I want to start by thanking Delilah for being so generous with her blog and letting me play here with you today. I always have fun when I come here to visit.
I suppose my choice of title for this blog post may seem odd, given that we’re in the middle of summer (and a hideously hot and humid one in my neck of the woods). But I just had a birthday near the end of July, and I always think of birthdays as fresh starts, much like the actual new year at the beginning of January. So even if it’s the middle of the year, you get to start over. It’s a good time to re-evaluate any goals or plans you’ve set for yourself for the year. Are you on track? Do you need to adjust or down-size an overly-ambitious aim? Do you have something new you want to try instead? Maybe it’s just something you want to accomplish before your next birthday.
I came home from a writing conference a few days ago, so, besides all of the things I was already evaluating from my January goals for just this calendar year, I have a head full of fresh ideas and plans that will need to be worked into those existing plans. It would be unrealistic for me to try to cram everything into the next five months until the actual new year. Probably, it is unrealistic for me to even work more than one of these new ideas into this year since I am already reworking this year’s goals. So I have to look at big-picture plans and goals for the next year or so, but that’s a whole other project in itself, and I have time to figure those out. My focus right now is on the more immediate goals and plans. I’ve given myself two weeks to figure how those fit into the rest of 2019. Then I can start thinking about next year when we get into November, and maybe start working on my big-picture goals sooner, which ought to make setting next year’s goals easier.
A lot of romance novels have characters who are forced to start fresh, who thought they had their lives mapped out and then got the rug pulled out from under them. I’m working on a project for late this year and just realized as I’m writing my post that it falls into this category. The heroine in the story is dealing with that issue, having lost a job she thought was secure, following a path she’d been on for a long time, and now she has to start over. She agrees to house-sit for friends on a Maine island while licking her wounds and trying to figure out where to go from there.
That story opportunity was something that came at a time when I needed to figure out a new direction, and the timing couldn’t have been any better. It was nowhere on my list of plans last year, but I couldn’t say no to it since it leads down a path I intended to research and wanted to start on eventually anyway. I guess it’s ‘eventually’ now.
Does anyone else see their birthday as the start of a shiny new year? An opportunity to start fresh?Or is there a story you love where one of the characters is forced to start all over again?
Contest
I would love to hear from you on those, so I have a signed copy of my first book Hunting Medusa to send to one person who comments by 5 pm (Eastern) on Sun, August 4 (via drawing on RandomResult.com).
About the Author
Elizabeth Andrews has been a book lover since she was old enough to read. She read her copies of Little Women and the Little House series so many times, the books fell apart. As an adult, her book habit continues. She has a room overflowing with her literary collection right now, and still more spreading into other rooms.Almost as long as she’s been reading great stories, she’s been attempting to write her own. Thanks to a fifth grade teacher who started the class on creative writing, Elizabeth went from writing creative sentences to short stories and eventually full-length novels. Her father saved her poor, callused fingers from permanent damage when he brought home a used typewriter for her.
Elizabeth found her mother’s stash of romance novels as a teenager, and-though she loves horror- romance became her very favorite genre, making writing romances a natural progression. There are more than just a few manuscripts, however, tucked away in a filing cabinet that will never see the light of day.
Along with her enormous book stash, Elizabeth lives with her husband of twenty-five years, and spends plenty of time with her two young adult sons who have recently flown the coop. When she’s not at work or buried in books or writing, there is a garden outside full of herbs, flowers and vegetables that requires occasional attention.
You can find out more and keep up with news at her website:
It’s a question I’m often asked, especially since my novels cross genres—contemporary romance, paranormal romance, and supernatural romantic suspense.
The answer is simple:
I believe in ghosts. Have I ever seen a ghost? Yes, and no.
I’ve sensed spirits, more than once, in more than one old, abandoned building. When the hairs on the back of my neck and on my arms rise, and there’s no chilly air to explain it, I know I’m in the presence of something supernatural. I’ve caught fleeting glimpses out of the corner of my eye of . . . something. A figure, a shadow, a presence that, when I turn to try and focus on it, evaporates like vapor. More than once I’ve not been alone when this happens, and my companions have had the same experience.
So yes, I do believe in ghosts, or spirits, or whatever your preferred term is. I think there are at least two kinds of hauntings: residual and intelligent. Residual hauntings are shadows of people who lived in a time past (or perhaps in the future). These apparitions are like black-and-white frames from an old movie. They are visible, or can be sensed, but keep playing over and over in an endless loop of whatever they were doing or experiencing when they were alive. You cannot communicate with residual hauntings. Over time, they gradually fade away and eventually disappear.
Intelligent hauntings, however, I believe are spirits who are trapped between this life and the next. They are stuck here, in our conscious realm, for whatever reason: a child or other person dies but does not know they are dead; a person died with some unfinished business here in this realm; they are confused, and don’t know how to “cross over.” Some of these intelligent hauntings can be communicated with, under the right circumstances. Some, angry because they’re trapped in between, can be dangerous (like poltergeists).
“How, since you work in scientific research by day, can you believe in anything paranormal?”
