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Friday, April 30, 2010
Thursday, April 29, 2010
It is time for a FIRST Wild Card Tour book review! If you wish to join the FIRST blog alliance, just click the button. We are a group of reviewers who tour Christian books. A Wild Card post includes a brief bio of the author and a full chapter from each book toured. The reason it is called a FIRST Wild Card Tour is that you never know if the book will be fiction, non~fiction, for young, or for old...or for somewhere in between! Enjoy your free peek into the book!You never know when I might play a wild card on you!
Today's Wild Card author is:
and the book:
Zonderkidz (March 9, 2010)
***Special thanks to Pam Mettler, Associate Director of Public Relations, ZonderKidz for sending me a review copy.***ABOUT THE AUTHOR:
Marla Stewart Konrad is keenly interested in global issues and has a special concern for the well-being of children. Her career as a speechwriter and communications professional has taken her to numerous countries in Asia and Africa. She lives near Toronto, Canada, with her family, and is the author of several books for children.
Product Details:
List Price: $15.99
Reading level: Ages 4-8
Hardcover: 32 pages
Publisher: Zonderkidz (March 9, 2010)
Language: English
ISBN-10: 0310714788
ISBN-13: 978-0310714781
MY REVIEW:
This beautiful children's book is the perfect gift to tuck inside a baby shower gift bag. The tear provoking text will capture Mommy’s heart while the soothing tones of the illustrations will capture Baby’s eye. One day, the text will touch Baby’s heart too.
The book describes different countries' traditions at the birth of their children. In Russia, nesting dolls are given as gifts. In India, a bag of rice. In the Amazon rain forest, babies sleep in hammocks. In Africa, Baby is wrapped in brightly woven cloth. But no matter the country, God watches over and loves each one. Including the one in your arms.
Author Marla Konrad and illustrator Lin Wang have worked together beautifully to create a keepsake every mother will treasure.
Please Click the Button to Browse Inside the Book:
Tuesday, April 20, 2010
Wounded Spirits Has A Cover!!
Isn't it wonderful?!
Enjoy an excerpt from Wounded Spirits:
An eerie eagle’s screech drew Adela’s eyes to the sky. Again, the bird announced its presence, but this time, she noted a human quality to it. Her line of sight was drawn to the main gates and Willy who was tied just inside it. He kicked and flailed, hollering something that was lost in the hubbub of the noon meal.
“Miss? My food? I’m kinda hungry here.”
Adela ignored the troop standing in front of her.
“What’s Willy yelling about?” she mumbled.
“How about you serve me up some of what you got there?”
But it was the slave in the distance who held her attention. He was screaming now, his gaze riveted to the gates…or was it beyond?
Adela squinted. Like a disturbed ant bed, the field between the fort and the ravine was alive with movement. The sight struck terror in her heart.
Hundreds of war whoops sliced the air and lifted the hairs on her neck. The shrieking came from all sides of the fort and drew closer by the second. Ahead, scores of painted bodies streaked toward the open gates.
“Indians! Indians!” cried Major Beasley, as he rushed to close the gates.
“Adela, behind the firewood, quick!” Elizabeth commanded.
Unable to peel her eyes from the Major, Adela stood rooted to the ground. The officer threw his weight into the heavy gate, but it barely budged.
Why isn’t anyone helping him?
At the base of the gate, the Major dug into the ground with his hands. Sand flew out behind him.
The Indians were now within a tomahawk’s throw.
The fort was wild with panic. Someone slammed into Adela sending her sprawling to the ground. People ran screaming in every direction.
A man stumbled over her. “Camellia!” he shouted, his eyes darting about the fort.
Adela crawled under one of the lunch tables, then pulled herself to her feet on the other side. She stretched her neck and scoured the crowd for a glimpse of the gates.
Did he get it closed in time?
The compound began to clear. Adela gasped at the sight before her.
Willy hung limp at the post, his head dangling to the side.
Major Beasley, a tomahawk in his back, dragged himself along the ground. A dark river of blood stained the earth behind him.
Like welcoming arms, the gates hung wide.
Oh God, save us!
War clubs raised, Creek warriors poured in. The sky released a shower of arrows.
Adela dropped back under the table, and pulled her knees to her chin.
Her horror intensified as the pickets trembled with the Indians’ arrival. They thrust their rifles through the portholes. The air reverberated with the explosion of their firearms.
Paralyzed with fear, Adela crouched under the table. None of this was supposed to be happening. But now, in less time than it took to form the lunch line, warriors had reached the walls uninhibited.
Adela’s gaze darted from one side to the next. Did even a single porthole remain free of an enemy rifle?
She clamped her hands over her ears. The whooping was maddening. They were screaming for blood.
White blood.
Her blood.
And she knew without a doubt they would drain her of it, first chance they got.
Monday, April 19, 2010
The Best Animal Movie?
So, what’s your favorite animal movie? (Please don’t tell me Snow Buddies.)
“Old Yeller” is my all time favorite, with “Where the Red Fern Grows” and "National Velvet" tying for second. My10 yo niece just told me every good classic has to have either a person or an animal die! I don’t think she’s too far off.
Have you seen “Savage Sam”, the sequel to “Old Yeller”? I haven’t and was wondering what you thought of it.
The kids and I are just a few chapters from finishing the book, then it’s straight on to Robinson Crusoe! Gotta get a head start on that big boy.
“Old Yeller” is my all time favorite, with “Where the Red Fern Grows” and "National Velvet" tying for second. My10 yo niece just told me every good classic has to have either a person or an animal die! I don’t think she’s too far off.
Have you seen “Savage Sam”, the sequel to “Old Yeller”? I haven’t and was wondering what you thought of it.
The kids and I are just a few chapters from finishing the book, then it’s straight on to Robinson Crusoe! Gotta get a head start on that big boy.
Friday, April 16, 2010
Nature's Language School--Week Nine
We’re starting month three!
This week in Nature’s Language School, we’ll pick up where we left off last week, with the phrase “Hay personas con pelo ___”. I think it should be an easy week for the kiddos.
(To start Nature’s Language School from the beginning, click here)
For advanced or older students, this month we will be working on el tiempo, the weather.
This week’s optional material is:
Hace sol. It’s sunny. (literally—it’s making sun)
Hace viento. It’s windy. (literally—it’s making wind)
Monday
Review: . En mi familia, hay personas con pelo corto/largo.
Bible reading: This will be a great opportunity to practice sounding out and saying a variety of Spanish words. In case you don’t have a Spanish Bible, here’s a passage listed for you. Be on the lookout for words you might know! Have the kids identify every word they can before looking this up in your English Bible.
1 Samuel 9:21
Saúl respondió y dijo: ¿No soy yo hijo de Benjamín, de la más pequeña de las tribus de Israel? Y mi familia ¿no es la más pequeña de todas las familias de la tribu de Benjamín? ¿Por qué, pues, me has dicho cosa semejante?
Revisit this passage throughout the week as you practice reading Spanish.
Tuesday
Review: ¿Cuantos _____ tienes?
New Material: rizado, curly
Note: I recently discovered a wonderful book entitled 25 Spanish Emergent Reader Mini-Books, published by Scholastic. It is filled with “easy-to-make reproducible books that promote literacy.” Although they’re not advertised as such, they also promote teaching Spanish using the Gouin method.
Each booklet focuses on a different verb/verb phrase and mixes in a variety of adjectives and adverbs on each page. I’ve been using these books with my kids, although instead of photocopying the books for them to then color, we’ve been making our own.
I show them the picture they were supposed to have colored. Using pencil and crayons, they copy the picture onto their own paper (or create their own version) then write in the appropriate Spanish words beneath. At the end of each booklet, we staple them together and use them later to review what we’ve learned.
If you’re serious about Spanish, I encourage you to purchase this book. I will be referring to it regularly.
Today’s Booklet Page:
On a new piece of quartered paper (or the back of last week’s last page), your child should write Hay personas con pelo rizado. Have your child draw a picture of someone you know with curly hair.
Don’t expect your child to remember all these adjectives this week. Our focus is En mi familia, hay personas con pelo ___. Anything they remember in addition to that is just icing on the cake. No pressure. Go over these, yes, but don’t use a lot of time on them.
On the backside, write these words: “There are people with curly hair.”
Wednesday
Review: Leo el libro (insert color).
New Material: sin pelo, without hair
Today’s Booklet Page:
On a new square of mini-book paper, have your child write the following sentence then draw a picture of someone you know sin pelo. My kids had a lot of fun with this one.
Hay personas sin pelo.
Activity Suggestion:
Make playdough people with varying lengths and colors of hair. Have fun and add ojos and bocas as well. Make sure they use their Spanish sentences while they create!
Thursday
Review: Alphabet. For reviewing the alphabet, check out this webpage: http://www.123teachme.com/learn_spanish/spanish_for_kids_26
New Material: gris
Note: You might have already learned this color, but it makes a great booklet page! Other hair colors that aren’t as straightforward as gray and black (gris and negro) are: rubio—blonde, pelirojo—a red head (notice on this one, the word “hair” is incorporated with the color. It stands alone to describe a person just as we do and say “he’s a redhead”); castaño—brown. For girls, change the ending “o’s” to “a’s”.
Flashcards:
Take a few minutes to review all your flashcards.
Today’s Booklet Page:
On the back of yesterday’s page, have your child write the following sentence: Hay personas con pelo gris. Then have them draw a picture of Grandma or Grandpa.
This is the last page of our booklet we’ll do, but feel free to add on using any of the hair colors I listed above. One idea is to have a self-portrait page. It can say “Tengo pelo rubio.” or “Soy peliroja.” (I am a redhead.)
Staple all the pages together
Activity Suggestion:
I do the following activity with my kids as a sort of fun test. They love it.
I set them where they can’t see each other’s papers. With a pencil, I divide a piece of blank typing paper into six boxes. They each receive one of these divided papers. I then say a phrase in Spanish using any of the words they know. With their crayons/pencils, they are to draw a picture of whatever I tell them to draw.
For example: “Draw dos libros naranjas. Draw una persona pequeña. Draw cuatro frutas rojas.” And so on until all the boxes are filled. Have fun comparing each other’s drawings.
Friday
Review: sentence 11
Notebook:
Words to add this week—
Under “describing words”—rizado
Under “colors”—gris
Under “small words”--sin
Recap: Sentences learned so far.
1. Yo tengo un lápiz.
2. Yo escribo con mi/el lapis.
3. Yo tengo un papel.
4. El papel es blanco.
5. (Yo) escribo con el lápiz en el papel.
6. Tengo un tenedor.
7. Como con el tenedor
8. Como la fruta con mi tenedor.
9. Tengo un/el libro.
10. Leo el libro (insert color).
11. Mi libro es pequeño/grande.
12. Hablo con la boca.
13. ¿Cuantas bocas tienes?
14. Con los ojos, veo (insert object/color).
15. Mis ojos son (insert color).
16. En mi familia, hay personas con pelo ______.
This week in Nature’s Language School, we’ll pick up where we left off last week, with the phrase “Hay personas con pelo ___”. I think it should be an easy week for the kiddos.
(To start Nature’s Language School from the beginning, click here)
For advanced or older students, this month we will be working on el tiempo, the weather.
This week’s optional material is:
Hace sol. It’s sunny. (literally—it’s making sun)
Hace viento. It’s windy. (literally—it’s making wind)
Monday
Review: . En mi familia, hay personas con pelo corto/largo.
Bible reading: This will be a great opportunity to practice sounding out and saying a variety of Spanish words. In case you don’t have a Spanish Bible, here’s a passage listed for you. Be on the lookout for words you might know! Have the kids identify every word they can before looking this up in your English Bible.
1 Samuel 9:21
Saúl respondió y dijo: ¿No soy yo hijo de Benjamín, de la más pequeña de las tribus de Israel? Y mi familia ¿no es la más pequeña de todas las familias de la tribu de Benjamín? ¿Por qué, pues, me has dicho cosa semejante?
Revisit this passage throughout the week as you practice reading Spanish.
Tuesday
Review: ¿Cuantos _____ tienes?
