TOO Much Cheese!

Hanzel was a jolly Dutchman with a white shirt and a vest who liked to make cheese almost better than anything else in the world. He liked it so much that Hanzel was positive that his cheese was by far the best in the whole county of Leyden. Problem is every farmer for miles around insisted that their own was superior to any other made in all of Holland and that lead to quite a hullabaloo on market day. There were rows and rows of stalls in the cheese section of the market, and the competition was fierce. Many if not all of them had banners in varying colours advertising their wares. The bolder ones went even farther and hired drummers which added to the din. Even the shyest had to resort to calling out the virtues of their special product.

And what was the result? No one got very much business. Friends, I feel very much like that bewildered Dutchman. Since the market has been opened wide to thousands of authors through the advent of self-publishing we are being drowned in a cascade of literature just at the time when technology is causing the interest in paper books to wan. Tell me, what should I do? If you have any advise, anything at all, please let me know. www.marilynshistoricalnovels.com

Fleeing Safety

It seems to be taking me forever to get my tiny new book, The Glass Castle  ready for publication. This is the  part I've been editing today. As usual, I promise: "Soon, soon!" and someday that will change to: "It's here, it's arrived! You can come and get your own copy now."

P.S. It's been so much fun having guests at our bed and breakfast and otherwise, that writing got put on the back burner (Not a good place for my laptop, eh) but I'm back again --for the moment.

Okay, here goes!

Fleeing Safety

 Not everyone in that lovely glass fortress was so enthused to be there. On a lower floor, in a back corner of the basement to be exact dwelt two naysayers who rarely mingled with the others. That their section of the glass wall had gotten smudged goes almost without saying. After all, they didn’t want to be there, so why bother polishing windows?

            Gilbert and Arthur were involved in something that looked similar to a game of Chess. They laid out their game pieces to plan their strategy.

“We will be cut off from friends and family if we leave,” Arthur pointed out, moving one of his men.

Gilbert shook his head. “They’ll get over it. They’ll be disappointed, of course, but we’ll keep in touch”—

 Arthur snorted, “If we get around to it.”

For a few minutes, all that could be heard was the shuffling of game pieces and the occasional squeak of a chair.

 “They say that the Outside World is flat and there is a tremendous drop off at the edge.”

Gilbert grimaced. “And that we will fall and fall and never stop falling even while being engulfed by flames.” 

                        “Sounds scary.”

`”Sure it does, but we’ll stay well away from the drop off point—if there is one.”

 “Granddaddy says one can be sucked in quite unexpectedly just about anywhere.”

 “How does he know?” 

  “He was there: escaped by the skin of his teeth as it were when a friend was sucked in.”

                   “We’re sitting here scaring each other. That desert looks so beautiful with the setting sun and there’s hardly any chance of sinkholes there.  We are much too confined in here—and bored: let’s just go. We can always come back.”

 Gilbert swept all the game pieces into a cloth bag and tossed it into a drawer.

   “OK, let’s go.” They let themselves into the hallway and looked both ways before continuing.

 “Where are you going?” a sister paused while scurrying down the hall with a tray for an invalid. “It’s almost suppertime.”

 “We’ll be back,” Gilbert answered evasively.

She leveled a thoughtful look at them but didn’t try to block their way. 

             “Let’s try to go out by the concealed trapdoor. That way we won’t be noticed by so many.”

             “Help,” Arthur yelped, “I didn’t know the descent was so steep!” They looked over the embankment, almost chickening out.

The castle was built on top of a cliff with slick embankments on all sides. “I didn’t mean to descend so rapidly,” Arthur muttered, trying to keep his balance while slowing his pace.

                       

                                   Windows flew open here and there.

                                  

                                  “It’s Arthur: looks like he’s in trouble!”

                       “And Gilbert: throw out the lifeline!”

“No, no, that’s okay,” Gilbert muttered, grabbing on to a thick, twisted root that reminded him ominously of a huge snake. “We’ll make it.”

Prayers ascended up to the King while they picked their way carefully down the steep embankment but they didn’t listen.

“It’ll be better after we get on to the level ground,” Arthur said. He took the liberty to glance back. My, the castle had never looked so beautiful…so strong…and secure…before.

Now that they have faded from our view we will check back at the castle.

Better Than A Fairy Tale

Do you want to hear a story that is so marvelous that you’ll think I made it up? I know for a fact that it is true ‘cuz it happened to me over forty years ago and the results ripple right down to the present.

Okay, where shall I start? Guess what, I have something in common with a lot of you. I come from a broken home. I know the anguish of seeing a marriage torn apart right in front of my eyes and feeling the effects in my own soul because it was my Mom and Dad.

Ours was one of those old-fashioned homes where you didn’t tell others what was going on behind closed doors: gotta put on a good front, y’know. So what was the result? Pain and heartache and groping in despair.

But I did reach out: I was not as reserved as some of my siblings so talked to our pastor, or at least tried too. He listened impassively, or so it seemed. I got more desperate: our home was falling apart right in front of my eyes, Mom and Dad didn’t love one another anymore, and I and my hapless brothers and sisters were caught in the vortex.

So I did what only a writer would do, I put my heartache in words, in poem form actually, and gave it to him when I had the opportunity. What did he do? He gave it back and said: “that’s very nice.” Did it help? Nope. (Wish I still had that poem.)

I see that this is going to end up being a whole lot longer than I had expected, but I promise you it does have a happy ending. What a trite word. Come on give me a better one, joyous, blessed, comforting,-- gratifying? No one word seems to describe what I went, and am going through.

But I know you have places to go, and things to do, so stay tuned until tomorrow, and yes, I’ll keep writing while you face your day.

 P.S. Please check out my book. (Link below.) If you want to escape from a troubled past and hope for a better future, this may be the most comforting book you will ever read, 

 http://www.amazon.com/dp/1511783966
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https://www.createspace.com/4837922