Tuesday, February 25, 2014
It actually felt good to pass all the testing and to get up on that table and hold my arm out to be stuck. I have B+ blood type which is one of the rarer ones, so that made me feel even better about it. Knowing that my blood will give someone else a chance at life is the greatest reward!
Sunday, February 23, 2014
Black Gold, Texas Tea.
Sleep on while outside Mama cries.
Sleep on and see nothing.
Sleep on and feel nothing.
Mama struggles, Mama chokes.
Be the silent partner,
© copyright K. Lynette Erwin, 2014
Friday, February 21, 2014
The burning question for me is, why are people just now panicking over this? Did they not realize that they were serving members of the LGBT community all along? And if so, did they feel that in serving gay/lesbian/transgender persons, that their religious freedom was being violated or is this another trumped-up crisis created to instill more fear?
On a personal level, this is not only insulting, but it's embarrassing. Come on people! How stupid does it get and how low are we going to sink? All I can say is that if Oklahoma enacts similar legislation and businesses in my community start shutting us out, I'll just shake the dust off of my feet and go someplace else. I'm sure I'll find another business where my filthy lesbian money spends just as well as anyone's.
Wednesday, February 19, 2014
It was while I did my research for that thesis that I unearthed some amazing information about their relationship (which some of the most respected Mozart historians of the past suspected was more than a warm professional association), that piqued my interest so much, that after I completed my thesis, I continued on for 8 more years of in-depth research into Nancy Storace, her life, her family, her career, and her relationship not only with Mozart, but the 20 year relationship she had with the English tenor, John Braham. After I met Steph (who is a retired orchestral conductor and Mozart historian), we combined our research on Mozart and Nancy Storace and out of all that research was born a novel series entitled So Faithful a Heart, which contains two books entitled The Love Story of Nancy Storace & Wolfgang Mozart and When Love Won't Die.
One of the greatest challenges we have faced as independent writers/authors and publishers is the marketing of our work. With the explosion of online print-on-demand self-publishing and electronic books has come the accompanying explosion of self-published books in every genre imaginable. We see this as nothing but positive, except that it means more books than the consumer can wade through. Therefore, the average
consumer still looks for "brand names", or in other words, books that are listed on the bestseller list and/or
I finally had to come to the hard realization that I had a choice here; a) Rewrite my book and make it "marketable" for the big-name publishers by limiting the word count and following the "rules" of making it more plot-driven and less character-driven, and leave out parts that I consider essential but that don't necessarily "further the plot", or b) Write it the way I want it, using all of the rich descriptors including adverbs and adjectives, develop the story around the characters rather than the plot, and use as many words as I deem necessary to tell the story. I chose "b", and I don't regret that, but it's still hard to swallow that there are infinitely inferior books in my book's genre that have big name publishers that are selling at ten times the rate that mine is.
All of this is to say that being a writer is hard. It's hard work and often thankless work. But in the end, I will never regret what I have written purely out of love for my subject and out of the love of telling a good story.
Monday, February 17, 2014
Mom and Dad were Southern Baptists; staunch Southern Baptists, and because of that, we were in church every Sunday morning, Sunday night, and Wednesday night. My parents both sang in the choir and I was active in Sunday School, GAs (girl's mission group), and our church's graded children's choir program. I liked going to church and I especially liked the music and following along in the hymnal while the lady I sat with every Sunday pointed to the words in each hymn as we sang. I credit my earliest musical education to our graded choir program, and between that and the private piano lessons that started when I was in the first grade, I was reading and singing along with the alto line of the hymns by the time I was in the second grade.
On this particular Sunday morning, however, I was puzzled by something I witnessed that took place towards the end of the service. At the end of every Southern Baptist worship service is what they call an "invitation" or alter call. An "invitation hymn" is sung and during that time, people in the congregation are invited to come forward and make public declarations of faith, or renewal of their declarations of faith, or share decisions to go into mission service, etc. The people who went forward would register their decisions on a white card that they would hand to the pastor who was standing there to greet and counsel with them. Most of the time they had counseled with him previously, but sometimes the decision was spontaneous. After the invitation hymn was concluded, the pastor would invite the congregation to be seated while he shared the decisions that were made by the people who walked up front. Then, after the service was concluded, everyone in the congregation would file up front and hug and congratulate those who came forward during the invitation. It was all very warm and very welcoming. Sometimes people would cry, but they almost always smiled at the same time. Everyone seemed very happy when people went forward.
That particular Sunday morning, we were beginning a revival service. The preacher that morning wasn't our pastor. I loved our pastor who had a gentle, soft-spoken, and kind way about him. Because I grew up in a college town, our church was filled with university professors who were educated and generally didn't prefer the country style fire-and-brimstone preacher that was found in the more rural churches and in smaller towns. Our pastor had a PhD in theology and he smiled a lot and spoke of Jesus' love. I thought Dr. Peterson was next to Jesus himself. This preacher, however, wasn't like Dr. Peterson. This preacher yelled from the pulpit.
So I asked my parents about it. Why was that man crying? Did that angry preacher make him cry? And if so, why did he make him cry? Dr. Peterson never made people cry. Mom and Dad explained to me that the young man had just asked Jesus into his heart and that's why he cried.
"But I thought Jesus made people happy", I protested.
"He was sad because of his sins and that Jesus had to die on the cross because of those sins," Mom replied.
I thought for a moment and then persisted in my line of questioning. "Do I sin?"
"Yes, you do," she answered.
"But I don't have to go up the aisle, do I?"
"No," mother answered quietly. "You don't have to go up there."
"Will Jesus be angry like that preacher and send me to hell if I don't?"
I don't remember my mother's reply. I only remember that on that very same Sunday night, I walked up the aisle and as I did, the angry preacher started moving towards me. But when I shied from him, Dr. Peterson, moved around in front of him and took me by the hand. He sat me down and spoke to me softly and asked me why I came. I told him that I wanted to ask Jesus into my heart and that I was sorry for my sins. What sins a six-year-old girl could commit, I wasn't sure, but they must have been very bad for Jesus to have to die on the cross so that I could be forgiven for them.
I'm nearly 54 now and I am no longer a believer in that Jesus. Too many angry preacher-men and too many angry followers of Jesus have convinced me that love isn't something that is exclusive to Christianity, and that
My religion is very simple. My religion is kindness. --The Dalai Lama
Sunday, February 16, 2014
Friday, February 14, 2014
When I was nearly 40 years old, I met the love of my life and it altered my view of Valentine's Day considerably. Suddenly I was thrust into Cupid's realm of hearts and flowers, kisses, singing birds, and more romance than I had ever known. I was so in love and so overjoyed that I wanted to shout it to the world. Valentine's Day suddenly became one of my favorite holidays and I was unreserved with my online public displays of adoration and affection for my partner, until Facebook. It wasn't until I joined Facebook in 2007 that I learned that celebrating Valentine's Day was politically incorrect, and those who didn't know this, and
In the seven years that I have been on Facebook, it has probably taken me five years to come to the conclusion that there are entirely too many cynics and haters out there and that every last one of them are only too happy to drag you down into the mire with them. Cynicism is a spirit killer. It rejoices in gloom and doom and points it's angry, accusing, crooked finger at anyone and everyone who would let the smallest