New Material: rizado, curly
Note: I recently discovered a wonderful book entitled 25 Spanish Emergent Reader Mini-Books, published by Scholastic. It is filled with “easy-to-make reproducible books that promote literacy.” Although they’re not advertised as such, they also promote teaching Spanish using the Gouin method.
Each booklet focuses on a different verb/verb phrase and mixes in a variety of adjectives and adverbs on each page. I’ve been using these books with my kids, although instead of photocopying the books for them to then color, we’ve been making our own.
I show them the picture they were supposed to have colored. Using pencil and crayons, they copy the picture onto their own paper (or create their own version) then write in the appropriate Spanish words beneath. At the end of each booklet, we staple them together and use them later to review what we’ve learned.
If you’re serious about Spanish, I encourage you to purchase this book. I will be referring to it regularly.
Today’s Booklet Page:
On a new piece of quartered paper (or the back of last week’s last page), your child should write Hay personas con pelo rizado. Have your child draw a picture of someone you know with curly hair.
Don’t expect your child to remember all these adjectives this week. Our focus is En mi familia, hay personas con pelo ___. Anything they remember in addition to that is just icing on the cake. No pressure. Go over these, yes, but don’t use a lot of time on them.
On the backside, write these words: “There are people with curly hair.”
Wednesday
Review: Leo el libro (insert color).
New Material: sin pelo, without hair
Today’s Booklet Page:
On a new square of mini-book paper, have your child write the following sentence then draw a picture of someone you know sin pelo. My kids had a lot of fun with this one.
Hay personas sin pelo.
Activity Suggestion:
Make playdough people with varying lengths and colors of hair. Have fun and add ojos and bocas as well. Make sure they use their Spanish sentences while they create!
Thursday
Review: Alphabet. For reviewing the alphabet, check out this webpage: http://www.123teachme.com/learn_spanish/spanish_for_kids_26
New Material: gris
Note: You might have already learned this color, but it makes a great booklet page! Other hair colors that aren’t as straightforward as gray and black (gris and negro) are: rubio—blonde, pelirojo—a red head (notice on this one, the word “hair” is incorporated with the color. It stands alone to describe a person just as we do and say “he’s a redhead”); castaño—brown. For girls, change the ending “o’s” to “a’s”.
Flashcards:
Take a few minutes to review all your flashcards.
Today’s Booklet Page:
On the back of yesterday’s page, have your child write the following sentence: Hay personas con pelo gris. Then have them draw a picture of Grandma or Grandpa.
This is the last page of our booklet we’ll do, but feel free to add on using any of the hair colors I listed above. One idea is to have a self-portrait page. It can say “Tengo pelo rubio.” or “Soy peliroja.” (I am a redhead.)
Staple all the pages together
Activity Suggestion:
I do the following activity with my kids as a sort of fun test. They love it.
I set them where they can’t see each other’s papers. With a pencil, I divide a piece of blank typing paper into six boxes. They each receive one of these divided papers. I then say a phrase in Spanish using any of the words they know. With their crayons/pencils, they are to draw a picture of whatever I tell them to draw.
For example: “Draw dos libros naranjas. Draw una persona pequeña. Draw cuatro frutas rojas.” And so on until all the boxes are filled. Have fun comparing each other’s drawings.
Friday
Review: sentence 11
Notebook:
Words to add this week—
Under “describing words”—rizado
Under “colors”—gris
Under “small words”--sin
Recap: Sentences learned so far.
1. Yo tengo un lápiz.
2. Yo escribo con mi/el lapis.
3. Yo tengo un papel.
4. El papel es blanco.
5. (Yo) escribo con el lápiz en el papel.
6. Tengo un tenedor.
7. Como con el tenedor
8. Como la fruta con mi tenedor.
9. Tengo un/el libro.
10. Leo el libro (insert color).
11. Mi libro es pequeño/grande.
12. Hablo con la boca.
13. ¿Cuantas bocas tienes?
14. Con los ojos, veo (insert object/color).
15. Mis ojos son (insert color).
16. En mi familia, hay personas con pelo ______.
Thursday, April 15, 2010
Calling All Gardening Experts!
Ok, all you super smart tree people out there, I need your help. We have a tree in our yard that has yet to be identified. It has the height and build of a fruit tree of some sort, but we're rather clueless. Plum? Citrus?
Got any ideas?
Got any ideas?
Had to share.
Our friendly neighborhood cardinal, singing at the top of his lungs.
Wishing I had more zoom on my lens!
Wednesday, April 14, 2010
A Watched Kettle Never Whistles...and a watched seed will never sprout
My little garden is so precious!
It has been such a joy to plant it and watch all the tiny leaves unfold and reach for the sun.
Ruth (my British house guest, friend, sweet sister in Christ, and the subject of my latest novel) and I have had hours of enjoyment planting and watering. Mostly, we’ve been watching. Several times a day, we head outdoors to make our round of the yard. From the apple trees, to the rose bushes, over to the starter trays with our little herbs making a stab at life, around to the peach trees, the “mystery” tree (more on that later), and finally to the vegetable garden in the raised bed.
Ruth says a watched kettle never whistles, but it doesn’t stop either of us! Truly, every day the plants change before our eyes. Sometimes the waiting gets the better of me, and like a kid I just HAVE to dig up the seed and see what it's up to. :)
I'm learning that accurate planting depth is essential. If planted too deep, some seeds will rot before they sprout. And that's so very sad! All that waiting for nothing.
It’s the first time I’ve really grown anything substantial, and I’m enthralled with the whole process. I have no idea what I’m doing, but Ruth’s been patient. She has decades of gardening experience, especially with tomatoes which are widely grown in Guernsey, her Channel Island home.
I just can’t get enough of it, and I wonder…will it fade away, this love of gardening? I hope not. Every little plant is a reminder of our Creator and Master Designer. Thank you God for giving us “every herb bearing seed, which is upon the face of all the earth, and every tree, in the which is the fruit of a tree yielding seed.”
What a gift!
It has been such a joy to plant it and watch all the tiny leaves unfold and reach for the sun.
Ruth (my British house guest, friend, sweet sister in Christ, and the subject of my latest novel) and I have had hours of enjoyment planting and watering. Mostly, we’ve been watching. Several times a day, we head outdoors to make our round of the yard. From the apple trees, to the rose bushes, over to the starter trays with our little herbs making a stab at life, around to the peach trees, the “mystery” tree (more on that later), and finally to the vegetable garden in the raised bed.
Ruth says a watched kettle never whistles, but it doesn’t stop either of us! Truly, every day the plants change before our eyes. Sometimes the waiting gets the better of me, and like a kid I just HAVE to dig up the seed and see what it's up to. :)
It’s the first time I’ve really grown anything substantial, and I’m enthralled with the whole process. I have no idea what I’m doing, but Ruth’s been patient. She has decades of gardening experience, especially with tomatoes which are widely grown in Guernsey, her Channel Island home.
I just can’t get enough of it, and I wonder…will it fade away, this love of gardening? I hope not. Every little plant is a reminder of our Creator and Master Designer. Thank you God for giving us “every herb bearing seed, which is upon the face of all the earth, and every tree, in the which is the fruit of a tree yielding seed.”
What a gift!
Tuesday, April 13, 2010
Spring Fever!!
Anyone else chomping at the bit to be done with school?
Me and the kids are soooo ready to be over with it. See? I’m even using bad English.
The kids can’t concentrate. I just want to be in the garden…or writing. Anything but factor, factor, product.
We’re scheduled to finish most our schoolwork within six weeks, but Seth’s math has at least three months of work left. Can you hear my groan of misery? Yeah, well, it’s nothing compared to Seth’s. I have no idea how we got so far behind in just one subject.
Next week, I’m hoping to begin doubling up. Won’t he just love that?!
So how are all you school moms doing out there? Feeling The Fever? Are you homeschoolers getting done on schedule?
I really hope you’re doing better than us!
Me and the kids are soooo ready to be over with it. See? I’m even using bad English.
The kids can’t concentrate. I just want to be in the garden…or writing. Anything but factor, factor, product.
We’re scheduled to finish most our schoolwork within six weeks, but Seth’s math has at least three months of work left. Can you hear my groan of misery? Yeah, well, it’s nothing compared to Seth’s. I have no idea how we got so far behind in just one subject.
Next week, I’m hoping to begin doubling up. Won’t he just love that?!
So how are all you school moms doing out there? Feeling The Fever? Are you homeschoolers getting done on schedule?
I really hope you’re doing better than us!
Monday, April 12, 2010
I Need a Tagline! Can you help me brainstorm?
The tag line is for the children's novel I'm working on. The idea I'm trying to get across with my tag line is this--If you only want to see the bad in someone, that's all you're going to see.
Here's what I've come up with so far:
The truth is invisible to those who only want to see evil.
The truth is invisible to those who don't wish to see it.
The good in someone can only be seen with eyes of love.
None of them is anywhere close to where I need to be. They don't cover what I'm trying to get across. Let's not mention how lame they are. Help!!
You can use what I have as a base, or come at this from a totally different angle. Whatever! I could just really use some fresh eyes on this.
Thanks!!
Here's what I've come up with so far:
The truth is invisible to those who only want to see evil.
The truth is invisible to those who don't wish to see it.
The good in someone can only be seen with eyes of love.
None of them is anywhere close to where I need to be. They don't cover what I'm trying to get across. Let's not mention how lame they are. Help!!
You can use what I have as a base, or come at this from a totally different angle. Whatever! I could just really use some fresh eyes on this.
Thanks!!
Sunday, April 11, 2010
The Secret Holocost Diaries
It is time for a FIRST Wild Card Tour book review! If you wish to join the FIRST blog alliance, just click the button. We are a group of reviewers who tour Christian books. A Wild Card post includes a brief bio of the author and a full chapter from each book toured. The reason it is called a FIRST Wild Card Tour is that you never know if the book will be fiction, non~fiction, for young, or for old...or for somewhere in between! Enjoy your free peek into the book!You never know when I might play a wild card on you!
Today's Wild Card author is:
and the book:
Tyndale House Publishers (March 4, 2010)
***Special thanks to Vicky Lynch of Tyndale House Publishers, Inc. for sending me a review copy.***ABOUT THE AUTHOR:
Nonna Bannister was a young girl when World War II broke into her happy life. She went from an idyllic early-twentieth-century Russian childhood, full of love and comforts, to the life of a prisoner working in labor camps—though she was not a Jew—eventually bereft of her entire family. But she survived the war armed with the faith in God her grandmother taught her and a readiness to start a new life. She immigrated to America, married, and started a family, keeping her past secret from everyone. Though she had carried from Germany the scraps of a diary and various photographs and other memorabilia, she kept it all hidden and would only take it out, years later, to translate and expand her writings. After decades of marriage, Nonna finally shared her secret with her husband . . . and now he is sharing it with the world. Nonna died on August 15, 2004.MY REVIEW:
"It is up to the survivors to be brave and let the whole world know about the horrors that took place. If we keep quiet and do not speak now about what happened before, it could surely happen again." Nonna Bannister
Half Russian, half Jewish Nonna grew up in Western Soviet Union under Stalin. At fourteen she was imprisoned under Hitler. By the time she was a woman, she had suffered more horror than any one person should ever have to endure.
Nonna's story is much like many other concentration camp survivor stories that have been documented since the end of WWII. They're all filled with the evil some men are capable of as well as the faith and resilience others. But not one story should be passed over. We must remember!
Nonna is a woman I would have been humbled to meet. She loved God, trusted him to see her through, and survived. But most astounding of all is that when it was all said and done, she forgave.
Her story, however, was one she kept all to herself. Even her husband of fifty-three years knew nothing of her staggering past until a short time before her death. I can only imagine what he must have felt the day she took him by the hand and led him to the attic to read the diaries she'd meticulously translated into English. How his heart must have broken!
Mine did. I'll treasure Nonna's story forever.
"Forgiveness is only an act of much generosity and wisdom." Nonna Bannister
Visit the author's website.
Product Details:
List Price: $14.99
Paperback: 336 pages
Publisher: Tyndale House Publishers (March 4, 2010)
Language: English
ISBN-10: 1414325479
ISBN-13: 978-1414325477
AND NOW...THE FIRST CHAPTER:
Friday, April 9, 2010
My Query Featured on Author Mary DeMuth's Blog!
