tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-55448883482731612652024-02-19T08:09:20.808-08:00Lisa T CresswellLisa T. Cresswellhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03236954388520308165noreply@blogger.comBlogger398125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5544888348273161265.post-19882154949195537242019-10-22T20:02:00.000-07:002019-10-22T20:02:00.625-07:00New Camera Fun~<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgNzDqUa1ZiQxdvwZ6zOjD1ZjUnzWTzwF_juq3CS7VD5Z9u4LOJb3MNiYq_sViL_SFO5a4KEU86NbI3-76TItV5kFWSCJ22M0xzRJfr-pbNx5nkXSDUSh2iI9O3RD_61exvDeEALKkN7GYy/s1600/panosmall.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="614" data-original-width="1600" height="244" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgNzDqUa1ZiQxdvwZ6zOjD1ZjUnzWTzwF_juq3CS7VD5Z9u4LOJb3MNiYq_sViL_SFO5a4KEU86NbI3-76TItV5kFWSCJ22M0xzRJfr-pbNx5nkXSDUSh2iI9O3RD_61exvDeEALKkN7GYy/s640/panosmall.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">I recently took the plunge and bought a "fancy" camera: a Canon EOS 80D. Not the most expensive out there, but probably the best I've ever owned. I spent all summer learning how to use my Canon Powershot and now I have to learn this one. It's is a whole different animal!</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">I'm not sure when or how I decided I'd like to see Mount Borah. I just thought it would be neat to photograph after the snow storm that was forecast on Saturday. I didn't realize how many other gorgeous mountains there are along the way! Borah is the tallest mountain in Idaho, located between the towns of Challis and Mackay, Idaho, and only about a 2 hour drive from my house. So I got up early and boy, was it worth it.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">I made the panorama above from two or three photos, taken just east of Mackay Reservoir. I think this one is <span style="font-family: inherit;">Mt.
Brietenbach – fifth highest in Idaho at 12,140 ft. – fourth highest in the Lost River
Range according to Wikipedia. I just know it's astounding. </span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">But I should back up a moment. Here's the first peak I photographed: Mt. McCaleb. I thought at first it must be White Knob, but I was mistaken. Look at the tiny little ranch at the base. This peak is a monster and it sits just east of Mackay, Idaho.</span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgEpR4VtyJFaScf2QRSRCocfeEBZT2rCu_7AylLFw31MqpHaTXou7k9MRohvkLQi4DQyYjGdA3g32wa6nVHFN_SJIld05P-RrFFZ66fVE4n3m7E5KZRXPkcYgmrqsaUzPe6bwyFUJY9mosT/s1600/McCalebsmall.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1067" data-original-width="1600" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgEpR4VtyJFaScf2QRSRCocfeEBZT2rCu_7AylLFw31MqpHaTXou7k9MRohvkLQi4DQyYjGdA3g32wa6nVHFN_SJIld05P-RrFFZ66fVE4n3m7E5KZRXPkcYgmrqsaUzPe6bwyFUJY9mosT/s640/McCalebsmall.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">A little </span>further<span style="font-family: inherit;"> up the highway, you come to Mt. Brietenbach and Leatherman Peak. Leatherman is second highest in Idaho at 12,228ft. It was the only mountain here with a roadside sign, as far as I can tell.</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">After Leatherman comes Borah, the granddaddy of them all at 12,662 ft. It's not the most stunning shaped peak, but it's massive.</span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgPxeTioz-3S7Fm6m3_DQjHEaPJmHPrbo1jRcDi__OLKS1QQ3mA78Qs1okuIm2Bcvhgc_gGyWbwJbAviyhkb0j9s3b3tRVW_rSgH5TYPH_iWD2hpcYH_WVQnLi7VMpZyhAQt0ckaR8keEED/s1600/Borahsmall.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1000" data-original-width="1500" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgPxeTioz-3S7Fm6m3_DQjHEaPJmHPrbo1jRcDi__OLKS1QQ3mA78Qs1okuIm2Bcvhgc_gGyWbwJbAviyhkb0j9s3b3tRVW_rSgH5TYPH_iWD2hpcYH_WVQnLi7VMpZyhAQt0ckaR8keEED/s640/Borahsmall.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">I'll have to go back another day to get pictures of the very top. It was socked in most of the day. Along the base of Borah is the Chilly Slough wetland, managed by the <a href="https://www.nature.org/en-us/about-us/where-we-work/united-states/idaho/">Nature Conservancy</a>. I definitely want to spend some time birding there when the temperatures are warmer.