The Reliance link: http://www.amazon.com/exec/obidos/ASIN/1597893609
The Author link: http://www.mltyndall.com/
The Review:
After reading “The Reliance” I’m certain I don’t want to encounter a pirate. My senses aren’t up for it. I cringe when a hero and heroine passionately kiss the first thing in the morning -- morning breath – ewww. The pirates in “The Reliance” exercised my gag reflex big time. Though I still love the sea, I think I may pass on any rides offered by scruffy men, nor will I consider grog as an interesting alternative to tea.
I’ve seen Johnny Depp’s pirate crew. I knew what I might find between the pages of a novel about pirates. MaryLu Tyndall has created a group of men so repugnant that they rival the big screen version. However, there are a few good men and a very good God who give us heroes to cheer along with the scoundrel induced shudders.
Without reading the first in the series – “The Redemption” – I picked up “The Reliance” and enjoyed an uplifting story full of adventure, love, sights and smells. I even got a little annoyed when I couldn’t finish it with only three chapters to go. I could read so much more if only I didn’t need to sleep. Sigh.
I’d suggest picking up “The Redemption” since it tells the beginning of the story of Charlisse and Merrick. Then move on to “The Reliance” but only if you are looking for an action filled love story with some very sensory scenes. There is an unfinished story or two that need to be told so expect yet another upcoming tale.
Come back tomorrow for MaryLu’s interview. If you think “The Reliance” is a book you’d like to read, then you are going to want to see some of her answers. I’ve added a few new questions to the Dreg’s Pick and Choose List-O-Questions. Mary Lu did not disappoint.
Thursday, March 15, 2007
Wednesday, March 14, 2007
Scribbles and Scrambles - It's In His Skies....
As the dark acid-washed-denim sky lightened, softened in the east, my eyes were drawn upward. An owl, head mechanically swiveling while it watched the field, perched on the power pool.
This is one of the reasons I love my home.
The turkey clusters/herds/flocks grow a little boring. Turkeys are not exciting animals.
I have even been known to yawn at deer, unless one plunges from the woods onto the pavement in front of me.
Ten days ago, I stood outside while fat, puffed snowflakes fell from the sky, landing on my eyelashes and nose while I tried to shovel up their friend’s carcasses. Yesterday people walked around in shorts. (This is not recommended by the National Optometrist Association. Iowans are not known for bronze, easy-on-the-eye skin.) While I shoveled a Robin sang. Maybe it was complaining, but my ear accepted the tune as music.
But I don’t think it’s the wildlife that entices me to call this place home. For sure, it’s not the fish-belly white skin or the occasional foot of snow. It’s deeper than those perks and quirks.
After returning from a blissful trip to Hawaii, I struggled with the Iowa December. Minnesota’s lakes, Hawaii’s ocean and artistic arrays of sand, Seattle’s temperatures, Colorado’s stark beauty all call, siren song style, to me. My soul longs for the breathtaking poignancy of those places, sometimes even the loneliness of those slivers of beauty.
But one afternoon, a few weeks home from Hawaii, I stood in my backyard while the breeze tossed my hair, and I lifted my face to the sun. As I opened my eyes, I realized that when I looked up I couldn’t really tell the difference between paradise on earth and home.
May you find a sliver of paradise in your circumstances, and in your place in this world.
This is one of the reasons I love my home.
The turkey clusters/herds/flocks grow a little boring. Turkeys are not exciting animals.
I have even been known to yawn at deer, unless one plunges from the woods onto the pavement in front of me.
Ten days ago, I stood outside while fat, puffed snowflakes fell from the sky, landing on my eyelashes and nose while I tried to shovel up their friend’s carcasses. Yesterday people walked around in shorts. (This is not recommended by the National Optometrist Association. Iowans are not known for bronze, easy-on-the-eye skin.) While I shoveled a Robin sang. Maybe it was complaining, but my ear accepted the tune as music.
But I don’t think it’s the wildlife that entices me to call this place home. For sure, it’s not the fish-belly white skin or the occasional foot of snow. It’s deeper than those perks and quirks.
