I have a reputation for getting lost. I’ve been lovingly nicknamed Wrong Way Denise and rightly so. Friends suggested I invest in a GPS. I tried it once. I didn’t agree with the voice emanating from the little box .How could they know? Their direction didn’t seem right; so I turned them off and went my own route, much to the dismay of those carpooling with me. It’s true, I usually arrive late, but boy do I have stories to tell when I get there.
It’s no surprise then, that my favorite TV series of all time was LOST. I watched it faithfully right up to the bitter end. I won’t waste time telling you how I felt about the ending. Well maybe in another blog, but not now. Never the less, it was a great series, with a great story and most of all, memorable characters that became like family.
I fell in love with John Locke. Not the romantic crush kind of love but a deep admiration and love for a real man with substance. I’d like to be lost with a man like him. He could kill a wild boar and make a cradle for a baby on the same day. He had faith and belief that he was meant for something great. He embraced his hardship because he believed he had a purpose to fulfill. That’s why his mantra was, “Don’t tell me what I can’t do!” The first time he yelled that phrase, (Season 1 episode 4; Walkabout) I cried like a baby.
Why, because I dream of my own walkabout. Because I, like John Locke believe I have a purpose…a calling on my life and like him, I was told I was delusional.
They (I will protect their identity) said I was delusional because I wanted to write books. They told me in light of the college education I never received, that I couldn’t do it. They said I would need to go back to school first and take English and writing courses and maybe….I could write a novel. They said the market was too competitive and I was a nobody, and would never be heard. Their advice was to go back to the hair salon and continue my career as a hairdresser because that was my future.
How could they know? Their directions didn’t seem right so I turned them off and went my own way because I believe some things can’t be taught. You can sit in a class and learn story structure but no one can teach you how to dream one up. So, I adopted John’s mantra and yelled, “Don’t tell me what I can’t do!”
So guess what? I wrote a book, a great book. It’s about someone getting lost and ending up in a peculiar town hidden deep in the Appalachians. It’s creepy and exciting and everyone who reads it says they lose all track of time because they can’t put it down.
I was told not to self-publish; so I turned the box off again and put my story up as an ebook because I wanted to share it, like the creators of LOST shared their story with me. I must have done something right because in less than three months over a thousand people read it! A friend said I should tweet the great news so I went to Twitter and got lost again. I was groping my way around, trying to navigate the site when I stumbled upon John Locke! I was thrilled. Imagine my excitement when I discovered he wrote an ebook telling how he sold over a million books! My hero is also a writer? I was intrigued so I began to stalk him and discovered there are TWO John Locke’s! Talk about good fortune! If this new John Locke was anything like the LOST Locke then I was an immediate fan. I went to his page, and he was handsome and bald like the other John Locke! I was more intrigued. I immediately downloaded his book and devoured it, enjoying every page. He is an entrepreneur and a devout believer in self-publishing. His words encouraged me, inspired me. He’s the reason I am writing this blog and he made me believe I am an OOU. I bet he cooks a mean wild boar and I bet he doesn’t let people tell him what he can’t do.
So what can I say? I enjoy getting lost because it’s then that I discover new ground and in so doing I discover something about myself. Just like Bronwyn in my book The Secrets of Moonshine. Her bus breaks down on the side of a forgotten highway and when she goes looking for help she stumbles upon the mysterious town of Moonshine. There she makes a startling discovery and unearths cryptic secrets the town’s kept hidden for over two hundred years. If you like LOST or Jon Locke or John Locke, you should read it. I hope JJ Abrahams reads it and plans on making it his next big series. I’d like John Locke to have a part. While we were filming we could get to know each other better and maybe we could play a game of backgammon and he could tell me the secret he told Walt that day on the beach and when he is finished I will tell him The Secrets of Moonshine.
http://www.amazon.com/dp/B004Z1N372
Denise Daisy
Author
Saturday, September 10, 2011
Sunday, June 5, 2011
What is going on?
Since May 4th I have been promoting my first novel The Secrets of Moonshine. It is available on Amazon.com, Barnes and Noble.com and Smashwords as an ebook. In less than a month it has been downloaded well over 100 times and has received some great 5 star reviews.
I love telling a good story. You know the kind, the ones where you have your audience on the edge of their seats and their eyes are engaged on yours and if you stop to take a breather they beg for more.
I believe I was born to be a story teller. It comes natural. My family accuses me of seeing life different than the average person. They say I can witness an event and retell it in a way where the others who were privy to it wonder if they saw the same event.
That is how I see life. It’s full and amazing and rich in buried treasures and great secrets.
Some look up into the sky and see rain clouds. I see angry dark warriors riding across the expanse on ghostly horses; their hooves thundering in the distance as all nature cowers at their arrival. The warriors have a secret. Secrets of where they have been, where they are headed and what they are fighting for.
I love to discover their secrets and write their stories.
The Secrets of Moonshine will transport you to a small town hidden deep in the Appalachian chain. The people who reside in the town are guarding something…something big….something they have kept a secret for over 200 years.
Want to know their secrets…..?
I love telling a good story. You know the kind, the ones where you have your audience on the edge of their seats and their eyes are engaged on yours and if you stop to take a breather they beg for more.
I believe I was born to be a story teller. It comes natural. My family accuses me of seeing life different than the average person. They say I can witness an event and retell it in a way where the others who were privy to it wonder if they saw the same event.
That is how I see life. It’s full and amazing and rich in buried treasures and great secrets.
Some look up into the sky and see rain clouds. I see angry dark warriors riding across the expanse on ghostly horses; their hooves thundering in the distance as all nature cowers at their arrival. The warriors have a secret. Secrets of where they have been, where they are headed and what they are fighting for.
I love to discover their secrets and write their stories.
The Secrets of Moonshine will transport you to a small town hidden deep in the Appalachian chain. The people who reside in the town are guarding something…something big….something they have kept a secret for over 200 years.
Want to know their secrets…..?
Wednesday, March 16, 2011
Talking Walls
Two weeks ago I packed up several dozen cardboard boxes, filled tons of hefty garbage bags with trash and sold what was left in a garage sale.
I despise moving I’ve done it way too many times and each time I find myself wrapping my dishes in newspaper I promise myself this will be the last move I make.
This particular move was almost unexpected. I say almost because ever since the day I moved into 448 Sandalwood Drive I counted down the days until I could move out again.
It was an old house in a bad part of town. Nightly search copters flew overhead announcing that residents should lock their doors because a fugitive was on the run from the police. The first time I experienced this I battened down the hatches, turned off the lights and hunkered down in a corner. Now, three years later when the search copters continue their nightly searches I make chocolate chip cookies and brew a pot of tea just in case the perpetrator happens to drop in. On one particular evening the cops chased a man into our yard and slammed him up against the side of the house. I heard the racket and looked out of my bedroom window only to see the guilty party’s cheek pressed against it while he was being cuffed. I immediately took advantage of the situation held up two different pairs of shoes and asked him which ones he thought went best with what I was wearing.
Did I mention the house was old? It was built in the 1950’s and still has the original plumbing, and paint and appliances. Tiny windows offer little light and barely any air during the scorching El Cajon summers. If I turn on the air conditioner the whole house will experience a blackout due to the aging electrical system. The only way we can run the air is to turn everything that plugs into a socket off and the only time we can do that is while we are sleeping. So I am the night crier running down the hallway every night making sure all the girls have finished with their nightly rituals and in bed before I flip the switch to cool.
The walls are dingy, the carpet is a thirty year old shag, the plumbing is always backing up, the hallway too narrow the house dim, the floors creak, the appliances barely work and the neighborhood is questionable complete with a ninety-nine year old woman who lives across the street with long flowing white hair and wears a purple velvet gown as she glides across her front yard like a ghostly apparition.
So, if it is so horrid why did I cry when I finally pulled out of the driveway for the last time?
Because a house is a house but a home is where you really live, where life truly takes place. Life exploded in that house the past three years. It was the last place me and my four daughters all lived together and for that reason alone, it was the best place I ever hung my hat. But, if you were to walk through the house today you will find the rooms empty except for the occasional piece of trash or a lone clothes hanger left behind in the closet. You will see indentions in the carpet where furniture once sat and if you called out our names the place will remain silent for none of us are there to answer. However the walls will speak to you...
The past three years we made it a habit to write on the walls. On many occasions we would take a sharpie and start scribbling a banner across a drab wall. Our declarations would be a quote of inspiration, a dream, a scripture verse, a poignant date on the calendar, or a thought or word from God that entered into our hearts and we would begin to scribble.
As I walked through the house for the last time my eyes fell upon the walls and they spoke loud and clear bringing a smile to my face and a tear to my eyes as I relived some very poignant memories
“Never the Less- God’s answer for human weakness”
“Go after a plan that’s destined to fail without divine intervention”
“We are not of those who shrink back and are destroyed but those who believe and are saved”
“Your playing small does not save the world”
“Do not fear what they fear”
“The Spirit of the sovereign Lord is upon me”
“Hope does not disappoint.”
And on and on they speak….
Over the last three years the old house echoed with hysterical laughter and heavy sobbing, celebrations and devastations, hope and disappointment, courage and fear, peace and unrest, but no matter what the circumstances it always reverberated with love.
If these old walls,
if these old walls could speak
of the things that they remember well,
Stories and faces dearly held,
A couple in loveLivin’ week to week,
Rooms full of laughter,
if these walls could speak.
If these old halls,
if hallowed halls could talk,
these would have a tale to tell
of sun goin’ down and dinner bell,
And children playing at hide and seek
from floor to rafter,if these halls could speak.
They would tell you that I’m sorry
for bein’ cold and blind and weak.
They would tell you that it’s only
That I have a stubborn streak,
If these walls could speak
If these old fashioned window panes were eyes,
I guess they would have seen it all--
Each little tear and sigh and footfall,
And every dream that we came to seek
Or followed after,If these walls could speak.
They would tell you that I owe you
more than I could ever pay.
Here’s someone who really loves you;
don’t ever go away.
That’s what these walls would say.
They would tell you that I owe you
more than I could ever pay.
Here’s someone who really loves you;
don’t ever go away.
That’s what these walls would say.
That’s what these walls would say.
That’s what these walls would say.
-lyrics by Amy Grant
I despise moving I’ve done it way too many times and each time I find myself wrapping my dishes in newspaper I promise myself this will be the last move I make.
