My Literary Hero and My Literal Hero

There are many authors I look up to. But the one who stands alone from all the others, who shines a little bit brighter than the rest, the one who changed my literary experience, is an author from my childhood.

Most don't know this but when I was a child, I struggled with reading. Books were very scary to me. They were homework or something that kept me from exploring the outdoors. Instead of reading, I made up stories in my mind and to me, my stories were always better than the ones I was forced to read.

I wish I could remember why I came home with a certain book one day, but I do remember being excited. It must have been because I was a tomboy and I liked animals and I was always looking for an adventure. This book was about a boy and his dogs and they lived on a farm like I did! All the other books I tried to read were supposed to be funny, but I'd never laugh, or they were all about girl stuff I was terrified of.

I still remember my parents letting me stay up late one warm night to finish my book. I think they were just excited to see me wrapped up in a story for once.

I can still feel my tears as they ran down my cheeks and I can still feel the book in my hands as I held it tight to my body. I can still smell it and feel its pages. And in my heart, I can still feel the joy of finally connecting with a story, with an author. I read this book over and over and over.

Now that I'm an author, I try to write in the way that Wilson Rawls taught me. From him I learned emotion in a story is important, characters need to be solid, likeable and real, and your setting has to take you to a place you can see and know.

Owning an original signed copy of his book, 'Where the Red Fern Grows' has been a dream of mine for years. Wilson Rawls saw things the way I did when I was a little girl. Even though I never meet him, he understood me.

This weekend one of my older brothers paid our family a visit. In our younger years, Craig was always that big brother who watched over me, who asked where I was going and what I was up to. In my teens, he even cleaned one of his guns in front a date. I always smiled when someone came up to me and said, 'are you Craig's little sister?' I always answered with a proud, “Yes!” He was a dream come true when it came to big brothers. I treasure each memory I make with him.

You can only imagine how he touched my heart when he handed me the one book that changed my literary experience! It being signed by the one author I admire more than all others! Craig's giving heart allowed a dream I never imagine coming true to happen.

My heart is full. My eyes are still wet with tears. My soul still leaps for I now have a piece of history from a man I owe so much of my writing to. I know Wilson Rawls is happy I have one of his treasures.

I'm grateful for heroes in my life and I'm grateful for one I can call my big brother!

Thank you, Craig!

Halloween Card Exchange

Even in a world of instant communication through emails, snap chats, twitter and more, I still appreciate the good old mail box. I love the walk down the road to it and the feel of opening the mailbox flap. I love to look inside in hopes of something special waiting for me.

Every Christmas, cards come wishing my family a Merry Holiday from loved ones all over the world. Ever since Mike and I have been married, I have saved these cards. Along with them, I have collected antique cards as well. Together the old and new greetings go up in my home as part of my holiday décor. I love the way it turns out, pretty little pieces of Christmas art all over my walls and doors!

Many of you know my love for Halloween, and that I’m an image junky. I can’t help but wish my Halloween walls had the same collection as my Christmas wall have. So to solve that problem, I decided to randomly select family and friends and invite them to participate in a Halloween card exchange.

   

The rules were simple. If one chose to take part, they would send me their address and I would send them mine. We then would send each other a Halloween card to celebrate the upcoming holiday.

So many cards and treats came! Day after day my mailbox brought me orange envelopes with Halloween cheer inside. I figured one door might hold the surprises, but the cards have branched out further and unto my walls!

I hope this might be a fun tradition! I’m so grateful for all those who took part and helped my collection to grow. You can bet your card will be treasured and up each year to help bring in the Halloween spirit. I hope you might join in again next year!

If you didn't get a message from me inviting you to join in and you’d like to, please let me know and I will add you to the list. Sadly a couple of my messages didn't go through as I had thought. Apparently, I attached too many people to it. It is very possible you were on a list but your invitation is still searching for you out in cyber space.  

I hope you all have a very Happy Halloween! Thanks again for all who brightening my smile and brought me spooky Halloween cheer! Already I can’t wait until next year!

HAPPY HALLOWEEN!!!

My Personal Graveyard

After a long week my husband, Mike, and I wanted to do something different for a date. Mike grimaced at my idea but because he loves to see me smile, he followed me to an old cemetery with a roll of paper and charcoal in hand. We hunted the grounds reading names on the stones and studying the dates, figuring out when the poor souls left this life. Some gravestones were just rocks to us but there where others that called out. When this happened, we’d place the paper over the stone and with the charcoal, rub it causing an imprint of the history of who was buried under our feet.

