Leaving Gee's Bend - My review

I first met Irene Latham and heard about her book, "Leaving Gee's Bend," at a Midsouth SCBWI Writer's Conference. Although Irene is a nice person, I honestly had no desire to read a book about people stitching quilts in the south. Boy had I misjudged her book! I thoroughly enjoyed Irene's delightful tale of Ludelphia Bennet, a poor African American girl from the 1930s, who only wanted to save her dying mother by traveling to Camden to bring Doc Nelson to her mom's bedside. I found myself quickly engaged in this book and wanting to read any chance I got. Ms. Latham also captured Ludelphia's voice as if she herself had lived this life. I would highly recommend "Leaving Gee's Bend."

The Stomach Flu

It's interesting how the stomach flu creeps up without warning yet leaves a path of destruction. It all happened Tuesday night around nine o'clock when I decided I didn't feel great--not awful or sick--just not great. I washed up and climbed into bed even though the weather report would soon be posted, and I had to know about the approaching snow storm. I turned off the TV before the ten o'clock news had even started.

Around eleven, my world came crashing in as a sickening light-headedness kept me from laying still. I felt like I'd pass out any moment, and maybe did, yet knew there was no place to go since I was already lying down. Poor Millie dog got bopped on the head by my exorcist-controlled flailing arms. The dizziness left suddenly, so I think I'd awoken from being unconscious but am not sure. Then came the gross part that no one wants to read about, and the entire scene repeated at one AM.

I've been blessed with a wonderful husband who changed the sheets while I draped my head over a plastic bucket and my other half on the porcelain thrown.

I didn't eat much on Wednesday--a few bites of applesauce and some broth from soup. The thought of eating anything tomato based scares me to no end. Luckily, I kept everything down on Wednesday, and so far today. My stomach is not one-hundred percent; I can tell, but I'm much better than before. I've eaten mostly liquid but did eat a small piece of cheese pizza at lunch time. Maybe a mistake, but I haven't seen it yet, so hopefully not.

Thanks to the internet for all of the stomach flu advice from BRAT diets to warm lemon juice (that took up half my tea cup). I've also downed quite a bit of Gatorade in the last two days.

I hope y'all stay well. This is a situation that I wouldn't wish on my worst enemy.

Joyce

Author's Notebook

I always keep pen and paper next to my bed just in case I wake up with a brilliant idea or unique dream that might prove book friendly. After all, something about sleep often brings about plotting solutions or new ideas.

Last night, my mind painted an odd scene that could easily become the back drop to a fantasy novel. Of course I've never written a story about other worlds, but I jotted down the scene just in case. This vivid and original world may one day house a troubled teen running from mobsters, a lost kid, or a team of nasty girls. Who knows what I'll be writing in the future--floating moons in reddish-pink skies? You never know.

13ToLife-Secret
http://childrenspublishing.blogspot.com/p/helpful-sites.html

Budget Cuts in TN

I've heard the most dangerous spot in a children's novel is to be the dog. In Tennessee, it's to be poor, and the treatment of these two groups is similar. I read with horror that our new Republican governor plans to fix our budget by putting an ax to TennCare, our low-income health provider. This $300M cut will limit doctor and hospital visits for poor people. So if you're indigent and need a doctor, tough luck. It won't matter if the person is a child, elderly, pregnant, disabled, or needs a hospital visit--you may be sick for eight days. If you need physical therapy or a podiatrist, just buy a wheelchair because TennCare won't help you with these problems... oh wait, you're poor and can't afford one. Folks won't treat a limping dog either. They shoot it.

The Challenger Explosion

Twenty-five years ago the world mourned the loss of seven bright explorers who boarded the Challenger. We watched Christa McAliffe prepare to be the first to teach a lesson from space and even envied her for being the one chosen. Folks tuned in to cheer Christa along with her shipmates Francis Scobee, Michael Smith, Judith Resnik, Ellison Onizuka, Ronald McNair, and Gregory Jarvis as they waved to the cameras and headed toward the shuttle. This moment-we'd all waited for-morphed into the moment we'd all dread when the ship exploded in front of crowds of people and television cameras.

Today's news reporters have asked us to remember what we were doing when we learned of this disaster. It's not tough for anyone who lived through this news story. The memory took root in my mind twenty-five years ago and is still as vivid as ever.

My husband and I were in an airport returning home after a visit to my sister's house. As we stepped off our plane, the airport buzzed with stories from travelers deplaning one gate over. They'd witnessed the Challenger explosion first hand when the pilot came over the intercom and told everyone to look out the window to see the Challenger taking off. The passengers watched in horror as the O ring separated causing the shuttle to burst into flames. The pilot did not speak to his passengers again.