This particular move was almost unexpected. I say almost because ever since the day I moved into 448 Sandalwood Drive I counted down the days until I could move out again.
It was an old house in a bad part of town. Nightly search copters flew overhead announcing that residents should lock their doors because a fugitive was on the run from the police. The first time I experienced this I battened down the hatches, turned off the lights and hunkered down in a corner. Now, three years later when the search copters continue their nightly searches I make chocolate chip cookies and brew a pot of tea just in case the perpetrator happens to drop in. On one particular evening the cops chased a man into our yard and slammed him up against the side of the house. I heard the racket and looked out of my bedroom window only to see the guilty party’s cheek pressed against it while he was being cuffed. I immediately took advantage of the situation held up two different pairs of shoes and asked him which ones he thought went best with what I was wearing.
Did I mention the house was old? It was built in the 1950’s and still has the original plumbing, and paint and appliances. Tiny windows offer little light and barely any air during the scorching El Cajon summers. If I turn on the air conditioner the whole house will experience a blackout due to the aging electrical system. The only way we can run the air is to turn everything that plugs into a socket off and the only time we can do that is while we are sleeping. So I am the night crier running down the hallway every night making sure all the girls have finished with their nightly rituals and in bed before I flip the switch to cool.
The walls are dingy, the carpet is a thirty year old shag, the plumbing is always backing up, the hallway too narrow the house dim, the floors creak, the appliances barely work and the neighborhood is questionable complete with a ninety-nine year old woman who lives across the street with long flowing white hair and wears a purple velvet gown as she glides across her front yard like a ghostly apparition.
So, if it is so horrid why did I cry when I finally pulled out of the driveway for the last time?
Because a house is a house but a home is where you really live, where life truly takes place. Life exploded in that house the past three years. It was the last place me and my four daughters all lived together and for that reason alone, it was the best place I ever hung my hat. But, if you were to walk through the house today you will find the rooms empty except for the occasional piece of trash or a lone clothes hanger left behind in the closet. You will see indentions in the carpet where furniture once sat and if you called out our names the place will remain silent for none of us are there to answer. However the walls will speak to you...
The past three years we made it a habit to write on the walls. On many occasions we would take a sharpie and start scribbling a banner across a drab wall. Our declarations would be a quote of inspiration, a dream, a scripture verse, a poignant date on the calendar, or a thought or word from God that entered into our hearts and we would begin to scribble.
As I walked through the house for the last time my eyes fell upon the walls and they spoke loud and clear bringing a smile to my face and a tear to my eyes as I relived some very poignant memories
“Never the Less- God’s answer for human weakness”
“Go after a plan that’s destined to fail without divine intervention”
“We are not of those who shrink back and are destroyed but those who believe and are saved”
“Your playing small does not save the world”
“Do not fear what they fear”
“The Spirit of the sovereign Lord is upon me”
“Hope does not disappoint.”
And on and on they speak….
Over the last three years the old house echoed with hysterical laughter and heavy sobbing, celebrations and devastations, hope and disappointment, courage and fear, peace and unrest, but no matter what the circumstances it always reverberated with love.
If these old walls,
if these old walls could speak
of the things that they remember well,
Stories and faces dearly held,
A couple in loveLivin’ week to week,
Rooms full of laughter,
if these walls could speak.
If these old halls,
if hallowed halls could talk,
these would have a tale to tell
of sun goin’ down and dinner bell,
And children playing at hide and seek
from floor to rafter,if these halls could speak.
They would tell you that I’m sorry
for bein’ cold and blind and weak.
They would tell you that it’s only
That I have a stubborn streak,
If these walls could speak
If these old fashioned window panes were eyes,
I guess they would have seen it all--
Each little tear and sigh and footfall,
And every dream that we came to seek
Or followed after,If these walls could speak.
They would tell you that I owe you
more than I could ever pay.
Here’s someone who really loves you;
don’t ever go away.
That’s what these walls would say.
They would tell you that I owe you
more than I could ever pay.
Here’s someone who really loves you;
don’t ever go away.
That’s what these walls would say.
That’s what these walls would say.
That’s what these walls would say.
-lyrics by Amy Grant
Monday, January 31, 2011
The Haret
How can her pregnancy test be positive when she is still a virgin?
Four home pregnancy test do not lie so when Felicitas Rebold founder of her high schools Purity Club finds out she is pregnant her mind returns to one haunting event. Yet is it possible to get pregnant in a dream?
Felicitas is very strict on her decision to wait until she is married. She even started a group at her school on remaining pure. She wears a purity ring and despite her beauty, popularity and handsome boyfriend she has never had sex.
The news of her pregnancy surfaces along with her cryptic Nocturnal Journal when she mysteriously disappears for a week. The journal cast an accusing finger on her and a secretive stranger.
A week later she is found confused and unaware as to where she has been.
No one believes her and she faces the wrath of an angry Detective Russell and her stern father, Reverend Melvin Rebold, the town’s most prominent Baptist minister.
When Detective Russell suggest her family send her to County Mental Health. She runs away to find her estranged grandmother Rosie who she has never known. Felicitas father has forbidden the family to have contact with Rosie because he believes her to be insane and is convinced she communes with the dead.
Her grandmother eagerly takes her in and hides from the authorities, her father and over zealous boyfriend who is hell bent on finding out who impregnated his girlfriend.
Once in the company of her grandmother Felicitas realizes Rosie is far from crazy and has answers to the secrets shrouding the missing week and how she could have possibly gotten pregnant in a dream.
With her grandmothers help and the aid of a mysterious man she traces her roots back ten generations and makes a startling discovery that someone very close to her is not who they seem.
Excerpt coming soon!
Four home pregnancy test do not lie so when Felicitas Rebold founder of her high schools Purity Club finds out she is pregnant her mind returns to one haunting event. Yet is it possible to get pregnant in a dream?
Felicitas is very strict on her decision to wait until she is married. She even started a group at her school on remaining pure. She wears a purity ring and despite her beauty, popularity and handsome boyfriend she has never had sex.
The news of her pregnancy surfaces along with her cryptic Nocturnal Journal when she mysteriously disappears for a week. The journal cast an accusing finger on her and a secretive stranger.
A week later she is found confused and unaware as to where she has been.
No one believes her and she faces the wrath of an angry Detective Russell and her stern father, Reverend Melvin Rebold, the town’s most prominent Baptist minister.
When Detective Russell suggest her family send her to County Mental Health. She runs away to find her estranged grandmother Rosie who she has never known. Felicitas father has forbidden the family to have contact with Rosie because he believes her to be insane and is convinced she communes with the dead.
Her grandmother eagerly takes her in and hides from the authorities, her father and over zealous boyfriend who is hell bent on finding out who impregnated his girlfriend.
Once in the company of her grandmother Felicitas realizes Rosie is far from crazy and has answers to the secrets shrouding the missing week and how she could have possibly gotten pregnant in a dream.
With her grandmothers help and the aid of a mysterious man she traces her roots back ten generations and makes a startling discovery that someone very close to her is not who they seem.
Excerpt coming soon!
Thursday, September 23, 2010
Take another look...
Bronwyn woke to the gentle hand of Mavis on her back.
“Seems you did your sleeping on the porch last night,” she said cheerfully. “I’ve done that a time or two myself. There’s nothing like the night air to hypnotize and put you in a deep sleep. The only side effect is the mountain air. It does bring on some pretty strange dreams, and might I say you were definitely having one. You woke me up last night with your hollering and carrying on.”
Mavis poured a tall mug of steaming coffee and handed it to Bronwyn. “This should clear up the haziness I suspect is clouding your mind right now.”
Bronwyn sat up, confused by her surroundings. She looked over the property. The sun was just making its way over the mountains, striking ground glistening with the morning dew. The pungent aromas from the gardens stimulated her nostrils as they wafted in the morning breeze. She reached for the coffee, and sipped the strong liquid, nearly choking at the bitterness of it.
“I woke you during the night?” She asked.
“Sure did. My window is directly above this side of the porch. I heard you scream. Sounded like you were scared out of your wits. I ran out here and found you havin’ a fitful sleep on the swing.”
Bronwyn took another small slip of the awful coffee. She vaguely remembered leaving her room last night. Could she have been sleep walking? She hadn’t sleep walked since she was a child. As the steam from the coffee filled her nostrils, the events gradually made their way back into her head. The memory of the intense argument began to emerge, and within seconds all the images raced back into her mind…the apparition…Falcon…the blond man…the murder…and then Travis under the tree…The kiss!
Bronwyn involuntarily raised her hands to her lips before she noticed that Mavis was watching her intently. She lowered her hand quickly.
“Must have been some kind of dream.” A sly smile pulled at the corner of Mavis’ lips.
Mavis gave Bronwyn a suspicious look. She could sense the distrust. She wondered if it stemmed from Mavis’ wariness of herself and Travis. Maybe Mavis could sense a mutual attraction as well.
“You want to tell me about it?”
Bronwyn‘s heart picked up its pace. “Tell you about what?”
“Seems you did your sleeping on the porch last night,” she said cheerfully. “I’ve done that a time or two myself. There’s nothing like the night air to hypnotize and put you in a deep sleep. The only side effect is the mountain air. It does bring on some pretty strange dreams, and might I say you were definitely having one. You woke me up last night with your hollering and carrying on.”
Mavis poured a tall mug of steaming coffee and handed it to Bronwyn. “This should clear up the haziness I suspect is clouding your mind right now.”
Bronwyn sat up, confused by her surroundings. She looked over the property. The sun was just making its way over the mountains, striking ground glistening with the morning dew. The pungent aromas from the gardens stimulated her nostrils as they wafted in the morning breeze. She reached for the coffee, and sipped the strong liquid, nearly choking at the bitterness of it.
“I woke you during the night?” She asked.
“Sure did. My window is directly above this side of the porch. I heard you scream. Sounded like you were scared out of your wits. I ran out here and found you havin’ a fitful sleep on the swing.”
Bronwyn took another small slip of the awful coffee. She vaguely remembered leaving her room last night. Could she have been sleep walking? She hadn’t sleep walked since she was a child. As the steam from the coffee filled her nostrils, the events gradually made their way back into her head. The memory of the intense argument began to emerge, and within seconds all the images raced back into her mind…the apparition…Falcon…the blond man…the murder…and then Travis under the tree…The kiss!
Bronwyn involuntarily raised her hands to her lips before she noticed that Mavis was watching her intently. She lowered her hand quickly.