After returning from a blissful trip to Hawaii, I struggled with the Iowa December. Minnesota’s lakes, Hawaii’s ocean and artistic arrays of sand, Seattle’s temperatures, Colorado’s stark beauty all call, siren song style, to me. My soul longs for the breathtaking poignancy of those places, sometimes even the loneliness of those slivers of beauty.
But one afternoon, a few weeks home from Hawaii, I stood in my backyard while the breeze tossed my hair, and I lifted my face to the sun. As I opened my eyes, I realized that when I looked up I couldn’t really tell the difference between paradise on earth and home.
May you find a sliver of paradise in your circumstances, and in your place in this world.
Monday, March 12, 2007
Scribbles and Scrambles - Return from North
Sounds ominous, doesn't it? I traveled north and lived to tell the tales.
Some tales will forever be with-held for reader ease and comfort and writer save-faceiness. (Yes, another new word, feel free to pass it along.)
I almost dreaded my visit to the great twin cities. Why? Three words. Self Defense Class.
Michelle, the friend who found such great delight in my spinning glass debacle, signed up the females in her household for said class. She even gave me one of her daughters since it was a mother/daughter opportunity.
Poor kid.
Oh, I played it up. Told her I was going to get some read-white-and-blue "bad boy" parachute pants from which to deliver roundhouse kicks to heads.
I even decided I could maybe do a bit of heckling. After all, this would be my fourth self-defense class, and believe me, with two brothers I'd developed the art of roundhouse.
But, since I'm such a good sport, and feel the need to make others laugh, I took my good attitude to self-defense class and waited for some sweet openings.
I learned something. Quite a bit, actually. Did you know that you can listen to your inner chicken and avoid awkward or ugly situations?
Okay, I knew that.
You can also rush the bad guys and use surprise, wicked elbow thrusts and power stomps to pretty much deliver a really bad day.
So far I haven't had a chance to use my new empowerment. But, man, did we have fun with it at the mall.
Some tales will forever be with-held for reader ease and comfort and writer save-faceiness. (Yes, another new word, feel free to pass it along.)
I almost dreaded my visit to the great twin cities. Why? Three words. Self Defense Class.
Michelle, the friend who found such great delight in my spinning glass debacle, signed up the females in her household for said class. She even gave me one of her daughters since it was a mother/daughter opportunity.
Poor kid.
Oh, I played it up. Told her I was going to get some read-white-and-blue "bad boy" parachute pants from which to deliver roundhouse kicks to heads.
I even decided I could maybe do a bit of heckling. After all, this would be my fourth self-defense class, and believe me, with two brothers I'd developed the art of roundhouse.
But, since I'm such a good sport, and feel the need to make others laugh, I took my good attitude to self-defense class and waited for some sweet openings.
I learned something. Quite a bit, actually. Did you know that you can listen to your inner chicken and avoid awkward or ugly situations?
Okay, I knew that.
You can also rush the bad guys and use surprise, wicked elbow thrusts and power stomps to pretty much deliver a really bad day.
So far I haven't had a chance to use my new empowerment. But, man, did we have fun with it at the mall.
Thursday, March 08, 2007
Serials and Scenarios - The Watchers
Before I head off to the land of Vikings, and most excellent coffee, let me leave you with thoughts on a new book release.
Yes, I'm visiting Michelle, my French Press mentor and separated-at-birth twin. Yes, there is another person like me out there. You northerners might want to watch out.
Michelle tends to play the straight man, unless bent over double, laughing at my latest stupid human trick. She's the one who drew everyone's attention to my body smashed against the revolving door at the writer's conference in September.
But, she makes great coffee, and is pretty good at killing fictional characters. She's signed us up for a self-defense class Friday night. If you hear any loud crashes from the northern corner of the United States, it's probably us.
Mark Andrew Olsen, Christy Award nominated author of "The Assignment" has written a new supernatural suspense novel. Go to the Amazon buzz page:
http://www.amazon.com/exec/obidos/ASIN/0764228188
My review of "The Watchers."
