Tuesday, November 24, 2009


I confess at times my attitude leaves a lot to be desired. A huge lot. I hate it when my attitude is anything less than perfect. I hate it when I get my "grump on" and forget to get my groove on. It seems I can go from hysterical laughter to so ticked off I'm about to do bodily harm. Welcome to the world of Middle-Age, I guess.

This morning I was on Facebook and posted Philippians 2:5-11. I contemplated the passage all day. I left my Bible open to that passage and stopped to read it frequently.

"Your attitude should be the same as that of Christ Jesus."

Oh sure. Easy for you to say. I started pondering what kind of attitude Jesus had. I know the passage goes on to talk about His attitude of service. But I wondered in general what His attitude was.

Did He get His divine grump on? Did He ever get tired of doing "all the work around here"? Did He ever think to Himself, "What I need is a vacation. Last week would be nice"?

I was really feeling very pathetic and incapable of following this directive to let my attitude be like that of Jesus. I know He was human. But I also know He is God and I know He never sinned. Never. So I think I'm safe in assuming He did not EVER have a bad attitude. He never in anger wondered if the disciples would ever get it. Ever learn all He was teaching them.

In thinking this through today, I was reminded of the time Jesus and His disciples were crossing the Sea of Galilee and Jesus was asleep. A huge storm blew up and the disciples blew up.

Jesus had an attitude of taking time for Himself, for refreshing. I learned it is not wrong to need time alone, to desire time to recharge, to step back from parenting and teaching. Jesus needed these times too.

I also learned that when I blow up, my attitude is not that of Christ Jesus. The disciples woke Jesus, not out of fear for His life, but because they were fearful for their own. When I blow up, I can not look at a situation rationally. Normal minor irritations become huge. Rational thought flees in the face of a bad attitude.

So now I'm pondering how to keep my attitude like that of Jesus. It has to be possible. To constantly think, not of my service to others as a form of debt, as in they now owe me, but to think of it as a total giving of myself. Knowing I can be recharged when I take time for myself and Jesus.

Oh Father,
Let my attitude be like that of Jesus. Keep me ever humble and willing to serve others. Help me remember I can take time for refreshing. Please rid me of the bad attitude that so often takes over.

Saturday, November 21, 2009

Clean oven...get hungry.

Yesterday I made my 3rd pumpkin cheesecake in 4 weeks. It is that good. I need to make another one next week and then I'll try my hand at another kind. I'm thinking chocolate with a Newman O's crust.

When I was putting the cheesecake in the oven, I was shocked to see how dirty the oven really was. It was nasty. Horrible. Ugh. I decided it needed to be cleaned and quickly.

One of my favorite features of my oven is the self cleaning capabilities. All I do is remove the oven racks, close the door and push the clean button and 3 hours later like magic my oven is clean. Okay, actually all the gunk on the bottom of the oven is burned into oblivion. But at least it looks nicer.

I have noticed one very odd thing, every time I clean the oven I get extremely hungry. In my mind I know the oven is empty but I want to eat. As soon as I hear the fan shut off, I sprint to the kitchen, fling open the oven door, checking to see if God dropped a Thanksgiving meal inside.

He didn't.

But now I'm hungry again.

Tuesday, November 17, 2009

86 Bloomberg Place

I recently read Melody Carlson's fourth and final book in the 86 Bloomberg Place series, Three Weddings and a Bar Mitzvah. I read the first one and loved it, had no clue there was any more. I will have to go back and find books 2 and 3 to read.

This book does continue to story, but obviously you don't have to read them in order to understand what is going on. So if you haven't read the first 3, you can still pick up Three Weddings or why not just pick up all four and have an 86 Bloomberg Place weekend?

Four roommates are trying to plan a wedding for one of them. The month (June) has been chosen but finding a weekend that works for all of them is proving to be trickier than they thought.

Add to the mix a soon-to-be-mother-in-law with definite ideas of how things should be, parents of the bride being not quite nice and plan on boycotting the wedding.

That just covers one of the girls. But you know when you get four of them together there's bound to be some drama. You're going to have to read the book to find out what else happens.

