Cyber Fights

I had my first cyber fight. It wasn’t intentional but I guess it had to be done. What you haven’t heard about it? Where have you been? My name has been mud for a week now. I’m not going to rehash it here. Do a google you’ll find somebody talking about that crazy, sexually repressed LaShaunda over at SORMAG.

I learned a lot about myself during this crazy time.

1. Never say never. – I always say this because when you do it always happens. I still believe it. So I refuse to say I’ll never have another cyber fight, because you just don’t know.

2. I’m a lot stronger than I thought – There were times during this time I wanted to sign off of the internet and never come back. However the Lord opened my eyes and let me know I didn’t have to run. I have the right to stand up for myself and I have the right to promote what I want.

3. I have some great supporters online – I’ve always known that my SORMAG community was a wonderful group of people, but this week has shown me they are the best group of people ever. A big fat THANK YOU to my SORMAG community.

4. God is so good – He showed me how amazing he is and that I’m a child of his which means I’m under his protection. No weapon formed against me shall prosper. Thank you Jesus.

Its been a tough week, but you know what I survived, learned a few things and I know I can hold my head up and be proud of what I send out into the world. If you don’t agree with me, that’s fine, but you don’t have the right to make me change my mind.

So you’ll still be seeing me on net, I still have a few things to do.

Many blessings to you and thanks so much for stopping by.

FIRST: Alex and Brett Harris

It's May
15th, time for the Non~FIRST blog tour!(Join our
alliance! Click the button!) Every 15th, we will featuring an author and
his/her latest non~fiction book's FIRST chapter!

The feature author is:

Alex and Brett
Harris

and their
book:

Do
Hard Things: A Teenage Rebellion Against Low
Expectations

Multnomah Books (April 15, 2008)

ABOUT THE AUTHORs:

Alex and Brett Harris founded TheRebelution.com in
August 2005 and today at age 19 are the most popular Christian teen
writers on the Web. The twins are frequent contributors to Focus on the
Family’s Boundless webzine, serve as the main speakers for the Rebelution
Tour conferences, and have been featured in WORLD magazine, Breakaway,
The Old Schoolhouse, and the New York Daily News. Sons of homeschool
pioneer Gregg Harris and younger brothers of best-selling author Joshua
Harris (I Kissed Dating Goodbye), Alex and Brett live near Portland,
Oregon.

AND NOW...THE FIRST CHAPTER:


MOST PEOPLE
DON’T…
A different kind of teen
book

Most people don’t expect you to understand what we’re going
to tell you in this book. And even if you understand, they don’t expect
you to care. And even if you care, they don’t expect you to do
anything about it. And even if you do something about it, they don’t expect it
to last.

Well, we do.

This is a different kind
of teen book. Check online or walk through your local bookstore. You’ll
find plenty of books written by fortysomethings who, like, totally
understand what it’s like being a teenager. You’ll find a lot of cheap
throwaway
books for teens because young people today aren’t supposed
to care about books or see any reason to keep them around. And you’ll
find a wide selection of books where you never have to read anything
twice—because the message is dumbed-down. Like, just for you.

What you’re holding in your hands right now is a challenging book for
teens by teens who believe our generation is ready for a change. Ready for
something that doesn’t promise a whole new life if you’ll just buy the
right pair of jeans or use the right kind of deodorant. We believe our
generation is ready to rethink what teens are capable of doing and
becoming. And we’ve noticed that once wrong ideas are debunked
and
cleared away, our generation is quick to choose a better way, even if
it’s also more difficult.

We’re nineteen-year-old twin
brothers, born and raised in Oregon, taught at home by our parents, and
striving to follow Christ as best we can. We’ve made more than our share of
mistakes. And although we don’t think “average teenagers” exist, there is
nothing all that extraordinary about us personally.

Still,
we’ve had some extraordinary experiences. At age sixteen, we interned
at the Alabama Supreme Court. At seventeen, we served as grass-roots
directors for four statewide political campaigns. At eighteen, we authored
the most popular Christian teen blog on the web. We’ve been able to
speak to thousands of teens and their parents at conferences in the
United States and internationally and to reach millions
online. But if
our teen years have been different than most, it’s not because we’re
somehow better than other teens, but because we’ve been motivated by a
simple but very big idea. It’s an idea you’re going to encounter for
yourself in the pages
ahead.

We’ve seen this idea transform
“average” teenagers into world-changers able to accomplish incredible
things. And they started by simply being willing to break the mold of
what society thinks teens are capable of.

So even though the
story starts with us, this book really isn’t about us, and we would
never want it to be. It’s about something God is doing in the hearts and
minds of our generation. It’s about an idea. It’s about rebelling
against low expectations. It’s about a movement that is changing the
attitudes and actions of teens around the world. And we want you to be part of
it.

This book invites you to explore some radical
questions:

• Is it possible that even though teens today have more
freedom than any other generation in history, we’re actually missing out
on some of the best years of our
lives?

• Is it possible
that what our culture says about the purpose and potential of the teen
years is a lie and that we are its victims?

• Is it
possible that our teen years give us a once-in-alifetime opportunity for huge
accomplishments—as individuals and as a generation?

• And
finally, what would our lives look like if we set out on a different path
entirely—a path that required more effort but promised a lot more
reward?