</span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgGVHLyVmMj5sjk8SGeVCB0ZoqtlGhAA0QjTYabEu0PLm-6ThM191VRJ6p9y0Tx6M50lCRXyeeeCf14v9dRUulTMieudzfuJZshyHqEEa5fnwGR1THqyMm2hepMuArTh3_Hh596zczT40Vd/s1600/cabinSmall.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1500" data-original-width="1000" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgGVHLyVmMj5sjk8SGeVCB0ZoqtlGhAA0QjTYabEu0PLm-6ThM191VRJ6p9y0Tx6M50lCRXyeeeCf14v9dRUulTMieudzfuJZshyHqEEa5fnwGR1THqyMm2hepMuArTh3_Hh596zczT40Vd/s320/cabinSmall.jpg" width="213" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">This old cabin was right along the highway, but I'm sure there are many more tucked away around the valley. I'm already scheming to go back next summer and spend more time exploring this part of Idaho. Maybe I'll hit Stanley and Challis and then swing back through Trail Creek toward Sun Valley. I especially want to get some sunrise and sunset pics, which is hard to do in only a day trip. Anybody want to join me?</span><br />
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Lisa T. Cresswellhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03236954388520308165noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5544888348273161265.post-60303227364683005902019-08-21T19:29:00.000-07:002019-08-21T19:29:00.742-07:00St. Paul's Cathedral, London, England<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjysSjGv6YsaE_Yk-VJrX9t8IiQplXkDtON_E4_894ZZgTZQu1lSm0F6spJPyPF-wUaJoPRkr_deJ67CIdcQX3VC84iC4OV4O-_QJXBjpiJrgr2HGkIcK9_tN6mwxaBZGxL3ruFKqkTCLKh/s1600/StPaulsDome.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjysSjGv6YsaE_Yk-VJrX9t8IiQplXkDtON_E4_894ZZgTZQu1lSm0F6spJPyPF-wUaJoPRkr_deJ67CIdcQX3VC84iC4OV4O-_QJXBjpiJrgr2HGkIcK9_tN6mwxaBZGxL3ruFKqkTCLKh/s640/StPaulsDome.jpg" width="480" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">One of the highlights of our trip to London was a visit to St. Paul's Cathedral. Truth be told, the only reason I even knew about St. Paul's was because I watched Mary Poppins many times as a kid. "Feed the Birds" was one of my all time favorite musical numbers and I sang it more times than I care to remember. (I sang a lot of My Fair Lady songs too.) </span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">Anyway, St. Paul's has a magical place in my memories so it was a natural spot to visit. I had no idea when it was built or why or really anything else about it. I also didn't know they would let you climb the spiraling staircases all the way to the top of the dome. There's a narrow, circular balcony you might be able to make out in the first picture, between the top of the dome and the base of the structure on top.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">The entire structure is pretty massive and I had a hard time getting a picture of the entire thing from the street. Here's the front.</span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjVo0WCuxPgHk32kVQ2yRVEYVtgL-49IAV_0bQh5xs7MxslYv5IijtP9x9vD_WJvAxcN3fcNWgfY0ZQWzAXg3GCEKxRuscg-PMhZjau70VD0dncnkNacI-jK_ZDha459CBhzcgalq9ADrPS/s1600/StPaulsFront.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1307" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjVo0WCuxPgHk32kVQ2yRVEYVtgL-49IAV_0bQh5xs7MxslYv5IijtP9x9vD_WJvAxcN3fcNWgfY0ZQWzAXg3GCEKxRuscg-PMhZjau70VD0dncnkNacI-jK_ZDha459CBhzcgalq9ADrPS/s640/StPaulsFront.jpg" width="522" /></a><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">You enter the door behind the small, white tent on the left. The giant door in the center weighs a ton and has a special mechanism to operate it. They only open it on special occasions, like royal weddings. We just barely missed the last tour for awhile when we got there, so some of the docents-in-training took us on a tour to practice on us. I think there were three or four of them, which was fun, but also a little crazy because they were all throwing out interesting facts and tid bits about the church. </span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhE_1Czxx4RciuOOUdn-GihfCUDvJ_q9B3mTj3FM18qzoHvti5bvo_Cr0uKwv5SV8ZdGjRGQJ2sLg3aCeobV1fjIUKGjzx8JAxi6EzPJ3bDiC7_o3Xq55ygSmeV3_4uf1kz_aSgImNd9irl/s1600/StPaulsalter.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhE_1Czxx4RciuOOUdn-GihfCUDvJ_q9B3mTj3FM18qzoHvti5bvo_Cr0uKwv5SV8ZdGjRGQJ2sLg3aCeobV1fjIUKGjzx8JAxi6EzPJ3bDiC7_o3Xq55ygSmeV3_4uf1kz_aSgImNd9irl/s640/StPaulsalter.jpg" width="480" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">One of the most amazing stories that stuck with me was how civilians were stationed on the roof during the air raids in WW II to put out fires so the whole structure didn't go up in flames. There's also a chapel in the end of the church dedicated to the Americans that gave their lives in WW II. The British definitely haven't forgotten those terrible days.