I did enjoy the book. Not quite as much as I loved the first one but it was still good. The main thing I did not like about the book, one of the girls is pregnant and not married. I know that happens, I know that. But I don't like to read about it. Generally I read to escape and I don't want to read about what I deal with in real life.

I do not want nor do I expect all books to be so sicky-sweet and everyone is perfect, but I would have liked to see this issue addressed a little more in the book. God seemed a bit like an after thought, I would have liked to see...I'm not sure exactly. I don't want a non-believer to pick this book up and not see God. Or for a Christian young person to pick up the book and think there is nothing wrong with being pregnant out of wedlock and there are no consequences. Maybe if I had read the two books in the middle I would feel differently. Maybe it was addressed in those books.

Guess we're all going to have just go get the books and read them. Not a bad idea.

I give this book 3 page-turning thumbs up.

Saturday, November 14, 2009

Scared much? Read Fearless!

I just read the newest Max Lucado book, Fearless, and it was great. I don't mean just great, it went beyond great. Fifteen chapters,one hundred eighty pages of sheer brilliance.

What do you do when you're facing the possibility of being laid off, or someone in your family is? What about when you see the economy continues to be in slow down mode? Or your spouse/parent/family member is near death?

How do you get through the fear that grips your soul and refuses to let go? Can you? The back of the book has this:
Imagine your whole life, wholly untouched by angst. What if faith, not fear, was your default reaction to threats? If you could hover a fear magnet over your heart and extract every last shaving of dread, insecurity, or doubt, what would remain? Envision the day when you can trust more than fear.

We all have fears. Everyone fears something. No one is immune. So how do we cope with fear? Why does God tell us to not be afraid? It seems He knows something of how we are made and how fearful we all are.

Max Lucado touches on thirteen very real fears we all face. He has a wonderful Dr. Seuss like poem for Fearing we don't matter. In fact I read most of that chapter out loud to my family. It's that good.

He has a chapter on the fear of "What If...", the Fear of disappointing God, violence, death, that God is not real.

If you struggle with fear, I highly recommend this book. It is not an answer book for fears, but gives practical wisdom for combating our deepest fears. You can either order it through amazon.com, or get it at your local Christian bookstore. Maybe pick it up and give it as a Christmas gift.

Thursday, November 12, 2009

There may not be a point to this

Last night we had company for the night and most of today. It was wonderful. These are dear dear friends.

We both have two children. My oldest and her oldest are 4 months apart in age and have been friends as long as they can remember.

I can actually remember the exact date. Which is rather remarkable because I'm not an exact date kind of person. I can't tell you the date my dear man and I met, or had our first date.

I was reminiscing with my oldest tonight as she was crying because she missed B. I told her the day she met her dearest friend for the first time. It was December 26, 2000. I was in the kitchen making a fried egg sandwich and A, 5 months old was sleeping downstairs, when the doorbell rang. I left my lunch and went to see who was there. I forgot about my lunch in the excitement of people at my house.

A normally slept 1.5-2 hours. This day she didn't. Shortly after my friend rang the bell, I heard her through the monitor. I waited thinking she'd go back to sleep and she didn't. I remember saying, "I'm going to go get her up."

I told her tonight, "You knew your best friend for life was upstairs and you had to meet her."

And A said, "Momma, what is a 'baby monitor'?"

Friday, November 6, 2009

Ahhh cheesecake.

I made this little bit of delectable heaven last night. It is the third time I have made a cheesecake from scratch, or cheesecake at all ever. We were having some friends over for supper last night and I needed something for dessert. Normally we don't serve dessert but we made an exception.

When I was planning the meal I thought I could make or buy a cake or cookies. I even thought about going to the bakery and buying a pie. Then I remembered I had the Joy of Cooking cookbook. I knew there had to be some little bit of deliciousness. I was not disappointed when I grabbed it and looked.

When I found Pumpkin Cheesecake I knew I had to make it. I was a little afraid because I've had pumpkin cheesecake from The Olive Garden and was sorely disappointed. It tasted nothing like pumpkin or cheesecake. I reasoned everything else in the cookbook was good, surely this would have to be good too. So I made it.

