In which prayer is my most powerful and unused weapon…

Having spent the last two weeks in almost non-stop prayer and worship, I can safely confirm that I do NOT pray nearly enough.

There’s a story that’s told of a man named George Mueller, a minister, evangelist, and the man who took care of over 10,000 orphans in his lifetime with faith and prayer as his foundation. He began each day very early in prayer. Sometimes for hours before the sun rose, he would be found on his knees in supplication to Almighty God and this continued without fail until his death.

The story is that one day, he was interrupted by one of his assistants who, stressed about all that needed doing that day came to ask if they could shorten their morning prayers in order to make room for the expanded schedule of events. George Mueller took one look at his assistant and said very calmly,

“Absolutely not. In fact, BECAUSE of all we must get done today, we will need to pray LONGER.”

And he did, adding at least one more hour to their prayer time that day. At the end of the day, the assistant was amazed. Not only did they get all of their assigned tasks completed in record time, but they ended the day at rest and at peace, instead of frazzled and hurried. Their focus had been on God from the beginning and He was big enough to handle all their burdens.

I did not quote the story word for word, but the essence of it is there. When I first heard it, I puzzled over how “losing” ANOTHER hour of time to prayer would help them complete their tasks with time to spare, but the answer was so very simple. Did you see it?

Their focus was on God from the beginning and He was big enough to handle all their burdens.

Prayer is the greatest weapon God has given us in our arsenal and it is sadly the least used. Without prayer, faith cannot thrive, because it has no focus and no line of communication to the Author and Perfecter of said faith.

I was recommended a book to read by one of my dear friends and a woman of faith I have looked up to as an unofficial mentor in my life.

It’s called Prayer & Spiritual Warfare

I’m only 2 chapters in and BLOWN away by the fact that in spite of my almost 3 decades of claiming to be a Christ-follower, I have absolutely NO idea what prayer is all about. I mean, I’ve read the Bible from cover to cover, memorized the Lord’s prayer, read through the Psalms dozens of times, and just two chapters of expounding on the Scriptures has proven how very ignorant I am of the greatest weapon I have in my possession. I’m eager to read more, but it’s 11 at night and I really need some solid sleep. I’m pretty sure my eyes are bugging just writing this post.

If you EVER want a great read on what prayer is and how it works in your life, read E.M.Bounds book.

Be aware that it will transform your thinking in regards to your walk with God and the power of prayer. Like my friend said, “Be prepared to be rocked, lady.”

My favorite quote so far is this one:

Just imagine what the world would be like if prayer was used the way it should be, and faith was more than just a trite word we throw out there to impress no one. If we truly “prayed without ceasing” and prayed for each day instead of worrying about tomorrow’s cares.

“The EFFECTIVE prayer of a righteous man can accomplish much.” James 5:16

I’m just learning what that means.

In which I review Tattered and Mended: The Art of Healing the Wounded Soul

“It’s counterproductive for us to wait until we’re ready to heal. We’ll never be ready for the mending process. God invites us to heal anyway.” Tattered and Mended: The Art of Healing the Wounded Soul by Cynthia Ruchti.

I received this book as an incentive for volunteering on the publicity street team. I love adding books to my collection and this one will definitely go on my favorites book shelf.

I have a pretty high pain tolerance. At least physically. When it comes to soul wounds, I am tender as a newborn baby, shrinking away from the harsh lights and screaming out my shock at the rude awakening I’ve just received. My world, which started out as warm and inviting and comforting, gets shattered by the curve balls life throws at me. The death of a grandparent that ripped my family to shreds. Growing up with a father who maintained a cold, emotional distance to hide his own wounded soul, never realizing the shattered heart of his daughter lay bleeding in his hands. A friend whose world rapidly shrinks as his severe fears and depression destroy whatever semblance of a relationship we had.

After facing these brutal attacks on my heart and soul, I’m left feeling broken and unfixable. Wondering how God can make art out of the messes in my life.

Reading Tattered and Mended, I realized a few things. Oh, the truths are not new concepts. But Cynthia Ruchti’s words are hemmed in hope and shine new light on the age old truths. She writes in such a way that just goes against the culture of this day and age to prod us out of our numbed stupor. Sometimes I think that we, nowadays, do not realize all the pain we hide in our souls because we have been taught to shove the unpleasant, uncomfortable parts of our existence in to the darkest, deepest corner of our hearts and forget about it.

Tattered and Mended evokes a sense of poetry and a healing, soothing wave of words that breathe into that dark, deep corner and bring forth our desperate longing to be healed and restored. Heavily laden with scripture and real life examples, Cynthia Ruchti pulls on the artistic threads throughout history to show and affirm a solid truth.

God never promised a painless, butterflies and rainbows existence. We live for a few brief decades, a mere whisper of time in the grand scheme of things, but we experience SO much in those short moments. Pain is part and parcel of our experience. Hurt and wounds happen in so many ways on so many different levels. What matters is what God is doing in the midst of our breaking to not only restore, but to create something beautiful and new. It doesn’t mean we lose those scars and wounds or forget about the pain. But as she states in a chapter on tapestry restoration,

“No scar is inherently beautiful. But it can be perceived as beautiful because of what it represents.”

The beauty of restoration is not in a scar-free, wound-free existence. That would be cold, brittle, and lacking the Divine Artist’s signature. It’s when the Divine Artist takes our broken, fractured pieces and creates a new story, interwoven with the blood-red threads of His Son’s triumph on the cross.

We live in a sin-laden world. Pain and suffering and soul-deep wounding is inevitable. The stories in Tattered and Mended offer the hope only given by a God whose tender hand creates, restores, and redeems us for His glory and purpose.

My copy of Tattered and Mended is already soaked through with tears. However, they are healing tears that remind me of the gentle Artist’s healing hands.