“Must have been some kind of dream.” A sly smile pulled at the corner of Mavis’ lips.
Mavis gave Bronwyn a suspicious look. She could sense the distrust. She wondered if it stemmed from Mavis’ wariness of herself and Travis. Maybe Mavis could sense a mutual attraction as well.
“You want to tell me about it?”
Bronwyn‘s heart picked up its pace. “Tell you about what?”
I entered a contest.
Just entered the Urban Fantasy/Romance Contest over @GuideToLiteraryAgents which Marisa Iozzi Corvisiero is judging!
Thursday, September 16, 2010
another request for a Full today :) So I'm giving you another peek!
The early morning breeze gently pushed the linen curtains away from the window, allowing the warm sun rays their grand entrance. Bethany and Lillian were unmoved, sleeping in after returning from the night hike around two in the morning. However, Bronwyn had woken off and on all night, anxiousness growing inside her. Why did she feel so agitated? Was she forgetting something? She lay in bed, staring at the spinning ceiling fan, trying to decipher the feeling inside. She dozed off and on. Ryan usually occupied her dreams, but now, Travis was the one she dreamt of. When she finally awoke for good, Bronwyn felt somewhat guilty about her night-time fantasies. She quietly climbed from the bed as a rooster crowed, then dressed and headed outside for an early morning jog. She ran in the soft dewy grass along side the river bed, clicking off the miles. The brisk morning air filled her lungs with the perfume of mother earth. Bronwyn did her best thinking early in the morning, when no one was around to distract her. She tried to concentrate and plan the re–writing of the dreaded scene. However, thoughts of Travis and the waterfall continued to invade her head.
Upon returning to the inn, Bronwyn smelled the delicious aromas of breakfast. She decided against the heaviness of country waffles, eggs and biscuits, choosing instead a glass of juice and a small bowl of fresh fruit. She ate alone on the porch. Afterwards, Bronwyn returned to her room showered, dressed, and hurried back outside with her computer, as a groggy Bethany and Lillian raised their waking heads.
“Hey, where are you going?” Bethany asked.
“Re-writes.”
Lillian noticed Bronwyn’s wet hair. “How long have you been up?”
“Woke with the rooster. I couldn’t sleep.”
“So, what’s going on with you and Travis?” Lillian asked as she stretched and yawned.
“What?”
Bethany gave a sarcastic laugh. “Don’t act so surprised, Bronwyn. It’s so obvious”
“What is so obvious?”
Bethany and Lillian exchanged knowing glances, then Bethany said,
“The obvious attraction between you two.”
“I am not attracted to him.” Bronwyn lied.
“Maybe not, but he definitely is to you.”
“Sh-sh!” Bronwyn closed the door. She poised herself on the edge of the bed.
“Why do you say that?”
“Because, he kept his eye on you all night last night.” Lillian’s tired voice came alive with excitement. “And he followed you when you took off rock climbing.”
“You two sure were gone a long time.” Bethany added sourly. “Just what was going on?”
“Nothing. I didn’t know he had followed me. I thought I was alone until I reached the top. Then he showed up.”
Bronwyn paused, knowing she should not attempt to try and explain what had actually happened on top of the falls. How could she possibly explain such a supernatural moment? They would never understand. Besides, even Bronwyn herself was beginning to wonder if she hadn’t made more of it than what really transpired. She found herself believing more and more that Travis had probably been right and she had actually experienced some sort of altitude malady. She heard herself telling the girls Travis’s explanation of the story.
“Did he have to give you more mouth to mouth?” Lillian teased.
“No” Bronwyn said, trying not to smile. “You two are terrible.”
“You better watch yourself,” Bethany warned. “All kidding aside, I think he is attracted to you.”
“I think so too,” Lillian agreed.
“We’ve been alone twice now, and he’s certainly kept his distance. He’s been nothing but a gentleman.”
“Give him time, Bronwyn,” Bethany said. “He’ll find the opportunity. Then what will you do?”
Bronwyn stood and smiled coyly. “I’ll do nothing. He is a married man, and as beautiful and mysterious as he may be, if he would cheat on his poor crippled wife, then I would not want him. That would take all the beauty of him away and place him in the same good-for-nothing, cheating scoundrel category as Ryan and a hoard of other common men.”
“Hear hear!” Bethany gave Bronwyn a high-five.
“I’m off to write,” Bronwyn said. “Wish me luck. I’ll catch up with you guys later.”
Upon returning to the inn, Bronwyn smelled the delicious aromas of breakfast. She decided against the heaviness of country waffles, eggs and biscuits, choosing instead a glass of juice and a small bowl of fresh fruit. She ate alone on the porch. Afterwards, Bronwyn returned to her room showered, dressed, and hurried back outside with her computer, as a groggy Bethany and Lillian raised their waking heads.
“Hey, where are you going?” Bethany asked.
“Re-writes.”
Lillian noticed Bronwyn’s wet hair. “How long have you been up?”
“Woke with the rooster. I couldn’t sleep.”
“So, what’s going on with you and Travis?” Lillian asked as she stretched and yawned.
“What?”
Bethany gave a sarcastic laugh. “Don’t act so surprised, Bronwyn. It’s so obvious”
“What is so obvious?”
Bethany and Lillian exchanged knowing glances, then Bethany said,
“The obvious attraction between you two.”
“I am not attracted to him.” Bronwyn lied.
“Maybe not, but he definitely is to you.”
“Sh-sh!” Bronwyn closed the door. She poised herself on the edge of the bed.
“Why do you say that?”
“Because, he kept his eye on you all night last night.” Lillian’s tired voice came alive with excitement. “And he followed you when you took off rock climbing.”
“You two sure were gone a long time.” Bethany added sourly. “Just what was going on?”
“Nothing. I didn’t know he had followed me. I thought I was alone until I reached the top. Then he showed up.”
Bronwyn paused, knowing she should not attempt to try and explain what had actually happened on top of the falls. How could she possibly explain such a supernatural moment? They would never understand. Besides, even Bronwyn herself was beginning to wonder if she hadn’t made more of it than what really transpired. She found herself believing more and more that Travis had probably been right and she had actually experienced some sort of altitude malady. She heard herself telling the girls Travis’s explanation of the story.
“Did he have to give you more mouth to mouth?” Lillian teased.
“No” Bronwyn said, trying not to smile. “You two are terrible.”
“You better watch yourself,” Bethany warned. “All kidding aside, I think he is attracted to you.”
“I think so too,” Lillian agreed.
“We’ve been alone twice now, and he’s certainly kept his distance. He’s been nothing but a gentleman.”
“Give him time, Bronwyn,” Bethany said. “He’ll find the opportunity. Then what will you do?”
Bronwyn stood and smiled coyly. “I’ll do nothing. He is a married man, and as beautiful and mysterious as he may be, if he would cheat on his poor crippled wife, then I would not want him. That would take all the beauty of him away and place him in the same good-for-nothing, cheating scoundrel category as Ryan and a hoard of other common men.”
“Hear hear!” Bethany gave Bronwyn a high-five.
“I’m off to write,” Bronwyn said. “Wish me luck. I’ll catch up with you guys later.”
Sunday, September 5, 2010
Another peek....
After supper, Bronwyn retired to the back porch swing to write. Bethany and Lillian sat with her, relaxing in rockers sipping iced tea with lavender, enjoying a calm Sunday evening. Mavis joined the girls, occupying another rocking chair and reading the paper. Bronwyn was listening to her ipod in an attempt to drown out any conversation on the porch.
“You girls enjoy the fireworks last night?” Mavis asked from behind her paper.
“Yes, they were amazing.” Bethany was somewhat startled by the randomness of the question.
“What about you Bronwyn?” Mavis asked, her face still hidden behind the paper.
The music piping into Bronwyn’s ears prevented her from hearing Mavis’s inquiry.
“Bronwyn!” Bethany raised her voice trying to overpower the music.
Bronwyn was busy searching the Bible she found in the inn’s library, attempting to look up the message in Isaiah 42:9.
“What?” She pulled out her earbuds.
“Mavis just asked you if you enjoyed the fireworks last night.” Bethany said, glints of warning in her eyes.
Bronwyn quickly glanced at Mavis, whose face remained hidden by the paper.
“Yes I saw them. They were beautiful.”
“That’s good.” Mavis casually turned the page.
“I was hoping you had a good view.”
Bethany’s eyes widened as she looked at Bronwyn. Bronwyn felt as if her stomach had fallen on the floor. Mavis had to be suspicious. Why hadn’t she asked Lillian the same question? Bronwyn wanted to blurt out “Nothing happened!”
Instead, she returned to her search for Isaiah 42:9. She flipped through the many smaller books, Psalms, Proverbs, Ecclesiastes, Song of Solomon, and Isaiah. She found the book. Her hands began to tremble from the adrenaline rush that had accompanied Mavis’s question. She was only seconds away from reading, “The message that had been delivered just for her” Bronwyn wouldn’t at all be surprised if it said something to the effect of, “Adulterers will burn!”
Her finger scanned the pages, Isaiah 39…40…41…42... Verse 9. Bronwyn read silently:
“See the former things have taken place, and new things I declare. Before they spring into being, I announce them to you.”
The heat sensation. Speeding heart. Lightness in the head.
Bronwyn shakily scribbled the verse on the back of the scroll.
The melodies of the late evening dulcimer player began drifting through the trees, as they did every evening. This was becoming clockwork. The mystifying voice accompanied the dulcimer and beckoned her. The winsome melody drew her attention away from the crowded porch and into the woods. Bronwyn laid the Bible and her computer aside. Standing, she stuffed the scroll back into the pocket of her shorts, and left the porch.
“You girls enjoy the fireworks last night?” Mavis asked from behind her paper.
“Yes, they were amazing.” Bethany was somewhat startled by the randomness of the question.
“What about you Bronwyn?” Mavis asked, her face still hidden behind the paper.
The music piping into Bronwyn’s ears prevented her from hearing Mavis’s inquiry.
“Bronwyn!” Bethany raised her voice trying to overpower the music.
Bronwyn was busy searching the Bible she found in the inn’s library, attempting to look up the message in Isaiah 42:9.
“What?” She pulled out her earbuds.
“Mavis just asked you if you enjoyed the fireworks last night.” Bethany said, glints of warning in her eyes.
Bronwyn quickly glanced at Mavis, whose face remained hidden by the paper.
“Yes I saw them. They were beautiful.”