Very simple and easy. And sooo tasty too. (I felt just like Lucy Ricardo in the Vitameatvegimin episode. "...and so tasty too!" as she makes a horrible face.) The smell of it cooking was just one small step shy of heaven. It smelled divine. Dee-VINE!!

Okay I'll admit it, that scared me. Normally when my cooking smells good, it tastes horrible. Those are the days we're happy we have Pizza Hut on speed dial.

But this. This was different. The first bite and you just knew this recipe is one you want to use every. single. day. I could live on this, and since it has pumpkin in it, it has to be healthy, right?

The recipe makes an 8 inch cake. And we had 10 people, 6 adults and 4 children. The children got tiny pieces and the adults got pieces slightly larger. After everyone was served, there was one piece left. There are no more pieces left.

I think I need to make this again...right now.

Wednesday, November 4, 2009

Tidings of great boys

This is the fourth and final book in a series by Shelley Adina. I have read all 4 and my favorites have been the first one and this one. Tidings of Great Boys is set in Scotland and is the story of Lady Lindsay MacPhail. (or Mac) This book builds a little more on the previous books but it could still be read independently.

I loved this book because the girls were polite and obedient. Any time a book encourages good behavior in a world of nasty, I am all for it.

If you enjoy teen books or you have a teen, I'd suggest you get this book and read it, while you're at it, get all four books. You won't be sorry.

It is time for a FIRST Wild Card Tour book review! If you wish to join the FIRST blog alliance, just click the button. We are a group of reviewers who tour Christian books. A Wild Card post includes a brief bio of the author and a full chapter from each book toured. The reason it is called a FIRST Wild Card Tour is that you never know if the book will be fiction, non~fiction, for young, or for old...or for somewhere in between! Enjoy your free peek into the book!

You never know when I might play a wild card on you!

Today's Wild Card author is:

and the book:

All About Us #5: Tidings of Great Boys

FaithWords; 1 edition (September 8, 2009)

***Special thanks to Miriam Parker of the Hachette Book Group for sending me a review copy.***

CONTEST! For a chance to win one of two prizes: a Tiffany's Bracelet OR an All About Us T-shirt, go to Camy Tang's Blog and leave a comment on her FIRST Wild Card Tour for Tidings of Great Boys, and you will be placed into a drawing for a bracelet or T-shirt that look similar to the pictures below.


Award-winning author Shelley Adina wrote her first teen novel when she was 13. It was rejected by the literary publisher to whom she sent it, but he did say she knew how to tell a story. That was enough to keep her going through the rest of her adolescence, a career, a move to another country, a B.A. in Literature, an M.A. in Writing Popular Fiction, and countless manuscript pages. Shelley is a world traveler and pop culture junkie with an incurable addiction to designer handbags. She writes books about fun and faith--with a side of glamour. Between books, Shelley loves traveling, playing the piano and Celtic harp, watching movies, and making period costumes.

Visit the author's website.

Product Details:

List Price: $9.99
Reading level: Young Adult
Paperback: 256 pages
Publisher: FaithWords; 1 edition (September 8, 2009)
Language: English
ISBN-10: 0446179639
ISBN-13: 978-0446179638


SOME PEOPLE ARE born with the gift of friendship. Some achieve it. And then you have people like me, who have friendship thrust upon them.

Believe me, there’s no one happier about that than I am—in fact, I probably wouldn’t be alive right now without it—but it wasn’t always that way. My name is Lindsay Margaret Eithne MacPhail, and because my dad is a Scottish earl, that makes my mother a countess and me, a lady.

I know. Stop laughing.

To my friends I’m simply Mac. If you call me Lady Lindsay, I’ll think you’re (1) being pretentious or (2) announcing me at a court ball, and since none of my friends are likely to do either, let’s keep it Mac between us, all right?

On the night it all began, I was sitting in the dark, deserted computer lab, waiting for the digital clock on the monitor to click over: 11:00.

“Carrie?” I settled the headphones more comfortably and leaned toward the microphone pickup.