We describe that alternative path with three simple
words: “do hard things.”

If you’re like most people, your first
reaction to the phrase “do hard things” runs along the lines of, “Hard?
Uh-oh. Guys, I just remembered that I’m supposed to be somewhere else.
Like, right now.”

We understand this reaction. It reminds
us of a story we like to tell about a group of monks. Yep, monks.

On the outskirts of a small town in Germany is the imaginary abbey
of Dundelhoff. This small stone monastery is home to a particularly
strict sect of Dundress monks, who have each vowed to live a life of
continual self-denial and discomfort.

Instead of wearing comfy
T-shirts and well-worn jeans like most people, these monks wear either
itchy shirts made from goat hair or cold chain mail worn directly over
bare skin. Instead of soft mattresses, pillows, and warm blankets, they
sleep on the cold stone floors of the abbey. You might have read
somewhere that monks are fabulous cooks? Well, not these monks. They eat
colorless, tasteless sludge—once a day. They only drink lukewarm water.

We could go on, but you get the picture. No matter what
decision they face, Dundress monks always choose the more difficult option,
the one that provides the least physical comfort, holds the least appeal,
offers the least fun. Why? Because they believe that the more
miserable they are, the holier they are; and the holier they are, the happier
God is.

So these miserable monks must be poster boys for “do
hard things.” Right?

Wrong!

We’re not plotting to
make your life miserable. We’re not recommending that you do any and
every difficult thing. For example, we’re not telling you to rob a bank,
jump off a cliff, climb Half Dome with your bare hands, or stand on
your head for twenty-four hours straight. We are not telling you to do
pointless (or stupid) hard things just because they’re hard. And if
you’re a Christian, we’re certainly not telling you that if you work harder
or make yourself uncomfortable on purpose, God will love you more. He
will never—could never—love you any more than He does right now.

So that’s what we’re not doing. What we are doing is challenging
you to grab hold of a more exciting option for your teen years than the
one portrayed as normal in society today. This option has somehow gotten
lost in our culture, and most people don’t even know it. In the pages
ahead, you’re going to meet young people just like you who have
rediscovered this better way—a way to reach higher, dream bigger, grow
stronger, love and honor God, live with more joy—and quit wasting their
lives.

In Do Hard Things, we not only say there is a better
way to do the teen years, we show you how we and thousands of other
teens are doing it right now and how you can as well.

CFBA AUTHOR INTRO: Amy Wallace

This week, the

Christian Fiction Blog Alliance

is introducing

Healing Promises

(Multnomah Publishers - April 15, 2008)

by

Amy Wallace



ABOUT THE AUTHOR:







Amy Wallace is the author of Ransomed Dreams, a homeschool mom, and a self-confessed chocoholic. She is a graduate of the Gwinnett County Citizens Police Academy and a contributing author of several books, including God Answers Moms’ Prayers and Chicken Soup for the Soul Healthy Living Series: Diabetes. She lives with her husband and three children in Georgia.





ABOUT THE BOOK



Facing a new threat.

When FBI Agent Clint Rollins takes a bullet during a standoff, it might just save his life. But not even the ugly things he’s seen during his years working in the Crimes Against Children Unit could prepare him for the overwhelming powerlessness of hospital tests revealing an unexpected diagnosis. If only Sara weren’t retreating into doctor mode…he needs his wife now more than ever.



Frozen in fear.

Sara Rollins is an oncologist with a mission–beating cancer when she can, easing her patients’ suffering at the very least. Now the life of her tall Texan husband is at stake. She never let the odds steal her hope before, but in this case, the question of God’s healing promises is personal. Can she hold on to the truth she claimed to believe?



Faith under fire.

As Clint continues to track down a serial kidnapper despite his illness, former investigations haunt his nightmares, pushing him beyond solving the case into risking his life and career. Clint struggles to believe God is still the God of miracles. Especially when he needs not one, but two. Everything in his life is reduced to one all-important question: Can God be trusted?



If you would like to read the first chapter, go HERE

CFBA AUTHOR INTRO: Mark Andrew Olsen

This week, the
Christian Fiction Blog Alliance
is introducing
The Warriors
(Bethany House April 1, 2008)
by
Mark Andrew Olsen


ABOUT THE AUTHOR:

MARK ANDREW OLSEN whose novel The Assignment was a Christy Award finalist, also collaborated on bestsellers Hadassah (now the major motion picture: One Night With the King), The Hadassah Covenant, and Rescued. His last novel was the supernatural thriller The Watchers.

The son of missionaries to France, Mark is a Professional Writing graduate of Baylor University. He and his wife, Connie, live in Colorado Springs with their three children.

ABOUT THE BOOK

A failed recon mission deep in the tunnels of Afghanistan has provoked a demonic onslaught that had been brewing for centuries. The mission's sole survivor is reformed black ops assassin Dylan Hatfield, and he once again teams up with Abby Sherman, now at the helm of the Watchers, an ancient spiritual force. Uncovering and preventing a secret wave of death whispered across cyberspace and threatening to be unleash against civilization will require another level of spiritual power and expertise--the Warriors.

Journeying across the Alps of Europe through the multilayered history of warfare in the unseen world, Dylan and Abby uncover an age-old stone engraving that rouses the church's Warriors to action, placing them dead center in one of the fiercest spiritual battles of their time!