That’s an easy answer as well. There actually is a scientific theory, in quantum physics, of parallel universes. We may well be existing in our own conscious realm alongside those who have passed, who lived long ago, or have yet to be born. In my mind, the quantum theory explains it. Just because we don’t fully understand how it all works doesn’t mean it isn’t the way things are.
“Are your love stories between ghosts? Or between real human beings?”
No, my love stories are between very real, very human, very flawed individuals who all have issues of their own, whether inside or out, they need to resolve. They meet in some location where spirits are trapped. Sometimes they have a hard time believing in the paranormal, but one way or the other, the spirits make believers out of them. And in their quest to free the trapped spirits, they also happen to fall in love.
“Why romance plus the ghost story? Why not just write about hauntings?”
Another easy answer: because I believe in true love, and I believe in a happily-ever-after. I know most people would like to think it can be reality (thus the popularity of the romance genre), but not everyone is lucky enough to find their special soulmate. I married mine over forty years ago and have never looked back.
Also, because these are the kinds of stories I like to read: heart-melting romance laced with the thrills and chill of the supernatural. I couldn’t ever find enough to read, so I started writing my own.
In my newest release, ELECTRICITY, my heroine, Mercedes Donohue, is an electrician who fled her home in Atlanta with her teenage son after a particularly bad divorce. She’s returned to Massachusetts, where she was born and lived up until her teens, when her adoptive parents moved to Atlanta.
My hero, Daniel Gallagher, is also an electrician who works on the same team as Mercy. He has avoided any serious relationships since his fiancé was killed in a car wreck twelve years ago, after stubbornly refusing to take his advice, driving off in a terrible storm. He’s not getting involved with another stubborn, independent woman ever again.
When Mercy joins the team, though, she short-circuits his plans. The electricity between them is simply too strong.
Their first big job together is an old mental asylum, which has its share of secret tunnels and lingering, tortured spirits. Neither Mercy nor Daniel believe in ghosts, so there’s no problem, right?
The spirits of Gravely Hall figure out a way to make them believers.
She’s an electrician starting over with her son. New job. New town. New life.
He’s a coworker who’s interested in more than her ability to run conduit.
The building they’re rewiring was once an insane asylum…but it appears some of the patients never left.
Mercedes Donohue pulled up roots in Atlanta when her marriage imploded. She’s come back to New England, to the place where she was born. Mercy’s focus is to stabilize her teenage son’s life—he took the breakup pretty hard—and to establish her place, gain the respect of Progressive Electrical’s team.
She never expected so many sparks to fly so soon, both on the job and after hours.
Daniel Gallagher has been alone since his fiancé’s death. He’ll never feel that way about any woman again, and certainly won’t try with another independent, strong-willed one. Then Mercy short-circuits his plans.
Although the asylum closed its doors over thirty-five years ago, it seems some of the patients never left . . .
If you like a heart-melting romance laced with healthy dose of supernatural thrills and chills, you’ll love Electricity.
Mercy had gotten to the very last wire when the lightning struck.
At least that’s what it felt like. A burst of blue light momentarily blinded her, and a deafening crack pierced her brain. The force of the jolt blew her backwards and set her ears ringing.
The next few seconds slowed surreally. Dizzy and confused, Mercy, ladder and all, careened away from the wall in silent, slow motion. As if in a dream. No pain, no fear.
Then she landed, flat on her back on the floor, the impact rattling her jaw. Pain shot through her then as the ladder bounced off her chest once, and then settled heavy on top, pinning her to the dust-laden tile.
“DAMN it!” Mercy’s oath blew out with the last of the air in her lungs.
“What the holy hell?” Conner was standing over her in seconds, yanking the ladder off with one hand. The other two men raced over, and Daniel dropped to one knee to hold Mercy down by one shoulder.
“Don’t try to move till you’re sure nothing’s broken,” he muttered.
“I thought you said we were off at the main, Bro! Holy hell!” Jacob was wild-eyed, shoving Conner with one of his gloved hands. “You tryin’ to get us all killed?”
Mercy felt as though a horse had just trotted over her ribcage, squashing one breast under each hoof. The back of her head throbbed even though her safety helmet had protected her from a possible concussion. Her breath was coming in short, shallow bursts. “Let me up, Daniel. I’m okay,” she barked through clenched teeth, wrenching her shoulder from under his grip and sitting up.
She could not, however, feel her left hand. She stared down at the blackened fingers of her glove. Were there still operable digits under the leather? Or just charred stumps?
As though he’d read her mind, Daniel locked a strong hand around her wrist. His eyes flashed to hers once before he said, “I’m going to see what’s going on under here.” Slowly, he pressed on each finger of the glove. “Hurt?” he asked.
Mercy shook her head. “No. They’re numb. Or gone. I can’t feel them at all.”
Daniel sucked in a breath and said, “Not unusual to be numb for a while.” His eyes slid toward hers again, and she hoped he couldn’t see her fear. His gaze was steady, intense. “I’m gonna cut the glove off. Stop me if it hurts, okay?”
