Drifter - Part 3

 Luke rose early the next morning. The summer sun was barely peeking over the trees, and little light spilled through the single window in the loft. Luke glanced over at the makeshift bed they had crammed into the corner. Timothy's form was still and his breathing sounded regular. Luke pulled on his trousers and lowered himself down the ladder. Mama was already kneading bread at the table. She looked up when Luke approached. “Where are you going so early this morning?”

“Just for a little walk. I'll be back before breakfast.” Luke kissed her cheek.

Mama smiled. “You should meander over to that plot of land your father was talking about last night. There's a pretty little spot on the east side that would be perfect for a large house. I hear the owner wants quite a price for it, but with the King's gold, you should have a fair chance in getting it.”

“Mama … I don't think I'm quite ready …” Luke could feel his face burning.

“Oh please, Luke, I raised you! I've watched you grow up strong and learn to work with your hands. You are more ready than your Father was when he married me. Why, we hardly had a scrap of food to call our own. Lived on the back of my Papa's farm until Richard could secure a place to call his own.” Mama stroked Luke's cheek. “You've got that man look in your eyes. You can do anything you set your mind to do.”

Luke looked away. “I will take a look at it.”

Mama almost squealed and wrapped him in a hug. “Oh, sorry. I just got flour all over your shirt.” She pulled away, her eyes teary.

Luke dusted off his torso. “Don't worry about it, Mama.” He tried to laugh, grateful for the change of subject.

“But I am worried.” Her eyes were still teary. “Worried I'm not going to get my grandsons soon.”

“Oh, Mama.” Luke tried not to groan. “You've got Timothy to worry about now.”

She turned back to kneading her bread and her face clouded. “Well, he's hardly a child, and not my own at that.”

“But he is kin,” Luke added.

Mama didn't respond.

“I guess I'm going now.” Luke started for the door.

His mother forced a smile. “Enjoy your walk.”

“I will.” Luke stepped outside and took a deep breath. If she knew what he was really doing would she approve? Luke didn't know, but it didn't matter. He had to see if there was any sign the boy had lived.

Luke made his way to the river bank. If he had time on they way back he'd take the long way and stop at plot of land to make good on his word to his mother. He followed the bank for quite a ways, avoiding people if at all possible. He didn't need anyone to tell his Mom he'd been the opposite direction of the Barry's plot. He was just about there. The mouth of the river was just ahead. Luke scanned the trees, his ears were alert for any movement. There, footprints in the mud. Granted, they could belong to someone else, but they were small and made by bare feet. He followed them until they disappeared into the shrubbery and trees. Now which way?

Thwack! Something hard whacked Luke in the back of the head. “Hey!” Luke spun around.

A scrawny young man with a sandy head of curls and sparkling brown eyes stood over him bearing crude wooden sparring sword.

“Jon Fire! What in all of Amoz are you doing here?” Luke rubbed his head.

Jon grinned and swung his sword at the air. “I was looking for you.”

“But how did you get here? I thought you were still working off your father's debts in the Quartzland mines!”

“I was … Until I ran away.” Jon grinned again.

Luke shook his head. "H-how? Where's Julie? Is she here?” He squeezed Jon's shoulder. 

“She's here,” Jon smirked. He seemed to catch Luke's drift. “After escaping the mines, I went in search of her mistress and rescued her from that terrifying lady. Soon thereafter we convinced a captain to smuggle us across the Swiftish river in his ferry. Upon arriving on your shores, I left my fair sister with the dazzling Amelia Lamb and was headed to your house when I ran across you, your eyes fixated on the ground and your mind lost in who-knows-where.”

Luke laughed but guilt prodded his gut when Jon mention Amelia. Right. He was betrothed. He couldn't be interested in anyone else.

“What were you doing, anyway?” Jon asked.

Luke shrugged his shoulders. “I just dropped something.”

“What was it?” Jon was already scanning the ground.

“Oh, don't worry about it. It's not that important. Why don't you come eat breakfast with my family?” Luke gripped his friend's shoulder. “You know my Mama makes the best pancakes.”

“That she does.” Luke could hear Jon's stomach growl. “But I already promised Queen Amelia I'd eat breakfast with them.”

“Oh …” Luke scratched his head. He'd forgotten Jon's crush on Amelia, or Dazzling Queen Amelia as he used to call her when they'd play knights and queens by the river. He'd joked about marrying her, but surely he wasn't thinking seriously now. But maybe he was.

“Why don't you come too?” Jon slapped Luke's back. “It would be like an old family reunion. You and me and Julie and Amelia - everything like it used to be.”

“I wish … but I don't think that is a good idea.”

“Why not?”

“I told Mama I'd be back for breakfast and promised to check out a plot of land I may possibly buy.”

“That's no problem. We'll just stop by your house and tell your Mama you've had a change of plans and that you'll stop buy that plot of land on the -” Jon's words trailed off. “Wait, why are you buying land?” He leaned forward, a sparkle in his eye. “Is there something you are not telling me?”

Luke's cheeks flamed red and he looked away.

“Come on, don't be a sissy! You're getting married, aren't you?” Jon slapped his back. 

