Friday, December 28, 2007

New Contest

Myspace Comments - Im Sorry for the way my mind works. I astonish myself sometimes with the weird things I dream up. Hubby and I were having a discussion about television commercials and I pointed out how some words are so much more repulsive than others. I'm going to nominate the one that disgusts me the most.

So, lets have a contest to come up with the top most repulsive words, and then I'll create a poll to pick the winner. Let's keep it clean. This is a family channel. *lol* You can leave your responses in comments and I'll create the poll at the end of the month.

Of course, there's a prize. I don't expect you to work for nothing. The winner will receive an autographed copy of Life is a Bowl of Toilets and Clean Them. It's a short humorous book suited for one sitting. *rofl*

My nomination:



My Space Or Yours?.net
While I'm quite sure that I'll be sleeping the momentous moment away, I sincerely wish a healthy, happy and blessed New Year to each of you. If you are out and about, please be safe. Too many people become victims of celebratory fallout. Don't drink and drive and watch for those who do.

I'll lift my glass of sparkling cider to all of us with hopes that 2008 will welcome my new two releases kindly and that you'll buy them like there's no tomorrow.*lol* Sparta Rose coming from Enspiren Press and Embezzled Love coming from Lachesis Publishing. You can be sure I'll let you know of their release. It's been a long, dry spell.

I'll be back after the holiday with lots of good things. I'll be hosting another author tour, sharing some great blog sites with you, and of course offering up my usually witty banter. Stay tuned. We're going to have a better year. I'm sure of it.

Tuesday, December 25, 2007

Merry Christmas Everyone

It's a little after five a.m. and I'm awake. Before the stampede to the tree begins, I wanted to share what happened last evening.

It's been ages since I went to a Christmas Eve service, but something has been lacking in my spirit this year. I decided I was going. Oh, I decide to do a lot of things because they sound like a good idea at the time, then later change my mind, but something about this felt different. After our last pass through Walmart, I had my husband drive past a church that I noticed had a marquee with time of the service. I mentioned I was going.

I said, "Would you like to go with me?"

"Not really." He shrugged and kept his eyes on the road.

That was fine with me. My husband has never been to church that I know of, nor shown an interest.

As I got ready, he asked, "I'll go with you if you want me to." To which I replied, "Church isn't something you do for someone else, you do it for you."

He continued to watch television while I finished dressing. When I put on my coat, he asked again. "Are you sure."

"I'm okay going alone. Besides, you don't have time to get ready."

In the car I felt uplifted, yet sad. A whole family at home, but no one but me gave the Lord a thought. I was reminded about all the services I'd attended throughout the years with my children, when they were small, and I felt sad that I'd failed so miserably with their Christian upbringing. I can only hope that God forgives my shortcomings and they find their way to him.

So, here I was, a woman on a mission. It wasn't easy walking into a church where I'd never been, or facing people I'd never met, but I figured God wasn't a stranger and knew me well.

I sat in the closest pew to the door. No one really noticed me, except I was given a candle and program. I fumbled through the Bible looking for the verses listed, and took out the hymnal. People walked by, a few smile, but no one spoke. At one time, I considered it not a friendly group and thought about leaving, but stayed. After all, I was there for me, not them.

I glanced up as the next person walked through the door. The service was starting and the man was in the nick of time. I cannot describe the feeling that warmed me when I looked up to see my husband, Kelly. He'd followed me to church.

Although he didn't sing, he prayed, and when a very nice woman insisted we take Communion, he looked nervous. I hadn't had Communion in a very long time, but I explained the process in whispers. The line was dwindling as people commemorated the Lord, then went to the altar and knelt to pray. Kelly followed me and we partook. I thought it better if we just returned to our pew as we were almost the last in line, but he nodded to the altar and side-by-side we knelt and prayed as everyone else had.

I think I saw tears glistening in his eyes. To my knowledge, this was the first time he prayed, at least openly, and he stood. looking a little less burdened than when he came in. I suddenly had something else to thank God for. Did I get the best gift for Christmas, or what?

Saturday, December 22, 2007

Happy Holidays

Ladies and Gents,
I wanted to take one last opportunity to wish you and yours a most joyous holiday. No matter your beliefs, you are in my thoughts, and I pray that 2008 will be a wonderful year for each of us. I'm taking a few days off to wrap those last minutes presents and do shopping for our dinner. But before I sign off, I have one thing to share with you:

I heard a most inspirational radio program via ( The Mother and Daughter Club and I urge you to click here and listen. Just so you aren't surprised by the topic, I'm cutting and pasting host, Kathe Gogolewski's, intro here:

Jin Dorst is not my usual author/expert this week, but I think she's a perfect guest for the holiday season. While we celebrate our joys and count our blessings, she helps us remember the things that are truly important.

Jin is a National Board Certified elementary schoolteacher, but that's not why she's on the show. She has late stage Nasopharyngeal Cancer that has metastasized and is wrapped around her bronchial tubes and esophagus, and it is in her lungs. She is refusing treatment for it.

Each of us knows that our life journey is a temporary one, but not all of us take the opportunity to seriously consider this until and unless we must. For this reason, Jin's testimony is rare. She shares what it is and has been like for her living with terminal cancer.

She tells how she brought herself out of a suicidal depression after the initial diagnosis to eventually experience a level of happiness she had never known before. After surviving a suicide attempt, she fell in love and began her life over. Now, every day, every moment, brings uncommon joy. Don't miss this one as she reminds us of all the things in life that truly matter.

