My fellow Americans, almost all national media is ‘fake news’ right now

On By Lisa R. HowelerIn everyday musings5 Comments

A disclaimer for this post – it is not meant to be political and no, I don’t plan to make this blog one that focuses on such issues in the future. This is just a “one-post” you might say.

‘Do I hate the term “fake news” as a phrase espoused time and time again by our president? Yes, I do. Do I hate hearing his supporters scream that the media is the enemy of the people? Since I have family in the media and I was once a member of it, yes I do. But, let’s be honest: almost all national media – yes, even FOX News and CNN –  are FAKE NEWS now. There is no “real news” anymore. This is something all Americans should understand.

When I was in college earning a journalism degree some *cough* 20 years ago *cough* (didn’t bother to count how long ago because I don’t have enough chocolate to console me) we were taught one important thing: keep your opinion out of the hard news stories.  Writing an opinion piece or an editorial? Fine, express an opinion. Writing a straight news story? Then write a straight news story. We were to present what we saw, the facts from both sides, and then – that’s it. Yep. That’s it. We reported this person said this and that person said that and then guess what – we left it to the public to decide what all of that meant.

That doesn’t happen anymore. The lines between objectivity and opinion are so blurred they run together like the characters in a chalk painting during a rainstorm.

Every cable news network and mainstream newspaper has their own agenda and they are pushing it on you. Look around – the conservatives watch this channel and read these papers and the liberals watch that channel and read those papers. It’s an echo chamber.

Don’t believe me?

Watch an actual, live, FULL press conference and see what is actually said and then turn to Fox News or CNN and watch them clip what was said into sound bites to fit each of their agendas. It’s real and it’s happening and yes, I’ve watched it happen in print media for years. Do I mean journalists are purposely trying to mislead you? No, not always. Sometimes it is an honest mistake while they are trying to fit all the news about an event in a time frame or in a certain amount of space. Details get dropped to fit the time or space and therefore meanings get changed. It happens and it isn’t always done in a nefarious way.

But by and large, the news isn’t about informing anymore – it is about selling, or as my husband said about the national news “It’s not about informing the public. It’s about inflaming the public.” He’s in local, smalltown news, and that’s a different ballgame, especially where he works now. The goal really is to inform the public because smalltown newspapers haven’t completely lost the plot yet when it comes to journalism.

This isn’t new, in some ways, of course. The media has always used its power for bad, as well as good. The problem is that people used to be a little discerning about where they got their news but now they just seem to follow the news outlet that espouses their agenda like sheep. People, we can not simply trust the media anymore. You have to do your own research. In the same way we have to be our own advocate for our health, we  need to be our own advocate when it comes to our news.

What’s my suggestion then? First, stop watching sound bites and start watching the actual events the reporters are reporting from.

If you can find the full press conferences, the full hearings, the full statements on a situation by whomever you want to hear the full story about then do that. You can find links to full press conferences on Youtube from a variety of sources. I am not endorsing FoxNews because they are biased as well, but they do post the full press conferences on their channel more often than CNN and MSNBC. CBS is another one who posts full feeds of hearings and press conferences after they’ve run live. I challenge you to listen fully to people you do not even agree with or support. I do. I may not always agree with a certain political party or a certain politician but I listen to the full hearings, the live press conferences, and the live statements as much as possible. If I miss them, like I said, there is usually an archive of it somewhere on Youtube.

I’ve been finding a way to watch the full versions of events and I’ve been amazed at the information being left out by media outlets. I’ve been amazed at how we are able to demonize the other side based on sound bites that reporters and producers chose verses demonizing them on what we heard with our own ears. I mean, let’s demonize them if we must, but not simply because of what we saw on CNN or FOX (or the other outlets – whoever they are.).

I suggested this to someone not long ago and instead of listening and accepting that I was trying to remain neutral, the other person launched into a tirade about the party I’m a part of. I hadn’t attacked their party – I’d said both parties were making me angry, but apparently being neutral in your opinion is unacceptable today. You either want to make Trump a saint or you want to cut his head off in the square. You either want to vilify all Democrats or Republicans or you want to take them with you on your boat on the lake and kick back a few beers. There is no in between. It’s clear that you can’t be in the middle anymore. You can’t dislike both parties or their tactics. Pick a side or face the wrath of both, is what I’m learning. Or do what I’ve chosen to do for the future (after several run-ins) and just never talk to anyone about politics and keep your opinions close to the vest.

If you don’t have time to watch the press conferences, or simply don’t want to, at least look at how each channel covers the stories and then compare. Somewhere in the middle is the truth.

Bottom line? Ditch the major news media outlets. Dare I say it, even though our family is supported by the media? Yes, I will say it – ditch the major newspapers too. The national newspapers that is.

Keep your local ones. They probably have some really good stories about important local issues, if they are a good newspaper, or at least some really good feature stories about interesting, real people in your neighborhood.

Look at your news like you look at your food – buy local – and we all be a bit better off.

 

 

I finally decided I’m going to self publish a book. Then I threw up.

On By Lisa R. HowelerIn books and reading, everyday musings14 Comments

Life is short, right? So why do we hold ourselves back from doing what we want? I decided over a year ago I wasn’t going to let fear and doubt hold me back but then I let fear and doubt hold me back anyhow.

Last week I decided I’m going to write a book, or maybe more than one, and self-publish it on Amazon or somewhere similar this year. Why not, right? The worst thing that can happen is no one buys it or reads it. Not many read what I write now so it won’t be any different and at least I can say I accomplished something I set my mind to. And please understand, I’m not complaining that not many people read what I write. I like that I don’t have tons of readers. When you have tons of readers you have tons of people ready to complain. As it stands now I receive very few complaints and if I do they’re from family, who I tend to ignore anyhow, so that’s no big deal. (I’m kidding about the family comment, family, so don’t complain – again.)