I stumbled across a blog featuring the query I subitted for critique at Mary DeMuth's blog. It was posted three weeks ago! How did I miss it?!
It's great. Check it out here and learn a bit about my latest novel (which I'm days away from submitting to an agent).
Thanks, D'Ann for your valuable insight!!
It's great. Check it out here and learn a bit about my latest novel (which I'm days away from submitting to an agent).
Thanks, D'Ann for your valuable insight!!
It is time for a FIRST Wild Card Tour book review! If you wish to join the FIRST blog alliance, just click the button. We are a group of reviewers who tour Christian books. A Wild Card post includes a brief bio of the author and a full chapter from each book toured. The reason it is called a FIRST Wild Card Tour is that you never know if the book will be fiction, non~fiction, for young, or for old...or for somewhere in between! Enjoy your free peek into the book!You never know when I might play a wild card on you!
Today's Wild Card author is:
and the book:
New Leaf Publishing Group/Master Books (February 15, 2010)
ABOUT THE AUTHOR:
Julie first heard a creation science speaker at her church when she was just 15, igniting her interest in creation science and sparking an enthusiasm for defending the Bible’s account of creation. She has obtained a degree in health science, and is currently completing a degree in law. Julie is married with one daughter and lives on the east coast of Australia.
Visit the author's website.
Product Details:
List Price: $9.99
Paperback: 288 pages
Publisher: New Leaf Publishing Group/Master Books (February 15, 2010)
Language: English
ISBN-10: 0890515840
ISBN-13: 978-0890515846
AND NOW...THE FIRST CHAPTER:
Thomas Whitfield climbed out of the Lincoln Towncar and stood in the snappy, early morning fall air, breathing deeply. The temperature had fallen a few more degrees overnight, signaling that winter was truly on its way.
Thomas glanced up and down the wide street. There was nobody around at this early hour, and he took a moment to drink in the sights of his beloved city. The graceful willows, their branches arching over the street, were turning gold and red and, in the gentle yellow morning light, threw off highlights like burnished copper. This street was like many others in the center of DC — wide and tree-lined, with magnificent government buildings standing one after the other. That was another thing that Thomas found so delicious about this city — so much of it hinted at the enormous wealth and prosperity of the country, and yet only a few streets behind these world-famous landmarks, the seedier side of American poverty flourished. It was a city of contradictions, Thomas thought.
His gaze fell finally to the building right in front of him — the main complex of the Smithsonian Institution. Enormous stone pillars flanked the entryway into a marble lobby, and behind that were laid out the evidence of mankind’s brilliance. Everything about the institution was testament to the scientific and anthropological advances of man over the pages of history — the inventions, the discoveries, the deductions, the sheer radiance of a human being’s intelligence at its finest.
Thomas Whitfield had always been immensely proud of this place, and everything it showcased. He had boasted about it, defended it, nourished it, and protected it, the way a proud father would his prodigious child.
He was the secretary of the Smithsonian, after all, and he felt a strange kind of paternal relationship with the buildings and their contents.
He stood for a moment longer, a slender whippet of a man dressed immaculately, with highly polished shoes gleaming, thinning dark hair cut short, and a gray cashmere scarf to ward off the cold. Then he purposefully strode down the path and into the main building, scarf fluttering behind him.
To the malevolent eyes watching him through high-powered binoculars down the street in a non-descript Chevy, he presented a painfully easy target.
Thomas settled in his large office with the door shut, turned on the computer, and shut his eyes briefly as he contemplated what he would do next. The course of events he had planned for this day would change everything, and the impact would be felt right up to the president himself. Courage, Thomas, he told himself silently. What you are about to do is the right thing to do.
He began to type, slowly and decisively, feeling within himself a great sense of conviction and purpose. He was so lost in concentration that he was startled by the door suddenly swinging open.
“What are . . . ?” he exclaimed, almost jumping off his seat. Then he recognized his visitor and he glanced at his watch.
“What are you doing here?” Thomas asked. “It’s a little early for you, isn’t it?”
“I wanted to be sure I caught you,” his visitor replied, moving closer to the desk. “Without any interruptions.”
“I see. What can I do for you then?” Thomas asked, trying to hide his irritation. He hadn’t wanted to be interrupted during this most important task.
“What are you working on?” the unannounced guest asked, ignoring him and moving around the side of the desk and trying to look at Thomas’s computer screen.
“Oh, it’s nothing,” Thomas answered with a falsely airy tone. “It’s just a family project. Nothing to do with work. Is there something I can help you with?”
Thomas was suddenly aware that his visitor was standing close by him. He felt uncomfortable, and tried to roll his chair away to maintain some space.
“You see,” his visitor said in a quiet voice, “there are people out there who don’t agree with you. They think the project you are working on could be very dangerous. In fact, I believe they have already tried to warn you about continuing with this project.”
Thomas now felt distinctly uncomfortable and a little afraid. He decided to assert his authority. “Listen here,” he said, in a voice that betrayed his anxiety. “What I am working on is none of your business. The subject is certainly not up for discussion with somebody like you. I suggest you leave my office immediately.”
The visitor managed to fuse sorrow and menace into his words as he said, “I’m afraid I can’t do that. You will have to come with me.”
Thomas retorted, “I’m not going anywhere with you. In fact, I. . . .” He broke off abruptly as he saw the small handgun in the visitor’s hand, pointing directly at him. There was no sorrow or pity on his face — only menace.
“Do I need to force you to come with me?” the visitor wondered, his tone like flint.
Thomas leapt to his feet, his eyes darting about wildly. He needed to get out of here, to try to get away from this situation that had so rapidly gotten out of hand. A hand shot out and grabbed Thomas by the collar with surprising strength. Thomas was shocked as he strained to get away from the man, who was intently staring at the computer screen.
“You traitor!” Thomas spat. “I should’ve known you were nothing more than a trained monkey!”
The visitor chuckled heartily. “That’s ironic, Thomas.”
The visitor, much younger and stronger than Thomas, began to drag him out of the room. Thomas was determined not to go down without a fight, and drove his heel backward into the visitor’s shin. There was a yelp of pain, but the unrelenting grip did not lessen around Thomas’s arm. Instead, a thick arm curled around Thomas’s throat and squeezed, applying pressure to the carotid artery. It took only a few seconds for Thomas to fall limply into the arms of his abductor as the blood supply to his brain was cut off.
That was the last anyone saw of the secretary of the Smithsonian Institute.
• • • •
Dinah Harris woke with a scream dying in her throat, the sheets twisted hopelessly around her legs. Her nightgown was damp with panicked sweat, her heart galloping like a runaway horse. She stared, blinking, at the pale dawn light streaming through the window, while the shadowy vestiges of her nightmare slithered from her memory.
As she lay in bed, joining the waking world from sleep, the familiar blanket of depression settled over her, dark and heavy as the Atlantic winter. The dread she felt at facing another day was almost palpable in the small bedroom. Dinah glanced across at her alarm clock, where the flashing numbers showed 6 a.m.
She threw aside the sheets and stumbled into the tiny bathroom, where she purposefully avoided looking at herself in the mirror. She was only in her mid-thirties and had once been relatively attractive. Certainly not beautiful, but with what her first boyfriend had once told her — a pleasant face and athletic body. Now her eyes were always underscored by dark bags, her skin pale and paper-thin, and the weight fell off her in slow degrees without ceasing. She dressed in her trademark dark pants suit, pulled her black hair from her face in a severe ponytail, and washed her face.
She made strong coffee and sat in the kitchen as she drank the bitter liquid. The dining alcove was still stacked with moving cartons, filled with books and music that she couldn’t face opening. The gray light of morning lent no color to the apartment, which suited Dinah just fine. Her world didn’t contain color anymore.
Though traffic often seemed at a standstill in the mornings, Dinah always arrived early to the J. Edgar Hoover building. She turned directly to the teaching wing, avoiding the eye contact and morning greetings of many she knew in the building. She knew what they whispered about during after-work drinks and at the water cooler. Her fall from grace would go down as one of the most spectacular in FBI history.
So she kept up the ice-cool veneer until she arrived at her desk, checking her e-mails and teaching schedule for the week.
She didn’t look up as an imposing shadow fell across her desk.
“Special Agent Harris, how are you?” boomed the voice of her former colleague, David Ferguson. He was a big man, six-four and two hundred pounds, with a loud, booming voice and a penchant for pork rinds. He stood above her, his hand resting easily on the holstered gun at his hip; the twin of a gun Dinah no longer wore but kept underneath her pillow.
“Ferguson,” she replied. “Fine, how are you?”
“Feel like a coffee?” he asked.
“Don’t you have a killer to catch?” Dinah asked, dryly.
He waved his hand dismissively. “Oh, they can wait. Come on.”
He took her to a tiny Italian café a block away from the FBI headquarters. While they ordered, Dinah wondered at his ulterior motive for bringing her here. It certainly isn’t for my sparkling wit and charm, she thought. Rumor had it that the freshman criminology classes were afraid of her.
“So I’m just wondering if I could get your opinion on something,” Ferguson began, tentatively testing the water.
She scowled at him. “You know I don’t get involved in cases.”
He held up his hands in mock surrender. “Okay, calm down, Harris. I just want your opinion. I know you’ve given up your real talents to teach some snotty freshmen.”
His comment stung her, but she narrowed her eyes at him and pretended she hadn’t even noticed. “So get on with it already.”
“I don’t remember you always being this prickly,” complained Ferguson, draining his macchiato. “Anyway. What would you say if I told you the secretary of the Smithsonian Institution had gone missing?”
“Missing?” Dinah raised her eyebrows and slurped her latte. “In what context?”
“As in, turned up for work at six this morning and disappeared off the face of the earth shortly thereafter.”
“How do you know he turned up for work at six?” Dinah asked.
“Security cameras have him arriving in the lobby and heading for his office. After that, who knows?”
“So he’s an adult, maybe he took a trip to get away from work stress or his wife has been giving him grief or his kid is in trouble.” Dinah frowned. “Why are we even involved at this early stage?”
Ferguson paused. “It’s due mostly to his rather prestigious position. It wouldn’t do for the secretary of the Smithsonian to simply disappear. Congress is rather anxious.”
Dinah knew of political influence that ran high in this city but didn’t press the issue. “Is there evidence of homicide?”
“Not really, although I haven’t been to his office yet.” Ferguson made it sound like a confession, and he looked at her sheepishly.
Dinah stared at him. “What do you really want, Ferguson?”
He gathered up his courage. “I need you to work this case with me, Harris.”
Dinah opened her mouth to respond indignantly, but Ferguson held up his hand and continued with a rush. “You know I’m not good with sensitive cases. I. . . .”
“Or complex ones,” interjected Dinah, bad-temperedly.
“I’m operating on a hunch that this is a bad case, that it involves people in the White House.” Ferguson must have needed her very badly to allow her comment to go unheeded.
“Well, I’m sorry, but I have a heavy teaching workload,” she said. “So I’ll have to limit my involvement to opinions only.”
Ferguson didn’t say anything but looked even guiltier.
“What have you done?” Dinah demanded.
“I may have cleared your schedule so you could work with me.” Ferguson examined his fingernails with great concentration.
Dinah waited for a beat. “I see. You’ve spoken to my superiors?”
He nodded. “They’ve agreed to lend you to me for as long as the case takes.”
Dinah stood abruptly. “Thanks for the coffee.” She walked angrily from the café.
Ferguson stared at her as she walked off, then slapped down some crumpled notes and heaved his bulk out of the chair. “Where are you going?” Ferguson asked, struggling to keep up with her.
She wheeled around and glared directly at him. “Who do you think you are? Do you think I’m lesser than you so you can sneak around behind my back?”
“Dinah, we really need you back in the field. You were — are — brilliant.” Ferguson spoke softly, hoping to calm her down.
“My field days are behind me, with very good reason,” snapped Dinah. I can’t see a dead body anymore. I can’t feel desire to catch the person who did it. I just want to lie down beside the body and feel the same endless peace of sleep.
“Please, I’m begging you. I need you back,” Ferguson said. Then it hit her. Dinah realized that this situation was very serious. Ferguson was the last person on the planet to beg anybody.
