Thursday, March 26, 2015

Special Guest Blog

My name is Cindy Johnson, and I'm a freak…at least I feel like one.  Although Momma says I’m beautiful, other people look at me like I'm uglier than sin.  You see, I was born with one leg shorter than the other and I have a very bad limp.   I go to high school, but if I had a choice, I'd just stay home and read romance books all day.  At least, through the writings of others, I can escape to a
world where people don't stare and say unkind things.

Funny thing is, I have a crush on the HS Quarterback despite knowing I stand no chance with him.  His name is Cory Neil and he’s polite, but I know it’s only because he feels sorry for me. Knowing Math is my strong subject, he called and asked me to tutor him. I was so blinded by his attention, I agreed because he was so sure he’d lose his place on the team if he failed the class.  Anyhow, I arranged to meet him in the library because our house…well, let’s just say, it isn't a mansion and I decided I’d be much more comfortable without him seeing how I live.  Oh, don't get me wrong, my dad does his very best, but we've not had the best of luck which is how we ended up with me at a new school and people less forgiving than those I grew up with.  Wouldn't it be a wonderful world if people thought before they spoke?

Anyhow, Cory asked me to Homecoming and that made me angry.  Why would he ask someone who obviously can't dance unless he was dared by his friends?  I’m not stupid and I immediately knew I was the butt of someone’s joke.  I absolutely refused to go and he pretends he doesn't understand.  Yeah, right!

  I don’t think I've ever wished for anything as much as to be normal and go to the dance with Cory, but no matter how much I want things to be different, I’m who I am.  Yes, maybe I let my “Shortcomings” define me, but I just can’t afford to open myself up to more ridicule and hurt.  He doesn't seem to want to accept my answer, but I've already made up my mind.  He can take the pep squad captain.  She seems to like to remind me daily that I’m nothing but a gimp.

If you want to know who Cory takes to the dance and how this story ends, you’d better pick up your own copy of Shortcomings and read the entire book.  Although this is listed as a young adult offering, the story has a message that each and everyone can heed, and maybe make this world a lot less intolerant.
 Available from Amazon



Note from Ginger:  I wrote this book with the hopes that people would learn that staring and saying unkind things aimed at those who are different often makes them feel less than they really are.  Their “Shortcomings” are not of their own choosing.  My grandson is “different” in that he was diagnosed with autism, but he is the kindest, most loving child in the world and my greatest gift in life.   The thought of him hurting because of someone’s ignorance makes me see RED!


Sunday, March 1, 2015


Show Don’t Tell

Did you ever wonder what made you remember the characters in a book? Or what made a story especially memorable. In Part One, you’ll learn to see, hear, smell, feel and taste your story. By combining many elements of writing, my book will help you learn how to write publishable stories. I’ve worked out lessons that will teach you to use the senses, avoid boring dialogue, and write memorable descriptions.  Learn how to put pizzazz in your writing.
Learn how to avoid unnecessary words, using action, senses and self-editing. Show Don’t Tell covers it all.

In Part Two, you’ll learn how to self edit. Editing is, by far, the most difficult part of writing. Okay, one of the most difficult. Editing is where we have to cut precious words, sentences, or maybe even whole paragraphs.  How do we even go about editing? Most of us know to look for punctuation, that’s the easy part. After all we’ve all learned about commas, periods, question marks and exclamation marks in school, didn’t we?
You’ll learn how to create and describe characters, places, and things, keeping your POV consistent, proper dialogues, common mistakes, and how to prepare a manuscript.
How many times has something funny or unusual happened and your friends said you should write a story about it. Should you? What if your friend got stuck on the roof? Would his experience make a good story? How about kooky events, scary dreams? Ever hear a portion of conversation and wonder what it was all about? There are many places and ways to come up with ideas for good stories. Follow these lessons and you’ll enter a land of make believe so real, you’ll think it happened to you. From Uncle Joe getting stuck on the roof, to newspaper articles and even the classified ads, In Part Three – Turning Your Ideas into Fiction, you’ll learn the perfect way. . If you’re wondering where authors get their ideas, you’ll find out in this book. Have you ever wondered how much fact to put into fiction?

