I live in Fayetteville, Arkansas, on a teensy weensy plot of land in the magnificent Ozark Mountains. I use the term teensy weensy because that is approximately the size it is in comparison to the rest of the vast picturesque 50,000 square scenic miles that stretches across one-half of Missouri, Northwest and North Central Arkansas, extending to Northeast Oklahoma, and the extreme part of Southeast Kansas.
Our backyard has your basic enchanting fairy land with fifty-five fairy houses, and a dense wooded area full of hickory and oak trees; these are the predominant types of trees found in the Ozarks. The hickory trees have a reputation of being strong, tough, and hard with lots of energy. Andrew Jackson, the seventh president of the United States of America was called "Old Hickory" because he was renowned for his toughness.
We have two majestic seventy-year-old oak trees standing tall in our front yard. Oak trees can easily grow to be one-hundred years old and up to one-thousand years old. Can you imagine the history they hold within their huge trunks and wide-spreading branches? What if those oak trees in our front yard actually retained every word, action, emotion, or experience that has happened in the forty-four years I have lived in this house...oh my!
In 1803, Thomas Jefferson, the third president of the United States, and principal author of the Declaration of Independence, acquired the Ozarks for the United States with the Louisiana Purchase from Napoleon, the military and political leader of France. The Ozarks has been home to Native Americans, French, English, Spaniards, Hispanics, Germans, Scottish, and Irish - and this doesn't include all of the nationalities that have filled these hills with fascinating history and wonderful cultures.
One culture that is celebrated in the Ozarks is the hillbilly culture. The name means "hill-folk", and "billie" is a synonym for fellow. Hillbillies live in the back-woods in remote areas. At one time, the Ozarks had a reputation of being filled with socially backward barefooted hillbillies living deep in the mountainous hollows in little rickety log cabins. They would sit on their porches drinking moonshine and playing hillbilly music. Their outhouses were decorated with a stylish and fashionable crescent moon carved into the door; and their music was played with fiddles, banjos, mandolins, and the well-liked moonshine jug. Country music was once called hillbilly music. If you go to the major musical tourist attraction in Branson, Missouri, and attend their shows, I'm sure you'll see and hear some popular hillbilly musical instruments.
Today, the Ozarks is home of the most successful retail business in the world, but don't let that fact take away from the real wealth of the Ozarks - the breathtaking scenery and the richness of its history.
The Ozarks is a wonderful place to live and visit. Its hilly forested plateau is filled with spectacular springs, roaring rivers, and lots of captivating caves for the fearless explorer.
My concern for the beautiful Ozarks is that the natural wilderness is being tamed by overpopulation and the gorgeous scenery is gradually being whittled away. I know that environmentalists are working hard to protect and preserve the Ozarks, and the rest of Mother Earth, but my hope lies in the natural conservationist and ecologists - the younger generation.
Thursday, July 22, 2010
Why I Write For Tweens
Inspired and enthused about writing another adventure for Belle and Winnie, in my sequel to Belle in The Slouch Hat, I sat in front of my computer and placed my forearms on the armrests. I extended my fingers toward the keyboard with my forearms slightly angled down and noticed my right pinky finger had developed a permanent downward curve in it. That didn't bother me because I felt grateful that I had found something I love doing as much as I did when I had a real paying job. I straightened my back, threw back my shoulders and smiled to myself about the joy I find in writing for tweens. Suddenly, a thought rushed through my mind that the main reason I like writing for tweens is because we have the same mentality! I gasped and gradually lifted my fingers off the keyboard; I folded my hands and quietly placed them in my lap. My shoulders automatically slumped and I gently, and ever so slowly, lowered my head to prevent the annoying cracking sounds my neck makes when it moves after I sit at the computer for any length of time. I took in a deep breath, shut my eyes, relaxed my body and calmed my mind by counting backwards from seven to one.
Determined to know where that thought came from, I looked around to make sure no one was listening to me, and I repeated the question out loud, "Is the main reason I like writing for tweens because we have the same mentality?" Within a nanosecond I heard a small voice inside my head say, blah, blah, blah, blah, blah, maybe ya do, and maybe ya don't. The next thing I knew all of my fingers were properly positioned back on the keyboard and I began writing this article on why I write for tweens - those precious 8 to 12 year olds.
There are many reasons I enjoy writing for tweens, and one is because I have tween grandchildren, ages nine, ten, and twelve. I'll have two more next year, and in four years two more tweens will come into my life.