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">The current cathedral is the last of four constructed on this site, which dates from 604 AD. The one before burned down in the Great Fire of London in 1666. The docents told us about how the Anglican church was purposefully designed without a lot of colors, so that it stood out from the Catholic </span><span style="font-size: large;">Westminster </span><span style="font-size: large;">Cathedral. Christopher Wren's plans were accepted in 1675 and construction lasted until 1710. The colors inside the dome were added years later. It's apparently the second largest dome in the world.</span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh5rJzSUzcMeo-ZU9NX7Q0CIjt2UyaWAY2LdUOMmvTlk7Gq97vBvfhE-RtaGstDu9v47Rbv7OzkHsftTk3Fywe3VhZNuv7ny4OfR18_k0Mo6RoNsfsCOFXHqeD9QXzuVfpcOJXwiqx1nyKC/s1600/HanView.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1208" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh5rJzSUzcMeo-ZU9NX7Q0CIjt2UyaWAY2LdUOMmvTlk7Gq97vBvfhE-RtaGstDu9v47Rbv7OzkHsftTk3Fywe3VhZNuv7ny4OfR18_k0Mo6RoNsfsCOFXHqeD9QXzuVfpcOJXwiqx1nyKC/s400/HanView.jpg" width="301" /></a><span style="font-size: large;">The docents are also told us about the staircase to the top of the dome. The famous "whispering gallery" was closed, but visitors are still allowed to climb the stairs and look out over the city. It's 530 steps up there. The stairs start off OK, fairly wide and solid concrete, but the further you go, the narrower and narrower it gets. And then you get to the metal spiral staircases. The kind with holes in the steps so you can see through just how high up you are. I lost count how many of those we did: staircase, landing, staircase, landing. Finally you make it to the very top and step outside. The view on the very clear day we were there was spectacular.</span></div>
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Looking down on St. Paul's matching bell towers and the Thames River</div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">We could have spent a lot more time at St. Paul's and I wish we could have, but we were off to see the Tower of London and the Crown Jewels that afternoon. There's way too much to see in London and it would probably take you an entire lifetime to see it all. So glad we got to see it on this trip~</span></div>
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Lisa T. Cresswellhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03236954388520308165noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5544888348273161265.post-40711659083048813172019-08-08T18:45:00.000-07:002019-08-08T18:45:49.779-07:00Be warned...Bugs!<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<span style="font-size: large;">I've always loved taking close up pictures of flowers, so I thought it would be fun to try a macro lens. It's a little tricky to get focused, but boy! is it worth the effort! Take a look at the beauty and the beasties in my garden~</span></div>
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<br />Lisa T. Cresswellhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03236954388520308165noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5544888348273161265.post-16394435373440423772019-08-05T18:26:00.000-07:002019-08-05T18:26:05.544-07:00A different creative pursuit~<span style="font-size: large;">Seems a little silly to write a blog to say I'm still not writing fiction. I wish that I could, but I'll have to be patient a bit longer. I've had dry spells longer than this one and I'm sure it will pass. Certain life changes have made writing seem less important than it was, like an innocence I once had that has been lost. My garden, flush with flowers early in the summer, has dried and been overtaken by weeds. There will be no tomatoes this year.</span><br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhlQKWQACa-YZEr0Cv0t8ieYb3m14TF6qPwaIV6-nvnTnJo1Qlb2ymDNDn-saxI6J6oMu6H3t5qP4b6fZEfoBCWMS8me-JEFEnRj9eOj0nYQfF-eTMU7zczEFnz52OQHd-tH0C_GCMcmrPg/s1600/crystalLake.