I have already been sharing the one book I plan to publish, but, of course, I have a lot of rewriting and updating to do with it – not too mention a lot of editing for typos and misspelled words. I’m only sharing it now for fun because I truly don’t have enough fun in my life. I’m boring, sick a lot, and have no friends. Seeing that last sentence in writing makes me realize I also forgot to mention I’m depressed. Seeing that last sentence about depression in writing makes me realize how I talk about depression too much and should also add that even though I deal with depression, I do have a sense of humor and this sentence is part of that weird sense of humor.

The story I am working on now isn’t the only story I want to tell. I have ideas for three other stories or books at this point and I’m excited to see where they lead me.

So how about you – have you ever published a book? Or a short story? Or a dissertation or a recipe or a  . . . okay, I’ll stop now.

If you haven’t published your writing – why not? What’s stopping you?

Maybe it’s fear like me – fear that it will suck, fear that everyone will hate it, fear that no one will read it and fear that someone will.

Share your experiences with me in the comments. I’m curious – truly – this isn’t a ploy to encourage comments on my blog. Not this time at least.

 

 

My characters wake me up at night to write their stories

On By Lisa R. HowelerIn everyday musings6 Comments

My characters wake me up at night to write their stories. I know. I sound crazy. I’m sure you’re wondering if I hear other voices in my head too. Sometimes, but that’s another post for another time. Seriously, though, I’ve heard other writers – you know, real ones – say their characters tell their own stories and I quite frankly, thought those writers might be a bit nuts. But then it happened to me.

Not quite like it did for the main character of a movie I watched this past week but almost. Karen Gillan in Not Another Happy Ending actually sees her protagonist and has conversations with her, which I don’t, yet, but still, I find scenes for my books flowing through my brain at the oddest times of the day and I have to stop what I’m doing and go write it down before I forget (that reminds me, sorry, husband, for dropping that couch on your toe the other day. I’m kidding. This didn’t happen. It was a table.).

Writing fiction is fun and a wonderful creative release but it is also flat out exhausting. I’m up late at night after the kids are asleep and sometimes early the next morning to write my thoughts down. And then one night this week I woke up in the middle of the night to write something down and it was like my character woke me up and whispered: “I want some happiness. Write me some happiness.”

So I did and I paid for it the next day when I sat in a half-asleep stupor while the kids asked me for lunch and popsicles and to play with them and “look at this funny meme I found!”

In one of the ending scenes of No More Happy Endings, Gillan’s character says: “You write because it gnaws away at your insides if you don’t.”

That’s how it has felt the last few months and probably even years for me. I would guess these stories have been in me for years but I’ve ignored them to do things I thought would bring me money to help support our family – working for newspapers, freelance writing, photography.

I don’t think what I’m writing now will bring me money or fame (which I don’t want at all!) but it seems to be bringing me something much more important – the satisfaction of voices finally heard and listened to, stories finally being told.

A Story to Tell Part 8: Your Sin Will Find You Out

On By Lisa R. HowelerIn fiction, Fiction Friday5 Comments

This the eighth part of my fiction story A Story To Tell. The story isn’t really broken into chapters, but bite-size sections for the blog. When I start to rewrite and tighten the story I’ll figure out chapters. To catch up with the story find the links at the end of this section of the story.

A Story To Tell (1)

“How old are you anyhow?” I asked Hank, laying back in the grass, looking up at the star filled sky.

He leaned up on his elbow and grinned.

“How old do you think I am?” he asked.

“My friend Emmy says you’re like 24,” I said.

“I don’t know if it’s a good thing I look older or not.” He laughed and pushed his hand back through his hair.

“I’m 21,” he said, then laid back on the grass, his arms behind him. “But I feel like I’ve lived enough life to fill two lifetimes since the old man kicked me out.”

“Is it scary living alone?” I asked.

“Maybe at first, but not now,” he said. “I’m used to it. I like coming and going when I please, no one to tell me ‘no’ or ‘you shouldn’t do that.”

“Isn’t it lonely?”

He shrugged. “Sometimes.”

He leaned up on his elbow again and grinned at me.

“It’s not so bad lately, now that I have you,” he said.

I smiled, hands folded across my stomach as I looked at the stars.

“You know, Blanche, you’re the only one who really seems to care about what I think and wants to know about me,” he said.

I looked at him, smiling.

“I feel the same way about you,” I said.

“I don’t think I’ve ever felt more calm than I do when I’m with you,” he said softly. He twirled a strand of my hair around his finger as he spoke. “You know, when I first took off on my own, I did miss Mama and my little brother. Judson – he’s my little brother – he always looked up to me. I felt bad when I came home drunk one night and he saw me. He looked so sad because I wasn’t acting like the Hank he used to know. I tried not to drink as much after that when I went in to parties. But then I wrecked the old man’s car and I guess that was the last straw for him. He hit me so hard that night my head vibrated. But at least he was hitting me that night and not mama.”

His voice was full of sadness. I rolled to my side, leaning my head on my arm, laying my other hand against his face.

“I’m sorry,” I whispered.

“For what?” he asked.

“That your daddy treated you and your mama so awful.”

His eyes searched mine for a few moments before he leaned over me and covered my mouth with his, sinking his fingers in my hair.

“You’re a sweet, girl, Blanche,” he said as he pulled his mouth away. “I definitely don’t deserve you.”

“No, sir, you don’t,” I said, smiling as I sank my fingers into his hair and pulled his head toward me, kissing him hard.