I love the innocence of tweens and their ability to believe in the Tooth Fairy, Santa Claus, ghosts, goblins, and mythical creatures. Tweens are loving, adventurous, silly, smart, eager to learn, determined, strong-headed, temperamental, ultra-sensitive, imaginative, sensitive, moody, serious, and sassy. They are fun to be with, and if you haven't had a good giggle in a long time, hang out with a tween.
Because of the onset of puberty, tweens are experiencing a lot of physical changes and can have tremendous mood swings. They are fragile, yet tough; hot one minute and cold the next. Then out of the blue, they will surprise you by sharing some their special love emotions that will lift your spirits so high above those complex puberty hormones you will never want to come down.
To wrap this up, I think tweens, like every other category of young people, are blessings. And that is the real reason I, and my inner child, like writing for them.
Determined to know where that thought came from, I looked around to make sure no one was listening to me, and I repeated the question out loud, "Is the main reason I like writing for tweens because we have the same mentality?" Within a nanosecond I heard a small voice inside my head say, blah, blah, blah, blah, blah, maybe ya do, and maybe ya don't. The next thing I knew all of my fingers were properly positioned back on the keyboard and I began writing this article on why I write for tweens - those precious 8 to 12 year olds.
There are many reasons I enjoy writing for tweens, and one is because I have tween grandchildren, ages nine, ten, and twelve. I'll have two more next year, and in four years two more tweens will come into my life.
I love the innocence of tweens and their ability to believe in the Tooth Fairy, Santa Claus, ghosts, goblins, and mythical creatures. Tweens are loving, adventurous, silly, smart, eager to learn, determined, strong-headed, temperamental, ultra-sensitive, imaginative, sensitive, moody, serious, and sassy. They are fun to be with, and if you haven't had a good giggle in a long time, hang out with a tween.
Because of the onset of puberty, tweens are experiencing a lot of physical changes and can have tremendous mood swings. They are fragile, yet tough; hot one minute and cold the next. Then out of the blue, they will surprise you by sharing some their special love emotions that will lift your spirits so high above those complex puberty hormones you will never want to come down.
To wrap this up, I think tweens, like every other category of young people, are blessings. And that is the real reason I, and my inner child, like writing for them.
Tuesday, July 13, 2010
When fifteen-year-old Belle Brayden started wearing her brother's slouch hat, her life changed!
She began having more adventures, misadventures and tragedies. Some are brought on by her impulsiveness, others by nature, but most are from the cruelties of war.
A bit about Belle
The year is 1862 and the United States of America is at war with itself, the Civil War. The war affected many people, and Belle and her family were no exception. Her eighteen-year-old brother, Bud, a member of a group of tough Confederate Guerrillas, was shot in the back and killed – he was more than a brother to Belle, he was her friend, and her hero.
In her quest to find the one who killed her brother, Belle joins forces with a spiritual mentor, a horse with magical powers, and her “best-friend-cousin,” sixteen-year-old Winnie Brayden. When Winnie was seven years old she lost her eyesight, but she has an amazing ability to “see with her heart.” Her compassion and humor is a positive influence in Belle’s life
The exciting adventures and engaging personalities of Belle and Winnie make this work of fiction soar above its serious time and keep the reader entertained. The spiritual messages found throughout the story gives this book a special touch.
Belle Brayden’s slouch hat was not just any old hat: it was a special hat. She loved the hat for the way it made her feel, more courageous and full of self-confidence. She loved the way the wide floppy brim flapped in the wind as she rode on the back of a galloping horse. But there was another, much more personal reason she loved this hat, it was her brother’s hat and it was decorated with eagle feathers.
The brown slouch hat framed her face and complemented her dark brown eyes; eyes that could melt anyone’s heart. And like the eyes of most young girls, and boys her age, they were filled with bright promise and an innocent yet mischievous spark.
Feeling courageous, Belle looked up and directly into his face. His black beard could not hide his heavy jowls, long pointed nose, or his ugly thick wet lips. His eyes glared at her with such a piercing force, he made her skin feel on fire and caused her to breathe fast!
Remembering Maude’s words, when you are around a bunch of snakes you need to know which ones are poison, Belle quickly lowered her head to break his glare.
His eyes were alluring, one blue and one brown. His coloring was unique with a white body and perfectly shaped oval splashing of dark brown paint spots, and a two-toned head and tail, which complemented the brown spots. One of his most distinguished marks was a white star directly in the center of his forehead. Bud had frequently bragged to Belle about Cherokee Sun’s coloring, saying “Cherokee Sun had the markings of a horse that possesses magical powers.” Belle would laugh at him and say, “Ya made that up!”
