Small Town Life

I enjoy living in a small town. I like the slow pace and the attachments you make to people and places. They become yours. Your street, your block, your friends. You feel very protective over it, to the point, that you almost resist change.
Life in Rebel's Crossroads is the same way. Everything seems to fall into a predicted pattern. Sometimes people's actions reveal the character beneath as you'll see in this snippet from the release in my first novel in Rebel's Crossroads, Playing With Fire.


"Evening, Mr. Burns." Mitzi came under Sully's gaze and she smiled at the man in the cab. "Mitzi Stancil, I want you to meet Phillip Burns and his wife, Lisa."
She bent her head and acknowledged the woman sitting beside the driver. "Evening."
"Mr. Burns is the local lawyer." Sully explained.
"Ah" Mitzi nodded.
"Mitzi Stancil," he murmured, his face contorting for a second. "Say, are you the young lady whose little adventure in cooking made our Sully a hero?"
Mitzi glanced to her right and saw the warmth in Sully's eyes. "Yes, I guess you could say so," she agreed.
"Don't fret. It was all good." He grinned broadly. "The publicity is great for Rebel's Crossroads. You know, I'm in a mind to push the new mayor to give you some sort of recognition for bravery at the next city council meeting. What do you think of that, son?"
Mitzi watched Sully grow uncomfortable thinking of all the attention. The shade of red that crawled up his neck nearly matched the color of his hair.
"I tell you what, sir. Why don't you pressure the city council to restore the funding for the portable defibrillator?"
Phillip Burns thought for a moment, "Those things are pretty expensive. A plaque would cost less?"
"Yes, but think of it this way, sir, you can't put a price on human life. A defibrillator would save countless lives," Sully countered.
A glance passed between the two that Mitzi couldn't read. A serious look came over the former mayor's features. "Is that what you want, son?"
Sully looked back with a quiet determination Mitzi couldn't help but admire. "Yeah, it's what I'd like to see. One of those machines might have saved my father. It's a bit too late for him."
Mitzi's eyes filled with tears and her heart swelled for the young man sitting next to her that would forego his fifteen minutes of fame to think of others. Instinctively, she reached out and placed her hand over his, lending her support.
"I'll see what I can do to bring it before council."
"Thanks, Mr. Burns," he nodded. "I appreciate it.


If you'd like to read more about Mitzi Stancil and Sully's courtship, check out Playing With Fire at Smashwords, Amazon, and Barnes and Noble.

Smashwords - http://www.smashwords.com/books/view/530712

Amazon - http://amzn.to/1C8ScM7

Barnes and Noble - http://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/playing-with-fire-nan-oberry/1121638333?ean=9781511476409

Just a passing thought on today.

Called up the original Cosmos with Carl Sagan. We watched it through supper. I so remember now why I loved teaching Science. It's a shame that lawmakers think they are educators. We've disenfranchised parents by doing away with books and relying on only SOL's (yep, the letters sure say it all) Sometimes I feel so bad for teachers having to educate on the whim of others. A child's mind is a terrible thing to waste. A generation or two ago, we went to the moon without calculators, iphones, and tablets. Have you thought about what we use today for modern technology? Tablets, hand held or not, and stylus to touch the screen. Folks, that technology goes back to the Egyptians. Although theirs were clay and their stylus sticks. Yes indeed, everything old is new again. I'm off to wrestle with that silly thing called a pencil and put thoughts on paper. Go figure.

Weekends were made for slowing down.

Yes, I'm deep in the writing cave. I'm revising, creating, and all around mucking up a story. Because I owe, therefore I must work outside the home. This is sucking time away from my writing, so I am trying to get myself on a schedule to rise early and spend a few minutes believing in Romance.

I have the privileged of the weekend off, a rarity lately. Unfortunately, this weekend is the great upheaval in time. Yes, that dreaded weekend we crank the clocks up an hour and lose sleep. We can blame this on "the war". No, not the one of Northern aggression, but the war to end all wars - version II. Daylight was needed to crank up industry and turn out those planes, tanks, and victory ships to defeat Germany and its allies. Now, its just become habit. Although, the devil get's in early because of the energy crisis back in the 70's and I'm just not sure why that reasoned out, but I do remember vaguely the debates.