“If mending were easy, we’d all do it. If it couldn’t be beautiful, none of us would.” ~ Cynthia Ruchti

In which I count down the minutes…

It’s my golden birthday in eleven minutes 31 seconds…30…29…28…27…26…

31 on the 31st of March.

I’m turning thirty-one. They have a bag company called Thirty-One. I’ve never really figured out why. Then again, I’m not really interested in thirty-one varieties of a bag.

Thirty-one varieties of chocolate on the other hand…or thirty-one cupcakes. If I didn’t have to worry about gaining thirty-one pounds just looking at that pile of delicious.

I had a list of all the things I wanted to do before I turned thirty-one. I’ve since expanded the list to include all the years I have left AFTER thirty-one. The original list had thirty-one items on it. That too has expanded. As has my waist.

I think my waist is 31 inches actually…or it used to be before I had kids.

So let’s see. Some of the items on my original list which will turn thirty-one on my 47th birthday:

1. Marry a European prince
2. Live in Australia
3. Have fifteen children (just to say I had more than my grandmother)
4. Get married before I turned 23 (it was originally 19, but I couldn’t find any decent guys at that age)
5. Own my own wall to wall, ceiling to floor Beauty and the Beast style library (never mind the sheer impossibility of that animated room, but come on people…the FIREPLACE)
6. Marry a man who was around fifteen years older than me (give or take, because I was completely into Mr. Knightly at that point in my life) Even 31 years older didn’t seem too bad.
7. Go into acting and live in Hollywood
8. Live in Europe for a while so I could train under operatic masters like Pavarotti or Bocelli
9. Own a dude ranch out west (in my case, a dudette ranch) and tame the mighty Mustang
10. Own a Lipizzaner or an Andalusian…or both
11. Marry an Irishman
12. Publish a book before I turn 19 (which is now changed to 40)

Those are the ones I can remember off the top of my head. I think there was something in there about being a missionary to Africa and being a multimillionaire so I would never have to worry about money again. There might have been something about being a model, but that one came off pretty quick once I realized that I didn’t want to be a plus-sized model and they’d never take me on as a stereotypical one either…31 inch waist…remember?

Most of that list was highly romanticized and extremely ridiculous in nature. Silly, now that I look back on my sixteen year old self. I was just trying to find myself without any clue as to how to start. I had a compass…sort of…

If you call, hanging on my parent’s coattails of faith and hoping that would pass muster, a compass. I talked a good talk and I viewed the world with rose-colored glasses, all the while wondering why my glasses always seemed a little more on the grey side. My depth perception on life was as bad as the multiple astigmatisms in my physical eyes. I spouted romantic ideology and scripture verses like they would somehow solve all of my doubts and questions. Proverbs 31 was my model of a REAL woman, as I knew what that even meant.

Then I wondered why my doubts and questions just seemed a whole lot bigger. For every one answer, I’d get thirty-one new questions.

I’ve made lots of “bucket” lists since then. Not thirty-one, but a few more than that original. Each time, they’d get a little more practical. I gave up the notion of fifteen kids at the first bout of morning sickness. Now I wonder why my biological clock is still ticking after three. I gave up voice lessons when I realized my parents were all about the piano and I had to pay for my own vocal training if I wanted to pursue it. I still hold out hope for a hobby farm, but the prince of my dreams is French and Scandinavian…and not really a prince. More like a knight in slightly dented armor (from too many falls off the steed I placed him on when we first met).

I wouldn’t trade my wonderful, beautiful, crazy, amazing life for all of the European princes or Australian outbacks or mature Austen men or Hollywood awards in the world. I don’t think I’ve lost my romantic sensibilities. However, I believe my own growth and development as a person has led to a broader, richer, more vibrant definition of life.

I found my own faith and no longer rely on my parent’s coattails to be my compass. It’s hard to point True North when all you can see is the back of someone. And my parents, I have to say, were rather relieved when they didn’t have to live up to expectations they could never hope to meet. It definitely made our relationship a whole lot better.

I did get married at twenty-two, but he’s only two years older and that hopefully means I get to keep him around a whole lot longer and he still turned thirty-one before I did.

My library WILL be wall to wall someday…already working on it. I have more than thirty-one books, but less than Belle had.

I’ve actually gotten involved in a ministry called Proverbs31 and finally got an idea about what the thirty-first chapter of the book of Wisdom actually meant. I still hold it up as my model. It’s just a bit more realistic a goal to strive for.

My newest list isn’t 31 items long…yet. I’m sure I will add to it and it will change and grow and shrink according to the journey my life takes. I’m excited to see how many of these new goals I can reach before another 31 years goes by. Maybe I’ll have thirty-one grand-kids by then and one of them will be just like me.

And one day, she’ll bring her list of thirty-one goals she wants to complete before she turns thirty-one. I’ll smile and give her a big hug and my waist will no longer be 31 inches or less, so she won’t be able to reach all the way around, but she’ll hug me back. And I’ll count to thirty-one.

I’ll take a deep breath…

I tell her in my grandma voice that cracks with age and no longer reaches notes Pavarotti would envy,

“You keep dreaming, beautiful girl. Every year of your life will be a new chance to strive for new goals and grow into the person God wants you to be, the person God already sees in you. While you search for meaning and try to find out who you are, don’t forget this original list. Someday, you’ll look back on it as a fond memory and you’ll take off those rose-colored glasses that are more on the grey side. You’ll open your eyes. And you’ll wonder how you missed all the color and wonder and craziness and beauty. And you’ll be glad you kept that list. Because it will show you just how far you have come and just how amazing life can be if you keep dreaming.”

Look at that…

Happy Birthday to me. I’m thirty-one.

Book Review: All My Belongings

This book has become another favorite. I read it in one night (about three hours total) because I knew the busy week ahead would hold little time for reading. I woke up exhausted the next day, but it was completely worth the lack of sleep. 🙂

Warning: There are spoilers, though I will not tell the ending…just for your information.