“Congratulations, my friend! Who's the lucky girl?”

“Wait, wait, wait.” Luke held up his hands. “I'm not getting married yet. My parents just want me to prepare.”

“You're still getting married then. Again, congratulations!” Jon was suddenly shaking Luke's hand. Then he grabbed his arm and began to pull him into a dance. At the top of his lungs he began to sing: “Oh the time it comes for every man when he a pretty gal will wed, and then the lads will sing and dance because Oh the time it comes for every man …” Jon stopped when he saw Luke wasn't dancing. “Oh come on, Luke! Have you grown old while I was gone? Lost your feet, maybe?”

Luke shook his head. “Jon … please.” Leaves rustled and a bush trembled. Luke slapped Jon's arm. “Did you see something?”

“No … Did you?” Jon creased his brow.

Luke peered into the shadows. A set of blue eyes met his.

“So you are alive!” He exclaimed more to himself than the boy.

“What?” Jon asked.

“Oh nothing. Must have been my imagination.”

Jon narrowed his eyes. “Well, in that case, what are we waiting for?”

“Nothing. Nothing at all.” Luke smiled to himself and followed Jon back through the trees.

Drifter - Part 2

The coins in Luke's pocket jingled in his pocket with every step. He followed the path that twisted through the trees to the small clearing where a large cabin sat nestled in the brush. Luke whistled a hearty sailor's tune and his feet were lighter with every step, but even as he drew closer to his home, he kept an eye scanning the surrounding trees.

“Luke is home!” a voice squealed. Daisy flew out the front door, her mop of curls flying out behind her. Luke embraced his little sister, perhaps the only person who made coming home worthwhile. “Guess what?” Daisy's eyes danced with excitement. “Mama says you have to share your room for awhile.”

“What do you mean?” Luke playfully poked her freckled nose.

“There's a boy, and he's come to stay with us!”

“It's true.” Luke looked up to see Amelia standing just behind Daisy. “Your Father brought him in just a few minutes ago.”

Luke stared at her, speechless. They had captured the Drifters early this afternoon. Could it be? The boy had made it to land?

“Well, what are you waiting for? I'll introduce him to you.” Daisy skipped ahead of them.

Amelia walked beside Luke. She linked her arm with his, despite the fact he hadn't offered it yet. A soft rosy smell drifted from her clothes, and it was just then that Luke noticed Amelia was wearing the hair pin he'd given her for her birthday. Well, in all honesty, it was his mother who had given the pin to him to give to her.

“Your mother invited me to dinner tonight.” Amelia's voice was sing-songy and expectant.

But Luke didn't know what to say. “That's nice.” He tried to sound sincere. She'd eaten with them last time he'd been home. And the time before last.

“That's nice? That's it?” Amelia stopped and swiveled around to face him, a teasing grin on her face. 

“I thought you'd be excited to see me after your long day at sea.”

Luke smiled, but said nothing. He didn't like this, her continual fishing for affection and appreciation. He liked the old Amelia better. The one who used to punch his belly and yank his hair and climb trees with him. But she'd changed ever since that day their parents had announced they had planned since their births for them to marry someday.

Luke sighed, and Amelia frowned. “Is something wrong?” She back into step beside him.

“No, just a long day at work.” Luke avoided her gaze.

Amelia was eying him closely. “Was it really so bad? What's this?” She snatched the bulging satchel out of Luke's pocket. She stopped and spilled part of the contents into her palm. Her eyes widened at the glistening gold. “Luke, this is King's gold! What in all Amoz did you do to earn this?”

Luke grinned, but his words were cut off by Daisy's voice. “Luke, hurry up!”

“I'll tell you over supper.” Luke bent over and kissed her forehead before darting through the doorway.

It took a moment for Luke's eyes to adjust to the dim interior. Amelia stepped in behind him, the satchel still in hand. Papa sat with his arms crossed, scowling at the opposite wall. He stood when he saw Luke and Amelia enter. Luke's elder sister Leah was placing dishes on the table, while Mama stood beside the table, her hands resting on a boy's shoulders. Luke frowned. This boy was definitely not the one he'd let escape off the ship. Sandy hair fell to the boy's chin, and his dark eyes surveyed Luke's muscular sailor build.

Daisy grabbed Luke's hand. “Timothy, this is my brother Luke. Luke this is Timothy. His parents died so he's going to live with us now.”

Timothy stood and extended his hand. Luke shook it. An awkward silence fell across the room.

Mama cleared her throat. “Luke, why don't you show Timothy your room?”

Luke nodded and motioned for Timothy to follow. He led the boy to the other side of the room and pulled down the ladder to the loft. Luke scrambled up, still trying to swallow his disappointment. How on earth was he going to share the little loft anyways?

“Well, this is it,” Luke said when Timothy had made it over the top. “It's small, but we'll figure out how to make room for another cot and your things.”

“I don't have any things,” Timothy mumbled.

Luke glanced at him, waiting for an explanation. When none came, he cleared his throat. “How come?”

“They took it all.”

“Who?”

Timothy opened his mouth to say something, but Papa's voice yelled from the bottom of the ladder. “Luke, I need to have a word with you.”