“I don’t really have a choice, do I?” she said dully. She knew that this case could break her.
Ferguson didn’t reply, and his answer was in his silence.
• • • •
The Smithsonian Institution was bustling with tourists and school kids as if nothing had gone wrong. Dinah and David strode into the main lobby, trying unsuccessfully to look casual. When they flashed their badges discreetly, they were allowed into the inner sanctum, where Thomas Whitfield’s personal assistant was fielding phone calls.
The secretary was young and pretty, with thick, dark hair waving gracefully to her shoulders, startlingly blue eyes, and a creamy olive complexion. Her only downfall was the thick eye makeup, applied to make her eyes stand out but which had the effect of making her look like a scared raccoon. “I’m afraid Mr. Whitfield simply cannot be interrupted at present,” she snapped into the phone. “I’ll have him call you back if you’d leave a message.”
She glanced up and saw the two agents standing at her desk. She gave them a wave to acknowledge their presence, repeated the details of the caller, scribbled furiously, and then hung up.
“Good morning,” she said, jumping to her feet. “If you caught the end of that conversation, you’ll know that Mr. Whitfield is in an extremely important meeting and. . . .”
“Save it,” interrupted Dinah, showing the secretary her badge. The young woman blushed. “We’re here to investigate the disappearance of Mr. Whitfield. What is your name?”
The secretary sat down hard, looking relieved. “I’m Lara Southall. I’m so worried about Mr. Whitfield.”
Ferguson flashed his partner a frown and took charge. “I’m Special Agent David Ferguson and this is Special Agent Dinah Harris. You’ll have to excuse her; she’s been out of the field for some time and has forgotten how to relate to people.”
Dinah opened her mouth to reply with outrage, but Ferguson continued, “Can you tell us about this morning?”
Lara Southall regarded Dinah with a mixture of amusement and fear, which Dinah filed away for future reference. “I got to work at eight o’clock as usual,” she replied. “Mr. Whitfield always arrives before me. I usually turn on my computer, get settled, and then get us both a coffee. When I opened his office door to give him the coffee, the room was empty.” As the girl spoke, she tapped perfectly manicured fingernails together absently. Dinah hated manicured fingernails: they reminded her of her distinctly unattractive, chewed-to-the-quick fingertips.
“Mr. Whitfield was due to give a presentation at eleven o’clock,” Lara continued. “So I didn’t really start worrying until about ten-thirty. He hates to be late, and he had to come back to get his presentation and make it uptown in less than half an hour. At eleven, I started to make some calls.”
“Has he ever been absent from the office before?” Ferguson asked.
“Sure, he often has meetings or goes out into the museum to talk to visitors. The thing is, I always know what he’s doing. That’s part of my job. He never goes anywhere during the day without letting me know.”
“So you started making calls at eleven. Who did you call?” Dinah asked impatiently.
Lara ticked off her fingers as she remembered. “I called his cell phone, and I called the other museums. I thought maybe he’d just forgotten to tell me he had a meeting. Nobody had seen him and his cell just rang out. So I called his home. His wife told me he’d left for work at about five-thirty and she hadn’t seen him since. Then I called some of the senior executives. I thought they might’ve had an emergency. But nobody had seen him.”
“Did the people you called — his wife, the executives — seem concerned about his whereabouts?” Ferguson asked.
“Yes, they did. It’s so unusual for Mr. Whitfield to act this way that everyone I spoke to was concerned. I think his wife is actually here somewhere at the moment.”
“So then you called the police?” Dinah said.
“No, one of the directors came over to look at the security tapes. She specifically told me not to call anyone until she’d viewed the footage. I thought that Mr. Whitfield might’ve had an accident on the way to work. Mrs. Whitfield was calling the hospitals when Ms. Biscelli — the director — came back from security.”
“What did the tapes show?” Dinah asked.
“They showed him arriving at six-thirty or so. That’s all I know.”
“Did any of the tapes show him leaving?”
“Not as far as I know.”
“Right. So what then?”
“I called the police.”
Ferguson nodded. “What did they tell you?”
“Basically they won’t do anything until he’s been missing 24 hours.” Lara stopped clicking her nails together and started twisting her hair with one finger. “So I told Ms. Biscelli, and she wasn’t happy with that. I think she must’ve pulled some strings, because here you are.”
Dinah and Ferguson both raised their eyebrows at her in confusion.
“The FBI,” explained Lara. “You guys wouldn’t normally get involved, would you?” She may have been a very pretty secretary, but Lara Southall was an intelligent girl. She’d asked the very question Dinah had been mulling over all morning.
“We’re going to look in his office,” Ferguson said, ignoring the question. He handed her his card. “Please call me if you think of anything else that might be helpful.”
She nodded and picked up the ringing phone. “No,” she said, sounding very weary. “Mr. Whitfield is in a meeting at the moment and can’t be disturbed.”
• • • •
Ferguson opened the door to the office while Dinah waited to get the log-on details for Thomas Whitfield’s computer. Dinah stood in the doorway, looking into the impressive room, and felt the thrill of the chase wash over her like a wave. It had been a long time since she had felt anything.
The office was furnished with heavy cedar furniture that consisted of a large desk, a leather-bound chair, a couch, and two armchairs grouped around a glass-topped coffee table and one entire wall of built-in bookcases. The floor was covered with thick burgundy carpet, and the drapes at the picture window were also burgundy. The walls contained portraits of several great scientists and inventors — Dinah recognized Charles Darwin, Thomas Edison, and the Wright Brothers — as well as photos of the secretary with the president, the queen of England, and other dignitaries. The room itself was clean and uncluttered, likely symbolic of the man himself, Dinah thought.
Ferguson was moving around the room, muttering to himself, as was his habit. Dinah had forgotten how intensely annoying she found this habit. She preferred silence so that she could concentrate.
Having received the log-on details from Lara, Dinah strode to the desk and pulled on her latex gloves. The top of the desk was shiny and would be a great medium to obtain fingerprints. She was careful not to allow herself to touch the desktop while she turned on the laptop.
“By the way, Harris,” Ferguson said from the wall of bookcases, “I forgot to mention that if something has happened to Mr. Whitfield, the media scrutiny is likely to be intense.”
Dinah scowled at the screen of the laptop. She hated the media, and it was a long-term grudge she held from the last case she’d been involved in. “You can handle it,” she said. “I want nothing to do with those vultures.”
Ferguson glanced over at her. “Of course I’ll handle it. But I can’t guarantee that they’ll leave you alone.”
Dinah tapped her foot against the leg of the desk impatiently as the laptop struggled to come to life. “Sticks and stones, Ferguson,” she said tightly. “Words can never hurt me.”
She could see that Ferguson didn’t buy the lie, but he’d decided to let it go. He at least knew not to push too far.
“This whole office is giving me a weird vibe,” he said after a moment. “It’s too . . . organized.”
Dinah logged onto the laptop. “I’m listening.”
“Look at the desk,” Ferguson mused. “No files or paperwork. Not even a pen or a Post-It note. No diary.”
“Maybe he’s just really neat,” Dinah said, opening Outlook on the laptop.
Ferguson went back to his muttering as he continued drifting around the room. Dinah frowned as she clicked through the folders in Outlook. Then she opened the other programs on the computer and looked through the folders there.
“That’s odd,” she commented at last. Ferguson looked up and came over to her.
She clicked through the inbox, sent items, and calendar of the e-mail program. There were no entries in any of them. “They’re completely clean,” she said. “The calendar is the strangest. You’d think the secretary of the Smithsonian Institution would have at least a couple of meetings a week.”
“Maybe he uses a paper diary,” suggested Ferguson.
“Certainly a possibility,” agreed Dinah. “But couple the empty calendar with the fact that he’s neither received nor sent an e-mail from this computer and something isn’t right.”
Ferguson opened the desk drawers and started looking through them.
“Also,” added Dinah, “there is not one single saved document in any other program — no letters, articles, presentations, anything. The entire computer is as if it’s never been used.”
Ferguson sat back on his heels. “You think someone has wiped his computer?”
“Well, the sixty-four-thousand-dollar question is: did Thomas Whitfield wipe his own computer before disappearing or did someone else wipe his computer before abducting him?” Dinah began to shut down the programs. “After all, there is no evidence to suggest that he has been abducted. There’s no sign of a struggle in here or blood stains, is there?”
Ferguson shook his head. “No, there isn’t. But there is something off about this office. Nobody, least of all a man in his position, can get through a working day without sending an e-mail or doing paperwork of some kind.” He gestured at the desk drawers. “There’s absolutely nothing in them.”
“I agree,” Dinah said. She closed the laptop and picked it up. “I’m going to have the lab look at the hard drive. What else?”
“I’ll call in crime scene to lift some fingerprints and check for blood.” Ferguson paused, thinking. “I’d like to talk to Ms. Biscelli, and I’d like to talk to his wife.”
Dinah nodded. “If Mr. Whitfield has been abducted, what do you suppose is the motive?”
Ferguson considered. “I don’t know. Money? Fame? Half the time I think these loonies go around killing people just so they can get their name in the news.”
Dinah stared at him. “Do you think Thomas Whitfield is dead?”
He shrugged. “Right now, Harris, I know nine-tenths of absolutely nothing. Let’s talk to Ms. Biscelli. Maybe she’ll know what happened and we can solve this case before dinner time and I’ll get a decent night’s sleep.”
Flippancy, Dinah remembered, was just Ferguson’s way of dealing with the intensity of this job and the horror they’d witnessed over the years.
Thomas glanced up and down the wide street. There was nobody around at this early hour, and he took a moment to drink in the sights of his beloved city. The graceful willows, their branches arching over the street, were turning gold and red and, in the gentle yellow morning light, threw off highlights like burnished copper. This street was like many others in the center of DC — wide and tree-lined, with magnificent government buildings standing one after the other. That was another thing that Thomas found so delicious about this city — so much of it hinted at the enormous wealth and prosperity of the country, and yet only a few streets behind these world-famous landmarks, the seedier side of American poverty flourished. It was a city of contradictions, Thomas thought.
His gaze fell finally to the building right in front of him — the main complex of the Smithsonian Institution. Enormous stone pillars flanked the entryway into a marble lobby, and behind that were laid out the evidence of mankind’s brilliance. Everything about the institution was testament to the scientific and anthropological advances of man over the pages of history — the inventions, the discoveries, the deductions, the sheer radiance of a human being’s intelligence at its finest.
Thomas Whitfield had always been immensely proud of this place, and everything it showcased. He had boasted about it, defended it, nourished it, and protected it, the way a proud father would his prodigious child.
He was the secretary of the Smithsonian, after all, and he felt a strange kind of paternal relationship with the buildings and their contents.
He stood for a moment longer, a slender whippet of a man dressed immaculately, with highly polished shoes gleaming, thinning dark hair cut short, and a gray cashmere scarf to ward off the cold. Then he purposefully strode down the path and into the main building, scarf fluttering behind him.
To the malevolent eyes watching him through high-powered binoculars down the street in a non-descript Chevy, he presented a painfully easy target.
Thomas settled in his large office with the door shut, turned on the computer, and shut his eyes briefly as he contemplated what he would do next. The course of events he had planned for this day would change everything, and the impact would be felt right up to the president himself. Courage, Thomas, he told himself silently. What you are about to do is the right thing to do.
He began to type, slowly and decisively, feeling within himself a great sense of conviction and purpose. He was so lost in concentration that he was startled by the door suddenly swinging open.
“What are . . . ?” he exclaimed, almost jumping off his seat. Then he recognized his visitor and he glanced at his watch.
“What are you doing here?” Thomas asked. “It’s a little early for you, isn’t it?”
“I wanted to be sure I caught you,” his visitor replied, moving closer to the desk. “Without any interruptions.”
“I see. What can I do for you then?” Thomas asked, trying to hide his irritation. He hadn’t wanted to be interrupted during this most important task.
“What are you working on?” the unannounced guest asked, ignoring him and moving around the side of the desk and trying to look at Thomas’s computer screen.
“Oh, it’s nothing,” Thomas answered with a falsely airy tone. “It’s just a family project. Nothing to do with work. Is there something I can help you with?”