We nearly filled the back seat of our car with rubbings! So many wanted do come home with us. We imagined that night, when all the ghost came out from their plots, they’d all gather together and some would brag about how their stone got picked, rubbed and how a piece of them got taken home with a living couple.

Upon returning home, I unrolled each paper and picked out my favorites. I then picked out a wall and began making my very own graveyard. To add effect, I covered the wall with black poster board and added a white moon with weeds around each of the stones. It looks amazing. Each stone has its own personality just as I imagined each of the people the stones represented did.

I think my new friends like being part of our home. I think they like being remembered again. All these graves were barren in the graveyard, they seemed sad with no flowers and just stones sticking out of the earth. In our home, they are full of life again. My kids run around playing, music is blaring, food is being cooked and friends come to visit. They gaze up at the stones reading the names and wondering who these people were and what made them smile or even cry. It’s nice to see the connection.

Last night, I couldn't sleep. I gathered my pillow and sheet and went down in the living room where my graveyard is. I laid down on the couch that is up against my cemetery wall. Right before I fell asleep, the thought came to me; I was now lying under all these graves! My first inkling was a little frightening but instead of getting up from under these stones, I stayed down and told Lilly Edwards, Cora L. Sasher, Willie Shipley and many more, ‘good night’. My bones have never rested as well as they did last night when they were under my graveyard friends.

Sometimes Losers Don’t Lose After All

A few weeks ago, I noticed a contest hosted by Gallery Nucleus. A favorite artist, Mab Graves, had offered one of her original pieces up for the show in which her latest series ‘The Runaways’ was being unveiled. The rules stated that one of the girls remained nameless and along with naming her, she needed personality traits. The fan with the most ‘likes’ on the name and description would win the original piece of art work. My heart jumped and though I knew the chances of winning were slim, something told me to try anyway.

I looked at the picture and the little girl seemed familiar in some odd way but I couldn't place her. The more I thought about names, the clearer it came in my mind. Cora Wren, the name I was never able to use because she was never born. After typing in her name, I let my fingers take over. It’s how I write. It’s up to my characters to tell me the story. Before I knew it, I had finished and couldn't help but like the little person I created. She was familiar because she had little traits as I did when I was a little girl. Of course she would always be busy and of course she’d always be looking out for the bad guys. And yes, she’d be drawn to abandoned homes because there is such emotion embedded in the layers of wall paper and knotted wood.

I was touched with the reaction from so many of my friends, family and even strangers as they rallied behind me. The ‘likes’ came and I watched with great hope that maybe Cora Wren was her name! Maybe I would win! Maybe my lost little daughter’s portrait would hang in my home.

It came down to the finale seconds between me and another contestant. I lost by 26 votes but in my heart I didn't. I cried when I lost but they were not sad tears. Yes, I was sad this little girl's name would be different than what I chose for her and I was sad her portrait wouldn't be hung on my wall, but my heart was full because of all the support I received from so many. I cannot begin to count the emails and private messages I received from those who rallied for me and from those who regretted not seeing the contest until it was too late. Because of this contest, I made new friends and I grew closer to those who love and support me.

 

After the contest ended, I posted on my facebook wall a message of gratitude to all those who tried so hard for me. Heartfelt replies came. Among them was one from the artist. I was deeply touched by her messages, the one that came privately and the one that was made public. The gallery which hosted the contest contacted me with beautiful words too. My heart was full. I soon discovered that Mab Graves was doing something special for me. You will never understand my excitement!

From out of my mail box, I opened a beautiful piece of art signed by the artist. Tears still fill my eyes as I look at it. To me, the little girl in the original painting will always be Cora Wren but when I look at this new girl, my spirit is touched even more. More because of so many friends, family and strangers, because of new friends and because of a gallery who hosted a show and of an artist who was touched by a little name.

Sometimes losers don’t lose after all.

Thank you for all those who made this possible! I will never forget! OXOXOXO

Please vist Mab Graves website: http://mabgraves.com/ to learn more about her and her art.