“That’s good.” Mavis casually turned the page.
“I was hoping you had a good view.”
Bethany’s eyes widened as she looked at Bronwyn. Bronwyn felt as if her stomach had fallen on the floor. Mavis had to be suspicious. Why hadn’t she asked Lillian the same question? Bronwyn wanted to blurt out “Nothing happened!”
Instead, she returned to her search for Isaiah 42:9. She flipped through the many smaller books, Psalms, Proverbs, Ecclesiastes, Song of Solomon, and Isaiah. She found the book. Her hands began to tremble from the adrenaline rush that had accompanied Mavis’s question. She was only seconds away from reading, “The message that had been delivered just for her” Bronwyn wouldn’t at all be surprised if it said something to the effect of, “Adulterers will burn!”
Her finger scanned the pages, Isaiah 39…40…41…42... Verse 9. Bronwyn read silently:
“See the former things have taken place, and new things I declare. Before they spring into being, I announce them to you.”
The heat sensation. Speeding heart. Lightness in the head.
Bronwyn shakily scribbled the verse on the back of the scroll.
The melodies of the late evening dulcimer player began drifting through the trees, as they did every evening. This was becoming clockwork. The mystifying voice accompanied the dulcimer and beckoned her. The winsome melody drew her attention away from the crowded porch and into the woods. Bronwyn laid the Bible and her computer aside. Standing, she stuffed the scroll back into the pocket of her shorts, and left the porch.
Saturday, August 21, 2010
Fishing
I’m home again and for the first time sense I arrived back at the old address I have a moment to reflect. For weeks I counted down the days to my coveted vacation. A month in Tennessee to reconnect with my family and my southern roots, to kick off my shoes and be a hillbilly all over again, to sit on mommas deck and watch the fireflies and listen to the crickets, frogs and cicadas; a month to inhale the humid air and fill my lungs with the scents and smells of the earth. Many times I sat on the swing and lost myself in deep thought. I would ask myself over and over again, where do I belong? Why don’t I live here anymore? Where do I fit in this rotating ball? The answers never came…so I simply enjoyed my visit, laughed out loud, took pictures of everything that caught my eye, danced in the parking lot, (by the way no one will ever see that video) socialized in mamma’s kitchen, got my family addicted to LOST, visited the old historical parts of the town, traipsed all over the old haunted Beesley property, went to an acoustical concert in the tiny town of Wartrace, and visited my aunt Dot who is 90 years old and is addicted to facebook! And yes I continued submitting my book to agents and every now and then I actually got a chance to write on my new project. The month went by too fast and before I realized it was time to return home.
I was faced with one of those moments…you know the kind when you are desperately wanting change and you think something miraculous will happen while you are out of your routine and once you return home things will be different. In a sense I did not want to “go fishing” I use that phrase because it is a story in the Bible I relate to probably more than any of the other God encounters I read. It’s found in the book of John chapter 21. After three years of traveling with Yeshua and seeing so many amazing and miraculous life changing events….it seems to be over. So Peter shrugs his shoulders and says well, I guess I am going back….
Simon Peter announced, "I'm going fishing."
The rest of them replied, "We're going with you." They went out and got in the boat. They caught nothing that night. When the sun came up, Jesus was standing on the beach, but they didn't recognize him.
There they are again back at the start. Doing the same ole same ole like they were when Yeshua met them and called them away on an adventure of a lifetime, after He gave them the secrets of life…they go back. But when they went back, nothing in that life had changed. They were still yielding the same pitiful results and what’s worse when the sun came up Yeshua was on the shore in plain sight and they didn’t recognize him.
So here I sit…on my dumb ole boat, yielding the same pitiful results as before. I look around…is he so close and am I looking straight at him and do not recognize him?
I was faced with one of those moments…you know the kind when you are desperately wanting change and you think something miraculous will happen while you are out of your routine and once you return home things will be different. In a sense I did not want to “go fishing” I use that phrase because it is a story in the Bible I relate to probably more than any of the other God encounters I read. It’s found in the book of John chapter 21. After three years of traveling with Yeshua and seeing so many amazing and miraculous life changing events….it seems to be over. So Peter shrugs his shoulders and says well, I guess I am going back….
Simon Peter announced, "I'm going fishing."
The rest of them replied, "We're going with you." They went out and got in the boat. They caught nothing that night. When the sun came up, Jesus was standing on the beach, but they didn't recognize him.
There they are again back at the start. Doing the same ole same ole like they were when Yeshua met them and called them away on an adventure of a lifetime, after He gave them the secrets of life…they go back. But when they went back, nothing in that life had changed. They were still yielding the same pitiful results and what’s worse when the sun came up Yeshua was on the shore in plain sight and they didn’t recognize him.
So here I sit…on my dumb ole boat, yielding the same pitiful results as before. I look around…is he so close and am I looking straight at him and do not recognize him?
Wednesday, August 4, 2010
Something my daughter wrote.....
Today I am posting a beautiful piece written by my daughter Brittany. It spoke to me and I think its a treasure worth sharing :)
One of my favorite things about being in an airplane thousands of feet in the air, is looking out the window. I have always been intrigued by the way things look from up above.I love to see the "big picture" it reminds me of how small I am.It also reminds me of how things can appear so differently, depending on your perspective.A while ago, I was flying back from Wisconsin.I was looking out the window as we flew over a city.I noticed that we as humans put everything in perfectly shaped patches and squares.Everything is measured so accurately with lines and expected patterns. The freeways and the streets all intersect at foreseeable times. Even the grass fields are purposely cut off at designated areas. Everything is controlled with the human mindset of parallel lines and boxes.And then we flew over a river... something humans had no control over.Its pattern was wild and unpredictable. There were beautiful swirls and squiggles.There was no rhyme or reason to any of it.With all of the human tools and reasoning in the world, the pattern of that river will never make logical sense to us.As I was comparing our workmanship to Gods, I realized this was a picture He had been painting for me.We as humans have spent our lives trying to put Him into boxes of our understanding and reasoning.Why? Because we are more comfortable with Him there.We squeeze Him into places He isn't meant to fit into and then wonder why our relationship with Him is dull and lifeless.We long for Him to romance us with beauty and mystery... but then we get scared because we can't wrap our minds around it.And so we try to find reasons and answers for everything.We shove Him into spaces He will simply never fit.And little by little, we create a world without mountains and rivers.And although the flatland is boring, we prefer it because it makes sense to us.Because we can draw lines around it and live in the comfort of our circles and squares.Seeing this was a huge reminder to me that the Lord desires more for us.That is why He takes us to places we don't understand.Sometimes it requires patience on our end.Sometimes getting us there is the most confusing part.We don't understand the twists and the turns of His plan.In our realm of understanding we go from point A to point B.But God is not confined by our numbers and our systematic thinking.And we wouldn't be ready for what He has for us if we walked in straight lines.Every corner we turn is preparing us for something.He works outside the realm of our understanding to grow our faith and to teach us to trust.Because His ways are not our ways.He wants to take us to the unfathomable, intangible places and show us the splendor of His glory.The only problem is... we are afraid.So we have to ask ourselves this question ... what is scarier?Following God outside the realm of my understanding.Or following a God who fits inside a box that I created.I think we all know the answer to that one.Lets be bold. Lets follow Him into the unknown.It may seem risky... but that is where our faith comes in
One of my favorite things about being in an airplane thousands of feet in the air, is looking out the window. I have always been intrigued by the way things look from up above.I love to see the "big picture" it reminds me of how small I am.It also reminds me of how things can appear so differently, depending on your perspective.A while ago, I was flying back from Wisconsin.I was looking out the window as we flew over a city.I noticed that we as humans put everything in perfectly shaped patches and squares.Everything is measured so accurately with lines and expected patterns. The freeways and the streets all intersect at foreseeable times. Even the grass fields are purposely cut off at designated areas. Everything is controlled with the human mindset of parallel lines and boxes.And then we flew over a river... something humans had no control over.Its pattern was wild and unpredictable. There were beautiful swirls and squiggles.There was no rhyme or reason to any of it.With all of the human tools and reasoning in the world, the pattern of that river will never make logical sense to us.As I was comparing our workmanship to Gods, I realized this was a picture He had been painting for me.We as humans have spent our lives trying to put Him into boxes of our understanding and reasoning.Why? Because we are more comfortable with Him there.We squeeze Him into places He isn't meant to fit into and then wonder why our relationship with Him is dull and lifeless.We long for Him to romance us with beauty and mystery... but then we get scared because we can't wrap our minds around it.And so we try to find reasons and answers for everything.We shove Him into spaces He will simply never fit.And little by little, we create a world without mountains and rivers.And although the flatland is boring, we prefer it because it makes sense to us.Because we can draw lines around it and live in the comfort of our circles and squares.Seeing this was a huge reminder to me that the Lord desires more for us.That is why He takes us to places we don't understand.Sometimes it requires patience on our end.Sometimes getting us there is the most confusing part.We don't understand the twists and the turns of His plan.In our realm of understanding we go from point A to point B.But God is not confined by our numbers and our systematic thinking.And we wouldn't be ready for what He has for us if we walked in straight lines.Every corner we turn is preparing us for something.He works outside the realm of our understanding to grow our faith and to teach us to trust.Because His ways are not our ways.He wants to take us to the unfathomable, intangible places and show us the splendor of His glory.The only problem is... we are afraid.So we have to ask ourselves this question ... what is scarier?Following God outside the realm of my understanding.Or following a God who fits inside a box that I created.I think we all know the answer to that one.Lets be bold. Lets follow Him into the unknown.It may seem risky... but that is where our faith comes in
Sunday, July 25, 2010
Another Sneak Peek
Bronwyn lay in bed and stared at the rotating ceiling fan. Despite her long and adventurous day, slumber would not visit. She realized she was much too tense to sleep. For starters, Bethany had greatly annoyed her on the walk back to the inn. She had launched into a barrage of questions to support her growing suspicion that Bronwyn was on drugs. Against her better judgment, Bronwyn had attempted to tell Bethany of some of the strange events. She mentioned nothing of her deleted stories, realizing it would be impossible to try and explain seeing she had no explanation for it herself. She confided to Bethany that she thought there were peculiar happenings in Moonshine. She mentioned Falcon, the secret locked garden, and the covert meeting between him and Travis that she had stumbled upon. Bethany barely listened, dismissing the stories completely only to ask more questions about her psyche. It was obvious Bethany had become a recent student of Trent’s philosophies.