“All right?” Her familiar voice came over Skype and I smiled, even though she couldn’t see it. She sounded like sleepovers and mischief and long walks through the woods and heath. Like rain and mist and Marmite on toast. She sounded like home.

“Yeah.” I swallowed the lump in my throat. I’d chosen to come to Spencer Academy for the fall term instead of going back to St. Cecelia’s. I’d hounded my mother and, when that didn’t work, my dad, so I had no business being homesick. Besides, being all weepy just wasted precious minutes. Carrie had to leave for school, and I had to sneak back up to the third floor without the future Mrs. Milsom, our dorm mistress, catching me after lights-out.

“Only two weeks to go until you’re home,” Carrie said. “I’m already planning all the things we’re goin’ tae do. Anna Grange has a new flat in Edinburgh and she says we can come crash anytime we like. Gordon and Terrell canna wait to see you—they want to take us to a new club. And—”

“Hang on.” How to put this? “I haven’t actually decided what I’m doing over the holidays. There’s a lot going on here.”

Silence crackled in my headset. “Don’t talk rubbish. You always come home. Holidays are the only time I ever get tae see you—not tae mention all your friends. What do you mean, a lot going on?”

“Things to do, people to see,” I said, trying to soften the blow. “Mum wants me in London, of course, since she hasn’t had me for nearly three months. And I have invitations to Los Angeles and New York.”

“From who?”

“A couple of the girls here.”

The quality of the silence changed. “And these girls—they wouldna be the ones splashed all over Hello! last month, would they? At some Hollywood premiere or other?”

“As it happens, yes. I told you all about it when that issue came out.”

She made a noise in her throat that could have been disgust or sheer disparagement of my taste. “That’s fine, then. If you’d rather spend your vay-cay-shun wi’ your Hollywood friends, it’s nowt to do wi’ me.”

“Carrie, I haven’t said I’d go. I just haven’t made up my mind.”

As changeable as a sea wind, her temper veered. “You’ve got tae come. We’re all dying to see you. I saw your dad in the village and he invited all of us over as soon as you got home.”

“Did he?”

“I know. I didna think he’d even remember who I was, but he stopped me in the door of the chip shop and told me I was tae come. He sounded so excited.”

This did not sound like my dad, who wasn’t exactly a recluse, but wasn’t in the habit of accosting random teenagers in chip shops, either, and inviting them up to the house. She was probably having me on. I had a lot of practice in peering behind Carrie’s words for what she really wanted. In this case, it was simple. She was my friend, and friends wanted to be with each other.

The problem was, I had more friends now than I used to. Besides the ones at Strathcairn and in London, there were the ones here at Spencer. And lately, Carly, Shani, Lissa, and Gillian were turning out to be solid—moreso than any friends I’d had before.


“I’ll let you know as soon as I figure out what I’m doing,” I told Carrie. “I’ve got to go. The Iron Maiden stalks the halls.”

Carrie laughed. “Love the pic you sent wi’ yer camera phone. What a horror. Who would marry her?”

“The bio prof, apparently. The wedding’s set for New Year’s Eve to take advantage of some tax benefit or other.”

“How bleedin’ romantic.”

There was another Christmas wedding in the works, but I hadn’t heard much about it lately. Carly Aragon’s mum was supposed to marry some lad she’d met on a cruise ship, much to Carly’s disgust. I could relate, a little. If my mother was going to marry a man who looked like a relic from an eighties pop band, I’d be a little upset, too. So far Carly was refusing to be a bridesmaid, and the big day was sneaking up on her fast.

“I’ll call you over the weekend.”

“I might be busy.”

“Then I’ll call Gordon and Terrell. I know they love me.”

She blew me a raspberry and signed off. Still smiling, I laid the headphones on the desk and got up.

And froze as a thin, dark shape moved in the doorway. The lights flipped on.

I blinked and squinted as Ms. Tobin stared me down. “I thought I heard voices. Is someone here with you?” I shook my head. “You do realize, Lady Lindsay, that lights-out is ten o’clock? And it is now twenty after eleven?”

“I’ll take your word for it.”

“What are you doing in here?”

“Calling home.”

She scanned the rows of silent computers. Not a telephone to be seen. “And you can’t do that from the privacy of your own room?”

