Not As They Appear

My new book is currently available on amazon and Kindle!  It is a real departure from my other  books - I would define it as middle grade, Christian fantasy.  At a book signing for my book Subgirl, my son lamented that I didn't have any boy books, so Not As They Appear is the result. 

In honour of the release of my book to the world, I thought I'd post some of the first chapter here.  Enjoy!

Chapter One

My sister Jessica never saw the dragons.  Or at least she claimed she didn’t see them.  I kinda thought she was faking, trying to be cool and popular – but thinking back, maybe she was telling the truth.  She certainly wasn’t the only one who couldn’t see the dragons.

            I remember the first time I saw one.  I woke in my bed, covered in dried sweat, my heart racing.  Terror gripped every nerve, but I couldn’t remember why.  Did I have a nightmare?  If so, I couldn’t remember even a fragment of it.  Perhaps someone had been in my room, but I was too scared to check.

            Then I heard it – the horrid screeching like ten thousand nails across a rock.  Deafeningly wretched.  My heart thumped faster and I forgot to breathe.

            I hid beneath my pillow, but the sound penetrated, barely muffled.  I called out to my mom – our mother, the one we had been fighting over since I was born, until we wore her down to a nervous point.  Our arguments deflated her, though we didn’t know this at the time.

            For once, she did not appear instantly at my door.  Where was she?  I could always count on her at night.  Somehow, she could manage compassion and gentleness in the dark, though she couldn’t face it in the light of day. 

            The sounds continued at least a quarter of an hour and then ceased completely.  Though I was enveloped in panic, this did not translate to my limbs.  They remained frozen in my bed.  When the noises ceased, I finally emerged from my blankets, padded to my window and lifted the blind half an inch. 

            A giant yellow eye stared back.  I screamed, but no sound came out.  The eye seemed to xray my heart and soul.  I let the blind drop and bolted back to my island of imagined safety.  I breathed again, tears trapped inside, trembling myself to sleep.

            The following morning our mother was gone. 

            “Way to go, twerp,” Jessica said over a precariously full bowl of fruit loops.  There were none left in the box for me.

            “What?”  I whined.  “You ate all the cereal.”

            She thrust a giant spoonful into her mouth and grinned at me through the colourful ohs.

            “Yfph mph mopth leeph.”

            I punched her in the stomach and she spit the partially gobbled cereal into my face.

            “You’re gonna pay for that, you little brat.” 

            She chased me around the room and I didn’t even notice our mom was missing until it was time to go to school.

            “Hey, where’s mom?” I poked my nose into Jessica’s room.

            “I told you this morning,” she pulled a brush through her long blond hair.  “She’s not here.  I heard you screaming last night.  You must have kept her awake all night, like you always do and then she decided she couldn’t take it any more.”

            I moved closer, worried.  “What are you talking about?  You never told me she was gone.”

            She grabbed her backpack and stormed out of the room. 

            “Jessicaaaah,” I keened with the perfect inflection to set your teeth against one another.

            She threw her hands up in the air and turned on me.  I slammed into her by accident.

            “I’m not your mother,” she screamed.  “And I’m never gonna be.  If you made her leave, you’re just gonna have to figure out what to do with yourself.”

She left the house then, turning the key in the lock behind her.  I was four years old.  I’d never been alone in the house before.

            Immediately, the silence creeped me out. I turned on the television.  After two episodes of PowerRangers, I called out:

            “Mo-om!  I’m hungry!”  Nothing happened, which wasn’t unusual.  “Mooooooom.  Moooooooooom!”  I said her name with increasing length and strength of voice. 

            When I tired of this, I wandered into her room.  She hadn’t made her bed.  Nothing seemed to be missing.  Her purse waited on the hook by her door.  I rummaged through it until I found $4.87 in change.  I pocketed the money and stomped back into the kitchen.  Jessica hadn’t finished her cereal.  The colourful circles had bloated and disintegrated into the milk, turning it an awful greenish-brown colour.  I slammed the side of the bowl, spilling the contents onto the table.  I felt some sense of accomplishment.  Then I looked through the cereal cupboard for another box, but could only find a stale box of crispy flakes.  I hated that cereal, but grabbed a few handfuls to tame the knot of hunger and unease in my belly.  After that meager feast, I found a half-full container of grape juice and drank it straight from the jar.  I spilled some down my shirt and a few drops onto the floor.  I swiped at them with my Spiderman pajamas.  Then I found some marshmallows and chocolate chips in the cupboard to round out my meal.  I returned to the solace of the television again, lulled by the high-pitched voices and gun sounds.