Feeling defeated, Bronwyn fell into bed, feigning exhaustion and sleep to escape Bethany’s constant advice. She listened to the heavy breathing of her two roommates, her mind too active to sleep.
She quietly slipped from the bed and crept out of the room, tiptoed down the stairs and walked out the back door. The night air was surprisingly cool. The mugginess of the evening had dissipated. She took a seat on the cushioned porch swing, swaying back and forth with ease, hoping the rhythm of the swing combined with the chorus of croaking toads and chirping crickets would be the sleeping aid she desperately needed. The fresh air and change of scenery did wonders to relax the tenseness of her body and slowed down the ramblings of her mind.
Unexpectedly, she heard voices coming from far down the cobblestone path. She raised her head from the back of the swing, then descended the porch steps and crept quietly down the stony path. She sensed a disturbance in one of the gardens. The sound of a scuffle and voices. An intense argument. She couldn’t tell which garden they came from. As she walked, the commotion grew louder.
Bronwyn approached the gate to the sixth garden. It was unlatched. She pushed it open slowly, hoping the gate would not creak and alert the garden‘s occupants. Her slender finger slid across the rough wood. As she pushed open the rough heavy door, a splinter found its way deep underneath her skin. Bronwyn pulled her hand away from the gate, quickly recoiling at the unwanted pain. She examined the splinter and realized it would take tweezers and much better light in order for her to remove it.
She slipped quietly into the garden. Large trees and vines created a canopy at the entrance. This provided Bronwyn with the perfect cover for her clandestine investigation. If Travis would not tell her what was going on, she would find out on her own. She inched her way past the massive oaks, her slender body slithering through silently thru the hanging foliage of the weeping willows. The soft earth beneath her bare feet allowed no noise, muffling her approach. The canopy of leaves kept her hidden and provided her with secrecy.
The ruckus grew louder. The angry voices were now clear. She continued to move from tree to tree, keeping under the weeping willows as she made her way closer to the center of the garden. She began to see figures moving up ahead. Reaching out her hand, she slowly parted the hanging branches. The heat rushed upon her, overwhelming her as she again saw the apparition she had first noticed the night of her arrival.
Feeling defeated, Bronwyn fell into bed, feigning exhaustion and sleep to escape Bethany’s constant advice. She listened to the heavy breathing of her two roommates, her mind too active to sleep.
She quietly slipped from the bed and crept out of the room, tiptoed down the stairs and walked out the back door. The night air was surprisingly cool. The mugginess of the evening had dissipated. She took a seat on the cushioned porch swing, swaying back and forth with ease, hoping the rhythm of the swing combined with the chorus of croaking toads and chirping crickets would be the sleeping aid she desperately needed. The fresh air and change of scenery did wonders to relax the tenseness of her body and slowed down the ramblings of her mind.
Unexpectedly, she heard voices coming from far down the cobblestone path. She raised her head from the back of the swing, then descended the porch steps and crept quietly down the stony path. She sensed a disturbance in one of the gardens. The sound of a scuffle and voices. An intense argument. She couldn’t tell which garden they came from. As she walked, the commotion grew louder.
Bronwyn approached the gate to the sixth garden. It was unlatched. She pushed it open slowly, hoping the gate would not creak and alert the garden‘s occupants. Her slender finger slid across the rough wood. As she pushed open the rough heavy door, a splinter found its way deep underneath her skin. Bronwyn pulled her hand away from the gate, quickly recoiling at the unwanted pain. She examined the splinter and realized it would take tweezers and much better light in order for her to remove it.
She slipped quietly into the garden. Large trees and vines created a canopy at the entrance. This provided Bronwyn with the perfect cover for her clandestine investigation. If Travis would not tell her what was going on, she would find out on her own. She inched her way past the massive oaks, her slender body slithering through silently thru the hanging foliage of the weeping willows. The soft earth beneath her bare feet allowed no noise, muffling her approach. The canopy of leaves kept her hidden and provided her with secrecy.
The ruckus grew louder. The angry voices were now clear. She continued to move from tree to tree, keeping under the weeping willows as she made her way closer to the center of the garden. She began to see figures moving up ahead. Reaching out her hand, she slowly parted the hanging branches. The heat rushed upon her, overwhelming her as she again saw the apparition she had first noticed the night of her arrival.
Friday, July 9, 2010
The Way Things should Be......
When I stood at the altar at 19 and said “I do” I never dreamed I’d be divorced one day. But life plays out and things happen and we each respond to those things and every response and every decision takes us to a destination. Some of the destinations are beautiful and some not so great.
I have learned to make the not so great places beautiful. You can live in a shack and turn it into a palace if you choose to. The house I live in is not the best place I have lived. Believe me I have lived in some beautiful homes and not so beautiful. I came home from work yesterday and my amazing daughter Kendall took it upon herself to open the gallon of yellow paint I had purchased and paint the hallway. What a difference a coat of sunshine yellow paint makes. My ugly little house transformed into a cute little cottage. A little paint here a little pain there, a plant here…and love everywhere. You know how it works.
The best decoration you can give any destination is love. Love covers over a multitude of sins. Yeshua told the rich young ruler to sell everything he had and give it to the poor. He said the greatest commandment was to love the Lord your God with all your heart all your strength and all your mind. He said to love your neighbor as yourself. I have a vivid memory of coming home from work one day. I opened the door and my eldest daughter Autumn was sitting on the couch looking sad and forlorn. When she looked up at me her face broke into sudden relief and she announced to her sisters: “Mommy is home.” In her words I bring a happy feeling when I come.
This past week my x husband had to have a pretty serious surgery. I got up early every morning and prayed for him. I drove him to the hospital and sat in the waiting area with his amazing girlfriend and my x in laws. We waited and laughed at some of the funny moments when the nurse asked which one if us was his wife. He got a funny grin on his face and said, Well this is my x wife and this is my girlfriend. When they asked him who was to make the decision concerning life support should the unthinkable happen, he said my x wife my girlfriend and my dad will decide together. And yes, if that had happened we could have decided together because we all had a common ground. We all love the man lying in the bed awaiting surgery. We all had a special unique love for him that superseded any awkward moment. Hatred, bitterness and revenge are not beautiful home improvements. There is no place for them in our lives.
Divorce is one of those not so great places. If you find yourself there, you can make some home improvements and turn it into a comfortable, loving and welcoming place. It’s truly the way things should be.
I have learned to make the not so great places beautiful. You can live in a shack and turn it into a palace if you choose to. The house I live in is not the best place I have lived. Believe me I have lived in some beautiful homes and not so beautiful. I came home from work yesterday and my amazing daughter Kendall took it upon herself to open the gallon of yellow paint I had purchased and paint the hallway. What a difference a coat of sunshine yellow paint makes. My ugly little house transformed into a cute little cottage. A little paint here a little pain there, a plant here…and love everywhere. You know how it works.
The best decoration you can give any destination is love. Love covers over a multitude of sins. Yeshua told the rich young ruler to sell everything he had and give it to the poor. He said the greatest commandment was to love the Lord your God with all your heart all your strength and all your mind. He said to love your neighbor as yourself. I have a vivid memory of coming home from work one day. I opened the door and my eldest daughter Autumn was sitting on the couch looking sad and forlorn. When she looked up at me her face broke into sudden relief and she announced to her sisters: “Mommy is home.” In her words I bring a happy feeling when I come.
This past week my x husband had to have a pretty serious surgery. I got up early every morning and prayed for him. I drove him to the hospital and sat in the waiting area with his amazing girlfriend and my x in laws. We waited and laughed at some of the funny moments when the nurse asked which one if us was his wife. He got a funny grin on his face and said, Well this is my x wife and this is my girlfriend. When they asked him who was to make the decision concerning life support should the unthinkable happen, he said my x wife my girlfriend and my dad will decide together. And yes, if that had happened we could have decided together because we all had a common ground. We all love the man lying in the bed awaiting surgery. We all had a special unique love for him that superseded any awkward moment. Hatred, bitterness and revenge are not beautiful home improvements. There is no place for them in our lives.
Divorce is one of those not so great places. If you find yourself there, you can make some home improvements and turn it into a comfortable, loving and welcoming place. It’s truly the way things should be.
Sunday, July 4, 2010
A Canoe Ride
If you were not able to get away for the fourth, then I invite you on a virtual canoe ride....enjoy
From Chapter Three:
Bronwyn paddled her canoe effortlessly across the calm blue surface of the water. The lake proved much more delightful than she had imagined. Bronwyn had met Kevin, a shy young store clerk who blushed the entire time he spoke with her. When she arrived, he’d already floated her canoe into the water. Kevin had pointed out a small peninsula of trees jutting out across the water, telling her to paddle that way and make the turn. “You’ll be delighted with what you see.” He said.
Kevin was right. The lake opened up before her like a vast mirror reflecting the monumental mountains and cloudless sky. Lofty trees and colossal mountains stood vigil, protecting this serene setting. Cedars, spruce and fir trees of all kinds grew on the hillsides, releasing their sacred smell. Two hawks flew overhead, flapping their enormous wings before diving into effortless glides and skimming across the waters. Both hawks seized protesting but defenseless fish and climbed back into the sky, disappearing across the hillside. Bronwyn closed her eyes and took in a deep breath, once again inhaling the invigorating aroma of the mountain and the warmth of the midday sun. She reveled in the quiet peacefulness of the place. There was no noise, save for the chatter of insects in the trees, an occasional splash from a jumping fish, and the chirping of birds. There was no traffic, no loud roar of the bus engine, no car alarms sounding off without an intruder, no cell phone rings, and no loud obnoxious conversations. Bronwyn realized she had not received a call in over twenty-four hours. She usually felt a strong irritation when she could not get a signal for her cell phone. Now, in this setting, she was quite thrilled that no one would be able to interrupt her serene moment…especially Ryan and his annoying, blood thirsty attorneys. Positioning her paddle in the canoe, Bronwyn lay back into the bottom of her boat and closed her eyes.
From Chapter Three:
Bronwyn paddled her canoe effortlessly across the calm blue surface of the water. The lake proved much more delightful than she had imagined. Bronwyn had met Kevin, a shy young store clerk who blushed the entire time he spoke with her. When she arrived, he’d already floated her canoe into the water. Kevin had pointed out a small peninsula of trees jutting out across the water, telling her to paddle that way and make the turn. “You’ll be delighted with what you see.” He said.