If you like globetrotting spiritual warfare novels, you're going to want to check out "The Watchers."
With a different twist on the standard warfare, "The Watchers" tackles some intriguing church history, and some tragic realities about the current state of religion. Crossing cultural and racial boundaries, Mark Andrew Olsen writes of an age-old demonic plan, and the way it could play out in our age of technology.
Some segments are truly creepy and will give the Big Honkin Chicken Club members a shudder or two. The novel reads very much like a screenplay and would be an action-packed movie. Christian themes of prayer and submission are well handled. The Gospel is present, obvious and not overdone.
Though written in omniscient POV, my least favorite, and though the main characters are not always believable, I found this an enjoyable read. My character issue likely stems from the omniscient POV. Dylan ended up being a little stereotypically alpha-male. But in a thriller genre, a reader generally isn't looking for depth of characterization.
Overall, Mark Andrew Olsen tells a great story with compelling writing.
Fans of Dekker, Peretti, Mapes and Mackel will find this a satisfying power-packed read.
Yes, I'm visiting Michelle, my French Press mentor and separated-at-birth twin. Yes, there is another person like me out there. You northerners might want to watch out.
Michelle tends to play the straight man, unless bent over double, laughing at my latest stupid human trick. She's the one who drew everyone's attention to my body smashed against the revolving door at the writer's conference in September.
But, she makes great coffee, and is pretty good at killing fictional characters. She's signed us up for a self-defense class Friday night. If you hear any loud crashes from the northern corner of the United States, it's probably us.
Mark Andrew Olsen, Christy Award nominated author of "The Assignment" has written a new supernatural suspense novel. Go to the Amazon buzz page:
http://www.amazon.com/exec/obidos/ASIN/0764228188
My review of "The Watchers."
If you like globetrotting spiritual warfare novels, you're going to want to check out "The Watchers."
With a different twist on the standard warfare, "The Watchers" tackles some intriguing church history, and some tragic realities about the current state of religion. Crossing cultural and racial boundaries, Mark Andrew Olsen writes of an age-old demonic plan, and the way it could play out in our age of technology.
Some segments are truly creepy and will give the Big Honkin Chicken Club members a shudder or two. The novel reads very much like a screenplay and would be an action-packed movie. Christian themes of prayer and submission are well handled. The Gospel is present, obvious and not overdone.
Though written in omniscient POV, my least favorite, and though the main characters are not always believable, I found this an enjoyable read. My character issue likely stems from the omniscient POV. Dylan ended up being a little stereotypically alpha-male. But in a thriller genre, a reader generally isn't looking for depth of characterization.
Overall, Mark Andrew Olsen tells a great story with compelling writing.
Fans of Dekker, Peretti, Mapes and Mackel will find this a satisfying power-packed read.
Wednesday, March 07, 2007
Scribbles and Scrambles - The Closet - Final Installment
It occurred to me, around midnight last night, that a live-in carpenter is a lovely thing.
Prior to that thought, my carpenter and I had gone out on the town.
Our date-night involved a 45 minute wait at our local seafood restaurant with which we killed time at one of the many available guy stores. This particular guy store had some components for my unfinished closet. A simple hint, and $40.00 later they were mine.
I thought I’d find a nice corner for them, maybe incorporate them into the décor, which still includes several tools and unfinished bits and pieces mixed in with the pretty places.
Imagine my surprise as I headed upstairs after putting a load of clothes in the washing machine to find my eldest daughter waiting for me.
“Should I be concerned that Dad is wearing his pajamas, and carrying a drill?”
Didn’t seem at all odd to me. I shrugged.
But then I heard the lovely sound of drilling, from the very back of the house, near the center of my closet.
Carefully, so as not to break any spells, I tiptoed to my bedroom. There, on my bed, lay the rest of my closet, except for the piece in his hand.
All this to tell you….drum roll please….my closet is done. Whoo-hoo.