Mercy watched, holding her breath as Daniel wielded a pair of snips from his belt and began clipping away at the wristband of her glove. He worked methodically, gently, cradling her hand on his knee the whole time. Once he’d opened the entire back of the glove, he turned her hand over and did the same on the palm side.
He took a deep breath as he slid the cutting tool back into his belt, then raised his eyes to hers. “You ready?”
Mercy swallowed and nodded. Daniel grabbed the edges of the leather and gently worked the covering free.
She let out a whoosh of relief when she looked down on five fingers, only slightly reddened, complete with intact fingernails. They were still numb but began to tingle as she flexed her knuckles.
“Good gloves you got there,” Daniel mumbled. He flashed her a narrow gaze. “Forgot to use your tester first, huh?”
Mercy snatched her hand away, fury flaring in her chest. “I used the damned tester on the main feed, and on the first three fuses, like I always do. How the hell was I supposed to know there was more than one source to the freaking panel?”
***
About Claire Gem
Contemporary, Romantic, Soul-Freeing
Claire is an award winning-author of supernatural suspense, contemporary romance, and women’s fiction. She also writes Author Resource guide books and presents seminars on writing craft and marketing. Her supernatural suspense, Hearts Unloched, won the 2016 New York Book Festival, and was a finalist in the 2017 RONE Awards.
Claire loves exploring the paranormal and holds a certificate in Parapsychology from Duke University’s Rhine Research Center. She earned her MFA in creative writing from Lesley University.
A New York native, Claire now lives in Massachusetts with her husband of 40 years. When she’s not writing, she works for Tufts University in the field of scientific research. She is available for seminars and media interviews and loves to travel for book promotional events.
Woodstock’s 50th Anniversary is this summer, Thursday, August 15 to Sunday, August 18, 2019. Fifty years ago, in 1969 from August 15 to 18, throngs of people came together in Bethel, N.Y. for four days of peace, love, and music. It turned out to be one of the biggest and grooviest rock festivals ever, and an iconic cultural and historical event. The concert was far-out with thirty-two acts including Joan Baez, Santana, the Grateful Dead, Janis Joplin, Sly and the Family Stone, The Who, Jefferson Airplane, Joe Cocker, Jonny Winter, The Band, Blood, Sweat, and Tears, Crosby, Stills, Nash & Young, and Jimi Hendrix with what was probably the most memorable performance of the festival—his profound rendition of “The Star-Spangled Banner”.
Food was in short supply at Woodstock because the promoters only expected about 50,000, but around 400,000 showed up—which also created the largest traffic jam in the history of the Catskills, forcing State police to close the New York State Thruway’s Exit 104. Plus, on the second day of the festival, a downpour transformed the grounds of Max Yasgur’s dairy farm into a sea of mud.
Yasgur’s former farm, the site where all of this took place, has been remembered by the opening of both the Bethel Woods Center for the Arts and the Museum at Bethel Woods on the grounds and was also added to the National Register of Historic Places.
I am a babyboomer but I was only 12 in 1969—too young to hitchhike to Woodstock, unfortunately. However I always wanted to go, so by writing about it, I got to go, at least mentally, and I get to take all you wonderful readers along with me as well as two of my favorite characters, Cash and Keith. This Woodstock, time-travel, baby boomer, comedy romance of mine is called Back To The One I Love.
The thrilling adventure of first love and self-discovery is just as groovy the second time around.
A free-spirited, baby boomer couple, Cash and Keith, find their marriage of forty-five years unraveling amid apathy, boredom, and retirement. Cash feels Keith is no longer attracted to her and he’s consumed with a couch-potato life of streaming The Orville and Game of Throne episodes all day long. Trying to hang on to their marriage and rekindle the romance they lost along the way they turn to a counselor. The therapist uses an unorthodox magical method of a time-traveling Volkswagen van to cast them back into the garden…four days of Eden at Woodstock….the epic music festival… where they first fell in love. Will the freedom of Woodstock lure Keith and Cash to push their individual boundaries and seek new lovers? Or can Déjà Vu and grooving to music….truly lead them to rediscover the peace, love, and harmony they once shared?
Excerpt:
Cash’s mind was in a haze, floating with the music, moving her body freely―bouncing, jiggling, dancing her heart out.
Keith clapped with Cash as Jimi Hendrix picked the strings and worked the frets as he played “The Star Spangled Banner.”
In his hands, the inanimate object, the sleek, white electric Stratocaster, came to life, with jolts of electricity like Frankenstein’s monster.
This was no confused, lonely monster Hendrix created, Cash thought. This is raw, spiritual beauty.
“The notes are ‘The Star Spangled Banner’ mixed with truth and distortion, fear and hope, chaos and order, all fighting each other. It sounds like bombs and guns, screams of pain, and the whirl of army helicopters, all from the strings of his guitar,” Keith said.
“The national anthem has never been played like that before him or since him,” Cash said, with an edge of awe to her voice.
“He’s telling a story of freedom fighting to break through prejudices, lies, and cover-ups just by the way he’s playing the song,” Keith added.