“What the hell are you doing out here?”

My daddy’s voice, booming, cut through the silence of the night. Hank jumped back from me and I felt my heart pounding so hard I thought I was going to faint. My knees felt weak as I stood and I had to grab on to the fence to stay standing. My ears were roaring and for a moment I thought I had gone deaf from the shock. Hank stood and calmly brushed the dirt and grass from his clothes.

“Well, hey there, Mr. Robins,” Hank tried to look confident as Daddy stomped toward us in the dark.

“Hey there?! Hey there?!”

I’d never seen Daddy’s face look the way it did that night. Rage flashed in his eyes and his mouth was twisted in a grimace. He reminded me of a picture I’d seen of the devil in my grandma’s Bible one time.

“You little… ,”

Daddy’s voice was practically a growl and the curse word he uttered was sharp and sent a cold chill rushing through me. I’d never heard Daddy swear before.

His fist hit Hank’s face and Hank hit the ground. Blood was trickling from Hank’s mouth when he lifted himself to his feet and I could hear daddy breathing hard.

“Don’t you ever touch my daughter again!” his finger was pointed at Hank and it was shaking.

“I wasn’t doing anything wrong.” Hank spat blood on the ground.

“Get off my property!” Daddy shouted.

“I’m not going anywhere unless Blanche wants me to. This was a private meeting,” Hank snarled back.

“You don’t have a ‘private meeting’ with a little girl!”

“She isn’t a little girl! She’s practically a grown woman!” Hank yelled back. “This isn’t the 30s, old man. Girls her age are getting married and having babies by now.”

“You son of a – “Daddy grabbed Hank by the front of his shirt and then swung at him again. Hank moved and daddy almost fell onto the ground but righted himself and started to lunge toward Hank again.

Suddenly I was angry. I was angry at Daddy for always treating me like a child. I was angry at him for punching Hank. I was angry at Mama for deciding my life for me. I was angry at Edith for always getting the attention. I was angry at the boys at school. I was angry at Hank for yelling at Daddy. I was angry at life. I didn’t want to be stuck in this town my whole life and I was sick of people acting like I was going to.

“I’m out here because I wanna be!” I shouted over Daddy and Hank, as startled as them at the angry tone of my voice.

Daddy’s face was red as he stepped away from Hank and turned to face me.

“What did you say?!” he said, half snarling, half screaming, like a rabid dog.

I’d never seen him so angry but I kept yelling anyway, my fury overriding my common sense.

“I like talking to Hank and I’m tired of being told what to do! Hank’s the only one who treats me like a real person and not a baby!”

Daddy wrapped his big hand around my upper arm and dragged me across the field toward the house.

“You were doing a lot more than talking when I came out here!” Daddy was speaking through gritted teeth. “And don’t you ever speak to me the way you did just now. Not ever!”

He whipped me around like a rag doll, looking at Hank, his voice shaking.

“Hank Hakes, you get off my property before I get my gun and show you I know how to use it!”

Hank was smirking.

“Yes, sir, Mr. Robbins. I’ll do whatever you say,” he chuckled sarcastically, turned, but then paused and turned back toward Daddy and me.

“I’ll see you another day, Blanche!” he called, only making Daddy angrier.

Daddy’s footsteps were long and brisk and I couldn’t keep up. I fell when we were almost to the house, stones cutting into my legs as Daddy continued to drag me.

“Get up!” He yelled as tears spilled hot down my cheeks.

Mama was standing in the doorway when we reached the front porch, her expression revealing shock and horror.

“My God, Alan! What is going on?” She cried reaching out for me.

“Your little girl has been sneaking around with that Hank Hakes and I’ll have none of it! I won’t have two little whores in my house!”

He tossed me at mama’s feet and walked toward his truck.

“Jessie, I am too angry to think. I’m going for a drive.”

The truck sped away, out the drive and down the dirt road by our house, kicking stones and dirt up from the tires. Hank’s truck had already disappeared down the road in a cloud of dust.

I saw Edith through my tears, standing at the bottom of the stairs. I knew she’d heard what Daddy had said about having two whores in the house. Her face was scrunched up, tears staining her face.

Mama knelt next to me and for a moment I thought she might start yelling as well. Instead she took the edge of her gown in her hand, wiping the tears off my face.

“Come on, get up,” she said. “I’ll make us some cocoa and we’ll have a talk. Edith, you come down too.”

I slumped into a chair at the kitchen table and looked at my shin, covered in dirt and blood. My hair was in my face, full of dirt.

Edith sat across from me with her arms folded across her chest. She had wiped her tears away and a small smile was playing across her mouth.

I didn’t want to be the brunt of her mocking jokes today.

“Well, at least it’s you who is in trouble this time,” she said with a sneer. “I sure as heck didn’t see that coming.”

“Shut up,” I hissed at her.

Mama handed me a wet towel then poured milk into a pan on the stove.

“Clean yourself off,” she told me sharply and sat down. “And both of you shut up.”

I saw the creases in the corners of her eyes, creases I hadn’t noticed before. Her hair had fallen out of her rollers in a couple of places and she looked tired, more tired than I had seen her look in a long time.

“So, what’s going on with you?” She said softly. “What happened out there?”

I wiped the blood from my leg and didn’t look at her. I shrugged. I didn’t want to talk about it. I was embarrassed, but more than that, I was still angry.

“Were you with Hank?” she asked bluntly.

I winced as I wiped the dirt on my leg away to reveal a small gash. Blood trickled down my shin.

I nodded as she stood to find bandages and peroxide. The medicine cabinet door slammed in the kitchen.

“What do you see in him?” she asked a few moments later, kneeling in front of me, cleaning the gash.