Kevin was right. The lake opened up before her like a vast mirror reflecting the monumental mountains and cloudless sky. Lofty trees and colossal mountains stood vigil, protecting this serene setting. Cedars, spruce and fir trees of all kinds grew on the hillsides, releasing their sacred smell. Two hawks flew overhead, flapping their enormous wings before diving into effortless glides and skimming across the waters. Both hawks seized protesting but defenseless fish and climbed back into the sky, disappearing across the hillside. Bronwyn closed her eyes and took in a deep breath, once again inhaling the invigorating aroma of the mountain and the warmth of the midday sun. She reveled in the quiet peacefulness of the place. There was no noise, save for the chatter of insects in the trees, an occasional splash from a jumping fish, and the chirping of birds. There was no traffic, no loud roar of the bus engine, no car alarms sounding off without an intruder, no cell phone rings, and no loud obnoxious conversations. Bronwyn realized she had not received a call in over twenty-four hours. She usually felt a strong irritation when she could not get a signal for her cell phone. Now, in this setting, she was quite thrilled that no one would be able to interrupt her serene moment…especially Ryan and his annoying, blood thirsty attorneys. Positioning her paddle in the canoe, Bronwyn lay back into the bottom of her boat and closed her eyes.
Friday, June 25, 2010
The Fear of Looking Foolish
This week I have had the pleasure of being the make up artist for the show “Senior Follies” The show is down town San Diego at the beautiful Balboa theater. It has been an interesting week of tech and dress rehearsals. Last night was opening night. The cast is cramming six performances in one weekend! I have had the pleasure of interacting with the cast, doing make up, gluing on eye lashes, pinning wigs, running wildly backstage, bolting up a staircase helping dress a cast member and pinning on hairpieces backstage in the dark and hoping I get it on the performer straight. I have done this sort of thing for many years and for a variety of different shows. There is nothing more thrilling than live theater. However the amazing thing about this particular cast is that every performer is over 55 years of age. Most of them being in their 60’s and 70’s. The eldest cast member is 95 years old and you would never know it! I am inspired by these men and women. The perform for 2 hours straight without an intermission. They have 3 to 4 minutes for costume changes and I have never seen senior citizens hustle like these do. The women dancers have better legs than most 20 year olds, they tap and swing dance, and do the twist. The men croon like Frank Sinatra, and they serenade me while I am doing their make up!
I realized something about these people tonight. Although their bodies may be aging their spirits never have. Their spirits are as youthful as young teens. They have refused to quit. They enjoy their life and are living it out. They are not afraid of looking foolish, they didn’t let that fear rob them of the thrill of receiving their applause and standing ovations.
I believe that there is something in all of us that wants to do something crazy, but our fear of looking foolish keeps us from it. I like what Mark Batterson wrote about the fear of looking foolish in his book “In a Pit With A Lion on a Snowy Day” He said:
If you aren’t willing to look foolish, you’re foolish. Noah looked foolish building an ark in the desert, Sara looked foolish buying maternity clothes at 90. The Israelites looked foolish marching around Jericho blowing trumpets. David looked foolish attacking Goliath with a sling shot. Benaiah looked foolish chasing a lion. The wise men looked foolish following yonder star. Peter looked foolish stepping out of a boat in the middle of the lake. And Jesus looked foolish hanging half naked on a cross.
But that is the essence of faith and the results speak for themselves.
Noah was saved from the flood. Sara gave birth to Issac. The walls of Jericho came tumbling down. Benaiah killed the lion. The wise men found the Messiah. Peter walked on water, and Jesus rose from the dead.
Can I tell you why some people have never killed a giant or walked on water or seen the walls come tumbling down? It’s because they weren’t willing to look foolish.
God chooses the foolish things to shame those who think they are wise….Nothing has changed.
I realized something about these people tonight. Although their bodies may be aging their spirits never have. Their spirits are as youthful as young teens. They have refused to quit. They enjoy their life and are living it out. They are not afraid of looking foolish, they didn’t let that fear rob them of the thrill of receiving their applause and standing ovations.
I believe that there is something in all of us that wants to do something crazy, but our fear of looking foolish keeps us from it. I like what Mark Batterson wrote about the fear of looking foolish in his book “In a Pit With A Lion on a Snowy Day” He said:
If you aren’t willing to look foolish, you’re foolish. Noah looked foolish building an ark in the desert, Sara looked foolish buying maternity clothes at 90. The Israelites looked foolish marching around Jericho blowing trumpets. David looked foolish attacking Goliath with a sling shot. Benaiah looked foolish chasing a lion. The wise men looked foolish following yonder star. Peter looked foolish stepping out of a boat in the middle of the lake. And Jesus looked foolish hanging half naked on a cross.
But that is the essence of faith and the results speak for themselves.
Noah was saved from the flood. Sara gave birth to Issac. The walls of Jericho came tumbling down. Benaiah killed the lion. The wise men found the Messiah. Peter walked on water, and Jesus rose from the dead.
Can I tell you why some people have never killed a giant or walked on water or seen the walls come tumbling down? It’s because they weren’t willing to look foolish.
God chooses the foolish things to shame those who think they are wise….Nothing has changed.
Thursday, June 24, 2010
Ride along with Travis
Today was great! To celebrate the request for a full I will post another excerpt.
Travis jumped into his truck and sped down the highway. He, if anyone, knew the dangers of this storm. This storm was angry. It had come suddenly and unexpectedly, and was ready to take its vengeance. Travis knew not taking immediate shelter was an invitation to suicide. However, the risk of taking shelter was too high. He had seen what the presence could do. He knew he was powerless against the force. He could not stop it, but he would do all within his power to keep it from claiming another life. Especially hers. The wind pushed hard against his truck, as if it sensed the confrontation. Travis grasped the wheel. The muscles in his forearms bulged as he attempted to hold it on the road. The rain swept over his truck in sheets, blanketing his windshield and making it almost impossible for him to see. Travis strained his eyes as he desperately tried to see through the blinding downpour. Though flicking back and forth at full speed, his windshield wipers were of no use. The sky was dark; the only light came from the lightning that danced tauntingly around his truck.
Then a flash, a thought. Travis turned for the lake. He had been repairing a shelf in the storeroom of Gil’s market earlier when Bronwyn came in inquiring about the canoes. He hated to think she was still on the lake during this incredible storm. Never the less, deep in the recesses of his soul he knew that was exactly where she was. He drove through town at full speed, before connecting to the secondary roads that surrounded the lake.
The sky was completely dark. Storm clouds continued to boil over into the sky, blocking out any light from the waning sun or rising moon. Travis reached into the floorboard of his truck and retrieved a powerful flood light. He lowered his window. The rain blew in, soaking him instantly. Holding the light out of the window, he scanned the lake. Nothing! He reduced his speed and continued his search, the beam of light acting as a lighthouse tower on an angry sea…nothing! Moments later his light reflected off an object bouncing in the waters not far from shore. Leaning out his window, he aimed the light. It fell across the waters and landed on an abandoned, overturned canoe.
Travis’s heart sank. An overturned, drifting canoe was not good news. Travis practically jumped from his truck before placing it in park. He ran down the bank to the lake, his feet slipping in the wet mud. He ran into the rushing waters and made his way towards the bobbing canoe, keeping his light aimed straight ahead.
Travis jumped into his truck and sped down the highway. He, if anyone, knew the dangers of this storm. This storm was angry. It had come suddenly and unexpectedly, and was ready to take its vengeance. Travis knew not taking immediate shelter was an invitation to suicide. However, the risk of taking shelter was too high. He had seen what the presence could do. He knew he was powerless against the force. He could not stop it, but he would do all within his power to keep it from claiming another life. Especially hers. The wind pushed hard against his truck, as if it sensed the confrontation. Travis grasped the wheel. The muscles in his forearms bulged as he attempted to hold it on the road. The rain swept over his truck in sheets, blanketing his windshield and making it almost impossible for him to see. Travis strained his eyes as he desperately tried to see through the blinding downpour. Though flicking back and forth at full speed, his windshield wipers were of no use. The sky was dark; the only light came from the lightning that danced tauntingly around his truck.
Then a flash, a thought. Travis turned for the lake. He had been repairing a shelf in the storeroom of Gil’s market earlier when Bronwyn came in inquiring about the canoes. He hated to think she was still on the lake during this incredible storm. Never the less, deep in the recesses of his soul he knew that was exactly where she was. He drove through town at full speed, before connecting to the secondary roads that surrounded the lake.
The sky was completely dark. Storm clouds continued to boil over into the sky, blocking out any light from the waning sun or rising moon. Travis reached into the floorboard of his truck and retrieved a powerful flood light. He lowered his window. The rain blew in, soaking him instantly. Holding the light out of the window, he scanned the lake. Nothing! He reduced his speed and continued his search, the beam of light acting as a lighthouse tower on an angry sea…nothing! Moments later his light reflected off an object bouncing in the waters not far from shore. Leaning out his window, he aimed the light. It fell across the waters and landed on an abandoned, overturned canoe.
Travis’s heart sank. An overturned, drifting canoe was not good news. Travis practically jumped from his truck before placing it in park. He ran down the bank to the lake, his feet slipping in the wet mud. He ran into the rushing waters and made his way towards the bobbing canoe, keeping his light aimed straight ahead.
Friday, June 18, 2010
What Daddy Said....
Today was one of those days…you know a day where God gives you the grace to endure the day instead of the grace to enjoy the day. It started off about 5:30 AM with a very nice rejection letter. You see as an author trying to hook a literary agent I have submitted to countless agents. The majority of them in New York and the time difference between the big apple and San Diego is three hours. So, while I am happily dreaming of better days my phone alerts me that I have an incoming e mail. I can barely see, my eyes will hardly open, after all it’s five in the morning here. My pesky neighbor Bob the Builder and his son Handy Many still have an hour before they come outside and rev their engines and fire up the weed whacker and nail gun. I fumble with my phone and click on the email and start the day with yet another rejection letter. Who cares? The agent wasn’t one I was really hoping for anyway. Her rejection was very nice and she complimented my writing skills out the whazoo .She said she loved the title of my book, and the story was an amazing read, however she stated that she must pass for the oddest reason….she neglected to inform me what the odd reason was. Could it be my email was number 38 on her list and those two numbers frighten her? Or could it be she has no desire to earn anymore money and she knows my book is going to go so big that she just can’t handle that kind of commission? Oh well, I mumble a feeble prayer thanking God for the rejection because I know it’s his way of looking out for OUR book and making sure it goes into the right hands. As I doze off again, Bob the builder and Handy Many emerge and decide to rev the diesel engine in their work van parked directly under my bedroom window. So much for sleeping….and the morning got worse.