“He’s incredible.” Goosebumps prickled on Cash’s arms when Jimi Hendrix laid the guitar on the stage and picked it as he ritually set it on fire, letting hype and lies go up in smoke and flames.
Tears formed in the corners of her eyes. “It’s the most incredible thing I’ve ever seen,” she said in an emptily charged, broken whisper.
Keith gulped hard. “It blows my mind.” He slapped his palms together, clapping with Cash, a long time after Hendrix left the stage.
“And we saw it twice, together.” She slipped her arm around Keith’s waist.
“How special are we?” He slid his arm around her shoulder and pulled her tight to him.
*~*~*
You can find more on Back To the One I Lovehere and Peace, Love, Music here.
We are made of flesh and blood, but also stories. The stories we hear, read, imagine, are as much a part of us as our make-up as our genes or the colour of our eyes. I wouldn’t be who I am today without the stories that shape me. I’d like to tell you a little about them.
The first stories were the Celtic legends that my Welsh grandparents and my older cousin told me. Tales of magic and monsters. Shape-shifting bards. Torrent spectres. And the mysterious Otherworld, always shimmering just out of reach… at the top of the hill… deep in the forest… at the point on the horizon where sea and sky merge. I loved the Ceffyl Dwr, the Water Horse, a mythical shape-shifting creature that lives in water, but can also appear on land. I loved the merfolk too. More about them later!
I also grew up with the Nordic myths that my father used to read to me as bedtime stories. I’d go to sleep with the sound of epic battles ringing in my ears. Thor was my favourite. I was delighted to meet him again recently in the Avengers films, played by the delicious Chris Hemsworth!
When I was twelve, I read The Lord of the Rings. That story changed me. I was so sad when I finished the book, I actually cried. No more Elves or Dwarves? That couldn’t be. I decided that day that I’d become a writer, and create stories like that.
OK… it took me thirty-three years… and I never wrote that big epic novel. But I did write my own books, and eventually one of them got published. I write fantasy romance, because I love fantasy, and I think I’m a romantic at heart. The stories I heard and read as a child and teenager are still with me. The Otherworld is in my head, with all its magic, and every time I read or write a new book, it gets a little richer, a little better.
My book A Merman’s Choice was published in January by Black Velvet Seductions. It is the hot and tender story of the forbidden love between a shape-shifting merman and a human woman. Read a summary and extract below!
The second book in the series, Music for a Merman, is due out later this year. I’m currently working on the third book, where a feisty shape-shifting mermaid teams up with a warlock to save London from a water monster. I have also written a short story, “The Sweetest Magic of All”, for the supernatural romance anthology Mystic Desire by Black Velvet Seductions – pre-sale 1 September, release date 1 October. I’m so excited about it, because it’s about a witch and a warlock who go back in time, and I love witches!
A Merman’s Choice Book 1 in the Sea of Love series
For centuries the shape-shifting mermen of the Morvann Islands have lived incognito among humans. But one of them, Yann, has developed some bad habits. Like rescuing humans, even when doing so risks revealing his true nature. When he fishes Alex out of the sea, he doesn’t expect her to reappear eight months later, and turn his life upside down by asking him to be her guide.
Alex is determined to fulfil a promise to her dying grandmother, by gathering pictures and stories of the Morvanns. But she soon discovers that, on these remote Welsh islands, legends have a habit of becoming true!
Over the course of a few days, Yann and Alex grow close. But some mermen hate humans. Their hostility, and Yann’s secret, threaten to tear the couple apart just as they are discovering that they are soul mates. Can Yann overcome the obstacles in his path and make the right choice?
Yann went to the dresser against the wall and picked up a bottle and two glasses. “Would you like a dram of whisky to warm you up?”
Alex slid back down the sofa. His ears registered the squeak of leg against leather, and his mind instantly pictured her sprawled on the cushions, her golden hair fanned behind her head, milky thighs open wide. He shook his head, trying to rid himself of the maddening image.
Her voice dropped into a seductive purr. “I’m quite warm already, thank you. But I can cope with more heat.”
He poured a glass of the golden liquid and brought it to her.
“Thank you.” She sipped it and made a grimace, which turned into a smile. “Even better than cider.”
Her mouth glowed against her milky skin like a forbidden fruit. He thought of the first summer berries, tart redcurrants, juicy raspberries. Would she taste like them?
They needed food. If he didn’t get lunch down her soon, she’d get drunk. The demon voice in his mind whispered that Alex would be great fun if she lost her inhibitions. He tried to shut the demon out. What could he prepare quickly?
He strode to the trap in the floor by the front door and lifted it. The smell and sound of seawater, sloshing in the dark, rose up.
Alex padded over to investigate. “Oh, wow. You have a whole aquarium down there!”
The corner of her blanket brushed his bare arm, sending another twig to feed the fire that smouldered in his loins. “That’s how Islanders keep their seafood fresh. Why don’t you go and sit at the table, and I’ll open a dozen oysters for you?”
