Thursday, November 27, 2008

The Shack - My first book review

According to a post on his blog, William P. Young originally wrote The Shack as a story for his kids. It was just a creative way to pass on the his Faith to those he loved the most. He bound it at a copy shop and handed out a few copies. With a life of its own, this small spark turned into a practically unstoppable blaze, and before he knew it everyone wanted to read it -and it was published.

That spark reached my dad and my sister-in-law, Reg; and at a family reunion this Labor Day, they both recommended I read it. Reg's church even discussed it in a service once. Since Labor Day, it seemed lots of my friends were buzzing about The Shack.

You have to pick this book up. It’s a quick read -246 pages that make you feel like you’ve received a copy shop-bound letter that someone lovingly trudged out across its pages in hopes to share his Faith.

This fictional story, on one hand is a compelling fictional novel, and on the other, is touching, life-changing devotional. It helps you return to that child-like faith before institution, religion, and the world spoiled it. You cannot read this book and not question, reveal, confess, reaffirm, recommit, challenge, converse, pray, love, let go . . . I have written down many passages from the book for future reference to remind me of the intimacy I felt while reading it. Moments I’ll treasure for a life time.

I will only tell you a little of its story line. After a horrific incident, a man named Mack has an encounter with God at an abandoned shack. I think even one more hint may give away some of its magic. That is how it was presented to me, and that is how I will present it to you. I will also say, however, it is a story, a novel – inspirational fiction.

The first half of the book left me breathless; the second half slowed, but it did bring closure. There are refreshed truths I take with me, and other stuff I leave behind, but I am better for reading it. Better? I’m closer to God as a result of The Shack, and anxious to reaffirm my relationship with Him with every breath. So thank you Willie!

Mr. William P. Young has a blog too.
Follow this path to the endorsement’s page. I think you’ll be surprised who you find there.

Sunday, November 23, 2008

Woman of Faith

My mom and I attended the Women of Faith Conference yesterday. First Christian Church sure had good tickets. We had third row seats! I was surprised at how "entertaining" it was-- lots of comedy, singing, and skits. I was a little disappointed because I was expecting a lot more in-depth bible study. That doesn't make them wrong, just means I had different expectations. There were a couple of deep, touching moments. Here is one:

Mandisa performed (you know the beautiful girl from American Idol) I really enjoyed her. Her voice is other-worldly. It was kind of a surreal feeling to be 100 feet from her, and her songs have such a great message.
Well, check out the video above, and you will witness the best moments of the weekend. See you around the net!

Friday, November 21, 2008

Paper I wrote this week

A little assignment we had in class. It was telling, so I thought I'd share.
Name of article: Hollywood Wanna Be By KM Welcher
In 2004, I started school and began working on my degree in Real Time Reporting. I have been working very hard for over four years to learn machine shorthand; and I am currently writing at 160 words per minute on the stenographic machine and am planning to open a Scoping business. (Scopist is the job title for the person who edits a court reporter's work.)
You would think that with all that hard work my ideal job would be in the Court Reporting field. Real Time Reporting is an important goal that I am working toward, and it will be one that I will continue to pursue; however, I am a dreamer and my ideal job may surprise you. I think that if I could have any job in the modern world, it would be a job as a screenwriter and director. I know this field is highly competitive, and I would spend most of my life trying to break into it; however, that is my ideal job. If I were still 18 years old, I would be putting all my energy and passion into this. Alas, I am not young. When I was young, the career paths for women were not as open as they are now. Equality had come a long way in the late 1980’s, but not as far as it seems to have come today.
I have always been an aspiring writer, writing poetry and prose; and for some time now, I’ve been lovingly grinding out a novel. My first choice for a screenwriting project would be my own writing. I write in genre of Inspirational Fantasy/Science Fiction. (I do not have a title yet) I have heard that authors, for example, JK Rowling, have no interest in transforming their novel into a screen play; however, I think I would love to convert my novel into a screen play. If it were mine, I would not be able to contain myself from being involved in a screen masterpiece as Harry Potter! How would you feel if you were given such an honorable task?
I first realized that I would desire to be a screen writer and director as I sat in the theater and witnessed the trailer for, Lord of the Rings. The visual art touched me to the core. I would have loved to be a voyeur fly on the wall watching Peter Jackson and Fran Walsh hash out the conversion of that great novel by JRR Tolkien into a major motion picture. You cannot imagine what joy it would bring me to be involved in such a project.
I think my ideal job as screenwriter would be best fulfilled by working with the production company, Affirm Films. This is a fairly young production company. They are mostly known for their recent box office hit called, Fireproof. The movie’s leading man was, Kirk Cameron. Fireproof, an inspirational film developed around a core story line of faith in Jesus Christ, was one of the first endeavors for Affirm Films and certainly its biggest. I imagine that, after the success of this project, they will continue to put out great films, and I would love to be a writer and director for them. It would be great to pitch them a script in the fantasy genre.
I do have a passion for real time reporting and expect a great second career in the field. I picture myself now performing Closed Captioning for a news show. (One can perform Closed Captioning from home in their pajamas! And work on my book!)
I can start working after I complete the national test. The test is called the RPR, which stands for, Registered Professional Reporter. However, until I pass that test, I will enjoy working from home and editing transcripts for other working reporters. I will be opening my Scoping business in December of this year. It is kind of scary, because that is just a month away. I hope to get a contract with a court reporting firm or a few court reporters.
However, you know, as I explore my career in shorthand writing, I will never give up on my writing. I will continue to love working on my book and networking with other, brilliant writers. I like to spend a little chunk of time on it each day. You’d be surprised how much that can add up. I think writing will always be my ideal job, but, as with all jobs in the arts, you must make your bread and butter somewhere and enjoy your passion on the side. By day, I will be KM Welcher, Closed Captioner, and loving what I do. By night I will be KM Welcher the dreamer writer extraordinaire. And, in my dreams, I will work on great screen plays and film masterpieces.

