BLAME IT ON MERCURY

MERCURY

Ever wonder why computers won’t boot-up?  Data is lost in cyber space? Cell phones drop messages? Appointment times and dates are missed?  The contract signed yesterday is not what is presented today?  Past issues thought to be resolved resurface?   Blame it on Mercury.

Mercury controls communication.

Years ago messages from one ruler to another or between armies were carried by “heralds” who demanded great respect and weren’t to be harmed.  The Roman god, Hermes was the fastest of these messengers.   Because the planet, Mercury is the swiftest moving across the skies, Hermes is otherwise known as Mercury. He wears wings on his cap and sandals.  

Now, the gods like to mess with humans just for the fun of it and to have something to do.  So every once in awhile Mercury shows off and runs backwards.  In the astrology world this is called moving, retro.  When this happens, things connected with communications can get hinky.  It’s advised not to sign contracts or to buy anything having to do with communications such as computers, TV’s, phones, etc. etc. until Mercury decides to behave himself and runs forward or direct.

Often when Mercury is retro, he likes to throw-up things from the past in our faces to take a second look at.  And to make things even more interesting, Mercury likes to run backwards a lot.

Mercury went retro March 12 and will not move direct until April 4^th, give or take a few days.  

There can be advantages to Mercury being in retro, however.   The next time your spouse says, “Honey, you didn’t tell me your mother was coming to stay with us for a week,”  you can smile innocently and say:

"Blame it on Mercury!"

    

The Oneness

My writing buddy, Jan Morrill, aka Gypsy/Samurai Jan, has written the next New York Times Best Seller and Tony Award winning play, Broken Dolls.   Broken Dolls is a touching, powerful story about the treatment of Japanese/Americans during World War II told through the eyes of nine year old, Sachi Kimura.  In the story, Sachi, her mother, and brother, Nobu are internees held at Rohwer, Arkansas.  

In real life, George Takei (Mr. Sulu on Star Trek) was interned at Rowher.



George Takei



Universe works her magic in strange and mysterious ways.  When Jan heard that Mr. Takei was performing with the Little Rock Symphony last weekend, she immediately took this as a sign to meet Mr. Takei and speak to him about Broken Dolls.  She invited me to come along for the adventure.

Alas, even though George stood only three feet away of us, Jan wasn’t able to talk to him.  But.  Do not despair. Jan’s bold energy surrounded George Takei and set into motion a series of events that must manifest.  It’s called the Law of Attraction.  Only positive things will come from this back yard meeting.

Now for the rest of the story:

When I was in elementary school and junior high, I played the violin in the school’s orchestra.  I was also a member of the Fayetteville High School A Cappella choir and performed in many concerts. I’m an actress as well. (Hard to believe I’m a drama queen, isn’t it?)  I majored in drama at the University of Arkansas and acted in several school plays as well as the Rogers Little Theatre.  It had been quite awhile however since I attended any kind of a performance and years since hearing a symphony. 

I had forgotten the excitement.

I had forgotten the power of a collective consciousness.

Back stage at a play is chaos—makeup, costumes, runaway nerves, high energy straining at the reins to break loose and manifest.  The heavy curtains shut the audience off from this corralled wildness.  Everything seems calm out front but back stage actors run amok.  

Until . . .

The director speaks.

The overture begins.

Actors settle. Calmness seeps through every pore and melts the panic. Magic happens. An unexplainable yet wonderful Oneness unites everyone into a collective consciousness aimed at giving the best performance possible.

Before a symphony, the Wood-Winds tune up, the Strings run scales, drums emit a low thunder, horns blare, the four-hundred person chorus files in, laughter, noise. Mass confusion reigns.

Until . . .

The Conductor steps onto the podium.

The silence is deafening.

Every eye is trained on one person.  The baton he holds becomes a magic wand that unites hundreds of people into one collective consciousness working toward the same goal.  

The result is overwhelming.

This Oneness happens in sports as well.  Ever watch a football team warm up?  Men running everywhere.  No rhyme or reason to what they’re doing.  Confusion.

Until . . .

The Quarterback brings them to the line of scrimmage.

The Oneness takes over.   