“Yes, Sir,” Luke replied. He glanced back at Timothy but the boy turned away. Oh well, he'd find out later.

Papa had pulled Luke outside to the back of the house. A dark shadow seemed to hang over his mood, and Luke could tell this was serious.

“Does this have to do with Timothy?” Luke asked.

“It has everything to do with Timothy.” Papa stroked his beard, as if trying to figure out how to word the news. “Timothy is my sister Sylvia's son.”

“Wait. You mean Sylvia and John? The ones who are Drifters?”

“Hush, not so loud,” his father put a finger to his lips and glanced around. “Yes, the Drifters.” He lowered his voice to a whisper.

“Then Timothy is our cousin?”

Papa nodded his head.

Luke shook his head in disbelief. “Does Daisy know this?”

“No, and you are not to tell her. All she must believe is that his parents are dead and we are doing a kind deed by taking him in.”

“Then Sylvia and John aren't dead?”

Papa shook his head. “But you cannot let Timothy know this. My sister and her husband were arrested in Portland and transferred to the Heartland dungeon. Their stay will not be short. It may end with their execution.”

“Then why are you doing this? Isn't it dangerous? What if Timothy causes trouble?”

“Years ago, I made a promise to my sister that if anything ever happened to her, I would take in her children.” His father paused and sighed. “Yesterday a strange fellow met me in the fields with a message from Sylvia, saying they had been caught and that her son was hiding with friends. She thought he would be safer with me here. So, I packed up this morning and headed to Portland to bring him home. If the boy believes his parents are dead, then perhaps all his ties to the Drifters will be more easily broken. If he causes trouble …” Papa's voice faded. “Luke, I need you to keep a careful watch on him whenever you are home. Your mother and Leah will keep an eye on him when you are gone.”

Luke nodded. His heart pounded.

“If he starts saying anything suspicious or stirring up any trouble, tell me immediately. If it weren't for my promise, I wouldn't have chosen to put you in this sort of danger.” Papa squeezed Luke's shoulder. “I am proud of you. You've proven yourself a noble young man thus far. Don't fail me now.”

Luke leaned against the cabin and watched as his father disappeared around the house. What sort of promise could be so important as to risk their lives? But then again, it wasn't much different than what he'd done this afternoon. Luke's eyes clouded over, deep in thought, until his Father popped back around the corner.

“Remember, Luke. You have a job to do.”

Drifter - Part 1

Here's a sneak peek at something I've worked on a bit the last few months. I may post a bit more, but most definitely not the whole thing. I need some help with this first scene though. If you have any suggestions on how to make it more realistic and accurate (I don't know much about ships), it would be much appreciated.

<><><>

When Luke had joined the apprenticeship of Captain Dye's merchant crew, he had never expected to take part in a battle. Sure, he'd been hoping for some excitement beyond dragging shipments on and off the ship, but this was different. This wasn't a Sunsdownian pirate ship or a Golden Sands barge. No, this was a King-ordered destruction of a private fishing boat which had annoyingly placed itself at the mouth of the Swiftish River.

A grizzly hand squeezed Luke's shoulder. “There she is,” Captain Dye said, his voice hushed. The fishing boat rocked on greenish waves where the water faded from murky brown to glassy blue as it spilled into the sea.

“Sir?” Luke looked up at his father's friend. “Have you ever seized a ship before?”

Dye grinned. “No, but there's always a first time, eh?” He thumped Luke's back. “Besides, this will be like stealing sweet things from a baby. They won't be expecting foul play from a merchant ship with only a few hands.”

Luke nodded, excitement swelling in his chest.

“Take the Drifters prisoners. Burn the cargo and the ship,” Dye barked at his crew.

The sailors scampered to their stations. To Luke's right, a man swung his grappling hook in readiness. Luke fiddled with the dagger at his waste as the distance between the two vessels closed. He could see people, at least a dozen, moving about on the boat. Peace lovers they called themselves. Luke wanted to snort every time he heard that reference. If anyone disturbed the peace of Amoz more, it was the Drifters.

Then they were upon them. The grappling hooks zipped through the air and landed with a mighty thuds in the unsuspecting ship. Adrenaline raced through Luke's veins. This was it. This was real. As the ropes drew the two ships together, Luke leaped over the side and onto the other deck. The boats thumped together, throwing him to his stomach. Luke pushed himself to his feet. People scattered. A balding man ran for the side, but Luke was faster. He grabbed the man's collar and shoved his dagger under his chin. “You are coming with us,” Luke grunted, dragging the man toward the boarding plank. A plank cracked against Luke's head. His knife clattered to the deck, and the old man stumbled toward the side again. Black crawled into Luke's vision. He ran his hands across the planks, searching for his weapon. A hand jerked him to his feet. “Slow down there, young man. You've got to wait for the rest of us.” Captain Dye shoved the knife back into his hands. Sailors now turned pirates swarmed the deck. Shouts pierced the air.

Captain Dye prodded Luke toward the other ship. “Go! Open the hatch. We'll stuff the prisoners in the hold with the cargo.”