And once again they are reminded: This is all part of a vast and perpetual war, a war beyond all human conflicts, one that has engulfed heaven and earth since before the dawn of history....

Abby Sherman is headed back to Israel, where a Watcher, the Sentinel of Jerusalem, lies dying. In her last breaths the old woman tells Abby of an ancient document prophesying humanity's full-scale entry into the ongoing conflict between armies of heaven and fallen angels.

Dylan Hatfield has decided to answer a summons from his old boss and join a secret operation, its mission to reconnoiter the Afghani tunnel complex from which Osama bin Laden escaped in 2001. What he discovers sears his very soul and likely will end his life.

Abby learns of the peril facing Dylan, and she sends out a call for intercession on his behalf. Her frantic email message sets in motion a series of harrowing events, propelling the two on a new mission and quest--one where the stakes are the lives of millions!

The Warriors is packed with high-octane action, featuring exotic international locales, with characters in a clash against spiritual "principalities and powers" with eternal consequences, The Warriors is a story that will enthrall, enlighten, and engage its readers.

If that piques your interest, you can read the first chapter HERE

"Olsen, one of the better writers in this subgenre, delivers powerful, action-packed plots that delve into mystical paranormal worlds."
~Library Journal, Feb. 2008

"Olsen delivers an entertaining thriller likely to be enjoyed especially by fans of the spiritual warfare genre."
~PUBLISHERS WEEKLY

FIRST DAY: Lisa Samson

It is May FIRST, time for the FIRST Blog Tour! (Join our alliance! Click the button!) The FIRST day of every month we will feature an author and his/her latest book's FIRST chapter!

Today's feature author is:

LISA SAMSON

and her book:

Finding Hollywood Nobody

Navpress Publishing Group (February 15, 2008)

ABOUT THE AUTHOR:

Lisa Samson is the author of twenty books, including the Christy Award-winning Songbird. Apples of Gold was her first novel for teens



These days, she's working on Quaker Summer, volunteering at Kentucky Refugee Ministries, raising children and trying to be supportive of a husband in seminary. (Trying . . . some days she's downright awful. It's a good thing he's such a fabulous cook!) She can tell you one thing, it's never dull around there.



Other Novels by Lisa:

Hollywood Nobody, Straight Up, Club Sandwich, Songbird, Tiger Lillie, The Church Ladies, Women's Intuition: A Novel, Songbird, The Living End



Visit her at her website.

AND NOW...THE FIRST CHAPTER:



Chapter One

Hollywood Nobody: Sunday, June 4

Well, Nobodies, it's a wrap! Jeremy's latest film, yet another remake of The Great Gatsby, now titled Green Light, has shipped out from location and will be going into postproduction. Look for it next spring in theaters. It may just be his most widely distributed film yet with Annette Bening on board. Toledo Island will never be the same after that wacky bunch filled in their shores.

Today's Hottie Watch: Seth Haas has moved to Hollywood. An obscure film he did in college, Catching Regina's Heels (a five-star film in my opinion), was mentioned on the Today show last week. He was interviewed on NPR's Fresh Air. Hmm. Could it be he'll receive the widespread acclaim he deserves before the release of Green Light? For his sake and the film's, I hope so.

Rehab Alert: I've never hidden the fact that I don't care for bratty actress Karissa Bonano, but she just checked into rehab for a cocaine addiction. Her maternal grandfather, Doug Fairmore, famous in the forties for swashbuckling and digging up clues, made a public statement declaring the Royal Family of Hollywood was "indeed throwing all of our love, support, and prayers behind Karissa." The man must be a thousand years old by now. This isn't Ms. Bonano's first stint in rehab, but let's hope it's her last. Even I'm not too catty to wish her well in this battle. But I'm as skeptical as the next person. In Hollywood, rehab is mostly just a fad.

Today's Quote: "It's a scientific fact. For every year a person lives in Hollywood, they lose two points of their IQ." Truman Capote

Today's Rant: SWAG, or Party Favors. Folks, do you ever wonder what's inside those SWAG bags the stars get? Items which, if sold, could feed a third-world country for a week! And have you noticed how the people who can afford to buy this stuff seem to get it for free? I'm just sayin'. So here's my idea, stars: Refuse to take these high-priced bags o' stuff and gently suggest the advertisers give to a charitable organization on behalf of the movie, the stars, the whoever. Like you need another cell phone.

Today's Kudo: Violette Dillinger will be appearing on the MTV Video Music Awards in August. She told Hollywood Nobody she's going to prove to this crowd you can be young, elegant, decent, and still rock out. Go Violette!

Summer calls. Later!



Monday, September 15, 4:00 a.m.

Maybe I'm looking for the wrong thing in a parent.

I turn over in bed at the insistence of Charley's forefinger poking me in the shoulder. "Please tell me you've MapQuested this jaunt, Charley."

She shakes her tousled head, silhouetted by the yellow light emanating from the RV's bathroom. "You're kidding me right?" She slides off the dinette seat. Charley's been overflowing with relief since she told me the truth about our life: that she's not really my mother, but my grandmother, that somebody's chasing us for way too good of a reason, that my life isn't as boring as I thought. We're still being chased, but Charley can at least breathe more freely in her home on the road now that I know the truth.