She didn’t need to see the tunnel on the side of the “aquarium,” that led to the lower floor of the house, the level that flooded at high tide and opened onto the sea. The level where a more respectable merman would spend most of his time.
She moved away, to the centre of the room where the oak table stood. Not far enough. He’d become so attuned to her that every one of her movements seemed to ripple across the space and lap against his body. He grabbed a knife and bucket from the tool shelf, snapped the first oyster open and dropped it in the bucket. Now she was crossing her legs, damn her. Did she know that the woollen fabric was opening, uncovering the ivory skin of her inner thigh? Was she flirting with him, or was it his imagination?
“I love oysters.” Her voice wrapped itself around him like a silk scarf. “Pity we don’t have any champagne to go with them, but this whisky is just as good.”
Too late, he remembered that for mainlanders, oysters weren’t a cheap, quick meal. On the mainland, oysters were the food of seduction. An aphrodisiac. What if Alex was misreading his intentions?
Or rather, what if she were reading them all too well?
She patted the bench next to her. “Come and sit here. I can’t eat all these oysters on my own.”
Her grin gave the lie to her words. Her grin said, “I can gobble them all up, and you with it.”
*~*~*
What about you? Which stories shaped your life? Do you remember a favourite story from your childhood? Did a book ever change your life? I’d love to know!
Is free love really free? When I sat down to write about a commune set in the late 60s, I had to figure out what kind of pairing to use. Happily-ever-afters can happen a lot of different ways—with one person, two, or three… Despite what went on in a lot of communes, I decided not to do a sexual free-for-all. It’s hard to build emotional bonding that way. But I did start writing it as a menage. When that didn’t feel right, I went for the traditional male-female pairing. Not an easy feat with such a mesmerizing and sexy hero who wants to recruit more followers at any cost and use sexual bonding to do it. With lots of pretty women and handsome guys around, temptation lay in every corner. Is the emotional bond between Jeremy and Adele strong enough to keep them in their own bed and out of everyone else’s?
Follow Me by Afton Locke 1960s interracial romance
Release Date: 10 August 2019 Preorder it now on Amazon!
Where were you in the summer of ‘69? Picketing, peacemaking, or falling under the spell of a magic man?
The day Adele Robbins turns eighteen, she flees her mother’s house to escape her lewd stepfather. She aspires to help people, but for now she simply needs a roof over her head. When she stumbles over a generous—and sexy as all get-out—hippie playing guitar on the street, she grabs at the chance for a temporary refuge.
While replacing the family he lost to tragedy as a child, Jeremy Dobson also plans to make the world a better place. Recruiting new followers should be easy, but one headstrong woman threatens to upset all his plans.
Unpeeling the layers of this unusual man makes Adele wonder if she’s jumped from the frying pan straight into the fire. She refuses to be a doormat like her mother, but Jeremy’s magnetism is a force not to be trifled with. When he beckons her to the edge to pursue their mission, will she follow?
Until the door closed, Adele didn’t dare move. Instead, Jeremy flung it wide open.
“Get off him,” he bit out.
The barely controlled fury in his voice filled her with a thrill with fear close on its heels. The man should have a high-voltage warning label on his forehead.
“I’m just following your orders, master,” she said sweetly.
After he ripped the sheet from their bodies, exposing their jeans, he frowned but let out a shaky breath.
“You disobeyed me,” he told her.
Adele scrambled off Denny who jumped up and grabbed his shirt. “You recruit your way, and I’ll recruit mine.”
“I-I didn’t touch her,” Denny told Jeremy, his eyes round and wide. “In fact, I’m going to split, okay?”
Jeremy, looking wild-eyed himself, shook his head so hard his long hair danced above his shoulders. “Don’t leave, man. In fact, I told her to pleasure you so you’d stay here.”
“Oh, well…um…I’m going to crash on the sofa.” Denny dropped his gaze as he slunk out the bedroom door and closed it.
Jeremy jammed his hands on his hips. “You disobeyed me,” he repeated.
“I heard you the first time,” Adele said as she put her blouse back on. “I’m not some whore you can pimp out.”
He paced around the bed. “You have a duty to help recruit new members.”
“You should have thought of that before you slept with me.” She headed to the closet to pack. “This place is not my scene. It’s high time I left.”
“And where will you go, Adele?” He rocked on his heels. “Out in the cruel racist world where you’ll be treated like a second-class citizen the rest of your life?”
She paused and squeezed her eyes shut. “I’d still have more dignity out there than being a whore here.”
“Then why didn’t you tell me you had a problem with your assignment?” he asked. “Why lie on top of the guy with your blouse off?”
She shrugged. “The same reason you did it with Mindy, I suppose. How did it feel, Jeremy, seeing me that way?”
He stepped forward until he was so close she could feel his body heat. “I think you’ve forgotten who’s in charge here. Maybe you need to be taught a lesson.”
His words sent a shiver of fear and desire through her. “Don’t you get it?” she whispered. “I can’t be with anyone but you.”
He grabbed her arms and pulled her against him so suddenly she gasped. “I dig it, sweetheart, and your loyalty is wonderful. But you still have to be punished.”