Yes I cried some today, I know most of you think I am a super hero, my body makes people automatically think that, and you think I am as tough as nails and I never cry, but news flash. I do and sometimes it feels good to open my mouth, distort my face and wail like Lucille Ball did on the I love Lucy show. I re did my make up and headed to work and decided today would be a good day to call daddy. After all it’s a 30 minute drive to work and of course the radio in my car doesn’t work, neither does the horn and unfortunately my middle finger makes no noise. The air conditioner doesn’t work either. My blue tooth quit working sometime ago so I have to put the phone on speaker. And you know what that means…windows up or it will be too noisy for daddy to hear me. So I suffered to be able to talk to my dad. And…it was worth it. I love the sound of his cheery “well hello Denise!” We talked and he asked how I was and I was honest and he knows times are hard, they are for him too. Then we started talking about Journey and what a joy she is and I told him how she lives in such innocence. She is the happiest person I know. She has no clue that times are hard. She doesn’t know the house is falling apart around us, she doesn’t know mommy drives a clunker, She thinks she has more toys than anyone in the world (I think she might) and she thinks her mommy is a mermaid. She believes she is an artist and proved it by scribbling all over my beautiful white vanity table. She is blissfully happy because she is loved unconditionally. Daddy responded and said. I think that is what Yeshua was talking about when he said:
"Unless you change and become like little children, you will never enter the kingdom of heaven.”
Maybe little children are still innocent and live from the kingdom toward earth. When we grow older we get wiser and sadder.
Kingdom thinking believes that anything is possible at anytime. It is activated when you and I with tender hearts surrender to the thought pattern of God. When we receive his imaginations and say “yes.” We want our minds to be full of kingdom leaven, kingdom influence. We want miracles and we want those miracles to have their full effect on us, changing the way we see and behave.
"I tell you the truth, unless you change and become like little children, you will never enter the kingdom of heaven.
Matthew 18:3
Yes I cried some today, I know most of you think I am a super hero, my body makes people automatically think that, and you think I am as tough as nails and I never cry, but news flash. I do and sometimes it feels good to open my mouth, distort my face and wail like Lucille Ball did on the I love Lucy show. I re did my make up and headed to work and decided today would be a good day to call daddy. After all it’s a 30 minute drive to work and of course the radio in my car doesn’t work, neither does the horn and unfortunately my middle finger makes no noise. The air conditioner doesn’t work either. My blue tooth quit working sometime ago so I have to put the phone on speaker. And you know what that means…windows up or it will be too noisy for daddy to hear me. So I suffered to be able to talk to my dad. And…it was worth it. I love the sound of his cheery “well hello Denise!” We talked and he asked how I was and I was honest and he knows times are hard, they are for him too. Then we started talking about Journey and what a joy she is and I told him how she lives in such innocence. She is the happiest person I know. She has no clue that times are hard. She doesn’t know the house is falling apart around us, she doesn’t know mommy drives a clunker, She thinks she has more toys than anyone in the world (I think she might) and she thinks her mommy is a mermaid. She believes she is an artist and proved it by scribbling all over my beautiful white vanity table. She is blissfully happy because she is loved unconditionally. Daddy responded and said. I think that is what Yeshua was talking about when he said:
"Unless you change and become like little children, you will never enter the kingdom of heaven.”
Maybe little children are still innocent and live from the kingdom toward earth. When we grow older we get wiser and sadder.
Kingdom thinking believes that anything is possible at anytime. It is activated when you and I with tender hearts surrender to the thought pattern of God. When we receive his imaginations and say “yes.” We want our minds to be full of kingdom leaven, kingdom influence. We want miracles and we want those miracles to have their full effect on us, changing the way we see and behave.
"I tell you the truth, unless you change and become like little children, you will never enter the kingdom of heaven.
Matthew 18:3
Thursday, June 17, 2010
Another excerpt!
The cabin was dark now, save for a few glowing embers from the fire. Travis was fully reclining on his back. His head propped up on his arms, His eyes now fixed on the ceiling. Bronwyn lay on the couch and listened to the steady rain falling outside.
“Tell me about Mavis,” she said quietly.
Bronwyn had wanted to ask Travis that question for the past several hours, but for some reason could not drum up the courage. Now that they were in total darkness, it seemed easier to ask.
“What do you want to know?”
“How long have you two known each other?”
“Pretty much our whole lives”
“Really? Did you always like her?”
“No,” He was matter of fact. “She was really quite a tease when she was younger”
Bronwyn laughed, but remained somewhat cautious. “What happened to her? What caused her injuries?”
Travis took a minute before he answered. Bronwyn could see the outline of his body on the floor. As much as she wanted the answer, a part of her wished she had never asked the question.
“She was badly injured in a storm somewhat like this one. She didn’t take cover soon enough.”
Bronwyn remained silent.
“Do you love her?” Bronwyn surprised herself by asking.
“Yes, I do.”
An extended silence, except for the popping and crackling of a few dying embers. Bronwyn closed her eyes and began to doze off.
“You’re a good man, Asa,” she said, yawning, drifting off to sleep.
Travis lay there a little while longer. His heart pounded with intensity as he
stared at the ceiling. No one had called him by the name of Asa for quite some time.
“Tell me about Mavis,” she said quietly.
Bronwyn had wanted to ask Travis that question for the past several hours, but for some reason could not drum up the courage. Now that they were in total darkness, it seemed easier to ask.
“What do you want to know?”
“How long have you two known each other?”
“Pretty much our whole lives”
“Really? Did you always like her?”
“No,” He was matter of fact. “She was really quite a tease when she was younger”
Bronwyn laughed, but remained somewhat cautious. “What happened to her? What caused her injuries?”
Travis took a minute before he answered. Bronwyn could see the outline of his body on the floor. As much as she wanted the answer, a part of her wished she had never asked the question.
“She was badly injured in a storm somewhat like this one. She didn’t take cover soon enough.”
Bronwyn remained silent.
“Do you love her?” Bronwyn surprised herself by asking.
“Yes, I do.”
An extended silence, except for the popping and crackling of a few dying embers. Bronwyn closed her eyes and began to doze off.
“You’re a good man, Asa,” she said, yawning, drifting off to sleep.
Travis lay there a little while longer. His heart pounded with intensity as he
stared at the ceiling. No one had called him by the name of Asa for quite some time.
Tuesday, June 15, 2010
A Secret Meeting....
From Chapter Seven:
Smoking man and polite man rode out the storm with the warrior. Neither had spoken for quite some time. There was extreme concern on the warriors face. Lighting his pipe, he walked over to the glass window in the roof of his deep woods home and stared through it. Taking a few puffs, he turned and walked back to his two guests. “No stars visible tonight,” he said.
The men remained silent. At this point, words were meaningless. Each knew, or at least sensed, what the others must have been thinking.
Finally, the warrior broke the silence. “After six hundred years it’s finally been
opened again. They know she has arrived. They came through tonight, this time with a
vengeance.”
Smoking man and polite man rode out the storm with the warrior. Neither had spoken for quite some time. There was extreme concern on the warriors face. Lighting his pipe, he walked over to the glass window in the roof of his deep woods home and stared through it. Taking a few puffs, he turned and walked back to his two guests. “No stars visible tonight,” he said.
The men remained silent. At this point, words were meaningless. Each knew, or at least sensed, what the others must have been thinking.
Finally, the warrior broke the silence. “After six hundred years it’s finally been
opened again. They know she has arrived. They came through tonight, this time with a
vengeance.”
Sunday, June 13, 2010
Do you really know what you want?
I spent the morning floating on a raft in my pool and playing with Journey in the water. The rest of the afternoon I embarked on the futile task of cleaning out the garage. I dug through manyboxes, got a spider bite on my finger that burned like fire, and sneezed and scratched the entire time. Now for me, cleaning out the garage takes hours because as I dig through boxes I stop and look at old pictures, journals and letters. I try on out dated jewelry, laugh at my previous style of clothes, and hold close to me the baby clothes Journey has outgrown. As I was looking through some of the memories I picked up a photograph of myself standing with friends of my past. So much of my life has changed...so much water under the bridge. I barely recognized the woman in the picture as being me. That lifestyle I used to have doesn’t fit me anymore, and I don’t think I could go back if I wanted to. It reminded me of the lyrics of a song that says:The places that used to fit me can not hold the things I’ve learned and those roads were closed off to me while my back was turned. I also dug through boxes that belong to my daughters. I confess I read some of their journals. I know they wouldn’t mind and if they had been at home today helping I am sure we would have sat down and read them together anyway. That’s how close we are. It was very interesting to me that both Autumn and Brittany’s journals from several years past were prayer journals. (Did I raise them right or what?) As I read their heartfelt prayers I noticed that in both of the journals the girls were asking God to give them back the “guy” who they had recently broke up with. Both girls wrote of their undying love and their willingness to change or do whatever to be with the one they loved. Time has past and obviously God did not grant those requests. Brittany is now married to another, the love of her life and Autumn has moved on as well. I sat beside the boxes and cried at some of the things I read…. much too personal to share. What I realized is through most of our life we think we know what will be the best for us; we beg and plead for God to give us what we want. If only we could see years down the road that sometimes what we want in the here and now will not fit us later. God is a loving father who wants to give us the best. I am not trying to say that the guys weren’t the best. Both guys are great but maybe the girls wouldn’t have been the best for them either. God loves us all and if we will only trust and wait….good things will come.
Saturday, June 12, 2010
From Chapter Five
Another excerpt...
Today my mother, stepdad, my sister and her kids canoed down the Hiwassee river in Tennessee. They had gorgeous weather and a great time. So in the theme of their day I decided on an excerpt from chapter five. Except Bronwyn isn't having as great a canoe ride.... enjoy.....
Bronwyn looked into the sky; it had grown unusually dark. That part of her nightmare was real. A chill had fallen in the air, causing the wind to increase; it bounced the canoe about the water. Bronwyn shivered at the sudden change of temperature. Only a few hours ago, the lake had been a peaceful paradise. Now it was a sinister snare of deception. The trees that before had stood erect, pointing happily to the sapphire sky, now bent over, cowering in fear before the breath of the storm. The sky that had provided a playground for whippoorwill, warblers, larks, water thrush and an occasional hawk was now devoid of any fowl. The vexed howl of the wind replaced the delightful songs of the birds.