Tuesday, November 18, 2008

mixed up

I wanted to share a unique and wonderful sight I ran across a couple of years ago. Now, if you are a writer, you may already know about the site. It is called: Word Mixer. I love it. I got two of my characters names from using their word mixer. The character names are unique, no one else has them, and they have no meaning! Sometimes I visit the site to just to play.

Here is the link:

And while I’m talking about words; are you as intrigued as I am with the word verification that is asked of you when you post to a comment to a blog?

It says: Type the characters you see in the picture above.

And you are given some random bunch of letters to put into a box before it will post your comment.

I love it. Some of my favorites have been nemsis, togie, winesiti ( hee hee wine city!) gurial (that could be a name for one of my characters!)

Have you run across any memorable ones?

Monday, November 17, 2008

Max Lucado

Thanks to my dad, I receive weekly emails sent by Max Lucado. They always have great, short devotionals. (Mostly excerpts from his books) This week’s email also had some thoughts on the election. I was very impressed with what he said and I wanted to share it. I copied it verbatim and pasted it here:

"I'm genuinely hopeful about the next few years in the US. Our democracy has given the citizenry the right to select a leader and we have. Now is the time for us to pray for President-elect Obama and the next administration. I, along with a group of religious leaders, met with Senator Obama last June. We discussed a wide-range of faith-related issues. He expressed his belief in God, trust in Jesus and need for a Savior. I left the meeting with the feeling that I had met a man of genuine convictions. I hope you will join me as we pray for his wisdom, discernment and safety.

I also offer prayers of gratitude for President Bush. He has weathered one of the most difficult eras in American history. His personal conduct has been exemplary and devotion, inspirational. He has kept his pledge to keep America free from attack and the Oval Office free from scandal. For that we can be grateful."

Max Lucado,
November 11, 2008

Friday, November 14, 2008


I'm learning a lot in recent months about how to become a better writer. It's amazing how little I know. I have learned not to bother with anything that does not move the story forward. And, in doing so, today I had had to sacrifice a character. I am so sad. I really liked the little brother, but he did not move the story forward -- only thing about him even remotely relevant was he had a disease. I was using it show that there were lots of diseases in my world of the future. I'll have to do it another way. I will miss you little, Asher.

Thursday, November 13, 2008

more drips

The freedom of poetic license.
Cicero (106 BC - 43 BC)

Inspired by a friend I opened some old journals to look at my early writings. I was surprised at the amount of poetry and song writing. Here is just one funny example.

