Final stages...

Only a little more work to go and Leap of Faith Day will be ready for publishing. GodTube encouraged sharing this, and I appreciate the reminder:

Links to share Saturday

Beth Trissel shares intriguing herb lore (note the pounded frogs) :
https://bethtrissel.wordpress.com/2016/04/19/to-be-taken-with-a-mixture-of-pounded-frogs-herbal-lore-2/

I thoroughly enjoyed Allison Maruska's post, "Writers, Prepare to be Wrong," over at A Writer's Path:
https://ryanlanz.com/2016/04/21/writers-prepare-to-be-wrong/

God bless.

Desert Breeze Publishing

Donna Keevers Driver's debut book is one of the new releases. She's the creative soul who made several memes for me with quotes from me and my books.

This last one is a picture Donna snapped. Amazing. Best wishes to Donna on her debut.

Posts About Me 9

This is the nineth in a series of posts about me. I hope these help you decide my books are worth the read. I also hope they help save time for those who have no interest in my books. I know there's nothing more disappointing than expecting one kind of book and discovering what I'm reading isn't something I'm interested in reading. Not all books in a single genre are the same. Authors in the same genre are as different as football players on the same team and cupcake bakers. A lot of similarities but no two are alike.

My love my cover artists: Carol Fiorillo and Ruth Mower.

Carol is my cover artist for Desert Breeze Publishing. She's done all my DBP covers, except for the free novella Impossibilities. The cover was matched to other authors' free novellas.

Ruth is my cover artist for my Holiday, USA series. She's a professional photographer and uses her own pictures to create the covers.

I decided to create anthologies of my Holiday, USA novellas so I could have actual copies of my covers. Virtual is nice, but computers crash. In my case, lightning struck close to home and blew up the processor inside my computer. Melted the motherboard. Messy.

Since I loved Carol's covers for my novels, it only made sense to ask if she'd do my anthology covers, incorporating the novella covers.

I endeavor to not visualize in too much detail what I want the cover to look like. A general idea is given to my artists. They have their own ideas. They've both managed to marry my ideas with what works into gorgeous covers I'm proud to call my own. Thank you!

Links to share Saturday

Marketing FAIL by Bill Taysom (C-suite: CEO, CPO, etc.):
https://www.linkedin.com/pulse/marketing-fail-bill-taysom

Sara Wolf, over on "A Writer's Path," shared The Average Earnings of Authors:
https://ryanlanz.com/2016/04/14/the-average-earnings-of-authors-2/

"The Writer's Refuge" shared How to Give Your Writing Routine a Creative Boost:
https://thewritersrefuge.wordpress.com/2016/04/10/how-to-give-your-writing-routine-a-creative-boost/

Looking for a cozy mystery? katiescottagebooks recommends "To Helvetica and Back," by Paige Shelton:
https://katiescottagebooks.wordpress.com/2016/04/15/to-helvetica-and-back-by-paige-shelton/

Genesis 5020 shared God's Presence In Our Lives:
https://5020genesis.wordpress.com/2016/04/15/gods-presence-in-our-lives/

God bless.

Posts About Me 8

This is the eighth in a series of posts about me. I hope these help you decide my books are worth the read. I also hope they help save time for those who have no interest in my books. I know there's nothing more disappointing than expecting one kind of book and discovering what I'm reading isn't something I'm interested in reading. Not all books in a single genre are the same. Authors in the same genre are as different as football players on the same team and cupcake bakers. A lot of similarities but no two are alike.

The Holiday, USA series was intended to be a series of novellas, one a month. HA! Live and learn.

I've mentioned before that I struggle with dyslexia. I prefer short stories to long. I prefer longer Regency stories and shorter contemporary. All these contemporary characters crowded my head. I also love the holidays. I always dreamed of decorating my house for each holiday. Someday. Holiday, USA gave me the opportunity combine several ideas. I love ongoing series where previous characters make an appearance.

I also came to the realization that I may never have a place of my own, so I created one.