Note from Ginger: I also pray that none of us have to face what Jin is facing, but if we do, I hope God grants us the serenity and peace she's found to deal with her fear. What a woman.

Again, Season's Greetings and I'll be back after Christmas with a report on what Santa brought me.

Mega Hugz

Thursday, December 20, 2007


Tis the Season for Melancholy

My oldest son lives in Sacramento. Way too far from Tennessee. I keep tabs on him by reading his blog. 2007 has been hard on him, and he very recently overcame a horrible bout of anxiety that kept him sidelined for most of the year. While I'm reflecting back, and trying to deal with the fact that I've suddenly become so old, I realize that it isn't something that happens just to parents. Children have their own anguish, memories, and regrets. I hijacked my son's blog, but I don't think I risk threats of a lawsuit by sharing it with you. I hope after you read it, you'll take a look at the Myspace page he created as a tribute to a dream that failed. The success he was denied by the public will always be recognized by his mom. I love him so much, my heart hurts.

Okay...The other day, I noticed that a magazine called Alive & Kicking had posted all of the covers they have had over the years. A band that I used to be in was on a couple of them, so I checked it out...even added the photos to my Myspace page.

And it got me feeling nostalgic. And then it got me feeling sad. Mostly because, while I thought we were a fantastic band with a lot of fans, nobody had ever made a Myspace page for us.

And so I did...I created a Myspace page for our band...a band that broke up over five years ago.

But while I was doing it, I felt like a loser. I felt pathetic because I was spending my time showing off something that doesn't even exist anymore. And I realized that the greatest achievement of my life has been dead for a long time.

And I guess I just wanted to be remembered. I mean, as time passes, people are going to forget that we actually accomplished something, once upon a time. Since we don't play anymore, nobody buys our records...our website was removed a long time ago, due to non-payment, and even if I Google the band name, the thousands of hits that were once there are dwindling.

Its like my own personal "Back to the Future" and the photo of my past is slowly disappearing. And I will never be that guy again.

So I created a page for this band, but I felt so ashamed that I pretended that I was someone else while I was doing it. I wrote the whole thing as if I were an outsider.

I was trying to hide my ego and my embarrassment. I didn't want anyone to know that I actually spent all that time on my past...who does that?

I'll tell you who does that...a loser, that's who.

So there...I have confessed. And I don't feel any better, either.
Confessing is bullshit.

But anyway, I'm leaving the page up...and I will add to it. And I will pay attention to it, regardless of if anyone else does. But I will still pretend that I am someone else when I do it.

I have to.

Check it out...add them as your friends. They were great guys.

Magnolia Thunderfinger (

Wednesday, December 19, 2007


As I prepare myself for the holidays, I always think of family and friends that will be absent. I recall people who've passed with fond memories and wish for one more Christmas with them. Morgan Asbury is a fellow author who writes "Wednesday's Words" for one of the loops to which I belong. I was so touched by her post last week, I wanted to share it with you. Morgan has given her permission to post the following:

The next two weeks, for most of us, will be filled with joy and excitement as the end of the year festivities approach. We'll be shopping and baking and making merry. There is something uplifting about hearing those old songs by Crosby and Clooney as the snow falls and the city becomes even more festooned with lights and garlands and such. But for some people, this can be one of the hardest times of the year.

This is something I've always known, and always considered myself sensitive to. But of course, I'm even more sensitive to it now than in years past.

Last year at this time I was still in a state of deep mourning, and even as I composed my Wednesday's Words each week, trying hard to reach beyond my own grief from the death of my son, I hadn't yet shared my tragedy with you.

As you who have faithfully read my essays know, I saw a counselor for a few months beginning in the spring to help me get through the worst of the depression that I fell into. It did help enormously to have someone to talk to, and I encourage anyone who is suffering from ongoing depression to likewise reach out for help.

One of the things I've struggled with in the last month or so was the nature of how we would celebrate this Christmas.

Last year, we went ahead and bought gifts for the grandchildren, our own kids, and even for each other, but we had no tree in our home, and for the most part just tried to get through the season. There was a memorial service at the funeral home, and that helped. But mostly, I just prayed for it all to be over.

This year, we'll do better. I've decided that the answer for us is a slight change in tradition.

The last Christmas we had Anthony with us was the Christmas of 2005—the Christmas before last. When the kids had been small, and we lived right next to the Quarry where my husband works, securing our Christmas tree had simply been a matter of Dad and kids trekking to the bush behind the house, onto Quarry land (with permission, of course), to chop down the best candidate for the job. We began that tradition with our firstborn bundled up and in a sleigh. As the kids got older, Mom bowed out of the bush-tromping, electing instead to stay home and have the hot chocolate ready for the triumphant return. The Christmas before last, we drove to that same Quarry (where hubby still works and we still had permission), and Anthony and David and I spent a good and funny couple of hours once more in the quest for the perfect tree.

I doubt very much that we'll ever have a real tree again.

This year, I bought an artificial one. It's sitting right here in my office, still in the box. We'll set it up, and decorate it, likely on Sunday. And when we do, there will be all new decorations upon it.

No, I haven't tossed out the old decorations. I'm keeping them, with the hope that there may be a time when I will be able to bear to display them again. A family that's been a family as long as ours has accumulated several ornaments with sentimental value. But I'm taking this one step at a time. For this Christmas, at least, they'll stay tucked away.

