Serials and Scenarios - Marilyn Griffith - Inside Out

Marilyn Griffith dropped by late last night and answered all sorts of questions. Here's a few for your perusal. I'll post the rest later - she has another book coming out soon. If you can't wait, I'm open to bribes.

I think I'll invite Marilyn to my next slumber party. I think we could have all sorts of fun.

My Q's are red, her A's are blue.

Pick one…..

Pink iguana, purple cow, periwinkle giraffe. Which one and why? Can be negative or positive.

Pink iguana. Positve? she's pink. Negative. She's an iguana. "Nough said.


Favorite turn of phrase or word picture, in literature or movie.

"Good morn-ting!" (Madea, Tyler Perry's Family Reunion) I said every morning for about a month after I saw that movie.


What period of history intrigues you the most?

Oh goodie, one I can answer! The period from about 1852 to 1870 would top the list. I read a lot of slave narratives and civil war accounts from both sides of the war. Next after that would probably be the 1020's.


What would you write if there were no rules or barriers? (epic novels about characters in the Bible, poetry, greeting cards, plays, movies, instruction manuals, etc.)

Oh...you are going to get me into so much trouble now! LOL An big, thick, science fiction epic. Yeah, I know. That's why there are rules and barriers.


What makes you feel alive?

Another freebie. My husband's beard against my face, baby toes and kid hugs, good music, great food, friends who love me even when I zone out and forget to call them, pretty flowers... You get the ideas. I'm pretty simple.


How does something worm its way into your heart? Through tears, truth, humor or other?

All of the above. Those three are my favorite trilogy. I try to infuse some of each into my books. How did you know?


Frizzy hair, purple scarf and a book – make a character.

An exploding eggplant. It's probably what I looked like, but hey, if you can't be a frizzy vegetable every now and again, what's the point in living? And living is important. More important than my currently untamed man. If I don't get this book back into my boss's library before she notices...

"Cherise! Where have you been? And what's wrong with your hair. And that outfit? It's horrid. Warm colors, honey. Warm. Colors. Didn't we have this talk after the electric blue incident?"

Too late. "I had to make a run. An errand--"

The book, a hardback copy of Maya Angelou's I Know why the Caged Bird Sings, slipped out of my bag and hit the floor. I guess I squeezed it too hard and managed to turn it upside down. Did I say that my boss makes me nervous.

My employer's face turned a blotchy red. In spots.

"Tell me that isn't to replace my autographed copy I've been looking for. Tell me..." She slid to the floor in a dead faint.

So much for living...

Man, I got carried away with that one. LOL Thanks for the fun, Kelly!
Thank you, Marilyn. Great insight into the inner you!

In case you missed the links yesterday:

Tangerine- http://www.amazon.com/exec/obidos/ASIN/0800730429


Marilyn's Website - http://marilynngriffith.typepad.com/rhythmsofgrace/


Happy Weekend!

Serials and Scenarios - Tangerine by Marilyn Griffith

Marilyn Griffith has an excellent last name. My maiden name.

She also inspires awe. I caught a workshop she taught at the Nashville ACFW conference. The woman is organized and made me want to be also. She seems to flourish even though being a mother of many. Check her out. Hopefully I'll post some interview Q's and A's tomorrow.

Tangerine -
http://www.amazon.com/exec/obidos/ASIN/0800730429

Marilyn's Webpage.
http://marilynngriffith.typepad.com/rhythmsofgrace/


Tangerine Reviewed....

Love the title. I’m sure Marilyn Griffith was going for the snap of color. But tangerine the fruit also sums up Jean, the main female character. Jean demonstrated a whole lot of sweet and mushy but her bitter/tangy skin stood in the way throughout the majority of the book.

Griffith’s third novel in the “Shades of Style” series diverse blend of characters reminded me of the Yada-Yada Prayer Group.

Both unique and common drama struggles pepper “Tangerine.” Faith is not buried, hinted at or hidden in “Tangerine.” Marilyn weaves belief throughout the lives of the characters to the point where the prayer meetings and conversations felt déjà vu realistic.

For those of you who wish Christian fiction might relax some of the standards that often make characters pious, perfect and pasty you might find “Tangerine” as real, as well, life. Struggles such as sexuality, forgiveness and prison life permeate the novel. Overcoming those issues through the grace of Jesus and the friendship of other believers is the strength of this read.

Scribbles and Scrambles - I Quit!

Tomorrow I’ll be reviewing Marilyn Griffith’s “Tangerine.” Sweet with a slight bite. Easy to peel, digest, etc. etc.

Today I’m going to confess a bad attitude. Again!

What the who, is there a nasty attitude virus going around? If so I keep catching it.

I may have a cure, though. No, not the one where I throw the sheets over my head and refuse to get out of bed, though that sounds like it might do the trick especially if I could talk a family member into SILENTLY delivering French Press and chocolates.

