Tuesday/Wednesday???

Before I begin my Tuesday blog on Wednesday, I first want to thank the "passel" of talented authors who filled my entire February slate. I enjoyed the varied genres, shared stories, and romantic advice, and I hope you did, too. So, my hat (if I wore one) is off to all who signed up to be my guests to celebrate February's Love Fest.

With that said, I'd like to also extend my deepest appreciation to Love Romances Cafe for nominating Sparta Rose for the "Best 2009 Historical," and to those of you who believed in my work enough to vote and make me a winner. That's a feeling...sort of like giving birth, that you can't describe unless you've experienced it.

As I wrote before in a post to ask people to consider my book for their nod, I was knee-deep in Olympian fever. I couldn't help comparing what the athletes went through to what I experienced during the voting period and the announcement of the winner.

I wanted to win the "gold"...stand on the podium and be recognized for something I've worked hard to finish. I realized my competition was keen, and for a while, I tasted defeat because of all I'd been through with this book. BUT...that one reviewer who GOT my story, and all the readers who voted, made my dream a reality. I achieved a taste of victory and I loved it.

Okay...now that I've been an adult, accepted my honor and thanked those who bestowed it on me...there's just one more thing I HAVE to do. *Turning towards those who made my life hell over this book* and you know who you are.


*lol* The devil made me do it, and http://www.clipart.com gave me the perfect image.

OH!!! I almost forgot. In honor of my "Win", I'll be drawing two names from those who comment and awarding free PDF copies of Sparta Rose. :)

Welcome Back, Lisabet Sarai

The True Test of Love
By Lisabet Sarai

As authors of romance, we know that every love must be tested. When our hero and heroine fall for one another, we can't let them have it too easy. There needs to be some challenge, some obstacle to their perfect connection. It might be an evil ex hanging around, trying to lure the heroine back into his arms. It might be a near-fatal disease, or a plane crash, or an attack by hostile natives. Or the conflict might be internal, the characters fighting demons from their own pasts, trying to surmount the barriers to trust.

Readers know that, whatever the nature of their trials and tribulations, the protagonists will eventually pass the test and receive their reward: each other. That's the comforting aspect of romance. In the real world, though, things are a bit more iffy. We face the same sorts of trials, but there's no guarantee that our love will survive them.

To help Ginger celebrate Valentine's Day, I thought I'd share my experiences with what might be the ultimate test of a relationship. I've been married for nearly 28 years. They've been happy and fulfilling years, but practically every day my husband and I deal with a uniquely difficult challenge.

It's not, thank heaven, a health challenge. It's not the specter of the numerous other relationships we both enjoyed prior to our marriage. It's not a natural disaster. No, it's far more extreme...

My husband and I work together.

We're both software engineers. We share an office. We have a software product that we've developed and we also act as consultants for other companies. We are together almost twenty four hours a day, working as well as playing. And we don't always see things the same way.

He's the inspired one, the one who has flashes of insight and who likes to experiment. Hardly a day goes by that he doesn't propose some new project that just might make us rich. I'm the disciplined one, who prefers to plan, to limit the risks, to keep things simple and stick to the familiar. I like to think that I'm the practical one, though that's probably not fair.

He's a multi-tasker, keeping twenty windows simultaneously open on his monitor. I'm lucky if I can keep track of two. At the same time, he's very sensitive to being interrupted. If I ask him a question while he's thinking, he'll growl and complain about my bothering him. Yet he thinks nothing of querying me about some entry in the checkbook when I'm deeply involved in debugging some software routine. Fortunately I don't find that nearly as disruptive as he would.

Other couples argue about money or sex or who left the toilet seat up. We argue about programming languages, software architecture and new technologies. We do a lot of design work together, and our sessions can get pretty heated―each of us completely convinced that our way is best.

Sometimes things get out of hand. He will accuse me of being patronizing or of not listening. I might feel the same way about him. Once in a very great while, one of us may even stomp off in a huff.

Fortunately, we have managed to survive this test. When things get tense, I remind myself how smart he is and how much I respect him―even when I don't agree with him at all. The fact is, our disparate approaches produce better results than either of us could create alone. We balance and complement each other. Our work, at its best, incorporates our individual strengths while limiting the impact of our weaknesses.

We almost always find our way past the areas of disagreement. The key, sometimes, is to deliberately adopt the other person's point of view. And to listen. We're both passionate about our work. When I feel that I have a solution, it's easy to become blind to other options. So I force myself to ask him questions, to get him to explain his position, and then to evaluate it objectively.

We've had colleagues tell us that we should write a book about “our secret”. “How do you manage it? My wife and I would tear each other to shreds if we had to work together,” they say. We smile and pretend that it's easy. But of course it's not.

The bottom line is that both of us view our relationship as more important than any bone of contention. Spirited disagreement is fine, but when we feel ourselves stepping over the line, saying things that might damage that relationship, we almost always recognize this and pull back.

It's the true test of love, but so far we've passed with flying colors. This Valentine's I'm celebrating the fact that my lover and husband is also my valued colleague and collaborator.

Note from Ginger: I always love when Lisabet visits. I learn something from her every time. I'm just now reading one of her "very erotic" offerings, Fire: Short Stories, and despite my prudish self, I'm discovering her stories have a deeper meaning beyond the steam and passion. She certainly titled this collection aptly.

LISABET SARAI has been writing, editing and publishing erotica since 1999 and has six novels, two short story collections, and three anthologies to her credit. Her stories have appeared in more than two dozen print collections. Recently she ventured into epublishing erotic romance with Total-E-Bound, Eternal Press and Phaze. Lisabet also reviews erotica for the Erotica Readers and Writers Association and Erotica Revealed. Visit her website at http://www.lisabetsarai.com.

Writing Rules Begone!

ARGHHHH! Rules, schmules. I'm so sick of trying to figure out what's right and what's wrong in writing fiction. You know, you can carry this rule thing too far and totally change your voice and writing style. What's even worse is when you belong to a critique group and constantly get conflicting opinions. Who do you trust?

Actually, I trust everyone. Each person has an individual talent and style, and perhaps write in a way totally different than mine. Isn't that what we want? Variety is the spice of life, so I've been told, but when it comes to mainstream or finding an agent, it almost seems like we're expected to fit our stories into the same confining box as all the rest of the authors.

I've been a "serious writer" since 2001, and almost weekly, I feel like someone throws a new rule into the mix. Now, I'm supposed to limit the times I use "it". Rather than making the reader guess what "it" is, use a hard noun. Okay...I see the logic, but there are just some instances where "it" works.

And of course, the "was" is passive rule. Try to eliminate using it as much as possible, and definitely not with a gerund. Well, I like gerunds and I refuse to eliminate them. I will minimize using "was" if I can think of something else, but I'm not going to burn brains cells over something so trivial. (I lied...can you smell the smoke?) I was so paranoid over passive voice after one editing session, that I changed anything that sounded the least bit passive, and the writing became so stilted and stiff, the story sounded ridiculous. We have to leave room for author style. And do readers really count how many it and was instances are in each chapter? I doubt it.