Thomas was suddenly aware that his visitor was standing close by him. He felt uncomfortable, and tried to roll his chair away to maintain some space.
“You see,” his visitor said in a quiet voice, “there are people out there who don’t agree with you. They think the project you are working on could be very dangerous. In fact, I believe they have already tried to warn you about continuing with this project.”
Thomas now felt distinctly uncomfortable and a little afraid. He decided to assert his authority. “Listen here,” he said, in a voice that betrayed his anxiety. “What I am working on is none of your business. The subject is certainly not up for discussion with somebody like you. I suggest you leave my office immediately.”
The visitor managed to fuse sorrow and menace into his words as he said, “I’m afraid I can’t do that. You will have to come with me.”
Thomas retorted, “I’m not going anywhere with you. In fact, I. . . .” He broke off abruptly as he saw the small handgun in the visitor’s hand, pointing directly at him. There was no sorrow or pity on his face — only menace.
“Do I need to force you to come with me?” the visitor wondered, his tone like flint.
Thomas leapt to his feet, his eyes darting about wildly. He needed to get out of here, to try to get away from this situation that had so rapidly gotten out of hand. A hand shot out and grabbed Thomas by the collar with surprising strength. Thomas was shocked as he strained to get away from the man, who was intently staring at the computer screen.
“You traitor!” Thomas spat. “I should’ve known you were nothing more than a trained monkey!”
The visitor chuckled heartily. “That’s ironic, Thomas.”
The visitor, much younger and stronger than Thomas, began to drag him out of the room. Thomas was determined not to go down without a fight, and drove his heel backward into the visitor’s shin. There was a yelp of pain, but the unrelenting grip did not lessen around Thomas’s arm. Instead, a thick arm curled around Thomas’s throat and squeezed, applying pressure to the carotid artery. It took only a few seconds for Thomas to fall limply into the arms of his abductor as the blood supply to his brain was cut off.
That was the last anyone saw of the secretary of the Smithsonian Institute.
• • • •
Dinah Harris woke with a scream dying in her throat, the sheets twisted hopelessly around her legs. Her nightgown was damp with panicked sweat, her heart galloping like a runaway horse. She stared, blinking, at the pale dawn light streaming through the window, while the shadowy vestiges of her nightmare slithered from her memory.
As she lay in bed, joining the waking world from sleep, the familiar blanket of depression settled over her, dark and heavy as the Atlantic winter. The dread she felt at facing another day was almost palpable in the small bedroom. Dinah glanced across at her alarm clock, where the flashing numbers showed 6 a.m.
She threw aside the sheets and stumbled into the tiny bathroom, where she purposefully avoided looking at herself in the mirror. She was only in her mid-thirties and had once been relatively attractive. Certainly not beautiful, but with what her first boyfriend had once told her — a pleasant face and athletic body. Now her eyes were always underscored by dark bags, her skin pale and paper-thin, and the weight fell off her in slow degrees without ceasing. She dressed in her trademark dark pants suit, pulled her black hair from her face in a severe ponytail, and washed her face.
She made strong coffee and sat in the kitchen as she drank the bitter liquid. The dining alcove was still stacked with moving cartons, filled with books and music that she couldn’t face opening. The gray light of morning lent no color to the apartment, which suited Dinah just fine. Her world didn’t contain color anymore.
Though traffic often seemed at a standstill in the mornings, Dinah always arrived early to the J. Edgar Hoover building. She turned directly to the teaching wing, avoiding the eye contact and morning greetings of many she knew in the building. She knew what they whispered about during after-work drinks and at the water cooler. Her fall from grace would go down as one of the most spectacular in FBI history.
So she kept up the ice-cool veneer until she arrived at her desk, checking her e-mails and teaching schedule for the week.
She didn’t look up as an imposing shadow fell across her desk.
“Special Agent Harris, how are you?” boomed the voice of her former colleague, David Ferguson. He was a big man, six-four and two hundred pounds, with a loud, booming voice and a penchant for pork rinds. He stood above her, his hand resting easily on the holstered gun at his hip; the twin of a gun Dinah no longer wore but kept underneath her pillow.
“Ferguson,” she replied. “Fine, how are you?”
“Feel like a coffee?” he asked.
“Don’t you have a killer to catch?” Dinah asked, dryly.
He waved his hand dismissively. “Oh, they can wait. Come on.”
He took her to a tiny Italian café a block away from the FBI headquarters. While they ordered, Dinah wondered at his ulterior motive for bringing her here. It certainly isn’t for my sparkling wit and charm, she thought. Rumor had it that the freshman criminology classes were afraid of her.
“So I’m just wondering if I could get your opinion on something,” Ferguson began, tentatively testing the water.
She scowled at him. “You know I don’t get involved in cases.”
He held up his hands in mock surrender. “Okay, calm down, Harris. I just want your opinion. I know you’ve given up your real talents to teach some snotty freshmen.”
His comment stung her, but she narrowed her eyes at him and pretended she hadn’t even noticed. “So get on with it already.”
“I don’t remember you always being this prickly,” complained Ferguson, draining his macchiato. “Anyway. What would you say if I told you the secretary of the Smithsonian Institution had gone missing?”
“Missing?” Dinah raised her eyebrows and slurped her latte. “In what context?”
“As in, turned up for work at six this morning and disappeared off the face of the earth shortly thereafter.”
“How do you know he turned up for work at six?” Dinah asked.
“Security cameras have him arriving in the lobby and heading for his office. After that, who knows?”
“So he’s an adult, maybe he took a trip to get away from work stress or his wife has been giving him grief or his kid is in trouble.” Dinah frowned. “Why are we even involved at this early stage?”
Ferguson paused. “It’s due mostly to his rather prestigious position. It wouldn’t do for the secretary of the Smithsonian to simply disappear. Congress is rather anxious.”
Dinah knew of political influence that ran high in this city but didn’t press the issue. “Is there evidence of homicide?”
“Not really, although I haven’t been to his office yet.” Ferguson made it sound like a confession, and he looked at her sheepishly.
Dinah stared at him. “What do you really want, Ferguson?”
He gathered up his courage. “I need you to work this case with me, Harris.”
Dinah opened her mouth to respond indignantly, but Ferguson held up his hand and continued with a rush. “You know I’m not good with sensitive cases. I. . . .”
“Or complex ones,” interjected Dinah, bad-temperedly.
“I’m operating on a hunch that this is a bad case, that it involves people in the White House.” Ferguson must have needed her very badly to allow her comment to go unheeded.
“Well, I’m sorry, but I have a heavy teaching workload,” she said. “So I’ll have to limit my involvement to opinions only.”
Ferguson didn’t say anything but looked even guiltier.
“What have you done?” Dinah demanded.
“I may have cleared your schedule so you could work with me.” Ferguson examined his fingernails with great concentration.
Dinah waited for a beat. “I see. You’ve spoken to my superiors?”
He nodded. “They’ve agreed to lend you to me for as long as the case takes.”
Dinah stood abruptly. “Thanks for the coffee.” She walked angrily from the café.
Ferguson stared at her as she walked off, then slapped down some crumpled notes and heaved his bulk out of the chair. “Where are you going?” Ferguson asked, struggling to keep up with her.
She wheeled around and glared directly at him. “Who do you think you are? Do you think I’m lesser than you so you can sneak around behind my back?”
“Dinah, we really need you back in the field. You were — are — brilliant.” Ferguson spoke softly, hoping to calm her down.
“My field days are behind me, with very good reason,” snapped Dinah. I can’t see a dead body anymore. I can’t feel desire to catch the person who did it. I just want to lie down beside the body and feel the same endless peace of sleep.
“Please, I’m begging you. I need you back,” Ferguson said. Then it hit her. Dinah realized that this situation was very serious. Ferguson was the last person on the planet to beg anybody.
“I don’t really have a choice, do I?” she said dully. She knew that this case could break her.
Ferguson didn’t reply, and his answer was in his silence.
• • • •
The Smithsonian Institution was bustling with tourists and school kids as if nothing had gone wrong. Dinah and David strode into the main lobby, trying unsuccessfully to look casual. When they flashed their badges discreetly, they were allowed into the inner sanctum, where Thomas Whitfield’s personal assistant was fielding phone calls.
The secretary was young and pretty, with thick, dark hair waving gracefully to her shoulders, startlingly blue eyes, and a creamy olive complexion. Her only downfall was the thick eye makeup, applied to make her eyes stand out but which had the effect of making her look like a scared raccoon. “I’m afraid Mr. Whitfield simply cannot be interrupted at present,” she snapped into the phone. “I’ll have him call you back if you’d leave a message.”
She glanced up and saw the two agents standing at her desk. She gave them a wave to acknowledge their presence, repeated the details of the caller, scribbled furiously, and then hung up.
“Good morning,” she said, jumping to her feet. “If you caught the end of that conversation, you’ll know that Mr. Whitfield is in an extremely important meeting and. . . .”
“Save it,” interrupted Dinah, showing the secretary her badge. The young woman blushed. “We’re here to investigate the disappearance of Mr. Whitfield. What is your name?”
The secretary sat down hard, looking relieved. “I’m Lara Southall. I’m so worried about Mr. Whitfield.”
Ferguson flashed his partner a frown and took charge. “I’m Special Agent David Ferguson and this is Special Agent Dinah Harris. You’ll have to excuse her; she’s been out of the field for some time and has forgotten how to relate to people.”
Dinah opened her mouth to reply with outrage, but Ferguson continued, “Can you tell us about this morning?”
Lara Southall regarded Dinah with a mixture of amusement and fear, which Dinah filed away for future reference. “I got to work at eight o’clock as usual,” she replied. “Mr. Whitfield always arrives before me. I usually turn on my computer, get settled, and then get us both a coffee. When I opened his office door to give him the coffee, the room was empty.” As the girl spoke, she tapped perfectly manicured fingernails together absently. Dinah hated manicured fingernails: they reminded her of her distinctly unattractive, chewed-to-the-quick fingertips.
“Mr. Whitfield was due to give a presentation at eleven o’clock,” Lara continued. “So I didn’t really start worrying until about ten-thirty. He hates to be late, and he had to come back to get his presentation and make it uptown in less than half an hour. At eleven, I started to make some calls.”
“Has he ever been absent from the office before?” Ferguson asked.
“Sure, he often has meetings or goes out into the museum to talk to visitors. The thing is, I always know what he’s doing. That’s part of my job. He never goes anywhere during the day without letting me know.”
“So you started making calls at eleven. Who did you call?” Dinah asked impatiently.
Lara ticked off her fingers as she remembered. “I called his cell phone, and I called the other museums. I thought maybe he’d just forgotten to tell me he had a meeting. Nobody had seen him and his cell just rang out. So I called his home. His wife told me he’d left for work at about five-thirty and she hadn’t seen him since. Then I called some of the senior executives. I thought they might’ve had an emergency. But nobody had seen him.”
“Did the people you called — his wife, the executives — seem concerned about his whereabouts?” Ferguson asked.
“Yes, they did. It’s so unusual for Mr. Whitfield to act this way that everyone I spoke to was concerned. I think his wife is actually here somewhere at the moment.”
“So then you called the police?” Dinah said.
“No, one of the directors came over to look at the security tapes. She specifically told me not to call anyone until she’d viewed the footage. I thought that Mr. Whitfield might’ve had an accident on the way to work. Mrs. Whitfield was calling the hospitals when Ms. Biscelli — the director — came back from security.”
“What did the tapes show?” Dinah asked.
“They showed him arriving at six-thirty or so. That’s all I know.”
“Did any of the tapes show him leaving?”
“Not as far as I know.”
“Right. So what then?”
“I called the police.”
Ferguson nodded. “What did they tell you?”
“Basically they won’t do anything until he’s been missing 24 hours.” Lara stopped clicking her nails together and started twisting her hair with one finger. “So I told Ms. Biscelli, and she wasn’t happy with that. I think she must’ve pulled some strings, because here you are.”
Dinah and Ferguson both raised their eyebrows at her in confusion.
“The FBI,” explained Lara. “You guys wouldn’t normally get involved, would you?” She may have been a very pretty secretary, but Lara Southall was an intelligent girl. She’d asked the very question Dinah had been mulling over all morning.