“It’s eleven twenty and my roommates are asleep,” I pointed out helpfully. “But it’s seven twenty in the morning in Scotland. I use Skype so there are no long distance charges.”

She rolled her eyes up, as if doing the math. “Calling Scotland? Your family?”

If I didn’t actually answer, I wouldn’t be lying. Instead, I let the smile falter. “I get homesick.”

Ms. Tobin pinned me with her gaze like a butterfly on a board. “I sympathize, but you still broke a school rule. A demerit will be added to your record. Again.”

Oh, please. Who cared about demerits when I needed to talk to Carrie? “I’m sorry, Ms. Tobin.”

“Come along. I’ll escort you to your room.”

And she did, like a bad-tempered Dementor floating along beside me. Only compared to that dreadful brown tweed skirt and round-toed oxfords, the Dementors were turned out in haute couture. Did the woman actually have on knee-high stockings?

“Good night, Lady Lindsay.”

I shuddered and shut the door on her, locking it for good measure.

“Mac?” Carly’s sleepy voice came from the direction of her bed, muffled by a quilt. “Who’s that with you?”

“I called home and got caught,” I whispered. “Ms. Tobin marched me up here.”

Carly groaned and subsided.

I undressed and crawled into bed. The three of us had to make do in a room designed for two. I have to admit, it was kind of fun rooming with Carly and Shani Hanna. Since her debacle with the heir to the Lion Throne last month, Shani has lost a little of her attitude. She doesn’t look at people with scornful eyes like she used to, and when she talks, it’s to you and not at you.

Or maybe it’s just me.

I returned to the problem at hand. With two weeks left to go before the holidays, what was I to do? Home or here? Old or new? Family or friends? And really, what was the difference?

I blinked and stiffened on my goosedown pillow.

That was it. There was no difference. My family and my friends all belonged together. With me. At home.

“Carly?” I whispered. “Are you awake?”


“Do you think everyone would like to come to Scotland with me for Christmas?”

* * *

“DEFINE EVERYONE.” Gillian leaned across her dish of oatmeal and took a tangerine out of the bowl on the table.

I swallowed a spoonful of yogurt before I answered. I hadn’t put a single molecule of porridge near my mouth since I’d arrived in the States. I’d had sixteen years of it, thank you very much, and there was no one here to make me eat the stuff.

Lissa dived into my hesitation. “You don’t really mean that, do you? All of us? At Strathcairn?”

“I do mean it. We have fourteen bedrooms, not counting the old nurseries and the staff floor. Those are closed off, anyway. The beds might be a little dusty, but if I let my dad know right away, he can get some of the ladies from the village to come and tidy things up. There’s plenty of room and tons of things to do.”

“Like what?” Carly put away oatmeal at a scary rate. I shuddered.

“Like skating on the pond and cross-country skiing. And parties.” I saw the Strathcairn of ten years ago, when Mummy had been the most spectacular hostess the old pile had seen in generations. “Lots of parties and balls and live bands and whatever we want.”

“Don’t tell me,” Shani said. “You’re going to teach us Sir Roger de Coverley, aren’t you?”

“No, that’s for babies,” I said scornfully. What did she know about country dances? “I’ll teach you Strip the Willow before we go so you don’t make utter fools of yourselves.”

“Whatever. Doesn’t sound like my thing.” She looked into her fruit cup and fished out the last blueberry.

Something in her face told me what the real problem was. “If you’re worried about the money, don’t. We’ll work it out.”

“How are you gonna do that?” Her dark eyes looked guarded. She may have been dumped by her parents for refusing to go through with an arranged marriage, but her pride wasn’t dented one bit.

“You don’t have to touch your nest egg. My allowance ought to cover a plane ticket. First class, of course.”

“Hmph.” Shani crossed her arms over her chest and looked away.

I knew she had a cool two million socked away in the San Francisco branch of the Formosa-Pacific Bank, and that one of Gillian’s dozens of cousins was her personal investment advisor. But she treated that money like it was two hundred instead of two million, watching over it with sharp eyes that didn’t let a single cent escape without accounting for itself.

