Hello Everyone, I am being featured at the Writer’s Treasure Chest by Aurora J Alexander.
A.J. and I got to know one another when she was living in Switzerland. We had many opportunities to get together and discuss the craft of writing. She lives on the Pacific Coast now, and I, for one, miss her. A.J., thank you for inviting me. Shalom aleichem,
P.S. I have closed the comments on this post and have put the link to the blog post on Writers Treasure Chest below. Thank you for dropping by her blog.
At the age of eight, I wrote and established my first newspaper in our dinky little neighborhood. Staff members-one person. Me.
Being without a typewriter, I wrote it by hand. Personal computers were a thing of the future. I didn’t tell my parents about it. I desired to spotlight the positive changes in my community and give what I used to call the other people a different light on how they perceived black people. It was a fact that when we made the news, that meant we had done something wrong and was going to jail.
To get writing materials, I went door to door selling the paper to my neighbors. I charged twenty-five cents a piece for each edition.
When my parents finally found out about it through a neighbor who was bragging to them about my inquisitiveness and my ideas, needless to say, they were furious, and I received a spanking that I haven’t forgotten until this day. But, on the other hand, my parents were concerned and worried about what would happen to me if I kept thinking about things that I wasn’t supposed to think about.
Let us fast forward to two thousand and twenty-one. The dream deferred at eight has awoken. It has taken some years. I’ve had to slow my pace when I didn’t want to and quicken the pace when I had found something I like and had no desire to move on. But, the dream was still there. It was deferred but incubating.
Today, I am happy to say I have the privilege to work with THE PIPELINE Magazine and with the woman who has made this magazine what it is today, Nonnie Jules. Beside her is her very talented Editor, Karen Black, and a lady we all admire whom we call Lady Harriet, Harriet Hodgson, with her own personal column. To work with these three has opened doors that fascinate me and extend my writing ability.
I thank God that my deferred dream of writing for a magazine has exploded into something beautiful years later. THE PIPELINE is an RRBC Monthly Publication and can be read by all. The link for the June issue is posted below.
I seem to have disappeared after my book release, but I haven’t. I have been taking classes, writing feverishly on five submissions for writing contests, and preparing my marketing plan for Turn The Light On so that I could get it into motion. There were many things that I had to learn also about YouTube, Instagram, and Facebook that I hadn’t known before the book was published, and I have had fun learning these things most of the time.
Today, I am revealing the book trailer for Turn The Light On. Many thanks to 4WillsPublishing. They have been marvelous in setting my desires into the type of book trailer I wanted to have.
I am smiling because I know how customer desires can frustrate a creative department. My wishes were on a very long list of what I wanted to happen, and each one was taken very seriously by 4WillsPublishing. They jumped right in the boat with me. It reminded me of the concerts I give here. My musicians jump in the boat with me, which is one reason my stage appearances are successful. And so it was with 4WillsPublishing. They stepped in the boat with me. For that, I am grateful.
I hope you have enjoyed the above Book Trailer Clip. It is my first one, and it is very special to me.
They ran through the streets, shouting, Hosanna, Hosanna! Sounds reverberated like an echo.
Hilarious, crazed laughter over what they thought was coming. And why not? Their king was riding on a donkey, Ready to free them from slavery and oppression And the yoke that had drugged them down, Since they had been subjugated into serfdom
Hosanna, they cried out! Hosanna! Too caught up in the delirium to care about the soldiers. Free at last!
They were ready to kill To regain their rightful status. Their bloodthirst knew no bounds. Free, free, free at last!
By noon, Friday The song had changed. No more Hosanna, Hosanna. One by one, each had sneaked away to his own home. Candles snuffed out quickly. Although it was the Passover Association quickly became disassociation.
Doors locked, Darkness blackened the day like midnight. They hadn’t wanted a cross. No whipping, No nails, Not for him. He was supposed to lead them to war. But not a crucifixion!
Streets emptied. People cowered in their homes with their heads bowed. Fearing to be known as His follower.
On the third day, The sun rose. Something inexplicable had happened. Baffled by the news, two men talked about it on the way to their village. Downcast, they didn’t know what to think. A stranger joined them and listened in. They paid no attention to Him as they wallowed in their sorrow. “What are you discussing?” He asked. They shook their heads in disbelief that the Stranger hadn’t heard. So dreary seemed their days ahead, but they informed him.
Reaching their village, they offered the Stranger their hospitality. The Stranger accepted and took over as host. As the Stranger broke the bread, they recognized him. The greatest miracle of all stood right before them. And they rushed back to Jerusalem to tell the others, “He that was dead is now alive.”
“Yes,” said Cleopas. “That what went into the ground has risen.” .
“Hallelujah,” said the other, “He’s triumphant over all!”