The DJ rambles in to the air
Love's a game - life's not fair
Homeless humans sleep in stairways
Needles float on the ocean waves
He says, "Watch the lifeless walk the streets"
Don't look up and never speak
Here’s to those who rush the avenue
As I listen, I long to say to you,
If you lose the hope seed
What’s there left to believe?
Momma, here's what my eyes have seen
Nations together in war we rise
Children carry guns and we're surprised?
But the cursing in congress, it's all right
All's okay if it's out of sight
Hugs not Drugs! Now go watch cartoons
Yesterday's crisis is today's ONLY news.
One more mistake and it's over and done
There are no stars, but "reach for the sun"
As I listen, I long to say to you,
If you lose the hope seed
What’s there left to believe?
Momma, here's what my eyes have seen

I wrote it in the early 90s. hee hee

Monday, November 10, 2008

"Heirlooms we don't have in our family. But stories we've got." Rose Cherin

What an awesome weekend. We arrived very late Friday night and when I lay my head down, I felt like a tiny fairy resting in the most delicate of flower. Crash – I was out.

The game was great! My nephew made two significant tackles, one in the first quarter and one in the fourth. As the announcer said his name, I wanted to jump up and down and cheer. (I didn’t. I know what it’s like to be a teen and I refuse to be the embarrassing aunt!) Nonetheless, the Huskies won by a considerable margin and their record is 34-0 -- their first undefeated season in 30 years! They have two more games in the playoffs (I wish more than anything that I could be there) Take State, Huskies!

It was so cold sitting in the stone stadium. I could not believe I could forget about such cold. Thanks to my sister I had ear warmers and a blanket to sit on. And thanks to my neice I got to walk around to keep warm!

My niece turned 3 yesterday. We didn’t get to stay for the real party, but we had our own family party before leaving. She got lots of “princess” presents. She is adorable. Even though she is somewhat shy, we had some moments together. I read her an Arial/Little Mermaid book and we danced to the Backyardigans. My heart broke; however, as we pulled out of the drive to go home, she was standing in the window crying. I could see her little mouth saying, “Don’t go! Don’t go”, her face pressed against the glass.

Between undefeated football games and nieces standing in windows, that’s enough to make you pack up and move next door to them! God willing, maybe one day. I thank Him for those He gave me to love! (That includes you!)

persecuted, but not abandoned; struck down, but not destroyed - 2 Corinthians 4:9

Today is an International Day of Prayer for the Persecuted Church. I am not the first or only one to put this on their blog, but I wanted to join my brothers and sisters.

It is unfathomable that over 100,000 Christians are martyred each year for their Faith. And a great number of the Church are persecuted, beaten, and imprisoned -- in present day? I live in a safe, clean and free country. I can worship however I want, and I live like a princess. It is so hard to imagine.

I have been involved in Voice of the Martyrs for a long time, and it is close to my heart. The organization continues to keep all of us aware of those being persecuted for Jesus Christ.

Today, I want to pass the word. Today, I'll be praying for the persecuted Church - the body of Christ. And, I hope you will not only pray, but will visit the website. (The link to Voice of the Martyrs is always on the right hand side of my blog under important websites.)

If you just want more information about this day of prayer, check out this article:

Love and unity

Friday, November 7, 2008

Are you ready for some football?

I'm leaving for the Rockies now. Going to watch that nephew of mine play in the playoffs! Go Huskies! I also get to watch my niece turn three! See you all on Monday!

My dad gave me some more stories about my family today. Both of my parents are great writers, I see where I get my passion. I hope to collect dad's stories with my stories. I hope I can get more from my aunts and my grandad. Until then, you could take look at my post "Aunt Alice".

Aunt Alice two

My dad gave me some more stories about my family today. Both of my parents are great writers, I see where I get my passion. I hope to collect dad's stories with my stories. I hope I can get more from my aunts and my grandad. Until then, you could take look at my post "Aunt Alice", if you want.

Are you ready for some football?! I'm leaving for Colorado now. Going to watch that nephew of mine play in the playoffs! Go Huskys! See you all on Monday!