If you’re like me, you’ll visit her Etsy page often and find little treasures you just can’t live without : http://www.etsy.com/shop/mabgraves

Please visit Gallery Nucleus and support the artists they feature: http://www.gallerynucleus.com/

Better than Birds and Streams

Since the church I attend does not have paid clergy, it’s up to us members to do our part in assuring our Sunday meetings are taken care of. The service each of the members dedicates allows the church to run smoothly but that does not mean there aren't stressful times. Our first hour of worship is done in the Chapel. There we all meet together as a church family. Part of this hour speakers from the congregation share their messages they have been asked to talk on.

I knew my time was coming up to be a speaker and every week I escaped that hand delivered envelope, I breathed a little sigh of relief. But luck ended a few weeks ago and I grumbled even though there was a piece of chocolate taped to it.

Those who know me know I do what is required but I’d rather stay at home or sit back and watch others give their talks and listen to their messages. I find talking in front of a group terrifying! But I it do because I know I’m supposed to, we all take turns and we all have a special message to share.

I posted this on my facebook wall concerning my talk:

This Sunday, I have to give a talk and give a lesson. I just lost EVERYTHING on my computer that I've prepared. Hours gone! Talking for 15 min in front of a whole congregation & teaching for 45 min is not my kind of thing but I do it because I'm asked...now I just want to give up. Sunday I want to dip my feet in a creek & listen to the birds.

As you can imagine, I was in a bit of a panic! I am NOT an extrovert and standing and talking to people is scary for me, plus being a mother of 7 children, plus home schooling 4 of them I really don’t have time for things like this to happen.

These were the replies by some of my dear friends who came to my aid. Some go to the same church as I do, some have their own faith, and some don’t have a faith at all. I was touched as they came to my moment of need to offer support, humor and comfort. My soul was truly touched. I then knew I lost the talk for a reason, I was supposed to share this experience and incorporate it into what I was assigned to talk about.

~Everything happens for a reason! God must want you to listen to him and speak from the heart...I know you will do great!

~Pray, breathe, and it will come to you

~I say just skip it.  kidding!!!

~Are you sure it's gone? What happened?

~I would love to hear you speak. Your preparation is still in your heart and mind. God will draw out what he wants you to teach.

~Carrie..you are awesome and i think it doesnt matter what you talk about....from you,anything would be heartfelt and who wouldnt just be happy to hear whatever you speak of....remember that....:-):-):-)....<3<3jus sayinnn..

~you can talk about dippin your toes and listenin to the birds....maybe some need a reminder....the best things in life are free and happy and beautiful...:-):-):-)

~You always do a great job. Just speak from your heart. It overflows with love and they will feel it.

~How old is your version of Word?

~You'll do fine. You're a wordsmith.....and a mom of many! This too shall pass!

~you have a beautiful heart and a willing spirit, so I know God will bless whatever you have to share.

~Ok Carrie. You give the talk-which will be wonderful, and the lesson-which will be great, and I'll sit with you on the creek bank and listen to the birds.

~I agree with Tracy and Sherry about speaking from the heart. Part of the typing and working through the message was a preparation in itself. I bet you could tie the story into the message at some juncture too. I usually find that in retrospect, interesting detours become clearer in reason.

This was my reply: 

Thanks everyone. Working hard on it today & I'll try to speak from the heart up there. The problem is, I'm a better writer than speaker. I get so upset and flustered just standing up there and talking. I have to think about every word. Most people think I'd be a good speaker because Mike is such an amazing one and so often people put husband & wife together as one, but speaking is not a talent I have. He stands alone with being so good at it, I'm far on the other end. It's terrifying to me. It literally makes me sick. I wish I had more confidence but I don't. It will be okay though. I got the lesson all down last night & today my mind is where it needs to be. I know with the help from the Spirit, I can do it. But I do look forward to it all being over & then maybe I'll take that walk and dip my feet in the creek & listen to the birds. I'm sure the Spirit will follow me there & it will be even more beautiful.

Love you all SO much! Thanks for thinking about me my heart is so full, I have happy tears. OXOXOXO
Oh, and I found out the talk is for 10 min not 15:)

The topic of my talk was: Strengthening the Feeble Knees, and Lifting Up the Hands Which Hang Down.

Oh, how appropriate! I believe these people who stopped and gave me a message where prompted by the Spirit. They knew, in some way, I needed to be uplifted. Through their words, I was touched by the Spirit. I then believed I could do it again, I would not give up. They believed in me.