I grimaced as fresh tears sprung to my eyes from the pain.

“He listens to me. He doesn’t think I’m a stupid little girl and he doesn’t call me a nerd,” I told her.

“You like the attention he gives you, don’t you?” Mama asked.

I nodded, wiping tears off my face with the back of my hand.

“That attention is all well and good right now, but with someone like Hank I’m afraid it wouldn’t last,” Mama said. “He’s a lot of talk. He’s a lot of ‘right now’ but not a lot of ‘what will be.’ Do you understand what I mean?”

I didn’t. I shook my head and looked at her through the hair that was still in my face.

She pushed the strands away from my eyes and hooked them behind my ears.

“Blanche, he likes what he sees but I’m afraid he likes a lot of what he sees. I know your daddy is angry right now, but it’s because we’ve seen men like Hank before. He doesn’t come from a good background and those type of men don’t stay in one place, or with one person, for very long.”

I looked away and felt my lower lip quivering.

“I love him,” I said quietly. I hadn’t even admitted it to myself yet, but it was true.

Edith laughed ruefully.

“I knew you’d be the one to fall for the bad boy,” she said. “It’s always the quiet ones.”

“Be quiet, Edith,” Mama instructed. She turned to look at me. “You’re too young to know what love is. What you have right now is lust.”

She stood and went to the stove, poured the milk in mugs and mixed the cocoa in.

When she sat again, she leaned across the table and took my chin in her hand, made me look her in the eye.

“Blanche, you need to be honest with me right now – has Hank ever told you he loves you?”

“No,” I said softly.

“Has he – has he – talked you into doing things that only married people are supposed to do?”

Mama looked worried.

Edith looked expectant as she watched me closely over the rim of her mug, eyes wide.

I looked back at Mama.

“No, ma’m,” I said firmly. “He’s kissed me and that’s all.”

Mama studied my eyes for a few moments and let my chin go. Out of the corner of my eye I couldn’t tell if Edith was relieved or disappointed in my answer.

“Okay,” she said. “I believe you. I know you feel like you’re in love, but I agree with your daddy. You need to stay away from Hank. It might be hard, but you have to understand that sometimes we have to move past our feelings and do what we know is right. Are you listening?”

I didn’t agree with her, but I was listening.

I nodded.

“Now, you girls finish your cocoa and get back to bed. You’ve both got church in the morning and I don’t plan to let you miss it. You need it more than ever right now.”

When Edith and I started up the stairs Mama called to Edith.

“Edith, I hope you heard all that I said to Blanche tonight,” she said, firmly. “It applies to you as well.”

Edith rolled her eyes and flounced up the stairs.

“Yeah, I heard you, but Blanche is getting more action these days than me, so it’s not like you have anything to worry about,” she grumbled as she stomped into our room.

Part 1

Part 2

Part 3

Part 4

Part 5

Part 6

Part 7

 

My all-time most popular blog posts so far – or things that make you go, “uh… okay?”

On By Lisa R. HowelerIn everyday musings6 Comments

Have you, if you are a blogger, ever looked back at your most popular blog posts and thought “that one? Really? Why?” My blog is not very popular. Most days I have two visitors – my dad and my husband. I continue to write because I figure I need to practice my writing skills and because – why not? I don’t really have a life so blogging gives me something creative to do.

I understand why two of my three most viewed posts are popular but there was one that had me scratching my head – primarily because I had no idea where the traffic to it was coming from for a few days.

I posted a post about David Phelps, a singer who is simply phenomenal, and within a few hours, it had over 200 views. I couldn’t figure it out. It seems the blog posts I spend the least time on receive the most traffic, attention or comments. If I spend several days or a couple of weeks crafting a post – crickets.

71YtS+gGgDLThe views for the David Phelps post were coming from Facebook but Facebook said I had very few views on my blog page and the only person who shared the post was my dad. One person liked it on his page. I finally decided there must be a fan page on there that shared it and after some digging, I found the David Phelps fans Facebook group and yes, indeed, someone had shared my post. No one from the group commented on the post, but for some reason, a bunch of them clicked on it.

I guess I need to write about David more often if I want to increase my blog traffic.

As for my other three popular posts, they were both related to farming and the struggles farmers are facing today.

The first is The Heartache is real as family farms start to disappear

And the second is The Farm.

The third was about a local (to me) farmer: Tell Me More About . . . . Mark Bradley

The first was shared about 1,000 times on  Facebook and I’m glad it was. I believe it’s important for people to understand the issues facing farmers today. I truly believe so many are clueless to the fact we will soon be without any small family farms, especially in our area of Pennsylvania.

So, how about you, fellow bloggers: what have been some of your more popular posts and could you figure out why they were so popular?

I’ll leave you all with another David Phelps song – who knows maybe I’ll get some more hits on my blog. Seriously, I enjoy his music and listening to it helps me relax (well, until he hits a high note!)

Why praying for the president – no matter who he or she is – doesn’t make you a bad person

On By Lisa R. HowelerIn everyday musingsLeave a comment

You know the United States has reached a new level of crazy when Christians start flipping out on other Christians for praying for another person.

It’s been happening for three years but I saw it again a couple of Sundays ago when a pastor in Virginia prayed for President Donald Trump. I mean – what a jerk this pastor is. What kind of pastor prays for another human being? His church should be taken away from him. It sounds absurd right? But see, we are in the most hyper-partisan time in history. It started under Barack Obama’s last four years and blew up when Trump was elected. Hatred gripped this country and while fingers pointed at Trump for the reason, half the country followed right along with the man, following the example they said he had set and shooting hate right back at him.

