Forehead Butts Mean Brilliance: So I have written it, So let it be True

I have decided that forehead butts mean brillance. Some of you have heard me talk about my Forehead butt, so named by my brother Johnny, who said, "Hey Sister, you have a butt on your forehead, haw haw haw haw Forehead Butt! Forehead Butt! haw haw haw" . . . *sigh* ... I've fought against my forehead butt. I've thought to have to Botoxed, but I'm afraid to have Botox (and you have to keep doing it and doing it and doing it). I tried Olay cream for "deep wrinkles" - I don't think it's doing anything for my forehead butt.





Then, I began to notice other forehead butts, and what I noticed was that people with forehead butts were creative and brilliant and wonderful in every way - especially in the creative brilliant intelligent awe-inspiring way . . . no, really! It is true. I am most certain of it as I make my way around here and there and yonder.





So I am now embracing my Forehead Butt! And, I've decided that every week I am going to attempt to post a pic of someone brilliant who has "THE SIGN" and "THE SIGN" is a Forehead Butt -- today I am beginning with Stephen King. A brilliant writer, and who has "THE SIGN" - his own Forehead Butt.



My friends- I encourage you all to find brilliant creative people who have "THE SIGN" of the forehead butt. Forward me the photos, and I will use them in my quest to find all of us who are lucky enough to have "THE SIGN" of creative brilliance, intelligence, and all around awe-inspiring omphalooompa doo.



No, go have a good day, and if you spot "THE SIGN" on the forehead, the forehead butt sign, then know that you are in the face of brilliance!



So let it be written; so let it be done.

(PS Barbara at Serenity Gate is still having a Tender Graces book giveaway)

CHCHCHCHanges, turn the page and read, chchanges....

Send in your photos! *smiling*

Sharla and Marcy

Hello All. Today will be an intense work day. I do have a couple of things this week that I am most looking forward to, besides work.

I am also looking forward to my guest blogger tomorrow: David Pereda. Stay tuned!

And! I am so proud of my friend Joyce O'Neil ...

BOONE – A fog-shrouded parkway vista by Waynesville photographer Joyce O'Neil has been selected as one of 47 finalists in the sixth annual Appalachian Mountain Photography Competition, co-sponsored by ASU Outdoor Programs, Virtual Blue Ridge, Mast General Store, Footsloggers, and other merchants. O'Neil's image was chosen from 918 international submissions. O'Neil's image, "Pounding Mill Overlook" was chosen as an outstanding here's the rest of the article and the image!

There's a lot of talent in these mountains.

I forgot - the other day on my book giveway question - Missy was first. She has a copy of Tender Graces to review, so Missy, let me know what you want me to do - send another copy of TG? Two other books? Email me!

I found this on our YOG -- right now I am in CHANGE; it's Good Change, but any change feels strange sometimes-- we can welcome it, or fight it,....so, I'll just leave you with the Yog Post:

Nothing remains static. The world turns with all our energies both expelled and absorbed from pre-beginning to after-end; we become a part of a greater energy. Everything is pulsating, a part of each other. So how could something so dynamic not change and morph? Even require it. There is The Good Change, and there is The Bad Change, and there are the changes that no one notices until one day they say, “Hey…wait…whatever happened to…” And there is that moment of bemusement, or maybe of loss for what wasn’t even missed until some fluke in the atmosphere caused a flick of the memory-wrist. And then there are the snapshots filed away in drawers, albums, and the parts of the brain made just for remembrance.

I have this snapshot shouting loud. It comes uncalled and unbidden, but it comes. It is winter, and the snow is falling, blanketing an already white-washed world. The backdrop is sepia-toned, shades of black and white with that tinge of old-timey photograph brown. I am dressed warm, and by my side are my husband and my two dogs. We’re on the Muse Trail, Level Two. I have my camera and I’ve set it to video and as I turn 360 degrees, I say, “Isn’t this lovely? Isn’t this the best life ever? Don’t you wish you were me?” My dogs, off their leashes, run in the snow, their paws kicking up sprays of snow and arcs of ice that hover for just a moment before falling back down to earth; some catch prisms—I know; I saw. The branches are laden with snow and some hang heavy, ready to smack a head and sent showers of cold upon them—I know; I was showered. We walk in the most perfect silence ever: you know the silence? The one that muffles footsteps, but makes bird calls ring so clear through the air that you hear it in perfect pitch. I have that snapshot because there have been changes come since that Perfect Day. Changes that make the memory one I am grateful for, even as I wish for all of it back, Human that I am. Yet, would the memory stand in such sharp gorgeous relief if the changes had not altered it beyond repair? No. I’d have taken it for granted, knowing I could have that feeling over and over again. That Perfect Day has become one I feel the most profound sense of gratitude for—I know; I was there before the change.