Thursday, November 6, 2008

Remnants Chapter one

Remnants * Chapter One * Shades of Grey
Commander Slade Gaewrn led his small regiment through the antechamber, a beige moon lighting their path along the sculpted, red rock wall. A sense of foreboding enveloped him as he wondered just how an unannounced, midnight visit by strangers might be welcomed; and just how to explain to a community unaware that their enemy had surrounded them.
“And all the air a solemn stillness holds.” Slade motioned to his lieutenant, Ellogan Skirrow for them to enter an ornate stone passageway.
“Words from your eighteenth century poet?” Ellogan ducked as he entered the aperture.
Once through the entryway, they faced a magnificent river rock structure with beige roof tiles that locked perfectly together like clay goblets lining a shelf. White and blue lights flashed upward from behind the apex, and distant music from a celebration pumped through the air.
“Aye, Thomas Gray.” Slade reminded his partner, then denoted with a nod towards the building glowing against the sky in front of them, “Our treasure lies in there.”
The lieutenant pointed to Slade’s pant leg, torn in an earlier altercation, “Can you make it, brother? Or shall I carry you?”
Slade feigned a scowl, then gave in to his friend’s joke, “Only if you clip your hair, Skirrow, otherwise the men might think I’ve taken up with a lover.” Slade smirked, but noticeably took on a more purposeful gait.
“They know you better, Commander.” Ellogan laughed.
Slabs of quartz lay decoratively across the desert floor. The troop passed discreetly by a dry, terracotta water fountain, Slade ran his hand through his hair and sweat trickled down his back. He couldn’t wait to leave this heat and abscond to the mountains, permanently.
“The captain will demote me -- have my skin strung up like a deer’s hide when this charge ends.” He used his hands to accentuate his words in a nervous rhythm, “He bid us to ride in, warn of the impending Arunduel attack and ride out -- no involvement -- a message mission only.”
“You might have apprised him of your ghost.”
Slade pursed his lips. “You may be right.”
Ellogan gave a boastful smile. “Of course I am.”
The music echoed as the battalion entered the breezeway propelling them into the heart of the festivities. Two lovers, filled with revelry, clung to one another as they stumbled along the wall. They stopped and warily leered at the herd of men all dressed in the same leather armor and capes with hoods. A glimpse of fear shadowed their crocked faces and then the couple pulled one another quickly out of the way, cowering.
He fingered his sword in his sheath.
“We may not be seen as friends.” Ellogan mimicked his commander, hand on blade.
“I think we can count on it.” Slade slapped him on his back hoping to relieve the mounting tension.
The music and the cheers choked out all final silence of the night as they left the ingress and stepped into an atrium, open to the star-filled sky. A mass of people were shouting and pumping their arms toward the arena in front of them where a blonde crooner belted out a heartfelt melody above a clash of guitars. Three tow-headed young men accompanied him, along with a harmonizing, raven haired, beauty holding a blue guitar.
Despite the promise of the captain’s wrath for using a mission for his own purposes, Slade held a delayed longing for this day. This city of Mojisola held a mystery treasure with the promise of limitless power. Two opposing kings had sent dispatches to find it. He had his own reasons for coming here, and he’d arrived just ahead of the pair of envoys, determined to locate the cache first.
In the Baron’s high courtyard, Cadence Grey peered through the blue brume of the stage lights and, looking over a thousand expressions, her gaze settled on a face obviously examining each person around him, searching everywhere but the platform of musicians in front of him. The oddity made her uneasy. Her bioelectric power guitar reverberated, and she grasped it tight as if it were a log floating atop a raging river.
As the last chord rang out in triumphant climax, Judah Grey threw his arm in the air in celebration and chanted, “We are Shades of Grey. Thank you and good night!”
Shades of Grey. The sound of that name rattled a buried hallow in her heart. It made her feel left out. Father had framed the name and hung it on his family of musicians long before they’d adopted her.
“We palpated the pulse tonight, Cadie!” Judah, her eldest brother, winked as he slid in next to her –shoulder to shoulder. Beads of sweat glistened on his face, and the particles of dust floating in the smoky luminescence resembled stardust. They took a bow, and cheers lifted.
Cadence giggled with excitement at his words and thought about the founders of the Skorda Festival. They would be proud to know that a simple treaty between two tribes in 2203 had grown to such magnitude -- one thousand people. There may not be a restoration of the ancient, information-technology era, but maybe earth’s 5oo years of medieval-like existence could see new days.
Movement caught her attention. The intruder now drifted, then he stopped and stood square facing the theater. His shoulders burst from under his cloak, as he oscillated his head in a controlled scan of the crowd.
Eli and Moses moved in beside Judah, their guitars strung over their shoulders. Nathanel slid in between them pushing hair out of his face with his drum sticks. They all bowed together and the platform shook from the applause.
“No more campfire concerts for us.” Cadence smiled at her brothers, and they all stood straight.