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-size: large;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhlQKWQACa-YZEr0Cv0t8ieYb3m14TF6qPwaIV6-nvnTnJo1Qlb2ymDNDn-saxI6J6oMu6H3t5qP4b6fZEfoBCWMS8me-JEFEnRj9eOj0nYQfF-eTMU7zczEFnz52OQHd-tH0C_GCMcmrPg/s640/crystalLake.jpg" width="478" /></span></a><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">I have taken up a new creative hobby though- photography. It gets me out of the house and thinking creatively. I should probably post more photos here instead of Facebook, where folks are probably getting tired of seeing them all. I'm just teaching myself via Google and making things up as I go that look good to me. I'm looking for challenges. So far, I've done portraits, landscapes, birds, night sky, and waterfalls, with varying levels of success. I'd really like to try capturing lightning, but we just haven't had that much around here this summer. My camera isn't capable of the super long exposure times (25-30 seconds) for night sky stars, so I guess that will have to wait for a more expensive camera. It does great sunrises, sunsets, and full moons, but that's because it likes the light.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">My favorite subject at the moment is birds. The fact that it's summer makes them relatively easy to find.</span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjcZFi00kfftXFkOiFwlOtRcJTzYCP3xjAxS5yEg3f3B0nWVENTSJj_hnpfIXoBRUMMcKaIU5uxIA8CSwNqdd6vUT57UCQC-lYaOt5iddk9GdbTwxOoH1Bm7tHKVhIXirl6aNDmjWsB-vJJ/s1600/gulp.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="850" data-original-width="1600" height="169" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjcZFi00kfftXFkOiFwlOtRcJTzYCP3xjAxS5yEg3f3B0nWVENTSJj_hnpfIXoBRUMMcKaIU5uxIA8CSwNqdd6vUT57UCQC-lYaOt5iddk9GdbTwxOoH1Bm7tHKVhIXirl6aNDmjWsB-vJJ/s320/gulp.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<span style="font-size: large;">I've seen more birds than I've been able to catch, but it sure is fun trying. The ones that got away - a Belted kingfisher and a Great Blue Heron. Snapping a picture sure makes it easy to look up the bird later in the ID book.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">The challenge giving me fits right now is waterfalls. I'm trying to learn the technique for making that soft, flowy looking water. I've only managed it once and it was kind of an accident.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">The trick is you need low light and a long shutter speed. The long shutter speed lets in too much light if it's a sunny day and washes the whole thing out. I'm going to try a polarizing lens and see if that helps me get more consistent results. Luckily, there's lots of waterfalls around here to practice on. Peace~</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>Lisa T. Cresswellhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03236954388520308165noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5544888348273161265.post-58013287187365449182019-01-18T08:41:00.000-08:002019-01-18T08:41:04.221-08:00With the Bitter comes the Sweet~<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<span style="font-size: large;">It's been awhile since I've written anything. 2018 wasn't kind to any of us. My writing hiatus that started in 2016 just kept going and going. And now, finally having made it to 2019, I'm a furloughed government employee. Nothing I do for my day job is life altering, so I'm considered non-essential, sitting at home. It hasn't been too bad for me. I have savings and I'll get by, but I do worry about the new employees that just barely started their careers. I worry about the contract janitor, who's probably had to get a new job by now. I worry about my friends who were set to retire on Dec. 30. Their retirement is not getting processed. And I worry about insurance coverage continuing. I suppose we'll all muddle through somehow.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">I had a slightly ominous feeling all through the holidays that things in my personal life were changing and would not be the same for much longer. Now I feel the same way about my professional life. This shutdown, the longest in history, changes things. If there's one thing I've learned in 25 years of federal service, you never know what's just around the corner.