Another event that is taking place this week that will by happy coincidence help with the re-establishment of our celebration is that our firstborn and his family are moving into a new house.

They'd been looking for a new house for a long time. Both my son and daughter-in-law swear they had been to every open house in their city in the past several years. The minute they stepped foot in this particular house, they both knew it was theirs.

When we visited with them a week or so ago, I suggested it would be nice if they were to host Christmas this year in their new house, and they agreed.

We'll do some things the same as always. There'll be the usual treats and feasts; gifts will be exchanged; and I'm sure that New Year's Eve will see this old couple perched in front of the TV as always, watching a ball drop in far away New York City.

But some things will be different, too, as we very deliberately seek to establish new traditions—ones that aren't wrapped in old memories.

If there are people you know who will be struggling to get through this holiday season without newly lost loved ones, take a moment, if you will, and pay attention to them. Don't insist they do what they always have done if they're struggling with the holiday; you have no idea how powerful those special memories can be. For some, the old traditions may be what they want more than anything. For others, though, the answer may lie in taking a fresh approach. Yes, there likely will come a time when those old memories can comfort and heal, but that time may not be now.

But mostly, what you can do is just be there. Of all the elements that go into celebrating this time of year, the one I cherish the most is time spent with those I love. It's that human connection that forms the base of every experience, and every emotion. It's what keeps us grounded when the world around us seems to be spinning either too fast, or in the wrong direction.

It's what Christmas is really all about.

Please visit Morgan's Website for more information. You might want to contact her and wish her a happy holiday. She certainly put mine into perspective.

Tuesday, December 18, 2007

Tag, I'm It!

Okay, Carol Shenold tagged me and now I have to play. This is a wonderful way of getting to know people and also sharing your blog information on the web.

Rules for people I tag: Link to the tagger and post these rules on your blog. Share 5 facts about yourself on your blog, some random, some weird. Tag 5 people at the end of your post by leaving their names as well as links to their blogs. Let them know they are tagged by leaving a comment on their blog.

1. My final goal in writing is to have ONE book published by mainstream, and I ain't getting any younger.
2. I still believe in Santa Claus.
3. I cry every time I watch "It's a Wonderful Life."
4. I think my sisters are prettier than I am and it makes me mad.
5. I've believed in ghosts ever since I smelled Bengay on the staircase the night of my grandmother's funeral.

I'm tagging the following people:

Vicki Gaia
Cheryl St. John
Dorice Nelson
Anne Whitfield
All of them are linked in my faves, so have at it.

A Week Away

It can't be a week from Christmas. I'm not ready. Wasn't it just last night that kids were at the door, yelling, "Trick or Treat?"

I remember when I thought time was at a standstill. I couldn't wait to be eighteen, and then twenty-one. It took forever to get there, but what happened? After that, my life became a slip-and-slide. I'm hurling down a narrow sheet of plastic at breakneck speed and, flat on my back, I can't see what's at the end. I'm staring up into space, watching the scenery spin by, and praying I don't hit anything... or break anything.

Seems funny that I used to chuckle at inferences of being old and breaking a hip, but I see that more as reality with each passing day. I've never fallen so much in my life. This year alone, I fell done the stairs three times. Luckily, I have enough padding to protect my osteoporific bones, but my pride was severely injured. I don't care how old you are, the first thing you do when you tumble is quickly look around to see if anyone witnessed your clumsiness. :)

I didn't even have a chance to say I was sixty-one before I turned sixty-two. So...before my next birthday creeps up...Hey everyone, I'm sixty-two. Yuk...that leaves a bad taste in my mouth.

A few months back, when I looked in the mirror, I told myself I didn't look so bad for an old broad. Well, my friends, that too has changed. I'm looking pretty broad for an old hag. :) Honestly, why didn't someone warn us about all the baggage that comes with aging. Yes, I know... I keep writing about it. I can't help it. I'm shocked every time I glimpse myself. I have no idea who that fat, old, wirey-haired woman was that I saw in front of my reflection in the doors at Walmart yesterday. Whew! I hope Santa brings her a makeover.

Sunday, December 16, 2007


Author Unknown, Source Unknown - This is something I found on the internet that I found extremely touching, and oh so true.

You have heard of the cup that overflowed. This is a story of a bucket that is like the cup, only larger, it is an invisible bucket. Everyone has one. It determines how we feel about ourselves, about others, and how we get along with people. Have you ever experienced a series of very favorable things which made you want to be good to people for a week? At that time, your bucket was full.

A bucket can be filled by a lot of things that happen. When a person speaks to you, recognizing you as a human being, your bucket is filled a little. Even more if he calls you by name, especially if it is the name you like to be called. If he compliments you on your dress or on a job well done, the level in your bucket goes up still higher. There must be a million ways to raise the level in another's bucket. Writing a friendly letter, remembering something that is special to him, knowing the names of his children, expressing sympathy for his loss, giving him a hand when his work is heavy, taking time for conversation, or, perhaps more important, listing to him.

When one's bucket is full of this emotional support, one can express warmth and friendliness to people. But, remember, this is a theory about a bucket and a dipper. Other people have dippers and they can get their dippers in your bucket. This, too, can be done in a million ways.