The power of a collective consciousness is overwhelming.  Think of the possibilities.  If for one second, every mind united and concentrated all energy toward the same goal, sickness could be healed, famine destroyed, struggle and strife, gone.  Peace and love would rule.  

It would only take one second to change the world into paradise.  One second!

Maybe that’s why plays, symphonies, sports, and the like attract so many people.  Subconsciously we are looking for that director, quarterback, or conductor.  After all, it’s only natural.  

 

            We were created by a supreme Oneness.

The Crazy Glue of Life

I have a confession to make: I want to fix things.

Not such things as broken clocks, flat tires, or mistakes in manuscripts. Nope, repairing these things would be easy compared to what I want to mend.  I want to patch up broken hearts, renovate low self-esteem, refurbish the downtrodden, heal physical and mental sickness, glue the pieces of a broken world back—to put Humpty Dumpty together again.

Pretty tall order, isn’t it? 

Fixing things is in my genes.   Daddy was an electrician by trade. He fixed the dark. My brother, Wild Turkey Jim, is also an electrician and brings light into the world every day.  He has the ability to repair almost anything that doesn’t work.

Mama could mend sadness with just a hug.

So, as you can see, my desire to repair humanity comes naturally.  But, alas, I stink at it.

I don’t know how to make a broken heart whole again.  Have no clue what magic words can make someone believe in themselves. I don’t have a witchy spell that will cure the insane.   No secret formula for paste strong enough to bond the broken pieces of a shattered world together again. 

Some philosophers would say it’s not my job, my responsibly to repair the world.  That each individual must take responsibility for their own actions.  These so called “wise men” argue that it’s taboo to interfere with another’s destiny, how else will mankind learn if someone else cleans up their messes?  I agree.  But . . .

It ain’t working!

This weekend I pondered a lot on this dilemma of how to fix the world and one word kept coming to me:  friendship.

The power and gratitude for friends can mend a cracked heart, eliminate the feeling of worthlessness and plug the holes in our head. 

Strong, sincere friendship is the crazy glue that holds us together with an impermeable seal.

I love and give thanks for my friends.  Without them I would be lost. Joined together in previous life times or in only this one, they keep me sane with their honesty, non-judgmental ways, humor, wisdom, and downright silliness.

And that is how I plan to heal the world.

            One good friend at a time.



The Sisterhood



I DARE YOU TO WISH APON A STAR

Okay, it’s been awhile since I’ve ranted and raved, but something happened last week that I can’t get out of my head.

A writing colleague of mine read a story to my critique group, (The Northwest Arkansas Writer’s Workshop) titled, Butterfly and Frog.  The story is an entry for “The Picture Book” category for the Oklahoma Writers Federation Inc. conference in May. 

Of course it’s no surprise that this is a children’s story about the unlikely friendship of a butterfly and a frog that live together in a wonderful garden filled with flowers, a pond, and lily pads.     

Brenda Black weaved a tale of beauty, the power of friendship, and the simplicity of life in 750 words.  As she read, my mind’s eye could see little children wrapped in Sponge Bob Square Pants p.j’s snuggled deep in their beds while mom or dad sat beside them reading and turning the big pages of the book.  Each page, painted in brilliant colors of the rainbow, told of the adventures of the unlikely friends. Each page drew the child into the Land of Nod and Make Believe.  

I loved it.

Now, here’s the problem.  While the members of the group loved the story, they didn’t believe.  They couldn’t let themselves go, lose themselves in fantasy.  They wanted the story to be logical.  

What a shame.  

I shook my head in pity and shot my mouth off about their lack of imagination, even called one guy Mr. Spock.  I shouldn’t have been so harsh. The world in general has lost the innocence of childhood and the ability to dream. No wonder it’s in the shape that it is.

Does everything have to make sense?  Where is trust?  Faith? Tinker Bell and Peter Pan?

My new paramormal roamance, The Rook and the Raven is due to be released on February 8 from The Wild Rose Press.  Here is what one review said:

If you let go of all ideas that are logical, and let yourself fall into this story, it
is truly beautiful. It’s interesting, funny and HOT. The Characters will make
you laughter, and bring you to tears. Beautiful fantasy story, just let yourself believe!