Lissa glanced at Carly, who was eating and not talking, like she hoped we wouldn’t notice her. She’s a master of the art of the personal fade. “And mine can cover Carly’s,” she said.

“Let’s throw mine in and split two fares three ways,” Gillian said. “Easy peasy.”

“For you, maybe,” Carly mumbled. “Brett’s already asked me to spend Christmas with his family. Consequently my dad didn’t just blow a fuse. He totally blew out the power grid.”

“What is with your dad?” I demanded. “I’ve never seen anyone so protective. I’d die if I were smothered like that.”

“She isn’t smothered,” Shani said with a glance across the table at Carly. “Between my dad and hers, I’d take hers any day. At least he cares.”

“Is it guilt talking?” Lissa wanted to know. “The whole ‘I’m out of town ninety percent of the time, so we have to spend every minute of the ten percent together’ thing?”

“I guess.” Carly sipped her honey latte. “So if he had that kind of fit about me spending Christmas sixty miles away, guess what he’d say about going to another continent?”

“Good point.” I refused to take no for an answer, though. “But what about you, personally?” Never mind. I answered the obvious myself. “I guess if you had the choice, you’d pick Brett.”

“Not necessarily.” She smiled at me, that warm Carly smile that makes puppies and old people and prickly Scots love her. “His house is nice, but it’s no castle.”

Lissa laughed. “I bet it has central heating, though.”

“Strathcairn has central heating.” I tried not to sound defensive. “In the new part, and the kitchen. And there are fires in every room.”

“I’m not putting wood on a fire and getting smoke in all my clothes.” Lissa held up a “stop it right there” hand.

“Not a wood fire, ye numpty, a gas fire.” I looked at them all. “In the bedrooms, at least. There are real fireplaces downstairs, in the sitting room and library. Honestly, what else has she been telling you?”

“Just that it was cold,” Gillian offered. “Forty degrees, I think she said. Inside.”

I pretended to glare at Lissa, maligning my house behind my back. “If you all came, the place would be at its best—I promise. You’ll love it. And if your parents give you static, tell them to come, too.”

“Ewww.” Gillian looked appalled, and Shani, who has stayed in New York with Gillian’s family before, buried her snort of laughter in her tall glass of pomegranate juice.

“Wait a second.” Lissa looked as if she’d just figured out a new way to ace a bio exam. She flipped out her phone and pressed a button. “Hey, Dad, it’s me. Fine. No, nothing’s wrong and no, I don’t need a favor.” She rolled her eyes at us. “When is the UK premiere of The Middle Window? Yes. Wow, you’re kidding. That’s perfect. So you’re going over.” She mimed smacking her forehead. “Never mind, dumb question. What about Mom? Oh.” She was silent for several seconds, blinking her contacts into place as her eyes filled. She gulped, then cleared her throat. “Well, I doubt it, but I’ll try. Okay. Thanks. Yeah, I’m at breakfast. Finals this week. Need lots of protein and antioxidants and stuff to make the brain retain, you know? Love you two times. ’Bye.”

All round us, the dining room rattled and silverware clashed on plates and people talked incessantly. But at our table, several pairs of eyes watched silently as Lissa tapped her phone off and put it in her glossy Kate Spade tote.

“Are you okay?” Gillian was the only one with the nerve to ask. But then, she and Lissa room together, so they probably share a lot we don’t know about.

Lissa smoothed one hand over her blond hair, making sure her Stacey Lapidus hairband with its little rhinestone love knot was still in place. “Recovering,” she said. “Stand by for reboot.”

Anyone else would have said, “Give me a minute,” but Lissa isn’t like anyone else. None of these girls are. It’s a bit weird that we’ve all found each other here, frankly. Or maybe not weird. Maybe inevitable. There’s the Christian thing, of course. I used to think it wasn’t my cup of tea at all, having quite a horror of Bible-thumpers and mad-eyed conviction. But these girls aren’t like that at all.

