Not All Who Wander Are Lost

I'm sitting here waiting for the 2012 Olympic Opening Ceremonies to begin. I've convinced the four year old that these are going to be some of the coolest shows she's going to watch in the entire universe. I'm sentimentally patriotic and a hopeless romantic all rolled up into one. I always mist up at the national anthem playing in the background with the flag rising to frame one of our athletes. I also love the stories behind the athletes. The legally blind Korean archer who set a new world record, the Japanese equestrian who happens to be Buddhist monk, the sprinter with two artificial legs . . . It's my mom's fault. I know that. She always watched the Olympics. It was a big deal in our house. My brother and I were gymnasts, never anywhere near the Olympics, but we did have dreams of gold. The same dreams of every young athlete. I know what it's like to stand on a balance beam with the crowd looking on and feel your heart in your throat. I remember the pa

According to a quote by Ray Bradbury "You don't have to burn books to destroy a culture. Just get people to stop reading them." I love this quote both as a writer and as a teacher. More so as a teacher. I teach 8th graders so I hear, "I hate to read," pretty often. I love it when I take them to the library in the first week telling them they all need to have a book in their hands before they leave. There are a handful in each class who dive toward the stacks knowing exactly what kind of book they're looking for. A few others meander around checking covers and skimming backs of books. Two of three more wander aimlessly not even really picking up a book or getting too close. At the end of the class those two are still circling--looking for a place to land. I've spent most of the class talking to my meanderers. What do you like to read? What do you like to do when you're not at school? What's your favorite movie? As I walk with them pulling books

How do you describe what it feels like to be in the home stretch of a book? To know that there are only about twenty or thirty pages to the end? You know where the story is, you know where it has to go, and you know what you need to write in order to get there. Of course, it's only the beginning of the end. Once you finish the story itself, once that first draft is done--well, overall, it's a heady feeling. When you actually write those last words you automatically want to erase them. You can't be done. There's got to be more to be said. That's true. There is always more that you can say. The problem is knowing when the book is done. Sometimes there are stories that you just can't let go. Characters you love. You really want to stay with them, know more about them, follow them home after they're done riding away into the sunset. Like I said the end of a book is actually only the beginning of the end. Once that draft is finished you have to go back and re

A sample from THE SHATTERED PRISM--book one of my fantasy trilogy. Let me know what you think! CHAPTER ONE Aerin tensed. Awake in the darkness. In spite of the fatigue of travel, despite slogging into Crystalmer earlier that evening, drenched to the skin and numbed to the bone she couldn’t settle. Every nerve thrummed—aware. Body braced. Ears straining. She heard nothing but the usual shouts and laughter from the tavern below. She saw nothing but the faint light that seeped under the ill fitting door and through the thin walls from the hall.       The flickering light made the shadows of table and stool sinister in the gloom. More than once in the last several weeks she’d jumped at a mysterious shadow seen out of the corner of her eyes. Nightmares. Fresh nightmares brought on by her current search, and old nightmares of the last Circle convergence drove her from sleep. Aerin wondered if she’d always jump at shadows? Her fingers fumbled at the lacings of her shirt and she pulled o