She rolled her eyes, chasing away the tender feeling she’d just had. “What am I, a child?”
“No, but you must trust and follow me one hundred percent.” He held her at arm’s length and gave her a gentle shake. “The journey you’re taking with me won’t always be easy. Your obedience may come down to life and death someday.”
Ice filled her veins. “You’re scaring me.”
“Put your fears in me,” he said as he reached for her waist and unzipped her jeans.
Desire rolled through her so hard, her knees buckled.
I think I’m going to like being punished.
Coming Soon
Look Into My Eyes– in case you missed the Crossroads boxed set
The saying goes, “Give a man a fish and you feed him for a day; teach a man to fish and you feed him for a lifetime.” The connection between agency and self-sufficiency is obvious. It lends itself to more modern iterations like, “Don’t give a hand out. Give a hand up.” Ministering in inner city communities that most of the business world has abandoned, I love finding examples of agency/self-sufficiency projects that show them up. I found one of my favorite success stories in Liberia: the Liberian Womens Sewing Project.
Child Liberty, the son of an exiled Liberian diplomat, was inspired by the work of Nobel prize winners Leymah Gbowee, President Ellen Sirleaf and the Liberian Women’s Peace Movement, to return to Liberia determined to use his Silicon Valley tech experience to provide economic opportunity for women. In 2010, he co-founded Liberty and Justice which I learned is Africa’s first fair-trade-certified apparel manufacturer.
The workers in their factories in Liberia and Ghana are 90% female and are paid 20% more than others in the industry. They also own 49% of the business. This means women who are often locked out of opportunities for gainful employment are not just employed but owners of their employment. The cherry on the cake is that the remaining 51% goes back into community development.
Here’s a quote from a CNN interview with Child Liberty: “We did it in post-conflict Liberia where we have women from both sides of the conflict, affected by the conflict working together, singing together, praying together and doing all these great things but also exporting t-shirts for major retailers in the United States. In that process we hope those women will lift themselves and their families out of poverty.” You can read the full story here:
I’ve had to deal with banks in the inner cities where I’ve pastored that want credit for community development through Community Reinvestment Act investment, but you have to fight them tooth and nail to approve projects that are as community changing as Liberty and Justice. Having been a seamstress myself (alterations a specialty) and having a grandmother who supported her family doing piecework in clothing factories here in NYC, I love that women and sewing machines are providing their own happily ever afters.
“Put It In A Book”
by Michal Scott
The daughter of ex-slaves, Aziza Williams uses her freedom to teach slaves to read, a law-breaking activity that forces her to flee the United States for the Free and Independent Republic of Liberia where her independent and injustice-confronting ways garners the unwanted sexual attention of a dibia, Dulee Morlu. In a cruel twist of fate, Morlu uses Aziza’s love for education against her and imprisons her in a book no one will ever read. He declares she will remain there until she submits to him. After a month of imprisonment, Aziza despairs that Morlu is right. Fear that she may surrender to him begins to overwhelm her until one day she senses the unfamiliar touch of Sekou Caine, an audacious and inquisitive thief, leafing through her pages.
Excerpt:
A multiple volume encyclopedia stood on shelves at chest level in a far corner. Morlu would want his wealth within easy reach. Sekou pulled down the first volume and rifled through the pages. Paper currency of all types fluttered to his feet like leaves whirling from the branches of bombax trees in winter.
Clever, Dibia. But not clever enough.
Sekou chuckled and rifled through volume after volume. By the time he reached Z a pile of money lay on the floor. He scooped the cash into his swag sack, laughing quietly at his haul.
He thrust the last volume back into place, knocking a slender manuscript off the shelf.
The Story of Aziza.
He recognized the title of the book with which Morlu had taunted him. He picked it up, fanned the pages with his thumb. A sigh drifted past him. Startled, he crouched and looked left then right. Only the night breeze disturbed the silence. He fanned through the pages again. This time a scent – light like rain, sweet like honey – graced the air.
He stared at the face of a withered old hag on the book’s cover. The image had repulsed and fascinated him. The gaze in her eyes shone with intelligence and defiance, so unlike the villagers lionizing the dibia at this moment.
Sekou opened to the flyleaf. There the image of a black beauty stared back at him. Her skin was as smooth as the hag’s was wrinkled, but the same intelligent defiance shone in her eyes. He traced the outline of her chin jutting forth with pride.
“So, ladies…” He feathered his fingers along her full lips then examined the woman on the cover again. “To which one of you does this story belong?”
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Aziza’s chest heaved. Warmth from the intruder’s fingers suffused the book’s cover, intoxicating her mind and her spirit with hope. The rapid flutter of her prison’s pages kindled arousal along her labia. She shivered as delight saturated her deadened limbs.
Once again the rapid rifling of the pages sent tremors of pleasure through her. She knew not whose hand cradled her prison, but the respectful caress told her this couldn’t be her captor. Dared she hope this might be a person she could trust to set her free?