“Where, O death, is your victory? Where, O death, is your sting?”
JESUS IS RISEN!
GERMAN TRANSLATION BY JULIANE EPPENDAHL
DIE AUFERSTEHUNG VON Pat Garcia
Sie liefen durch die Straßen und riefen “Hosianna, Hosianna!” Die Rufe hallten wie ein Echo wider.
Ausgelassen lachten sie über das, was da zu kommen schien. Und warum auch nicht? Ihr König ritt auf einem Esel, bereit, sie von Sklaverei und Unterdrückung zu befreien und von dem Joch, das sie niedergedrückt hatte. seit sie in die Knechtschaft gezwungen worden waren.
“Hosianna”, riefen sie, “Hosianna!” Zu sehr im Rausch gefangen, um sich noch um die Soldaten zu scheren. Endlich frei!
Sie waren bereit zu töten, um ihren rechtmäßigen Stand wiederzuerlangen. Ihr Blutdurst kannte keine Grenzen. Frei, frei, endlich frei!
Am Freitagmittag hatte sich das Lied geändert. Kein “Hosianna, Hosianna” mehr. Einer nach dem anderen hatte sich nach Hause geschlichen. Die Kerzen waren schnell erloschen. Obwohl es das Passahfest war, wurde aus der Assoziation schnell eine Dissoziation.
Türen wurden verschlossen, Dunkelheit verdüsterte den Tag wie Mitternacht. Ein Kreuz hatten sie nicht gewollt. Keine Auspeitschung, keine Nägel, nicht für ihn. Er sollte sie in den Krieg führen. Aber nicht in eine Kreuzigung!
Die Straßen leerten sich. Die Menschen kauerten mit gesenktem Kopf in ihren Häusern. Sie fürchteten, als seine Anhänger erkannt zu werden.
Am dritten Tag, ging die Sonne auf. Etwas Unerklärliches war geschehen. Verblüfft von der Nachricht unterhielten sich zwei Männer auf dem Weg in ihr Dorf darüber. In ihrer Bedrückung wussten sie nicht, was sie denken sollten. Ein Fremder gesellte sich zu ihnen und hörte zu. Versunken in ihrer Trauer, schenkten sie ihm keine Beachtung. “Wovon redet ihr?” fragte er. Sie schüttelten ungläubig den Kopf, dass der Fremde es nicht gehört hatte. Ihre kommenden Tage versprachen trostlos zu werden, aber dennoch erzählten sie es ihm.
Als sie ihr Dorf erreichten, boten sie dem Fremden ihre Gastfreundschaft an. Er willigte ein und übernahm die Rolle des Gastgebers. Als der Fremde das Brot brach, erkannten sie ihn. Das größte Wunder von allen stand direkt vor ihnen. Und sie eilten zurück nach Jerusalem, um es den anderen zu erzählen. Er, der tot war, ist jetzt lebendig.
“Ja”, sagte Kleopas. Das, was in die Erde einging, ist auferstanden. .
“Halleluja”, sagten die anderen, “Er hat über alles gesiegt!”
“Tod, wo ist dein Sieg? Tod, wo ist dein Stachel?”
JESUS IST AUFERSTANDEN!
*Bible Verse taken from the New International Version of 1984, First Corinthians 15:55
*Bibelverse wurden zitiert aus der Lutherbibel 2017, 1. Korinther 15,55).
Welcome to Day 7 of the RWISA “REVOLUTION” Blog Tour! We’d like to introduce you to an amazingly supportive RWISA member, Author, Pat Garcia. Take a peek at her writing below…
THE GOAL, THE PURPOSE, THE CONTRIBUTION, AND COVID19
Among the books that I have placed in collection boxes on my iPad, Don Quixote by Miquel de Cervantes is sitting in my favorite collection box. I read it for the first time in the print version of my first year at University. It impacted my belief system, turned my way of thinking upside down, and challenged me to get my act together and do what I had been called to do.
Later, the song To Dream The Impossible Dream that is so widely well-known from the musical Man of La Mancha, based on the Don Quixote, had me believing that I could take my experiences and reach what I saw them as the impossible star after I had failed at that particular moment in my studies and had been put on academic suspension for a year after my sophomore year.
During the year of my expulsion, Don Quixote worked on my imagination. I saw windmills in the form of words pouring into stories even though I had entered the dark night of the soul––the unknowing of not knowing where I was headed. I got a job working for Gracewood State School and Hospital for the mentally and physically disabled. The children at Gracewood awoke that lively, precocious, impish, and headstrong child I had buried deep within me. Today, that child in me is still living. A year later, after my academic suspension, I returned to the University and completed my first college degree with honors.
My father asked me, after I had graduated, what took me so long? I never answered him because I didn’t know then, and I still don’t know.