Not to knock those who write medical romance, but a few years back, I reviewed HQ Medical Romance for one site, and the books eventually became so predicable, I felt as though I was playing "insert a new name here and locale here." You can't blame the authors. They have forced to follow guidelines of what ALL readers supposedly want.

Hey, I may write, but I read too, and I'm tired of the same "cake-mix" plots. Add a new character and stir the pot. You can add a few more nuts or some food coloring, but you still come out with a cake.

While Santa is making a list and checking it twice for naughty or nice kids, I'm trying to fit more more rule into the continuing roster of do and don't do in my head. I need a shoehorn.

How about sharing some rules here that have you confused.

Two Choices

What would you do?....you make the choice. Don't look for a punch line, there isn't one. Read it anyway. My question is: Would you have made the same choice?

At a fundraising dinner for a school that serves children with learning disabilities, the father of one of the students delivered a speech that would never be forgotten by all who attended. After extolling the school and its dedicated staff, he offered a question:

'When not interfered with by outside influences, everything nature does, is done with perfection.

Yet my son, Shay, cannot learn things as other children do. He cannot understand things as other children do.

Where is the natural order of things in my son?'

The audience was stilled by the query.

The father continued. 'I believe that when a child like Shay, who was mentally and physically disabled comes into the world, an opportunity to realize true human nature presents itself, and it comes in the way other people treat that child.'

Then he told the following story:

Shay and I had walked past a park where some boys Shay knew were playing baseball. Shay asked, 'Do you think they'll let me play?' I knew that most of the boys would not want someone like Shay on their team, but as a father I also understood that if my son were allowed to play, it would give him a much-needed sense of belonging and some confidence to be accepted by others in spite of his handicaps.

I approached one of the boys on the field and asked (not expecting much) if Shay could play. The boy looked around for guidance and said, 'We're losing by six runs and the game is in the eighth inning. I guess he can be on our team and we'll try to put him in to bat in the ninth inning.'

Shay struggled over to the team's bench and, with a broad smile, put on a team shirt. I watched with a small tear in my eye and warmth in my heart.. The boys saw my joy at my son being accepted.

In the bottom of the eighth inning, Shay's team scored a few runs but was still behind by three.

In the top of the ninth inning, Shay put on a glove and played in the right field. Even though no hits came his way, he was obviously ecstatic just to be in the game and on the field, grinning from ear to ear as I waved to him from the stands.

In the bottom of the ninth inning, Shay's team scored again.

Now, with two outs and the bases loaded, the potential winning run was on base and Shay was scheduled to be next at bat.

At this juncture, do they let Shay bat and give away their chance to win the game?

Surprisingly, Shay was given the bat. Everyone knew that a hit was all but impossible because Shay didn't even know how to hold the bat properly, much less connect with the ball.

However, as Shay stepped up to the plate, the pitcher, recognizing that the other team was putting winning aside for this moment in Shay's life, moved in a few steps to lob the ball in softly so Shay could at least make contact.

The first pitch came and Shay swung clumsily and missed.

The pitcher again took a few steps forward to toss the ball softly towards Shay.

As the pitch came in, Shay swung at the ball and hit a slow ground ball right back to the pitcher.

The game would now be over.

The pitcher picked up the soft grounder and could have easily thrown the ball to the first baseman.

Shay would have been out and that would have been the end of the game.

Instead, the pitcher threw the ball right over the first baseman's head, out of reach of all team mates.

Everyone from the stands and both teams started yelling, 'Shay, run to first!

Run to first!'

Never in his life had Shay ever run that far, but he made it to first base.

He scampered down the baseline, wide-eyed and startled.

Everyone yelled, 'Run to second, run to second!'

Catching his breath, Shay awkwardly ran towards second, gleaming and struggling to make it to the base.

B y the time Shay rounded towards second base, the right fielder had the ball . the smallest guy on their team who now had his first chance to be the hero for his team.

He could have thrown the ball to the second-baseman for the tag, but he understood the pitcher's intentions so he, too, intentionally threw the ball high and far over the third-baseman's head.

Shay ran toward third base deliriously as the runners ahead of him circled the bases toward home.

All were screaming, 'Shay, Shay, Shay, all the Way Shay.'

Shay reached third base because the opposing shortstop ran to help him by turning him in the direction of third base, and shouted, 'Run to third!

Shay, run to third!'

As Shay rounded third, the boys from both teams, and the spectators, were on their feet screaming, 'Shay, run home! Run home!'

Shay ran to home, stepped on the plate, and was cheered as the hero who hit the grand slam and won the game for his team.

'That day', said the father softly with tears now rolling down his face, 'the boys from both teams helped bring a piece of true love and humanity into this world'.

Shay didn't make it to another summer. He died that winter, having never forgotten being the hero and making me so happy, and coming home and seeing his Mother tearfully embrace her little hero of the day!

NOTE FROM Ginger: As an author, I respect this piece as a good work of fiction. I would love nothing more than to believe this wonderful act of kindness and grace actually happened, but I live in the real world and children learn from their parents, and parents bicker over everything from parking places to shopping carts. I've been out shopping, at a time of the year when "Peace on Earth and Goodwill Towards Men" is supposed to have special meaning, but it doesn't. Christmas seems to bring out the worst in us...something we need to work on. But, I'm posting this today, partly because of what follows, but with the hope this post might inspire us all to think twice and "pay it forward" by setting a better example for our children and grandkids.

AND NOW A LITTLE FOOT NOTE TO THIS STORY:

We all send thousands of jokes through the e-mail without a second thought, but when it comes to sending messages about life choices, people hesitate.

The crude, vulgar, and often obscene pass freely through cyberspace, but public discussion about decency is too often suppressed in our schools and workplaces.

If you're thinking about forwarding this message, chances are that you're probably sorting out the people in your address book who aren't the 'appropriate' ones to receive this type of message Well, the person who sent you this believes that we all can make a difference.

We all have thousands of opportunities every single day to help realize the 'natural order of things.'

So many seemingly trivial interactions between two people present us with a choice:

Do we pass along a little spark of love and humanity or do we pass up those opportunities and leave the world a little bit colder in the process?

A wise man once said every society is judged by how it treats it's least fortunate amongst them.

You now have two choices:

1. Forget you read this.

2. Share the url with your friends.

A Piece of Art Not To Miss

This video shows the winner of "Ukraines Got Talent", Kseniya Simonova, 24, drawing a series of pictures on an illuminated sand table showing how ordinary people were affected by the German invasion during World War II. Her talent, which admittedly is a strange one, is mesmeric to watch.

The images, projected onto a large screen, moved many in the audience to tears and she won the top prize of about £75,000.

She begins by creating a scene showing a couple sitting holding hands on a bench under a starry sky, but then warplanes appear and the happy scene is obliterated.

It is replaced by a womans face crying, but then a baby arrives and the woman smiles again. Once again war returns and Miss Simonova throws the sand into chaos from which a young womans face appears.

She quickly becomes an old widow, her face wrinkled and sad, before the image turns into a monument to an Unknown Soldier.