Home in this case happens to be a brand-spanking-new Trailmaster RV, a huge step forward from the ancient Travco we used to have, the ancient Travco with a rainbow Charley spread in bright colors over its nose.

"Where to?" Having set my vintage cat glasses, love 'em, on my nose, I scramble my hair into its signature ponytail: messy, curly, and frightening. I can so picture myself in the Thriller video.

"Marshall, Texas."

"East Texas?"

"I guess."

"It is." I shake my head. Charley. I love her, I really do, but when it comes to geography, despite the fact that we've traveled all over the country going to her gigs ever since I can remember, she's about as intelligent as a bottle of mustard. And boy do I know a lot about bottles of mustard. But that was my last adventure.

"If you knew, then why did you ask?" She flips the left side of her long, blonde hair, straighter than Russell Crowe, over her shoulder. Charley's beautiful. Silvery blonde (she uses a cheap rinse to cover up the gray), thin (she's vegan), and a little airy (she's frightened of a lot and tries not to think about anything else that may scare her), she wears all sorts of embroidered vests and large skirts and painted blue jeans. And they're all the real deal, because Charley's an environmentalist and wouldn't dream of buying something she didn't need when what she's got is wearing perfectly well. She calls my penchant for vintage clothing "recycling," and I don't disagree.

"Is this really a gig, Charley, or are we escaping again?"

She shakes her head. "No phone call. I really do have a job."

I feel the thrill of fear inside me, though there's no need right now. Biker Guy almost got me back on Toledo Island. (Yeah, he looks like a grizzled old biker.) To call the guy rough around the edges would be like saying Pam Anderson has had "a little work done."

I've been looking over my shoulder ever since.

But more on that later. We need to get on the road. And I need to get on with my life. I'm so sick of thinking about how things aren't nearly what I'd like them to be.

I mean, do you ever get tired of hearing yourself complain?

I flip up my laptop, log on to the satellite Internet I installed (yes, I am that geeky) and Google directions to Marshall, Texas, from where we are in Theta, Tennessee—actually, on the farm of one of Charley's old art-school friends who gave her some work in advertising for the summer. Charley's a food stylist, which means she makes food look good for the camera. Still cameras, motion picture cameras, video, it doesn't matter. Charley can do it all.

"Oh, we've got plenty of time, Charley. Five hundred and fifty miles and . . . we have to go through Memphis . . ."

My verbal drop-off is a dead giveaway.

"Oh, no, Scotty, we're not going to Graceland again."

The kitsch that is Graceland speaks to me. What can I say?

And you've got to admit, it's starting to look vintage. Now ten years ago . . .

I cross my arms. "Do you have cooking to do on the way?"

Yes, highly illegal to cook in a rolling camper.

"Yeah, I do."

"And do you expect me, an unlicensed sixteen-year-old, to drive?" Again, highly illegal, but Charley's a free spirit. However, she refuses to copy CDs and DVDs, so in that regard, she's more moral than most people. I guess it evens up in the end.

"Uh-huh."

"Then I think I deserve a trip through the Jungle Room."

She rolls her eyes, reaches down to the floor, and throws me my robe. "Oh, all right. Just don't take too long."

"I'll try. So." I look at the screen. "65 to route 40 west. Let's hit it. And we'll have time to stop for breakfast."

Charley shakes her head and plops down on the tan dinette bench. The interior of this whole RV is a nice sandy tan with botanical accents. Tasteful and so much better than the old Travco that looked like a cross between a genie's bottle and the Unabomber cabin. "You're going to eat cheese. Aren't you?"

"I sure am."

And Charley can't say anything, because months ago she told me this was a decision I could make on my own.

Freedom!

"I've rethought the cheese moratorium, baby. I know you're not going to like this, but three months of cheese is enough. I can't imagine what your arteries look like. I think it's time to stop."

"What?" Cheese is my life. "Charley! You can't do this to me."

"It's for your own good."

"Are you serious?"

"Yeah, I am."

"Why?"

"Because summer's over, baby, and we've got to get back to a better way of life."

I could continue to argue, but it won't do any good. Charley acts all hippie and egalitarian, but when push comes to shove, she's the boss. However, I'm great at hiding my cheese . . . and . . . I'm going to convince her eventually.

But still.

"This isn't right, Charley, and you know it. But it's too early to argue. And might I add, you have no idea what it's like to have a teen with real teen issues. You ought to be on your knees thanking God I'm not drinking, smoking, pregnant, or"—I was going to say sneaking out at night, but I've done that, just to get some space—"or writing suicidal poetry on the Internet!"

We stare at each other, then burst into laughter.

"Just humor me this time, baby," she says. "We'll come back to it soon, I promise."

I don't believe her, but I hop into the driver's seat, pull up the brake, throw the TrailMama into drive, and we are off.

Six hours later

I pull through Graceland's gatehouse at ten a.m., park near the back of the compound's cracked, tired parking lot, and change into some crazy seventies striped bell-bottoms, a poet shirt, and Charley's old crocheted, granny-square vest. Normally I go further back in my vintage-wear, but I'm trying to go with the groove that is Graceland.

I kiss Charley's cheek. "I'll be back by noon."

"When will that put us in Marshall?"

"By six thirty."

"Because I'm not sure where the shoot is."

"Please. Marshall's small. Jeremy and company will make a big splash no matter where they set up. Besides, growing up around this, I have a nose for it."