All My Belongings is the story of a woman trying to find home when home is a place she cannot wait to escape.

I resonated with this, even though our reasons for running were vastly different. I came to a point in my life where home was full of bitter regrets and stifling rules without the saving grace to buffer me. I did not know who I was apart from the four walls of what I imagined at the time to be my prison cell.

I know now that there is healing and grace and forgiveness in the relationships and bridges I tried so hard to burn. I found Christ for myself, though I knew Him all my life, in the great big world. I discovered my identity in the Savior and realized that running away would never fix the wounds I carried. So I found home again, in the arms of those I loved and with new-found perspective to see them for the children of God they really were.

This book is exactly that. And it’s a whole lot different too.

Because I never had a father who practiced the crime (or art depending on who you talk to) of mercy killings. In the stylings of Kavorkian himself, Jayne’s father helped (or forced) many people to take the final step into the afterlife–including her own mother. Even before she walked in on him administering the fatal dose (and reported him to the authorities) her parents had shut her out of their lives and their home. Oh she was still present physically, but she was unwanted and a necessary annoyance in their world of disease and devastation. She gave up everything–her hopes and dreams–to care for her ailing mother and it all fell down around her with her father’s devastating choices.

To escape the stigma attached to her name after her father’s trial and conviction, she changes her name to Becca Morrow and moves across country to take care of the sister of her dear friend and mentor.

Upon meeting the elderly woman and her handsome son, Becca realizes just how difficult it will be to keep up the facade her life has now become.

How does one continue a lie when one is desperate for truth and love? When one is desperate for a home to call her own?

Just as Becca is settling in to her new life and finding peace in the midst of a new normal, tragedy strikes again. She’s once more at the center of a murder investigation, only this time, she’s the chief suspect. The victim? The mother of the man she’s fast falling in love with, and he doesn’t even know the real Becca Morrow.

I love the redemptive power in this story. Not only is there reconciliation with her past, there is a genuine chance to start fresh in the beauty of an identity that is God-given. No longer is Becca homeless and destitute and unloved.

She is a daughter, a friend and beloved. The pain of the past is not erased. Her wounds have to be reopened for true healing to occur. But she finds home in the most unlikely of places and a chance for redemption in the loving arms of her Savior.

Cynthia Ruchti has the amazing ability to take such raw, emotional topics and weave them into a powerful story of forgiveness, healing, and the binding up of the captive’s wounds. She writes of tears and laughter and life and hope that glows in the dark. I find myself swept up in another tale that doesn’t have all the loose ends tied up in neat packaging with easy answers and quick fixes. It’s one of the reasons why her stories restored my faith in the Christian novel. Because life is not always neat and wrapped up pretty.

Life’s actually a lot like guacamole…you can’t get the good stuff without getting the mashed up bits.

And life’s really good with chips and a side of guacamole..

In which I enter a Readers Challenge for 2014…

I cannot resist it…the call to read is far too loud and enticing for me to ignore. It always has been. Even when I was ten years old and avoiding my homework by hiding under the covers with a good book…or three. Even on my third anniversary when my dear husband willingly gave up his time to spend it with me in a line at Barnes and Noble as I waited for the last Harry Potter book. Even later that night, when instead of enjoying a romantic evening with me, he allowed me to read the entire thing in four hours while he slept.

I will give up a good many things for time with a good book. I consider myself a social introvert since I LOVE spending time with friends and family, but I am only truly refreshed after a few hours with one of my favorite tomes. My dream in life is to not only be an author, but have an entire library in my house covered in floor to ceiling bookshelves.

I am a simple person with simple dreams…

So when one of my fellow contributors on OneFunMom.com chose to host a readers challenge for the year 2014, I jumped at the chance.

I will be blogging and reviewing the books I read each month and as a bonus, will add my own list of favorites to the reviews on top of the one required book. I’m hoping to review three books a month. Be on the lookout for the first one this weekend. 🙂

If you wish to join in the fun, use the link above or click on the image below this post to get your name added to the challenge and to link your reviews!

I look forward to seeing your choices and adding my own! 🙂

In which some perspective is gained…sort of

If You Give A Mom A Muffin
by Kathy Fictorie
If you give a mom a muffin,
She’ll want a cup of coffee to go with it.
She’ll pour herself some.
Her three-year-old will spill the coffee.
She’ll wipe it up.
Wiping the floor, she’ll find dirty socks.
She’ll remember she has to do laundry.
When she puts the laundry in the washer,
She’ll trip over boots and bump into the freezer.
Bumping into the freezer will remind her she has to plan for supper.
She will get out a pound of hamburger.
She’ll look for her cookbook (“101 Things To Do With a Pound of Hamburger”).
The cookbook is sitting under a pile of mail.
She will see the phone bill, which is due tomorrow.
She will look for her checkbook.
The check book is in her purse that is being dumped out by her two-year-old.
She’ll smell something funny.
She’ll change the two year old’s diaper.
While she is changing the diaper, the phone will ring.
Her five-year-old will answer and hang up.
She’ll remember she wants to phone a friend for coffee.
Thinking of coffee will remind her that she was going to have a cup.
And chances are…
If she has a cup of coffee,
Her kids will have eaten the muffin that went with it.

I am impressed by her creativity…and spot on assessment.

I didn’t have a whole lot to say today, but I realized something in the middle of an exhausted haze. (see: random midnight poopy diaper and corresponding wide awake son for the rest of the night)
(see also: any and all grammar, spelling, or punctuation issues are results of said exhausted haze)
Other than the absolutely brainy lightbulb moment when I realized, “Oh wow. I guess I’m just really tired,” I also concluded that it’s okay to need time and space for myself. As long as that is not my biggest focus – i.e. my children and husband are number two and three respectively. If you don’t know my number one priority, I am not shouting it loud enough.