Discarding the shame of self-publishing

Self-publishing was never my plan.  I had long looked upon the idea as a desperate attempt by bad writer’s to purchase their moment of fame.  The term “vanity publishing” embodied all that I thought it could be.  A look in the mirror to boost your ego.

Ten years of searching for a publisher later, I stumbled on a novel-writing contest.  Yes!  I thought.  This is just what I need.  But the end date of the contest had come and gone and there seemed to be no thought of running the contest again.  Another opportunity lost.  But as I was already on the website, I decided to read more about the idea of publishing on demand. 

I have since publishing four books via this method.  At first, I tried to hide the fact that I had published myself, but it didn’t take long for those in-the-know to ferret out that little nugget of information.  My first book did surprisingly well.  I couldn’t wait to do more.  I had pages of unread material on my computer and now, at last, an avenue for my work to be read.  But I still felt I had failed.  I longed to have a publisher.  A contract.  A publicity tour. 

My husband recently finished a Master’s degree and along the way, has read aloud any snippets from the books he reads that have to do with writing.  I love hearing what other writer’s say about the craft.  It is always a confirmation of this work I so enjoy and an inspiration to keep going.  Last week, he read me a rather long passage from Eugene Peterson’s book The Pastor.  Peterson has had a fascinating career as a pastor, professor, and author of, among other things a best-selling translation of the Bible. 

He writes “I read Emily Dickinson’s pronouncement, ‘Publication is no business of the poet.’  (Truman) Capote exposed much of what I had been doing as ‘typing’ – using words to manipulate or inform or amuse.  Dickinson rescued me from a lust to be published.”  (The Pastor, p. 239)

The words sang through my writer’s soul.  Yes!  Being published is not the goal of my writing.  Learning, discovering, empathizing as I write is the goal.  To find a reader is a gift.  To have a well-written, deeply felt review is a trophy.  I have found these things in writing.  Most published authors work another job as well.  I am not so different and there is nothing to be ashamed of in self-publishing.  Of course, I wish I could afford a professional editor, publicist and someone who knows how to make my Kindle versions error-free, but still readers have found my work and joined my fanciful stories. 

To quote Peterson once more “It was a way of writing that involved a good deal of listening, looking around, getting acquainted with the neighborhood.  Not writing what I knew but writing into what I didn’t know, edging into a mystery.  This, I was learning, was what real writers did.”  (p. 238-239)  Beautiful.  It gives me chills.

Reader's Theatre for Volunteer Tea

I made good use of teaching blogs while teaching grade two this year.  In an effort to give back, I thought I'd post the Reader's Theatre I wrote for my class to perform at our annual Volunteer Tea.  The students made tissue paper flowers which I researched on Google.  I wanted a Reader's Theatre to go with this beautiful flowers, but had no luck finding any on the internet.  "Wait a minute!" I said to myself.  "I'm a writer.  Why not write my own?"  You can find the entire script below.  It ends by saying the children begin to sing.  We sang "All In The Golden Afternoon" from the Disney version of Alice in Wonderland.  I downloaded the sheet music from musicnotes.com

Volunteer Tea Reader’s Theatre

Grade 2

Roses: Oh my, what a glorious day, but we’re so thirsty.

Tulips: We are too.  If only someone would water us.

Violets: We heard a group of volunteers were coming to our garden today.

Roses:  What are volunteers?

Violets:  Volunteers are wonderful!

Tulips:  They do whatever it takes to help us grow.

Roses:  Like what?

Violets:  They water us when we’re thirsty.

Roses:  Ahhh.  That would be nice.

Tulips:  And they read to us to help us learn.

Violets:  They even feed us when we’re hungry.

Roses:  That sounds fantastic.  Where do these volunteers grow?

Tulips:  They grow all over the place.

Violets:  But they have special hearts.

Roses:  What kind of hearts?

Tulips:  Hearts filled with kindness.

Violets:  Hearts that are caring.

Tulips:  Hearts that are patient.

Violets: And hearts that are daring!

(Volunteers Enter)

Roses:  We think we hear them! 

Tulips:  We can’t wait!

Volunteers enter carrying watering cans, plant food and books.  The flowers sway with happiness and sing.

Jane and the Barque of Frailty

amazon.com

This book is a real treat for fans of Jane Austen and mystery books alike.  The Barque of Frailty is book nine in Barron’s Being A Jane Austen Mystery series.  I wish I had started at the beginning, but I will certainly enjoy going back to the start. 

Barron does a brilliant job of weaving together the facts of Austen’s life with her imagined world of political intrigue – her research is superb.   Austen does not play a typical murder mystery detective, but rather uses her wit and imagination to get her and her family out of a troubling situation. 