She awards me one of her big smiles. "You're somethin', baby. I forget that sometimes." She puts her arms around me, squeezes, pulls back, then smacks me lightly on my behind. "Tell Elvis I said hello."

"Oh, I will. He's one of the groundskeepers now, you know."

I've seen computer-generated pictures of what he would look like now, in his seventies. Scary.

I jump down from the RV, head across the parking lot, over the small bridge leading into the ticketing complex and walk by Elvis's jets, including the Lisa Marie. Gotta love anything with that name. Don't know why. Just has a nice ring to it.

Banners proclaim, "Elvis Is."

Is what? Dead? A legend? What? Because he isn't "izzing" as far as I'm concerned. Present tense, people! If the person's not alive, "is" can only be followed by a few options: Buried up in the memorial garden. Rotting in his casket. Missed by his family and friends. Not exactly banner copy, mind you.

Still, you've got to admit the name Elvis wreaks of cool. Perhaps the sign should read, "Elvis Is . . . A Really Cool Name."

But it's not nearly as cool as my name. You see, my real mother loved the writer F. Scott Fitzgerald. And that's my name: Francis Scott Fitzgerald Dawn. Only Dawn's not my actual last name. I don't know what my real last name is. My real first name is Ariana. Being on the run, Charley renamed us to protect our identity. So she honored my mother by naming me after Mom's favorite novelist. More on that later too.

It sounds fun, traveling on the road from film shoot to film shoot, never settling down in one place for too long, but honestly, it's very sad.

I always knew Charley lived with a sadness down deep, and when I found out why this spring, her sadness became mine. See, my dad is dead and my mother, Charley's daughter Babette, is too. Or we think she must be, because she disappeared under questionable circumstances and never came back. Learn that when you're fifteen and see where you land.

When I thought Charley was my mother, I had such high hopes for who my father might be. Al Pacino was number one in the ranking. Don't ask.

Okay, Elvis, here we go. Let's you and me be "taking care of business."

I hand over my money to the lady behind the reservations counter. I called thirty minutes ago on my cell phone, compliments of my mother's friend Jeremy, and reserved a spot.

"You'll be on the first tour."



Yes! More time amid the shag carpeting and the gold records. And the jumpsuits. Can't forget the jumpsuits. I want a cape too.



The gift shop calls to me. Confession: I love gift shops. They even smell sparkly. Key chains dangling, saying, "You can take me with you wherever you go!" Mugs with the Saint Louis Gateway Arch or the Grand Ole Opry promising an even better cup of coffee. Earrings that advertise you've been somewhere. That's exactly what I choose while I wait for the tour, a little pair of dangly red guitars with the words Elvis Presley in gold script on the bodies, and how in the world they put that on so small is beyond me. See, gift shops can even be miraculous if you take your time and look.



A voice over the loudspeaker announces my tour number, so I stand in line. By myself. Just me in a group of twenty or so.



Okay, here is where it gets hard to be me. I know I should be thankful for my free-spirited life. But especially now that I know my parents are dead, it feels empty all of a sudden. I shouldn't be standing in line at Graceland alone. My mother and I should be giggling behind our hands at the man nearby who's actually grown a glorious pair o' mutton-chop sideburns, slicked back his salt-and-pepper curls, and shrugged his broad shoulders into a leather jacket. Really, right? My father, who was an FBI agent the mob shot right in a warehouse in Baltimore, would shake his head like a dad in a sixties TV show and laugh at his girls.



We'd get on the bus like I'm doing now, each of us putting on our tour headphones and hanging the little blue recorders around our necks in anticipation of the glory that is Elvis.



The driver welcomes us as he shuts the hydraulic doors of the little tour bus with its clean blue upholstery, a bus in which an assisted-living home might haul its residents to the mall.



It smells new in here, and my gross-out antennae aren't vibrating in the least like they do when I go into an old burger joint and the orange melamine booth hasn't been scrubbed since the place opened in 1987.



In my fantasy, my dad would sit beside me. And Mom, just across the aisle, holding onto the seatback in front of her, would look at me as we pass through those famed musical gates, because she would have introduced me to Elvis music. According to Charley, my vintage sentimentalism comes from my mom. I've learned a little about her this summer.



Charley said, "She'd wear my cousin's old poodle skirt and listen to Love Me Tender over and over again while writing in her diary." She became a respected journalist, loved books as much as I do. I pat my book in my backpack, looking forward to tonight when I can cuddle into my loft and get into one of Fitzgerald's glittering worlds. "She was different from me, Scotty. I tried to change the world through protest. Your mother wanted to build something completely different and much better." She sighed. "All my generation could do, I guess, was tear apart. It's going to take our children to put the pieces back together. Babette was a very careful person. Very purposeful."



If it drove my freewheeling grandmother crazy, she doesn't let on.



"I could try to describe how much she loved you, baby. But I don't think I could begin to do her devotion to you justice. I was so proud of her, for how much she loved and gave away. She was amazing."



So in May I found out she existed, the same day I found out she is dead, or most likely dead. And now I'm going into Graceland alone, truly an orphan. Who wants to be an orphan?