This outdoor scene becomes framed by a window as if the viewer is looking out on the monument from within a house..

In the final scene, a mother and child appear inside and a man standing outside, with his hands pressed against the glass, saying goodbye.

The Great Patriotic War, as it is called in Ukraine, resulted in one in four of the population being killed with eight to 11 million deaths out of a population of 42 million.

Kseniya Simonova says:
"I find it difficult enough to create art using paper and pencils or paintbrushes, but using sand and fingers is beyond me. The art, especially when the war is used as the subject matter, even brings some audience members to tears. And theres surely no bigger compliment."

Please take time out to see this amazing piece of art.

Welcome, Gregory Taylor

Note from Ging: I apologize for the confusion. Kelly A. Harmon was scheduled for today, but I've moved her up in the slot. She and I had shared miscommunications and I almost missed out on her fine post.

Anyhow...today I'm featuring a would-be author. I recently had the good fortune to meet a man named Greg Taylor, when he petitioned to join my author's loop. Greg is interested in writing, and clearly has the talent. In exchanging the normal welcomes, etc., I discovered Greg is homeless and lives in a shelter at the moment. He has shared openly all the events that led him to this stage of his life, so I asked his permission to share the following with you. I was touched beyond words when I read it.

As we leave behind Thanksgiving and progress toward Christmas, I think his post is the most fitting of all to conclude a month of Thankfulness and enhance in our memories that life is more than material things, and we have blessing we often forget to count. My appreciation to Greg for allowing me to post the following:

Before this day of Thanksgiving cometh to an end, allow me to express my thanks for that which I've been blessed . . . . .

My life within the very definition of vagrancy affords me a whole new appreciation for my circumstances.

One revels in a few rays of direct sunlight when the temperature is a notch or two above freezing, and you are fated to be out in the elements. A tall, wide building is a blessing for the windbreak it gives. And when frozen fingers struggle to hold pen to paper, the value of gloves cannot be overstated. Even a blank sheet of paper can be priceless when demand is there to document one's life.

Finding a public clock when one lacks a watch is a serious gain when one must be on time to a soup kitchen or go hungry. The resounding peal of a cathedral's carillon provides a warming rendition of familiar hymns of yore. And thank You for a day that is clear, that I am not chilled to the bone by a soaking rain.
I thank you, God, for a brain that is active and intelligent. Thank you Lord for my not being physically handicapped, or having dire health issues like cancer. I celebrate living in a city where I can sleep upon the pavement without fearing molestation or assault.

Lastly, I appreciate those things I do not have. Thank You for my not having a drug habit, nor an alcohol dependency, as do so many of my circumstance, as they seek escape in false releases. Thanks be above for my not being incarcerated, as freedom is so very priceless. And thank You for my being free from the stressers of divorce, the grief over a lost loved one, or other such like.

I have so very much, even now when I have so very little. Above all, I have you, my Lord, as my constant companion, as I journey through these dire times. For this, I am truly blessed.

Gregory Taylor via post by shared computer in Homeless Shelter, USA.

Welcome, Kelly A. Harmon

Thank You, To Those Who've Gone Before

Among the many hats I wear is "Family Genealogist." For many people, this means collecting names and dates and seeing how far back they can trace the family line.

But, I'm a story teller, too. And for me, genealogy isn't just about the names and dates, it's about the people, and their stories.

For instance, it's a fine thing to know my great-grandad on my father's side was mechanically inclined. Is that where my father get's his ability? I could leave it there, but it doesn't really tell me much about the man.

I have a newspaper clipping from 1937 where in it he refused to accept a million dollars for a machine that he built. In 1937. Was he crazy? If he had invested it, do you know the kind of life
I'd be leading now?

Let's just say I'd probably be able to write full time without the added benefit of a full-time job.

(And yes, I think he qualified as crazy: he spent time in Leavenworth Penitentiary for "moonshining," after being told the revenuers were traveling door-to-door in the neighborhood. He offered those suited fellers "...one fine distillation..." and they cuffed him and took him away for his hospitality.)

Old Mirt may not seem like much of a family to be thankful for, but he was good looking, from what I can tell from the newspaper photo, and that's got to be something to feel good about. Any woman will tell you that good genes are always something to be thankful for. His life was another: you can bet bits and pieces of it show up in my writing from time to time.

My great-great grandmother came over on the boat to Baltimore from Russian-Poland in the late 1800s. She nursed hundreds of people in the great flue epidemic in 1918 (called "The Blue Death) before succumbing herself. Her selfless devotion enabled others in my family as well as perfect strangers-- to pull through. She was barely forty.

Every generation of my family has members who joined the military, and it's them I thank most of all. I wish I knew why they joined. Was it a spirit of patriotism? For those whose parents came over on the boat...did they feel a need to prove they were Americans by enlisting? I don't know...but every son in my grandmother's family joined up. My great-uncles were Army and Navy men. My maternal grandad was a Navy man. My paternal grandfather, along with his two
brothers, enlisted in the Army.

Oh, the stories! From a writer's point of view, I've hit the mother lode.

Let me tell you the one where Uncle Walter arrived back in the states on Christmas Eve...with a donkey...and brought it home to his sister in Baltimore City. Grandpa traveled around the world
with my Mom's baby shoes in his pocket.

I'm also thankful for their service: not just because they kept this nation strong and safe, but because they did a job I didn't have to.

Maybe that's why they joined: to provide a better life for their families. After all, they had already left one country for a better life in another. Maybe it was all part of their plan.

And so, I'm thankful. To them, and to all service men and women of today. Thank you for keeping me and mine safe.

Kelly A. Harmon
Blood Soup, Eternal Press


~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~


What They're Saying About Blood Soup:

This is a medieval tale about a kingdom destined for certain dire ruin if the King's heir isn't a girl. The characters in the story work together AND against each other as they secretly manipulate, scheme, hope, and react to the surprising birth of the King's heir.

Filled with murder, mystery, and very dire consequences, this is a fast paced Novella with vivid portrayal of events and characters, pulling you into this harsh world the author has created and no
doubt leaving her with new fans eagerly awaiting her next book.

My Biggest/Smallest Blessing

I assumed I had reached the heights in being blessed when God gave me two sons, but I can't describe the feeling of joy I experienced when I watched my grandson, Spencer, come into the world. I was the first to hold him and my love blossomed beyond words the minute I saw his face. It was like looking into his father's face so many years before, and that immediate bond that made my heart hurt surfaced anew.

Spencer looked normal, acted normal, and was a beautiful baby boy. I noticed from a very young age...even before he was a month old, when I held him tight in the rocking chair, he sang to me...a crooning little tune that tugged at my heart strings. Always a happy baby.

I don't recall when we noticed that he was delayed in his developmental milestones. He didn't roll over as early as he should have, which in turn delayed his sitting up, pulling to a stand, and everything beyond. It wasn't until WE approached his pediatrician and mentioned OUR concerns that he referred us somewhere.