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I’m not sure how some who hate Trump think they are better than him when they act just like they say he acts. Martin Luther King Jr said it best: “Darkness can not drive out darkness, only light can do that. Hate can not drive out hate; only love can do that.”

Does that mean you should show love to someone you think is filled with so much hate? I hate to tell you but if you are a Christian, it actually does and I don’t like that any more than you do. Still, it’s what Christ did for us and does for us every day. He looks at our darkness and our hate and he loves us anyhow – hoping to draw it out of our hearts.

Just because a person prays for the president of a country does not mean they endorse all that he says or does. Five or six years ago I was at a National Day of Prayer service and the leaders of our county, state and country were prayed for. A separate prayer was given for then President Obama and it was not a condescending “Oh Lord, fix this idiot,” prayer even though some in the crowd may have disagreed with his policies. The prayer was heartfelt and asked God to give him wisdom and to protect him. It didn’t stop at political lines, just as it hadn’t for other presidents that were prayed for over the years.

Are there many Christians who support a politician and never mention their bad attributes? Yep. Indeed there are, just as there are those who aren’t Christians who also look over some glaring bad points of their candidates. Are there some Christians who act like our presidents are actually Christians because they say something that sounds Christian in one breath and swear in the next? Yep. And I don’t agree with that.

What I do agree with is praying for, over and with our presidents. In the Bible it actually calls for us to do so:

“First of all, then, I urge that supplications, prayers, intercessions, and thanksgivings be made for all people, for kings and all who are in high positions, that we may lead a peaceful and quiet life, godly and dignified in every way. This is good, and it is pleasing in the sight of God our Savior, who desires all people to be saved and to come to the knowledge of the truth. For there is one God, and there is one mediator between God and men, the man Christ Jesus, who gave himself as a ransom for all, which is the testimony given at the proper time.” 2 Timothy 1.

I mean, come on, supporter or not – look at the current guy – he needs the prayer. We all need prayer. We are called to pray over our leaders even as we struggle to respect them.

As Christians, I hope we will pray for our president – this one and the future ones to come. It’s what God wants us to do and there are times we must do what we don’t want to for something greater than political ideology.

Good Omens leads to my weekly show, book, whatever review

On By Lisa R. HowelerIn everyday musings, Sunday Salon24 Comments

I have to confess I’ve never read Good Omens or anything by Neil Gaiman (other than Fortunately the Milk with the kids) or Terry Pratchett (I tried in high school but – my head – well, it still hurts.) so when my husband insisted my son and I watch Good Omens with him on Amazon – well, honestly I had no choice. I was sort of told I was watching it and I sort of had to because I’m a huge David Tennant fan. It was six one hour episodes, so like a mini-series and we binged watched it over a couple of days.

So we spent last weekend watching all six episodes while randomly covering my 4-year old daughter’s eyes or taking her out of the room altogether. And when it was done my husband looked at me, as he so often does after he lets me into a little of his world, and said: “So, what did you think?”

“I think I need to start the next book in The Mitford Series so I can escape into a very sweet, very innocent and maybe even a little pointless world.”

And that’s what I did. I put the thoughts of Armageddon behind me, even if it was a humorous take on the end of the world, and finally finished the fifth book of the Mitford series “A New Song.” As for what I really thought of Good Omens: I’m still very confused by it all but I’m still a David Tennant fan and I think even more so now. Yes, Michael Sheen was very good as well and I actually was able to stand Jack Whitehall for more than five minutes, which is longer than I can normally stand him.

Screen_Shot_2019_06_10_at_11.17.13_AM.0

What was hilarious to me was how Gaiman got slammed on Twitter for making Adam and Eve black (hello… they most likely were). That’s what people were upset about? The whole series was pretty much mocking the Christian faith, in a way, though not in the worst way I’ve ever seen, but someone got their panties in a bunch over Adam and Eve being black? Um… okay? Weird.

After watching Good Omens, I saw an interview with Gaiman about writing that I really enjoyed.

As so often happens when I start asking questions about a favorite author of my husband’s, I ended up with another piece written about said author being shoved into my hand:

I can’t say I minded. It was very interesting, well written (of course) and the artwork outstanding. The story was intriquing, a bit baffling for me in parts (since I don’t know every incarnation of Batman in the comics), and definitely engaging.

Keeping with my weird, eclectic literary taste, I watched Good Omens, read Batman: Whatever Happened to the Caped Crusader and then finished Jan Karon’s light, skipping through the tulips writing with “A New Song” (the fifth book in The Mitford Series) and then also, finally, finished All Creatures Great and Small by James Herriot (or real name Alfred Wight).

I thought I’d try a Debbie Macomber book since I saw an interview with her I really liked, but then I saw the pilot episode of a series on the Hallmark Channel, based on a series she wrote, and am having second thoughts.

The worse line in the Cedar Cove show?

“One thing she won’t have in the city are her memories because they are here in Cedar Cove.”

Uh … no … her memories are in her head. Dork. That newspaper editor who was supposed to have written that should be fired. Immediately. And if it that is how Macomber’s books read I may have to fire her too. We’ll see what I think after I read “A Little Bit Country.”

So, I approach my first Debbie Macomber book with a huge amount of trepidation, even though I loved this interview with her on YouTube (though less so the awkward interviewer):

Also in my queue to start this week are the following books:

All Things Bright And Beautiful by James Herriot

In This Mountain by Jan Karon

The Elmo Jenkins Trilogy by McMillan Moody

The Father Brown Complete Collection by G.K Chesterton

As for my blog this week, here are the links to what I rambled about.