We disembark from the bus—me, Elvis Lite, some folks from a Spanish-speaking country, and a lot of older people. I miss Grammie and Grampie right now. More later on them, too. And you'll get to meet them. Like the waters of the Gulf Stream, we seem to travel in the same general direction. I spent a week with them this summer in Tennessee. Yeah, we did Nashville right. They're loaded.



Standing beneath the front porch, my gaze skates up and down the soaring white pillars and comes to rest on the stone lions that guard the steps. My father was a lion. That's why he ended up with a bullet in his chest. Speaking in very broad terms, the story goes as follows:



Dad, undercover, worked his way into a portion of the mob, or mafia if you prefer, that was heavily financing the campaign of a Maryland gubernatorial candidate. When they discovered him, they shot him on site, in a warehouse in the Canton neighborhood of downtown Baltimore. My mother watched, gasped, and a chase ensued. She hid in a friend's gallery, called Charley and told her to keep watching me. (Charley had kept me the night before because my mom and dad had some glamorous function to attend.) And then she disappeared.



The Graceland tour recorder tells me to look to my right into the beautiful white living room with peacock stained-glass windows leading into the music room. This room really isn't so bad, I've got to admit. A picture of Elvis's dad hangs on the wall. He really loved his parents.



I've toured this house at least seven times before, and I'll tell you this, Elvis's love for his family soaked into the walls. A girl that lives in a camper, has dead parents, and is being chased by someone from the mob who knows my grandmother knows what went down, well, she can feel these things.



Charley thinks someone's trying to kill us. This guy is always trying to find us, but Charley's really great at evasion. She said the politician who won the governor's seat all those years ago just announced his candidacy for president and—oh, GREAT!—he's probably trying to make sure nothing comes back to haunt him and sent Biker Guy to finish off the entire matter.



The thing is, he seems to be after me too. And what in the world would I have to do with all of that?



I'll bet Charley's back in that camper shaking in her shoes because I'm over here by myself; I'll bet she's figuring out more ways to be utterly and overly protective of me. I wouldn't be surprised if she's wondering whether locking a kid in an RV is child abuse.



But I love Charley. I really do. I know she's scared back there, and despite the fact that I would be no real help if Biker Guy caught us, I can't leave her there so frightened and alone for long.



Elvis dear, I can only stay a little while. So love me tender, love me sweet, and for the sake of all that's decent, don't step on my blue suede shoes.



I hurry past the bedroom of Elvis's parents, decorated in shades of ivory and purple, very nice, and through the dining room—a little seventies tackiness I'll admit—into the kitchen with dark brown cabinetry and the ghosts of a million grilled peanut butter and banana sandwiches, then on down into the basement. Okay, I admit, I've got to just stand for a second in the TV room and admire the man's ability to watch three TVs at once on that huge yellow couch with the sparkly pillows.



I shoot through the billiard room, which is, honestly, truly beautiful with its fabric-lined walls and ceiling, up the back steps and into the Jungle Room, probably Graceland's most famous room. Green shag carpet overlays the floor and the ceiling, and heavily carved, Polynesian-style furniture is arranged around a rock-wall waterfall at the end of the room. It really defies the imagination, folks. Google Jungle Room Graceland and see what I mean.



The second floor of Graceland is closed off to the public because Elvis died up there. On the toilet. Wise decision on the part of Priscilla I'd say.



Out the door, into the office building, down to the trophy hall, I whiz through all the gold and platinum records, the costumes, the awards, and even a wall full of checks he'd written for charity. According to my recorder, Elvis was an active community member in Memphis. And he obviously didn't care what race or religion people were. He supported Jewish organizations, Catholic, Baptist. Pretty cool.



Of course, this recorder isn't going to tell of the dark side of the man. But Elvis Isn't, despite what the banners say. So why drag a dead man through the mud?



I hurry through the racquetball court, more gold records, the infamous jumpsuits, back outside to the pool and memorial garden where Elvis has been laid to rest.



An older lady cries into a handkerchief. I don't ask why.



Good-bye Elvis. Thanks for the tour. Maybe one day I'll do something great too.



A few minutes later . . .

Cranenergy Blog Tour

I received a sample of Cranenergy by Ocean Spray's – It’s their new energy drink made with cranberry juice and green tea extract. It’s suppose helps restore our natural energy.

It comes in Cranberry Lift and Raspberry Cranberry Lift. I tried the Cranberry Lift; it reminded me of the cranberry juice with a kick of tea sprinkled in. I decided to try the drink while I made dinner, my sluggish times of the day. I enjoyed the juice; however I didn’t receive a burst of energy or any extra energy. I might have been expecting too much from the drink. It didn’t say it would revive a tired woman. LOL.

Would I recommend this to a friend? Sure, especially if they like cranberry juice and green tea. It’s very refreshing and makes a good combination.

If you would like to learn more about this new product, check them out at:

http://www.oceanspray.com/products/Cranergy.aspx

They also offering coupons at - http://www.cranergy.com/

Please stop by and telling me what you think of the new drink.

CFBA AUTHOR INTRO: Jenny B. Jones

This week, the
Christian Fiction Blog Alliance
is introducing
The Big Picture
(NavPress Publishing Group April 15, 2008)
by
Jenny B. Jones

ABOUT THE AUTHOR:
Jenny B. Jones is the author of A Katie Parker Production series. The other books in the series are In Between and On The Loose. Though now an adult, she still relates to the trauma and drama of teen life. She is thrilled to see her writing dreams come true, as her previous claim to fame was singing the Star Spangled Banner at a mule-jumping championship. (The mules were greatly inspired.)