I get that I am a wife and mother. I understand I am a woman of faith and responsible for maintaining my priorities in the correct order.

I also get that I’m human. And it’s okay for me to be – for lack of a better word – human. I’m not going to get lightning striking me when I have a selfish moment. I won’t be chastised or rebuked for liking my silence and solitude – especially since I don’t have much of it nowadays.

I know that when I’m well-rested and refreshed from my quiet times, I respond with greater positivity to the situations and circumstances that surround me.

One of my aunts and I talked today for a little while. I liked what she told me, because I need to remember it more often. I may respond better in the rested times, but I also need to know that those times are not always available – especially in this phase of life. (see: zombie mom with smalls) However, it is my reaction during those exhausted, zombie-like times of life that are the true measure of my character and selflessness.

I will never be a mom who sends her kids to day care and spends all week long on manicures, book clubs, and living it up. Don’t get me wrong; those things are not bad at all. I just know that for me, those things are not going to mean much in the light of my eternal perspective. And I need to remember that the eternal perspective is SO much bigger.

That’s why I still love my kids and my husband after a long and exhausting day. That’s why my housework fades into the background while I read the wonderful adventures of Winnie-the-Pooh – for the 5 millionth time. That’s why my exhaustion may make me lose perspective – and well, everything else along the way – but it will not be permanent and it WILL pass.

Hey, I had time to write this blog didn’t I?

Maybe I just need a refresher course on time management.

In which I lament the loss of quality readers in this world

Until I can actually say I’ve published a novel and my name is in neon lights, I will refrain from bashing successful authors…

Much.

However, I have a bone to pick with the readers of my generation and after. Since I am a reader myself, I feel I have a bit of artistic license to pick bones with authors. All in the name of saving readers from themselve of course.

Readers:

THIS is good fiction.

Harry Potter is GOOD fiction.

Chronicles of Narnia, Emma, I’ll even give you Jane Eyre even though she’s not really my favorite character. These are works of fiction, recognized for their beauty and intelligence and creativity.

Hotel on the Corner of Bitter and Sweet.  Loved it. The Help? Great read even if it was a little difficult to follow. I loved The Immortal Life of Henrietta Lacks. My tastes are pretty eclectic, though right now I’m on a fantasy kick. It kind of trends that way when I’m writing in a particular genre. I’ve heard that’s a normal symptom for writers.

I will not name any names to protect the people damaged by the crappy writing, but a certain knock-off fanfiction for a particular vampire series is NOT good reading. It’s not even close to good literature. I read the first chapter of each book. That was as far as I could go. Some people might say that was farther than I should have gone. (Sorry mom. I’m a writer AND I read – A LOT) I see words and just can’t help myself.

Regardless, I wanted to have at least a minor idea of what the fuss was about. I regretted it as soon as it happened though.

You know those accidents on the freeway? The ones that cause MORE accidents because people’s eyes just can’t look away. Or train wrecks – pick your analogy.

I’m not one of those people who do the deer in the headlights thing with accidents – or train wrecks.

Reasons why said knock-off is not literature worthy of human perusal:

• The grammar, spelling, and format is atrocious. I am not perfect when it comes to grammatical issues. I’m pretty sure even editors can’t claim that trait. However, whatever editor passed that work of fiction off to the printers ought to be ostracized. Give me their name. I don’t want it on any of my future published works.
• The story was…oh who am I kidding? There WAS no story. What agent read the first ten pages of the manuscript and said, “Oh wow. This story is so riveting. I MUST get it published for my client.” There is a rule of thumb that says a story must be gripping in the first pages or agents won’t even look at it. Publishers and editors will send an instant rejection letter. That’s what I was told anyway.
• I read the original work this story plagiarized. After the second time through THAT novel, I gagged down the poor grammar and editing. It was STILL better than the knock-off.
• I have NEVER read a protaganist I hated more than the protaganist whose name was changed to make it look like the story wasn’t a knock off. The false humility in the first few pages just made her an unpleasant person – it also made her completely unbelievable.
• I’m all for romance and whirlwind fairy tale one at that. THIS novel is NOT romantic nor is it a fairy tale. I’m married, a romantic at heart, and pretty openminded about what goes on in our bedroom. What happens time and again in that novel is abuse. Plain and simple. As another author wrote here, the red flags are undeniable. (*note for my conservative readers: I do not agree with everything the author of this particular blog says regarding sexual relationships and if you are squeamish about language, etc., don’t click the link. I AM agreeing with her take on the abusive nature of the novel in question)

The readers who went out and actually purchased copies of this novel – and its subsequent sequels – are condoning and encouraging the epidemic that seems to be plaguing our society. We are giving a crummy author millions of dollars – and putting her on the bestseller lists – for work that wasn’t even hers and does NOTHING to add to our lives in any positive ways.

When my daughter and son grow up, I want them to read quality works of art. Books that educate and inspire, books that give hope or ask tough questions. I want books that will make them laugh and cry and get angry and dream. I don’t want them to read books that will twist and distort a beautiful aspect of life and call it art.

It’s like the artist who uses bodily fluids in their work. (Names not mentioned for GOOD reasons)

At the end of the day, what the artist calls ART, is just a pile of crap and other bodily fluids. We call it waste for a reason.

I am a reader. I know the value of words. I also know the limits I will go before the words have lost all value for me.

Shame on us for not demanding better of our authors, for discouraging quality in favor of…what? I still don’t see the appeal.