Last Day! Where did Kat Magendie End up? (Book giveaway)

This should be easy!

Shrimp Poboys. Mardi Gras. Spanish Moss. Food everywhere. Kat's friends--Gumbo Writer!

Where am I?

Book Give away day 5: Where Am I Now?

First explored for Spain by Hernando de Soto. In 1699, a French group under Sieur d'Iberville established the first permanent settlement near present-day Ocean Springs.

Great Britain took over the area in 1763 after the French and Indian Wars, ceding it to the U.S. in 1783 after the Revolution. Spain did not relinquish its claims until 1798, and in 1810 the U.S. annexed West Florida from Spain, including what is now (the southern part of this state).

For a little more than one hundred years, from shortly after the state's founding through the Great Depression, cotton was the undisputed king of This State's largely agrarian economy. Over the last half-century, however, This State has diversified its economy by balancing agricultural output with increased industrial activity.

and they have purty Magnolia trees...


(Kat peeking in - teeheehee -- I know I haven't a chance to visit, but soon I will.... I just wanted to note that someone asked if I've stopped following them and NO I haven't! I haven't stopped following anyone - so if it looks as if I have stopped following you, then something else is happening - ????? I haven't done a thing on the computer -not even checked email -!-, other than the book giveaway posts, since Thursday night!

I am enjoying my travels - but I can't talk about it now...teehee... Hope you are all doing well - I miss my visits and 'talking' with you all - be back later!)

Book Give-away: Day 4, where's Kat?

Major Rivers - Tombigbee River, (name removed!), Tennessee River, Chattahoochee RiverMajor Lakes -Guntersville Lake, Wilson Lake, Martin Lake, West Point Lake, Lewis Smith LakeHighest Point - Cheaha Mountain - 2407 feet, (734 m) above sea level

Bordering States - Florida, Georgia, Mississippi, Tennessee

Bordering Body of Water - Gulf of Mexico

agriculture (cotton, corn, peanuts, soybeans, poultry, and livestock), hydroelectric power, mining (coal, limestone, iron ore), steel-making

There's a country band with this state's name as the band name!

Where am I?

Book Give-away day 3: where in the world is Kat ?

I have left Good Man Roger!

Oh, it's not what you think - I've only left him in the little log house, rocking on the porch to wait for me - so I could make a little journey. So my friends, if I can't always stop by to visit you, you will know why! I love a good road trip....


The name of its capital city is oftimes changed where three letters are replaced to call it HOT____...

Facts:
State Insect
Honey bee
State Reptile
Gopher tortoise
State Fish
Largemouth bass
State Shell
Knobbed whelk
Plant Symbols:
State Flower
Cherokee rose(Rosa laevigata)
State Wildflower
Azalea
State Tree
Live oak

Where am I?

Where is Kat? Book give-away Day 2

THE INSTRUCTIONS ARE POSTED ABOVE!

In another neighbor state.

State Capital - Columbia

Atlantic Ocean, Georgia, North Carolina
Time zone – Eastern
Total area – 31,189 square miles (40th largest state)Land area – 30,111 square miles (96.5%)Inland water area – 1,006 square milesCoastal water area – 72 square miles
Greatest distancesNorth to south – 219 milesEast to west – 273 miles

-----

The last of The Fishing Day, my over-sentimental little story:

“You shouldn’t think about all that stuff anymore. I don’t.” She holds out her hand, palm up, revealing a shiny purple-black rock that is flat and smooth with a dip in the middle. She takes her thumb and fits it perfectly inside the indention. “Look what I found.”

“I’ve never seen a rock like that.”

“Remember how you always told me that I’m unique? How there is no one like me anywhere else in the whole wide universe?”

“Yes. And it’s true,” The father says, nodding his head.