Notice the words, “if you let go of all ideas that are logical” and “just let yourself believe.”

In 2012 I challenge the Spocks of the world to let go.  Dare the non-believers to take a leap of faith. I encourage all the Brenda Blacks and R.H.Burketts to keep on writing about butterflies, frogs, rooks, and ravens.

There’s a beautiful land waiting, “first star to the right and straight on till morning.”  All you have to do is wish apon a star!"

THE ROOK AND THE RAVEN----If you dare.

Yesterday I showed a friend the cover of my paranormal romance, The Rook and the Raven due for release February 8, as an e-book by The Wild Rose Press. She took one look and said, “What is a Rook?”

"Who is the Rook," would be more correct. Never-the-less it was a good question.

The Rook and The Raven was my first attempt at writing a paranormal romance.

Vampires, ghosts, shape-shifters, zombies, etc, etc. while quite interesting are overdone and are becoming boring to my taste.  I wanted a fresh idea. A new character. But who? 

If you are a regular reader of my blog, (and I hope you are) you will know that inspiration for my stories and characters often come from my dreams.   One particular dream sticks with me for a several reasons that I won’t go into. But it was from this dream The Rook was born.

Unique and exciting, Roark is unlike any character you have ever experienced before. Only the mysterious, witchy-haired Jamaican clairvoyant, Madame Katanga can give Raven insight into who this intriguing and powerful entity really is:

“You have something to ask Madame Katanga.”

Not a question, but a statement of fact.        

I took a big gulp of air that tasted like grass and herbs and squirmed in my chair.

 “Who is this Rook?

Bronze eye-shadowed lids closed, and she eased back into the chair’s fluffy cushions. A deep sigh shook her heavy bosom like jelly, and the bone-and-alligator tooth necklace resting on them rattled. She spoke a hypnotizing Jamaican melody. The room closed in around me, and I struggled for a deep breath.

“In the higher realm there be an army of guardians called Sentinels who protect all life and keep the universe in balance. The highest of these guardians be the Rook. Him is hand-picked by the Keeper of all-that-is.”

“You mean God?”

“No child. The Keeper, he not the Creator. Him be more like . . . hmm . . . Secretary of Defense. Only the most cunning and wise Sentinel can be the Keeper’s captain, the Rook.”

     Do you have the nerve to experience an unknown character?  If so, download The Rook and The Raven  by R.H. Burkett available February 8^th, from the Wild Rose Press.

 

The Wild Rose Press named Best Publisher of the Year for the 4th year in a row by polling on Preditors & Editors.

                                         

Booger County Twilight Zone

My writing sister and close freind, Jan Morrill challenges us every week to "show not tell" with a writing prompt on her blog, Jan Morrill's Thoughts Over Coffee. blogspot.com..  This week's test comes from this picture.  Too long to put in the comments of her blog, my story is as follows:

 Spooky that’s what it is.  Down- right spooky.

  I shouldn’t have stayed so long at the party.  

  Shouldn’t have drunk “just one more.”  What did they care all safe and snug in the warmth of their beds?  I’m the one that has to drive home in the wee, small hours of the morning—alone.

Damn trees, so friendly in the daylight, but in the dark—ominous, live spirits. Their naked bodies and skeleton arms reach out to catch the door handle of my weary yet spunky, baby-shit- green VW bug.   Hit the gas!  Ha!  Missed me.  Long, brittle fingers only rake the fender.

Heart pounding now, blood roaring in my ears, I check the rear-view mirror praying for pin pricks of light to appear, to reassure me I haven’t fallen into some scene straight out of the Twilight Zone.  Home is only a few miles away. But the road stretches before me like a slimy, slippery black snake.  Will it never end? Even the full moon is evil, hanging there in the inky sky—one giant orange eye keeping pace with me as I speed even faster down the serpentine road.

 What’s that?  High beams catch an iridescent glow and reflect back in a blinding, white light.   A person?  A deer?  Big Foot ?   All shimmering and silver the little figure glides toward me.  Slam on the brakes! Screeching like a banshee from hell, smelling like black, hot tar they catch hold.  The seat beat locks, snaps me flat against the faded, Tinker Bell seatcover.  