It seemed to Bronwyn as if all nature cowered in fear of the arrival of some hideous creature. She sensed an overpowering feeling of doom as if there were some foreboding secret of which all of nature was aware. She shivered uncontrollably from the iciness of the wind and the eeriness that penetrated her soul. Thunder sounded in the distance as smoky black clouds rolled violently across the sky. Bronwyn attempted to maneuver the canoe to the dock. The muscles in her arms burned and her hands cramped from the tightness of her clutch on the oar. All of Bronwyn’s efforts to slice the water with the paddle met in futility, as the tumultuous waves tossed the oar to the surface as if it were nothing more than a wooden spoon. The rain smacked the lake in a downpour. The heavy wind blew the torrential rain into her face impairing her vision and making it impossible for her to see. Her heart raced within her chest.
She knew her circumstances were not good. Bronwyn considered her situation. She guessed she was close to shore, yet uncertain as to how close. With the increasing wind, she could feel her tiny canoe pushed further back into the lake and the consuming waves. She contemplated abandoning the boat altogether, and possibly swimming to shore. She was a decent swimmer, and could perhaps move her body against the fierce waves, more easily than she could maneuver the canoe with a worthless paddle. However, as fatigued as she was becoming, she feared running out of strength and then having no place of rest. Bronwyn decided to continue her paddling and get as close to shore as possible before taking the eminent plunge into the angry waters.
A streak of lightning zigzagged across the lake directly in front of her. She realized her situation was growing dimmer by every second. She placed her drenched arm across her forehead, shielding her eyes in an attempt to get a visual assessment of her distance from shore.
Her heart leaped with excitement. She was closer than she realized! She eyed several trees growing out of the water, many of their branches extended farther out over the lake. Bronwyn tossed her oar aside, and reached out to grab a branch, to pull herself closer to shore. Her sudden movement, combined with the unevenness of the water and the overpowering waves, toppled her canoe, tossing her into the angry lake. The consuming waters rushed over her, the waves much stronger than she had anticipated.
Now disoriented Bronwyn tried to position herself toward the shore. However, the wind, waves and the torrential downpour teamed up against her. She desperately needed a focal point. If only she could get a quick glimpse of the shoreline, she could swim there with all her might. She dare not waste her last bit of strength until she was certain of her bearings. Swimming in the wrong direction would cast her deeper into the lake, resulting in inevitable death. Bronwyn’s legs burned beneath her. Exhaustion was setting in. She feared she could not tread the water much longer, yet certain if she stopped she would surely be overtaken by the monstrous waves.
The sky was almost dark now. Little light left. Dismal gray surrounded her on every side. She strained her eyes for one small glimpse of shoreline. Just one glimmer of hope and she would exude all her strength to make it there.
Another bolt of lightning hit nearby. The flash provided just enough light to point her way to shore. Bronwyn’s heart beat with excitement. With the last bit of strength she forced her way, fighting against the powerful waters. Each wave that rose high above her pushed her back, keeping her from the shore.
Bronwyn swam, determined. This is not how my life is going to end! Thoughts of her friends and family receiving the dismal news of her death invaded her mind. She pondered how the news would affect Ryan. She wondered if he would feel any remorse. More than likely, he would be delighted. With her death, he would be free to use the screenplay he was so desperately trying to steal from her. Her simmering anger gave her an added bit of strength and new momentum. She tossed him from her mind. He would not be her last thought.
Another wave washed over her, filling her mouth with water. She coughed, strangled by the sudden rush of fluid. The rain’s intensity increased, pouring over her along with the crashing waves. She was losing her last bit of strength at an alarming rate. She lowered her legs, to see if she could touch bottom. Nothing.
Her heart ached. She wanted to cry. Her strength was completely gone. Her heart pounded so hard it seemed to be marching from her chest directly into her throat, choking her, suffocating her. God help me! Please God, I’m not ready to die, not now, not alone, not here, not this way. Please don’t let this happen to me, Help me please. Her heart pursed into itself a desperate prayer.
Bronwyn felt a small tap on her back. She whirled around. The canoe! Although it had capsized, it was amazingly still afloat! If she could manage to hang on to it, she might have a chance to drift to safety. She reached for the canoe. The enormous waves pushed it toward her at the same time causing it to violently crash into her head.
The sudden rush of pain choked the breath out of her. Bronwyn gasped… all was growing dark and quiet. She felt her body go limp. With all her strength ebbing away, she attempted to grab the canoe. Her hand had no power to grip; it only slapped at the side of the boat before sliding down across the hull and into the water. All was dark, save for a bright piercing light that blinded her eyes as the swirling waters took possession of her body.
There was no rain, no thunder, no howling wind. No final thoughts. Only a bright light followed by a quiet cold darkness.
Today my mother, stepdad, my sister and her kids canoed down the Hiwassee river in Tennessee. They had gorgeous weather and a great time. So in the theme of their day I decided on an excerpt from chapter five. Except Bronwyn isn't having as great a canoe ride.... enjoy.....
Bronwyn looked into the sky; it had grown unusually dark. That part of her nightmare was real. A chill had fallen in the air, causing the wind to increase; it bounced the canoe about the water. Bronwyn shivered at the sudden change of temperature. Only a few hours ago, the lake had been a peaceful paradise. Now it was a sinister snare of deception. The trees that before had stood erect, pointing happily to the sapphire sky, now bent over, cowering in fear before the breath of the storm. The sky that had provided a playground for whippoorwill, warblers, larks, water thrush and an occasional hawk was now devoid of any fowl. The vexed howl of the wind replaced the delightful songs of the birds.
It seemed to Bronwyn as if all nature cowered in fear of the arrival of some hideous creature. She sensed an overpowering feeling of doom as if there were some foreboding secret of which all of nature was aware. She shivered uncontrollably from the iciness of the wind and the eeriness that penetrated her soul. Thunder sounded in the distance as smoky black clouds rolled violently across the sky. Bronwyn attempted to maneuver the canoe to the dock. The muscles in her arms burned and her hands cramped from the tightness of her clutch on the oar. All of Bronwyn’s efforts to slice the water with the paddle met in futility, as the tumultuous waves tossed the oar to the surface as if it were nothing more than a wooden spoon. The rain smacked the lake in a downpour. The heavy wind blew the torrential rain into her face impairing her vision and making it impossible for her to see. Her heart raced within her chest.
She knew her circumstances were not good. Bronwyn considered her situation. She guessed she was close to shore, yet uncertain as to how close. With the increasing wind, she could feel her tiny canoe pushed further back into the lake and the consuming waves. She contemplated abandoning the boat altogether, and possibly swimming to shore. She was a decent swimmer, and could perhaps move her body against the fierce waves, more easily than she could maneuver the canoe with a worthless paddle. However, as fatigued as she was becoming, she feared running out of strength and then having no place of rest. Bronwyn decided to continue her paddling and get as close to shore as possible before taking the eminent plunge into the angry waters.
A streak of lightning zigzagged across the lake directly in front of her. She realized her situation was growing dimmer by every second. She placed her drenched arm across her forehead, shielding her eyes in an attempt to get a visual assessment of her distance from shore.
Her heart leaped with excitement. She was closer than she realized! She eyed several trees growing out of the water, many of their branches extended farther out over the lake. Bronwyn tossed her oar aside, and reached out to grab a branch, to pull herself closer to shore. Her sudden movement, combined with the unevenness of the water and the overpowering waves, toppled her canoe, tossing her into the angry lake. The consuming waters rushed over her, the waves much stronger than she had anticipated.
Now disoriented Bronwyn tried to position herself toward the shore. However, the wind, waves and the torrential downpour teamed up against her. She desperately needed a focal point. If only she could get a quick glimpse of the shoreline, she could swim there with all her might. She dare not waste her last bit of strength until she was certain of her bearings. Swimming in the wrong direction would cast her deeper into the lake, resulting in inevitable death. Bronwyn’s legs burned beneath her. Exhaustion was setting in. She feared she could not tread the water much longer, yet certain if she stopped she would surely be overtaken by the monstrous waves.
The sky was almost dark now. Little light left. Dismal gray surrounded her on every side. She strained her eyes for one small glimpse of shoreline. Just one glimmer of hope and she would exude all her strength to make it there.
Another bolt of lightning hit nearby. The flash provided just enough light to point her way to shore. Bronwyn’s heart beat with excitement. With the last bit of strength she forced her way, fighting against the powerful waters. Each wave that rose high above her pushed her back, keeping her from the shore.
Bronwyn swam, determined. This is not how my life is going to end! Thoughts of her friends and family receiving the dismal news of her death invaded her mind. She pondered how the news would affect Ryan. She wondered if he would feel any remorse. More than likely, he would be delighted. With her death, he would be free to use the screenplay he was so desperately trying to steal from her. Her simmering anger gave her an added bit of strength and new momentum. She tossed him from her mind. He would not be her last thought.
Another wave washed over her, filling her mouth with water. She coughed, strangled by the sudden rush of fluid. The rain’s intensity increased, pouring over her along with the crashing waves. She was losing her last bit of strength at an alarming rate. She lowered her legs, to see if she could touch bottom. Nothing.
Her heart ached. She wanted to cry. Her strength was completely gone. Her heart pounded so hard it seemed to be marching from her chest directly into her throat, choking her, suffocating her. God help me! Please God, I’m not ready to die, not now, not alone, not here, not this way. Please don’t let this happen to me, Help me please. Her heart pursed into itself a desperate prayer.
Bronwyn felt a small tap on her back. She whirled around. The canoe! Although it had capsized, it was amazingly still afloat! If she could manage to hang on to it, she might have a chance to drift to safety. She reached for the canoe. The enormous waves pushed it toward her at the same time causing it to violently crash into her head.
The sudden rush of pain choked the breath out of her. Bronwyn gasped… all was growing dark and quiet. She felt her body go limp. With all her strength ebbing away, she attempted to grab the canoe. Her hand had no power to grip; it only slapped at the side of the boat before sliding down across the hull and into the water. All was dark, save for a bright piercing light that blinded her eyes as the swirling waters took possession of her body.
There was no rain, no thunder, no howling wind. No final thoughts. Only a bright light followed by a quiet cold darkness.
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