Lets say I am at a dinner and inadvertently upset a glass of thick, sticky chocolate milk that spills over the table cloth, on a lady's skirt, down onto the carpet. I am embarrassed. "Bright Eyes" across the table says, "You upset that glass of chocolate milk." I made a mistake, I know I did, and then he told me about it! He got his dipper in my bucket! Think of the times a person makes a mistake, feels terrible about it, only to have someone tell him about the known mistake ("Red pencil" mentality!)

Buckets are filled and buckets are emptied ? emptied many times because people don't really think about what are doing. When a person's bucket is emptied, he is very different than when it is full. You say to a person whose bucket is empty, "That is a pretty tie you have," and he may reply in a very irritated, defensive manner.

Although there is a limit to such an analogy, there are people who seem to have holes in their buckets. When a person has a hole in his bucket, he irritates lots of people by trying to get his dipper in their buckets. This is when he really needs somebody to pour it in his bucket because he keeps losing.

The story of our lives is the interplay of the bucket and the dipper. Everyone has both. The unyielding secret of the bucket and the dipper is that when you fill another's bucket it does not take anything out of your own bucket. The level in our own bucket gets higher when we fill another's, and, on the other hand, when we dip into another's bucket we do not fill our own ... we lose a little.

For a variety of reasons, people hesitate filling the bucket of another and consequently do not experience the fun, joy, happiness, fulfillment, and satisfaction connected with making another person happy. Some reasons for this hesitancy are that people think it sounds "fakey," or the other person will be suspicious of the motive, or it is "brown-nosing."

Therefore, let us put aside our dipper and resolve to touch someone's life in order to fill their bucket.

Saturday, December 15, 2007

Laughing Through Tears

Recently, I heard from my sister that my brother, Butch, and his wife, Karan, had gone on a trip to Puerto Rico. I was shocked, not only because my brother is not a 'travelin' man, but Puerto Rico? The man rarely travels ten miles from home. The next time I talked to my sister, she told me my brother was having a hard time getting back into the states because he didn't have a picture ID. She gave me all the details, but I think this email I got from Butch sums things up much better than I can:

I guess you heard the whole ugly story of the kayak ride from Hell. The way I was guilted into even doing the trip. I can still hear the tears in her voice,” We always do what you want to do but you never do anything I want to do.”

Well was I surprised when I thought I was going for a boat ride only to find out I was to be the skipper of a two man kayak with a two left handed crew. After we circled around the bay a couple of times to get to a ship where we to rendezvous with the rest of the Kayakers, we headed towards the opening of the mangroves, which is a code name for swamp, I should have known something was rotten in Denmark when they suggested we douse ourselves in the Kirkland brand of insect repellent they had on hand. Little did I know that we really didn’t need it due to the Tropical rain storm that kept the mosquitoes grounded.

Keep in mind that this once in a lifetime adventure can only take place at night in order to see these wondrous little glowing sea creatures. Yes It started to pour down about the time one of the guides decided to tow us after we grounded into the first available shoreline. I thought to myself, “thank God I’m so f***ing tired I don’t think I’ll have the strength to kill seaman 2nd class Karan, if and when we get back”

We started out in tow with what I thought would be an event less final paddle into the mangroves, (swamp). Everything was going OK, if you call a downpour in the dark without windshield wipers on my glasses OK, when about 100 yards into the mangroves,(swamp) the guide says we have to pull over to the side to allow a motor boat to go through. I immediately said to myself and Karan, “ Are you f***ing kidding me?! We f***ing could have taken a f***ing boat?” To which she says “I didn’t know!” At this point I thanked her profusely for doing such extensive research on this excursion. But then I realized she probably thought that a nearly 60 yr. old obese asthmatic trooper like myself could handle a mere 1.6 mile paddle through a swamp, excuse me... mangrove.

Well on with the story. Yes there’s more. We pull over into the tree line to allow the boat to go through. While we are getting gouged by dead tree limbs I decide to straighten the the kayak out so when we depart we will be heading in the correct direction. As I am leaning to my left to paddle, Karan is trying to keep the limbs off her head. At this point the guide tells Karan to lean, so she promptly does lean to her left causing the craft to flip over into what they told us was suppose to be 3’ of water. It turned out to be about 8’ deep slimy nasty salt water in which I lost my glasses and wallet. Since they don’t carry flashlights as it would detract from the wondrous sea creatures, A cursory search for my wallet containing my only ID to board the plane and a newly-ATM-acquired $200.00 in cash was not performed. But I probably couldn’t see it any way since I lost my glasses.

After spraining my left wrist hauling my fat, slimy body into the uprighted kayak I was asked if I would like to continue on the trek. Well you can imagine what my response was. It was not pretty. And I am just now starting to talk to Karan again.

Love you, Captain Butch

Ginger here again...I do know that he got home because sis scavenged around and found an old passport and faxed his picture. I can't wait to hear more about his adventure. His luck sounds a lot like mine has been recently. :)

Friday, December 14, 2007


Sharing, but scroll down beneath the picture...It's a scan and I couldn't crop it for some reason. Sorry.