Show, Don’t Tell is available from Amazon

Tuesday, February 3, 2015

She's Baaack

Aunt Beatrice Lulu in all her glory and creating more havoc than ever. When a body falls out of a chimney in their newly purchased cabin, she takes it upon herself to investigate. Just because her niece is Chief of Police doesn't mean she should mind her own business. Even her husband can't control his busybody wife.It doesn't end there, too many things happening for Beatrice Lulu to overlook.. She's bound and determined to figure things out on her own. Not to mention the trouble she gets into. Ed insists she's a magnet for trouble As he puts it, "I swear trouble follows that woman." And follow her it does.  Here's an excerpt from my work in progress, All's Well that Ends Well.

 I've always been fond of telling everyone Beatrice Lulu is the name I was born with, the name I'll depart this life with, and the name I expect to be addressed as. Well everyone except my husband Edgar Leroy Eberhart. Not that I call him that. No one does. We call him Ed and he calls me Bea-among other affectionate names.

Never thought I’d find a husband. Wasn't even looking. Being single and an old maid – that’s what people call women my age who aren't married – didn’t bother me a bit. Didn’t need a man in my life. Course, now that I've met Ed, well that’s a different story. Don’t know what I'd do without him. The love of my life for sure.

Never will forget the day we met. Was at some kind of family gathering. Our family has a lot of them. What Ed was doing there or who invited him I've no idea. But there he was, standing and looking like he wanted to devour me. He called me pretty. Never had a man call me pretty before. Hell, no one ever called me pretty. I wasn't fool enough to think I was cute, let alone pretty. Oh no, the mirror don’t lie. My nose is too big, my eyes too beady and good Lord above, my shape… well, let’s just say I have a wide girth. Never was slender, not even as a kid.