But since that’s as likely to happen as me winning the lottery without purchasing a ticket I’ll just share my deeper thoughts.

This virus has been brewing for awhile. It flared on Sunday.

Rob and I discussed it on the way home from church. I’m not sure which of us is the carrier and which caught it, but we both spent a large chunk of worship time focused on other PEOPLE.

Ah-ha! The main symptom of said virus.

While focused on other people I was unable to really worship the Creator of the world, the King of kings and Lord of lords because, while He had my whole heart, my mind was distracted. I say He had my whole heart because I wasn’t watching the others in the service to mock them or judge them. My intentions were good, concern that they were unable to worship because they struggle with the type of songs that we were singing.

What? Yeah. That’s what I thought once I realized what I was doing. Then I put on another sour attitude because their struggle put me in a bad place. Grumble, grumble.

I need to readjust my view.

So here I go. Lord, people are going to disappoint me and hurt me and frustrate the life out of me if my focus is there, on them. Help me to hear Your voice, keep my eyes on Your path and my feet lined up with my eyes. Do Your will in my life. And here they are, (insert name(s)) now You take care of them. I quit.

Ahhh, I feel better. I think I might crank up the stereo and sing on the way home.

See you tomorrow.

Scribbles and Scrambles - Random Lessons from 2006

I'd like to share a few lessons I've learned this year.

First, I'm glad I'm teachable. Life would get a little stale if I just rode the big floating ball we call earth.

No longer a closet Pollyanna, I will look for the compliment in any statement directed toward me. Example...I found "you look like a deranged elf" endearing because it was preceeded with "you look adorable." Crazy? Perhaps.

Visits to Nannyland have refreshed a perspective I've lost now that my kids have gotten older. I tend to take life for granted and forget:
Sometimes all you need is a good nap.
That good music is designed for dancing.
Emotions are best expressed.
Some books and songs require belly laughs.
Walking is one step at a time, one foot in front of the other, and learned gradually.

Nike's catch phrase, "just do it" rings true in writing. Plugging away and being persistant has made writing easier and the end result less nasty. ( I may be deluding myself - please refrain from contrary comments until after the changing of the new year.)

I hope your 2007 is a year full of God's blessings, learning and moments that inspire dancing. And French Press coffee.

Scribbles and Scrambles - Blog Pays Off

Who says Bl0gs are useless?

I’ll have you know that “Scrambled Dregs” has paid off big-time.

Several months ago I whined about auto-drip coffee being forever ruined after my palette found French Press.

Fast forward to the annual-post-Thanksgiving-dinner-family-name-drawing-for-Christmas-gifts event. (Yes, it’s a cumbersome title – we thought about A.P.T.D.F.N.D.C.G.E but we just couldn’t sell the concept to the majority…something to do with turkey induced lethargy, I think.) My aunt who reads my blog and remembered the whining-about-French-Press-coffee post, drew my name and… gifted me with an 8-cup French Press. Thanks, sweet, sweet auntie. (This is one of the same aunts who took me to bright blue Mt Crash-a-lot in Colorado. In hindsight posting the French Press whines followed by the four part visit to Mt. Humilation was a brilliant marketing ploy. Of course this only works for family members who’ve somehow had a hand in scarring you and who read your blog.

Hope your Christmas was a French Press kind of day.

In the near future I think I’ll be sharing some family lore – the stories that crop up every time we get together.

Heads in my freezer, dead trikes, things like that.

Maybe I’ll start my campaign for a Blackberry soon, too. My cousin/nephew and I had a discussion over some excellent ideas for blog posts and in all the frivolity I forgot the darn topics, maybe they’ll come to me, they were funny enough to spew organic jelly while laughing over them. If I had a Blackberry that would never have happened (the forgetting, not the snort/spewing.)

So how guilty do you feel over Mt. Marked-For-Life, aunties?

Scribbles and Scrambles - Why I Believe....

So many songs about a baby who was born in a manger, wouldn't it be nice if it was true? That Baby Jesus really did exist and came to bring peace, we need some peace in this messed up world. Innocence is a lacking commodity, too...and truth, well, we've replaced that with drama.

Pondering the birth of a baby, I want to share my thoughts on why I believe, why I've bet the whole farm on the far-fetched story of a baby born to a virgin, long, long ago.

Why do I believe in Jesus? Why do I a 40-something adult still cling to a story that others have dismissed as easily as Santa Claus or the Tooth Fairy?

Is it because I grew up in a “Christian” home and have spent countless hours becoming inchurchiated?

Fair question.

As a child I panicked at the idea that Jesus might come back and take my mom and dad and leave me behind. So it seemed logical that I should do what it took to go with them should the rapture occur. And honestly, it’s a no-brainer, heaven or hell? I’ll pick heaven. Fate sealed, life taken care of.

But then, as I grew-up, survived the teen years, got married, began raising my children, dealing with mortgages, insurance, dentists and the ravages of sin, I faced another menu of choices.