Holiday, USA is a town of 7,000 to 10,000 people. I wanted it big enough so everyone didn't actually know everyone but small enough that most people were connected. In one of the stories I mentioned that the Six Degrees to Kevin Bacon was excessive. It's small enough to have a centralized downtown and big enough to have their own hospital to serve the town.

The Holiday, USA series gives me the opportunity to spotlight a single couple with a common landscape for all the couples, though Carson McDonald and Terra Connor (Christmas Present) were an exception.

It all started with Happy New Year? The following link will take you to the page on this site that shares the blurbs and covers with each book:

http://laurelhawkes.blogspot.com/p/holiday-usa.html

The next novella is Leap of Faith Day. Edits are in the works. Add a book cover and it will be added to the other novellas available on Kindle. For those who prefer paperback, the four novellas published during the year are gathered into one anthology available through CreateSpace and Amazon.

The next About Me post will tell you about my cover artists.

Wordless

Saterday Link Sharing

I think this is useful information for anyone. I adapt it to the business side of my writing. Marketing with Bill Taysom:
https://www.linkedin.com/pulse/common-marketing-failure-mindsets-bill-taysom

Donna Hatch writes in defense of Ballroom Regencies:
http://donnahatch.com/intertwining-fantasy-and-history/

Many bloggers are participating in the A to Z Challenge, one of them is Plucking Of My Heartstrings. I was fascinated by "B," which was for Bat Conservation:
http://pluckingofmyheartstrings.com/2016/04/02/b-is-for-bat-conservation-international-atozchallenge/

Always good to see friends succeed, Patricia Johns and her Open Faucet:
http://patriciajohnsromance.com/2016/04/08/open-faucet/

God bless.

Breathe...

Yesterday, I participated in Writers In The Storm's writing event. This is their third. I enjoy them.

Having said that, my brain is fried. However, the good news is I added 4707 words to Leap of Faith Day. Finished! And sent it to my editor.

As my reward, I'm reading Diane Gaston's latest Regency romance Bound by One Scandalous Night, which I have been patiently saving until I finished the novella. Diane has been a wonderful encourager in my writing.

Celebrating...

Sometimes, it's important to have a fun party and rejoice. Other times, one needs to take a moment to reflect and thank God for a life.

Twenty-seven years ago, around this date, a black ball of fur was born. The vet, rather than euthanizing the newborns, had made an agreement with the local pet store to sell unwanted puppies. Weeks later, when they were old enough, the pups were put on display at the pet store.

At this same time, I'd decided to take on the responsibility of owning a dog, for several reasons:

*I wanted to be a wife and mother, but I had no patience with babies. A crying baby triggered rage in less than a minute. I wanted to be a good mother, so I needed to learn to control my anger with a creature I couldn't control but loved. A dog was my solution, a baby step, so to speak.

*I wanted a walking companion.

*I've always wanted a dog.

I had no idea the innumerable lessons God had in store for me.

At the pet store, one evening, one particular puppy followed me as I walked around the enclosure. I dreamed about her and even named her in the dream. However, I was determined to make sure I found the exact right dog for me. I was going to visit the pound and the Humane Society. Besides, it had been a couple of days, so maybe the puppy was already adopted. I decided to check, just in case. I'd visit the pet store and then the other places. You can probably guess what happened.

The puppy was still there. I took her out and placed her on the ground. She came to me. I picked her up, set her on the ground a few feet away, and she came to me. I did it a third time. She came to me. I cuddled her, and yes, she snuggled up and stole my heart.

She taught me that anger frightened her. She would freeze, unwilling to move or respond in any way. I had to control my anger. As she grew older, she would hide when I was angry. I discovered the power of anger. I also discovered it could serve a purpose. I kept a number of unfriendly stray dogs away by directing that anger.