“We’re going to look in his office,” Ferguson said, ignoring the question. He handed her his card. “Please call me if you think of anything else that might be helpful.”
She nodded and picked up the ringing phone. “No,” she said, sounding very weary. “Mr. Whitfield is in a meeting at the moment and can’t be disturbed.”
• • • •
Ferguson opened the door to the office while Dinah waited to get the log-on details for Thomas Whitfield’s computer. Dinah stood in the doorway, looking into the impressive room, and felt the thrill of the chase wash over her like a wave. It had been a long time since she had felt anything.
The office was furnished with heavy cedar furniture that consisted of a large desk, a leather-bound chair, a couch, and two armchairs grouped around a glass-topped coffee table and one entire wall of built-in bookcases. The floor was covered with thick burgundy carpet, and the drapes at the picture window were also burgundy. The walls contained portraits of several great scientists and inventors — Dinah recognized Charles Darwin, Thomas Edison, and the Wright Brothers — as well as photos of the secretary with the president, the queen of England, and other dignitaries. The room itself was clean and uncluttered, likely symbolic of the man himself, Dinah thought.
Ferguson was moving around the room, muttering to himself, as was his habit. Dinah had forgotten how intensely annoying she found this habit. She preferred silence so that she could concentrate.
Having received the log-on details from Lara, Dinah strode to the desk and pulled on her latex gloves. The top of the desk was shiny and would be a great medium to obtain fingerprints. She was careful not to allow herself to touch the desktop while she turned on the laptop.
“By the way, Harris,” Ferguson said from the wall of bookcases, “I forgot to mention that if something has happened to Mr. Whitfield, the media scrutiny is likely to be intense.”
Dinah scowled at the screen of the laptop. She hated the media, and it was a long-term grudge she held from the last case she’d been involved in. “You can handle it,” she said. “I want nothing to do with those vultures.”
Ferguson glanced over at her. “Of course I’ll handle it. But I can’t guarantee that they’ll leave you alone.”
Dinah tapped her foot against the leg of the desk impatiently as the laptop struggled to come to life. “Sticks and stones, Ferguson,” she said tightly. “Words can never hurt me.”
She could see that Ferguson didn’t buy the lie, but he’d decided to let it go. He at least knew not to push too far.
“This whole office is giving me a weird vibe,” he said after a moment. “It’s too . . . organized.”
Dinah logged onto the laptop. “I’m listening.”
“Look at the desk,” Ferguson mused. “No files or paperwork. Not even a pen or a Post-It note. No diary.”
“Maybe he’s just really neat,” Dinah said, opening Outlook on the laptop.
Ferguson went back to his muttering as he continued drifting around the room. Dinah frowned as she clicked through the folders in Outlook. Then she opened the other programs on the computer and looked through the folders there.
“That’s odd,” she commented at last. Ferguson looked up and came over to her.
She clicked through the inbox, sent items, and calendar of the e-mail program. There were no entries in any of them. “They’re completely clean,” she said. “The calendar is the strangest. You’d think the secretary of the Smithsonian Institution would have at least a couple of meetings a week.”
“Maybe he uses a paper diary,” suggested Ferguson.
“Certainly a possibility,” agreed Dinah. “But couple the empty calendar with the fact that he’s neither received nor sent an e-mail from this computer and something isn’t right.”
Ferguson opened the desk drawers and started looking through them.
“Also,” added Dinah, “there is not one single saved document in any other program — no letters, articles, presentations, anything. The entire computer is as if it’s never been used.”
Ferguson sat back on his heels. “You think someone has wiped his computer?”
“Well, the sixty-four-thousand-dollar question is: did Thomas Whitfield wipe his own computer before disappearing or did someone else wipe his computer before abducting him?” Dinah began to shut down the programs. “After all, there is no evidence to suggest that he has been abducted. There’s no sign of a struggle in here or blood stains, is there?”
Ferguson shook his head. “No, there isn’t. But there is something off about this office. Nobody, least of all a man in his position, can get through a working day without sending an e-mail or doing paperwork of some kind.” He gestured at the desk drawers. “There’s absolutely nothing in them.”
“I agree,” Dinah said. She closed the laptop and picked it up. “I’m going to have the lab look at the hard drive. What else?”
“I’ll call in crime scene to lift some fingerprints and check for blood.” Ferguson paused, thinking. “I’d like to talk to Ms. Biscelli, and I’d like to talk to his wife.”
Dinah nodded. “If Mr. Whitfield has been abducted, what do you suppose is the motive?”
Ferguson considered. “I don’t know. Money? Fame? Half the time I think these loonies go around killing people just so they can get their name in the news.”
Dinah stared at him. “Do you think Thomas Whitfield is dead?”
He shrugged. “Right now, Harris, I know nine-tenths of absolutely nothing. Let’s talk to Ms. Biscelli. Maybe she’ll know what happened and we can solve this case before dinner time and I’ll get a decent night’s sleep.”
Flippancy, Dinah remembered, was just Ferguson’s way of dealing with the intensity of this job and the horror they’d witnessed over the years.
Thursday, April 8, 2010
Old Yeller
As I write this, I've read only two chapters of this month's classic, Old Yeller by Fred Gipson. We all love the movie, but I've instantly fallen in love with the book.
I'm reading it aloud to my kids and Ruth, our sweet British house guest for the next two weeks. Ruth will be eighty next year, and boy does she have some stories to tell! But I have one to tell on her.
She's never seen the Old Yeller movie. In fact, she'd never heard of it! Can't wait to share the story together with her. We'll read two chapters a school day, then watch the movie together. I warned her she'd be crying by the end, but she's not afraid of tears, she says. When I finished the first chapters today, she said it reminded her of old America, like the Little House shows, which she loved to watch.
Besides being entertaining, it's educational. We learned what a dog run is, how to hang "middlin' meat", and what to do if your mule decides to quit work before you're done plowing your rows.
I wish I could read more now, but must wait until tomorrow at the end of the school day.
Pure torture.
It's always been on of my favorite movies, and I can already tell, the book is going to hit my all-time favorite's list too.
Let me know if you're loving it as much as I am.
I'm reading it aloud to my kids and Ruth, our sweet British house guest for the next two weeks. Ruth will be eighty next year, and boy does she have some stories to tell! But I have one to tell on her.
She's never seen the Old Yeller movie. In fact, she'd never heard of it! Can't wait to share the story together with her. We'll read two chapters a school day, then watch the movie together. I warned her she'd be crying by the end, but she's not afraid of tears, she says. When I finished the first chapters today, she said it reminded her of old America, like the Little House shows, which she loved to watch.
Besides being entertaining, it's educational. We learned what a dog run is, how to hang "middlin' meat", and what to do if your mule decides to quit work before you're done plowing your rows.
I wish I could read more now, but must wait until tomorrow at the end of the school day.
Pure torture.
It's always been on of my favorite movies, and I can already tell, the book is going to hit my all-time favorite's list too.
Let me know if you're loving it as much as I am.
Tuesday, April 6, 2010
Find the Right Coach
I recently partnered up with Making Work at Home Work as a blogger.
Find the Right Coach
By Mary M. Byers
In my last post I talked about working with a coach. This time, we'll address how to find the right coach for you. I suggest the following:
Referrals. Ask friends and colleagues if they can recommend anyone to you. Listen to conversations. If you hear someone mention that they work with a coach, ask if they'd be willing to share the name and contact information. Referrals are by far the best way to find a coach.
Identify specifically what you need help with. Do you need help increasing your income? Decreasing your expenses? Someone to brainstorm marketing ideas with? Or, do you have plenty of ideas but lack the follow through to do them? In this latter case, you'll want someone who can use a little tough love to hold you accountable for getting things done. The more specific you are regarding where you need help, the more likely you'll be to find a coach that's a good fit for you.
Search online. Do a search for coaches online. You'll find plenty! Pick a few sites to go to, read about each coach and his or her philosophy, and watch the videos. You'll get a sense of who you might feel comfortable working with. Narrow the list to these possibilities.
Request a complimentary introductory session. This is THE most important step. I "met" by phone with several coaches before finding mine. One coach spent the whole conversation talking about herself. Another spent the entire time saying, "If you decide to work with me, then..." And a third was not at all focused during our conversation, which led me to believe our coaching sessions would be the same way--frustrating for me.
Make the decision. Know that your coaching relationship won't last forever. This makes it easier to decide who you will work with. Pick the coach you are most interested in. Then, ask if you can sign up for a limited number of sessions (a minimum of three). You'll have a good sense of how the relationship is working after several sessions.
Be willing to do the work. When you enter a coaching relationship, you're making a commitment to help your coach help you. And you're making a commitment to doing homework between sessions as well as to do the heavy thinking required to help take your business to the next level. Coaches see lots of people who are willing to pay for help, but fewer who are willing to roll up their sleeves and get to work. Your work with a coach only pays off if you're invested and willing to sweat along with your coach.
Good luck!
Mary Byers is the author of Making Work at Home Work: Successfully Growing a Business and a Family Under One Roof. You can learn more about making work at home work by subscribing to Mary’s free blog at www.makingworkathomework.com. Interested in more articles like this? Join the blog ring here.
Find the Right Coach
By Mary M. Byers
In my last post I talked about working with a coach. This time, we'll address how to find the right coach for you. I suggest the following:
Referrals. Ask friends and colleagues if they can recommend anyone to you. Listen to conversations. If you hear someone mention that they work with a coach, ask if they'd be willing to share the name and contact information. Referrals are by far the best way to find a coach.
Identify specifically what you need help with. Do you need help increasing your income? Decreasing your expenses? Someone to brainstorm marketing ideas with? Or, do you have plenty of ideas but lack the follow through to do them? In this latter case, you'll want someone who can use a little tough love to hold you accountable for getting things done. The more specific you are regarding where you need help, the more likely you'll be to find a coach that's a good fit for you.
Search online. Do a search for coaches online. You'll find plenty! Pick a few sites to go to, read about each coach and his or her philosophy, and watch the videos. You'll get a sense of who you might feel comfortable working with. Narrow the list to these possibilities.
Request a complimentary introductory session. This is THE most important step. I "met" by phone with several coaches before finding mine. One coach spent the whole conversation talking about herself. Another spent the entire time saying, "If you decide to work with me, then..." And a third was not at all focused during our conversation, which led me to believe our coaching sessions would be the same way--frustrating for me.
Make the decision. Know that your coaching relationship won't last forever. This makes it easier to decide who you will work with. Pick the coach you are most interested in. Then, ask if you can sign up for a limited number of sessions (a minimum of three). You'll have a good sense of how the relationship is working after several sessions.
Be willing to do the work. When you enter a coaching relationship, you're making a commitment to help your coach help you. And you're making a commitment to doing homework between sessions as well as to do the heavy thinking required to help take your business to the next level. Coaches see lots of people who are willing to pay for help, but fewer who are willing to roll up their sleeves and get to work. Your work with a coach only pays off if you're invested and willing to sweat along with your coach.
Good luck!
Mary Byers is the author of Making Work at Home Work: Successfully Growing a Business and a Family Under One Roof. You can learn more about making work at home work by subscribing to Mary’s free blog at www.makingworkathomework.com. Interested in more articles like this? Join the blog ring here.
Monday, April 5, 2010
A Stray Drop of Blood review and author interview
A Writer’s Journey is pleased to have author Roseanna M White visiting with us today.
Welcome, Roseanna!
I've just finished your novel A Stray Drop of Blood and was left rather breathless--a Roman soldier with a taste for beautiful women, a beautiful Jewess slave with no choice but to comply, the irrepressible yet familiar pull of sin, the redemptive power of Christ's blood, a dip into the waters of the ancient classics, and a super-charged dose of historic Jerusalem and Rome. Wow! I’m panting just listing them.
For the lover of all things romance and history, A Stray Drop of Blood is a little taste of heaven.
I'm stoked you're with us today, Roseanna, but before we delve into some questions that have been nagging at my mind, let’s have a look at the back cover over your book.