Luke pounded up the boarding plank and rushed to the hatch. Sweat beaded on his brow. He could see flames shooting up from the fishing boat already. The last of the Drifters were being dragged aboard the Purple Knight. The hatch stood open, it's yawning mouth ready to receive it's extra cargo. Luke's superiors prodded protesting men into the dark hold below.

“You have no right!” A bearded man struggled against his bonds. “And neither does the King! We will not be his slaves nor will we let him corrupt our land with your merchandise.”

Captain Dye's eyes turned steely gray. He grabbed the man's beard. “Do you think I have a choice, Drifter? It's lice like you who want to keep families like mine from making a living in this world.” With a shove, Dye sent the man tumbling down the steps.

Luke smirked and shook his head. He examined the rest of the prisoners. Three more men were already being pushed toward the hatch, and a couple women huddled near the barrels as if hoping they were invisible. Not a chance. They were soon prodded too their feet.

The blazing ship faded in the distance, but Luke could still see the smoke. A sense of satisfaction swelled in his chest. Yes, he'd finally been a part of a great feat for his country. His father would be proud, and Amelia, well, she'd probably get that serious, worried look in her eyes. He could already hear here voice in his head. “You know, Luke, you could have been killed. How are we going to raise a family if you are dead?”

Luke chuckled. He liked it when she got all upset like that. Perhaps it wasn't so good for their future marriage, but he couldn't let this arranged marriage ruin his life could he? She would learn he needed his fun.

Luke jerked himself from his uneasy thoughts when a slight movement behind a crate caught his eye. He stepped closer, his hand on his dagger. Then he spotted him, hidden among the tackle, a raven-haired, blue-eyed boy with a look of sheer terror on his face. His mouth was gagged and his hands and feet were bound. His eyes widened when he spotted Luke, and he tried to wiggle farther away.

Luke's heart softened. The boy had to be only eleven or twelve. Really it probably wasn't the boy's fault he was here now, bound and gagged. His parents had probably dragged him along, teaching him against the king like the Drifters always taught their children. And then those wide eyes, they had sparked a hidden memory, something way down deep inside. He couldn't put a finger on it, but he knew he couldn't lock this boy up in the hold with the rest of them. How would he hide him? How could he get him off the ship? No matter, he'd figure out something. He crouched down and whispered, “Don't worry. I'm not going to hurt you.” He unsheathed his knife and cut the boy's bonds. Then he removed his gag and motioned for him to be silent.

The boy nodded, but he narrowed his eyes.

“I think I can smuggle you out in a crate or something. Just wait here until I tell you.”

The boy nodded again.

“Luke, I need you in my cabin!” Captain Dye's voice roared above the hustle of the sailors.

Luke motioned for the boy to stay. “Remember, don't move.” He crawled out from behind the crate and stood. “Aye, Captain, I'm on my way!” he shouted. Luke had just reached the cabin door when a splash hit the water.

“Man overboard!” a sailor yelled. “A prisoner's escaped.”

Luke's hands grew clammy. Captain Dye rushed out of his cabin. “What!? Who in all Amoz let that boy go? I didn't hire lazy bums for sailors, did I? Don't just stand there! Lower a boat.”

The man to Luke's right jumped to do the captain's bidding, but Luke didn't budge. “C-captain, he seems just to be a child. He'll probably drown by the time he reaches the shore,” Luke stammered.

Captain Dye grunted. Sailors were already lowering the lifeboat.

“Let him go,” Captain Dye huffed. “But don't tell of this to anyone.”

Luke sighed in relief, but watched the boy swim out of the corner of his eye. Would he make it? The boy was swimming to the east shore, which would not be too far from his father's farm. Luke made a point to go explore along the river as soon as possible this evening.

The Beetle's Song

I'm in love. In love with the song of the heavens, the wind in the trees, and trickling of the brook. But most of all, I'm in love with Crescendo. His arms are smooth and strong. His hands thick and warm. But it's his song – yes, his song – that's most beautiful to me. It's ever growing in intensity, every note building upon the other, until it reaches a pinnacle of perfection you never though possible. Still it grows, weaving in, weaving out, till there's a thousand tender strands woven into his song. That's how it always builds until he touches me. When our hands are interwoven, his song stops altogether, like he's pausing for a breath, and I know he's listening to mine – he told me so.

Mine is like a war, he says. Like the clash of beda-beetles on the front lines. Like a chaotic 

cacophony of melodies colliding. I ask him, “Is it pretty?”

“I like it,” he says. “You've many thoughts a tumbling around in your head.”

“And that's a good thing?”

“Yes, it means you think.”

Yes, I do think. Too much Mama says. But my thoughts won't sit still even under the strongest meditation. It makes my beda-bug feisty. She buzzes and flits beside my ear, tickling every hair till I brush her away. She'd make a good battle bug, Papa insists, but I don't want to go to battle. I don't want to fight the Pain-Bringers. They don't have songs. You never know one is behind you until you hear a twig snap. Then it's too late. Pain shoots into your eyes, a place you never feel.

..........................

Beda thread her way through the wood, here ears attentive and alert. Lady buzzed past her right ear and led the way, flitting back and forth between the trees. 