“I always liked that a lot.” She closes her hand around the rock, and then places it in the opposite pocket. She says, “It’s almost time to go.”

The father sees that only half of the sun peeks across the pond. The sky paints everything gold, red, and orange. “Already? Is it almost time already?”

The daughter receives the last light’s rays, the shine rushing out of her, inside out. “Yes, Daddy.”

The father breathes slowly in and out. He says, “Just a little more time?”

“Only a little more.”

The man clutches his stomach to ease the pain, but the burn only rises to his heart. He says in a near-whisper, “I didn’t do enough.”

“You loved me and that’s always enough. Remember that for me, okay Daddy?”

“I don’t know...”

“And remember that with Momma?”

“I’ll try.”

“Say you’ll more than try?”

“I’ll more than try. I’ll do it for you,” the father says with all the meaning he can.

“And for you. And for Momma.” The daughter sighs, the sound like the butterfly’s wings stirring the air.

Her smile glows so that the father memorizes every day of his daughter. He hears the echoes of their family in all the sounds of the day. And right then, as he stands with his daughter at the end of a good day, he knows he wants to hear his wife laugh again. He wants her to come home so they can remember all the days together.

“I think I’m ready now,” he says.

“Are you sure?”

“Yes.”

They sit back down on the bank, their backs to the willow tree, just as they had done at the beginning of their fishing day. She says, “Close your eyes, Daddy. Close them tight tight.”

The breeze whispers, tickles his ear and is gentle as it lifts, lifts the little girl. The father waits until it is near dark, then picks up the purple-black rock and the three flowers and puts them in his pockets. He looks across, one more time, to the other side, and sees the shimmering light fade, then disappear.

THE END

Day One of book give-away: Where is Kat Magendie

THE INSTRUCTIONS ARE POSTED ABOVE!


...somewhere close by in a neighbor state, Haywood county borders this state!


The three stars on the flag represent the three different land forms in This State. Mountains in the east, highlands in the middle and lowlands in the west. On the flag these regions are bound together in an unbroken circle. The field is crimson with a blue background for the stars. The final blue strip relieves the sameness of the crimson field and prevents the flag from showing too much crimson when it is limp.



Where am I ?
------

next installment of short story The Fishing Day (only one more left!):


A butterfly drifts between them and the father first thinks it is a leaf. For as beautiful and graceful as the creature is, it seems to fly haphazardly, as if the wind lifts the wings in one direction and the next, pushing the light body where it does not want to go. Yet the butterfly gets to its destination despite the breeze. It lands on the father’s head and the daughter laughs, pointing at it, her other hand held over her mouth. She looks the same. But nothing will be the same ever again. He cannot force time to his will. The butterfly leaves the man, glides to a clover, and is still.

“Daddy? Do you want to know now?”

“I don’t know if I’m ready.”

“I’ll wait.”

“Have I told you that I love you more than life itself?”

“Lots of times.”

The father is not sure if she is telling the truth. He remembers her disappointed looks when he came home late from work again and again. Sometimes she had already been sleeping, her face cleared of his mistakes. The man remembers every error, the biggest of them he hides behind the smaller ones.

The father says, “I’m sorry I was so angry when you broke my baseball trophy. That stupid trophy I got in junior high school.” He runs his fingers through his hair and the ends stand up from the fish slime still sticky on his hand. “How could I have become so angry with you over such silly things?” He has difficult time breathing and it feels as if his feet are sinking in the soft soil. He imagines if he stands here long enough, he will simply disappear into the earth.

“You already told me you were sorry, remember?”

The father does not hear her. He stares into the light of the sun, blinking into his blindness.

“You’re a good doctor, Daddy, and good doctors are busy.”

The father becomes agitated, gesturing in the air, reaching towards her and pulling back. He says to himself, “All those hours.” And he does not know if it is the lost ones or the ones to come that he is most sorry about.

“People worry about things that don’t really matter. It’s silly.” She bends down and plucks three clover flowers, smells them, and then puts them in her pocket. “I did stupid stuff. Like when I told you to get out of my room when you were only trying to say hello. It was that day Kelly called me a name and we weren't best friends anymore. I was mad at Kelly, but I yelled at you.” The daughter turns her attention to the shadows lengthening across the pond.

