Longer Nights and More Reading!

We'll be going back to Eastern Standard Time very soon. The sun goes down earlier every night and the nights grow longer. My antidote to the gathering gloom is to read more books. I like to get cozy on the couch with a blanket, a hot cup of herbal tea, and a book. I don't care if the book is an ebook or a paper book. The words tell the story. I am one of those people who likes to see the words and savor every one of them. I rarely listen to audiobooks. But listening to a book is good for those who enjoy getting the story that way. 

It is so easy to get books nowadays for almost nothing or free. In addition to public libraries, there are the library apps--like Hoopla and Libby--where you can download books instantly for free. Thrift shops still have plenty of books, too. Our local AAUW runs a book shop in the basement of a local church. I've gotten plenty of books there. 

As an author at Pelican Book Group, I have read many books published by other authors in that group. However, if one of my daughters hands me a book, I'll read it. If I'm at a book sale and a cover grabs my attention, I'm likely to pick it up and buy it. The world is full of wonderful stories. 😀

I post the books I've read along with my reviews on Goodreads, BookBub, and Librarything. I usually give high ratings because I really like the stories. There are very few books I haven't liked. If I don't like a book, I don't give it a review. As an author, I know how important book reviews are. 

So, my advice is to stock up on books for the longer nights. After all, as Madeleine L'Engle said, "A book, too, can be a star, a living fire to lighten the darkness, leading out into the expanding universe.” 

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The Gift of Laughter

When I became pregnant with my first daughter, I was delighted. I believed I knew all about babies since I had two much younger sisters. I learned at a young age how to care for little ones. What I didn't realize was how exhausted I would be after giving birth.  I didn't have to go right back to work, but breast-feeding my baby--even at night, changing her diapers, bathing her, doing tons of laundry, and still making dinner left me worn out. In addition, my adorable daughter would cry for about two hours every evening due to a bit of colic. Then I would sing to her, rock her, and pray I would get a few solid hours of sleep. 

Slowly, she started to sleep longer each night and so did I. That helped. She grew more adorable, too. Not long after she went beyond the two month mark, I placed her on an old bed in the spare room for a moment. That bed had ancient springs which made it very bouncy. I tapped it a few times and my daughter bounced a little. She smiled. I pressed a bit harder and she bounced a bit more. Then, something miraculous happened. She laughed. A real laugh. I was so impressed, I bounced her a bit more and she laughed again. I laughed, too. It was if in that moment she became a genuine human. 

I didn't want to make all the milk slosh around in her tummy, so I stopped bouncing her. But when hubby came home from work, he tried bouncing her, too. It was a memorable joyous moment. 

Laughter is a gift and it's good for everyone's health. There's a page on the Mayo Clinic's website where you can find all the benefits that come from laughter:  https://www.mayoclinic.org/healthy-lifestyle/stress-management/in-depth/stress-relief/art-20044456  On that page one of the points made is to find a way to laugh about your own situations. I can look back at several situations in my life which were stressful at the time, but now when I recall those moments with other family members who were there, we laugh. Sometimes, we laugh so hard tears come out of our eyes. 

It's a good feeling.

So, look for the silly stuff and have a good laugh. It's good for your health.

Guest Post: SON OF THE MOUNTAIN KING by O.R. Sykora

My guest for today is Olivia Sykora. She has always been fascinated by allegorical stories. C.S. Lewis sits on the top of her favorite authors list, and then George MacDonald with his glorious fairytales. Hannah Hurnard’s classic story, Hinds’ Feet on High Places, became a significant allegory in Olivia’s life and faith journey, and she searched for further books that could communicate spiritual truths through accessible, exciting stories. Now, Olivia has crafted a new allegorical fantasy for modern readers to enjoy. Son of the Mountain King, the first book in the Mountain King trilogy tells the greatest love and adventure story: the story of God’s love for His people. 

Check out Olivia's website at www.orsykora.com

Here is the back cover blurb for her new book, SON OF THE MOUNTAIN KING.

     When an invasion threatens the land of the Mountain King, the fate of the people rests on the shoulders of young governor Judah. She has sworn to prove herself a skillful leader by protecting her kingdom from foes, but difficulty and danger surround her.

     Then Judah’s life is saved by two different men who divide her loyalty. One, a fascinating healer, captures the hearts of Judah and her people. The other, a mysterious shepherd, forces Judah to question what she believes to be true.

     When a conspiracy comes to light that could destroy Judah and her kingdom, a single choice might cost her people everything. Will the headstrong leader prove herself—or find herself trapped?

Now read an excerpt from the book!