A Story To Tell: Part Seven

Franny: A little piece of fiction

Justice for Michele

I Would Have Never Made it As A Pioneer, or The Day Smoke Filled our House and I called My Husband Before I called 911

So what is on tap for all of you this week in books, movies, or shows?

Let me know in the comments or leave me a link to your contribution for this week’s Sunday Salon, which you can find on Readerbuzz or the Sunday post which you can find at Caffeinated Bookreviewer.

Fiction Friday: A Story to Tell, Chapter Seven

On By Lisa R. HowelerIn everyday musings, fiction, Fiction Friday3 Comments

This is part of a continuing fiction story I’ve been working on and sharing each Friday for Fiction Friday.

To catch up find links to the past parts below:

Part One

Part Two

Part Three

Part Four

Part Five

Part Six

I didn’t want to lie to Daddy and Mama but I liked being with Hank. I liked how we could talk all night about all kinds of things and I liked how he seemed interested in what interested me. And I liked that he wanted to kiss me and hold me when there were so many other girls who wished he was doing the same with them.

“Where is this Bible study?” Daddy asked lighting his pipe.

“Mrs. Steele’s.”

“The pastors house?”

“Well, no, it meets at the social hall, not at the house.”

I was a horrible liar.

Mama looked at the Bible in my hand. I couldn’t read her expression at first but then she seemed pleased and smiled.

“I think that’s wonderful,” she said. “We should let her go, Alan. Learning more about God’s word can’t be a bad thing.

The words stung. Mama was right. Learning about God wasn’t bad, but I’d abandoned learning about God to learn about Hank. I hated that Mama thought I had chosen something noble over something frivolous.

“Do you need me to drive you?” Daddy asked, laying his pipe down.

“No sir,” I said quickly. “Emmy’s mom is going to pick me up at the bottom of the road.”

“Okay then. We’ll see you later tonight,” he said, eyebrows furrowed, a sign he still wasn’t sure about this Bible study thing.

Mama took my face in her hands and kissed my forehead.

I thought I saw tears in her eyes as she hugged me and I immediately felt the urge to blurt out – “I’m a liar! A horrible liar and you should lock me up and throw away the key!”

But I didn’t say anything. I just smiled as she told me she loved me.

“I’m so proud of you, Blanche,” she said softly.

I was so ashamed of myself. I could barely keep from crying as I walked down the the road toward the covered bridge.

A sharp whistle cut the silence and I looked up and saw Hank sitting in his red, Chevy truck. He motioned me over, leaned across the seat and opened the passenger side door.

“Climb in,” he said. “I’ve got a different idea about what we can do tonight.”

I climbed into the front seat and looked at him, confused. I swallowed the tears I had been fighting back a few moments before and laid the Bible on the seat between us.

“I thought we were going to the movies,” I said.

Hank winked at me and shifted the truck out of park, pulling on to the road. “I changed my mind,” he said. “We’re going somewhere exciting tonight. Somewhere not too far away but far enough that no one who knows us will see us together.”

He glanced down at the Bible and laughed.

“And somewhere you’re not going to need that.”

I felt a twinge of guilt as I looked at the brown, leather-bound Bible my grandma had given me for my 13th birthday. My name was engraved in gold on the weathered front cover.

My heart started pounding. Going to a movie was one thing but driving with him somewhere outside the area was entirely different. My hands felt slick with sweat as we drove and I tried to dry them discreetly on my skirt.

“I’m not really dressed to go anywhere else.”

My voice sounded high pitched and hollow.

“You’re dressed just fine don’t you worry about that.”

Hank glanced at me and I felt my body grow warm as his eyes traveled up and down. He reached over and laid his hand on my thigh as he drove.

When we pulled up outside of a bar I’d never seen before, I felt even more apprehensive. I thought of all the times Edith told me I needed to have more fun I knew she was right; I needed to at least try to have fun for once. I’d simply chalk this up to a new experience.

I slid my hand into Hank’s as we walked in. He looked delighted to introduce me to his world.

The interior of the bar was dim and the music coming from the stage was loud. The singer reminded me of the music Edith had played for Emmy and me.

“You want a drink?” Hank asked.

“No, thank you,” I said. I’d never even sipped alcohol and wasn’t interested in trying now.

Hank ordered a beer. He gulped down half the bottle before grabbing my hand and pulling me toward the mass of people dancing in the center of the room. The girls, mostly my age and older, danced around me. The boys, dressed in blue jeans and white shirts with hair slicked back, danced with them, surrounding us with a swirl of colors and noise.

“I don’t dance!” I tried to shout over the noise.

“It’s time to try!” Hank shouted back.

From the stage a man wearing a black suit coat, buttoned down to reveal a white dress shirt sang an upbeat song about rocking around the clock.

Hank pointed to his feet, then, to mine. I could barely hear his voice over the music, but I knew he wanted me to try to repeat what he’d done. I shook my head firmly and he laughed.

“Come on, just try something new,” he yelled in my ear.

I shook my head but started to laugh as I watched him swing his hips. He held his hands out to me.

I tried the dance, stumbling and stepping on his feet, laughing at each mistake.

We were laughing and spinning on the dance floor and I was trying my best to keep up. Other people were bumping into us, laughing and smiling while dancing with each other. Together we were a mashed-up mess of youth and I loved it. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d had so much fun.

When the song ended, people dispersed to either their tables or the bar. A woman with long, dark eyelashes leaned back against the bar, watching Hank.

“Hey there, cutie,” she said. “Here alone?”

Hank grinned reaching for his beer and seemed to be pleased with the attention.

“Not tonight,” he said, winking at her and sliding his arm around my waist.

The woman smirked, barely looking at me.