For awhile I chose to step away from the church. Because I felt unworthy to even wear the name of Christ, I shed Him, as if I changed my clothes. Life as a modern woman, as defined by Cosmo, beckoned. The church had disillusioned me.

Deep down though, I hoped that Jesus would maybe recognize me as the little girl who had rededicated her life to Him a thousand times.

No religious guilt for me, just an honest relationship where I refused to pray for help or guidance because I couldn’t muster the gratitude to thank Him for giving me my breath or children or roof over my head. No guilt, true, but hollowness leeched into my soul.

Then the growing babies in my care began to ask questions about the deeper things of life, like what happens when we die. I then looked at the church as an educator for them. We’d go every once in awhile. Kind of like childhood immunizations. Satisfied that I took care of securing their souls, I continued to live as I had been, embracing life.

Who knew that what I embraced wasn’t life at all but slow death by poisoning?

One night, after the same old fight over the same old thing where Rob spoke unintelligible words and accused me of the same, I gave up. I told God I was through doing it my way and asked Him to teach me His.

He steered me back to Jesus.

Jesus freaks people out. He did 2,000ish years ago and still does today. Most preachers don’t spend a lot of time preaching on Jesus’ words because they are too simple and too costly. But Jesus boiled it all down for us. Love the Lord your God with all your mind, soul, strength and heart and your neighbor as yourself.

Love and brutal honesty were His trademark and expectation for those who followed Him. He enraged the religious. He spoke in stories and examples and He embraced the ugly and sin-sick.
C.S. Lewis pointed out (paraphrased) that Jesus either spoke the truth and is who He claimed to be, was a liar, or a lunatic along the lines of a man who might claim to be a poached egg.

Sometimes I find myself getting discouraged. I hate the games that are played in religious circles. I chafe at those who are selfish or mean yet call themselves followers of Christ. I’ve even pondered giving up, questioned if Jesus really is the ONLY way, truth and life.

But the strange thing is that when I get there, I picture a scenario that happened a long time ago. Jesus plunged into unpopularity. He’d been feeding and loving the people and then He introduced the concept of their commitment to Him. Too hard, too much, too painful, the people left.

His disciples stood near Him. I imagine they had the sour taste of disappointment in their mouths. Would a few have been angry? What a stupid thing to do in the middle of a flourishing ministry. Jesus asked the disciples. “Are you going to leave Me, too?”

Peter, who was prone to passionate outbursts, spoke. “Where else can we go? You have the words of life.”

I have to agree. I’ve looked under rocks, in buildings, Googled, searched, studied and have found nothing else that offers the words of life. Instead, I’ve unearthed a whole lot of nicely wrapped death.

That is why I believe in Jesus. Not religion. Not what other people tell me about Jesus. But Jesus Himself.

I believe Jesus is the Son of God, the Promised One, the Messiah, born to a virgin. I believe He lived without sin and became my Passover lamb and my scapegoat on a cross. I believe He died, was sealed in a tomb and that He rose again. His words fill me, because He is the Word and He has placed a part of Himself into me, just like God did when Mary’s womb was filled. I believe Jesus will return for me as He promised. I believe I will see Him on His white horse and on His thigh will be written King of kings and Lord of lords.

What else can I believe? He has the words of life. He is the Word of Life.

Merry CHRISTmas. May you come to know the Prince of Peace intimately......

Scribbles and Scrambles - My Momma Drops By With a Poem

Here's a treat for you. My mom, the rhyming maniac, has managed to write a poem using the words Superman underwear and squat. And it even has a higher purpose than entertainment. sigh. Well. I did write that incredible Die, Cricket, Die poem a few months ago. (She will not be amused that I tied the two poems together - but it's my blog.)


Mom's Poem (Catchy Title Huh?)


T’was the week before Christmas,
And wouldn’t you know,
I was not nearly ready,
Nor had we had snow.

The stockings we’d found
In the basement, it’s true.
We’d shopped and had purchased
Some gifts (far too few).

The dinner plans, finally,
Were now taking shape.
(work schedules, conflicts, the dishes we’d make).

I longed for the days of the
Fisher-Price stuff, when
Delighting the children
Was never too tough.

A squeaky toy here,
A baby doll there,
Some books, new pjs,
Superman underwear.

Today it’s electronics
About which I know squat,
(except for a few things
my children have taught.)

But in all this confusion
We treasure so dear,
There’s really but one reason
For this time of year.

We stop in the night
To ponder the star,
That light that drew wise men
Who came from afar.

It beckons us still
To consider this birth.
This wondrous, unfathomed gift
To the earth.

The Redeemer who came
In the humblest of ways,
Wrapped, in the manger –
The Ancient of Days.

To purchase His treasure
From the bondage of sin.
He came for your heart.
Won’t you please let Him in?

Phyllis A. Griffith