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">One bright spot has been a private Facebook group set up by federal employees to share how they spent the furlough. I couldn't tell you how many agencies are represented, but I think it's a lot of the land management types, Forest Service, Bureau of Land Management. I've often said our agency is like a family: you don't get to pick who you spend your career life with and you have to figure out how to get along with them all. At the end of the day, we support each other. The Federal employees I know are some of the most amazing people you'll ever meet. </span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">The Facebook group is strangely like a family too. Many of us are spending our days cleaning out the dark recesses of our closets or completing those long overdue household tasks, like painting the doors or the bathroom. Others are taking on bigger projects like landscaping or home renovation. Some are working on their art, painting, stained glass, baking. We've experienced births and deaths over this furlough and had oh so valuable time to spend with loved ones. That's one unexpected blessing to come out of this: time. With the bitter always comes the sweet.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">No one becomes a federal employee just for the money. The jobs can pay well, but there are thousands of entry-level support positions that don't pay that great. I think people stay in federal employment because they feel valued, like what they do matters. They provide a service to the American people, even when those people speak ill of them. It's called civil service for a reason. When an employee doesn't feel that calling, they usually don't stay. Most of the federal employees I know are loyal public servants and they love what they do. Peace~</span>Lisa T. Cresswellhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03236954388520308165noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5544888348273161265.post-33324016779212746622018-10-10T08:40:00.000-07:002018-10-10T08:40:32.774-07:00Gratitude Always~<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<span style="font-size: large;">There are many people to thank and I haven't yet found the time to do it, but I don't want you to think I've forgotten all the kindness shown to us these past months. The flowers, cards, photos, texts and calls are all greatly appreciated and we really were touched to hear how much you cared. In fact, all of this has taught me how important it is to let people know how you feel about them. Which is why I want to write the thank you cards, but I also don't. Writing my gratitude down stirs up emotions that are hard to feel and hard to explain. But I'll get it done. I promise.</span>Lisa T. Cresswellhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03236954388520308165noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5544888348273161265.post-37990023091861390812018-04-15T09:22:00.000-07:002018-04-15T09:22:01.581-07:00Tips for Friends and Family of Cancer Patients<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<span style="font-size: large;">Cancer has barged into our lives again, I'm sad to say. Yet another family member has been diagnosed. Understandably, friends and family are concerned. They want to know what's going on and they want to help, but if you haven't been through it, it's hard to know what's helpful. Every person is different and so is every cancer patient. Some people are very private and others share every detail on social media with the world. Having been through cancer treatment myself and now facing chemotherapy with a loved one, there are a few things that come to mind that would be more helpful than others.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">Stay Positive. First and foremost, and this is a hard one, try not to overreact. A cancer diagnosis is not an automatic death sentence these days. After the initial shock of my diagnosis, I realized that I didn't want to mope around like I was already dead and I didn't want others to treat me that way. People can live with cancer for a long time. Like all things in life, it's a marathon, not a sprint. The other thing I've realized is doctors don't know everything. I've heard far too many stories of doctors getting life expectancy terribly wrong. Again, every patient is different and nothing is certain. We just have to take it a day at a time and be the best patient we can be. Please stay positive and help your patient friend stay positive too. Humor is a great alternative to gloom and doom.