“Well, if you get sick of that little girl and want to hang out with a real woman, you let me know,” she said in a husky tone.

She pushed herself off of the bar, walking past Hank, bumping her hip against him as she walked.

Hank watched her walked away and shook his head, laughing as he took a swig from the bottle.

“Hey, can I get a water for the little lady?” he asked the bartender.

He held the bottle toward me. “Unless you want a sip?”

I shook my head, holding up my hand.

“No, thank you,” I said, guilt about lying to my parents already weighing heavy on my mind.

“You never have any fun, Blanche,” Hank said grinning. I knew he was teasing, but in his voice I heard my sister and the boys at school mocking me.

I snatched the bottle from his hand, sucking the liquid down fast, the gagging as the bitterness stung my throat and left a burning sensation in my stomach. I thought I was going to throw up on Hank’s shoes. I coughed, my face hot, while Hank laughed.

“You okay?” he asked breathless from laughing.

I nodded, still trying to catch my breath.

“We’ve got to toughen you up, kid,” Hank said, draining the bottle.

The man on the stage began to sing and strum a gentle, slow melody on the guitar.

Hank took my hand and I followed him to the center of the bar, feeling unsure of myself. He leaned closer as he turned to face me.

“You don’t have to know too many steps for the slow songs,” he said in my ear, placing a hand on each side of my waist. “We just have to learn how to move together.”

I didn’t know where I was supposed to place my hands for a slow dance, so I looked at all the other couples. I did what the other girls did and hooked my arms around the back of Hank’s neck, which only pulled me closer to him. He looked down at me and smirked, as we swayed to the music.

I’d never slow- danced with a boy, let alone a man like Hank. My heart was pounding as he leaned his forehead down against mine and then tilted his head to kiss me.

“See? Isn’t this better than a movie?” he asked, his lips grazing mine as he spoke.

I nodded and he kissed me again as we danced.

In the truck, his kisses were longer and harder. I knew he wanted more, but I pulled away quickly.

“My parents are going to question my story if I don’t get home soon,” I told him.

I heard frustration in his voice as he turned the key in the ignition.

“Darn those parents of yours, girl.”

He grinned despite the tone of his voice. I felt like a silly little girl and wished I was older, with no parents to rush home to. I wondered how much longer Hank would want to spend time with a child like me.

My question was answered when pebbles started hitting my window again two nights later.

***

The Sunday morning after I went dancing with Hank, Lillian pulled me aside at the end of the service.

“Blanche, your mother just asked me how our Bible study went last night,” she said softly, so no one else could hear her. “She said you told her you enjoyed it very much.”

I couldn’t meet Lillian’s gaze. I immediately felt ashamed.

“Blanche, you know the problem with all this is that we don’t have Bible study on Saturday nights, right?”

I nodded, my hands feeling numb like they always did when I was anxious.

“Can you tell me why you lied to your parents?”

I shook my head.

“I know it was wrong,” I said quietly. “I’ll never do it again.”

I looked up at Lillian, frightened.

“Are you going to tell my parents?” I asked.

Lillian’s eyebrows were furrowed, and I recognized the maternal concern on her face.

“No, honey, I’m not. I’m going to leave that to you,” she said. “But I am going to let you know you put me in a very difficult position. Luckily your mother and I were interrupted because I was not going to lie for you.”

I nodded.

“I understand and I apologize. I’ll talk to my parents today,” I told her, but I knew I was lying. I had no intention of telling my parents anything about why I lied or about Hank.

“I’m glad that’s settled,” Lillian said with a smile. “I am sure you feel you had a good reason for what you did but remember, God has commanded us to honor our father and mother.”

“Yes, ma’am,” I said.

“And also know that we have a women’s Bible study every Wednesday and we would love to see you there this Wednesday,” Lillian said.

Somehow, I felt the invitation was more of a directive rather than a kind outreach for womanly fellowship; maybe in exchange for not telling my parents I had lied to them.

Lillian’s expression was somber.

“Don’t forget, Blanche. The Bible tells us that our sin will find us out. I don’t say that to scare you but to remind you that God does not ask us not to sin because he wants to punish us, but because he wants the best – His best – for us.”

My chest felt tight and the numbness in my hands was spreading to my arms.

“Yes, Miss Lillian I understand.”

She hugged me.

“I know you do, and I know you are going to do the right thing.”

I didn’t know how to do the right thing without giving up Hank.

Lillian wasn’t the only one who knew I’d been lying about the Bible study.

“Jeffrey Franklin told me he saw you at the Mountain House with Hank,” Edith smirked, resting her elbows on the bed as she leaned back.

I wanted to slap the smirk off her face.

I tightened my jaw.

“Are you going to tell Mama and Daddy?” I asked.

Edith’s legs were crossed, and her foot was bouncing again. I hated that bouncing foot and the smug look on her face. She shrugged.

“I dunno,” she said. “Maybe.”

I turned away from her to face my desk and snatched up my journal.

“Do whatever,” I snapped, but hoped she wouldn’t.

Edith threw her head back and cackled – it’s the only way to describe the noise that came out of her.

“Little Blanche out partying with a bad boy,” she said. “What would Daddy think of his little bookworm running around with – not a boy – but a man like Hank Hakes?”

I scribbled in my journal, pretending to ignore her taunts.

“Whatcha writing in there? ‘Tonight, Hank kissed me. It made me weak in my knees!’?”

She laughed and I reached towards the bed, grabbing a pillow and roughly tossing it at her face.

She giggled, falling back as it hit her.

“Oh, Blanche, calm down. I’m not telling Mama and Daddy anything. As long as you tell me all about your night out . . .”

“It was just some dancing.”

“You danced?”