The little grey stares.  Huge, onyx eyes shine like glassy black orbs in the night.

A terrified heart hammers my ribs fighting to escape my heaving chest.  Guts twist into knots.  Sweat pops on my forehead.

 A light so brilliant my eyes ache pierces the dark.  An eighteen-wheeler!  A blessed truck driver!  I’m saved.

An eerie deathly- silent yet haunting hum.   Then nothing!

Blackness surrounds me.   No little gray man.  Gone.   

Reality or imagination? 

Somewhere Rod Serling is laughing.

Interview with Claire Croxton

Claire Croxton is a fresh new voice in the often predictable ho-hum world of romance writing. Witty, touching, and humorous, Claire’s first novel, Redneck Ex will be released January 20th from The Wild Rose Press.  Place your order now on Amazon.com...

I’m proud to call Claire not only my partner in crime but in writing as well. The following interview is only the tip of the iceberg to this snarky, vivacious talented woman.   

Move over Jodi Thomas, there’s a new girl in town:

1.       How old were you when the writing bug bit and do you remember what your first story was?  I think I was in the 2^nd or 3^rd grade. I remember writing stories in a spiral-bound notebook. I was mad at my mother for making me take clothes to the laundry room and I wrote a story about a girl who could make things happen by thinking them. With a blink of an eye, the clothes magically ended up in the washing machine. Another story was about pixies who lived under the piano bench. They would nip at my heels when I wasn’t taking practicing seriously. Unfortunately, those pixies didn’t exist and to this day my piano playing is abysmal.

      2.       What kind of writing do you do?  I spent a great deal of my professional life as a grant writer/ administrator in Northern Alaska. I think I’m one of the few grant writers who has ever killed someone off for dramatic effect in a grant application.  Yes, we got the funding. I really enjoyed the job and had several writing opportunities including the creation of beautiful, glossy funding reports and working with authors and artists on children’s books.  Now, I write short stories, contemporary romance and women’s fiction. I love sitting in front of a blank screen and freeing my mind of all the clutter. There have been times when I look over what I’ve written and can’t believe I wrote it.

3.      What are the proudest moments in your writing life? Writing “The End” on the first manuscript I wrote. Lordy. What a disaster that work was, but actually finishing it made me feel like a success.

4.      What have you learned from writing your first book that will help the most in writing your second, third, fourth, etc., etc., etc.? I think the biggest lesson I learned is that in order to get your work published you have to know the genre you’re writing. That seems easy enough, right? No way. There are so many new authors who write their books and then try to find a genre to fit their stories. My first novel had it all: romance, domestic abuse, computer crimes, a serial killer and to top it all off, serpent handling followers of the signs. Talk about not being marketable! Every genre including erotica and fantasy has guidelines. You need to learn those and make sure your story follows them.

5.      Your writing has been described as “snarky.” Can you explain what “snark” means for those who are insanely curious but afraid to ask? Snark is just a nice way of saying smartass. My mama wouldn’t allow me to use such unladylike language, so I had to call it something else. So, I settled on snark.

6.      What is the best writing advice you’ve received to date and what advice would you give to a beginning writer? Fortunately, I found the NW Arkansas Writers Workshop and they helped me wade my way through the completion of my first epic novel. Dusty Richards told me to “just finish the damn book.” He taught me to write the story and then go back and edit it. Velda Brotherton taught me about sense of place and deep point of view (POV.)  I think the most important thing for all writers, but especially beginning writers, is to find a trustworthy critique group—or at least a few friends who’ll honestly review your work. You need honest feedback. It can be devastating to hear someone talk about the major character flaws of your dashing hero, but if your reviewers question him, so will the agents, editors, publishers and readers.

http://www.clairecroxton.com/


“I found REDNECK EX by Claire Croxton a delightful read, full of humor, tenderness and passion. A HOT story in a cold climate.”
~Jodi Thomas, NY Times Bestselling author,
4 time RITA award winner, and member of the Romance Writer Hall of Fame

“A hilarious, but poignant story of love lost and found under unusual circumstances. With a slightly twisted sense of humor, Croxton is a writer whose work is bound to create its own niche in contemporary romance.”
~Velda Brotherton, author of Stone Heart’s Woman
~*~
“Claire Croxton is the queen of redneck romance. REDNECK EX is gonna grab you like a bulldog with a prize bone. You’ll laugh, cry and fall in love with the down-to-earth, big-hearted Summer Leigh.”
~Pamela Foster, author

2012--- WHAT DO YOU WANT?