Oh my, what does that do to my excuse for not being unpacked?
Prior to that thought, my carpenter and I had gone out on the town.
Our date-night involved a 45 minute wait at our local seafood restaurant with which we killed time at one of the many available guy stores. This particular guy store had some components for my unfinished closet. A simple hint, and $40.00 later they were mine.
I thought I’d find a nice corner for them, maybe incorporate them into the décor, which still includes several tools and unfinished bits and pieces mixed in with the pretty places.
Imagine my surprise as I headed upstairs after putting a load of clothes in the washing machine to find my eldest daughter waiting for me.
“Should I be concerned that Dad is wearing his pajamas, and carrying a drill?”
Didn’t seem at all odd to me. I shrugged.
But then I heard the lovely sound of drilling, from the very back of the house, near the center of my closet.
Carefully, so as not to break any spells, I tiptoed to my bedroom. There, on my bed, lay the rest of my closet, except for the piece in his hand.
All this to tell you….drum roll please….my closet is done. Whoo-hoo.
Oh my, what does that do to my excuse for not being unpacked?
Monday, March 05, 2007
Scribbles and Scrambles - Abby Ormal-Nay
Once again, I come to you, bare my soul in cyberspace…am I abby normal?
I used to think those in their forties and even older thirties had their acts to-geth-er.
I also thought I’d get there eventually.
Maybe I’m on the remedial track to wisdom and respectability. Somehow I’ve missed the “refined and tasteful” yacht, and avoided the “mature” express. Instead I’m on the perpetual Ferris Wheel of goofiness. No, not Merry-Go-Round, far too centered.
This moment of angst, which isn’t angst at all, is brought on by an early morning comment from my husband. I say it’s not angst because a small -- or large depending on the speed and velocity of the Ferris Wheel -- part of me loves being twisted.
Anyhoo, on the way to work this morning, I chattered. Hubby is not always a morning person, so sometimes our rides are quiet. Today, I chattered. For some odd reason I began to talk in Pig Latin. I’ve never blogged in Pig Latin. It’s not my language of first choice. Frankly, you all know I have enough trouble with English.
I rambled on, about pretty much nothing at all, laughing, enjoying the trip to the office.
He chuckled. “You know, I really love the way you entertain yourself.”
“Moi?” Or maybe I said Oi-May.
“Yeah, you say something, follow it with a laugh, build on it and then you’re off. Pretty soon you’re totally cracking yourself up. Have you ever noticed that?”
I’m going to be a riot in the nursing home.
I used to think those in their forties and even older thirties had their acts to-geth-er.
I also thought I’d get there eventually.
Maybe I’m on the remedial track to wisdom and respectability. Somehow I’ve missed the “refined and tasteful” yacht, and avoided the “mature” express. Instead I’m on the perpetual Ferris Wheel of goofiness. No, not Merry-Go-Round, far too centered.
This moment of angst, which isn’t angst at all, is brought on by an early morning comment from my husband. I say it’s not angst because a small -- or large depending on the speed and velocity of the Ferris Wheel -- part of me loves being twisted.
Anyhoo, on the way to work this morning, I chattered. Hubby is not always a morning person, so sometimes our rides are quiet. Today, I chattered. For some odd reason I began to talk in Pig Latin. I’ve never blogged in Pig Latin. It’s not my language of first choice. Frankly, you all know I have enough trouble with English.
I rambled on, about pretty much nothing at all, laughing, enjoying the trip to the office.
He chuckled. “You know, I really love the way you entertain yourself.”
“Moi?” Or maybe I said Oi-May.
“Yeah, you say something, follow it with a laugh, build on it and then you’re off. Pretty soon you’re totally cracking yourself up. Have you ever noticed that?”
I’m going to be a riot in the nursing home.
Friday, March 02, 2007
Serials and Scenarios - Tricia Goyer - Part 2
I mentioned Part 3 of Tricia Goyer's interview. Consider that something for future reading plasure. I oopsed (new verb - might want to take notice - feel free to use it). This is part 2 of Tricia's interview.