“Not well, but yes.”

Edith smiled, startling me as she suddenly stood to give me a hug.

“I’m so proud of my little sister,” she said. “She’s finally having some fun.”

‘Franny’: A little piece of fiction

On By Lisa R. HowelerIn everyday musings, fiction1 Comment

A little bit of fiction – not yet connected to a story. Come back tomorrow for another section of “A Story To Tell”.

No one wanted to be nice anymore and everyone was always staring down at their phones.

That’s how Franny Beiler felt about the world these days and she wasn’t afraid to say it.

When she was young people actually talked to each other, face to face. No, they didn’t always say nice things and they didn’t always get along, but they were a lot more alert and a lot less like a brain dead zombie; that much she knew.

The feet of the rocker hit the porch hard as Franny pushed her feet down. She felt turned up inside and angry at the world. She knew it wasn’t right but darn it, she was tired of being visited only if the battery on one of those darned cellphones died and her grandchildren were bored.

“Oh, Mom, there is nothing wrong with them being on their devices from time to time,” her daughter Hannah had lectured as she unpacked the groceries earlier that day. “They aren’t hurting anyone and some of their games are educational. Just because you didn’t have technology like this when you were younger doesn’t make it bad.”

Hannah closed the refrigerator door.

“Now, I got you that bread you like and some more of that ham you can slice up for your dinner. Robert will be over later with some dessert and to fix the buzz in the TV. Is there anything else I can do for you?”

Anything else she could do? Why? So she wouldn’t feel guilty for rarely visiting her own mother and always being too busy to stop and talk awhile?

“No, thank you.” Franny’s top lip had disappeared against the bottom as Hannah leaned down and kissed her cheek and walked toward the front door. 

“Call if you need anything,” she said casually as she closed the front door.

“Always nice to be talked at and not to,” Franny mumbled to herself as she rocked.

Franny knew she shouldn’t be so uptight and disgusted with everyone and everything but lately the frustration simply seemed to spill over. It was spilling over even more as she thought about her daughter’s condescending tone. She increased the speed of her rocking.

“Hello, there, Miss Franny.”

The voice of Joe Fields, the new pastor of the local Methodist church startled her. She didn’t like being startled and she jerked her head around and leveled a furious glare at the smiling, red faced balding man standing on her porch. 

“Well, good grief. I thought you Southerners were supposed to be polite. No one taught you not to scare an old lady?”

If the pastor was surprised by her snappy response he didn’t show it.

“I’m sorry Miss Franny. I have been told I have a quiet way about me and I guess that didn’t work out as a good thing this time.”

He laughed easily. Franny didn’t.

He stopped laughing and cleared his throat.

“Did my daughter send you here to talk me into coming back to church?” Franny snapped.

Pastor Fields found himself clearing his throat again. Suddenly he felt like he was 10-years old.

“Well, no, I mean, yes, but that wasn’t exactly what she said – I mean..”

The chair creaked loud as it rocked.

“Or did she send you here to tell me she’s sending me to a nursing home?”

“Oh. I-no-“ the pastor laughed nervously. “That wasn’t something she – I mean, she didn’t ask me about – or that is to say that I don’t know of any such plan –“

“Not sure I’d ever want to go to church with a preacher who can’t seem to figure out how to finish a  sentence ,” Franny said tersely.

Joe wasn’t sure if he should laugh or run  back to his car and drive away.

“Well, yes..anyhow, Miss Franny, I just stopped to tell you that anytime you want to come to church, I’d be glad to send someone to pick you up.”

He spoke quickly, before she struck him down with her tongue again.

“I’ll keep you updated,” she said dryly, looking  away from him to watch the neighbor’s pick up pass by the house. Henry Sickler waved and Franny lifted her hand in a quick movement and then laid it back on the rocker arm.

“Well, that would be –“

“But don’t hold your breath,” she quipped, still not looking at the young pastor.

Joe cleared his throat again and nodded.

“Well, okay then. Is there anything else I can do for you, Miss Franny?”

“Stop calling me Miss Franny for one. He may be dead but I’m still a Mrs. Thank you very much.”

“Of course. I’m so sorry. I meant no disrespect, ma’m. Down South we just use the term ‘Miss” as a sign of affection or respect.”

Franny felt a twinge of guilt. Maybe she really was being too hard on the young man. He was just trying to be nice, to do what he felt was his calling, or whatever. She decided to throw him a line and hoped he wouldn’t strangle himself with it.

“That’s fine. I’m sure you didn’t mean to be rude.”

She focused her eyes on a bird on the bush next to the porch instead of looking at him.

“If you ever need to talk – you know – about your loss . . .”

Franny snorted and rolled her eyes. Good God he’d just hung himself from the nearest tree.

“I don’t talk about loss,” she snapped. “There is no sense in talking about such things. If that’s all, it’s time for my afternoon nap. You probably have a nursing home or two in town to visit so don’t let me stop you.”

Joe stood slowly.

“Well, yes, uh, I should be going. You’re right.”

He tried to smile, to ignore the internal feeling that he wasn’t able to hit a home run on one of his first home visits as the new pastor.

“You have a good day, Miss- I mean Mrs. Tanner,” he said softly and at the risk of being yelled at again he added: “I meant what I said about being here if you ever need to talk.”

Franny nodded curtly without looking at him. She listened to him him step off the porch, walk down the sidewalk and to his car. When the sound of his car faded she tightened her jaw and fought the tears. She would not cry. She’d cried enough tears in the two years since Ned had died. She didn’t need to be reminded of all she had lost that day and she didn’t need to be reminded Ned wasn’t there anymore. Not by her family and certainly not by some upstart pastor from the South.