So, I was quite taken aback when he asked my name. Needless to say, I was a bit tongue-tied, too. For me that’s saying a lot. Never been tongue tied a day in my life. Always spoke my mind. Got me into trouble a time or two, but that was me. Take it or leave it.
But, Ed, and the way he stood there looking at me and calling me pretty, well hells, bells, I couldn't think of a thing to say. Ain’t never had a man look at me that way before. Rattled me good, it did.
When he called me sweetheart, that did me in. Never liked people going around calling me honey or sweetheart. Course Ed, well, he didn’t pay my rudeness no mind. Oh no, he got right in my face and demanded to know my name. So I told him.
And he laughed. Told me how silly I was expecting people to call me by my full name. Then he did something that took my breath away. He kissed me, right on the lips in front of everyone. Been kissed a few times in my life. Hell, you don’t live to be fifty-three and never get a kiss, no matter how bad you look. Used to date a bit back in the day. But ain’t no one ever kissed me like that before. Lordy, I not only lost my breath. I almost crumpled to my knees. That man can kiss. The rest, as they say is history. We’ve been inseparable ever since.
Well, almost inseparable. I do have an existence away from Ed, a few friends, and my three sisters of course. They’re my best friends. So, yes, I do partake of life without Ed, and I wasn’t about to give it up for anyone. Not even Ed. My sisters, Lottie, Ethel, and Lillian are a big part of my life. We’ve always done things together. And of course, there’s my brother Clyde, but he’s never been part of our mischief. Not that he hasn’t reciprocated a few times, but usually it’s my sisters and me who play the tricks. Clyde’s been the beneficiary several times of our entertaining activities.
Our latest thing is helping Callie, my niece and the new police chief of our little town. People think just because we live in a small town everyone knows everyone. Seriously? How can you possibly know two thousand people? Granted, we know a good many, but those are the ones who live in the town proper, run a business, or attend our church. But that’s neither here nor there.
Callie’s a pretty little thing. Can’t imagine how or why she became a policewoman and then the chief of our town. You’d think she’d want to get married and have kids. She’s Lillian’s daughter, and Lillian’s not always part of our expeditions. Like when our mother got kidnapped. Ethel, Lottie, and I knew if we told Lillian, she’d put a stop to our plan. Good thing we didn’t too, because if it wasn’t for us, they probably wouldn’t have found our mother. Or if they did, Lord knows what condition she’d of been in. I shudder to think. So, for the most part, it’s just the three of us – Lottie, Ethel, and me.
Lillian’s probably the most somber and sagacious of us. Not that we’re not all sensible, we’re all pretty intelligent, but Lillian’s always been the one to put a kibosh on our plans. She’s always been apprehensive about getting into trouble and such. Big spoilsport, that’s what she is.
So mostly, we just leave her out. Besides, she has other fish to fry. She still works and doesn’t have time for “our nonsense” as she puts it. She must take after our father, because our mother is just like us. Mama’s the biggest practical joker around. Loves to play tricks on people. Our father was a bit more solemn. I guess opposites do attract. Mr. Sensible, that was Dad. Not that he didn’t get a kick out of Mama’s shenanigans. I think that’s what attracted him in the first place. Mama’s a judge, by the way, so she does have a serious side. Maybe that’s why she loves to play jokes and tricks, she sees too much of the gloomy stuff in life. But I have a feeling she was like that even before she became a judge. Got it from her mother if memory of Gram serves me. Always laughing and singing. Wonderful sense of humor.
But I digress. As I started to say Callie’s the new Chief of Police for our little town of Symtheville. She went off and lived in the big city for a time like so many youngsters do now days. And like so many of them found out the grass isn’t always greener. So now she’s back. Finally married, too, thank goodness. Was no easy feat getting her together with someone. My goodness, I introduced her to so many eligible bachelors to no avail. Again, I digress.
So Callie came back and took over Chief Landry’s job, although he works a couple days a week and if she has a big case, he helps her out. Not that there’s many big cases in this small town, but it has its share. My mother helped break up a drug ring, and Callie solved a missing persons, kidnapping, and a murder. We don’t have many murders around here. Mostly it’s drunk and disorderly or people creating a disturbances.