She also taught me about sulking and letting go. It was an unexpected lesson and took me a while to learn what she was trying to teach me. I would be angry over her disobedience. She would wait and then bring me a string bone to play tug-o-war. I discovered she also became mad at me. I would wait a little, and then offer her the string bone to play tug-o-war. Playing tug-o-war was our way of saying that everything was okay. It was okay to be mad, but we never waited too long to offer to play the game. She would also notice when someone else made me mad. Offering to play the game was her way of wanting to make sure everything was all right between us. Sort of a "you're not mad at me, are you?" No, my darling, I wasn't.

She taught me the value of caring for a pet as she aged. I washed soiled sheets at three in the morning and learned to use warm water to wash her off. I loved her all the more for caring for her through those final years.

She taught me about silliness.

She taught me the wonder of calming simply by stroking her soft ears, running my fingers through her thick fur.

She taught me about gentle touch.

She taught me the importance of being the pack leader, no mushiness, no wishy-washiness. The importance to her that I be in charge.

She taught me of her pricelessness in simply being herself.

My counselor once teased me that I shouldn't trust her so much because a piece of meat would distract her. I assured him that protecting me wasn't her job. He gaped. Her job was to be my early warning system. She'd let me know when anyone came home. She let me know if someone was at the door, as I often didn't hear the doorbell. She let me know if someone was walking down the hall. She let me know if someone was coming up behind us when we were out for a walk. It was her job to warn me and my job to protect both of us. I did my best.

She taught me to stop accepting belittling. I had no trouble correcting anyone if they insulted her or called her an unkind name.

She taught me about eating healthy. I was willing to take care of her while I neglected myself. I wasn't good at translating the care from her to me, but I understood I needed to learn to do it.

She was scary smart.

She made me laugh.

In a few months, it's been ten years since I sent her home. Not a choice I ever wanted to make. Seventeen was remarkably old for a dog her size. I'm grateful, every day, God allowed her to stay with me as long as she did.

I could have done better. Wish I'd done better. I was better at the end than I was at the beginning.

I still miss her desperately.

Sometimes, I pray to God and ask Him to tell her I love her and miss her and to throw a ball to her for me. She was mine, and I was hers. She was my daily living reminder that God loved me, my precious angel sent from God for me.

Links to Share Saturday...

Someone on one of my FB group pages shared this beautiful blog post:
http://alizanaomi.com/on-the-day-that-i-saw-jesus/

Donna Hatch shares a clean free short story on her blog, worth the read:
http://donnahatch.com/when-ship-bells-ring-short-story-by-donna-hatch/

Marketing specialist Bill Taysom offers advice on "Purpose Driven Brands" (I adapt it to me as a writer):
https://www.linkedin.com/pulse/purpose-driven-brands-bill-taysom

The Writer's Refuge shared "Finding Inspiration in Your Own Words."
https://thewritersrefuge.wordpress.com/2016/03/30/finding-inspiration-in-your-own-words/

God bless.

Wordless

A little Jamberry fun...

I could never be accused of being girly, despite having gone to modeling school. The only things I learned that I kept are my plucked eyebrows, standing with my head up and my shoulders back, and being 15 minutes early.

All the other chaos in my life meant lots of things were allowed to be tossed to the wayside in favor of simply making it through the day.

I can continue to simply endeavor to survive. Albert Einstein said (paraphrased): The definition of insanity is doing the same thing over and over and expecting different result.

Change requires change.

I decided I could start with something small. I've tried painting my nails. I could peal them off within hours of painting, and at least one ended up messed up. No matter what.

A friend is a Jamberry consultant. Why not? The first picture is my first sample of Jamberry nail wraps. They lasted almost two weeks! So I bought more. The second picture is my second attempt. It was easier. Funnily enough, it's easier for me to put on the right than the left. Odd considering the fact I'm right-handed.

Sometimes you need to have a little fun.

Easter

Jesus is risen. He lives.

Friday is over...

The world is dark and hopeless.

Sunday is coming.

Happy Easter.

Blessedly.

Grace wins.

Immortality by Janet Nelson-Alvarez

Evening at the end of The Shire by John Cockshaw ©

Upon a morning of fog, I set out,

the very air quieted beneath grey’d wraith-weight,

 

Sun rising through opal-orange mist.