Okay, so here it is, New Year’s Eve. I’m spending it with a favorite friend of mine, Captain Morgan and waxing philosophical.

I’ve been fighting depression for weeks.  I ask myself, why?  I think I’ve figured it out.  I’m tired of not getting what I want.  Is that selfish?  If so, then so be it, I’m selfish. Deal with it.

The key in getting what you want is to know exactly what you do want.   This sounds simple enough. Right? However, you’d be amazed to find how difficult a question this is for people.  They can tell you what they don’t want but stumble over what they do want.  (I have to apologize for the Captain.  He isn’t a writer and doesn’t give even one tiny Yo-ho-ho on how many words he repeats.)

Here’s an example of what I’m talking about: people say, “I don’t want to be poor.”  Wrong!  Say instead, “I want unlimited abundance to come to me in a very joyful way.” (You have to put that disclaimer in there, “in a very joyful way” because your favorite uncle might die in a car crash and even though you inherit all his money, you miss him something fierce.  Thus the meaning of the old saying, “be careful what you wish for.”)

Another example: “I don’t want to be fat.”  Wrong!  “I want to be slim, trim, and healthy.”  See where I’m going here?

Am I rambling?  Sorry.  It’s the damn Captain.

The thing is, I’ve been saying this mantra for years and my bank balance is still zip.  The scale still moans when I step on it.

I’m tired of it, damn it!

I just can’t imagine that God created us to struggle so. Think about it. Why would He want His children to suffer?   If He liked seeing this, then He wouldn’t be God, would He?  (Captain Morgan is so logical.) God wants us to be happy!  If  you follow this reasoning, then another old saying, “you create your own reality” is absolute.

According to the Miyans’, 2012 is the end of the world.  Good! I've had it with toiling from 8-5 in a dead-end, God awful boring job.  Let it be the end of me worrying how I’m going to pay my bills. Instead of me always thinking about what I don’t want, I will focus all energy on what I do want.   And, believe me I have a list a mile long.

Do you?

Ask yourself on January 1, 2012, "What do I want?"

Okay, that’s enough  deep thinking. 

Right now, I want another drink.

Happy 2012 everyone!

TOP THREE PICKS FOR AMAZON KINDLES

Tomorrow is Christmas and hundreds of people everywhere will receive their new Kindles from Amazon.  Then what?  What books do they download?

Here are my top three picks:

For the historical fiction/Civil War buffs, and paranormal fans:  Soldiers From the Mist by me, Ruth Burkett Weeks is a must read. The Civil War is the backdrop for the story of three men and three promises—two were broken, one should’ve been. Trapped for eternity because of these promises, the ghost of Charles Ely haunts the Ozark Hills in search of the fourth promise that will set them free.  Soldiers is two stories in one. It is the real life story about how the author communicated and worked with the ghost of Charles Ely in the telling of his story.

For all the women fiction lovers out there: Redneck Goddess by Pam Foster will leave you laughing all the way to New Year’s and beyond.  Goddess is the story of a backwoods country girl (named after a candy bar) from Noisy Creek, Georgia and her hot Latino lover, Julio. Read about Goo-Goo’s struggle with her redneck family to accept her golden-skinned boyfriend while trying to win the Redneck Goddess Beauty Pageant. 

Bayou Jesus by M.G. Miller is Southern Gothic at its best.  Bayou Jesus dares to ask the question, “If Jesus returned as a black man in the Deep South during the Depression would mankind accept him for the King of Kings?”  Dark and thought provoking, Bayou Jesus will haunt you long after the last page is turned.

Merry Christmas and Happy Reading!

                                                     

"Does Father Still Beat You?"

Peter’s eyes closed and his fists clenched.