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">I also know you want to help with every suggestion you can think of, but these click-bait articles you find on the internet with miracle cures are not helpful. There is so much garbage about cancer out there you can't believe it! Just try to be supportive and let your patient friend decide what kind of care they want in consultation with their doctors. Unless, of course, you are a doctor yourself. Then feel free to pipe up.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">Cooking. There's a tendency to want to cook for the patient and their family. At our house, the patient is not eating large, heavy meals right now and my kids aren't crazy about casseroles, so the only one to eat such things is me. I'm afraid, no matter how well intentioned, food will be wasted. What helps more than food itself is gift cards to buy the special foods that the patient can tolerate. When you're sick, you know how you eat, right? Right now we're eating small meals with high protein if possible. Nothing too spicy, sweet, or fatty. A chemo patient may lose their taste for something they've always enjoyed and their tastes can change from day to day. What sounds delicious one day may sound terrible on another day. You can imagine the grocery bill from trying to accomodate all the changes. Drinks like Boost or Ensure are great; be sure to get the highest protein/highest calorie ones you can find. But ask first if the patient even wants those and what flavors they like. Again, gift cards or money may be the best way to help with food.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">Visiting. I think visiting a person when they are ill is a great way to support them, but there are several things to keep in mind. You shouldn't visit if you are sick. Chemotherapy patients have weakened immunity to germs of all kinds. Even if you just have a little cold, skip a visit and text instead. Call before you come and make sure the time you want to visit is OK. Call a day or two ahead to give the patient enough time to be ready for your visit. If you were laying around your house in your underwear, you wouldn't want to be surprised by visitors, right? And once you've set a time, try to be on time. You don't need to stay for a long time unless the patient asks you to. Visit length will all depend upon how long a patient feels comfortable and it's up to you to recognize maybe when it's time to go. Probably shorter is better than longer if they aren't up to talking much.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">Helping. I've had lots of offers to help around the house and I truly appreciate those offers. At the moment, I don't need a whole lot of help, but it is reassuring to know that I only have to ask if I need help. And I probably will at some point. I'm lucky to have the flexibility in my job to take leave for all the medical appointments we've had and will be having. I can't imagine doing this with a job that didn't have that flexibility. If your friend or family member with cancer needs help with traveling to appointments, by all means, offer to do that if you can. Offer child care or pet care if they need that. If they have no way to clean their house, do laundry or dishes, offer that. More than anything, we want our lives to feel normal. If your household is falling apart around you, that's not a great way to feel normal.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">To this day, I think of that movie scene in Oh God! with John Denver and George Burns as God. God has appeared in John Denver's bathroom to tell him he has a plan for him and John Denver is freaking out. God tells him to shave. "Sometimes when you don't feel normal, doing a normal thing makes you feel normal," God says. Of course, God is right. We need to maintain an even keel and keep things as normal as we can to stay positive. Thinking too far ahead will drive you crazy.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">I want to sincerely thank everyone who's reached out and visited and supported us. It makes this a little easier to bear. Our chemo journey is just starting. It will be hard, but we will get through it. If I forget to thank you for a card or a gift, please know that it is appreciated and I love you.