So, this weekend is it. D-day of sorts an I am resisting the urge to change clocks an hour a head, to mess with the minds of my family before they get up. We used to do it on Friday nights when the kids were little so they wouldn't be so tired come Monday morning. I admit, I love the summer, getting up early and watching the day begin. I just wish I could learn to sleep during the winter months to make up for it.

The Dance of Life

"The waltz can be sad and at the same time uplifting. You can see life from both sides, and the waltz encapsulates that. If you're in my audience, you give yourself to me and the waltz will grab you." Andre Rieu

We love music as a species because it brings us a wide range of emotions from happiness to sadness. There are days it is impossible for me not to move my feet to the beat of something I hear on the radio. Some folks might call them earworms. Songs that get stuck in your head and seem to dictate a response.

Each generation had its siren song. My mother once told a story about my granny. In her youth, she loved to dance. Growing up in Baltimore, she would attend outdoor concerts and perhaps go to a few respectable dance halls with the other girls of her age. Evidently, one night she wanted to go badly enough that she tossed her high button shoes on the roof outside her bedroom. Then my prim and proper granny preceded to shimmy down the tree and steal away to do the cake walk. However, she found it wasn't so easy getting back in. Needless to say, it was a long time before she got to go back out.

Back in my day, the new 'rock and roll' was sending the nations youth to the devil because of Elvis' gyrations. Now days, we worry about the change in Bieber and Cyrus. Just remember if you add 'e' to fad, it becomes fade. I highly doubt the two mentioned will be remembered.

Have we forgotten -

The secured rights of life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness are the causes of liberty. To this end, governments are instituted among men to derive their powers from the consent of the governed to establish laws, conduct business, and define social order. "When any form of said government becomes destructive to this end, it is the right of the people to alter or to abolish it, and to institute a new government, laying its foundations on such principles, and organizing its powers in such form, as to them shall seem most likely to effect their safety and happiness." so says the Declaration of Independence.

We are also reminded to heed prudence, to understand that "long established governments should not be changed for light and transient causes, and accordingly, all experience hath (has) shown, that mankind are more disposed to suffer, while evils are sufferable, that to right themselves by abolishing forms to which they are accustomed. But, when a long train of abuses and usurpations, pursing invariable the same object, evinces a design to reduce them under absolute despotism, it is the right, it is their duty, to throw off such government and provide new guards for their future security." (Declaration of Independence)

With that said, prepare your vote for November for Congress has held this nation and its ability to move forward and conduct business, provide a secure economic footing, and promote the welfare of its citizens at high risk. It is time to pursue term limits. Compel its officials to civic duty living among the means of its poorest citizens for a month to understand how they survive since election to office secures they are living at their highest levels. Whenever they so derail the plan for doing government business by causing a shut down, their income, their livelihoods, shall be and should be held in trust by the Supreme Court, interest on their funds going into the government surplus until the deemed logjam has been solved. Congress and the President shall not be allowed to go home, travel abroad, or engage in titillating discussions or laying of blame on doorsteps, but deliberate as gentlemen and ladies of the highest moral standards to resolve their differences without the prying eyes of the media spin. Camera's permitted. These discussions, like a court of law, shall be preserved by a sworn court reporter who will then daily distribute copies of these statements to the media without corrections because the public deserves to see what we, through are hard earned taxes, are paying for.

No member of Congress, Senate or House of Representatives, nor White House is above the law. When a government shutdown occurs no member of their staff is considered essential. The only essential is that the officials meet, debate, and iron out a solid, equal, determined outcome for the American People for it is by OUR decree that they serve and it will be by OUR decree that they are removed .

I am now off my soap box, thank you. 

About those blackmoments

I will be the first to admit it, I am a Downton Abbey fan. Maggie Smith makes me chuckle. So its no surprise that I put the house to bed at 9 p.m. and sat down with a cup of tea to enjoy my guilty pleasure.

As always such a good episode. It was the next to last for season three. The episode brought the end to many small threads, would Matthew and Mary find out why they were not pregnant,Bates was released from prison but what would he do, how would Tom fit into the family now that Sybil is gone, and poor Mrs. Crawley's cook, how will the Dowager Countess get rid of a fallen woman who is trying to make good and causing so much chatter among the town folk.