Today’s article is not one I anticipated on writing. I’m sitting on a patio listening to the rain and watching the winds from Tropical Storm Barry blow down limbs and trees. It’s sad to say how numbing it’s become after so many hours of persistence. And yes, I’m thankful that it isn’t worse. Hurricane Karina taught many Southerners humility. Say what one will about southern history and the ugly past, but when Katrina hit, from my point of view, there was no discrimination and no hate.
Everyone reached out and helped each other because each other is all that we had. Complete cities washed into the ocean. No power for weeks, and for some people months. City-wide barbecues and grocery stories giving away free food occurred daily. The news broadcasts covered the looting and fraud. But very little was said about the outpouring of neighborly love.And it is times like these that I reflect on things that I’m thankful for and that make me happy. It’s also a time for me to do some of the things that I procrastinate doing.
One of the things that makes me happy is playing with makeup. And one of the things I put off doing is cleaning out my makeup case. Now, I’m no critic or reviewer, but there are lessons in just about everything. And there’s nothing like a tropical storm teach a lesson. So, that’s my topic for today—what I was reminded of from Barry.
DISCLAIMER: Barry was nowhere close to Katrina; so, please do not think that I’m making a comparison between the two. I would never diminish the horrors left in the path of Katrina. The comparison of this post is not to make light of the serious of natural disasters. It is simply to show that overall principles are similar.
Tropical storms are to be taken seriously. For one thing, they can cause a lot of damage, but they can quickly can grow into hurricanes. They also are just as unpredictable—changing course and speeds. They are a guessing game, and once the alert goes out, everyone must be prepared. The materials and items gathered are the ones that are most essential and valuable—whether sentimental or financially. Choice must be made. Very few people are able to pack and take everything. In for storms, one packs important papers, photos, cash, medications, batteries, food, clothing, and diapers. And you want to store these items in a container that is secure and sturdy.
For years, I stored my makeup in pouches or cases. For many people, this is ideal, but for someone like me, not so much. First, in a pouch it was very difficult for me to keep anything organized. When I needed something, I usually had to remove nearly every item. It was so tightly packed that often the lids would pop open or fall off, and I’d ended up with spilled makeup. I also tended to drop my pouches, which lead to breakage, and often the pouch didn’t fit into my purse. Now anyone who knows me, knows I’m somewhat of a cheapskate, and I didn’t want to spend money on a makeup case. I purchased an inexpensive plastic one, which I ended up cracking.
Plastic cases are fine. The issue wasn’t the case as much as it was the owner. I simply handled it too roughly. I travel quiet a bit, so I was constantly storing it with other heavy luggage in a trunk. It got banged around a lot, and therefore, wasn’t much protection. I needed a storage unit of substance, and that meant investment. I suppose in all; it was money well spent since I do invest in cosmetics that are semi-expensive. Your girl isn’t going to go full-scale bouche and purchase exclusive makeup. However, the products I do have cost enough to make me want to not have to repurchase until I absolutely have to do so. For that reason, I purchased I metal makeup case.
Now, I’m sure a just as good and less expensive case can be purchase. I do think I overspent for two reason. First, I purchased at a brick and mortar store—an exclusive cosmetics store. I purchased from there because I needed a case in hurry and did not have time to wait for shipping. I shopped around at other department stores, but I could not find one that had both the space and was sturdy enough. Once I realized that I was going to have to pay more than twenty bucks, I decided I might as well buy one that I thought was pretty. It comes with two keys to lock it—not that I require or use that—but I thought it a nifty feature.
Second, with a hurricane preparation, you need to select the items that are essential and make sure that you have enough supplies to last for the duration of the storm (and after). The real tragedy of Katrina is that many people did not think it would be as severe as it was and only packed enough supplies for one to three days. But after the storm, cities were completely demolished or too unsafe for return. People either did not have what they needed or did not have enough. And most did not have those items that mattered most—the sentimental items.
When cleaning my beauty storage case, I had to ask myself what all that junk was inside. I’m guilty of having purchased products I didn’t need because of beauty influencers or advertisements. One item that I’m one hundred percent certain that I waisted my hard-earned money on is brushes. I have several brush sets; and although they are not expensive, they still are a waste of money and space. I’m not a cosmetologist or beauty expert, but here is what I know—most people have favorites and use what they are most comfortable with using. Regardless of brand, I tend to use the same type brushes from each set. And that number is small. I prefer brushes with short, tightly-packed bristles. These brushes allow me to control both placement and application. Rarely do I use large, fluffy brushes, with the exception to dust off powder. I only need about three types of brushes. The rest are pretty adornment for my dresser.
This leads me to the next point. Functionality is more important than beauty. It is super easy to become distracted by looks instead of function. In preparing for hurricanes, people need items that work. It does not matter how aesthetically appealing a product is if it does not get the job done. That is why it is crucial that items are checked. Be sure that lanterns aren’t corroded on the inside and the bulbs aren’t blow. Have extra batteries and LED lights.