After much playtime with home visitors who assessed Spencer, and testing at a major hospital, the diagnosis given was Global Developmental Delays NOS (Not otherwise specified)...a glorious name for an Autism that doesn't fit all the spectrum requirements. But no one tells you what you need to do, because they don't know. And sadly, the number of children diagnosed grows daily. Why aren't more people concerned?

Most children with severe Autism lock themselves away, but Spencer loves everyone. He stims...that crooning nose he started almost from birth, and flaps his hands when he's excited. He just turned seven, but he's much smaller than most of his classmates, and because of his delayed speech, harder to understand. He couldn't say "Grammy," so I became his "Nee Nee." Love it!

I've never met such a polite and thankful child. My children were never so well behaved, and I have no idea where he came by it. Certainly not from his parents. *lol* I'd been sick for a week and stayed away so as not to infect him, and when I picked up from school on Friday, he ran to me. "Nee, Nee, you're back. Are you better?" What a guy!

This year, we insisted that Spencer be mainstreamed. For the past two years he's been in a special education class with children who suffer more severe issues. These were his only role models, and he often came home with new habits that definitely weren't considered progressive. He's doing a great job in his first grade class, learning new things, numbers, letters, and coloring pictures which are almost within the lines.

To hear his voice, and be able to know what he needs, desires, or wants to share is a joy I cannot explain. Two years ago, he couldn't speak, and the frustration for both of us was unbearable. I had to point and guess. His only communication were hugs and the sign language the school taught him for "more." So not just this month, but because we're sharing what we are most thankful for, I present my grandson, Spencer. He is the light of my life and I learn something from him every day. It's because of him I want to stay healthy and stick around. I want to watch him walk across stage and get his High School Diploma with others, and never fear that someone will treat him as though he's different...even though he may always be. Thank you, God for blessing me with such a special gift.

Welcome, Andie Alexander

Happy memories…

When I think of being thankful, I like to look back on the funny things in life—the things that become family legends, whether we want them to be or not. I was the number four child out of five, so I was always a little out of the loop for family jokes that had happened before I was even born. Thus, my younger sister and I made our own, and some of them were doozies. For example, my father always wanted to be Mr. Helpful. So he told us both we had big noses and we needed nose jobs to get a man. No kidding. So my sister and I actually measured our noses…with yardsticks! (Our noses were about an inch long, and I bet right now, you’re measuring the length of your own nose with at least your thumb.)
We laughed so hard, tears poured down our cheeks.

Or I think of the time the two of us decided we were going to be news reporters. We sat down with an old tape recorder and started an ‘interview.’ My sister was the interviewer and I was the ‘guest.’ However, I wasn’t just any guest. I was Mr. ‘Not Sick’, who was sick all the time and talked with slow speech, making her ask me if I’d died throughout the whole interview. We still laugh about these things. She went on to work at a radio station where she interviewed people all the time and made hilarious mistakes on the radio—need I mention the time she had no script in front of her yet had to tell the weather? She stuck her head out the window and said, over the air, ‘It’s going to be cloudy today and I’d say the temperature is going to be 58’, making it all up as she went. Or when she couldn’t pronounce Chihuahua, and instead said, ‘chi-hu-a-hu-a-‘ over the air.

When I got married, my husband and I carried on the tradition of family jokes, whether we knew it at the time or not. We traveled to Colorado Springs, Colorado for our honeymoon. Think big mountains (the Rockies) and a nice town, seeming more like a suburb at the time. Now, I have a tendency to speak before thinking. We were driving along and I saw a mountain a few miles off in the distance. Silly me, I looked at the landscape beside the car, then off at the mountain, and still can’t believe what was uttered from my lips—‘Do you think that building is as high as that mountain?’ My husband just about slammed on the brakes and stared at me, wondering who—or what—he’d married. It’s still a running joke here, but at that instant, that exact thought ran through my mind. We have so many running jokes here, all we have to do is mention one word about the joke, and all of us break out in laughter, doubling over while trying not to have the tears pour down our cheeks.

The point is this: Be thankful for the fun times in your life. Remember the times that made you laugh so hard, milk shot out of your nose and you had problems not wetting yourself. Cherish the laughter and make new memories whenever you can. Life is short, but laughter makes it seem longer and fulfills each day.

Have a wonderful day, filled with laughter and new memories,

Andie Alexander

www.andiealexander.com

Note from Ginger: If you want a treat to some great upcoming titles, make sure and check out this page!

Welcome, Lisabet Sarai

Thank Heaven He's Stubborn

By Lisabet Sarai

The topic of gratitude is dear to my heart. I have been blessed in uncounted ways in my life. I have enjoyed the benefits of a loving and supportive family, an excellent education funded mostly by scholarships, generally good health, and work that is challenging, worthwhile and fun. I'm grateful for having had the opportunity to travel to a wide range of exotic places. I'm humbly thankful for whatever writing talent I have and for the persistence required to turn that talent into a semi-career.

When I think about it, though, what I am most thankful for is the fact that my husband didn't give up when I tried to brush him off.

Let me explain...

Romance is the realm of love at first sight, but when I met K., I tried to discourage his obvious interest. The last thing I needed was another man in my life. To start with, we lived 3000 miles away from each other. He lived on the east coast, where he was studying towards a PhD. Meanwhile, on the west coast, where I was working at my first job out of graduate school, I was juggling three different lovers.

I know that this may sound a bit shocking to some readers, but at the time I was exploring my sexual self and trying to figure out what I needed in a romantic relationship. I wasn't lying to anyone; each of the men I was seeing knew about the others. I was just having some difficulty deciding which if any of them was Mr. Right. In fact, I wasn't sure that I subscribed to the concept of one perfect mate.

Anyway, K. came up to me at a scientific conference on the east coast, where I had just made a presentation describing my research. He asked me some intelligent questions about my paper, but I could tell he was more interested in me as a woman than as a colleague. I liked him, but I was already reeling from the complications in my love life. I definitely didn't think I could handle yet another lover. I was polite but distant. K. joined me at the welcome cocktail party that evening. I pointedly ignored him, flirting instead with the cute British guy who was also part of the crowd.

K. did not give up. He invited me to lunch the following day. I accepted (hey, I had to eat) and found him to be articulate and unpretentious. He was quite a bit older than I and had led a fascinating, unconventional life. As I recall, we talked about relationships. What was most remarkable about our interactions was the level of comfort. I barely knew him, yet it seemed as though we had been friends a long time.

Still, I held back. He took the offensive. He was driving up to Boston (my home town) from the conference that afternoon. Would I like a ride? Certainly it was better than going by bus as I had planned. The three hour trip was filled with sexual tension. He was beginning to win me over.

He dropped me at my parents' house and asked if I wanted to have dinner that evening. Of course I agreed. We dined at a Burmese restaurant where he regaled me with tales of his travels in Europe and Asia. I urged him on, eager to hear more. Near the end of the meal, he looked me in the eye and said,
“You know, I'm looking for someone to travel with.” I was more or less hooked.