I'd like you to meet Justin and his new sister Suncee Rea. These are children of my heart, mothered by someone who was almost my daughter-in-law. Because we love her so much, hubby and I consider her our 'adopted' daughter, so I guess these are are 'adopted' grandkids. I just got pictures today and I wanted to share. I told mommy, Tabatha, that I wanted a girl for my brithday, and she tried really hard. My birthday was November 12 and Suncee Rea was born on the14th. Dang, she should have pushed sooner. *lol*

Justin is four going on 44. To prove that, I want to share the story his mom told me:
Justin needed a haircut, so his mom took him to one of those inexpensive, quick in and out places. She asked for a trim, but in the end, she described his appearance as a child going through chemo. Mother and son were both upset. Justin, who is very opinionated and comes up with things his mother can't believe, looked in the mirror and said, "I look like a jerk." Tabatha, having just had the baby and being very hormonal, started to cry because she felt so bad for Justin. He got down from the chair, patted his mom's hand and said. "Don't cry, Mom. We'll show these bitches. We just won't come back here anymore." Tabatha almost fainted. She's been very careful with her language around him and swears that is not a word she uses. I'll bet they won't go back there again. *lol*

Wednesday, December 12, 2007

Introducing, Tabitha Shay

I'd like to welcome Tabby to my site. Now that you know a little about her, I've asked her a few questions to help you know just a little bit more:

GS - If you could become a witch for one day, like your character, what changes would you make in your life?

TS - Ooo, that's a toughie. My life has been blessed with a wonderful husband and great kids, so I think I'd give myself the ability to write the best story ever and it it become a best seller. Laughs.

GS - What is the best time of day for you to write and how do you organize your promotional schedule around it?

TS - There is no best time for me to write, but I like to have peace and quiet when I'm writing so I try to choose those moments or hours. I promote when the opportunity comes my way no matter what else I'm doing or where I'm at, I stop and promote. Heck, last night I was chatting on the phone with my hubby's niece and I took the phone and promoted, hopefully I made a sell....giggles.

- As an e-published writer, it's inevitable that you will one day face someone who intimates that you have not truly achieved a milestone in your career--that e-publishing is not a major accomplishment. What would you say to this person to convince them otherwise?

- Ho, I beg to differ. It's a Big accomplishment. E-published authors go through the same routine the other author goes through, we have to query, sub a synopsis and three chapters, wait to be rejected or accepted and pray like mad for a positive reply. There's nothing easy about it and I consider myself lucky to be an E-published author, plus I fully believe it's the "Biggie" for tomorrow in the world of publishing. This is the age of electronics and things, they are a changing.

Thanks for such great answers, Tabitha. If our visitors have anymore questions, they can ask them in comments. Also, please feel free to visit Tabitha's site at:

Tabitha Shay

Tabs next visit is at Sloane Taylor's blog at Sloane Taylor's Myspace

Thanks to everyone for visiting.

Tuesday, December 11, 2007

Welcome Tabitha

It's very early and Tabitha is probably still sleeping or up pounding her keyboard to finish edits on her upcoming release, but I wanted to set the stage by sharing a little bit about her. I took the liberty of highjacking this from her website:

Tabitha Shay spent fourteen years in nursing until a near fatal accident changed her life and sent her back to her first love; writing romances. She has spent more than thirty years writing novels and spinning tales for her family's entertainment. For three years, she's been a member of the Oklahoma Writer's Federation, Inc. Tabitha has served as Chairperson for two of those three years. Her first novel, "Witch's Brew" won Second Honorable Mention in 2006 at the OWFI Convention and "Witch's Heart" took First Place in 2007.

She is hard at work on the twelve-book series of the Winslow Witches of Salem and promises many surprises along the way, more romance and of course, more trouble for her witches. Tabitha lives at the foot of the world's highest hill in Poteau, Oklahoma with her husband and two dogs, a poodle named Snuggles and a shi'tzu named Buttons who is the spoiled baby of the family.

I'll be back in the morning to interview Tabby for you. See you then.


Monday, December 10, 2007


I'm the third stop on Tabitha Shay's Blog tour. Join us and find out what makes this creative mind tick. See you on Wednesday, December 12th.


Peace, Love and Friendship - NOT

I would like to explain the nasty posts that are appearing on my blog. They are related to a video trailer that I completed for a book, Of Atlantis. I was hired by a third party (publisher) to review a blurb and create a trailer, which is exactly what I did. I've never met the author and know nothing about the publishing of the work. That's not my call. These facts seem too complex for the minds of the people engaging in this vendetta. How they think that attacking me is going to resolve anything about the book is beyond my comprehension.

Evidently they're angered by the publishing of the aforementioned book for reasons unknown to me, other than they feel it duplicates a previous work. That's not my responsibility, nor can I take back what I've sold to someone. The publisher has informed me and also posted on youtube that they invested $500 to assure this work was not plagiarized. Since they have a legal investment, I can only assure they are being truthful. Still, I've become subjected to cruel and hurtful remarks, both here and on my youtube account. They are not only attacking the video for Of Atlantis, they are leaving negative and nasty comments on my other work.

Since these cowards cannot quell their anger at their intended target, they choose to hurl unfounded attacks at me. I could delete the remarks, but I prefer to leave them to show you how small-minded and mean-spirited people can be, even at a time of the year when we are supposed to be reminded of friendship, love and peace.

All I can say in closing, is that I hope your positive remarks will overcome the negativity, and that if I were looking for fans of my work, these are not people I would want in my camp under any conditions.

I've explained my position to them for the last time and suggested they pursue appropriate avenues, but I guess it's easier for them to vent on my dime. What they expect to achieve, I'm not entirely sure.