For seven years, Abigail has been a slave in the Visibullis house. With a Hebrew mistress and a roman master, she has always been more family than servant…until their son returns to Jerusalem after his years in Rome. Within a few months Jason has taken her to his bed and turned her world upside down. Maybe, given time, she can come to love him as he says he loves her. But how does she open her heart to the man who ruined her?
Israel’s unrest finds a home in her bosom, but their rebellion tears apart her world. Death descends with Barabbas’s sword, and Abigail is determined to be there when the criminal is punished. But when she ventures to the trial, Barabbas is not the one the crowd calls to crucify. Instead, it is the teacher her master and Jason had begun to follow, the man from Nazareth that some call the Son of God…
Born free, made a slave, married out of her bonds, Abigail never knows freedom until she feels the fire of a stray drop of blood from the Jewish carpenter. Disowned by Israel, despised by Rome, desired by all, she never knows love until she receives the smile of a stoic Roman noble.
Abigail’s story isn’t a short one. The girl is really put through the ringer, which makes for a great read! Why is it we like it so much when characters suffer? :)
Partway through, the plot also takes a drastic and almost unexpected turn that left me reeling for half a chapter. I love a good surprise. Then shortly after, I thought maybe it should have been two books instead of one, but I’m glad it wasn’t. I never could have waited for the sequel!
Set it Jerusalem in the time of Christ, the author interjects glimpses of the Teacher, His impact on the city and inevitably, the characters. The story has just the right amount of Biblical inserts without becoming overbearing or preachy.
A bit of forewarning. There were a few more intense bedroom scenes. I didn’t have a problem with it, but a parent might want to take note if their young person is interested in reading it.
The attention to historical detail was amazing. I was there, in the dusty streets and the squawking marketplace, at the foot of the cross. Ms. White did her homework and it shows.
In short, A Stray Drop of Blood was an amazing book. Who says small press can’t be great?!
Now that everyone knows a little about your book, Roseanna, can you give us a peek into your life?
A. Describe where you're at, what you're wearing, and if you're eating/drinking anything.
R. I'm at the table in my family room (a.k.a. basement), in a house nestled in the mountains of Western Maryland. I'm wearing a divine cashmere sweater in a pale, icy blue with . . . oh, wait. Scratch that. I'm in my turquoise jammies and my purple bath robe. =) (But I'd really like a divine cashmere sweater!) Beside me is my fresh cup of coffee, poured into my favorite mug—the one with a whole slew of Disney cartoon characters on it. (Who says growing up in necessary, anyway?)
A. You're a self-proclaimed book nut. How many books are in your to-read pile? How do you decide which to read first?
R. This is actually a tricky question. I have levels, you see. On my to-be-read shelves are approximately, oh, 150-200 books. But many of those I'll send out to other reviewers. On my personal stack that I absolutely will NOT give to anyone else, there are about five. Today. Although a new shipment could arrive any minute, so that number fluctuates daily. =)
A. Proof of the tremendous amount of research you put into writing A Stray Drop of Blood saturates every page. Which bits of research did you enjoy the most? Ancient languages? Mosaic Law? Roman military? Another? Which area was the most difficult to find good information on?
R. Well, most of the research was just absorbed while I was in college studying all this stuff, but I'd have to say my favorite was the languages. I spent two years learning how to read and translate Ancient Greek, and it really helped me see how people thought during the time—which, trust me, is hugely affected by the words at their disposal. So when I wrote Stray Drop I made a decision to make my English as Greek as possible (that was the common language of the Roman Empire at the time). That's why I use no contractions—I wanted to convey formality or casualness through word choice rather than an apostrophe, as we have the luxury of doing in English but which they didn't in Greek.
The hardest to find information on . . . that would probably be some of the details of the military life. I know it's out there, but what I could find of it was so heavy that even after I read it I was left scratching my head and going, “Okay, so . . . what?” A perfect example of that is the night watch. The men seemed to be chosen rather randomly for that, but that just wouldn't work for my story, so I said, “Okay, let's put some regimenting in it.” What I came up with isn't unreasonable but not be exactly right.
A. It's evident you are passionate about the topics your novel delves into. Would you say you're a passionate person in general or just about your writing?
R. Hmm . . . well, one of my college professors once said, “I fear such temperance is unhealthy in one so young. When I hear her speak in class, I'm left wondering if she ever curses or throws a phone in anger.”
I blinked at him and said, “Well, no. What's your point?” LOL. His point, I believe, was that I lacked the passion of youth. I, of course, took it as a compliment. =) I am passionate—about my husband, my family, my writing, my faith, and a few other choice subjects. But most of that gets funneled into my books. In day-to-day life, I'm even tempered (or was, before I had toddlers trying my patience!) and laid back.
A. On your website, you say you've read a good bit of the Ancient texts. Did you enjoy reading all of them? Which would you recommend for a "newbie" to the ancient classics to begin with?
R. Did I enjoy them all? NO! Some were dry and boring, some were downright disgusting, and some I just couldn't see the point of. But all the books we read in college refer to each other, so it was crucial to read those boring, yucky ones too.
For a newbie, I'd recommend the works of Homer to get a great idea on how Ancient Greeks thought of their gods—I know The Odyssey is the more popular these days, but I actually preferred The Iliad. From Plato, you absolutely have to read The Republic. If you like biographical stuff, Plutarch's Lives are fabulous looks into some of the men who changed the course of empires, and they're not too long. I really enjoyed Epictetus's Discourses, which outline Stoicism. And—okay, I'll stop. That's enough for now. =) Though you can get a full list of all I drew on in the companion guide I put together. It's online at http://www.roseannawhite.com/index.php/books/companion_guide/.
A. Coffee or tea? Flip-flops or heels?
R. Coffee. Heels, if I'm in a dress/skirt/slacks. If I'm in jeans or shorts, it's sandals all the way. (Clogs in the winter. Classy, I know, right?)
A. Do you have any other great stories up your sleeves we should be on the lookout for?
R. Tons of them up my sleeve! My agent is shopping quite a few right now, so we'll see what gets picked up first. Will it be the Victorian trilogy about the Monagasque princess and the red diamonds? (Probably not—no one wants Victorian right now.) Will it be the 20s Mafia story about the daughter of a mob boss? (Maybe, but people tend to go, “A Christian Mafia story? Um, no.”) Or perhaps the contemporary romance set at the beach, about the woman who gave up her dreams to have twins at 16 and now has to finally tell the father about them, nine years later? (A definite possibility! I'll let you know.)
Thanks, Roseanna! I’ve loved getting to know you a bit. Can’t recommend your book enough. A copy of Roseanne's book A Stray Drop of Blood, can be purchased here.
We’ll be anxiously awaiting your next work!
Welcome, Roseanna!
I've just finished your novel A Stray Drop of Blood and was left rather breathless--a Roman soldier with a taste for beautiful women, a beautiful Jewess slave with no choice but to comply, the irrepressible yet familiar pull of sin, the redemptive power of Christ's blood, a dip into the waters of the ancient classics, and a super-charged dose of historic Jerusalem and Rome. Wow! I’m panting just listing them.
For the lover of all things romance and history, A Stray Drop of Blood is a little taste of heaven.
I'm stoked you're with us today, Roseanna, but before we delve into some questions that have been nagging at my mind, let’s have a look at the back cover over your book.
For seven years, Abigail has been a slave in the Visibullis house. With a Hebrew mistress and a roman master, she has always been more family than servant…until their son returns to Jerusalem after his years in Rome. Within a few months Jason has taken her to his bed and turned her world upside down. Maybe, given time, she can come to love him as he says he loves her. But how does she open her heart to the man who ruined her?
Israel’s unrest finds a home in her bosom, but their rebellion tears apart her world. Death descends with Barabbas’s sword, and Abigail is determined to be there when the criminal is punished. But when she ventures to the trial, Barabbas is not the one the crowd calls to crucify. Instead, it is the teacher her master and Jason had begun to follow, the man from Nazareth that some call the Son of God…
Born free, made a slave, married out of her bonds, Abigail never knows freedom until she feels the fire of a stray drop of blood from the Jewish carpenter. Disowned by Israel, despised by Rome, desired by all, she never knows love until she receives the smile of a stoic Roman noble.
Abigail’s story isn’t a short one. The girl is really put through the ringer, which makes for a great read! Why is it we like it so much when characters suffer? :)
Partway through, the plot also takes a drastic and almost unexpected turn that left me reeling for half a chapter. I love a good surprise. Then shortly after, I thought maybe it should have been two books instead of one, but I’m glad it wasn’t. I never could have waited for the sequel!
Set it Jerusalem in the time of Christ, the author interjects glimpses of the Teacher, His impact on the city and inevitably, the characters. The story has just the right amount of Biblical inserts without becoming overbearing or preachy.
A bit of forewarning. There were a few more intense bedroom scenes. I didn’t have a problem with it, but a parent might want to take note if their young person is interested in reading it.
The attention to historical detail was amazing. I was there, in the dusty streets and the squawking marketplace, at the foot of the cross. Ms. White did her homework and it shows.
In short, A Stray Drop of Blood was an amazing book. Who says small press can’t be great?!
Now that everyone knows a little about your book, Roseanna, can you give us a peek into your life?
A. Describe where you're at, what you're wearing, and if you're eating/drinking anything.
R. I'm at the table in my family room (a.k.a. basement), in a house nestled in the mountains of Western Maryland. I'm wearing a divine cashmere sweater in a pale, icy blue with . . . oh, wait. Scratch that. I'm in my turquoise jammies and my purple bath robe. =) (But I'd really like a divine cashmere sweater!) Beside me is my fresh cup of coffee, poured into my favorite mug—the one with a whole slew of Disney cartoon characters on it. (Who says growing up in necessary, anyway?)
A. You're a self-proclaimed book nut. How many books are in your to-read pile? How do you decide which to read first?
R. This is actually a tricky question. I have levels, you see. On my to-be-read shelves are approximately, oh, 150-200 books. But many of those I'll send out to other reviewers. On my personal stack that I absolutely will NOT give to anyone else, there are about five. Today. Although a new shipment could arrive any minute, so that number fluctuates daily. =)
A. Proof of the tremendous amount of research you put into writing A Stray Drop of Blood saturates every page. Which bits of research did you enjoy the most? Ancient languages? Mosaic Law? Roman military? Another? Which area was the most difficult to find good information on?
R. Well, most of the research was just absorbed while I was in college studying all this stuff, but I'd have to say my favorite was the languages. I spent two years learning how to read and translate Ancient Greek, and it really helped me see how people thought during the time—which, trust me, is hugely affected by the words at their disposal. So when I wrote Stray Drop I made a decision to make my English as Greek as possible (that was the common language of the Roman Empire at the time). That's why I use no contractions—I wanted to convey formality or casualness through word choice rather than an apostrophe, as we have the luxury of doing in English but which they didn't in Greek.
The hardest to find information on . . . that would probably be some of the details of the military life. I know it's out there, but what I could find of it was so heavy that even after I read it I was left scratching my head and going, “Okay, so . . . what?” A perfect example of that is the night watch. The men seemed to be chosen rather randomly for that, but that just wouldn't work for my story, so I said, “Okay, let's put some regimenting in it.” What I came up with isn't unreasonable but not be exactly right.
A. It's evident you are passionate about the topics your novel delves into. Would you say you're a passionate person in general or just about your writing?
R. Hmm . . . well, one of my college professors once said, “I fear such temperance is unhealthy in one so young. When I hear her speak in class, I'm left wondering if she ever curses or throws a phone in anger.”
I blinked at him and said, “Well, no. What's your point?” LOL. His point, I believe, was that I lacked the passion of youth. I, of course, took it as a compliment. =) I am passionate—about my husband, my family, my writing, my faith, and a few other choice subjects. But most of that gets funneled into my books. In day-to-day life, I'm even tempered (or was, before I had toddlers trying my patience!) and laid back.
A. On your website, you say you've read a good bit of the Ancient texts. Did you enjoy reading all of them? Which would you recommend for a "newbie" to the ancient classics to begin with?
R. Did I enjoy them all? NO! Some were dry and boring, some were downright disgusting, and some I just couldn't see the point of. But all the books we read in college refer to each other, so it was crucial to read those boring, yucky ones too.