 

Diademed fog-tears necklace the grasses,

lie heavy upon my hair and cloak.

 

Below the narrow ribbon of my path

(chocolate-thick with damp),

the Sea waits.

 

Even from this road-perch,

I see the discontent of her,

all but hear waves

rousing the sand

in green-glass fury.

 

It is not my lot

to walk beside her today.

 

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

 

Far into gathered wool-clouds,

my path,

mountain-rock's solid grey

like an Oliphaunt beside me,

 

birds

(song yet hushed with dawn-chill)

calling from hunter's-green brake.

 

There is a great gathering of trees here.

 

Almost

I feel their greeting,

these ancient ones,

 

almost imagine

Fimbrethil and her lost sisters

enfold me in an enchanted ring.

 

I may not linger with them today.

I may not give ear to treeish tales.

 

Upwards still the road curves,

elanor within its fragrant ditch,

 

bold Sun drinking the dew of lac'd

spider's webs.

 

Almost to the very steeple

of the mountain I climb. 

 

Within a glade of odd-pocketed-dark,

I find my journey's end:

 

Ever-summer,

the glad spice of it floating

like a banner upon the close air.....

 

Oiolairë in the language of this land.

 

The Green Bough of Return.

 

In storied legend,

signet of reunion

 

beyond all Seas.*

 

My little knife serves to cut a single branch,

my feet find (with gathering haste)

the downward road.

 

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

 

In the safe haven of Avallónë,

the incoming tide at last rolls calm.

 

Within its arms,

a white-prowed ship.

 

A shortened figure there is upon the deck,

a figure wonderful with age,

 

yet-strong hands tight

upon the rail.

 

And I hurry towards this meeting,

this tapestried reunion of Hope,

 

this simple hobbit’s

Bough of Return,

 

this……following,

at last full-filled.

 

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

 

It is all  of forever,

this moment,

 

all of Home.

 

It is all of heart-wealth

and needful healing.

 

It is all that we,

bless-burdened

with the Gift of Men

might know of Un-Dying.

 

It is all of Endlessness and Ending

held, at the last,

within time’s kindly twine.

 

 

*A/N: entry from The Thain’s book on oiolaire:  “The Elves put boughs from the oiolaire on the prows of their ships as a token of their friendship with Osse and Uinen, the Maiar of the Seas. The Numenoreans had a similar practice. When a Numenorean ship set sail for Middle-earth, a branch of the oiolaire called the Green Bough of Return was placed on the prow by a woman - usually the wife or a kinswoman of the Captain. The Bough did not wither as long as it was sprayed with seawater.”

© March 2016 Janet Nelson-Alvarez

Death by Janet Nelson-Alvarez

Menace at the gate by John Cockshaw ©

Death.

A sounding-word.

A word which plain speaks of what it is.

Death.

_______________________________

Master Merry

pledged his sword to Theoden-King.

Master Took,

to the mad Steward of Gondor.

Blood flowed thereafter,

and a night was made but more terrible

by fire.

That was but the almost-ending.

_______________________________

Death there was

from the start,

the ice of its breath

in the fog-shrouds of  Crickhollow.....

in barrows of forgotten kings...

and the pocket-dark of Bree.

Death and worse-than

upon once-fair Weathertop.

Death within the ruined halls of Moria.

Black-feathered death beside the noble river

of storied Kings.

_____________________________________

A......plentiment of Death there was:

a reaping of trolls and men,

orcs and elves,

                   dwarves and hobbits.

Torn bodies lie,

embraced,

enemy-to-enemy

before cloven gates,

severed limbs a-rot in marshes.

The Great River's fish

feed upon gape-mouth'd corpses .......

______________________________

Death there was

of yet another sort.

Ever it was beside me upon the Road.

I saw it in scars,

wound like map-lines

upon the back of a once-hobbit,

tasted it in the slime of foul water,

smelled it in the noisome air.....

knew it in the quieting of my Master's heart.