Sunday, December 9, 2007


Make a Joyful Noise

Anne Collins curled up in her over-stuffed easy chair and glanced at the daily newspaper. The glass of wine on the end table reflected the crackling fire beyond the hearth. Her workday had prompted her to fill a much larger goblet than normal. If one more person mentioned having a ‘Merry Christmas’, she thought for certain she’d lose control. This year, the yuletide held no reason to celebrate. Her husband, Daniel, lay in the hospital, hanging by a thread, and being festive rated last on her ‘to do’ list.

Warmth spread throughout the room as the logs on the grate crackled and popped, chasing away the chill brought on by frigid temperatures and two feet of snow outside. Anne grew comfortable and tossed the paper aside. She picked up her white zinfandel and sipped it while reflecting on past holidays.

She always considered her life was full and blessed…until the diagnosis. Daniel never smoked a day in his life. How did he end up with throat cancer? Surely there were plenty of murderers or child molesters God could punish. Why her husband? He was the epitome of everything good.

Tears trickled down her cheeks, and she took a tissue from a nearby box and blotted the moisture from her face. Hell couldn’t be any worse than watching Daniel waste away, suffering with every breath. The radiation and chemotherapy burned his throat and made it impossible for him to speak. She hadn’t seen his smile for weeks.

This was the first time in their married life that she’d picked out and put up a Christmas tree without him. The anger festering inside made her want to rip it down, burn the gifts, and rant at the Lord for the unfairness, but…

A blast of cold air blew into the room as the door opened. “Hey, Mom, sorry, I’m late, but I stayed after school to finish up a science project.”

A smaller version of her mother, fourteen-year-old Casey slugged inside, stamping her feet on the rug in the foyer to clear the flakes from her boots. Peeling off her coat, she tackled the layer of sweaters beneath. “Boy, it is freezing out there.” She opened the hall closet and hung everything inside, then turned to her mother with an arched brow. “Do you realize it’s the second week of December and we’re the only house on the block without decorations outside?”

Anne took a sip of wine, hiding a grimace. “I know, dear. I just haven’t been in the mood this year.” She looked at her daughter and sighed. Casey was the only reason Anne hadn’t cracked under the stress.

Casey crossed the room and perched on the chair’s arm. “I can help put up the lights, Mom. All we need is a ladder. Dad left the little hooks up from last year.”

Anne shook her head. “We’ll do just fine without lights, Casey. Besides…” She stared into her lap.

“Dad’s going to get better and come home, so why are you acting like he’s gone?” Casey stood and pulled her lips into pout. “You know how much he enjoys the holidays.” Her chocolate eyes glistened in the firelight and her tone demanded an answer.

Anne rose, walked the mantle and picked up the filigreed picture frame. Looking upon Daniel’s smiling face sent pain stabbing at her heart. The photograph had been taken the year they went to Maui. Now, he barely resembled the man she saw. It’d been weeks since he’d even acknowledged her presence in the hospital room.

She put the photo back and turned to her daughter. “Casey, I just can’t muster up any Christmas spirit. Your dad isn’t doing very well and I don’t feel very festive.” She returned to her chair and downed the rest of her wine, hoping it would numb her worried mind.

Casey peered down at her. “I know if Dad was standing here, he’d be disappointed that you’ve lost faith. Why have we gone to church all these years if you can’t trust God to take care of things?” She spun and stomped out of the room.

Anne pondered the question. Why couldn’t she trust God? The answer was easy. He’d allowed Dan to get sick in the first place. She stood and wandered into the kitchen, her wine glass in hand. After pouring a re-fill, she gazed out the window over the sink at the drifts of snow in the backyard. The old tire swing Casey used to love still hung from a giant branch now devoid of leaves. The setting sun was lost behind a gray wintry haze, and everything looked frozen. While her mind questioned God’s motives, Anne watched until the last trace of daylight disappeared and darkness fell.

She picked up her wine and started to turn from the window, but a flash of light caught her eye. Too bright at first, it soon softened, and Anne blinked in disbelief.

The shimmering outline of an angel, dressed all in white, appeared just outside the glass. A glowing halo shone brightly above her head, and the assuring smile on her face sent a peaceful feeling coursing through Anne’s body.

The entity raised her arms, and as if by magic, an orb of light floated from her hands and rose into the heavens. Anne’s gaze followed the star’s trail as it climbed higher, illuminating the yard, the trees, the swing, and the old storage shed in the corner where Dan kept the gardening tools. Anne thought to call her daughter to witness the scene, but couldn’t find the voice to do it. She stood rooted to the spot, her eyes fixed on the wonder outside.

The heavenly creature floated a few feet above the ground and gestured toward the sky. The gray haze was gone and a canopy of stars twinkled above. One stood out above the rest, sending a blaze of light flashing to the ground. In the snowdrift just beyond the trees, Anne beheld another wonder. Unveiled one letter at a time, an invisible hand seemed to etch the glowing word ‘believe’ into the blanket of white. Anne gasped, trying to call out for Casey, but the image, along with the angel, vanished as quickly as they’d appeared. The stars still twinkled brightly overhead, but the yard turned dark again.

Casey sat in the desk in her room. Christmas music played softly on her radio, and she struggled to concentrate on her homework. She felt hopeless. How could she possibly focus on school when things at home were so depressing? She couldn’t bear to think of life without her dad, and it hurt that her mother had all but given up on his getting better.