I flew back to California the next day. For the next six months we wrote and called each other. The other men in my life transformed themselves from lovers to friends. When I came home to Massachusetts for Christmas, it seemed completely natural that K. would return with me to the west coast to share my apartment. After the holidays, we set out together on a three week cross-country odyssey. We were still relative strangers, yet traveled together as if we had known each other for years.

On that trip, in a motel in Taos, New Mexico, K. proposed to me. I told him to wait a year and then ask me again.

That was twenty seven years ago. I'm grateful every day for his love, his support, his companionship, even his criticism. We are not only lovers but also partners and collaborators. We work together as well as play together. I am amazed by the strength and longevity of our connection.

When we met, I thought that it was unlikely that I would ever marry. I couldn't imagine that there existed one man who could keep me interested over the long term, and I didn't want a string of divorces like my aunts.

I was wrong. And now I'm eternally grateful.


Lisabet Sarai writes erotic romance and erotica for a variety of publishers. Visit her website at
http://www.lisabetsarai.com and her group blog, Oh Get A Grip

Welome, Clare London

As the song goes...
It’s only words…but words are all I have, to take your heart away.

I’m so glad that there’s an opportunity to give thanks on Ginger’s blog this month, and she’s been extra generous in offering it to us all. Ginger’s been my dear friend for almost 2 years now. We’ve never met, we live on different continents and exist in different timezones, yet we keep in touch with each other’s life – through words!

That’s what I want to give thanks for today. Words. I’m thankful that I can speak and hear, that I’ve had the education and environment to learn how to express myself, that I’ve had the eyes to read and the hands to write. Words are a treasure and a treat to me, and I’m thankful daily that I can use them to communicate.

They can bring us joy and knowledge, they can create worlds, they can hurt or heal, each as strongly as the other. They allow us to cross boundaries of distance and age and background. We used to have letters and cards to communicate, and some of us still love those. But now we also have the internet, email, blogging.

I love the internet. Ask my family, who have to peel me from the screen to eat supper LOL. I know its dangers and I know its lack of moderation. It’s not for everyone. But it’s been a boon for me, in opening out the world. I’ve learned about other lives, about other worlds, I’ve made friends, kept in touch with their lives and loves, and I’ve been encouraged to find myself another career and pleasure in writing fiction. All based – partly or wholly - on words.

They’re everywhere! Who doesn’t love a favourite song? Or laugh at a particular kind of joke? It all hinges on words. I don’t Tweet, my blogging is erratic, I’m not what I’d call a social ‘networker’. But I love writing and communicating, whether it’s through email or through my stories. I have made some truly good friends, whom I’ve never met face to face, but whose style and generosity in their correspondence allows me to see and love the real person.

Believe me, it doesn’t mean I have *more* friends – because a ‘friend’ on the net may only ever be a passing acquaintance. Because words have their shortcomings, too. They can be misunderstood, they can come across too baldly. They can’t replace the importance of seeing someone face to face, of reading body language, of smiling to ease potential hurt, of frowning to express caution. A *hug* is never the same as a real one, but to a trusted friend who’s far away, an emailed *hug* is still a treasure. I know it is for me.

So that brings me back to my thanks for the gift of words, and articulation. I’ve always written stories, but at the end of 2007 I finally plucked up courage to submit some for publication. I’ve been lucky enough to have several novels published and plenty of short stories. I love my m/m romance genre, I take great strength from learning from others’ writing and improving my own, and it continues to be a joy to take two characters who inspire me and then create conflict, passion and a Happy Ever After for them!

And how do I see words in my own world?

I visited my mother at the weekend. She’s always been a strong, articulate, witty, intelligent woman, who brought up me and my sister for many years on her own until she remarried, who started in a fairly modest job but after encouragement from her boss and her own mother, found herself an important career in education. She’s not old – she’d kill me if I told you her age LOL – but she’s had a lot of physical problems for a few years, and now she’s struggling with her memory and thought processes as well. It frustrates her horribly. Now, when I talk to her, I’m never sure if she’ll remember it an hour later. She can’t join in the whole conversation because she can’t remember the words for certain things: she forgets names and repeats herself, and hates herself for it. Believe me, I love her the same, but it’s heartbreaking to watch her loss of vocabulary and ability to chat easily.

Then I talk to my Sons at home and see them beginning to develop their own vocabulary and the powers of reasoning and debate. And not *always* about pocket money LOL. Son#1 is a beautiful singer, he accompanies himself on the guitar and the words he sings are evocative and powerful. He talks intelligently and persuasively about current affairs, especially environmental issues, even if he has inherited his father’s doggedness ^_^. Son#2 has done drama for a while, is a great joker, he also has a strong singing voice, and his conversation is like an express train – it rarely slows down!

I was out with Son#2 in town the other day and we were stopped a few times. People asked directions, or chatted to us in a queue, or they knew us from the boys’ school days. At the end of the trip, Son#2 turned to me and said – “We always end up chatting to people, don’t we? It’s good fun.” It was one of those moments when a Mum goes ‘awww’.

Words are all around us, available for our pleasure, comfort and excitement, with new ones always waiting to be discovered, old favourites to be savoured.

Thanks for them – and for the extra special delight they bring, keeping me in contact with my friends!


You can contact me or find out more about my work here:
http://www.clarelondon.co.uk
http://clarelondon.livejournal.com/
http://bookworld.editme.com/Clarelondonbooks

Welcome, Therese Kinkaide

It may seem odd that I am writing about thankfulness two days after going to a funeral, the sixth funeral this year for my family. And yet with each funeral, each family gathering, I have walked away with an overwhelming sense of peace and belonging. It’s been a very difficult year, and yet at the same time, this family always pulls inward and gets through the hard stuff together.

My mom was the ninth of eleven children. I am the fifty-second of fifty-five grandchildren. I can’t even tell you where my children fall in line in the next generation, there are so many. When I was younger, the whole family gathered often for holiday parties and summer picnics in the park. My grandparents were always a part of the fun, although my Grandma died when I was seven. The gatherings that I don’t remember are well-documented in photographs, which are rapidly becoming prized possessions.

Our family’s losses started in the 70s and have staggered through the years. However, this past year has been almost unreal. On May 5, 2008, my Uncle Bill died in a hunting accident. After he had defeated cancer, it was an incredible shock to lose him so suddenly. In March of 2009, my mom’s eldest sister-my Aunt Marian-passed away after a short illness. Two months later, on May 7, 2009, we lost Uncle Bob to cancer. And just last Friday, we lost Uncle Ken, again, to cancer. Add to that my husband’s grandma’s passing in August 2008 and my grandma (my dad’s mom) passed away this past June.

A part of loss, a part of grieving these deaths is gathering together with the rest of the family and celebrating the loved ones who are now gone. It’s a powerful love, in our family, that reaches out across eleven families, hundreds of people. There is strength in our numbers, in our memories, in our hands that reach out to everyone else. Our family bond carries a colorful, well-lived past, a busy, exciting and prideful present, and a hopeful future where the sky is the limit.

At Uncle Ken’s funeral Tuesday, Father John said that as much as his family loves him, God loves him more. As a practicing Catholic, I guess I have to believe that. But as a part of the whole, extended family, and as a witness to the life he lived with his wife, children and grandchildren, I have to wonder if that’s possible.