In which progress is noted and I make myself vulnerable as an author

So it’s Day 13 of the NaNoWriMo challenge and I feel it as good a time as any to provide an update on my progress.
It’s been a ride so far I can tell you. Most of you might already see my word count plastered on my other social media pages and the NaNo site. Despite the ups and downs of November that have already got my head spinning, I can honestly say the experience is MORE than worth the cost. (mainly paid out in sleep dividends)
I can only attribute this success in my endeavors to the following:

1. Seeing other WriMo’s and their word counts gave me goals to pace myself against. I’ve never gone a day without writing something. Even if it was just a two hundred word blurb about a chapter I will most likely scrap completely when all is said and done.
2. My husband has been avidly reading over everything I write as I compile it into something that will one day – fingers crossed – be tangible, readable, and actually enjoyable for a wider population of readers. DH is also something of a drill sergeant when it comes to his methods of encouragement. (Great example during my exercise routine yesterday morning. “One more sit up, Sarah. Don’t give up. Alright three more now. Come on. You aren’t a quitter.” All yelled at the top of his lungs. For those of you who know my DH, you know he NEVER yells. It’s actually intimidating.)
3. My own expectations. I have plans for this novel (and the two outlined sequels as well). This story has embedded itself into my brain now. The characters are alive and actively telling their stories. See: Socially acceptable schizophrenic) I am passionate about telling fairy tales and this one has all the elements I’ve loved since I first learned to read. It’s a rough draft now. I am hoping desperately to find someone who’s just as passionate about telling this story as I am – so I can publish it someday soon.

I am way ahead of my goals which has been a delightful surprise and a blessing since I know the rest of November will only bring more excitement and scheduled activities to interfere with my writing. It’s a safety net. When November 30th rolls around, I’ll be more than ready to verify my success. 🙂
The actual writing?
It’s rough, like I said. Okay, some parts just suck. And I’ve skipped around so much on the scenes that it’ll take me a whole month just to piece it all back together again. However, the story is definitely workable and according to my DH, has GREAT potential…it’s brought us both to laughter and tears already. (Though the tears on my part may be due largely in part to my own wacked out hormones and the god-awful sleep schedule I’m keeping. See: Insomniac)
Now it’s time for some NaNoWriMo fun facts! (For those of you whose ears I haven’t already burned off with my inane chatter)
Wordcount: 34,965
Words Remaining: 15,035
Days Remaining: 18
Words Per Day To Finish On Time: 836 (Should I stretch it out that long???)
Name of Hero/Heroine: Jared Octavius Grandstorm & Serra Nadine Kingston (AKA Princess Serena)
Name of Villain: Tiernan (Usurper of the throne of Erene)
Other Characters’ Names: Gwendolyn Atticus Fiona Brand (Don’t ask yet; I’m not telling), The Oracle (AKA Iris, goddess of the rainbow), Melnoch, Bomrin, Iakona, Elise, Rose, Amlodi, N’dalea, Anatole (oh he’s an interesting character), Prince Cedric, Leyla (yeah that name has got to change), Stasia, Taylor Ellington III, Kate…and many more!
Places of Interest: New York, Tirn Aille, Indana, Erene, Molwood (Best ale this side of the veil – no kidding; it’s really their advertisement), Vairhol, I’tori Desert, Wizard’s Annex, Forbidden Forest
Magic: Still working out the rules in this reality, but the basic premise is that there’s good and evil, light and dark. When a person or being uses the magic for evil or manipulation of unchangeable truths, the magic becomes twisted and bent. In turn (and points to whoever guesses my reference) the wielder of the bent magic becomes subservient to what the wielder once controlled) I do know that music will be playing a large part in the story as a magical element…
Animals: The usual, though many of the animals can communicate with those of royal blood.
The Story So Far:
She always dreamed of being the princess in a fairy tale. Too bad no one ever informed this princess what happens when the fairy tale hits the fan!
Serra Nadine Kingston literally lives out of sync with not only her peers, but the world around her. Adopted at an early age by a wealthy couple, she enjoys her fairy tales and little else. She cannot sing to save her life, she’s completely average in everything, and not one boy notices her unless she trips over their feet – sometimes not even then. Klutzy and unsure of herself, she quickly becomes targeted by the high school queen bee and her horde. She spends the next three years of her life wishing for a knight in shining armor who can vanquish the wicked witch and steal her away into a land of happily ever afters.
On one of the most tragic days in history – and in her own life – Serra receives her first kiss. From the lips of a compelling stranger on the streets of New York, who then disappears without a word of explanation. She might have passed it off except for the strange things that happen to her after that kiss.
It’s bad enough when her skin and hair suddenly glow healthy and blemish free, causing the boys at school to finally take notice and the Queen Witch to redouble her efforts of sabotage now that Serra is actually a THREAT to her popularity. She thought it couldn’t get worse when the pigeons in the park started gossiping about her – and she could UNDERSTAND them. It’s nearly the end of the world when her voice suddenly has range, tone, pitch, and power – and her best friend suggests she try out for choir again. (She’d gotten a waiver when her instructor’s ears bled so hard the poor woman started crying)
The worst thing about finding out she just MIGHT be a real princess in a fairy tale though?
She feels the magic of the fairy tale world in her dying a little more every day – and unless she can find the man who awakened her with his magic-laden kiss, she won’t survive to see her seventeenth birthday.
Somehow, being the princess in the fairy tale isn’t all it was cracked up to be anymore. The Grimm Brothers definitely had the right idea. And she was suing Disney if she ever got the chance.

