Serials and Scenarios - Landon Snow and the Island of Arcanum R.K. Mortenson

Come back tomorrow for an interview with R.K. aka Randy.

Check out all the particulars....

http://www.amazon.com/exec/obidos/ASIN/1597893587

Visit R.K.'s website:
http://www.landonsnow.com/


My Review:

I've not read the first two Landon Snow adventures.

Several people have quoted clever descriptions and chunks of word weavings from the Auctor's Riddle so I was intrigued to read R.K. Mortenson's third novel.

The Island of Arcanum is a book we'd have chosen to read to our children. Enough suspense to keep a child on the edge of their seat without the nightmare factor. I see Landon Snow appealing to the 2nd to 5th grade set especially.

Mr. Mortenson tosses in enough earthy humor to get a giggle from the Captain Underpants crowd without overdoing it.

Though the Harry Potter series appealed to a huge market, and though well written, I blanched at the underlying mean-spiritedness of the characters. Landon Snow, however, cares about his sisters and his friends from past adventures which makes his adventure series a good alternative.

I didn't get to know Landon as well as I would've liked, and this might be because I haven't read book one or two.

Health Tidbit:
Should any of you be tempted to pick up any of the stomach virus strains around and about -- don't. I wasn't even tempted to blog about it. That's pretty bad. I've constructed some odd posts in strange situations...well, let's leave it at that.

Serials and Scenarios - R.K. Mortenson Landon Snow and the Island of Arcanum

Landon Snow Island of Arcanum

http://www.amazon.com/exec/obidos/ASIN/1597893587


R.K. (Randy) Mortenson's website.
http://www.landonsnow.com/


My Review:



I've not read the first two Landon Snow adventures.

Several people have quoted clever descriptions and chunks of word weavings from the Auctor's Riddle so I was intrigued to read R.K. Mortenson's third novel.

The Island of Arcanum is a book we'd have chosen to read to our children. Enough suspense to keep a child on the edge of their seat without the nightmare factor. I see Landon Snow appealing to the 2nd to 5th grade set especially.

Mr. Mortenson tosses in enough earthy humor to get a giggle from the Captain Underpants crowd without overdoing it.

Though the Harry Potter series appealed to a huge market, and though well written, I blanched at the underlying mean-spiritedness of the characters. Landon Snow, however, cares about his sisters and his friends from past adventures which makes his adventure series a good alternative.

I didn't get to know Landon as well as I would've liked, and this might be because I haven't read book one or two.


Come back tomorrow for Randy's interview.

And just for the record...if you have a chance to pick up the Rotovirus (aka the stomach flu) don't. It's a bad, bad thing.

Scribbles and Scrambles - The Circle of Trust

Twenty-five years ago today I walked down the aisle clutching my father's arm.

I had no business pledging my life-long love to the man who waited in the white tux at the end of that long aisle.

But that's what we do, isn't it? Marry when we have no idea what marriage means, make a baby when we don't realize that babies grow into teenagers.

If I had waited until I had a clue, fear would have eventually paralyzed me and I would have missed out on the waltz of my life.

Rob is my soul mate. But for so long we tried to poison each other and nearly succeeded. For some reason God intervened and held us together when all we wanted was to tear each other apart.

Thank you, God. Without Your glue my life would be tones of gray. The music of the soundtrack of my life without Rob would be elevator stylings at best.

Rob, today I tell the world (or my faithful and/or random readers) that I'd do it all over again. Wet behind the ears idealism has grown into a gut love. I promise to love you, honor you, respect you and forsaking all others pledge my life, my heart, my soul, my prayers to you until I take my last breath or hear the trumpet sound in the clouds.

If the trumpet sounds first, I hope we are close enough to grasp hands and take the wild ride together. If one of us breathes our last, I will treasure the memories we've made and the eternity we still have before us.

I am so glad I married you. I love you with all that I am, and so much more than when I walked toward you 25 years ago with my heart outstretched looking for the fulfillment of the promise of what God has delivered.

Scribbles and Scrambles - Greener Grass Futures

Okay, you know what a crazy month this has been for me. So I'm posting another piece I wrote for a column in an on-line writing magazine.

Hope your Thanksgiving was crammed with fun and great food. Hope you survived if you shopped til you dropped on Friday.