As Thanksgiving and Christmas approach, my heart breaks for those in my family who have lost loved ones this year. I can’t imagine the holidays without my mom and dad, without my husband and his family, without my children. And yet, as someone who has always loved the holidays and each year takes out those very special memories of Thanksgiving dinners at Aunt Fran’s and Grandpa’s house and Christmas at Aunt Joan’s house, I am filled with love and joy and gratitude. I am one of the youngest of the grandchildren, and since we are spread across the United States now, I don’t often see many of my cousins. I’m quiet, and I don’t always know what to say to people, especially in times of sorrow. But I wanted to take this opportunity to say thank you. I thank God for making me a part of this family. I am so very proud to be a member of this family, and though I don’t often have the opportunity to say so and I don’t always take the opportunity when it is presented to me, I love you all. I thank all of you, each and every one of you, for being a part of my life. And I would like to say a special thanks to my grandparents, my parents, and my aunts and uncles. Each of you has contributed to the person I am today, and I carry you with me every day, everywhere I go.

Therese Kinkaide
Luther’s Cross, Wings E Press

What they are saying about Luther's Cross:

Luther’s Cross, the newest book by author Therese Kinkaide, should come with a warning label: Caution-This book may inhibit the reader’s ability to turn off the light and sleep. Luther’s Cross is a well-crafted story that delves into both the heart and mind of a young woman tortured by her past and unable to take hold of her future. Ellie is stuck with the heartache, guilt and grief over the loss of Luther, her young son. http://www.theresekinkaide.com/Novels.html

Welcome, Nancy O'Berry

Did you know that by the end of this year it's estimated that over 1.3 million women and men will receive this from their doctor, "I'm sorry, the test results show that its cancer."
Nothing strikes more terror than those words. My mother heard them alone when I was away in college. I don't know if she was ashamed to tell me or if she didn't want to admit it, but she went through the surgery and the recovery with the help of her older sister who had been through it 15 years before. Thirty years ago, there weren't offers of reconstruction. My mom and her sister wore weighted bras to keep their shoulders from rounding. I know my aunt went through radiation, cobalt, chemo therapy. My mother never mentioned having any of that. Then seven nearly eight years ago, her breast cancer returned, but not in her other breast. The cancer this time had changed its cell pattern and tumors began in her mouth. This time, she heard those words with me at her side.

For more than a year we battled them, sometimes laughing, sometimes crying, but she and her younger sister are two of the biggest hero's I've ever met. My mother at 82, did not survive the complications with this last cancer, but she never lost her dignity. Now, her last remaining sister is waging her own valiant battle. That strong will to survive is a testament to how they were raised and dignity my grandmother instilled. My latest book is dedicated to them and other members of my inner circle that have battled and won against an insidious disease that doesn't care if you are rich, poor, black or white. I am honored that the local chapter of Susan G. Komen has picked up this ebook and soon to be print book with the proceeds going to fight breast cancer. Breast cancer is not just something that happens in October, it's something these brave people fight daily. It's something, I am sure to face myself. So , ladies, gentlemen do those monthly breast exams. Prevention is our best resource until this disease can be removed from our vocabulary.

Here's a blurb from Stormy Weather:

“So, what are your plans now?” Karen Quinn asked as the two women strolled across the narrow, wrought iron bridge that spanned The Hague.

“I don’t know.” Lauren shrugged. “Go back to work, I guess. Begin a new life.”

“Lord knows you need to,” Karen agreed.

They paused at the crest of the bridge spanning the narrow inlet close to downtown. Karen was right; she did need to. Her life had changed one hundred and eighty degrees since March of last year when she’d found the lump just under her nipple on the left side of her breast.

“It still galls me that he found another woman,” Karen spat. “Just left you and moved in with her like everything was fine.”
Lauren pulled her dark blue coat tighter against her thin frame. “It was his choice,” she replied.

“Humph.”

Lauren looked at her friend, touched by her loyalty. “He was and still is an immature boy,” Lauren conceded, then sighed as they walked on. “My doctor told me to get on with my life.”

“Are you?”

She nodded. “I called Mr. McGuire this morning and asked for my job back.”

“And?” Karen asked, her eyes shining with excitement.

“He…he said he has a good replacement in my position,” Lauren said.

“No, he didn’t!”

She looked over at her friend’s shocked expression. Reaching out, she placed a hand upon her arm. “It’s okay. He offered me a new position.”

“As?”

“I’m the young Mr. McGuire’s personal assistant and project manager,” Lauren explained.

Karen’s face filled with joy. “This deserves a drink. Come on, the Purple Elephant is no more than a block away.”

Stormy Weather
Mainstream Romance Contemporary
ISBN: 978-1-60435-430-0
Editor: Michelle Ellis
Line Editor: Mike Kay
Word Count: 17,754
Price: $2.99 November 26th release date.

to buy link To buy link: http://redrosepublishing.com/bookstore/product_info.php?manufacturers_id=151&products_id=536
or check at my website www.nancyoberry.com



Please note, this book contains frank discussions on breast cancer and reconstruction. The money raised from this book goes to Susan G. Komen for the Cure, Tidewater chapter. I have signed over my royalties to raise money for the cure of cancer. Won't you join me in stopping this disease. Nancy O'Berry, author.

Welcome, Leigh Wood

Give Thanks for Pleasure

Sure, no one wants to talk about sex on Sunday mornings with all the grandmothers and kids about. It’s completely understandable that there’s a time and place for romance, erotica, and pleasure. Sometimes in our prudishness and hypocrisy, however, we tend to forget one special notion: sex is a good thing.

I can get religious about it if you like, but sex and religion are the two things that make people squirm, aren’t they? No, I’m not going to quote Biblical or wax super philosophical, but this Thanksgiving, remember to be thankful for pleasure. Whatever your personal pleasure is, human sexuality is special among the creatures of our planet. We don’t just breed and be done with it, procreate or lay eggs to anonymously keep the human race alive another day. The day we do start having doctored dish babies as norm rather than the expensive exception, I think the human race would lose a touch of soul, don’t you?

Humans are also one of the few species who mate for life. We have to have attraction, affection, and love beyond the pheromones. We may laugh at the notion in our current society’s trends towards divorce and nontraditional marriages, but it is true compared to all those other duck and run animals I mentioned. Now porn, gratuitous sex, and all the other nudity shock and awe tactics aren’t what I mean here. I mean true intimacy, inspiration, and divine bodily pleasure. Those who have it know what I mean.

If you think I’m full or wedded bliss, look at it from the dark side. We’re the only species that has rape, aren’t we? No other creatures abuse the body, mind, and soul for power, corruption, and control. In Shakspeare’s Titus Andronicus, the titular Roman General’s daughter Lavinia is raped, has her tongue cut out, and her hands cut off. Sure one of those is bad enough, but all three? We despise such gruesome losses of innocence, but we never fully come out and acknowledge that safe, consensual getting your kicks off is a good thing. Why the f not?