I thought of this incident when RWISA extended to me an invitation to become a fellow member among such an elite group of writers.
My goal has always been to be the very best writer that I can be. To write all the books, I am carrying within me and leave behind a legacy for others brought up in environments like mine. To give them the courage to step out there and try to reach his or her impossible dream.
This is a long-term goal. It ends when I die. My purpose will be fulfilled, and the legacy must stand on its own. The plan I have keeps me faithful to myself. It can’t be broken down into one year, five years, or even ten years. It is active until I expire.
The long-term goal influences my daily interactions with people. Having been blessed to write fiction, non-fiction, poetry, and sing, I can help others. I’m not looking to get rich, but I want to be able to help children and women in war-torn regions. I wish I could sponsor them all, but that is probably unrealistic. So, I do what I can and support as many as I can. The sponsorships will grow as I grow.
As COVID19 started last year, the organization that I sponsor through expected me to stop the donations until COVID19 has passed over. I didn’t think that was the best solution and continued my sponsoring. Each month I get a kick out of knowing that I am making a difference even though it is small.
Another important thing for me is getting people to open their eyes to see what is real and not accurate. Especially in these times, we need to recognize in our hearts that the world is not black and white. It is multi-colored, and it was created that way. This is the generator behind my purpose. I write Romance, Romantic Suspense, and Women’s Fiction with a tad bit of fantasy. My characters are flawed, hurt, sometimes disillusioned, but they always find the connection to love and acceptance. They learn to cope with their idiosyncrasies and the idiosyncrasies of others without trying to change people.
Through COVID19, my characters are teaching me lessons that I am storing up for new books.
My two friends from my allegory, The Child and The Prophet, will tell you in their own words below.
The Child lay on the lily pad singing a song as the ocean waves quietly moved her further on her destination. She’d forgotten how long she had been trying to get to the white house where her car was park.
“Prophet?” she called out to the figure that had suddenly reappeared again. He was preparing her a delicious seaweed lunch.
“How long now?”
The Prophet glanced up at the sky. Dark, blue, the cumulus clouds were moving quickly above them. “Why do you want to know that, Child? Any particular reason?”
The Child frowned. “I just think it’s taking a mighty long time.”
The Prophet snorted. “Don’t worry, Child, you’ll make it. That’s undoubtable.”
Now, we’d like to give you a chance at some of this awesome promotion for yourself!
Have you written that book or short story you want the whole world to know about? Are you looking for a great way to promote your creative endeavors? Perhaps you’re seeking to add some prestige to your body of work! If this sounds like you, we invite you to come on over to RAVE WRITERS – INT’L SOCIETY OF AUTHORS, otherwise known as RWISA.
At RWISA, we invite and accept into membership only the very best writers the Indie community has to offer.
If your work is exemplary and speaks for itself, stop by the RWISA website today at RaveWriters.wordpress.com and find out how you can submit your sample of writing for consideration.
We’re an exclusive bunch but we’d love to have you join us!
NOTE: If you’re looking to improve your writing while taking another route to membership into RWISA, while you’re at the site, visit RWISA UNIVERSITY!
Thanks for dropping by and don’t forget to leave the author a comment below! To follow along with the rest of the tour, please visit the tour’s home page!
Woke Up this morning. Shades of pink speckled the white cirrocumulus clouds, Spread thinly across portions of the blue Heaven, Outside my window.
Beautiful to behold, I lay in my bed, Watching, As words of thanksgiving poured out of my mouth from the most profound depth of my soul.
A year of dealing with goodbyes, Loneliness, Confusion and dread spiked my past. Leaving me with only one question: how long, Lord? As I thanked Him for each precious day, Each treasured breath, And each cherished memory I am taking with me.
There are always new beginnings, But how often do we forget, That new beginnings herald leaving the old, And stretching toward the new.
Stepping forward, The beginning vaporizes the old into sweeping recollections. With each step taken, A door closes that we see no more.
Our circle gets smaller. As we begin to climb. The price is high, but it is even higher if we don’t move.
So, I greet you this morning, In the middle of a pandemic that seems to have no end, From a world filled with hungry people who have barely enough to eat, From a world where immigrants are condemned to living in tents in freezing weather, And for wanting better homes, schooling, and yes, opportunities for their children, From a world flooded with conspiracies from left and right, A world where we have elevated ourselves upward as gods, Yet, we have no answers to what’s happening on our planet.
Could it be that a voice speaks to us from within that we fail to listen to?
Despite all that’s taking place, Despite my fears and doubts about man’s ability to get it right and do what needs to be done… I am thankful. Because God is faithful. He is still good.
I say all this to announce that my first baby (book baby) will enter the world on February 23rd. Yes, truly, I am thankful.