refuses to let her die. In saving her, he might somehow find redemption for himself and hope for a new tomorrow. Is it possible that both Jack and Savannah can find a new destiny in the changeable flow of the Brazos wind?
I hope that this has piqued your interest enough to head over to Amazon and grab your copies! Click on the book titles anywhere in this blog and it will take you to Amazon! Or you can go to my Amazon Author Page.
I’d love it if you’d subscribe to my blog while you are here!
And, in case you don’t already know, here are all of my published books so far. 🙂
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If you’re not doing so already, I’d be grateful if you’d follow me on Social Media:
I read constantly. And it’s been a while since I’ve taken the time to post some of my reviews. So, today I’m going to remedy that.
The books and reviews are listed in random order.
THE BLURB:
A holiday can change everything…
…it did for Fred.
He went on a two-week break with three friends to the Spanish island of Ibiza in July 1976. It was so enjoyable they all vowed to come back for the following season.
In April 1977, Fred returned to Ibiza, alone, in pursuit of his dream.
Behind him, he left his family, his girlfriend, and a promising career in banking.
Challenges lay ahead.
This would be no holiday.
He needed a place to stay and to find work that would sustain him through the next six months.
This true to life memoir follows 21-year-old Fred’s adventures as he acclimatises to living abroad. In a time before instant communication, he keeps in touch with family and friends by letter. They are his lifeline to home.
If you enjoy reading about people’s life-changing experiences, then this book is for you.
MY 5 STAR REVIEW:
I thoroughly enjoyed this memoir from Robert (aka Fred) Fear! As he took me along with him on the many adventures he had in Ibiza during the summer of 1977, I never lost interest or got bored. That summer changed the author’s life. It was not all roses. He had to work hard at different jobs to make ends meet. He slept in a tiny room and shared a bathroom with other tenants. But the magic of the island outweighed the discomforts. Mr. Fear gave me an inside view of moving to a foreign place and becoming a local. He immersed himself in the culture, the people, and the jobs he had to work in order to stay the entire summer. It became apparent throughout the story, that he grew through the experience. His confidence increased and his determination to have more adventures grew. This is a well-written memoir. The author made me feel as if I was there with him. I found it to be highly interesting and entertaining. Anyone who loves to read true stories will surely enjoy this one!
Dottie Gale would hitch up with a tornado if it took her out of Kansas. Stuck in a dead-end teaching job beside her cheating ex Corbin isn’t her idea of a dream life. So when her wicked new principal Maxine Westward gifts her a trip to Las Vegas, she grabs her ruby slip-ons and heads for the nearest yellow brick road.
Forced to drive the entire way, Dotty picks up the motley trio of a dimwitted hunk, a heartless drifter, and a cowardly educator along the way. Far out of her comfort zone, the Kansas teacher and her passengers embark on a surprising adventure. But when Dottie reaches her destination and receives an unexpected declaration of love, she wonders if the journey has changed her far too much to accept…
As Westward’s fiendish plan to ruin her trip takes shape, will Dottie finally find her happiness somewhere over the rainbow?
Ruby Slips and Poker Chips: The Modern Tale of Dorothy Gale is an award-winning romantic comedy. If you like wise-cracking heroines, heartwarming stories, and hilarious twists and turns, then you’ll love Heather Kindt’s emerald of a novel.
MY 4 STAR REVIEW:
While this story is slightly comparable to the classic tale of the Wizard of Oz, I loved the way the author delivered it in a modern-day setting with realistic characters. Dorothy (Dottie) Gale wants out of small-town Kansas, especially after a new principal takes over the school where she teaches. She’s stuck in what she sees as a boring life with no future. Her childhood friend turned boyfriend, turned cheater (she thinks) is her main reason for wanting to run. So, when she is handed the chance to attend a teacher’s conference in Las Vegas, she jumps at it. But there are drawbacks. The evil principal insists that Dottie drive from Kansas to Las Vegas, and to save money, has to pick up two other teachers along the way. And that’s not all she picks up. A hitchhiker named Tina, joins the trio. The group has lots of adventures along the way including a visit to a county jail in handcuffs. I found this a very entertaining book to read. The choices Dottie is faced with, as well as the lessons she learns, are well executed. The author did a great job of telling this story and the book is error-free. If you like lighthearted stories with a touch of sizzling romance, you will enjoy this story.
During this pandemic, I offer a 5-part Micro Read series on how COVID19 has impacted and interrupted lives around the world. Since the beginning of this crisis, I have followed and also documented every step and misstep along the way by the current administration in Washington, and also the plus and minus moments of our local leaders around the world. As deep as we are right now into this disease, some still don’t really know what’s going on, or how it’s impacting them – mentally, physically and emotionally. Now, the issue has moved extremely close to my heart. They want to send our kids back to school during the worst pandemic of our lives.
I am a Mom who values many things, but above all else, I am a Mom who values life.
Everyone is sharing their opinion about what we’re living through and how it should all be handled – now it’s time that you heard mine.
MY 4 STAR REVIEW:
Author, Nonnie Jules is well-known as someone who does not shy away from sensitive topics. In her new short story release, she stays true to that persona. She brings some valid points to light along with solid references and research. In the midst of this unprecedented pandemic, we face very uncertain times, not only in the world of education but in every facet of our lives. This short book is filled with advice, reasoning, and logic. My hat is off to educators everywhere and my hat is off to this author for putting together such a comprehensive narrative regarding the issues we face in our current times.
Zara and Buzz are products of vastly different upbringings. Their chance meeting ignites attraction they must explore. Even with lies and omissions, they find themselves falling in love. For them its good thing love is blind.
A defining incident offers the opportunity to explore a future together. They move away from everything for a fresh start. They optimize their experiences to build a life they never imagined in the Caribbean. Then their demons’ surface.
Zara distrusts love because of her past. She’s afraid to commit anyone. Buzz wants love, better than what he’d lost.
Will Zara slip through his fingers? Can they honestly bury their past? If those secrets are shared, will their love be destroyed?
MY 4 STAR REVIEW:
I love the idea of this story. It starts with a high tension rescue that grabbed me right away. Buzz and Zara have dark pasts, but they deeply love each other. This short story covers a span of several years within the twenty-five pages, which leaves a lot to the reader’s imagination. But, the main focus is the deep love they feel for each other. Buzz continuously, over the years, asks Zara to marry him and she always declines. We get a glimpse into her sordid past and what is holding her back from the big commitment. We also get to see the two share their passion for technology by imparting their knowledge to students who are hungry to learn, as they settle on the island of Puerto Rico. The ending is somewhat jolting. And it leaves the story open-ended for more, which I hope these authors will explore. I’d like to see this love resolved. While there is some inconsistency with points of view throughout the story, it is error-free and engaging. It can be read in about thirty to forty minutes.
I hope at least one of the books grabbed your attention and that you are now hurrying over to Amazon to make your purchase! Thank you for stopping by and supporting these authors!
Writing and Music 
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