Lady, wait! Beda's bare foot caught on something sharp, and she fell to the ground. Twigs crunched under her weight. Beda cradled her aching wound. 

Bzz-bzzzz! Lady landed on the girl's nose.

Beda swatted the beetle away. "Patience, girl!" she growled through clenched teeth.

Bzz-bzzz! We haven't got much time.

"I know, but I can't very well walk on a hurting foot." Beda's fingers slid across her foot, feeling for abrasions in the skin.

You will have to learn to fight with much more than a hurt foot in the war.

"I know, I don't want to think about it."

You will have to soon enough.

Beda sighed and pushed herself off the ground. She grimaced as pain shot up leg. 

Lady tickled here cheek. There you go. Hurry now. The Uncles and Aunts won't wait for you!

Right. Beda took a deep breath. "Lead on."

Lady buzzed on ahead of her, humming an all too familiar tune. The war will come, O children rise. Defend the Father's holy land. Let our notes reach high and true, perfect songs to break all doom.

Beda ignored the notes of the song and focused on the buzzing of Lady's wings.

"Beda." The girl felt an hand on her arm and squealed.

"Peace, Beda," the voice spoke again. "It's just me. Didn't you hear my song?"

"Crescendo." Beda exhaled. "I'm sorry, I was focused on Lady."

"You need to be more aware of your surroundings."

"I know, I was just in a hurry. Have the sessions started?"

"Yes, but your name has not been called yet. Come, let's go." Crescendo grabbed here arm, his beetle now leading the way. Beda leaned close to him, trying to calm her thudding heart. She felt the trees fade away and open air rushed her face. In the distance, she could hear a thousand songs intermingled in the town square.

"Something is wrong." Beda shivered as she interpreted the frantic notes of the music.

Her friend spoke in a hushed voice. "I think now they have called your name."

Lady zipped angrily around Beda's face. "I'm going, I'm going!" Beda sprinted for the square, grimacing again as pain shot up her foot.


------------------------

Well, this is a very rough draft of the beginning of a story I've been tossing around in my head for about a year now. What I want to do with this story is just a bit difficult. If you don't mind, I'd like a little feedback so I know whether I got a few things across clearly or not.

First, did you understand that these characters cannot see, but rather they rely on their beetles to tell them where to go?

Also, is it clear that each person has a unique song by which they communicate feelings and personality?

Do you want to read more?

Oh and my title has nothing to do with the old music group...I just haven't come up with a better title yet :)

Weekly Newsletter

Well, I'm off to college this week. I'm going to miss blogging with you all. It's been so much fun! I will still try to post on occasion. I just don't know how often it will be, especially as I adjust to a new schedule. Anyway, if anyone wants to volunteer for anything this week...


- Story (Volunteer Needed)

- Tip Tuesday or Word Wednesday (Volunteer Needed)

- Devotion (Volunteer Needed)

- Who Am I? (Volunteer Needed)


God Bless!!!

Weekly Newsletter

Well, I about forgot about this... Just a warning, I might not get much posted this week because of VBS, and the week after I'm leaving for college. I'm going to see what I can do to finish up the What If... I've been sick this weekend so that's partly why I didn't get it done Friday.

- Story (Volunteer Needed)

- Tip Tuesday or Word Wednesday (Volunteer Needed)

- Devotion (Volunteer Needed)

- What If... (Grace, maybe)


Enjoy your last bit of summer!



"Every life comes with a cross, and that cross is meant to bring about your death, dear one. But never forget that with every cross there comes a resurrection." ~ Rhonda Calhoun, The Invitation

Something Random - Character Creating Idea

Before I tell you my idea, I've got to tell you a little story. My youngest sister is part African American, and loves Disney princesses. Sadly, she observed that not many of them have dark skin or curly brown hair. The other day, out of curiosity, I decided to Google "Disney princess maker," and what did I find? Exactly that! A website that allows you not only to choose skin color and hair type, but also design unique outfits. Oh, and you can even make a prince :)

The only reason I'm sharing this is because I've discovered it can be useful in designing story characters. (That is, if you can get past that silly feeling of being on a girly princess website and dressing up "dolls" in their underwear). There are so many options and all of it is free. When you are finished, you can download the picture to your computer and save in your book/story portfolio. That way, you remember what you decided your characters were going to look like. As I said before, you just have to get past that silly feeling.

Anyway, here's a couple I did. 

No, they are not wizards, lol. This is Casper and Kalina, my Felvy twins.
(Their race has a sort of electrical charge that flows through their blood,
which they can choose to release as an electrical shock. Weird, but one of my fantasy
creations.)

I'm sure there are other game websites that offer similar activities, but this is just one I found. 

http://www.dolldivine.com/princess-maker.php

Devotion - "Your prayers must be really powerful."

Last night, as I was reading a book called The Invitation by Rhonda Calhoun, a couple particular lines struck me. Rebekah and Hadassah, two sisters, are in the midst of a spiritual battle. The elder sister, Rebekah, begins to pray, and the spiritual atmosphere changes. Observing the change, Hadassah speaks up. "Your prayers must be really powerful."

