Serials and Scenarios - Color My World - Deb Raney

Deb Raney checks in with her crayon thoughts.

In case you've read Deb's books, or have seen her picture and think she must be a sweetie, you would be correct.

And, well, what can I say...Deb and I think alike...kind of...at least where Periwinkle is concerned. I am concerned that Deb, so bubbly and sweet, didn't mention yellow. But I'm holding out hope.


What crayon in the box describes you on a good day? Bad day? Which one do you aspire to be?

"Periwinkle blue on a good day. LOVE that color! It just makes me happy! I honestly don't have very many bad days, but I suppose I'd choose orange for a bad day. Something about that color stirs me up, so might as well get good and stirred up if I'm already mad."


And Deb would like to share the following, too:

"My newest book to release is the updated and expanded A Vow to Cherish (Steeple Hill, July 2006). We’re celebrating the ten-year anniversary of my first novel’s first release. I’m excited about this book finding an audience with a whole new generation of married couples. Coming next: Remember to Forget (Howard/Simon & Schuster January 2007). Send me an e-mail me at debraney@mac.com for a copy of my brand new Autumn e-newsletter with a sneak peek at the cover of Remember to Forget. As always, I’d love to have you drop by www.deborahraney.com."

More from Me:

A Vow to Cherish became a movie. A friend of mine went forward and gave his life to God after seeing it. It's a powerful story.

Another aside -- housekeeping if you will -- a friend and faithful blog reader/critic gave me a book of Jewel's poems for inspiration.

Expect more poetry. Feel free to comment with one of your own.

Serials and Scenarios - Color My World - Gina Holmes

Gina.... you're up....

What crayon in the box describes you on a good day? Bad day? Which one do you aspire to be?


Good day Blue. Peaceful. Even.
Bad day: Red. Irritable and quick tempered.



Gina Holmes runs the popular fiction writer's blog, Novel Journey and assists with sister site, Novel Reviews. She has interviewed many of today's greatest authors from Ted Dekker to Karen Kingsbury to Walter Wangerin Jr. She is wife, mother, writer, blogger and Registered Nurse. She is currently working on her third suspense novel. www.noveljourney.blogspot.com
www.novelreviews.blogspot.com


So, red is good for Kathy and bad for Gina - and they both write supernatural thrills and chillers. Gina must love Periwinkle, too. So far no one likes yellow. Hey guys, yellow is the color of sunshine and daffodils and baby ducklings.

We'll see what'll come up with the other posts.

Don't make me write a poem about yellow!

Serials and Scenarios - Color My World - Kathryn Mackel

I promised you some color this week.

I asked a few authors for their thoughts on crayons.

I think there must be some sort of psychology behind crayon choice. I personally love Periwinkle - though it peaks as a crayon.
Bright Yellow has to be the Kelly crayon. It's the one I use to bring sunshine and daisies into my little world. The color of Pollyanna.
On the flip side. Burnt Sienna. My apologies to any Burnt Sienna fans, but not only do I hate the color, it's got a gritty and scratchy texture, too. Give me smooth, sunny yellow. Oooh, I think I may feel a poem coming on. I'll have to see if I can muster one for the grande finale close to color week.

First up is Kathryn Mackel - I asked - she answered.

What crayon in the box describes you on a good day? Bad day? Which one do you aspire to be?

Red. Always red, which I see as the color of passion and life. On a bad day I’m brown. Kicking at the dirt. Which one do I aspire to be? A more vibrant red, of course. One that’s bold but not brassy.

Good answer, Kathy. I like red, too. (And I'm pretty sure she won't get offended over my Burnt Sienna rant.) Visit her at http://www.kathrynmackel.com/ and see a sample of her writing here http://kellyklepfer.blogspot.com/2006/05/serials-and-scenarios-kathryn-mackel.html

Scribbles and Scrambles - Color My World Pt 1

Today, I look like a modern impressionist canvas. I’m wearing every known crayon color, or at least all the primary and secondary ones. For some strange reason this makes me happy. I suppose it could be the two cups of coffee I’ve already sucked down. But, for the sake of argument, I’m going with the color theory. And, while I’m on the subject of choosing to believe things, I’m going to believe that when people call me a “piece of work” it is in reference to art.

I asked some people to share their color thoughts and it’s time to reveal those insightful answers to you, my readers, including the anonymi. (New word – Noun plural for anonymous.)

The people who received the question regarding color are all novelists, which is appropriate since I’m a wannabe. Have I mentioned that I’m currently penning a mystery novel? “Penning” sounds so much more literary than “clicking my brains out.” I’m sure you’ll be hearing more about this later.