Instead of having to prepare a new talk, the Spirit prompted me to share this facebook experience. After the talk, I was greeted by so many with words of gratitude but it’s not me who should be thanked. All thanks go to those who took a moment in my time of need and strengthened my feeble knees and lifted me up again. I will always remember this experience.

That evening, I did take that walk to the creek and I did dip my feet in the water and there I said a prayer, thanking those who helped me. The evening became more beautiful and the birds sang sweeter tunes. The flowers seemed to open up more and the creek bed was litter free.

As much as I think I would like to be alone with just the natural world around me, how gloomy it would really be without friends who take the time for each of us.

Special thanks to:

Tracy Overfelt, Cleta McCreey Huston, Mandy Billingsley, Fred Hanselmann, Rebekah Stanley, Rhonda Filetti, Sherry Bailey-Daniels, Chantell Osejo, Cyndi Pilotte-Sanders, Linda Robinson Brendle, Phyllis Wangsgard, Troy Rickertsen.    

My Latest Flea Market Finds

I was never introduced to the joys of yard sales and flea markets until I was married. As a child, my wardrobe was made up of hand-me-downs but those things came from people we knew. I never thought it gross or strange; in fact, I looked forward to those garbage bags and banana boxes full of new styles.

Way back then, I thought rummaging through a stranger’s unwanted items was nasty and germy. After all, the junk was in their yard which was so close to the curb where garbage was left and hauled off. When I heard the word ‘Flea Market’ I only saw one thing in my mind.  

 When I was just a newlywed, my husband woke me one early Saturday morning and made the suggestion to visit a yard sale down the road. I groaned and made the comment of not wanting another’s junk in our tiny house. I told him I had never been to a yard sale and had no desire to ever start going. He was floored that for 22 years I had never been to one. Against my will, he made me go with him. He promised I’d like it; I was sure I wouldn't.

At first I wallowed around the junk at me feet and on tables too good to go digging but then something caught my eye, and then the price on the tag was even better. There was no turning back after that. The next Saturday it was me shaking my husband awake and pushing him out the door so we could find more yard sales.

Even after all those years, the thrill of that perfect find has never left. My husband and I are rather addicted to yard sales and flea markets. Sometimes we do well with finding treasure, other times we come back with nothing, feeling cheated in some way.

This last Saturday I did well with my finds. I couldn't be happier! Already I’m counting down the days until next Saturday.  I just hope I have room for all my stuff! 

Finally, I’m a Blythe Mommy!

The first time I saw their round faces with their huge blinking/changing eyes, I was in love. They seemed to talk to me. They are adorable and quirky, with just the right amount of strange. If I were a doll, I’d want to be a Blythe.

When I was little, dolls scared me. I did have a couple and those little girls were as friendly and timid as I was.  My older sister’s dolls, on the other hand, were bold and evil!  They were too pretty, frilly and much too delicate. Their boxes were even treated with the best care and stacked nice and neat in our closet with the original pink tissue paper carefully folded inside. Most of these dolls were displayed on our walls. Some even hung over my bed.  In my nightmares, they came to life and liked to bite me and pull my hair.

I like to think that if I had a Blythe, when I was little in the 70’s & 80’s, my sister’s dolls would have stayed away. The original dolls sat on department store shelves because they were just a little too freaky for that generation. I think they would have been freaky for those fancy dolls too. But, they would have been perfect for me.  I have always been a little strange.

Earlier in the year, one of my friends had a beautiful Custom Cinnamon Blythe dolly up for sale. The moment I saw the doll, I was in love. More in love than I had been with any other Blythe. She was perfect. This little dolly wanted me as much as I wanted her. After a miracle of her not going into another’s home, things worked out and I was able to adopt her.

Cora Wren is the name I was never able to use for a daughter but now it has been given to a doll, my very first Blythe. She will always be a treasure and always stay in my care. It’s nice to be one of those girls who will never grow up, the kind who collect old childhood toys and always plays with her dolls.

For more history on these amazing little dolls please visit this site: http://www.blytheworld.com/eng/aboutblythe/index.html

Take a peek at my Cora Wren’s custom transformation: http://www.flickr.com/photos/sylviecola/sets/72157623667878713/

Please take a look at Phillaine’s site as she’s such an amazing Blythe artist:  http://phillainecustomcreations.blogspot.com