She reminisced, thinking back to the many years of acappella singing and acoustic guitars as the Grey family traveled the badlands declaring the Narrow Path. Mojisola and its bioelectric power had certainly added dimension to their passion -- launched it from bliss to euphoria.
The crowd quieted as their father, Jadis Grey, mounted the stage and accepted delivery of the voice amplifier Judah was holding out to him.
Father hooked it to his smock and ran a hand over his smooth, shaved head accentuating his muscles recently enlarged by his construction work. “Thank you. We’d like to express our gratitude to Baron Bodane for granting us a home. The desert has become much too dangerous to drag my missionary family through. And the camp he has financed? Well, thank the Lord for the Baron’s conversion!”
The applause swelled.
His hooded cloak – her eyes flicked back the dubious invader. That’s why he stood out. Who wore a coat out here in the desert? Or maybe the alert in the back of her mind sounded because she now noticed several others with him, all dressed in the same black, cowl infiltrating the crowd. But she knew better. More than likely, their presence had stood out because her déjà vu premonitions had returned.
She put her hand to her temple. Abruptly, and without her permission, her mind revealed glimpses of the future but only a short period in advance. The newcomers shifted through the crowd in her mind’s view, and seconds later they did in reality. Father’s voice speaking to the crowd mumbled like two men yapping simultaneously, one voice taunting and the other lagging mockingly behind. She heard the crowd’s laughter in her head, and seconds later their faces cracked into smiles, their laughter echoing in her ears.
Unexpectedly, Judah slapped her on the forearm; she frowned at him sharply in surprise. Due to her forced daydream drawing her attention to the mass in front of her, she’d missed the fact that her family had gathered near the front of the stage, hand in hand ready for prayer.
The flashes of the future halted, for the moment. Her cheeks lit on fire with blush and she realized she stood, holding her guitar, gawking into the crowd like a lost prairie rat. Her brothers contemplated her with a scowl that questioned her sanity. Of all the pictures flowing in her mind, why could there not be a warning of her embarrassing discordance or the slap for that matter?
Father cleared his throat --a cue for her to snap out of it, “As I was saying, I’d like us to pray and ask for this war forced upon us by the Citadel of Arunduel to end.”
A few voices shouted “Amen”, and most of the crowd bowed their heads, save the neighbors bolting for the doorways escaping the odd behavior of the Jesus freaks. They loved the entertaining music, but a prayer meant an admission that God existed.
As Cadence put the guitar on its stand, adjusted her bodice, and joined her family, the fact of the return of the déjà vu premonition and all that went with it dawned on her fully. Her clairvoyance never showed happy, fortune telling scripts but rather warnings of impending disaster. The last time this happened, it gave her only a second’s warning to lift that branch, brace it, and launch it into the desert panther’s neck. A miracle. She glanced up at the scar on Judah’s collarbone sticking out from his white cotton tunic. He’d nearly bled to death from those claws.
Does father see the prowlers?
In that instant, as if he’d heard her thoughts, the interloper’s stare locked onto hers from under his cover glaring directly at her, and she froze. She couldn’t move.
Did he seem familiar?
New pictures started to flow through her mind, not the same kind of visions she’d experienced in her younger days. These were nightmare images grasping and haunting her and laughing at her. Her feet grew unsteady.
A female lying in tall grass, her hair blowing in the wind – yellow eyes -- a male’s hand lifeless against a rock – yellow eyes — strips of sunlight shining through a forest -- a scream echoing in a clearing — more yellow eyes. Then they were gone.
“In Jesus name, Amen.”
She shook her head and caught her balance as those around began to bustle with conversation and movement. Judah started to get up, but Cadence pulled on his arm.
“Yeah.” He bent his leg underneath him.
“Who are the cloaks?”
“The what?”
“The outlanders with cover in the middle of August?”
“Oh – the Rekal. And they’re called cooling capes-- filled with compressed carbon dioxide. One of Uncle Adly’s old inventions.” He pulled his arm from her and stood.
She knew Judah thought he’d blinded her with his insight into bioelectric charged gasses, confused her with knowledge of Uncle Adly’s inventing genius. Hardly. Her state of mental uncertainty came from his factual reference to the Rekal. A name known only in fairytales.
Around the campfire, stories of good deeds done by a band of brothers protecting the northeastern mountains flourished. The troop’s practices were not always honorable, but their motives altruistic. Recited Rekal legends held up the same spirit found within ancient fables like Robin Hood, Johnny Appleseed and Superheroes. Did they not?
She laughed. Her brother must be joking. “Jude. The Rekal? They are mythical -- a fable for children.”
“Yeah? Tell that to them.” He pointed at the aliens with his chin, as he picked up conductors from the stage.
His nonchalant tone made her feel like an outsider on an inside joke and she said, “That’s like saying Santa Claus made it through the continent shift of the 2500’s, and the North Pole is near the Sheridan Ridge.”
His musical chuckle filled the air but quickly trailed off as he became distracted by something.