The father follows her gaze, silent a moment before he says, “The day you needed me most I was helping that little boy.” He watches a bird fly into the willow and disappear. “Your mother paged me, and I ignored her.”

“But you came. I smelled your soap when you bent over me and put the stethoscope on my chest. It made me feel safe.”

“Oh god.” The man puts his head in his hands and sobs, wide thin shoulders shaking. He lifts his head. “I’ve wanted to tell you these things for so long.”.... continued to ending tomorrow...

Book Give-away: where in the world is Kat Magendie?

Oh I am late today! I am frantic in working on some things - so everyone, please pardon me if I do not get by your places consistently for maybe a few days or so. And, I know as Tender Graces's release date approaches, I will become even more busy! Then when it gets here, more busy! And in between and around all that, I will have to sit my butt down (I can't wait!) and work on the second book--then I know I'll be scarce...but I know you all will understand!

That image is where my camera malfunctioned while I was photographing some tiny signs of spring. But, the "malfunction" is so beautiful and interesting, I kept it.

Today is the book give-away "contest" announcement. I am going to post the "instructions" at the top of my blog...teehee. Basically, if you want to "play" - for the next almost-week, I will be posting a "where is Kat?" hint, and you have to tell me where I am...the instructions will make it all clear, and those will be up later this evening....teeheehee -- you'll either have a good time, or throw up your hands and say "too much trouble!"

Now, I have to get busy. I'm already running behind on everything this morning! *muwah*

The next "installment" of The Fishing Day (almost at the end; I believe there are two more "installments" left):

....

The daughter turns to her father. “Do you need help?”

He shakes his head and straightens from his slump, pulling until the fish reveals itself in an explosion of water and sound. It arches and flops as he drags it onto the bank. Its gills open and close, the pink flesh beneath tender and sad as the fish tries to breathe. The father and daughter stare at its struggle. “Let’s get the hook out of it,” the father says as he bends down, the knees of his slacks soaking up the wetness from the bank.

“He’s trying to breathe out of the water, but he can’t.” The daughter watches the fish, its colors yellow, red, pale peachy pink.

The father works slowly to free the hook, frowning at the damage he has caused. The fish looks small and helpless now. It isn’t nearly as big as he had thought. “Oh, poor fish. I wish I had not caught it now.”

“Don’t hurt him,” she says, reaching out to the shimmering scales. The fish calms at her touch, and allows the father to pick it up and finally work the hook from its mouth. The daughter looks at the torn flesh. She looks at the father’s frown. She knows he will be okay. When he is released, he will heal. She knows much for her age, because of where she has been, and where she must return.

“I think we should put it back. What about you?”

“Yes, Daddy, let it go. It wants to be free again.”

The father gently places the fish into the water. At first, it does not react, but then with a shiver and flick of its tail, the creature swims off until it disappears into the murky lake, unseen, but there all the same.

“I bet he tells his friends about his adventure,” she says.

“He might. Unless he keeps it all to himself. He may not want anyone to know he was caught unawares and hurt like this. It may feel better to pretend it never happened.”

“What do you want to know, Daddy?”

The father gazes into the light, casting his face in shadow. He had not noticed how much the sun has descended. As he looks down at his daughter’s bright face, he wants to hug her close, but he can’t. He knows this is all that parents really want to do, hold their children safe so that they never come to harm. The father thinks of days when he swung his daughter up high, around and around, as his wife stood by laughing. His wife’s golden brown hair, caught up in two bobby pins to keep it off her tanned face, is a shorter version of their daughter’s. They had all three laughed like this every day it seems, even though he knows that is not real. But they had been happy and contented, this he knows is real... to be continued...

Yes the mountain's high enough, and the valley's low enough...

I'm going to do a quicky for the book give-a-way this morning.

The book for todays give-away is "On Bear Mountain" by Deborah Smith--a signed brand spanking new copy.