Enjoy your mind and body with your loved one this holiday season. Discretion and thoughtful intimacy are a delight! Treasure the gift of pleasure; appreciate the totally unique sensuality that God gave us. Give thanks for pleasure.

http://leighwood.blogspot.com is the place for the latest news, excerpts, reviews, and interviews regarding Leigh's new science fiction erotica novel from Eternal Press, On The Way to New Isosceles.

Welcome, Page Ryter

Today I’m truly thankful. I was able to wake up and get out of bed, so I’m not dead. I could speak my mind and yell at my kids who didn’t want to get up, thankful for freedom of speech. I could eat, even though I need to cut back, BIG TIME. I’m lucky enough to be a stay-at-home mom, and I consider that completely priceless. Yes, it’s boring at times, but the kids make up for that when they get home. I’m so thankful for my life, for the ability to be able to breathe fresh very cold air (it’s getting close to winter in Wisconsin and cold is the name of the game). I have a roof over my head and a heated home.

I also write as a mystery/suspense writer under a different pen name. I’ve sent my characters to other places in the world, and through my research, realize that in America, we’re so extremely lucky and fortunate, it’s scary. Every time I research another third-world country, I’m just thankful, beyond belief. Yes, we whine about how bad we have it, however, we truly have no idea how bad it could be.

So this Thanksgiving, be truly thankful. There’s so much out there to be thankful for, and if you just take the time to look, your list of thankfulness would outweigh the whining every time. And if you want to show how thankful you are, I’d encourage you to help the homeless, give to a charity, or even help a neighbor. You’ll be amazed how good it feels to help others, and make you even more thankful for your own life.

Paige Ryter at www.paigeryter.com ‘Three Minutes Before Christmas’ coming out December 10, 2009, with Red Rose Publishing

Welcome, Jim Whitaker

www.whiskeycreekpress.com
www.barnesandnoble.com
http://www.facebook.com


I've always been grateful for friends and really fresh turkey dinners.

While we were in fourth grade a buddy and I visited the poultry farm of one of his great aunts. She raised chickens, turkeys and several pet geese. I wanted to stay home and sit around bored, dreaming that someday someone would invent Wii. He insisted we go with his dad on a country drive to, well, the country.

It was near Thanksgiving. Thanksgiving, Mo. But that's beside the point.

Great Aunt was a weathered 70 or 80, maybe 120. From birth she had been a farm girl. Without apology she still was as far as anyone was concerned. Anyone concerned – and with a sense of self-preservation - would not dare challenge her on that.

Our mission to the farm, I was told on the way, was to bring home some fresh poultry for the holiday. I wondered aloud how we were going to transport the livestock in the mid-size Ford.

In the trunk I was told. How does it breathe back there? My friend looked at me with the "how dumb are you" smirk.

Quietly walking among the noisy birds in the barnyard, Great Aunt, in a flower pattern dress and knee-high green rubber boots, her hair bobby-pinned back and her glasses perched on the tip of her nose, an old yellow dog limping behind her, sized up one of the bigger strutting turkeys.

Her reach near the speed of light made me jump. She grabbed the bird around the neck at the base of its head. Its eyes popped. She lifted the plump fowl 20 feet in the air. It didn't have time to plea bargain. With a whirling wrist she spun the turkey around – its beak to the south, its breast to the north - in a gnarled iron grasp.

Thud. The part of the turkey she wasn't clutching fell to earth, did a jig, ran over about 40 squawking, feathers-flying-everywhere chickens ... fell over dead.

The geese stood unconcerned near Great Aunt, unabashedly gloating with their obnoxious honking to the rest of the surviving birds that they had maneuvered themselves into the coveted pet status. If they were butchered, it would be the easy way. The axe.

Great Aunt smiled. "Happy Thanksgiving," she drawled with a polite pleasantness as she tossed the turkey's defunct head into a galvanized bucket near the chicken fence. The old yellow dog trotted to the bucket and stuck its nose in.

"Get outa that," she yelled. As the dog took off making more chicken feathers fly Great Aunt looked our way.

"Well, go claim your Thanksgiving dinner. Dress it yourself."
From that day forward I had a new and abiding respect for any old lady in a dress and rubber boots who told me she was going to wring my neck if I didn't stop whatever I was doing.

The bird thumped around in the trunk of the car on the way home as we rounded country-road curves. My friend and I poked each other.

Thump.

"Hey that turkey is still alive."

Thump.

"It's gonna get us. Killer turkey's revenge."

Thump.

"Hey, dad," my friend yelled at the driver dad," the trunk is opening."

Thump.

Thump.

"Yeah, it's coming, it's coming. Better be glad it can't see us."
Thump. Thump.

"Look, it's peeking out of the trunk. There's its head ... oh, wait a minute ... erase that ... there's its neck."

Although saying nothing and pretending to tolerate us, my friend's dad, as he adjusted the rearview mirror and glared beyond us, appeared somewhat concerned about a dead limp bird banging around in the trunk of his Ford.

I heard later that normally he really enjoyed the Thanksgiving meal. That year, though, he didn't consume as much turkey as usual.
You have to wonder how he received the "mashed" potatoes and the kitchen "cut" green beans. Not to mention the "scalped" potatoes as we used to call them before we learned to spell better.

I never saw that particular turkey dinner after it got its head yanked off. My friend, after forcing me to share the dubious adventure on the farm, didn't invite me to the payoff Thanksgiving dinner. Come to think of it, I didn't invite him to our Thanksgiving dinner either. So he didn't get the payoff from the trip to the frozen section of the store when Mom forced me to go with her. So we're even. Hey, wait a minute, he didn't have to go to the store, I did. So we're not even.

And I had to go to the farm and listen to that clunk when the head hit the bucket.

You may wonder am I traumatized after 30 some years by my fourth-grader experience of seeing firsthand just what happens to a turkey before we get to eat it?

Nah. I love roast turkey.

I just need to get even with my friend.

Welcome, Jena Galifany

Thankfulness. There is not enough of it around these days. It feels good when someone says "thank you" for something you have done. Do we all have so much that we don't have to be thankful any more? If so, we all need to take a step back and look at our lives.

I am thankful that there is a designated day to be thankful. We all love the food and the ball games and the family getting together, but do we take a moment out of that day to truly be thankful? We should.


I am thankful for the freedom that we have in America that other countries don't have. I am thankful for all of the soldiers that leave their families and risk their lives to assure that I keep that freedom.

I heard a man once tell the story of when he and his men were caught on the wrong side of the fighting in Vietnam. They were stuck for three days without supplies. He was blessed enough to live through that experience. Since that day, he gives thanks for every glass of water. Would you think of giving thanks for water? Try being without it for a few days.

I'm thankful that three years ago my family was able to enjoy the perfect Christmas. My three children and my son-in-law made out a wish list. They each received everything they asked for and more. We created some wonderful memories. I'm thankful we had the opportunity to do this for two reasons. One: My son-in-law had never had a Christmas. He came to know Jesus Christ as his Savior. Two: He died in a car accident a little over a year later. It was a great comfort to my daughter to know that her husband was saved and went to be with the Lord.