Surveying the area she discovered his preoccupation. A curvy damsel in a sparkling outfit traipsed forth, her dark skin gleamed under a crown of pinkish-platinum hair and her eyes shone like black gems of adoration. Cadence knew her subsequent questions would go unanswered.
Obviously one of the Kaleidoscope kind, the young woman bore their special tint in her hair and skin. The beautiful aberration came about much like the albino, but about 90 times more frequent. Father termed it God’s gift for the merging of the races.
Judah, himself, may not be kaleidoscopic, but he reflected a picture of the perfect union of physique and charm. He reminded most girls of Eve’s Adam, Bathsheba’s David, Arwen’s Aragorn, or Juliet’s Romeo. Cadence knew him only as brother. She wondered: of all history’s and fable’s beautiful male lovers -- who among them had sisters?
Suddenly, a voice bellowed from across the courtyard, and the area fell silent. Cadence froze, instinctively knowing from whom the voice came.
“You talk of oppression, Jadis Grey, and yet receive shelter from a Baron who terrorized the villages of Doranyca for decades.” The orator possessed a musical accent with authority that brought fear to her bones.
The crowd had thinned, and now those who remained fled in the direction of the nearest exit. With the world at war everyone recognized haunting trouble, and at the first sign of danger, knew to flee.
Father moved forward. “I assure you the Baron has mended his ways, sir. He has opened the doors of his estate to all who need shelter.”
The foreigner tilted his head quizzically, “Seems you have the better portion of those amends, preacher, I’ve witnessed the mayhem you call a refugee camp.”
Cadence felt sick from the insinuation that her father lived in luxury while the other refugees lived poorly but she could see he wouldn’t let the words affect him, because he merely said, “We are working to rectify that.”
The foreigner shook his head in disbelief “Aye, but are you aware that every weapon that is used to terrorize the Doranycan desert these days was invented -- purchased right here from the Baron himself?”
Father cleared his throat hiding his animosity, “You know my name sir, may I know yours?”
“He is Slade Gaerwn, from the northeastern mountain forest of Pyotr Zaltana and a respected commander in the ranks of the Rekal.” The Baron’s voice belted out from behind her making her jump.
That name again? How mystifying to hear it used outside of a bedtime story.
The Baron Adly Ray Bodane walked up next to her -- a round aristocrat with spiky hair and dark skin. Cadence knew he had a reputation as a warlord, but the Grey family knew him as Uncle Adly Ray. He’d been a family friend since she could remember. Not only had he given the Grey family a home, but he supported and built a camp for refugees just outside the walls of the city.
Uncle Adly Ray ignored the harsh accusations hurled and spoke in a gentle voice, “Slade, what Jadis Grey says is true. All are welcome in my city, but you are far from home. Why do you come?”
“I’ve come for the girl.”
“What girl?” Father flipped his head toward the Baron, his face full of fear. He seemed to know something.
“The girl with the tattoo.” The speaker, Slade, ogled her direction.
Cadence, slid her hand over the back of her left bicep. She usually concealed the marking on the back of her arm. Of all the nights to dare a corselet!
Her mother always insisted she camouflage it, even crafted outfits that would hide it. Sometime in her forgotten childhood the tattooist engraved her arm with a sketch of a parchment containing markings from an unknown language. The tattoo ever reminded her that she could not rid herself of a buried life before she’d been taken in by the Jadis and RaHhannah Grey.
Her heart stopped as Slade encroached upon the courtyard expanse, his boots crunching in the dirt.
She grasped on to her father’s arm.
Petrified - she asked, “Why me?” surprised her voice could push through her dry mouth.
Slade Gaerwn appeared to smile. His neck tightened underneath his collar, “You might inquire the same of your father, or the Baron here.”
What could he mean by that?
Uncle Adly Ray balled his hands into fists, “I do not think I will let you torture this child, Slade. She presented a question to you. And seeing you’re the trespasser, it might be you should give answer.”
He did not hesitate, but acted unaffected by the Baron’s anger, “My lady, the rumor of hired enforcers reached Pyotr Zaltana several months ago. Both the kingdom of Arunduel and of Neena Avari paid to recover a girl with a tattoo. She possesses something they want. It’s taken me a long while to find you Cadence Grey.” He said her name with sarcasm. “We’ve only reached Mojisola after an embroilment today with Arunduel swords at the Wash Divide. And I assure all of you, we have arrived here only just ahead of them.”
“Why would you come all the way across the desert for a girl? My daughter? These are ravings of a madman.” Father tossed his arm in the air as if waiving the Rekal off.
“Ravings? Perhaps you’d care to join me on Mojisola’s watchtower.” Slade said nonchalantly.
He didn’t sound angry, just arrogant. As he turned, the wind stirred and his stole ripped through the air like the wings of a bat in his wake. He withdrew through the side corridor, and, on cue, his corps followed him like marching ants trailing.
The new, alien vision recommenced telling her nothing of the future, just yellow, laughing eyes dancing in her mind. Yellow eyes and oceans of bonfires and a lifeless hand on a rock. The mind trip repossessed her mind, and it took all she had to follow the ants and try not to let anyone else know, because this time they would not call her a soothsayer. No this time they would call her cracked. She truly had slipped into insanity.