"On the contrary," her sister replies. "The Life-Giver must be really powerful."

This struck me because I often like to think that my prayers are doing something. I like to feel as if I've completed some wonderful, spiritual task, and as a result of my prayers, someone is saved or blessed. However, that is such a wrong attitude! If anything becomes of my prayers, if anyone is blessed, it is because God chose to do so. It is His power, not mine at work. To Him belongs all glory and praise for ever and ever, amen.

Of course, I'm not saying our prayers aren't any good. The Bible does tell us that the prayer of a righteous man is powerful and effective (See James 5:16). But we must remember this is only because our Powerful God hears them and acts on our behalf.

Weekly Newsletter

Good afternoon, L.A.R.K. Writers! Here's a tentative schedule for this week:

- Story (Volunteer Needed)

- Tip Tuesday or Word Wednesday (Volunteer Needed)

- Devotion (Grace, I've got something written already)

- What If... (Grace)

- Something Random (Grace)



"Praise be to the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ, who has blessed us in the heavenly realms with every spiritual blessing in Christ." ~ Ephesians 1:3

What If... Next Part

“Look,” a white puff of breath shoots from Matt's mouth and evaporates inches from your face. “I've seen this house sit here empty for too long. Year after year I've seen people buy her and then pack up and leave a week later. They spread stories of it being haunted, but I know that's not true. Tell me, what exactly is going on?”

You jerk your arm away, your heart pounding, but instead of sliding into your car, you allow the door to swing shut. “I'm sorry,” you begin. “It's just that …”

“That what?” He urges you on.

“It's this.” You fish the note out of your purse.

As Matt unfolds the yellowed note, a light of recognition twinkles in his eyes. The wrinkles of frustration smooth on his forehead and a chuckle escapes his lips.

“What? What is it?” You grasp his arm.

“I can't believe she did this.” Matt chuckles again.

“Who? What are you laughing about?” You stomp your heel on the shoveled drive. “You know Nadine?”

“No.” Matt shakes his head. “But I know who wrote this note.”

“Tell me!”

“My grandma.”

“What?”

“My grandma.”

“You're kidding.”

“Nope.”

“Your grandma must be cruel.”

“Not really. Just a bit ornery, and maybe a little overprotective.” He laughs again, shaking his head. “I still can't believe she did this.”

“Your Grandma owned this house?”

Matt nods his head. “And she grew up here. As did my mother.”

“Wow, that's why you care so much about this house.”

“Yep.”

“Then why don't you just buy it?” You plant your hands on your hips.

“Well, I'm currently finishing up my doctorates degree. It doesn't exactly allow the time or money to fix up a place like this.”

“Oh,” you say, knowing exactly what he means. You let your hands fall to your side. “So... why does your Grandma want to scare everyone away from this place?”

“She doesn't, exactly. At least, I don't think so. I think it would be best if you just played along. Then you might figure out what this is all about..”

“You mean, find Nadine?” For some reason excitement races up your spine.

“Yes.”

“Will you help me?” The words slip out of your mouth before you've had time to think them through.

“I'd love to, but I think this will require a little more knowledge than what I can offer.”

“What do you mean?” You take the note from his hand.

“I'd like you to show the note to my mom.”

“Your mom?”

“Yeah, come on.” Matt starts his way down the drive way, swinging the snow shovel at his side.

You glance back at your car, then at the note, and back at Matt, then follow.

To be continued....

Sorry, I'm trying to end the story and need to get you a bit closer to something else in the story before I let you make anymore choices about where the story goes :) It doesn't sound fair, but I was beginning to feel like the story wasn't going much of anywhere.

A Few of My Book Characters!

Meet the Whitman Family...

The fun-loving father and minister at the local Church

The gentle, yet firm stay-at-home Mother. Very set in her ways.

Eldest and only daughter in the family. Spunky, imaginative,
but fearful of any new situations.

Jessica's (older) twin brother. A determined leader

The bookworm of the family. Quiet and thoughtful.

The youngest and orneriest of the Whitman family. Makes
up for every bit of quietness of his older siblings.

Meet Rachel Colley...

Jessica's dramatic but sweet BFF who moves
away to California

Meet Bear Huttner...

The dirty, stinky, and ever-helpful neighbor boy
who has a crush on Jessica

Meet Owen Howard and his friends...

Perhaps the most popular and unpopular kid in
Aspen...

The "new boy" in town who quickly joins
Owen's group of friends

Another one of Owen's annoying tag-alongs

 Which ones are your favorite? I think I like Jessica  and Owen the best. Joey didn't turn out quite like I wanted him too :(

A Typical Dream...

Going back and rereading this story, I remember why I've never posted it. Oh well... Basically one day I felt like writing something new but had no clue as to what, so I just sat down and wrote. Haha, it's pretty bad...

I'm starving. It's boiling hot out as the sun beats down on me and my companion. I'm not sure exactly who he is, but I think he's good. Here to help me at least. He's wearing one of those Eskimo fur coats for some reason, and he has a beard about as long as my legs. And he's short. Shorter than me. And I'm shorter than
short, which makes him, well, extremely short. I wish I had brought a coat because I seem under-dressed in my froggy tank-top and pink pajama shorts. There is someone else smoldering in this heat with us now. She's wearing a coat too. An orange one. Now I know I am the odd one out.