I said they were solid, and what they believe is part of it. When I first met them, I used to try to catch them out. Get them to make a mistake, blow up, whatever. But I never could—at least, not that they’d let me see. No matter how badly I treated them—and I can get pretty bad, as anyone will tell you—they didn’t dish it back. Oh, they said a few things. No one is that good, especially considering the provocation. But we slowly became friends, and I slowly got drawn into their circle.

Which isn’t a bad place to be, since they’re what’s considered the A-list round here. Oh, you have your Vanessas and your Danis and your DeLaynes, but they’re more bark than bite. They orbit in a different universe—as a matter of fact, they’ve sort of gone off orbit since Vanessa started going round with the Prince of Yasir. What do you call it when planets lose their center of gravity and start drifting off into space? That clique is like that now.

Lissa took a deep breath and I focused on her. Recovery, evidently, was complete.

“Thing one: Dad says that the UK premiere is on December 19. Term ends on the eighteenth. Thing two: he’s going over for it, and the production team at Leavesden Studios, as well as the people from Scotland, are all invited. Thing three: both your mom and your dad are invited, too, Mac.” I blinked in surprise. Dad hadn’t said a word about it, and I’d gotten an e-mail from him that morning. “And thing four: my mother says she’s not going. Dad wants me to talk her into it. What do you think my chances are?”

The hope in her eyes was almost painful. I knew all about hope. Been there, done that, threw away the T-shirt.

“I guess that means at least you’re coming, then,” I said briskly. “Because of course you’ll talk your mother round. And once you do, your parents are coming to Strathcairn afterward for Christmas. I insist.”

Because if Lissa could talk her mother into coming, then I could talk mine into it as well. For the first time since the divorce.

This was going to be the best, most unforgettable Christmas ever. I’d make certain of it.

Monday, November 2, 2009

Guest Blogger today!


Linda Fulkerson is a wife, mom, author, hobby farmer, photographer, online marketing consultant, and self-proclaimed blogaholic. She’s been blogging for nearly six years, and while some not-quite-six-year-olds are barely out of pull-ups, in the blogosphere, that puts her among the blue-hairs. You can learn more about Linda by visiting http://lindafulkerson.com. Linda recently launched an instructional blog, On Blogging Well: Tips to Take Your Blog from Stagnant to Stunning.

The Power of Blogging

First of all, I’d like to thank Virginia for hosting me today! I’m excited not only about the blog launch, but about how blogging can affect lives. Almost every day, newscasts tout some blog that made a difference, whether it was a breaking story, some benevolent act, or the latest snippet of celebrity gossip. The thing that makes blogging such a journalistic force is that blogs are written by real people,

Blogs have personality.

Because blogs are written by regular folks, they have individual personalities. Whether it be snarky, geek-speak, plain Jane, or stuffed-shirt, a blog takes on the personality of the blogger. In writer-world, this is often referred to as “voice.” The blog’s voice enables regular readers get to “know” the blogger. Relationships are forged through forums and comments, forming a community. Those communities are referred to as a blogger’s “tribe,” indicating the influence bloggers can wield over their audiences.

Blogs have purpose.

If they don’t, they won’t last long! This purpose is the force that fuels the blogger to keep at it. Blogging can be hard work, but most blogs begin because the author has a strong message to deliver. Purposes include everything from politics to parenting to poker tips. Some bloggers begin with an eclectic collection of ramblings and rants. Those blogs often fall by the wayside. It’s hard for a reader (or a search engine, for that matter) to focus on what the blog is about, so the blogger struggles to build a loyal community and often gives up.

Blogs have passion.

Effective bloggers select a blog topic they love, and that desire to discuss and share hopes, dreams, fears, and plans about your blog’s topic of choice can give a blog an almost life-like aura. The blog becomes an online personification of the blogger in many cases. I read a lot of blogs regularly and feel as though I “know” the blogger. Why? Because they are so passionate about their purpose, their personality shines through in each post. This passion is the glue that holds the blog together.

What about you?

Have you begun blogging? If not, On Blogging Well offers step-by-step instructions on how to get started. If you have a blog but it’s not all that you’d hoped for, we also offer tips to take your blog from stagnant to stunning. I hope you’ll stop by and become one of our regulars!

Happy Blogging!
Linda Fulkerson