Jenny resides in Arkansas, where, as a teacher, she hangs out with teens on a regular basis.

ABOUT THE BOOK
Sometimes there’s a fine line between comedy and tragedy—and Katie Parker is walking it.

School is winding down for the summer but Katie Parker is having a bad day. After leaving the drive-in, where her imploding love life was the main attraction, Katie arrives home to a big surprise on the Scott's front porch.

Her mother, Bobbie Ann Parker, a former convict and recovering addict, wants to take Katie away from her family, friends, and church. Now Katie's life will be changed by a series of dramatic choices as she struggles to understand what family and home really means.

Katie is forced to walk away from In Between, leaving behind a family who loves her, a town drive-in to save, and a boyfriend who suddenly can’t take his eyes off his ex. When the life her mother promised begins to sink faster than one of Maxine’s stuffed bras, Katie knows she needs to rely on God to keep it together.

But where is he in all this? Can Katie survive a chaotic life with her mother—and one without the Scotts? And if God is there, will he come through before it’s too late?

A Katie Parker Production series offers teen girls real-world fiction balanced by hope and humor. The The Big Picture helps us realize that the difficult chapters in our journey are only part of God's big story for our lives.

You can read the first chapter HERE

"A heroine to love. Jones just gets better with every book, and The Big Picture is her best one yet."
~BARBARA WARREN, author of The Gathering Storm

"Such inspiration in a package of fun and faith!"
~EVA MARIE EVERSON, author of the Potluck Club series

BLOG TOUR: WHERE WOULD COWS HIDE?

D.C. Stewart grew up in a small town in Oklahoma, and spent most of her childhood getting into trouble with her younger brother on their ranch. She began writing short stories in high school, and won a writing competition at a nearby college at age 17. After graduating, she attended Northwestern Oklahoma State University and earned a degree in History, and also met her husband, Scott. She worked for a church in Maumelle, Arkansas as the Communications Coordinator for five years. After moving back to Oklahoma, she chose to stay home with their four year old twin boys, and six month old baby girl, and to pursue her dream of being a full-time writer. The Stewart’s live in Oklahoma City, Oklahoma. Where Would Cows Hide? is her first novel.

WHERE WOULD COWS HIDE?

The Parker twins, Brad and Charlie, didn't want to join their parents on vacation in Hawaii. A little sister can be annoying, but little sister, Zoey, was over the top. "The three of us aren't going to Hawaii," she told them. Her parents were shocked by her statement even though it was true. This was not the first time Zoey offered surprising knowledge of future events, nor would it be the last. Arriving at their grandparent's cattle ranch in Oklahoma, the twins learn of the disappearance of cattle from the ranch. This knowledge would set of a series of events that would challenge any detective. There were the mysterious neighbors, the strange lady at church, a psychic lazy dog, and a weird little sister to keep the twins totally confused in their efforts to solve this strange mystery.

How did you come up with your characters, Charlie and Brad?

A combination of what my brother and I were like as kids, the stories I heard about my husband and his twin when they were kids, and how I imagined my own twin sons acting when they reached eleven years old.

Do you have experience living or working on a farm? Any funny stories related to that?

Everyone on both sides of my family are farmers, doing a combination of growing wheat and raising cattle. Our house was in town, but we spent most of our time, especially in the summer, on tractors, combines, wheat trucks, in pick-ups, and working cattle.

The only funny story I can think of about me is helping my dad, mom, and brother one morning feeding and counting the cows. The cattle all came into the lots except one, and my dad told me to hurry and open the gate to let her in before the other cows could get out. As I pulled the gate open and trotted backward, I tripped over a concrete block used to hold the gate in place, and got hung up in the chain. I was stuck at such a weird angle I couldn't get myself loose and all the cattle were rushing at me to get out. I was kicking and waving all over the place trying to keep them back, but my family thought I was panicking because I was stuck. They still give me grief over that one.

Brad and Charlie have a quirky younger sister who sometimes drives them crazy. Do you relate?

I have a younger brother who used to drive me nuts all the time, but we were also the best playmates because we are so close in age. I have friends who were the "younger sister" and I remember them getting yelled at by their older siblings all the time.

Brad and Charlie stay at their grandparents for an annual summer vacation. What's your favorite place to vacation and why?

Honestly, I don't really have a "favorite" place to vacation. We didn't have the opportunity to travel much when I was a kid, so ANY vacation is awesome to me. I love to travel, eat different foods, take in the scenery, watch the people. It's all new and exciting to me.

As a writing mom, how do you juggle the demands of your kids and your career?

With great difficulty. I have a wonderful and supportive husband who gives me time in the evenings and on weekends to write. Usually if anything suffers between my writing and taking care of the kids, it's our house. I'm more of a relaxed housekeeper (fancy title for slob), and I only move on the housework if there are no clean clothes, we have to order out because there is no room to cook in the kitchen, and if I walk across the floors and they crunch.

CFBA: Athol Dickson

Athol Dickson's university-level training in painting, sculpture, and architecture was followed by a long career as an architect then his decision several years ago to devote full time to writing.