Her answers are bold and my questions are the usual.
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.)
I would LOVE to write the screenplays for my WWII historical novels! always seem them as movies in my head. I've even picked out the characters ... From Dust and Ashes would have Elizabeth Shue, Penelope Cruz, Damian Lewis, and Val Kilmar. (Yes, I have thought of this!)
What makes you feel alive?
Finishing ... finishing a book I'm writing, finishing making dinner for my family, finishing house cleaning, finishing my morning Bible reading and feeling refreshed!
How does something worm its way into your heart? Through tears, truth, humor or other?
Good question. I suppose it would be "seeing." I see a problem, or see a group of people that need encouragement, and I want to write about it. I see hurting people and I want to help. I see my kids and husband and I want to love. I see a story in my mind . . . and before I know it, it's in my heart and I have to get it out.
Which compliment related to your writing has meant the most and why?
I love when people tell me they can't put my book down. It's then I know I've met a need.
What criticism has cut the deepest and why?
Any bad review. It can make me forget the last 100 compliments. It also makes me wonder why I "put myself out there" like that. Yet I can't stop writing!
Story starters: Pick one and shoot us a couple of sentences or paragraphs.
Frizzy hair, purple scarf and a book – make a character.
Chloe Pierson tucked her hair tight under her scarf and hoped the bookstore owner didn't recognize her. It was a bad hair day, to say the least. In fact the dry, mountain air always made her hair frizz. Still, that didn't hinder her enthusiasm as she strolled over to the bookshelf that display the New York Times list. Her book had made the list, but was strangely empty from the shelf. Not that she blamed them.
From the time she was fourteen and had moved to his small, Nevada town she had visited this bookstore every Saturday and dreamed of her own book finding its place here. Yet, she had never dreamed as big as to imagine it on this self. And she never understood that by telling this story that she'd not only be the town's most hated citizen, but also on the run for her life.
Thanks, Tricia. Happy weekend, everyone. And if you are in the blizzard zone keep cozy.
Her answers are bold and my questions are the usual.
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.)
I would LOVE to write the screenplays for my WWII historical novels! always seem them as movies in my head. I've even picked out the characters ... From Dust and Ashes would have Elizabeth Shue, Penelope Cruz, Damian Lewis, and Val Kilmar. (Yes, I have thought of this!)
What makes you feel alive?
Finishing ... finishing a book I'm writing, finishing making dinner for my family, finishing house cleaning, finishing my morning Bible reading and feeling refreshed!
How does something worm its way into your heart? Through tears, truth, humor or other?
Good question. I suppose it would be "seeing." I see a problem, or see a group of people that need encouragement, and I want to write about it. I see hurting people and I want to help. I see my kids and husband and I want to love. I see a story in my mind . . . and before I know it, it's in my heart and I have to get it out.
Which compliment related to your writing has meant the most and why?
I love when people tell me they can't put my book down. It's then I know I've met a need.
What criticism has cut the deepest and why?
Any bad review. It can make me forget the last 100 compliments. It also makes me wonder why I "put myself out there" like that. Yet I can't stop writing!
Story starters: Pick one and shoot us a couple of sentences or paragraphs.
Frizzy hair, purple scarf and a book – make a character.
Chloe Pierson tucked her hair tight under her scarf and hoped the bookstore owner didn't recognize her. It was a bad hair day, to say the least. In fact the dry, mountain air always made her hair frizz. Still, that didn't hinder her enthusiasm as she strolled over to the bookshelf that display the New York Times list. Her book had made the list, but was strangely empty from the shelf. Not that she blamed them.
From the time she was fourteen and had moved to his small, Nevada town she had visited this bookstore every Saturday and dreamed of her own book finding its place here. Yet, she had never dreamed as big as to imagine it on this self. And she never understood that by telling this story that she'd not only be the town's most hated citizen, but also on the run for her life.
Thanks, Tricia. Happy weekend, everyone. And if you are in the blizzard zone keep cozy.
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