That night, the familiar squeak of wood rent the air as Mesda shoved closed the old oak door. A shaft of light poured through a gap at the bottom. As this part of the castle was rarely visited after dark, she did not worry about being seen.  

        This story had begun long before.  

That night, an old woman spread a large piece of parchment on the rough table, unaware at that time of how many lives would be affected by what she was to record. A sense of urgency bade Mesda hurry the work that must be finished in the coming hours. Dragging the other two pieces of furniture in what she liked to call her “cell,” the woman arranged the tools of her trade on a plain cot and turned the three-legged stool until its worn seat faced the table. Time was short. She grumbled as the parchment persisted in rolling like a potato bug. Stones which had chipped from the crumbling walls finally solved the problem. Mesda then placed her two most important objects alongside the parchment: a stained, worn pot of black ink and a graceful quill. With one final critical look at the tip, she sighed and closed her eyes.  

Words came to the woman as they always did. Quietly, insistently. Her hand flew across the page. Strong, elegant, like a heron soaring over the Great River. Words poured out until precise black marks flooded the parchment. Her long braid brushed her back with furious rhythm. Hours slipped by, driven by the urgency within to complete the task given by the Master.  

The moon had risen high to send light through the tiny upper window before the woman finally paused. Only then did she lower her quill and allow her forehead to drop to the table as she listened.  

        It was complete.  

Mesda stretched her neck and shoulders slowly. Her hands were numb, but she knew pain would come soon, sharp and strong. Meanwhile, the moon gazed through the window, an ancient friend who surely would not tire of an old woman’s mumblings. “I am getting old.” She winced. Needlelike sensations were beginning at her fingertips. “I do not know why the Master thinks me still worthy of the work.” The cot groaned in harmony with her bones as she crawled onto it and lay with a grunt. Surely, her sister would tolerate waiting for a few minutes more.  

Her sister. 

Mesda stretched, watching the moon. Perhaps her sister was right to pursue a warrior’s life instead of a scholar’s path. She’d had her excitement, and now she gracefully doled out advice and justice like so many nuggets while the scholar-scribe had continued to work her neck into a spasm. Still. There was honor in all work assigned by the Master, warrior and scribe alike. 

Mesda smiled, grateful for her own part, awash with a moment of youth until a twinge in her shoulder brought her back. It was time to rise. By now, her sister would be impatiently waiting to receive the scroll and deliver it yet farther to the governors.

My Review of SON OF THE MOUNTAIN KING

     Judah, the governor of Marah, was betrothed to the son of the Mountain King before she was born. She never met him, but he sent her lovely gifts and wrote elegant letters to her. She is told that if she ever needs his aid, she has only to ask for it. But Judah is independent and believes she can handle her problems. When she becomes ill, she is reminded to ask for the help of the Mountain King, but instead she seeks out a healer who is called the Enlightened One. He cures her but she loses the hearing in one ear. It is Kiran, the Enlightened One, who tells her she is a princess and can become a queen by marriage. 

    Then one day shepherds arrive in Marah with wool. There had been no sheep or shepherds in Marah since the time of the Destruction before Judah was born. She befriends the shepherd, Abel, who teaches her the ways of a shepherd.

    Nevertheless, Judah has far more to learn in this story than the simple ways of a shepherd. She must realize who she can trust and who is a traitor. 

    This is a fascinating allegory which held my attention to the very end. 

This wonderful book is available at many book distributors.

Amazon

Apple

Barnes&Noble

Google

Pelican

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One Summer Long Ago

 The photo above shows my Uncle Robbie, my grandfather, my father, and my Uncle Gene--the baby my father is holding. In the summertime, my grandparents and, in fact, the entire Kierce clan who lived in Jersey City went to Belford, NJ, for the summer. That's where this picture was taken. They stayed in small bungalows, but it was better than being in the city. Those were the days of no air conditioning. From what my father said, my great-grandmother would serve up heaping mounds of potatoes with meat patties simmered in tomato sauce, which doesn't seem like an Irish dish, but that's what they ate. My father loved it and he asked my mother to make it frequently. Dad called it the "Belford Special." I still make it now and then, continuing to call it the "Belford Special." 😊

Last week, my Uncle Gene died. I will miss him. Everyone in that generation who stayed in the little bungalows during the summer in Belford has now passed away. The scary thought is that my sister, my cousins, and I are now the elders. We are the ones who are supposed to be wise. While our generation has experienced plenty of turmoil, I don't know whether any of us have all that much wisdom. We grew up in different times. But we have wonderful examples of fine folks to emulate and hopefully, that will help us. 

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