With a sigh, Casey stood and walked to the bookshelf across the room. She searched the shelves until she found her Bible. She thumbed through the index, looking for verses pertaining to hope and found Proverbs 3:3-4. Turning to the passage, she read:

Let love and faithfulness never leave you; bind them around your neck, write them on the tablet of your heart. Then you will win favor and a good name in the sight of God and man.

She’d barely finished when she heard a strange noise coming from downstairs—a heavy thumping sound. She put her bible back in its place and tilted her ear to listen. She heard it again. Casey opened her door and the sound became louder. “Mom, what is that,” she called out.

When her mother didn’t answer, Casey went to investigate. The noise had stopped but she couldn’t find her mom. She walked through the entire house to find it empty. A half-filled wine glass sat near her mother’s chair, but no sight of her mom.

The thumping began again. Close and right outside. The porch light cast a strange-looking shadow on the front window. Casey grasped the knob and opened the door just a crack. She saw a ladder and a pair of legs from the knees down—her mother’s legs.

“Mom, what are you doing up there?” Casey walked to the edge of the porch and peered up.

Her mother, bundled against the weather, hammered at the wooden eave. “I’m putting up Christmas lights. Some of the hooks are loose and I’m tightening them. How about if you get a coat on and check the bulbs in the next strand while I finish hanging these.”

“But… I thought…” Forgetting the cold, Casey picked up a coiled cord and began unraveling it.

“I know, I know. I lost faith for a while, but for some strange reason, I’ve found it again. I have a strong feeling that Dad is coming home and we need to be ready.”

Casey smiled up at her mother. “Let me get my coat and I’ll be right back. Tomorrow we can put up the manger scene in the yard.”

“Good idea.” Anne went back to pounding.

Casey paused for a moment and looked to heaven. Her mind wandered to her last week's Sunday School lesson. Make A Joyful Noise Unto the Lord - Psalm 100. "Who would've thought hammering could qualify?" she muttered, feeling a sense of peace for the first time in weeks.

Saturday, December 8, 2007

Only 16 days until Christmas

Merry Christmas
More Free Graphics at

Just feeling a little holiday-ish and thought I would send you something cheery. It's been dark and drizzly here in TN all day. Makes me wish I had a fireplace to snuggle up next to.

I just wanted to remind everyone that Virginia's Miracle is available at Eternal Press for a quick and cheery holiday read. It's guaranteed to get you in the mood, or my name isn't Fred Flintstone. :) I just wish I could get my family to read it and let all the petty crap go. Life is too short to hold on to anger. :)

Thursday, December 6, 2007


As promised, here's my latest creation for Phyllis Campbell's upcoming December release. I so love doing these.

Biting My Nails

I know her... even met her in person, but it's hard not to be in awe of someone who has achieved the status in life that you seek. A few years back, I had the privilege of meeting Harlequin Author, Cheryl St. John, at a Romantic Times Conference. It was my first venture into the world of authors, having just become a new one myself. Of course, I was internet published, which some people still view with a critical eye, but Cheryl made me feel welcome, equal and I loved her bubbly personality. Meeting her was a highpoint of the conference.

She sent me an email the other day and said she enjoyed my Embezzled Love video trailer and hoped to read the book. I kiddingly offered to send her a pre-edited word copy and she accepted. If she likes it, she's going to write something for inclusion at the beginning of the printed copy. I'm so excited, yet nervous to have such an accomplished person (over 30 books out)read my work. I don't think I was this nervous when I sent my debut novel to Romantic Times for review. I got a four-star one from them so I'm hoping Cheryl enjoys what she reads. This one isn't a run-of-the-mill romance. It's a fictional story based on what really happened to my sister, and it was difficult to write because I saw her live the nightmare. I'm very fortunate that Lachesis Publishing believes in letting someone write outside the box.

I urge you to check out Cheryl's blog. The link is under my favorites here. Right now she's doing the Great Christmas Tree Tour of 2007 and you'll get a good laugh when you see my bargain basement attempt at the Christmas spirit among all the gorgeous ones posted. Hey...what can I say, I live in one room and there isn't much space. My ornaments have disappeared over the years and the ones I have left are broken. My poor little reindeer are all missing one or both of their antlers, and mice in the attic gnawed through my stocking. tree still looks slightly better than Charlie Brown's. :)

Now I'm going back to work on my next video trailer. I'll post it when I'm done. It's another exciting release by author, Phyllis Campbell. Stay tuned.

Wednesday, December 5, 2007

CRABBY OLD MAN - Sharing a Poem

I was really touched by this poem and felt the need to share it. I've been thinking a lot about my own age recently, and having a hard time believing that I just turned 62. In my mind, I'm not anywhere close but my body is saying otherwise. This reminded me so much of my grandfather who passed years ago from Alzheimer's...alone, in a rest home. We only pray that he realized that we loved him, visited, and mourned his passing. I'm going to try hard to see the person behind the mask that nature slaps on us. :)

The Crabby Old Man

When an old man died in the geriatric ward of a small hospital near Tampa,
Florida, it was believed that he had nothing left of any value.
Later, when the nurses were going through his meager possessions, They
found this poem. Its quality and content so impressed the staff that
copies were made and distributed to every nurse in the hospital.