“YEA!! BRAVO! That was beautiful!” came accolades from a small group of people standing in the street in front of the hotel. Belle opened her eyes and was shocked at having an audience. Winnie had sensed someone was there, but didn’t say anything to Belle because she wanted to sing for whoever it was.
“How many are there?” Winnie whispered.
“There are three men, standing on the other side of the fence. Two of them on yer right have on Yankee uniforms.” Belle whispered back.
“That was absolutely delightful!” one of the men exclaimed.
“I’ll say it was,” said another man with an unusual husky voice, “Tell me. Do you lovely ladies live here?”
Elbowing Belle in the side, Winnie whispered, “Let me do most of the talking. You cry when I tap your leg with my knee.”
“My name is Daisy and the lovely lady sitting next to me is my darling sista, Mable. We’re just a couple of young widows spending the night here before we go on to Springfield to catch the stage to St. Louis.
“Our dear husbands were Yankee soldiers. Both of them bravely gave their lives in the Battle of Pea Ridge on March the 7th. It is a day that will live and torture our hearts and minds the rest of our lives.” Winnie tapped Belle’s leg, and Belle immediately started sniffling and crying. Winnie compassionately patted Belle on the leg consoling her. Next, Winnie sat up, straightened her back, held her head high and announced …
A bit about Belle
The year is 1862 and the United States of America is at war with itself, the Civil War. The war affected many people, and Belle and her family were no exception. Her eighteen-year-old brother, Bud, a member of a group of tough Confederate Guerrillas, was shot in the back and killed – he was more than a brother to Belle, he was her friend, and her hero.
In her quest to find the one who killed her brother, Belle joins forces with a spiritual mentor, a horse with magical powers, and her “best-friend-cousin,” sixteen-year-old Winnie Brayden. When Winnie was seven years old she lost her eyesight, but she has an amazing ability to “see with her heart.” Her compassion and humor is a positive influence in Belle’s life
The exciting adventures and engaging personalities of Belle and Winnie make this work of fiction soar above its serious time and keep the reader entertained. The spiritual messages found throughout the story gives this book a special touch.
Belle Brayden’s slouch hat was not just any old hat: it was a special hat. She loved the hat for the way it made her feel, more courageous and full of self-confidence. She loved the way the wide floppy brim flapped in the wind as she rode on the back of a galloping horse. But there was another, much more personal reason she loved this hat, it was her brother’s hat and it was decorated with eagle feathers.
The brown slouch hat framed her face and complemented her dark brown eyes; eyes that could melt anyone’s heart. And like the eyes of most young girls, and boys her age, they were filled with bright promise and an innocent yet mischievous spark.
Feeling courageous, Belle looked up and directly into his face. His black beard could not hide his heavy jowls, long pointed nose, or his ugly thick wet lips. His eyes glared at her with such a piercing force, he made her skin feel on fire and caused her to breathe fast!
Remembering Maude’s words, when you are around a bunch of snakes you need to know which ones are poison, Belle quickly lowered her head to break his glare.
His eyes were alluring, one blue and one brown. His coloring was unique with a white body and perfectly shaped oval splashing of dark brown paint spots, and a two-toned head and tail, which complemented the brown spots. One of his most distinguished marks was a white star directly in the center of his forehead. Bud had frequently bragged to Belle about Cherokee Sun’s coloring, saying “Cherokee Sun had the markings of a horse that possesses magical powers.” Belle would laugh at him and say, “Ya made that up!”
“YEA!! BRAVO! That was beautiful!” came accolades from a small group of people standing in the street in front of the hotel. Belle opened her eyes and was shocked at having an audience. Winnie had sensed someone was there, but didn’t say anything to Belle because she wanted to sing for whoever it was.
“How many are there?” Winnie whispered.
“There are three men, standing on the other side of the fence. Two of them on yer right have on Yankee uniforms.” Belle whispered back.
“That was absolutely delightful!” one of the men exclaimed.
“I’ll say it was,” said another man with an unusual husky voice, “Tell me. Do you lovely ladies live here?”
Elbowing Belle in the side, Winnie whispered, “Let me do most of the talking. You cry when I tap your leg with my knee.”
“My name is Daisy and the lovely lady sitting next to me is my darling sista, Mable. We’re just a couple of young widows spending the night here before we go on to Springfield to catch the stage to St. Louis.
“Our dear husbands were Yankee soldiers. Both of them bravely gave their lives in the Battle of Pea Ridge on March the 7th. It is a day that will live and torture our hearts and minds the rest of our lives.” Winnie tapped Belle’s leg, and Belle immediately started sniffling and crying. Winnie compassionately patted Belle on the leg consoling her. Next, Winnie sat up, straightened her back, held her head high and announced …
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