Aunt Alice

Aunt Alice passed away Monday November 3, 2008 very early in the morning. It’s taken me a little while to be able to write about it.

Alice was named after her mother. Of four siblings, she was the last to join them in heaven. Alice’s youngest sister was my grandma, June. I loved Alice. As a child, we visited her and Uncle Mitch in Roswell, New Mexico; and all I remember was love, peace and joy. I am trying not to regret that our relationship in the past few years has been through an annual Christmas letter.

I have not lost many in this lifetime. My grandma June died when I was still in sixth grade and it was very, very traumatic for my sister and me. I still had nightmares and panic attacks in seventh grade over it. I will miss you, Grandma June,until that Day.

My family was not rich in treasure, but very rich in love and faith. My childhood family get togethers were a smorgasbord of love, joy, charity, and faith. We got together every holiday and many other times throughout the year. My Grandad, Aunt Alice’s brother-in-law, was a preacher. He planted four Churches -- that I can remember -- with his own two hands, he even assisted with most of the building construction. I know we were at each Church dedication, as a family. These are memories that keep me going sometimes. They tell me that heaven is wonderful. It must be, if times such as these happen on earth, what great joy we will find in heaven.

Alice, June, Hattie, and Gene did not grow up rich. They were some of the first settlers in Oklahoma and New Mexico. Their parents traveled a great distant to give them a home, a hope, and a future. They lived in harmony with, intermixed and intermarried with the Native Americans, the true people of our great land.

I don’t know much more about her. I know she is a fiber of my being and that she was truly important to me. I am not a scrapbook bunny. I don’t collect pictures or news clippings. I am a writer. I collect stories. Aunt Alice, this is for you. And yet, I am not done. I will find more of your stories. I will not rest until they are written. I promise you, I will pass on to the next generation, your legacy of Faith, hope, love, joy, peace and charity.

I love you. I’ll see when I get there.

Wednesday, November 5, 2008

"The author of the Iliad is either Homer or, if not Homer, somebody else of the same name." Aldous Huxley

"I am returning this otherwise good typing paper to you because someone has printed gibberish all over it and put your name at the top."
An English Professor, Ohio University

Guess what! gzusfreek is not my name. Oh you knew that? Ok. Well, I'll get to the point. I've been thinking of looking for a pen name. This is something I have thought I'd never want/need, but at this time I desire one.

I used to use the name Kate Jordan when I worked for the airline. I used it for phone and mail correspondence. We had a customer base worldwide and they suggested it to keep you safe. I don't know if I like Kate Jordan. But who would I be?

One family genealogy, on my mother's side, shows a distant relation to Mark Twain. Should I use Che Clemens? What about Jeannetta Twain? Those don’t sound very mysterious or inviting. But how about initials: SK Clemens, RJ Twain?

That same genealogy showed distant relation to Mary, Queen of Scots. So, how about Mary Scots? Or MQ Scotts? I think I like Kate Jordan better.

I really like the names: Jessica, Jordin, Jordyce, Jaydin, and Angelica. Can we fit all these in? Actually I like Aldous Huxley but it's taken. . . his quote is above.

Well, I know this probably sounds silly. It’s 10:00 at night and I am sitting here with the flu just thinking and thinking. But I would invite any input you would be willing to humor me with!