The sand dissipates under our feet, and we enter some sort of hotel, or maybe it's a museum – I'm not sure. I just wish I was home. Why am I here anyways? And I desperately need a bathroom. I'd ask the bearded man but I really don't know him. He smells funny too. A familiar smell, but I can't place it.

“Where are we?” I ask as he leads me through giant set of double doors. They snore on their creaky hinges like they've been sleeping for ages, but I know they haven't. There are tons of people swarming in here. Their chatter reminds me of a beehive my brother showed me once. He had stuck a stick in it and told me to stand still.

“Where are we?” I dare to raise my voice above the buzz again. The midget man doesn't answer. He just barrels right through the crowd, expecting me to follow. I don't know where the woman went. Maybe to the bathroom. Man, I need that place more than ever now. I glance back toward the double doors, but they are shut now. If I had the guts I'd ask the man, but I don't trust him, not one bit. Besides, he probably wouldn't answer me anyway. My eyes search for him in the sea of people, but I've lost him. You would think it would be easy to spot him in that coat, but everyone here is wearing coats. I am practically naked in my pajamas. At least nobody was staring – yet. As if on cue, a lady turns around and gasps.

She elbows a pudgy man next to her. “Do you see that girl? What's up with mothers teaching their children to go around without coats these days?”

“Did your Momma teach you to wear hairy coats in the dead heat of summer?” I ask her in my head.

“Yes,” Her voice pops into my mind. “Did yours not? Who is your mother?”

“She's at home,” I say and run for a tiny green door on my left. I have to find a bathroom.

Devotion - A Changing, Spinning World

Change. A scary word that's just around the corner for me. I've never like that word, probably never will, and the world is full of it. Some people crave it like chocolate. Others thrive on it. I, on the other hand, run from it. 

But I don't want to anymore. I'm tired of running. Suddenly today it hit me. I'm ready for change. I'm ready for college. I still may not like it at first, but I am ready for it. Ready for a "new" me, one who embraces the changes that God wants to make in me.

It seems to me that our Heavenly Father likes change. 2 Corinthians 5:17 says, "Therefore if anyone is in Christ, he is a new creation: the old has gone, the new has come!" He continually calls people to Him so he can turn them from their old way of living to a new. Also, in Revelation 21, He tells us that He is "making all things new." New means change, and we can certainly trust that it is for the better in God's hands!

The awesome part about all this, is that despite the changes God is continually making in our hearts and lives, He gives us the assurance about some things that will never change: Him, His word, and His love. Even when the world is changing a hundred miles per hour, God stands firm. He is our rock and refuge when everything is spinning (Psalm 18:2). He will never leave us nor forsake us (Hebrews 13:5), and Christ is the same yesterday and today and tomorrow (Hebrews 13:8). Because God never changes, neither will His word or His love. If you have any doubts about his love, just read Psalm 136. "His love endures forever," is repeated 26 times!

Change is good and doesn't have to be scary, but at the same time, we've got to hold on to the eternal. That way, when we change, we will change not with the spinning world, but toward our Heavenly, Eternal Father.

A Picture is Worth 300 Words Challenge - Grace

I'm not sure this completely makes sense, but here it is...

Relief. Water. My tongue screamed for water. With feet of lead I shuffled across the cracking expanse of dirt and dust. I pulled at my dress coat sleeves, tempted to remove the stifling burden, but no, I couldn't. This was all a part of the job.

I saw everything in black and white. You're either in or you're out. You're either right or your wrong. If you want to reach the top you have to sweat for it. No pain, no gain. Yes, that was me. I was going to win the world. Nothing but the top would quench my thirst. So I trudged on. Miserable, confident, me.

And then I reached it. The spot. I don't know exactly how to describe it except that it looked like a garden of sorts. Clocks on iron poles sprouted out of the desert ground, like needles puncturing time-wrinkled skin. My mind was baffled. Where was the water? I sulked among the clocks, my thoughts spinning, my heart drumming. What were these useless minutes towering over me, mocking me?

Like the sudden gong of my grandmother's clock, thunder clapped and a voice broke through the churning clouds above me. “The time has come when time will be no more.” And I looked up at the clock to my left, and the ticking hands dissolved before my eyes. And I realized, all I'd worked for, all I'd done to race to the top, was wasted time. For what did it matter anymore?

Weekly Newsletter

Well, L.A.R.K. Writers, I've got good news, and I've got bad news. The good news is... L.A.R.K. has almost been running for a full 2 years! About the middle of next month will be our second birthday! :) It's been a lot of fun. I've learned and written things I probably wouldn't have written if it weren't for this blog.

Thank you, Hope (Kelpie) for bringing us all together.

Now for the bad news. Faith is unable to continue posting with us, especially with school just around the corner. If only we didn't all grow up so fast... I, too, will be heading off to college soon and don't know how much time I'll have for blogging. I'm going to try, because I hate saying goodbye, but I know my posts will be few and far between.