I am thankful for the creativity that God has given me. I'm thankful for the fans that read my books, fans that send me encouraging emails and have become my personal friends.

I'm thankful that in this time of recession, my husband and I have full time jobs with benefits. I have a home, clothing, and food on the table. There are so many out there who do not have these things that are taken for granted.

I could go on and on. There are so many things to be thankful for. Have your family during the week before Thanksgiving write what they are thankful for on small pieces of paper and collect them in a basket on the dining table. Before you tuck into that wonderful meal, take the time to share the notes with those gathered at your table. During this season, take the time to be truly thankful for what you have and have a wonderful holiday season.

Cheers,
Jena Galifany
Whiskey Creek Press
Jena's Website

Family & Thanksgiving

As I sat and thought about the things for which I'm thankful, this poem just sort of popped into my mind. Things have changed since I was younger...family isn't what it used to be, but food still makes us feel better. I hope your Thanksgiving finds you seated around a hearty table with those you love, and your family still intact. I wish mine was.


One sister hates the other one,
the other one hates me.
I'm not certain what I did,
but I'm off the family tree.

We can't share a turkey as once we did,
I'm sure that knives would fly.
I already have a cataract
so I can't risk losing my best eye.

My health is good, my weight is high
and my BP suddenly grew,
So what the heck, my Cholesterol
is probably chart topping, too.

People who don't smoke die each day,
and those who do hang around.
So will one more pile of potatoes
put me in the ground?

I can't resist a piece of pie
It's punkin don't ya know.
How much more can a sliver cause
this old behind to grow.

So bow your heads and give your thanks
on this Thanksgiving Day.
You may as well forget to diet
Christmas is but a month away.

P.S. If anyone is interested in sharing "Letters to Santa" at Dishin' it out, contact me for a slot. I have a lot to ask that old geezer for. :)

Welcome, Juliet Waldron

The Iroquois have an inspiring “Salutation to the Natural World” which I’d like to offer as my contribuion to “Thanksgiving. I really love this prayer and we've used it at our Thanksgiving dinners ever since I learned about it, some years ago.

Their Thanksgiving prayer begins with: “We have been given the duty to live in balance and harmony with each other and all living things. So now, we bring our minds together as one as we give greetings thanks…”

First, they send “greetings and thanks” to the Earth Mother, for “she continues to care for us as she has from the beginning of time.” Second, they thank the waters of the world, for “water is life.”

Third, they turn their minds to the Fish in the water, who, they believed purified the water, and who gave themselves to the Iroquois as food.

Fourth, they thanked the plants, which “work wonders,” sustaining all life. They especially thanked the food plants, the grains, vegetables, beans, berries and roots which “help the People survive.” They thanked the Medicine Herbs, who are “waiting and ready to heal us.” They thanked the trees, who gave food, shade and shelter to men and to animals alike.

They thanked the animals, who were their teachers, and who gave their bodies as food. They thanked the birds. With their “beautiful songs…each day they remind us to enjoy and appreciate our life.”

Then they thanked elemental Nature. They thanked the Four Winds, which “bring messages and strength,” and the “Thunder Beings,” ancestors, who brought water and kept demons” in hiding. They praised the Sun as “Elder Brother,” “the source of all fires of life.” They thanked Grandmother Moon, “the leader of all women,” and the stars who guide hunters and warriors who travel at night.

Finally, they thanked the “enlightened teachers” who have come to earth throughout all ages. “If we forget how to live in harmony, they remind us of the way we were instructed to live…”

Last of all, they thanked The Great Spirit, sending “greetings and thanks for all these gifts of creation.”

The Iroquois believed that all we need to live a good life is here on Earth. Sometimes in our modern, frazzled getting and spending, racing here and there, our ceaseless competition and “keeping up with the Jones,” it’s therapeutic simply to pause, to look around us and remember to give thanks exactly as they did, for the natural wonder of the world which sustains and surrounds us.

You can learn more about Juliet at her website.

Welcome Kat Bryan

Ten Things I Am Thankful For (In No Particular Order)

Clean slates
Around Thanksgiving we start to think about saying goodbye to the old year and hello to the new. The New Year ushers in clean slates—an opportunity for us to change, add positive elements to our lives or remove negative energy that surrounds us daily. What if we lived in a world where change was forbidden or you could never wipe the slate clean?

I’m thankful for clean slates.

Little things
I look around and see unspeakable tragedy, a teen beaten to death in New York, a hate crime in Pennsylvania, the shooting of a priest in a small town. Big things. And then I realize how truly fragile life is. I have a place to live, cars that run, heat, and electricity—little things we take for granted.

I’m thankful for little things.
minute and be thankful.

Groaning Tables
My cupboards are full and so is my refrigerator. On Thanksgiving my table groans with platters of food, laughter of children and smiles from elderly members of our family. Did you know that one out of eight children in the US go to bed hungry?

I’m thankful for groaning tables.


Sweet Visits
I love that my children still like hang out with me, truly want my company. Tell them you love them every time you see them on a sweet visit, hug them, show them how blessed you are they were sent to journey through life with you.

I am thankful for sweet visits.

Meows and Barks
Cats have saved owners from burning buildings, dogs have rescued drowning children. Your pet in most cases will always choose you over anyone else in the world. Your pet gives you unconditional love, friendship, and loyalty. Give it back and you’ll never be sorry.

I am thankful for meows and barks.

The joy of writing
I’m horrible at math, not very good at biology or science either. But someone gave me a gift I’m sure I’m not worthy of. If you open a dictionary and choose a word, 90 percent of the time I can tell you the meaning. One thing I can always count on is the ability to string words together. I’m gonna ride this one out for as long and as far as it will take me.

I am thankful for the joy of writing.

Random acts of kindness
A random act of kindness is a selfless act performed by a person wishing to either assist or cheer up an individual or in some cases an animal. There will generally be no reason other than to make people smile, or be happy. An oft-cited example of a random act of kindness is when paying the toll at a toll booth; pay the toll for the car behind you as well.

I am thankful for random acts of kindness.

Freedom
4,355 US soldiers have died in the Iraq war and 909 in Afghanistan. I realize giving one’s life is the ultimate sacrifice. This Thanksgiving, thank them/pray for them for surrendering all they ever were or could ever hope to be to ensure our freedom.

I am thankful for freedom.


Friends and family
I saved the best for last. I have made wonderful friends over the years and have been blessed with the most wonderful family. On Thanksgiving and every day of the year I will remember to be thankful for friends and family.

I am thankful for friends and family.

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Kat Bryan writes for New Concepts Publishing, The Wild Rose Press and has several books listed at Celestrial Books.

Where The Rain Is Made

Sojourn With A Stranger

Blood Lust


Follow Kat at Twitter: http://www.twitter.com/kcelestebryan
Follow Kat’s Blog: Kat’s Kwips and Rants: http://katskwipsandrants.blogspot.com
Kat’s Author Home: http://kcelestebryan.blogspot.com