Athol Dickson’s writing has been favorably compared to the work of Octavia Butler
(Publisher’s Weekly), Daphne du Maurier (Cindy Crosby, FaithfulReader.com) and FlanneryO’Connor (The New York Times).

His They Shall See God was a Christy Award finalist and his River Rising was a Christy Award winner, selected as one of the Booklist Top Ten Christian Novels of 2006 and a finalist for Christianity Today's Best Novel of 2006.

He and his wife, Sue, live in Southern California. Visit AtholDickson.com for more information.


WINTER HAVEN

Boys who never age, giants lost in time, mist that never rises, questions never asked...on the most remote of islands off the coast of Maine, history haunts the present and Vera Gamble wrestles with a past that will not yield. Will she find refuge there, or will her ghosts prevail on...Winter Haven

Eleven years ago, Vera Gamble's brother left their house never to be seen again. Until the day Vera gets a phone call that his body has been found...washed ashore in the tiny island town of Winter Haven, Maine. His only surviving kin, Vera travels north to claim the body...and finds herself tumbling into a tangled mystery. Her brother hasn't aged a day since last she saw him.

Determined to uncover what happened in those lost years, Vera soon discovers there are other secrets lurking in this isolated town. But Winter Haven's murky past now seems bound to come to light as one woman seeks the undeniable and flooding light of truth.

TEEN FIRST: Chosen

It's April 21st, time for the Teen FIRST blog tour!(Join our alliance!
Click the button!) Every 21st, we will feature an author and his/her
latest Teen fiction book's FIRST chapter!

Ted
Dekker

and his book:

Chosen (The Lost
Books, Book 1) (The Books of History Chronicles)

Thomas Nelson (January 1, 2008)

ABOUT THE AUTHOR:

Ted is the son of missionaries John and Helen Dekker,
whose incredible story of life among headhunters in Indonesia has been
told in several books. Surrounded by the vivid colors of the jungle and
a myriad of cultures, each steeped in their own interpretation of life
and faith, Dekker received a first-class education on human nature and
behavior. This, he believes, is the foundation of his writing.

After graduating from a multi-cultural high school, he took up
permanent residence in the United States to study Religion and Philosophy.
After earning his Bachelor's Degree, Dekker entered the corporate world in
management for a large healthcare company in California. Dekker was
quickly recognized as a talent in the field of marketing and was soon
promoted to Director of Marketing. This experience gave him a background
which enabled him to eventually form his own company and steadily climb
the corporate ladder.

Since 1997, Dekker has written full-time. He states that each time he
writes, he finds his understanding of life and love just a little
clearer and his expression of that understanding a little more vivid. To see
a complete list of Dekker's work, visit The Works section of
TedDekker.com.

Here are some of his latest titles:

Adam

Black: The Birth of Evil (The Circle Trilogy Graphic Novels, Book 1)

Saint

AND
NOW...THE FIRST CHAPTER:


beginnings

Our story begins in a world totally like our own, yet completely
different. What once happened here in our own history seems to be repeating
itself thousands of years from now,
some time beyond the year 4000 AD.

But this time the future belongs to those who see opportunity before it
becomes obvious. To the young, to the warriors, to the lovers. To
those who can follow hidden clues and find a great
treasure that will unlock the mysteries of life and wealth.

Thirteen years have passed since the lush, colored forests were turned
to desert by Teeleh, the enemy of Elyon and the vilest of all
creatures. Evil now rules the land and shows itself as a painful, scaly disease
that covers the flesh of the Horde, a people who live in the desert.

The powerful green waters, once precious to Elyon, have vanished from
the earth except in seven small forests surrounding seven small lakes.
Those few who have chosen to follow the ways of Elyon now live in these
forests, bathing once daily in the powerful waters to cleanse their
skin of the disease.

The number of their sworn enemy, the Horde, has grown in thirteen years
and, fearing the green waters above all else, these desert dwellers
have sworn to wipe all traces of the forests from
the earth.

Only the Forest Guard stands in their way. Ten thousand elite fighters
against an army of nearly four hundred thousand Horde. But the Forest
Guard is starting to crumble.

one

Day One

Qurong, general of the Horde, stood on the tall dune five miles west of
the green forest, ignoring the fly that buzzed around his left eye.

His flesh was nearly white, covered with a paste that kept his skin
from itching too badly. His long hair was pulled back and woven into
dreadlocks, then tucked beneath the leather body armor
cinched tightly around his massive chest.

“Do you think they know?” the young major beside him asked.

Qurong’s milky white horse, chosen for its ability to blend with the
desert, stamped and snorted.

The general spit to one side. “They know what we want them to know,” he
said. “That we are gathering for war. And that we will march from the
east in four days.”

“It seems risky,” the major said. His right cheek twitched, sending
three flies to flight.
“Their forces are half what they once were. As long as they think we
are coming from the east, we will smother them from the west.”

“The traitor insists that they are building their forces,” the major
said.

“With young pups!” Qurong scoffed.

“The young can be crafty.”

“And I’m not? They know nothing about the traitor. This time we will
kill them all.”

Qurong turned back to the valley behind him. The tents of his third
division, the largest of all Horde armies, which numbered well over three
hundred thousand of the most experienced warriors, stretched out nearly
as far as he could see.

“We march in four days,” Qurong said. “We will slaughter them from the
west.”