I guess what I want to say is this: We may not be able to keep this blog up much longer as the future takes us down separate paths into adulthood, but don't abandon your writing. You all have a gift, a wonderful tool to use for God's glory. Don't leave it hanging in the garage or sitting in the tool shed. God gave it to you because it's meant to be used.

Now I'm not saying you should try to write a book and get published. Rather, I'm saying find a way to use your writing in your daily life to make a difference for someone else. Whether it be a simple note, a letter, a Sunday School lesson, a Facebook message, or an email, use it. You don't have to be a famous author. You just have to use your tool.

I'm praying for all of you and your futures!

"For I know the plans I have for you," declares the Lord, "Plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you hope and a future." ~Jeremiah 29:11
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Okay, now let's get down to actual business. Here's a tentative schedule for this week:

- Challenge (Kelpie, maybe???)

- What If... (Grace) Sorry I didn't get it done last week!

- Devotion (Volunteer Needed)

- Tip Tuesday or Word Wednesday (Volunteer Needed)

Devotion - Reflections of a Cake Decorator

I was thinking just today, Lord,
About how you made my life.
I know I'll never fathom,
Your wisdom and your might.

But I figured and I pondered that
With your fingers you did make:
My life so sweet and savory,
Like a giant tiered cake.

One thing I know for sure, Lord,
You didn't make me from a box.
Though a human, I'm unique,
Made of different building blocks.

You sat and thought awhile,
And, yes, you carefully planned.
You thought of certain ingredients,
To make me who I am.

Then you whipped me all together,
And poured me in a pan -
My own special place in life,
That shapes me how I am.

But you knew I wasn't finished yet,
All soppy, sweet but small,
So you placed me in the oven,
So I could grow up tall.

The heat it burned a little -
Okay, maybe a lot.
But you knew what you were doing,
'Cause I sure outgrew the spot.

Yet still I was not perfect,
Though firm, I wasn't smooth.
A crack had split my top;
And sin was bitter truth.

You knew exactly what to do,
For with me you were not through.
A knife you drew out next,
And trimmed my roughened hue.

God, you gave me wondrous friends,
And, yes, a family too.
You stacked us all together,
To point us all to you.

But we could not stand alone,
You gave us your support.
To balance all our different minds,
You joined us in your fort.

Still we were not smooth,
We had holes, and cracks, and flaws.
So you took a little buttercream,
And slathered us in love.

Now we're wrapped in pretty ribbons,
Of grace and peace and hope.
Your mercy is the flowers,
That covers up the holes.

How beautiful we are now,
And still your adding more,
I can't wait to see me finished,
'Cause, your glory tops it all!

How you labored, how you toiled,
How you sweat those drops of blood.
But now I'm yours forever,
Your grateful work of art.

Weekly Newsletter

Hope everyone had a happy 4th! I did, although I was very busy. Finished my first wedding cake :) You can see it on my cake blog:  Simplysweetsuggestions.blogspot.com.

This Week:

- Story (Volunteer Needed)

- Tip Tuesday (Volunteer Needed)

- Word Wednesday (Volunteer Needed)

- Devotion (Grace) Something I learned from making cake :)

- What If? (Grace)

"I praise you, for I am fearfully and wonderfully made. Wonderful are your works; my soul knows it very well. My frame was not hidden from you, when I was being made in secret, intricately woven in the depths of the earth." ~Psalm 139:14,15

Word Wednesday

Ha ha... I just remembered I said I would do Word Wednesday. I guess it's not too late, but about this time of evening, my brain is fried. I apologize if the quality of my writing is not so good tonight. Anyway, this won't be a typical Word Wednesday. Instead of sharing a word, I'm going to share a suggestion that has to do with words. Really, this post would probably better fit as a Tip Tuesday. Oh, well... definitely too late for that one.

Okay, back on topic. I really just want to share with you all a wonderful website that has proved handy for me in increasing my typing speed - and memorizing scripture all at once. It's called ScriptureTyper, and it is specifically designed to help make Bible memory "fun and easy" through "actively engaging three separate cognitive areas: Audio, Visual & Kinesthetic (Touch) memory." You can memorize from your preferred translation, import the verses of your choice, or choose a collection of verses. Join a group, have a little competition, encourage each other - it's actually kind of fun if you get a good group together.

Now I personally would not say Scripture Typer is "easy". It's a lot of work to keep all your verses reviewed, but I can definitely say it's worth it. My typing speed has increased. I have some days now where I can reach 80wpm. I've also noticed that more scriptures have come to mind recently at times when I need them. It has proved encouraging.

So now you're probably asking, what's this have to do with Word Wednesday? Well, I'm sure a faster typing speed is useful for finishing stories :) Plus, scripture can prove to be excellent inspiration for writing. Just think of Pilgrim's Progress, the Chronicles of Narnia, and Hinds' Feet on High Places. All of them are wonderful Christian classics and all inspired by scripture.

Anyway, don't feel pressured or anything. I just thought I'd share it since I found it helpful. If you are interested and would like to join a group, Kelpie and I have one you are welcome to join. Just let me know :)