About "On Bear Mountain" -

From Publishers Weekly: A hillbilly girl from Georgia and a rebellious Brooklyn boy find out the hard way that some family ties bind tighter than others in this highly readable novel by the author of A Place to Call Home. Ursula Powell lives in the shadow of the Iron Bear, a sculpture commissioned by a distant relative for a local college campus as a tribute to the ursine presence in Bear Creek, Ga. Fashioned by a New York artist from scrap metal donated by local families, the Bear sparks a smoldering feud between the poor, chicken-farming Powells and their wealthier chicken-processing-plant cousins, the Tibers. When the Tibers threaten to trash the Bear, Ursula's father scrapes together money the family can ill afford to install the sculpture in the Powell pasture. Resenting her father for the hardship she believes he has brought on the family, scrappy Ursula grows up fighting class oppression and backwoods superstitions. Meanwhile, Quentin Riconni, son of the artist who created the Bear, also grows up resenting his father. Quentin and his mother live in poverty in Brooklyn, while the senior Riconni devotes himself to his unprofitable art upstate. Not until 20 years after Quentin's father's death are his sculptures applauded, earning millions of dollars for his widow and son. When Quentin discovers that the Bear is owned by the Powells, he sets out on a journey of self-discovery fated to include Ursula.

To win this book - here's all you have to do. I have one signed copy, so the first one to figure it out gets it:

In Tender Graces, Virginia Kate hears Momma's radio - she says: Momma next went to the kitchen and ice rattled cold. Then soft music floated into my room and a woman sang deep and rusty, like summertime.

What song is Virginia Kate (and Momma) listening to? Who is singing it?

First one who guesses right - receives Deborah Smith's "On Bear Mountain."

I wander and wonder who? who wrote some book of....& A Contest!

(P.S. I wanted to mention: Travis Erwin. If you've not gone by his site, then please think of doing so. He and his family lost their home to a fire. It is times like these when strangers come together to help each other - and that is what makes this community a family. You can buy a brick at THIS website if you can and if the spirit moves you to do so.)

What is more satisfying that knowing someone is reading your work? Well, a big cup of deep creek blend coffee is satisfying. And chocolate. And cheesecake, don't forget cheesecake. And chicken and dumplings--even this "flexitarian" loves a good chicken and dumplings (and my chicken and dumplings are gooooood - thick and rich).

I love to link to other writer’s words, for if we don’t support each other, we are missing a wonderful opportunity to share this writing life. So...

I’d like to know: have you recently had something published? Do you have a book/novel/chapbook out there? A poem, short story, essay? A blogpost you are quite happy about? I'll be searching around, but feel free to let me know in the comments section, or email me, if you come across something or have something of your own to tout! I'll put up the links on Fridays.

I’m going to start it off with my beautiful friend Angie Ledbetter and her book: Seeds of Faith: An Inspirational Almanac – Seasonal Essays, Recipes, and Tips. If you’ve not ordered your copy, just click on the link, or go to Angie’s site; you’ll not be disappointed. Part wisdom, part “down-home heart,” part yummy recipe—Seeds of Faith will rock you in its lyrical chair, soft throw over the lap.

In fact, I love the book (and my dear friend Angie) so much; I am going to give away a new copy by having a “contest.”

In TENDER GRACES, the daddy is a “Shakespeare quoting door-to-door salesman,” so my “contest” today is: what Shakespeare play and scene is this quote from?:

He has no children. All my pretty ones? Did you say all? O hell-kite! All? What, all my pretty chickens and their dam At one fell swoop?

First one who figures it out receives a copy of Angie’s book (just make sure I can have your address to have it shipped to you!). Just put your answer in the comments section below. First one to get it right wins; it's that simple! *smiling* And, I am betting Miz Angie will be happy to autograph it for you if you'd like a signed copy!

Now, go BE this day.


UPDATE:
Janna Qualman said... Okay! Er, well...Don't anyone hate me for this...My sources say: Macbeth, Act 4, Scene 3
---------

Yes! That's it...Janna wins Angie's beautiful book. Janna - just send me your address so I can get the book to you. And, as I said, I bet our Angie will be happy to sign it, so I'll make arrangements with her to do that if you like. If you have something you'd like for her to say, let me know when you send your address. You can email me at kmtrain at hotmail.com.

Next time, I'll announce the book give-a-way the day before to give people time to come by. This literally was just a thought that entered my pea-head this morning. *laugh* -- But, they'll always be on a Friday, and not every Friday, or my wallet will run dry...*smiling* And, I'll think up some better contests *laugh!*

The next book give-a-way will be WATER WITCH by Deborah Leblanc.