Like Austen’s books, Barron’s is filled with fascinating characters and clever dialogue.  She does an excellent job of providing motive, mystery and mayhem for each character.  I found the “solution” ending both inventive and perplexing.  Barque of Frailty on Amazon

Pride and Prejudice - The Game Review

From boardgamegeek.com

My husband is a dedicated gamer.  He loves games of all kinds - as long as there is strategy involved.  I prefer games that make you laugh and don't require a lot of brain power.  Would we find happiness in my latest Jane Austen acquisition, given to me for Christmas by my very thoughtful mother?

One begins the game by choosing two Pride and Prejudice characters.  This, in itself, is delightful.  There are eight characters to choose from including Darcy and Elizabeth, Charlotte and Mr. Collins, Jane and Bingley, and Lydia and Wickham.  The object of the game is to be the first to get your character couples to the wedding chapel first.  One achieves this by throwing dice, moving about the board game, collecting tokens, spending shillings and answering trivia questions from the novel.

I am very pleased to report that my husband was very engaged in this game and that my brother-in-law was a good enough to introduce his character with an English accent!  Although we had varying knowledge of the Pride and Prejudice, this did not seem to be a major stumbling block.  I found the Regency Cards most entertaining.  These might be considered "Chance" cards, where they can offer good or bad news for any of the players in the game.  They also include interesting information about Regency times.

Overall, I have to give this game 5 out of 5 stars for accuracy, enjoyability and attractiveness.  I can't wait to play again!  Find the game here: boardgamegeek

Mozart's Ghost

I chose this book for many reasons: It’s set in New York, a place I’d love to visit.  Emma, the main character is a teacher, like me.  Her love interest, Edward, is a pianist who plays Mozart and, as a little twist, Mozart’s ghost haunts their apartment building.  It looked and sounded like a cozy winter read.  Unfortunately, I found myself angry with Emma a lot of the time.

I was alarmed at first to learn that Emma is a Medium who communes with the dead as a side job.  I usually stay away from anything dark and sinister, but Cameron explained and showed the ghosts in such a way as to make them seem like the living.  It’s just that most people can’t see them, a bit like Sixth Sense, but not nearly as riveting. 

The main conflict in the book involves Emma’s relationship with her apartment neighbour, Edward.  Edward has moved to New York for a year to study classical music and prepare for a piano competition.  Emma finds herself speaking to him in ways that suprise her.  Long before Emma realizes it, the reader knows she is in love with him.  Many supposed problems complicate what seems like an easy romance – he likes her, she likes him.  The most believable problem is that she doesn’t want to disclose that she speaks to ghosts, as this has turned away all of her boyfriends in the past.  Unfortunately, this reticence drags on for so long that I said at one point “I can’t wait until this book is over!”

Emma and Edward are both endearing and well-drawn characters.  However, I found that their romance as the main interest in the book was lacking.  It might work better as a ninety-minute romantic comedy.  Descriptions of New York in the fall were nice, but nothing new.  Emma’s dedication to vintage clothing and anti-technology lacked freshness.  Maybe she’s just a bit too much like me.  I think a main character needs a bit more spunk and a little less self-pity.  Mozart's Ghost on Amazon 

New Review of Suspiciously Reserved

I'll be the first to admit I'm a bit obsessed with checking for new reviews of my books.  I decided to google the title of my latest publication, Suspiciously Reserved, and was delighted to find a new review on amazon.co.uk  Within the last year, Kindle has made my book available to readers in the UK, which had me very excited as two of my books are interpretations of Jane Austen's Emma and Pride and Prejudice.  Here is some of what Sarah Powell had to say:

"I liked Adkins' take on Jane, who comes across as likeable and long-suffering rather than too good to be true, while also remaining faithful to Austen's template. Frank and Jane's secret relationship is also touching, until the author falls prey to the familiar trap of apologising for Frank's behaviour after the reunion (in the original novel, he has no purer motive than simply wanting to have his cake and eat it!) Frank tells Jane, "It's far too soon to ask you to marry me. I sometimes wished we lived two hundred years ago, when this sort of thing wasn't so strange", which I thought was cute."

Powell had great recommendations for improvements to my novel as well as some heartwarming love for the book as well. I was especially pleased with this comment "I loved the scene where Emma and Knightley have their fight over Frank while playing a strenuous game of ice hockey on the Wii, with Jane listening distractedly in the background - very appropriate!" That is my favourite scene in the book as well.

Thank you so much to all of my readers who have posted reviews. It is truly a pleasure to hear what you think:)

Sarah Powell's review of Suspiciously Reserved