I remember this one time, Ed and I bought a cabin. Sure was a mess. Needed a ton of work. But Ed assured me he could do it, and I seldom doubt Ed. Wasn’t like it was far from here, only a half hour drive. But it was set on a pretty lake and Ed loves to fish. Besides, we thought it’d be nice to have a place to escape my crazy family. Not that we escape often because we usually ended up inviting the family along. Anyways, Ed and I went up there right after we got the keys. I needed to start cleaning, and Ed took stock of what work needed done and what supplies he needed to order.
So there we were looking around and it was kind of chilly.
“What do you think, Bea, feel like a fire?”
“Only if we’re going to be here for a while and from the looks of this place, it’s going to be quite a while. Do you think that fireplace is safe?” I didn’t want to take any chances of burning the place down now that we bought it.
So Ed opened the flu and stuck a wire brush inside to make sure nothing was jammed.
“What the hell?” Ed jumped back. I turned around in time to see something fall.
“What’s that?”Whatever it was shook Ed up. He pushed me across the room.
“You don’t want to see that. Come on, let’s go in the kitchen.”
Well dog gone it, no one tells me what to do, not even Ed. Leastways not all the time. I pushed him aside, went to the fireplace. “What the hell is that?” I bent down for a closer look.
An arm, in tattered red flannel soiled with soot, lay on the grate. I reached out to pick it up, and a finger fell off. I jumped back. “What the hell is an arm doing in our fireplace?”
 I wondered if it was real. Sure looked it. I reached over to pick it up again to make sure. Another arm fell, brushing my elbow. I fell back, screamed and brushed ashes off my shirt.  Far be it for me to be afraid of anything, but that spooked me. Gave me the willy-nillys for sure. I couldn’t help it, the scream just escaped. I turned away, covered my mouth and gagged. I could hardly catch my breath.  Ed helped me up and led me to a chair in the kitchen.
“Get it out of here, Ed. Take it away.” Barely able to look, I pointed toward the other room. God, I’d never get that vision out of my mind.
“Well, now I’d like to do that, Bea, but I’m afraid I have to call Callie.” Ed handed me a glass of water.
“Callie? What you need to call her for? Just get rid of it. Get it out of my house.”
“It pains me to say this, but it might be a murder victim.”
“A murder victim.  Bushwa. Who stashes a body in a chimney? Murder victim, that’s the craziest damn thing I’ve ever heard. I don’t want that thing in my house.”
“Be that as it may, Bea, those arms belonged to someone.”
Before I could reply, a clattering noise came from the living room. I jumped. “What the hell was that?”
Half afraid to look, but having a curious nature – some called it nosy –I hurried to see what the racket was about. Body parts slid out of the fire place, landing on the hearth. A strange sound came from my mouth. I must have passed out because next thing I knew, I was on the floor, and Ed was leaning over me.
“That a girl, Bea, open those pretty eyes.”
I sat up and of course the first thing I saw was a skull, its eyes rolled back in the sockets. “Call Callie, Ed, and tell her to get over here right quick.”
Ed pulled his cell phone from his pocket and punched in Callie’s number.
I couldn't stay in the house, not with that thing in there. Oh, I know it used to be a human being, but now it was nothing but a pile of bones. And that skull. That was the worst part. I've seen skulls before, but they were Halloween skulls, not the remains of God knew who. Oh no, I wasn't staying there, and no way Ed was gonna make me. Not that he tried. Ed knows me well enough to know when I make up my mind about something, there’s no changing it. So I went outside. Figured I may as well explore the ground until Callie arrived and got rid of that thing.
Fortunately, I didn't have long to wait. Callie pulled up, got out of her car, and kissed me hello. She didn't much like me, but always minded her manners. Oh yeah, I knew. She couldn’t fool me. That was okay, we’d come to terms since she married that nice young man. Now if she’d just start a family. Since I was too old to have my own children, I sort of adopted my sisters’ kids and their grandchildren. Callie didn't know it, but she was my favorite. God only knew why. That girl rebelled against everything. Poor Lillian had her hands full with that child. From the minute Callie could walk and talk, she was insolent, seditious, and stubborn as all get out. Lillian managed to instill some manners in her, and Callie knew better than to disrespect me. Not that she disrespected any of her aunts, but she didn’t obey them either. Now I, on the other hand, never had a problem with her. Maybe I scared her. But lately, she’d become persnickety. Probably had something to do with her job. I didn’t much care for the attitude.
But, I digress again. Callie went in the house and I, being the inquisitive person I am, followed. I wanted to hear what she had to say. I stayed back, not wanting to get in the way, but mostly because I didn’t want to look at that thing again. 