Prince Jared, born the second son of the king and queen of Erene, lived in the menacing shadow of his older brother Tiernan his whole life. The arrival of a neighboring kingdom’s infant crown princess just means he’s now got an annoying tag-along on all of his adventures. Still, she’s not a bad playmate all things considered. Until a protection spell gifted to her at birth goes awry and he ends up blamed for her disappearance.
Now seventeen year later, he’s on the run from a vindictive, jealous older brother (and the bumbling assassins Tiernan sends once in a while just to torment him) and he’s only recently lost the stigma attached to being the last person to see the infant princess before she vanished.
An old friend and wizard calls on Jared for help and the prince answers – to his everlasting chagrin. See, what Gwen forgot to mention in his plea for help was that a certain tag-along princess is the damsel in distress – and Jared just won the bachelor of the year quest to wake her up with a kiss. Theoretically, he can still avoid any long term repercussions (AKA marriage to said princess) because technically (Didn’t I mention this?) she is still betrothed to his brother. Magical contracts don’t just fade away because of a little thing like travel between realities. So Jared’s safe…Right?
Except said princess keeps getting under his skin and he’s had enough of just surrendering to Tiernan’s menacing shadow – especially when his surrender endangers the princess with whom he’s slowly falling in love. He’ll never admit it out loud though.
Now he (and the supposedly wonky protection spell Gwen gave Serena at birth) is the only thing standing in the way of Tiernan’s evil intentions toward said princess. He’s also the key to undoing a curse on his family that triggered the moment Tiernan was ill-conceived. (Pun intended)
Will Jared rise to the challenge and win the girl?
He’d rather drown himself in a good vat of Molwood ale.
At least that’s the story he’s sticking to.
Extract: Offbeat: Part One in A Fairy Tale Trilogy
    Of all the places for Gwen to plant a wizard’s tower, the idiot had to choose the center of the Forbidden Forest.

And, Jared mused dryly, whatever imbecile named it the Forbidden Forest was high on fairy dust. The massive expanse of wooded land wasn’t all that forbidden per se. Just a bit wild. Exactly the type of place for which he had an innate affinity that drove his mother batty.

Come to think of it; Mum might very well have named it to keep me from going out and getting myself tusked by a wild boar or gutted by a unicorn incensed by my less than sterling reputation. He chuckled and hacked his way through a few low hanging branches on a gnarled apple tree that dripped ominously with a bright green substance. His sword would need a thorough cleaning and a few turns at the whetstone when next he found a blacksmith.

He finally caught sight of the crumbling tower in a fogged clearing just beyond a hedge of particularly nasty looking briars and settled on his usual mode of greeting. After all, it had been a while and he was feeling particularly puckish today.

“Oh Gwennie dearest, will you let down your long beard and bid me enter your gilded prison?”

His cheerful, falsetto shout earned him several colorful curses and a projectile globe of bewitchingly rosy hue that Jared caught in midair. A silvery-crowned, dwarfish figure poked his face out of the lone window and snarled an unrepeatable greeting in reply.

“Curse you Jared Octavius Grandstorm. A thousand curses on you for using that bloody moniker. My mother was a fool, naming me for the daughter she never had.”

“Now, now Gwennie. We wouldn’t want you bounding about, carelessly cursing another royal into nonexistence. Would we?” Jared watched the elderly wizard flinch as though struck and a brief flicker of malicious pleasure at causing pain rushed through him. Serves him right for making my life a living hell for the last seventeen years.

Many in both kingdoms still blamed Jared for…well it wouldn’t due to rehash the past now. The tell-tale twinge that he got after heckling his father’s ex-adviser indicated the familiar gnawing guilt. Years of suppressing his conscience still had not completely removed its intrusion.

“A thousand pardons old friend,” He finally surrendered to what he referred to as his worst flaw – compassion. “I take my bitterness out on you because there is no one else in the kingdom who can handle it.”

Gwen sighed heavily, ready forgiveness in the glint of empathy shining through aged eyes. They had both suffered much over the years; misunderstanding, censure, unforgiveness…disdain.

“Here we are on the eve of possibly changing the outcome of our destiny and we return to sniping and insult. You’d think two grown men could learn to better get along after being thrown into the same fire pot for all this time,” The old wizard released another tired sigh and Jared watched the spark of a fighting spirit disappear back into oblivion.

The aged head pulled back through the small opening into the shadowed room as Jared waited patiently in the clearing below. While he waited, he polished the apple on his sleeve, sniffed it once, and satisfied at the absence of dark magic, took a bite. He wouldn’t have blamed his friend for tossing a poisoned apple, but was thankful for edible food all the same. It had been awhile since he ate anything decent. His brother’s last attempts on his life had kept him running throughout the various kingdoms of Tirn Aille. His last hiding place had been right in the midst of the enemy and the pickings were slim in the I’tori desert as it was. It would be nice to be in a civilized country once again; Molwood dark ale, meat that was good and dead hours before consumption, and women.

At this point, it was a stalemate as to which need was most pressing.

A distinct shuffling could be heard, accompanied by several ominous bangs and more curses. Finally the stooped figure emerged from a crooked doorway half hidden by climbing vines and rubble. The door itself had long disintegrated, helped along by wood-boring insects and the ravages of time. But Gwen’s well-devised wards would keep most intruders at bay – particularly the four-footed ones looking for a midnight snack.

Jared watched warily as his old friend beckoned him past the wards, but eventually gave in and stepped through. Other than a sense of bone-chilling cold as he passed the protective shield, no other harm befell him. Unless he counted the ticklish strands of a spider’s webbing that clung to him, but that was more annoyance than harm. He had a feeling Gwen left up the cold sensation as a means of retribution for the cruel greeting. After the last visit, he was surprised there was no magical shock involved. Jared could be an incessant tease sometimes and the old man possessed an equally punishing streak. The two men were surprisingly well-matched in their friendship, all differences aside.

Gwendolyn Atticus Fiona Brand always blamed his mother for his inability to maintain the proper poise and respect required of the realm’s chief wizard. Ex-chief wizard now; another reason for his current estrangement from the woman. He would have gone by Atticus and attempted to reclaim some of his dignity – and his self-esteem – but a youngster on the playground called him out one day and the first name stuck like dragon-tongue glue. It was to his credit as a master in wizardry that he managed to keep the respect of the people for as long as he did.

