Candle Light Dreams Nebraska-the Villian and Sidekick

      When  you write a book it's possible to spend so much time with your characters that they become real. I know that my husband for one heard me talking to these people in the bedroom where I compose.Sylvie, the socialite, .conceited and evil, .prevented Celeste, a child of twelve, from being the Queen of Hearts in her Union School play Union is the school that;s just a mile down the country road-Celeste's parents had just died and Miss Hattie England wanted Celeste to feel special.Sylvie arrived with Elvira  the day before and took her to her new home in Lincoln. Poor Celeste was so discombobulated by bossy, sassy, Sylvie that she actually trhew up on Sylvie's new alligator shoes. Sylvie's feet stunk all night long. Served her right.
    Elvira, a woman with leg hair so long that it needs braided, is a nothing who gets a kick out of watching /Sylvie hurt people. These parts are written with some humor but beneath the laughs, the abuse is stark and real. At one point, sweet shy, Celeste whose been shut off and isolated from the world, decides to kill herself. Something from the past shows up and she regains hope in her darkest moments. 
   A pedophile pastor gets a hold of her. He grooms her and prepares her for the big moment. I won't say what happens, but Elvira knows what he is and Sylvie doesn't care. she'd rather ruin Celeste than help. I was a child therapist and i write from experience I include  humor to break the darkness of what's happening to a child.
     Part two is joyful and funny as Celeste falls in love with a rancher who comes to Lincoln to court her. Tonight they are all in Hawaii-these people from the 30's and 40's. They're being made perfect for you to meet on paper. Editors from the Indie Author Counsel are babysitting them inside a flash drive. I just hope that they let Sylvie out long enough to wash her head in some smelly fish water, but that they also remember to give skinny Celeste an extra midnight snack. She's my baby. Goodnight...

Cookies for Country School Party-Union School

     The tall stout farmwife had taken this one day at home to bake for the school valentine party tomorrow.  She’d volunteered these same cookies every year since baking them for Will, her oldest son’s kindergarten parties. Even Clark’s dire condition wasn’t stopping tradition. Four year old Howie was nibbling on a cookie, crumbs and frosting bits dropping on the floor. Sylvie chuckled, winking at him. Just up from his nap, Howie wanted Celeste to read him a book.

     “Allow me,” Sylvie said, a huge grin bringing out both a twinkle and a bulge in her eyes making her look like Grandma Wolf in Little Red Riding Hood. “Come sit in my lap and we’ll read,” she said, attempting to coax him, Bev intervening.

       “Sylvie, you don’t want to get frosting on your rabbit fur,” Bev warned.

      “Icky sticky fingers,” Elvira said, wrinkling her nose.

      “Yes, you’re right. It wouldn’t hurt rabbit fur, but this... it’s my newest mink.”

      “Can I get anything right?” Bev asked. “Your mink-it’s different than mine.” 

     Ginny was about to remind mother that hers was rabbit but was topped cold when Sylvie came towards her, ready to apply a strangle hug. “You’re Celeste. I meant to get over here first thing to give you a welcome kiss. Then I thought to hold off. She’s at that age...I told myself. Give her a chance to get to know you. Goodness sakes...you are a cutie. You remind me of Bonnie. My sister did have quite the kids-your coloring, it’s from your father.  We’re going to have a ball. You’ll fit right in with my friend’s children. Most are quite fashionable. It won’t take much with you and ...”

      Ginny stood listening- believing the plans had been changed-She, not Celeste, would be going with this woman, an idea she found tempting and intriguing. Would Celeste be joining them or going with Mom?

     “She means me,” Celeste mouthed.

     “Wait! That’s Celeste,” Ginny stammered. This wasn’t going to be good. Sylvie was sold on her, not Celeste. Worried, she knew that Celeste’s hatching would happen but not yet .She was in a terribly awkward stage; before long Ugly Duckling would hatch and find her mother’s beauty and gracefulness. Auntie was after the hatched and matured “chick,” the one who’d be popular with the right girls. Sylvie turned towards Celeste.

     . “Oh yes,” she said, through a forced smile, appraising the eighth grader, a furrow of letdown forming between thick eyebrows. “My! What have we here? You resemble your mother. Well…Of course. I didn’t look closely at you earlier. The other girl, she speaks up- makes herself known. So you’re Celeste?” The sparkle in Sylvie’s eyes waned, waxed, waned. “Yes. Let me look at you. Hum, you have Shirley’s same curly tangles, the longish nose, the taper fingers, feint freckles.”

Giving My Family Away

     Have you ever had those exhaustive moments when it's so bad that you would give your children away? We hear people say, "I'm so disgusted with Tommie. I could give him away. I had days when my son and I went to the doctor for some attention.He was fussy, the weather was hot, and frankly I thought if it was just a little tummy ache, some Pep to Bis mo would solve the problem, and we'd both get to visit with the doctor-Sort of a secondary gain for a lonely mother on one of those long summer days. Today the kids go to the sitter all year long even on the days mother doesn't work. This new generation has it thought out.
     Well, last night I did what I've been tempted to so. I know some nice strangers who I thought would give my kids a fair shake. I was exhausted. I said, "I can't do this anymore. I'm afraid I will break the computer or do worse if you don't take my beloveds. For more than two years I've  spent eight hours a day with them, talking to them and about them, dressing these kids, feeding them, deciding their activities and hair dos and even crying for one or two...I'd had it. It took courage. I have never seen the people they went to. I said, "take them and I will pay you for keeping them and cleaning up their act". I gave away Celeste whose 12, Howie just one, Ginny also twelve, Mike who was just injured by a bull and might not walk, and Will a tease.,14 They are out of my hands. I have been asked that come Monday, I quit interfering with their lives. So, this is my question to you? Did I do the right thing. Should an author finish her book and turn over her creations? My nose prickled but I trust that Indie Author Counsel will comb their hair, brush their teeth, and polish them up nicely. After that---they go to  press an then to a book shelf.  I did my best. Come meet them. They're precious.