Friday, January 9, 2015

Judgment Day by Roseanne Dowell

I wrote this many years ago when I became serious about writing. It's not my usual genre. In fact far from it. But, like most authors, when something wants to be written, I write it. 

The crowds hustled by, everyone in a big hurry to get home after a long day of work. I almost laughed at the rude people bumping into each other, as if they had the right of way. No one cared about the person next to them. They all had their own agenda and thought only of themselves.  Horns honked and cars weaved in and out of traffic, trying to get ahead of the others, only to stop at the traffic light, not making much progress. Storm clouds threatened to open any minute. The wind picked up and lightening streaked across the sky, casting an eerie glow on those rushing about. I stepped out of the doorway and hurried down the street, sidestepping those willing to stampede over me.
"The time has come!"  A voice bellowed through the crackling sounds of thunder. I recognized the voice, had heard it many times.
Suddenly the sun shone brightly and just as quickly transformed from yellow to red, the color of blood. The sky darkened once again. Thunder rumbled. Lightning flashed. People scattered, running for safety from the storm. The sky turned pitch black and opened up, spewing forth pellets of hail, ashes, and bits of bone.
A great upheaval shook the earth. The ground cracked, separated, and erupted, opening graves in the nearby cemetery. Bodies, dead for centuries, spilled from their tombs and rushed forth into the crowds.
 Someone reached a hand out and snatched the heart from a young man’s chest. Another plucked out the eyes of an old woman. Body parts floated everywhere. Hearts, lungs, kidneys, and livers flew about as if they had wings.
A young man reached for a heart, but it didn't fit into his empty chest cavity. Tossing it aside, he reached for another, and yet another, throwing them aside, in a desperate search for his own.
Clumps of ash swirled around me with bits of bone and materialized into a body. It ran off down the street, screeching. People scrambled to get out of the way of deteriorating bodies that poked and prodded, removing body parts from others and reclaiming their own missing parts, which they had donated to others after their death. Everyone rushed about in panic and frenzy.
A form appeared in front of me. A young lady, wafts of long blond hair clung to her skull and bits of a pink dress still hung from her shoulders. An evil grin appeared in her bony skull when she turned to face a man. He stood immobile, fear pasted on his face. He dropped to his knees in recognition. "Please," he begged, "Please, no."
She approached him, arms out stretched. He tried to crawl away, but she was too quick. Showing no mercy, she grabbed him around the neck and squeezed the life out of him. Guttural sounds came from her mouth when she raised him effortlessly above her head, bowed to me, as if to offer him up, and carried him to a bridge. Spinning around two, maybe three times, she flung him over, then turned away and hurried off.
I ran to see where he landed and looked down into a fiery inferno. Tongues of flames licked its hungry mouth, swallowing the man into the bowels of the earth. He had killed the young girl, and she sent him on to his just due.
I returned to the doorway and watched as featureless creatures rose out of their earthly internment and pursued their killers. Like the blond girl, they murdered in the fashion they had died.  One kicked his predator to death. Another stabbed repeatedly in a murderous rage. Yet another carried his victim to the top of a building and flung him down like a rag doll. Their victim’s pleas for mercy, ignored.
One - a headless creature converged on an elderly man. It threw him to the ground and, with an axe that appeared from nowhere, chopped off the old man’s head. It rolled away and stopped in front of me.
A new head grew from the headless creature's neck to complete the body of a young boy. All these creatures lifted their victims’ bodies over their heads and carried them to the bridge. They repeated the ritual, like the girl had, each bowing to me, and then spinning around several times, they threw the victims into the fiery pit below. The massacre and brutal assault of thousands continued.  The stench of burning bodies saturated the air.
 More and more forms appeared from the clumps of ashes and bones, reclaiming the shape of their earthly beings. People raced wildly about, screaming as bony hands ripped their innards from their bodies. The skeletal creatures removed kidneys, livers, and hearts, and repossessed them.
Across the way, a serene scene with masses of people manifested itself. I went toward them. They floated on a bed of clouds, surrounded by a brilliant light that illuminated the blackened sky. They were the good ones, the believers. The young blond girl, her body no longer a skeleton, took her place among them, a pure and innocent look on her face.
Other creatures followed, after they had achieved their revenge allotted to them by their God. They took on angelic forms. The musical sound of a flute and a harp filled the air. Many of the mortals that had, moments ago, been rushing about looking to replace missing parts were now renewed.  Their bodies united with their souls.
 Perfect images rose above me with virtuous, peaceful faces. Laughter and love abounded among them. They began humming with expressions of pure joy as they rose higher and higher to their final reward above. A floral scent of roses mixed with other unidentifiable sweet aromas.
I turned back and watched while bedlam still raged on the other side. Thunder continued to rumble, mixed with terrifying screams of the bewildered lost souls. Cadavers chased humans, pushing and stampeding over them as they searched for their body parts. The evil forces reached out, trying to grip the victims of time past. The innocents rushed past me, eager to join with the host of angels.
It was time.
 I went back to them and beckoned to my lost sheep. Flames emitted from my hands and smoke swirled around my mouth as I reached out to claim the evil ones I called my own. I denounced them as they fell to their knees, begging for mercy from a God that they had long ago forsaken.
A flood of water gushed over the earth, sweeping their bodies into a wild rush of current. Arms and legs tangled, thwarting the onslaught of water, as they swam for their very lives. Just as quickly, the blackness and water disappeared, replaced by a sudden flash of orange. It burst forth into the eternal flames of hell.
We were home.