I have some brushes with really pretty handles or brush heads. But the truth of the matter is the brush heads become stained after a while, and some of the handles cause the brushes to be difficult to use. Some colored heads look so pretty but shed. Pulling brush hairs from pallet pans, clothing, and face may be cumbersome and irritating. Furthermore, they have to be replaced quicker than other brushes, which costs one to spend more coins. That does not mean that all inexpensive brushes are poorly made. I have some very affordable, synthetic brushes.
When going on an extended trip, or even out for a long evening, the cosmetics packed should be the ones that you know you will need. For example, I normally do not reapply mascara. Therefore, that is an item I can omit if I’m pressed for space. However, if I’m going on vacation, I want to take my most favorite, least problematic mascara. See, I wear contacts, and some mascara may irritate my eyes. Therefore, I do not try new brands when I’ll going on a trip. I also tend to pack waterproof in case of rain or wanting to get into pool or hot tub.
Eye shadow pallets are nice to have, but unless you’re a makeup artist, I do not think many people use the majority of the shades in the pallet. For me, it’s more cost-efficient to purchase either, mini pallets (not mini in size but in colors) or singles. A great trick for singles is to buy the empty magnet pallet cases and create your own pallet. It saves money to invest in the colors that you use the most.
Foundation is a tricky item. I tend to take more than one with me when I travel. The way some foundations hold may be dependent of weather conditions and how long they must remain packed. I had one foundation that turned to the consistency of water due to getting to hot in the transport areas. Sometimes, I need to mix foundations to find the correct shade. These also react differently to primers. For that reason, with the multiple foundations, I pack multiple primers.
During storms, flexibility is important as well. Having a battery powered radio is an excellent way to keep abreast of changing weather conditions. But people also need multiple ways to communicate to loved ones. Cellphones batteries die. If you have a cellphone with a removable battery, it is wise to have a charged spare as well as portable charges. If you must travel in inclement weather, has a backup USB cord. They can fail or short. And also, be sure that it is of one of quality. Over time, the covering of my USB cord wore away to expose the wire, which caused a poor connection. On one trip, it finally went out and I stopped at a local dollar store and picked up one. Several months later, I noticed that my phone did not hold and took longer to charge. I took it in the cellphone company who swore it was my battery, and that it would cost anywhere from $70.00 to $125.00 to repair. (The battery was not removable.) Being stubborn, I went to a cellphone company in a different town. Not only did they inform me it could be the cord, but they gave me a cord for FREE. The problem has been solved. So, ensure that you have the proper products on hand.
Another product that I think I was sucked into purchasing was a highlighter/bronzing pallet. Honestly, more times than not I can’t tell the difference when a bronzer has been used. And most highlighters look the same to me. I don’t especially like the look of highlighters on me anyway. It makes me look like I’ve been punched and that’s the shine of the bruise. If highlight and bronzing is your thing, then go for it. These just do not land on my essential items list.
Finally, simplicity is golden. In storms, often it is necessary to travel as light as possible, especially if multiple people will be traveling. Space in cars and hotel rooms may be limited. Items that can serve multiple purposes are ideal. For makeup, that translate to a single cosmetic being used in more than one way. An example would be a liquid lip that is eye-safe and can be used as an eyeliner or shadow. This may be a bronzer that may also double as a blush or a contour.
Another way to simplify is to use a setting spray to help makeup last longer. For the longest time, I did not use this, and I promise I did one day and fell in instant love. That stuff works. In the humid south where make rolls off in globs, I’m able to apply makeup once and have it last throughout the evening—unless
I do something crazy to my face such as rubbing it. Using a setting spray saves me both time and money plus space in my purse. A word to the wise though. Not all setting sprays are created equal. I purchased one that squirts. Although it works well, it is like an assault to my face in application. The mist is much gentler, but some contain alcohol. Be sure to shut your eyes. Others contain thick fragrances; so, be sure to test it before purchasing.
So, basically, that is what I was reminded by the tropical storm as I cleaned out my makeup case. I hope that some of these tips are useful. Be sure to comment to tell me your tips, and if you’ve had any learning experiences from two events that are seemingly unrelated.
That’s it for this list. Well, not really. There are several more items that were frequently mentioned, but I arbitrarily decided to stop at fifteen. If you would like a part two of this list, let me know in the comment, and I will be happy to oblige.
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Copies of all my books and stories are available in paper, eBook, and audio on Amazon, iTunes, Kobo, and Barnes & Noble. The links are listed in my Writing Projects page (https://bit.ly/2iDYRxU) along with descriptions of each of my novels or stories.
Finally, if you or anyone you know are interested in joining a college Greek life organization, check out my special series posted each Monday for everything you wanted (and didn’t want) to know about college fraternities and sororities. Visit Sorority Bible Table of Contents to view any or all of these posts.
Child Liberty, the son of an exiled Liberian diplomat, was inspired by the work of Nobel prize winners Leymah Gbowee, President Ellen Sirleaf and the Liberian Women’s Peace Movement, to return to Liberia determined to use his Silicon Valley tech experience to provide economic opportunity for women. In 2010, he co-founded Liberty and Justice which I learned is Africa’s first fair-trade-certified apparel manufacturer.