One nurse took her copy to Missouri. The old man's sole bequest to
posterity has since appeared in the Christmas edition of the News Magazine
of the St. Louis Association for Mental Health. A slide presentation has
also been made based on his simple, but eloquent, poem.

Crabby Old Man

What do you see nurses? ....What do you see?
What are you thinking......when you're looking at me?
A crabby old man,.....not very wise,
Uncertain of habit ........with faraway eyes?

Who dribbles his food.......and makes no reply.
When you say in a loud voice ....."I do wish you'd try!"
Who seems not to notice ....the things that you do.
And forever is losing .............. A sock or shoe?

Who, resisting or not...........lets you do as you will,
With bathing and feeding ..... The long day to fill?
Is that what you're thinking?.......Is that what you see?
Then open your eyes,'re not looking at me.

I'll tell you who I am .......... As I sit here so still,
As I do at your bidding, I eat at your will.
I'm a small child of Ten.......with a father and mother,
Brothers and sisters ........who love one another

A young boy of Sixteen ....with wings on his feet
Dreaming that soon now..........a lover he'll meet.
A groom soon at Twenty heart gives a leap.
Remembering, the vows........that I promised to keep.

At Twenty-Five, now .......... I have young of my own.
Who need me to guide ....And a secure happy home.
A man of Thirty .......... My young now grown fast,
Bound to each other ....... With ties that should last.

At Forty, my young sons ...have grown and are gone,
But my woman's beside see I don't mourn.
At Fifty, once more, ......... Babies play 'round my knee,
Again, we know children ....... My loved one and me.

Dark days are upon me ...... My wife is now dead.
I look at the future ............I shudder with dread.
For my young are all rearing......young of their own.
And I think of the years...... And the love that I've known.

I'm now an old man........and nature is cruel.
'Tis jest to make old age ........look like a fool.
The body, it crumbles..........grace and vigor, depart.
There is now a stone........where I once had a heart.

But inside this old carcass ..... A young guy still dwells,
And now and again battered heart swells.
I remember the joys.............. I remember the pain.
And I'm loving and over again.

I think of the years ..all too few......gone too fast.
And accept the stark fact........that nothing can last.
So open your eyes, people and see..
Not a crabby old man.....Look closer....see........ME!!

Remember this poem when you next meet an older person who you might brush
aside without looking at the young soul within.....we will all, one day,
be there, too!

The best and most beautiful things of this world can't be seen or touched.
They must be felt by the heart.

Tuesday, December 4, 2007

Is It Just Me?

Is it just me or do some of you wonder about weird things. For example, those of you who watch soap operas... On All My Children, Zach and Greenlee are trapped in an old bomb shelter. They were walking in the forest and fell through the roof. They've been there for days. There was mention that it was stocked with plenty of food, water, a flashlight (yeah, batteries don't corrode after thirty years), and a first-aid kit. Of course the bandaids were a lifesaver since Zach had just been hit by a car and was suffering major injuries. *lol*

For those of you who don't know the characters, Zach and Greenlee hate each other. She, a five-foot tall, petite-framed woman, was supporting this six-foot, hulking guy through a wooded area, to leave him on the doorstep of a cabin she saw in the distance. That's when they suffered the fall, and she hurt her leg. Of course, her limp has mysteriously disappeared. It's your typical run-of-the-mill drama, he's delerious, kisses her because he believes her to be his wife, recovers, throws hateful barbs at her, she pouts, sews up the gash on his forehead... but they never go to the bathroom!!!

Okay. So they're stuck in a 9 x 12 room, shelves on the walls, old mattresses on the floor, but neither one of them has had to pee or poop. These are the stupid things I wonder about. Do you?

I guess the writers COULDN'T very well add this dialogue:

Greenlee: "Boy, I feel like I'm going to explode if I don't pee."

Zach: *scanning the room*. "Just go squat behind that stack of crates of there. I won't look. I promise."

Greenlee: *reluctant look on her face, but urgency showing as well. She walks across the room, unbuttoning her pants.* "Remember, you promised. Stay where you are." *She sinks behind the wooden veil.*

*You hear the sound of water splatting against the ground. It seems to go on forever*

Zach: "Boy, you weren't kidding. You did need to go.*

Greenlee: "Zach!"

*A few minutes later, Greenlee rises behind the boxes. "Boy, do I feel better." *She walks back to the mattress and sits.

*Zach sniffs the air, wrinkles his nose and curls in lips in distaste.* "What's that smell?"

*Greenlee lowers her head.* "I had to poop, too."

Zach: "Great! We already have no air and now I have to contend with that stench."

ROFL...Okay, I guess that would be really crass, but don't you just find yourself wondering about bodily functions at times. These days I can't finish my visit at Walmart without using the bathroom, so I know I couldn't spend days in a bomb shelter without facilities. I just thought I'd share my weirdness with you and see if I'm alone. :)

Monday, December 3, 2007

You're Invited

December 7th from 8:00 CST until we wear ourselves out, Eternal Press is hosting their launch of the December releases. Come read excerpts, meet and chat with the authors and perhaps even win a prize or two.

Here's the link:
Eternal Press Reader's Loop

Hope to see you there.


Saturday, December 1, 2007

You've Been Elfed

Life is all about BUTTS
you're either covering it,
laughing it off,
kicking it,
kissing it,
busting it,
or behaving like one .....
Pass this on to as many people as possible, but you can't send it back to the person who sent it to you. This person was Elfed by someone else.

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