Tuesday, December 2, 2014

New Magazine for Writers

New Magazine Calling for Submisions

In today's ever-changing 'brave new world of publishing' we need a forum where you can keep track of what is working, what is not, and what is new. 

New Magazine For Writers

 I'm excited to hear about a new magazine opening up and actually calling for submissions!  It sounds as if The Writers Monthly Review Magazine is something that both poets and writers will want to take note of!  
The Writer’s Monthly Review Magazine
Debuting in January 2015
 A Magazine Where Writers, Poets, Authors, Editors, Publishers and Literary Agents Come Together Under One Roof Offering Inspiration, Motivation, Encouragement and Knowledge With One Another
 A magazine for writers of every genre 
$25 per year for 12 issues/published monthly
Writer’s groups get a 15% discount on all orders with a group of 10 or more.
Send form and check or money order or via paypal for $25 to: 
The Writer’s Monthly Review Magazinehttp://writersmonthlyreview.com/
  
marcies04@yahoo.com

Meet Marcella Simmons, the editor.   Marcella, welcome!  What will this magazine uniquely offer its readers and writers? What will make the magazine stand out?
The Writer’s Monthly Review Magazine is a place where new writers can read articles and learn from the mistakes of others; get encouragement, inspiration, motivation and feedback from other writers; our readers are for those who enjoy reading about writing to learn, etc. Our panel of writers will share information and knowledge in unique ways you won’t find in a classroom…
Oh, this is SO needed, especially in the realm of promotion and self publishing;  what works, what does not.   So much is changing so rapidly on those fronts!  How heavily will you/other editors be involved in editing articles that are submitted?
We have two editors on board who will be editing manuscripts and offering suggestions in rewrites…rewrites if necessary will be left up to writers.
 How many articles per issue will you expect to publish, and what ratio of contributors do you imagine to have between beginners/experts/editors/agents/etc.?
 Every month, we expect to publish anywhere between 8-15 articles. Since this is a new venture, there is no correct answer for what ratio of contributors there will be. But an educated guess is this: we work with new writers and will accept articles based on subject matter, content and valuable information useful to other writers each month; we will include guest editorials, articles from agents, experts and editors as they are presented to us. We are not limited to either group.
 So how did you decide to start on this project?  Starting a magazine from the get-go is a pretty ambitious project, for sure.
 I started writing back in the late eighties, and there were a handful of small press publications around that accepted my stories, articles and poetry. During that time, several local newspapers started publishing my columns and feature stories. From that time on, I launched my career doing what I love best! You guessed it! Writing. Since then, some of the small newsletters and magazines like Byline, The Writer, Writer's World and House Wife Writer's Forum have either changed hands (and names) or folded. It was publications such as these that held my hand and helped me become the writer I am today. There were many others (too many to name) that published my material regularly that have ceased to be. This, above all, is the reason why I am starting this magazine.. There's nothing new under the sun especially for writers, but newbies need a place to start and old pros need a place to submit their how-to's and other writing related articles to. I want to share my knowledge along with other writers and help others on their journey of becoming better, and published writers.
Oh, we need a good forum, and even more so today than back then!  I'll definitely help you promote this! I notice that you're asking readers to let you know what they'd like to see.  That's way cool, and a nice interactive start to the magazine.  How is your fan-base building coming along? 
 Our readers are our number one fans. When we meet their needs, and wants, this will certainly help us grow and become the worlds best little magazine on the market!  We've already started picking up fans from FACEBOOOK and other social media outlets, and I have started building my client/subscription database from the response I have gotten so far from this.
Whom do you see as your readership?
I have people all over the world interested in The Writer's Monthly Review Mag. because of our exposure on the Internet. There will be a readership of new writers from every walks of life, as well as professional ones. We work with both. Our readership will extend from the U.S into other countries.
It sounds like a superb resource for new writers!  And as I said here, we SO need these resources.  Way too many na├»ve new writers are getting scammed in this brave new publishing world!  And now for the hard questions;  are you going to be paying for submissions or simply offer exposure to contributing writers?
We do pay our writers as long as they are subscribers - shorter pieces get paid $5 and longer ones $10, plus they get 5 copies each. Nonsubscribers get paid in copies. We promote in two ways: in the print magazine and they get a contributors byline and recommendation on our website.
 Here is the link to our current writer's guidelines:
Very nice!  So there you go, folks.  A new magazine that will benefit you and can become a market for you as well. I've already subscribed to it.  Even if you don't subscribe to it, spread the word, will you, through your Twitter, Facebook, and social media?  Let's support a new marketplace and a 'zine that's going to benefit writers! 
Thanks so much, Marcella, for answering out questions and good luck with the magazine!
And remember -- Marcella is looking for submissions!  
Looking forward to January and the first issue!

Tuesday, November 11, 2014

So Much for Good Intentions

With the weather forecast predicting colder weather starting tomorrow - January cold from what they're saying, I thought I'd take advantage of today's beautiful weather and put my outside decorations up.
So I gathered everything together, making several trips from the basement. First order of business was putting the lights in the bushes. Easy peasy.
Next came setting up the angel and the trees. The angel is also
easy, just had to put some stakes in the ground to hold her in place securely. With the lamp post staked and weighted down, I moved on to the trees. 
 The trees took a bit more work because they were in sections. Once they were securely in the ground, I placed Santa on the swing and secured him to the seat and staked him to the ground so the swing wouldn't blow too much in the wind. Could have Santa blowing away. 
4 Foot Christmas Inflatable Santa Claus Yard Decoration




I ran the extensions cords, plugged everything into the proper places and, tada drum roll.. the moment of truth I plugged everything into the outlet.
The lights in the bushes looked great, the lamp post looked  awesome, as did the small tree. The large tree, however, was only half lit and the angel and Santa....well I'm sorry to say, the angel is dark and Santa, well no other word for it, Santa is dead. I'm going to look for lights to restring the angel, the large tree will remain half lit this year. And Santa...well I'm going to miss the old boy.

Monday, November 3, 2014

Featured Today

 Designed for Love is featured today at eBookSoda, a new reader's site where they'll send you ebook recommendations tailored to your tastes.

Check it out at www.ebooksoda.com/ebook-deals/

.