“I’m a son of the South and she is a demanding mother. Even though sympathetic to the North, Mama Dixie will insist on my allegiance. I’m an officer and will be called to command. Mostly boys I fear. War always takes the young first. I’ll be responsible for their very lives.” His shoulders slumped.

“I fear the task is too great. How can I save them, Mother? It frightens me to my very core.

“Son.” Her voice came soft. “If war happens, you’ll not be responsible for it or over who lives or dies. That is God’s decision. Your compassion for your fellow man swells my heart with pride.”

He whirled.

“Compassionate? Do not think me so. If pushed. If threatened. I’m more than capable of violence. Hard and premeditated, if need be.”

Thunder rumbled in the distance. At storm brewed and rain clouds ushered in not only a change in weather but in his attitude as well. The air crackled with tension and a dark, uneasiness swirled with the wind. Lightning flashed and so did his eyes.

“Does Father still beat you?”

Lieutenant Peter James Montgomery is a tortured man who drinks to forget a promise made in cold-blooded anger—a promise that should’ve been broken.  Is the responsibility of  Unit 547  his atonement or punishment?

Read Soldiers From the Mist and find out.

Soldiers From the Mist by Ruth Burkett Weeks

                                                      Available on Amazon Kindle.  Download now!



Soldiers From the Mist



A Charlie Brown Christmas

Madison's prompt for this week's Friday fiction made me sad.

           “Christmas was your favorite time of year.

I hated the holiday. But not you. Every year you’d insist on putting up a damned tree. Had to be real. No artificial tree for you, no sir. I hated it.  Pine needles littered the floor. Jim Cat climbed the branches, tipping it over. You’d laugh.  Every year, The Christmas Story and It’s a Wonderful Life.  Ebenezer had it right—bah humbug!

Strange how your grandfather clock stopped when you passed. Never had the heart to start it again. But I did put up a tree this year. Oh, I know, it’s sad looking and droopy, but then again, so am I.  Next year will be better, I promise. But for now, it’s the best I can do.

Merry Christmas, Winnie, I miss you.”     

KINDLIZED!!!! JUST IN TIME FOR CHRISTMAS!

Breaking News!!!! 

Soldiers From the Mist is now available on Kindle.  Just in time for Christmas!!!

Three men, three promises--two were broken, one should've been. Trapped for eternity because of these promises, the ghost of Charles Ely haunts the Ozark hills and serches for the one that will set them free.

Make your first download to that new Kindle Fire, Soldiers From the Mist by Ruth Burkett Weeks.

LIGHTS, MUSIC, & FOOEY THE SNAKE

Sometimes simplicity is a soothing balm to the ragged heart:

Sunday night my brother, great-nephew, and niece honored a Burkett Christmas tradition—we  loaded up  the Tahoe and drove around the neighborhoods looking at Christmas lights.

My great-nephew is three years old and is smarter than all of us put together. No kidding, the little scamp can work his I-Pod like it was nothing. I don’t even know how to put my cell phone on vibrate.

As we drove to Fayetteville to marvel over the Lights of the Ozarks, I sat beside Logan in the back seat and laughed at his story about his imaginary friend, Josh, who lives far away at the WalMart in Springdale. On a roll, he then told me he worked at JB Hunt. When I told him I worked just down the street from him and that someday we should do lunch, his giggles melted my heart.

Lights of the Ozarks

Logan and Pa-Pa are great buddies.  (Another thing that melts my heart.) Both share the love of music and lights. Rocking out to country-western songs like,”Going Out with My Boots On, and I Like to Move It, Move It”, Logan kept us in stitches and entertained.

On the way home, we honored another tradition—Pet Smart.  Pa-Pa often takes Logan to Pet Smart to look at the fish, birds, cats, and snakes. Even though Logan informed me he doesn’t like snakes, he still insists on Pa-Pa lifting him up to gaze into the slimy, slithery snake cage. I asked him what the snake’s name was and without missing a beat he said, “Fooey.”

That Sunday the only thing we spent was time—golden time together doing something as simple as going to the pet shop. 

So, if you find yourself depressed over this holiday season and struggling with the insanity of shopping, buying, paying-for, and dealing with Christmas crowds, I recommend taking time out and going to see the lights—or to Pet Smart to visit Fooey the Snake.