The Heart Stone Chronicles: The Swamp Fairy, by Author Colleen M. Chesebro

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

This mystical story is bound to capture your heart. Abigale Forester is only fourteen years old, recently orphaned, and has been sent to live with her Aunt Magnolia Forester, a woman she has never met, and is now her legal Guardian. Abigale was born with mystical gifts, inherited from her mother, along with a few hundred acres of swamp land that has been handed down for generations in her family.

This is no ordinary swamp. It is a place where mystical things happens, another realm, that is critical for the safety of mankind. Abigale has no idea what this has to do with her, but she will soon find out. In the meantime, a corrupt, greedy, and wealthy man as plans of his own to destroy the swamp and possibly Abigale and her aunt, as a form of revenge.

Danger is everywhere for Abigale as she tries to adjust to her new life. When the truth about the swamp legacy is revealed to her, Abigale is forced to make a decision about the swamp legacy and her choice is a dangerous one.

I highly recommend this mystical mystery that is so well written, by author Colleen M. Chesebro, that the story itself almost leaps off of the pages, right into your reality. It is that good. 5 Stars!

 

Steve the Crossing Guard

Steve the Crossing Guard, a teacher-at-large, and his amazing gift to children.

A Teacher's Reflections

There are teachers, and there are remarkable teachers.  Steve the Crossing Guard is one of the remarkable teachers, and he doesn’t teach in a classroom. He teaches on the street at a school crossing.  The children at his crossing will often learn far more than they learn in the classroom.

I got an email from Steve the Crossing Guard at 6:39 AM.  It was titled,
“Boston Massacre 3/5/1770”.

The text simply said:

Yes, you bet we’ll discuss it, within the hour…

Have a great day!
Steve

WOW!

This is exactly what Steve the Crossing Guard does.  He is so excited for what’s to come, because he has planned questions and challenges for the students. The anticipation of knowing and then wanting to pass it on is the greatest feeling. Really.

At 8:01 PM that night, he emailed:

Jennie,

So much history tomorrow: Michelangelo’s bday; fall of the Alamo; Dred Scott…

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Twas The Night Before Christmas….

A reblog from last Christmas! I will be away for Christmas and these are my favorites to share! Merry Christmas to one and all!

This is the time of year where children’s books take center stage and all around us we see magical stories, Fairies, stardust, Reindeer prancing, Elf’s in fancy hats, jingles bells everywhere and snow falling. Yuletide Christmas Trees are brightly decorated with lights that sparkle, twinkle, and seem to light up the world with their glow.  While dear St. Nick travels afar, just to bring gifts to one and all.  It is a time when we can believe that there is more to the world than we can imagine and the gift of children helps us to believe in a world more wonderful than we know, and that anything is possible, if we just believe it is so. 

THE SNOW FAIRIES GIFT

Whilst we sleep, and the snow falls deep,

Snow fairies alight, to watch through the night,

As boughs of ice and snow, fall heavy, upon our roofs.

With a twinkle in their eyes, and a snap of their fingers,

They light a fire aglow, blazing in our hearths.

Thus, do they keep us warm and snug in our beds,

Whilst wintry winds do blow.

They watch with grave intent, to keep us safe,

And stay the goblins away, one and all, at bay,

Less the bale of wolves, upon our doorsteps,

Howl through the night, to cause us fright.

When all is safe, they hence take flight,

On gossamer wings, they glitter and glow,

And sprinkle fairy dust, as they go,

Upon the newly fallen snow.

And in the morn, whence we wake,

Our baskets, do we find, brimming, with berries,

Hidden well and safely kept, as wide-eyed babes,

Giggle with delight, in the wonder of fairies,

That cometh in the night, leaving magical treats,

Beneath, their Merry Christmas, Yuletide Tree.

By K. D. Dowdall

Copyright 2017

St. Joseph’s Indian School

 

 

For a couple of years now, I feel as though I have adopted many children just by sending them cards, letters, and sometimes gifts. I love them. It is the most wonderful thing in the world to do. I hope that anyone interested would consider these beautiful Lokota Indian children by sending them a card, a letter and/or a small donation or gift. Anything at all would make a difference in their lives. They have already lost so much that is breaks my heart and so giving just a little love, joy, and care helps them so much.

Native American (Lakota) Culture

Culture is defined as the established beliefs, social norms, customs and traditions of a group of people. The same is true for Native American culture. Factors like geography, history and generations of spirituality, stories and traditions also shape the culture of any given tribe or people. Native Americans are no exception.

Here at St. Joseph’s Indian School, we have had the privilege of working with Native American families and communities since 1927. In 1991, the Akta Lakota Museum & Cultural Center was established on our campus to honor and preserve the historical artifacts and contemporary art that tell the story of the Lakota (Sioux) people of the Northern Plains.

Native American culture is sometimes thought of as a thing of the past. However, contemporary powwows, art and language revitalization efforts make a real difference in their lives as their traditional identity.