“It’s good to see you my boy. Won’t you come in for a cup of tea?” The unfortunate man asked with a bit of his usual jovial personality returned to him. He patted Jared on the shoulder as they entered his home, the touch friendly and inviting. “I would prefer a little pleasant repast before getting down to the business end.”

“Why did you call me here anyway?” Jared refused the distraction with an arched brow and crossed arms in a defiant stance. Gwen groaned and shook his head in resignation. “Is Tiernan giving you a difficult time again?”

“That depends on what you mean by difficult. The crown prince is at the root of my reason for contacting you nevertheless. Bloody boy repudiates me and still expects me to be at his beck and call.”

“It’s just because he didn’t want you on his payroll anymore. Now he can use your services without losing his gold.”

“Yes, well this task will hopefully settle my debts with him once and for all.”

“What is it this time? Dragon he’s too busy to fight? Enemies on the northern border he needs me to eliminate?” Jared scoffed at the crown prince’s self-importance. “A damsel in distress he cannot rescue because of a conveniently scheduled counsel meeting with the Mountain dwarves?”

Gwen ushered him into the chaotic hovel the wizard affectionately called home, absently shaking his head at each sarcastic question. He made his way skillfully through the jumble of books, alchemy instruments, and sundry clutter while Jared struggled to find a path through unfamiliar territory. It seemed his old friend had amassed quite a few new trinkets since his last visit. He was also pretty certain that the room had been expanded magically in order to make room for it all.

At Jared’s last inquiry, the wizard stuttered mid-shake. The look of sheer guilt would usually have Jared laughing loudly. Gwen did a good impression of a child, caught with his hand in a crock full of honey cakes, for a man pushing the end of his first century. This time, the old magician’s expression landed with sickening dread in Jared’s stomach.

“I must find a worthy man who could bring her back in his stead,” Jared closed his eyes as the nausea intensified. “You really are the only other worthy man in any of the kingdoms I can send and…”

“No. NO. NO!” Each no was stated with more force than the last. “What about Prince Cedric? Or Anatole? Even Marsden has to be royal enough for the quest. Better yet, why won’t my idiot brother go do his own job instead of delegating? Don’t you think sending someone in his place might change the entire situation?”

“As far as I can deduce, the spell is not that specific. Your brother already has the right of the firstborn and a betrothal claim. Sending someone else won’t change the underlying circumstance…theoretically speaking.”

“Then send one of the other men I mentioned. I want nothing to do with his asinine plan.”

“Prince Cedric is already married and I am pretty certain that Rose would have his head if he so much as looked at another woman. Anatole is…well…less than worthy, and I’ll just leave it at that,” Gwen ticked off the count on his fingers as he spoke.

“And Marsden? He’s royal and single and…not Anatole,” Jared bit out through clenched teeth.

“Marsden isn’t truly royal, as well you know. His mother bastardized the lad when she was caught philandering amongst the castle servants. Not even magic can determine his true lineage and that alone disqualifies him, not to mention the fact that red hair has never appeared in the Woodburn line for as long as our realm has existed.” The stooped set of the elderly wizard’s shoulders suddenly shifted and he stood tall and stoic. The intensity of the change frankly intimidated Jared – a feat over which few could claim mastery. “Marsden’s kingdom is a lesser holding anyway. And before you go begging me to send the Troll prince, hostilities are too high even now; King Bomrin would be more liable to eat her as soon as kiss her. Or send his son for that matter.”

“Woodkin, not trolls. The trolls, as you call them are not of a cannibalistic nature, though I see your point. However, I am positive my brother did not mean for me to take this particular quest. He’s never liked me playing with his toys and you know that,” Jared was fishing; he was well aware of the fact, but desperation will drive a man to any lengths. “Tiernan just got finished sending his last assassin after me; I don’t want to give him an actual reason to this time.”

“Your brother is…not always mindful of the details when he makes an order. He merely finds loopholes whereby he can avoid doing the difficult work himself. And you know he is fighting to maintain a tenuous hold over the kingdom. If he goes, he could lose everything, though that’s not a bad idea in the long run.”

“Treason Gwen? I’ve never taken you for that sort before.”

“I speak the truth and you know it Jared. You would’ve made a much better king and it’s a pity indeed that you were born second. You know when to abide by the rules, but you also know there’s a time and place for breaking them.”

Jared growled a warning and the wizard threw up both hands in surrender. Gwen usually gauged well how far he could push him before his limits were breached. And this subject was a touchy one as it was.

At the same time, he knew his old friend spoke what everyone else in the kingdom already knew.

Tiernan was a brutal monarch with a sadistic bent. He kept the laws of course; but he took great pleasure in resurrecting some of the old laws that even their father had refused to heed. Laws involving torture, execution, and ultimately absolute power. Jared knew that for the kingdom to thrive, change was an inevitable and much needed part of its survival.

But who was he to offer his opinion? A second son really didn’t hold any sway over the crown. Tiernan had already tried to get rid of him multiple times for insubordination. At least that was the excuse he gave. Laying low may be the coward’s way, but it kept him alive and Jared liked breathing.

“I have said my piece, my boy, so I will say no more on the subject. Moreover, you still need to be the one to go and awaken her. It IS your quest whether you agree with me or not.”

There was a shrewd, calculating look in the wizard’s eyes that Jared rarely saw. It once again reminded him of Gwen’s wisdom and deep intuition hidden beneath a largely foppish exterior. Not for the first time did he consider the very substantial possibility that every circumstance surrounding his old friend could be a well-orchestrated game.

He dismissed it instantly as just the paranoid part of his personality playing tricks. It wouldn’t be the first time that happened anyway.

Aware. That’s what it is; that expression. Jared shivered a bit. Like he knows something I don’t know.

And Gwen still stood awaiting his answer. The younger man cursed under his breath.