I’m not alone in this novel pursuit, I have a co-authoress. We will be “pitching” (wannabe author talk for begging someone to buy the idea so we can finish the book) the idea and first few chapters in September in Dallas (not to be confused with Paris in April – and for the record I’ve never been either place.) As of a month ago I wasn’t attending the ACFW (American Christian Fiction Writers) conference, but then life changed and now I’m going. I’d mention how excited I am, but I’m afraid after the whole cricket poem my dear readers would be frightened.

So, now that I’m out of space for the day, consider this preparation for a colorful upcoming week on Scrambled Dregs.

Scribbles and Scrambles - Squashed Song

I fear poetry. When I'm serious, will I make people laugh? If I attempt to be vague will anyone get it? Today I'm inspired though. Inspired and brave.

My very public attempt at a poem. I hope it touches your hearts.


Ode to the Blasted Squeaking Cricket

Glossy obsidian armor
Talent oozes, your song inspires
Delicate strings played to perfection

Fingers of dusk,
Encroaching twilight,
Awakens your siren song.

Memories flow with your symphony,
Hide and seek, tag
Campfires and stolen kisses

Somehow, you’ve stolen
Into my home
Alone, the notes fall sour

Thoughts of you flood me
Crushed obsidian shell
Squished cream filling

Die, cricket, die.

Scribbles and Scrambles - Closet Story

Guess how big my bedroom closet is...the one in the house we moved into twelve years ago. Give up? If you said “zero” you win. The master bedroom has NO closet. Sound familiar?

The little ranch style matchbox resembled a cave when we moved in. Everything that didn’t scurry away got a couple of coats of white paint.

Rob put together a clothing rack, placed it against the wall and named it “closet.”

The move depleted funds to the point that the remodeling had to wait. The following year brought a broken ankle, three weeks before the really good health insurance with the great deductible kicked in. Sigh. Note to readers. Never drop a wall on your leg. Bad things happen.

Finally, after six long years, the process began.

Instead of replacing the roof, we decided to build a second story. Rob is VERY talented. He came up with this amazing plan and started to work.
Started.

The problems came with finishing… and that gnarly two-headed beast…money and time.

For several years I’ve contented myself with pulling into my driveway and gazing at my beautiful shell of a house. When time and money intersected and Rob disappeared upstairs, I’d dance around like a psychotic puppy, delivering tools and attention wherever he might need some.

All has been right the past several weeks, the perfect mesh of time/money intersection. Much has been done upstairs. I’ve painted rooms butter yellow, creamy cappuccino, soothing celery and vivid blue.

One and ½ of the rooms need paint. That’s it. The floors are ready to go down. I can see the checkered flag on the horizon.

I painted my new walk-in closet on Monday. Tonight, I paint my bedroom.

Is it possible that I’ve waited so long I won’t know what to do with my very own closet?

Yeah…Right!

Scribbles and Scrambles - House Story

I’m back from my break. The office has been much uglier when I’ve returned from shorter chunks of time. However, I could really get used to drawing a paycheck and not having to punch a clock.

Sharing the following information may bring the remodeling on my home to a screeching, squealing stop. It seems that’s how it goes. Some people consider it jinxing, I think it’s closer to Murphy’s Law.

Since marriage we’ve lived in homes, two of them, which have required extensive work. Something about price ranges and youthful foolishness comes to mind here, but that’s another post.

Our previous home boasted decades and lots of personality. Dormers, oak floors, cubby holes, all the character you could ever want in a house. And the natural gas meter in the cold Iowa winters, well, flying, speeding, soaring are nice descriptive words for the little “I’m sucking you dry” dance it did. Let’s just say we gave the stupid little wheel a workout. It chugged along like a rabid hamster at three a.m., and we got the gas bills to prove it.
After a decade of living in the huge home, when I’d decorated just like I wanted, and the only thing I lacked was a closet to call my own, we got the itch to move. A place just outside of the city limits came on the market.

That’s not true. It had been on the market for months, we just happened to trip over it.
Five hundred square feet less living space, a boxy ranch with as much personality as a dirty dishrag, it shouldn’t have gotten our attention. The price and the school district were the siren’s song, and we succumbed.

Scrambling to finish up the remodeling on our turn of the century, almost done home, we just dove into the obvious. My closet needed to be finished. As I packed, my husband glued, pounded and created.

One night two days before the move, a muffled voice came from the corner of my bedroom. “Honey!” I followed and found him standing in a pristine walk-in closet. A little light cord dangled in front of his face. “Go get me one of your blouses.” I did. He grabbed the hanger, slapped it on the white closet rod and laughed. “Now you can say you actually got to use it.”