For a newbie, I'd recommend the works of Homer to get a great idea on how Ancient Greeks thought of their gods—I know The Odyssey is the more popular these days, but I actually preferred The Iliad. From Plato, you absolutely have to read The Republic. If you like biographical stuff, Plutarch's Lives are fabulous looks into some of the men who changed the course of empires, and they're not too long. I really enjoyed Epictetus's Discourses, which outline Stoicism. And—okay, I'll stop. That's enough for now. =) Though you can get a full list of all I drew on in the companion guide I put together. It's online at http://www.roseannawhite.com/index.php/books/companion_guide/.
A. Coffee or tea? Flip-flops or heels?
R. Coffee. Heels, if I'm in a dress/skirt/slacks. If I'm in jeans or shorts, it's sandals all the way. (Clogs in the winter. Classy, I know, right?)
A. Do you have any other great stories up your sleeves we should be on the lookout for?
R. Tons of them up my sleeve! My agent is shopping quite a few right now, so we'll see what gets picked up first. Will it be the Victorian trilogy about the Monagasque princess and the red diamonds? (Probably not—no one wants Victorian right now.) Will it be the 20s Mafia story about the daughter of a mob boss? (Maybe, but people tend to go, “A Christian Mafia story? Um, no.”) Or perhaps the contemporary romance set at the beach, about the woman who gave up her dreams to have twins at 16 and now has to finally tell the father about them, nine years later? (A definite possibility! I'll let you know.)
Thanks, Roseanna! I’ve loved getting to know you a bit. Can’t recommend your book enough. A copy of Roseanne's book A Stray Drop of Blood, can be purchased here.
We’ll be anxiously awaiting your next work!
Friday, April 2, 2010
Nature's Language School, Week Eight
When I sat down to write this week’s lesson, I had to double check to make sure it was really week eight. It doesn’t seem possible that we’re here already! But we are and it’s time to touch on hay or “there are.” A lot of fun sentences can be constructed with this simple word.
Let’s get started!
(To start Nature’s Language School from the beginning, click here)
For advanced or older students, this month we will be working on la hora, time.
This week’s optional material is:
Previous sentences--¿Que hora es? What time is it?
Son las dos. It’s two o’clock.
¿En qué mes estamos? What month is it?
New sentence—Estamas en marzo. It is March. (literally—We are in March.)
Monday
Review: Con los ojos, veo (insert object/color). Mis ojos son (insert color).
Bible reading: This will be a great opportunity to practice sounding out and saying a variety of Spanish words. In case you don’t have a Spanish Bible, here’s a passage listed for you. Be on the lookout for words you might know! Have the kids identify every word they can before looking this up in your English Bible.
Colosenses 3:25
Mas el que hace injusticia, recibirá la injusticia que hiciere, porque no hay acepción de personas.
Revisit this passage throughout the week as you practice reading Spanish.
Tuesday
Review: Numbers 1-10.
New Material: Mi familia, my family
Note: I recently discovered a wonderful book entitled 25 Spanish Emergent Reader Mini-Books, published by Scholastic. It is filled with “easy-to-make reproducible books that promote literacy.” Although they’re not advertised as such, they also promote teaching Spanish using the Gouin method.
Each booklet focuses on a different verb/verb phrase and mixes in a variety of adjectives and adverbs on each page. I’ve been using these books with my kids, although instead of photocopying the books for them to then color, we’ve been making our own.
I show them the picture they were supposed to have colored. Using pencil and crayons, they copy the picture onto their own paper (or create their own version) then write in the appropriate Spanish words beneath. At the end of each booklet, we staple them together and use them later to review what we’ve learned.
If you’re serious about Spanish, I encourage you to purchase this book. I will be referring to it regularly.
Today’s Booklet Page:
To prepare, cut two blank printing papers into quarters. These eight quarters will become one book.
On one piece, your child should write the title of this booklet--“Mi Familia,” My Family. Have your child draw a picture of your family. Next to each member, in small letters write el papá, la mamá, la hermana (sister), el hermano (brother), el perro (dog), el gato (cat). If you have a female dog or cat, change the “el” to “la” and the ending “o” to and “a” to make it feminine.
On the back side of the same paper, write these words “En mi familia…” In my family…
Tomorrow we’ll finish that sentence on a new piece of paper.
Wednesday
Review: pequeño/grande
New Material: Sentence 15—En mi familia, hay personas con pelo corto, In my family, there are people with short hair.
Note: I know. It’s a long one! But don’t worry, we’ll camp here for two weeks, simply changing the adjective every day. So there’s plenty of time to learn it. Also, remember that the adjective comes after the noun.
Today’s Booklet Page:
On a new square of mini-book paper, have your child write the above sentence then draw a picture of someone with pelo corto.
Today’s Focus: Hay personas con
Make up sentences using this phrase at the beginning and ending any word combo of your child’s choice. My kids love this activity. They always come up with the craziest sentences they can. Hay personas con big,stinky feet!
Thursday
Review: Alphabet. For reviewing the alphabet, check out this webpage: http://www.123teachme.com/learn_spanish/spanish_for_kids_26
New Material: largo, long
Flashcards:
To add to this week’s flash cards: la familia, the family.
Take a few minutes to review all your flashcards.
Activity Suggestion:
It’s time to work on the face the children began last week. Today, we’ll add el pelo.
At the bottom, have them add the following sentence.
Tengo pelo corto/largo.
Today’s Booklet Page:
On the back of yesterday’s page, have your child write the following sentence: Hay personas con pelo largo then draw a picture of someone with long hair.
Friday
Review: sentences 7 and 8
Notebook:
Words to add this week—
Under “objects”—el pelo, la familia, las personas
Under “action words”—hay
Under “describing words”—corto, largo
Recap: Sentences learned so far.
1. Yo tengo un lápiz.
2. Yo escribo con mi/el lapis.
3. Yo tengo un papel.
4. El papel es blanco.
5. (Yo) escribo con el lápiz en el papel.
6. Tengo un tenedor.
7. Como con el tenedor
8. Como la fruta con mi tenedor.
9. Tengo un/el libro.
10. Leo el libro (insert color).
11. Mi libro es pequeño/grande.
12. Hablo con la boca.
13. ¿Cuantas bocas tienes?
14. Con los ojos, veo (insert object/color).
15. Mis ojos son (insert color).
16. En mi familia, hay personas con pelo ______.
Let’s get started!
(To start Nature’s Language School from the beginning, click here)
For advanced or older students, this month we will be working on la hora, time.
This week’s optional material is:
Previous sentences--¿Que hora es? What time is it?
Son las dos. It’s two o’clock.
¿En qué mes estamos? What month is it?
New sentence—Estamas en marzo. It is March. (literally—We are in March.)
Monday
Review: Con los ojos, veo (insert object/color). Mis ojos son (insert color).
Bible reading: This will be a great opportunity to practice sounding out and saying a variety of Spanish words. In case you don’t have a Spanish Bible, here’s a passage listed for you. Be on the lookout for words you might know! Have the kids identify every word they can before looking this up in your English Bible.
Colosenses 3:25
Mas el que hace injusticia, recibirá la injusticia que hiciere, porque no hay acepción de personas.
Revisit this passage throughout the week as you practice reading Spanish.
Tuesday
Review: Numbers 1-10.
New Material: Mi familia, my family
Note: I recently discovered a wonderful book entitled 25 Spanish Emergent Reader Mini-Books, published by Scholastic. It is filled with “easy-to-make reproducible books that promote literacy.” Although they’re not advertised as such, they also promote teaching Spanish using the Gouin method.
Each booklet focuses on a different verb/verb phrase and mixes in a variety of adjectives and adverbs on each page. I’ve been using these books with my kids, although instead of photocopying the books for them to then color, we’ve been making our own.
I show them the picture they were supposed to have colored. Using pencil and crayons, they copy the picture onto their own paper (or create their own version) then write in the appropriate Spanish words beneath. At the end of each booklet, we staple them together and use them later to review what we’ve learned.
If you’re serious about Spanish, I encourage you to purchase this book. I will be referring to it regularly.
Today’s Booklet Page:
To prepare, cut two blank printing papers into quarters. These eight quarters will become one book.
On one piece, your child should write the title of this booklet--“Mi Familia,” My Family. Have your child draw a picture of your family. Next to each member, in small letters write el papá, la mamá, la hermana (sister), el hermano (brother), el perro (dog), el gato (cat). If you have a female dog or cat, change the “el” to “la” and the ending “o” to and “a” to make it feminine.
On the back side of the same paper, write these words “En mi familia…” In my family…
Tomorrow we’ll finish that sentence on a new piece of paper.
Wednesday
Review: pequeño/grande
New Material: Sentence 15—En mi familia, hay personas con pelo corto, In my family, there are people with short hair.
Note: I know. It’s a long one! But don’t worry, we’ll camp here for two weeks, simply changing the adjective every day. So there’s plenty of time to learn it. Also, remember that the adjective comes after the noun.
Today’s Booklet Page:
On a new square of mini-book paper, have your child write the above sentence then draw a picture of someone with pelo corto.
Today’s Focus: Hay personas con
Make up sentences using this phrase at the beginning and ending any word combo of your child’s choice. My kids love this activity. They always come up with the craziest sentences they can. Hay personas con big,stinky feet!
Thursday
Review: Alphabet. For reviewing the alphabet, check out this webpage: http://www.123teachme.com/learn_spanish/spanish_for_kids_26
New Material: largo, long
Flashcards:
To add to this week’s flash cards: la familia, the family.
Take a few minutes to review all your flashcards.
Activity Suggestion:
It’s time to work on the face the children began last week. Today, we’ll add el pelo.
At the bottom, have them add the following sentence.
Tengo pelo corto/largo.
Today’s Booklet Page:
On the back of yesterday’s page, have your child write the following sentence: Hay personas con pelo largo then draw a picture of someone with long hair.
Friday
Review: sentences 7 and 8
Notebook:
Words to add this week—
Under “objects”—el pelo, la familia, las personas
Under “action words”—hay
Under “describing words”—corto, largo
Recap: Sentences learned so far.
1. Yo tengo un lápiz.
2. Yo escribo con mi/el lapis.
3. Yo tengo un papel.
4. El papel es blanco.
5. (Yo) escribo con el lápiz en el papel.
6. Tengo un tenedor.
7. Como con el tenedor
8. Como la fruta con mi tenedor.
9. Tengo un/el libro.
10. Leo el libro (insert color).
11. Mi libro es pequeño/grande.
12. Hablo con la boca.
13. ¿Cuantas bocas tienes?
14. Con los ojos, veo (insert object/color).
15. Mis ojos son (insert color).
16. En mi familia, hay personas con pelo ______.
Thursday, April 1, 2010
She Did It!
My Sweet Girl has at last finished her Math book!! Those of you who have journeyed with us through the ups and downs of our school lessons over the years will rejoice with us. This is huge. Kindergarten math is at long last and forever (hopefully) DONE.
When I filled out her certificate of completion there were tears in my eyes. It was a wonderful moment.
We're still only half-way through the required kindergarten phonics material. Our homeschool group's K5 graduation is scheduled for end of May, and I don't care how many work pages she has left, she's walking down that aisle! Shoot, I'm walking it with her. We'll do a little dance too, for anyone who cares to show up andgawk applaud our accomplishments. Hers, for learning it. Mine, for maintaining my sanity.
Praise God for the privilege to homeschool. In a classroom full of kids, she would have been left in the dust like so many others. Like I was! I overcame the disadvantage, and she will too. One day, she's going to be a straight A student.
Until then...we're tickled pink with our little certificate.
When I filled out her certificate of completion there were tears in my eyes. It was a wonderful moment.
We're still only half-way through the required kindergarten phonics material. Our homeschool group's K5 graduation is scheduled for end of May, and I don't care how many work pages she has left, she's walking down that aisle! Shoot, I'm walking it with her. We'll do a little dance too, for anyone who cares to show up and
Praise God for the privilege to homeschool. In a classroom full of kids, she would have been left in the dust like so many others. Like I was! I overcame the disadvantage, and she will too. One day, she's going to be a straight A student.
Until then...we're tickled pink with our little certificate.
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