At the last,

but one hobbit surrendered his life

on that day of fire.

Yet death took note:

there was yet one as needed.....

harvesting.

No tender gardener, death,

but rather that which plucks blossom

                   and root

and stalk withal

                   before it is time.

__________________________________

He is gone now, my Master.

Gone long ago

across the great and Sundering Sea.

Death has taken his cousins.

And my Rosie.

___________________________________

A ship stays in grey-clouded harbour,

far horizon burnt with the sunset.

Elanor bids me farewell.

At last

I may follow this promised

Road.

To whatever end.

To whatever.....

                       beginning.

_______________________________________

© March 2016 Janet Nelson-Alvarez

Destruction of Mount Doom by John Cockshaw ©

Tolkien Reading Day...

In a hole in the ground by John Cockshaw ©

Tolkien Reading Day is observed on the same day each year: March 25, the day which saw the

destruction of the Ring. Since the inception of Reading Day in 2003, the Tolkien Society has

put forth a new theme for each successive year. For 2016, the theme is "life, death and

immortality."

The choice of such a theme may or may not be coincidental to March 25, 2016 being Good

Friday, certainly a day closely associated with....life....death.....immortality.

In observance of the day, with all its multiplicity of nuanced meanings, I hope you will enjoy an

offering of a trine of poems, which, because of length, will be posted over the next three days.

________________________________________________________________

Suite: Road

*************

I am Master Under-the-Hill.

Burglar.

Barrel-rider.

Elf-friend.

Child of the Kindly West.

Or........

merely a heart too long

alone.

       *******

1389, S.R.

My quill scratches
bold and round
upon the parchment's face:

1389

Like unto my youth,

a year of Great Adventure.

A year of Treasure-finding.

A year of Home-coming.

       *******

In the quiet heat of half-past summer,

I depart,

Halimath moon, large in the sky,

stars and the unseen ribbons

of little rivers marking my course.

Nigh a week upon the Road ~

Sun fierce and unforgiving in Her

sky-barque,

black-winged birds silent in cloudless blue,

the companionable river winking its brass-gold

eye amongst heat-bent rushes.

Mersday.

Ah, the day of the Sea.

How seeming-right for journey's-end.

       *******

A hundred yellow-fat candles dance in the windows before me.

A hundred arms offer a harvest-hardened embrace.

And......

one not-yet-grown lad,

face serious against the tumult-tide of talk,

eyes mysterious as the unquiet Sea itself.

Here is my portion of treasure,

all elbows and temper,

all books and stars and map-roads of no ending.

All.....my blood,

though it took me these long years to know it.

       *******

In the almost-noon next day, we set out.

Not for this lad (not yet!)

the almost-endlessness of the Road

betwixt home and

Home.

A Prince of Elvish blood never sat a horse so prettily.

Still, there are two days gone before the winking green of The Water

bathes our feet....

two days of silence beneath the Sun,

two days of words split like spun-smoke silver beneath the netted stars.

And then we are Home, indeed,

the brass-bind of the door opening and closing,

the sweet-earth tinge of the roof-tree scenting the air of the smial.

Soon, we shall celebrate our birthday together,

soon, tramp each goodly Road there might be,

speaking of everything.......

speaking of nothing,

the Sun and Moon and Stars

witness to our Walking Song.

My Lad.

Soon.

________________________________________________________________

© March 2016 Janet Nelson-Alvarez

Summer reverie in the Shire by John Cockshaw ©

Wordless

Sharing Links

Donna Hatch shared mourning customs in Regency England:
http://donnahatch.com/mourning-customs-in-regency-england/

Rebeca Seitz shares "Why A Kiss Is Enough":
https://rebecaseitz.wordpress.com/2016/03/10/why-a-kiss-is-enough/

Beth Trissel celebrates St. Patrick's Day with one of my favorite Irish Blessings at the end:
https://bethtrissel.wordpress.com/2016/03/17/if-youre-enough-lucky-to-be-irish-youre-lucky-enough/

God bless.