My technique when writing poetry, I would like to compare it to Jackson Pollack and his drip technique of abstract painting. gzusfreek

Life is something that happens when you can't get to sleep.
Fran Lebowitz

It’s 3:00 in the morning and I’m
Wallpapering with bread bags
Watching movies upside down
Look what I just found.
It’s 4:00 in the morning and I’m
Lying on beads
Nothing too deep,
Just trying to sleep.

A man can no more diminish God's glory by refusing to worship Him than a lunatic can put out the sun by scribbling the word, 'darkness' on the walls of his cell.
C. S. Lewis

The room
This place in reality did not yet exist
At night it would visit the realms of my boundless mind
I would gaze upon it somewhere between visions and consciousness
Then give in like suicide on the edge of a cliff. . .jumping, and dream
Confused in the wake of this mask, captive behind the bars
It lays there, this empty room -- cold and borderless
Apprehension snatched at my thoughts like arm
The light at the end of the tunnel –Is it You?
The resolution has to bring my revolution
Let go of the old tricks and tapes
Over and over this melody of insanity
You rescued me from Egypt, now, let Egypt leave me
"Zacchaeus," you call, “Come forth.”
And I understand. . .
I stand here in the dark holding the Key.




Welcome to Cinema Sound Off, a great way to get movie reviews. Lynn Rush and KM Wilsher love story and are passionate about their movies. They are writers. Lynn Rush writes Paranormal Romance and KM Wilsher writes Speculative fiction. This doesn't mean all movies reviewed here will be in that genre, I mean look at their first movie reveiwed on Cinema Sound Off: Green Zone. Lynn and KM don't always agree either so sit back in your theater seat and get ready for some fun.

Lynn Rush and KM Wilsher are great friends and followers of Christ.
What better way to get your movie reviews?



1 tickets Don’t go see it. Give your ticket away

2 tickets See it, but by yourself on DVD or Blue Ray

 3 tickets See it and think about taking a friend

4 tickets See it and share it with a few friends

5 tickets A must see. Buy a ticket for everyone.

Lynn Rush and KM Wilsher are followers of Christ, Writers, Movie lovers, and whacky great friends. You can find them:

Monday, November 3, 2008


The recent sermon series where I meet with the Church is “His will be done on earth as it is in heaven.” I cannot begin to portray in a blog what the Holy Spirit is stirring up over this series. I just hope to give you a taste. If you want the complete sermons, let me know.

Did you know that on New Years Eve, 1999, the country of Uganda dedicated their country to God, to Jesus Christ, for the next 1,000 years? Women with AIDS have been cured, no drugs or medical wonders, CURED! In that war torn part of the world, all violence has left the area!

I wonder what it would be like to live in country that believed that God was its primary leader. Yes, that all decisions and laws and battle plans were run by God’s word first! (I do not identify with any party)

The Inuit (Eskimo) in Northern Canada turned their community over to the Lord Jesus Christ. They have scripture on legal documents and humble prayer before government meetings. They banned Satan from their lands, in Jesus name! Alcoholism and teen suicide have almost vanished and fish and game have returned to their area.

I don’t know who would make a better president. Seems to me both have brilliant ideas and downfalls! I put my vote in with my hand, but I put the election in God’s hands!

Many of us Christians are fasting and praying for our country this week. It crosses denominational lines and is infusing every medium. This brings me hope! No matter who gets to sit in the oval office, Christians everywhere are unifying!

“Praise the LORD from the earth, you great sea creatures and all ocean depths,"

After much prayer and petition, vote your vote tomorrow, but more than that lets thank the Lord Jesus Christ He is showing the world about Christian love and unity here in the United States!

Sunday, November 2, 2008

On this journey, am I running in circles?

Hello all you writers out there that visit my blog; I have a question. Okay, so there are only two writers that visit my blog. Okay, okay, so there are only two people that visit my blog, and they both happen to be writers. I still have a question. When you are writing your first draft, do you get input before you are finished? I mean, it’s a new idea for a novel, prose, short story, and you sit down to write, do you wait until you are totally finished before letting someone read it?

Another question: If you do let others read your creation as it is progressing, when you get advice, do you stop and change/edit/clean up the parts that have been critiqued? Or do you continue forging ahead and return to those parts later?

I seem to be doing a lot of rewriting on the first 2-5 portions of my journey I’m calling “a novel” and I don’t even know if the story will work after chapter 10. . .maybe one never knows.

Thank you for any input!