I'm sooooo close to my NaNoWriMo word count...you're going to be proud of me. Now if I could just muster the guts to post a paragraph or two of what I've written. I actually like my story. I sure hope I'm not deluding myself. I'll have to let you know when I begin to edit. Yikes!


Greener Grass Futures.... (and yes, I know the season doesn't fit, but the random thought works with me today, okay?)


Slack-jawed, almost speechless, my daughter looked at me. “Wow, I think that’s the wisest thing you’ve ever said.”

It was my turn to be speechless. She’d actually heard me? We’d been discussing what ifs and why nots and if onlys. Wracking my brain, I tried to recreate the words that had flowed during lecture #17.I had said something that clicked. What was it?

Cleaned up for publication, here it is. “Don’t spend your time wishing for what you don’t have and aren’t ready to handle, because you’ll miss the great part of being right here, right now.” Sounds, great, I must have “borrowed” it from a wise sage.

I realized that I knew what I was talking about because I was talking about me. Isn’t that what we do? When I make more money, then…., finish my novel…., get a contract…., finish this season of my life… find an agent, then….

I worked for years in a creative part of a non-profit world. Yeah, I know an oxymoron. Organizing, teaching, training and throwing together events and newsletters kept me frazzled and occupied.

One day I looked at a calendar and realized that I’d wished away an upcoming family event while looking forward to a few weeks of rest before the next onslaught of activity.

I now work in an industry that is daily focused. I have 24 hour blocks again instead of chunks of time book ended by events.

Blurry snapshots of my life are not what I want. I’d rather have frozen moments embedded in my thoughts or brief snatches of mental videos.

Even though I want that first novel contract, and would love to be able to write full time without subsisting on mac and cheese, I’m content to do what I need to do to earn those rewards.

Learning the craft of writing has been a pleasant surprise. My mind wraps around my experiences or ideas and is challenged to form a series of words that can evoke emotions or understanding in those who read them. Writing slows my life down, forcing me look at the details of dailiness. Weaving mind pictures, flash freezing moments to cherish, has helped me to live.

Even now, my daughter and her friend clang, crash and laugh in the kitchen. I’m choosing to ignore the mess being created. Anything to keep my fragile web of sanity. The leaves shimmer and shimmy in the slight breeze outside my window. The vivid sky helps me overlook the 95 degree temp with 100% humidity. My husband wanders past, touches my arm and reads over my shoulder. As he rushes away before I can catch him to read the whole thing, I smile, noticing, that at 43 he’s still got it.

Right here, right now, that is where I am. I think I’m going to be okay with that. Of course I will, I have an excellent imagination.

Serials and Scenarios - Calm, Cool & Adjusted by Kristin Billerbeck

Happy Thanksgiving Everyone. Watch for signs of turkey overdose!

Here's a great book to read while you are flat on your back after holiday feasting.

http://www.amazon.com/exec/obidos/ASIN/1591453305

Kristin's Website

http://www.kristinbillerbeck.com/

My Review of Calm, Cool and Adjusted.

Poor Poppy!

She just wants to save the world -- one liver at a time. Poppy didn't take her vow to bring health and well-being to the masses lightly. But the obstacles she faces are bringing her down.

Unbelievers, scoffers and meddlers thwart her every move. Her father flakes out and does something totally unexpected.Dr. Frankenhunk, the handsome plastic surgeon next door, tries all of Poppy's patience and good will. He actually parks his spiffy sports car in front of her organic and peaceful side of their shared office space. The man has nerve; fortunately, she's there to point it out.

Even Lily and Morgan, her spa buddies, won't leave Poppy alone. They actually suggest conversation limits for certain social occasions. A completely maladjusted patient manages to confuse the situation even further.

What's a poor-green-goo-for-dinner loving, just-trying-to-make-everyone-healthy-chiropractor to do?

Everything you want Chick-Lit to be, served with a healthy dose of cleverness. Adorable, fluffy fun. I'd love to hang with Poppy. Well, maybe not for dinner.

Scribbles and Scrambles - Musical Epiphany

This is a feature I wrote that convicts me everytime I read it. It appeared on the TrueTunes website a few months ago.