An Interview With Judy Rumsey Bullard, Book Cover Designer, This Saturday, October 20th!

 

 

 

 

 

As writers and authors, we know or should know, the importance of creating a book cover that shines. The cover should also represent as much as possible what the novel is all about. On October 20th, 2018, I will be interviewing Judy Rumsey Bullard, a very talented Book Cover Designer, who will talk to us about Book Cover Designing. She will be displaying 6 more of her great designs, and will talk to us about what it takes to be a successful Book Cover Designer! Here are three Book Cover designs that she designed for three of my novels and I love each one!

 

The Tale of The Harpy – A Scary Short Story by K. D. Dowdall

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

I wish for a tropical breeze to lighten the intense humidity that hugs this August morning.  The porch, thank goodness, is high off the ground and the mildew on the screens somewhat block the steamy rays from the sun.  The sky is intensely blue and the ocean is still and quiet—waiting. I breathe in slowly through my nose and exhale gently through my mouth, waiting for what I know must come. I feel powerless to change my fate.

My notebook is before me and I stare at the cover, that I am unwilling to open.  I have been siting here now for what seems like hours trying to begin a story that I must tell.   I must make sense of it, at least in my own mind. Perspiration drips from the corners of my temples.  Tendrils of fading blond curls are damp across my forehead and I push them aside with the back of my hand.

The old mahogany rocking chair I sit in, with its old cane seat, presses into my bare legs making my skin feel sticky and I am sure that deep patterns are now embed on the backs of my thighs that might blister, courtesy of the mahogany chair.  I shift uncomfortably, and vow to retrieve a pillow from the sofa when next I rise.

The breeze I have been waiting for finally arrives like a soft whisper across my cheek and I turn my face toward its source, the sky and sea.  In the morning light, I open the notebook and stare at the empty pages, that are now somewhat damp from the humid air and I begin again searching for the right words, the truest of words. It will come to me…..I know it will. I close my eyes and I try to remember all of it

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 It began some years ago.  I was standing on this screened in porch with my cousin, Jordan. It was after the funeral of my great Aunt who willed me this beach house that sits comfortably overlooking the ocean.

The sky was a vivid blue and the sea was quiet, until quite suddenly, a quickly moving storm, crossed the horizon and blocked out the sun. Darkness came, and a whispered voice, close to my ear, spoke, “Dare ye not linger lest she bring a curse upon ye, child.”

I turned quickly to the voice, but no one was there. A chill went up my spine. I thought I had imagined it. Moments later, again, the disembodied voice spoke, “Dare ye not linger lest she bring a curse upon ye, child!” This time the voice was urgent and fearful.

I began to tremble with an unreasonable fear, of what—I did not know. I grabbed my cousin Jordan’s arm to plead with him to let us head for home. He took no notice of me and continued to stare at something that was standing beyond the gate. I turned to look and before us was something that could only have materialized out of a Grimm’s fairy tale.

An unearthly woman glared at me from beyond the gate, and her dark crystal eyes began to glow so brightly that the darkness disappeared around us. The hag-like woman, lifted by unseen wings, soared over the gate.

The whispering voice behind me suddenly gave out an ear-splitting scream that shook the floor where I stood. The hag-like apparition beyond the screened porch screeched with such an unearthly sound that I dared not move, even if I could. I was still holding Jordan’s arm and he turned to me as if to wonder what I was doing.

“Jordan,” I whispered, “What is that?”

“What is what, Ana?”

“You know, the old hag, the woman, Jordan.”

“Ana, there is no woman, only a light in the window from the cottage down the road, but there was nothing to it. Let’s go home.”

I was incredulous. Was I the only one who saw the woman and heard the unearthly screams?  My young cousins, Richie and Anise seemed not to be at all aware of what had happened as they played along the beach before me.

I couldn’t understand what was wrong with them and then once again, I heard the whispering voice behind me and I angrily turned to respond. The whispering apparition was floating in the air, now in front of me, her long dark hair was whirling around her head as though she was in the center of great storm, “Thou art hexed, forsaken in ye life, poor child,” she said. “I begged thee not to gaze upon the Harpy.”

The apparition’s voice was sad and low as she slowly vanished before me. The sky was once again blue, and the sea was quiet now. The storm was gone along with the screeching old hag.

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The Mahogany chair is now hotter against my thighs as the chair begins to rock back and forth. I know she is coming. I look beyond the screened porch, knowing she will come. I see her now, the Harpy, she stands beyond the porch. Her dark crystal eyes glare at me, as her dark mane of hair blows in the dark storm she brings with her.

Another form appears on the porch, near me. It is the apparition, I now know as Nellie, who has been protecting me all of these years. The Harpy’s unholy screech suddenly pierces the air and in turn, Nellie’s high pitch scream drowns out all else.

Then it finally comes to me, the truest words: “Do not look at the creature, the Harpy. Do not listen to her screams, should you hear them, and abide this warning: Go as far away as you can, a quick as you can—for it is far too late for me.”