“We can finally right the wrong that was done so long ago, my boy. If I could go, I would and well you know it,” The wizard took on a pleading tone, alerting Jared’s conscience once again with a painful throb.

“If I refused?” He wasn’t giving up without a fight, conscience be damned.

“She is finally of age Jared; her presence here is required if we are going to maintain stability within the kingdoms. If we miss this window of opportunity, who knows when the next one will be? Furthermore, your brother may yet be redeemed if she returns.”

“I have a sinking feeling that you do know but are refusing to tell me. And if you truly wanted me to accept this bloody quest, you really need a better argument than that my bloody brother might change his ways. I thought you preferred his abdication over redemption anyway.”

“Beside the point Jared,” Gwen waved away his statement with a careless shake of his hand. “I need you to take this task upon your shoulders. Please.”

Jared scrubbed roughly at the back of his neck. His calloused fingers traced the puckered scar that began just beneath his hairline and whose origins still gave him hellish nightmares. Another reminder of his brother’s conniving, calculating ways.

“It’s been seventeen years Gwen. I am finally losing the stigma that little tag-along gave me and now you are asking me to bring her back? Offering her up as a sacrifice to my brother no less.”

“That was never her fault; the blame lies solely on my shoulders and I apologize for that. But it’s time to bring her home and we consequently have the means of doing so at our fingertips. Will you condemn her to always live in a reality not her own? That alone is worse than death.”

“Curse you Gwen; you know my answer already. On one condition however. And I won’t take no for an answer because it’s a deal breaker.”

“What would that be?” The wizard had sprung into action the moment Jared spoke of conditions, puttering around the crumbling lab as he drew lines and glyphs on the only empty wall amidst the clutter in preparation for the portal. The younger man grew impatient at the meticulousness of Gwen’s work. It looked as if the representation of a door had already started forming before he got there.

His yes was merely formality as far as Gwen seemed to believe.

“Once the quest is over, I wash my hands of the entire thing. As far as I am concerned, I never had anything to do with her awakening. Is that clear?” Jared nearly growled his request, but it wasn’t necessary to use force.

“Agreed. Now I prepared the portal to take you within five leagues of her last position. After you get there, it’s just a question of scenting her inborn magic.”

“Will she actually have magic? She’s been in a different reality for nearly her whole life.”

“The magic is there, though it may be a bit muted under the circumstances. Theoretically, the reality in which she exists has its own primitive form of magic; this should make it a bit easier for you to locate her.”

“Because she smells differently?” Jared scoffed, reasoning out Gwen’s logic.

“Well, technically, it would be her magic that smells different. Not the girl,” Was the dry response. “But yes; that’s the general idea.”

“How much time do I have?”

“Until sunset. The cycles of time seem to be the roughly the same for both realities, so just keep an eye on the sky. Any other questions?”

“Would you answer them if I did?” An awkward silence pervaded as the old wizard continued his task. “So that’s a no then?”

“The portal is nearly ready. Prepare yourself. It’s not a smooth ride as far as I know,” Gwen stepped back from his drawing and dusted the chalk off his hands with a satisfied expression. He did not even acknowledge Jared’s sarcastic response.

“What? No last meal before you send me to certain doom? What happened to tea and cake?”

“Tea? Take this instead boy,” Gwen offered him a silver flask taken from the folds of his wizard’s robes. “You are going to need something a bit stronger than tea for this particular quest.”

Jared grasped the small flask in his left hand, his right already unscrewing the silver top eagerly. After taking a sniff, that lit up his eyes and watered them simultaneously, he gratefully tossed off the potent brew. A loud belch in gratitude swiftly followed and he tossed the empty flagon into a corner of the room with a flourish. Molwood dark ale had always been a favorite of his, a treat whenever he visited friends among the Woodkin.

Gwen arched a brow in amusement and clapped his hands together twice before spreading them out in front of his artwork. A muttered word and a single clear note followed, and the wall glowed with an otherworldly light as the portal opened.

“I can only hold the gate open for so long. Find her, wake her, and then retrieve her through the same portal location before sunset. Can you do that?”

“If I said no?” Another eye roll was all Jared received for his efforts and he gave up the fight. “I guess I’ll be seeing you later, princess or no princess.”

As he stepped toward the shimmering entry to a foreign reality, Gwen stopped him with a hand on his shoulder.

“It’s imperative Jared. Do not come back here without her. Drag her kicking and screaming if you have to, but do not return without the girl.”

“Or the wicked fairy godmother will turn her into a toadstool?” He did not pause to hear Gwen’s sharp retort. With a running leap, he was lost in a convolution of wind and light.

Gwen was correct about the transportation. His first action when he got to the other side was to promptly vomit into a conveniently located hedge.

He was going to murder the wizard when he got back to Tirn Aille.

***
How are you guys keeping motivated? And how are my fellow first timers finding the NaNo experience?

Day 14: Book whose main character you want to marry…

Emma by Jane Austen

Okay. Mr. Darcy was already taken in a previous post. So I cannot unfortunately choose the one man EVERY Austen lover would pick in a heartbeat.

Such a pity.

Actually, I would choose Mr. Knightley hands down over the proud, incorrigible Fitzwilliam Darcy. Lizzy Bennet is welcome to keep him. Emma Woodhouse on the other would have quite the competition on her hands…and I’m not talking about dizzy Harriet Smith either.

I absolutely adore a man who can call a woman out on her BS without completely breaking her spirit. Knightley is strong, virtuous, kind to those less fortunate than him, and takes zero crap from his lady love.

Ahhh…I am surprisingly willing to overlook the sixteen year age gap in favor of the unbreakable commitment given by a faithful, partial old friend.

The one thing I couldn’t help but dislike about George Knightley? Because after all even the most perfect of husbands has his flaws.

He coddled Emma’s father far too much.

Just saying.