Musical Epiphany


Sweaty bodies and the scent of rain filled the sawdust strewn animal barn at the Christian music festival. After being chased by the blowing downpour to the lightning free indoor arena, musicians meandered onto the small stage.

A man with a small girl clasped to his chest stopped in front of a speaker just as one of the guitarists struck a few intense warm-up cords. The toddler jerked and burst into tears. The man looked down, covered the child's ears, and like a salmon swimming upstream, headed toward the back of the huge audience. I huffed, relieved to see that he had "gotten a clue" and decided to put the child's best interest before his desire to be in front of the stage.

Two women behind my family carried on a loud conversation, oblivious to the people who stared at them. Well, actually they bellowed to hear each other over the band. Frustration flooded through me. A child in front of us whined, and his mother told him to stop. He carried on and she finally gave him what he wanted. Then the father and mother engaged in a heated argument over parenting styles. She lost, turned to the white clothed child and chastised him for being dirty.

I leaned over to my daughter and suggested that I should direct them to the parenting information table in the lobby.

As the concert began, the man and the toddler headed back to the stage. He'd draped a blanket over her head, and I shook mine.

I soon focused on the stage as great rock music filled the animal barn. The singer shared parts and pieces of his musical heritage. He'd grown up in the church and had spent a lot of his life going through the motions musically. He didn't understand why the church lacked the overwhelming emotion of the brokenhearted street performers who grabbed his heart. After all, shouldn't Christians be the most grateful, broken-hearted people in the world? Believers are delivered from despair and death by the victory won by Christ, the lover of their souls.

On his journey to find the passion missing in the church, the singer found his voice, capturing the words of God in rock and blues styles of music. The notes of his "signature piece" poured out, and a conversation I'd taken part in months earlier came to mind. A musically talented friend of ours, frustrated with his standstill in the music business, brought up the song the man on the stage sang. The conversation had gone down a negative road. My husband and I had listened to our friend's "expertise" and agreed with him. We didn't "care for" the style of the song.

Pierced, I listened to the music with my heart instead of my mind.

"Who am I?" I thought as the truth of the song and the reality of worship as it was meant to be, swirled around me. My focus was wrong. My attitudes were wrong, so very, very wrong.

How easily I make snap judgments or "discernments." Me, sitting in judgment of the family with the dirty, misbehaving children, the conversationalists, the musicians and the man with the blanket clad child – the man, who now stood with one arm raised to heaven.

God tweaked my heart painfully. How could I pick apart the sacrificial offering of a fellow servant, being a simple servant myself? What difference does it make if I prefer one musical style over another? If a song is written to praise God, using some of God's own words or feelings that wash over the author as God reveals Himself, that song belongs to God. It becomes as sacred as prayer.

I can't redeem anyone's past, or see into anyone's future. Nor can I touch someone's soul without God's heart beating in my own. How could I know if the risk to a child's ears was more or less important than being in the arms of a man who loved her? Maybe God will use the love of music to grasp hold of her heart. Maybe music will be the special connection between the two of them as she grows into a young woman.

God can intervene and heal relationships and maybe the family struggle we witnessed will be eased because of their experience at the concert. A song, whether I like the beat or the words, may grasp a heart that is wandering away from God. A song, sung with a heart that beats with the powerful love of God could accomplish exactly what God desires.

Scribbles and Scrambles - Why I Write...

At the end of October I promised to post even more random and strange things since I would be up to my eyebrows in words for my self-imposed NaNoWriMo deadline. I currently have 33,000 words of the 50,000 required and I don't hate the story. This is good.

Anyhoo, an internet writing group/loop posed the following question: How do you explain your compulsion to write to non-writing friends and family?

My answer:

I drool and act edgy until my husband suggests I put in a little writing time.

No. I use the hunting analogy.

My husband is an avid deer hunter. When the season rolls around, he starts rack shopping, even if the freezer's full. One year we drove by a perfect Christmas card scene. Huge puffy snowflakes swirled in the air and danced in front of a brilliant moon. Trees glistened with icy glitter and a massive buck stood in the midst of it all. I was awed into silence.

My husband expelled a breath, and then said. "I wish I had my gun."

I need to write like he is driven to clomp through icy streams, sit in trees in negative temperatures, and shoot Bambi.