Head spinning yet?

Well the writer did it in grand style. Not to mention dealing with a subject of an unwanted sexual advance by a male servant on a male servant. A delicate subject, broached, tackled and handled with grace as only the British can do. The writing on Downton is exceptional. It is crisp, full of action, and has you hanging on the edge of your seat. JUST what authors need to be doing.

To study a season, or an episode of Downtown is to bring strength an insight into your writing. Each episode is a book in itself complete with a beginning, middle, end, and the hint of romance. It gives you questions that can only be answered if you come back next week. In essence, each has its own little black moment that leads to the seasons jaw dropping ending.

The deep black moment of the season 4 will not be revealed for those who have yet to experience it. Yes, I'll admit, I cried. But for writers, its a visual show of how you think all is well until you have the rug pulled from under your feet at the precise moment that leads to gasps and cries of 'NO!'. This is what we need to do. As writers we can leave little moments of deep breaths, we need to bring our readers to that belief that all is well, then slam them back with a moment of total loss, devastating loss, a loss to great that only the heroic can over come it.

Your feet are pulled out from under you. Your chest hurts. All you can think to do is reach out and grasp the book with both hands and pray the author leads you out of this horrid black mess. This is what we want. Melodramatic? Perhaps. But isn't that why we watched and fell in love with Luke and Laura on General Hospital all those years ago? You betcha? We had to see if Scotty would ruin it.

So when writing, think about all your leads up to that black moment. Set your book up like a three act play. Figure your word count. Divide it into thirds and think to yourself okay, I want to leave the reader a clue near this amount of my work and then escalate. Remember from school, writing that paragraph you first have that minor detail, next important, most important... yep you are using this now. Your biggest, most heart dropping moment is that "BLACK MOMENT". It can't be gray, it can't be charcoal, it has to be black, from which no reader can think your characters can pull from. Then, let your characters show their true worth. Let them rise to the occasion and let your readers be lifted up with the reward.

Till next time...

Nan

Life in a small town

Big city life may have its glitz and glamor, but there is something unique about a small town. People know their neighbors and often lend a helping hand without a thought to what's in it for me. There is a camaraderie of spirit. Often this closeness is referred to as your life being an open book. Everyone knows what you are doing. Perhaps the fault in all of this is no secret goes unnoticed.

My mother had a rule that lawns are to be cut on Saturday and woe be unto you if you waited to do so on the Sabbath. I can remember spending hours on the lawn tractor making sure the pasture and the yard was done by sundown as a youth. Now, married, its not exactly the same. I wonder if that comes from the difference in generations or the fact that the Blue laws have been lifted and most stores are open seven days a week. Whatever the case maybe, I still feel awkward cutting the grass on Sunday. I'm rambling so let me explain why.

Grass didn't get finished this week on Saturday. Yep, we've a bit more to do today. Oh yes, I will be helping with the little push mower that can be cantankerous at times. While all the good folk will be making their way home for that big dinner, I'll be out there doing the trim work. Husband will of course have already cut the larger portions of the yard where the trees and flowerbeds aren't. He'll have retired to the chairs in the driveway, beneath the shade of the pines, and in his hand will be a nice cold one.

When I begin cutting the country road that we reside on will be still and silent. But the roar of the motor will draw folks like the cry of a snake oil salesman. It will begin with a single car. The more I push, the more will suddenly ride by. The sound of the mower will draw their heads and they will gaze upon my face, red from exertion and then glower over at my husband who sinks lower and lower into his chair until it threatens to spill him from its seat. Then when the mower chugs off because its encountered that clump of grass too stubborn to be cut, he'll mosey over and take it from my hand, offering to do the manly thing and finish for me.

Oh, I'll protest. But, here in the south, a woman knows when to give up. I'll walk back to the kitchen and pour myself a nice, cold glass of sweet tea. Maybe I'll even place a wedge of lemon on the side, then I'll go out to the chairs and sit. The cars will dwindle. All has been made right with the world. I mean a woman can't be expected to cut a lawn properly - now can she. ( wink )