</span>Lisa T. Cresswellhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03236954388520308165noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5544888348273161265.post-71702821706493176512018-03-17T18:37:00.002-07:002018-03-17T18:37:48.445-07:00#IWillMarch on March 24, 2018<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<span style="font-size: large;">Hey everybody,</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">Like many of you, I have two amazing kids I've been lucky enough to raise into pretty decent human beings, if I do say so myself. We've lived through thick and thin, good times and rough times, and I wouldn't trade it for anything in the world. If you aren't a parent, it's difficult to describe the bond a mother has with her children. I know some parents aren't close to their kids, but I am. That's why, when I see mass shooting events at schools or other places where children are affected, I have a visceral reaction.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">I feel very lucky our lives haven't been touched by gun violence, but every time I see children murdered in this country, I'm reminded that it's only luck that's gotten us by. If a child in suburban Florida or Texas or Nevada or Connecticut or Alabama can be shot at school, then it could happen anywhere. At any school. To any child. If I ever had to bury a child, my life would be over. I can't even imagine.</span><br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgsMUVC55fmBBIzscHJqjUoTDZXA5iPx0MaRLuyy6Jl44FDwzfd1kvFRK1lnGFkvZRlF6eDaYC3DZs6tM0_sR2voo6HQ_y_X_i5WWIUaWRFrqI85nMbyLHnhrMmvIdDFsI_dDxO-kw5jOOA/s1600/IMG_3407.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgsMUVC55fmBBIzscHJqjUoTDZXA5iPx0MaRLuyy6Jl44FDwzfd1kvFRK1lnGFkvZRlF6eDaYC3DZs6tM0_sR2voo6HQ_y_X_i5WWIUaWRFrqI85nMbyLHnhrMmvIdDFsI_dDxO-kw5jOOA/s400/IMG_3407.JPG" width="300" /></a><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">Many people in my community participate in subsistence hunting. They actually feed their families with game meat they catch. Those responsible hunters don't worry me. It's the irresponsible gun owners that do. The ones that don't lock their guns up. The ones that think guns are toys to play with. The ones that like to shoot exploding targets in the desert and leave the garbage behind when they leave. Guns are tools and weapons, but they are not toys. Too many Americans have forgotten that.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">On March 24, I'm joining the Boise March For Our Lives to bring attention to the fact that we need common sense gun regulations in America. It's way past time. I'll try to post some pics on the blog from the March. I hope that wherever you are that day, you'll participate too. We have nothing to lose and everything to gain for the next generation. Let's make Never Again more than a hashtag.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>Lisa T. Cresswellhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03236954388520308165noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5544888348273161265.post-88124238108482116602018-01-21T01:30:00.000-08:002018-01-21T01:30:06.612-08:00Character Profiles ~ Desi<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiAu1hkU8lctUu7GTgabsaBbAWLHBzDVIAadpetTCm7a7d1nZW3nuwLmf9bpDVqc-m1ZHcyBYarsisLN4ZnR0pJmBpSa4Mk7dXpajzqhsa06-8iHeRIDY3nLkeBOHb548nuLJo0sAQQpM7m/s1600/desi.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="636" data-original-width="501" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiAu1hkU8lctUu7GTgabsaBbAWLHBzDVIAadpetTCm7a7d1nZW3nuwLmf9bpDVqc-m1ZHcyBYarsisLN4ZnR0pJmBpSa4Mk7dXpajzqhsa06-8iHeRIDY3nLkeBOHb548nuLJo0sAQQpM7m/s400/desi.jpg" width="311" /></a><span style="font-size: large;"></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">Desi is one of my favorite Crawdad characters. He's loosely based on a kid my daughter met at a Panic at the Disco concert. A little bit emo, but kind and generous with what little he has. Desi is every kid who's ever been rejected by their parents for not being whatever it is their parents thought they should be. Desi has the misfortune of being born gay in a strict religious family. For every kid that comes out and finds acceptance, there are many more that don't. Many find themselves homeless or worse. It's an ugly truth.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: large;">~Meet Desi~</span></div>
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "garamond" , serif;">My head slammed into the door frame
as I fell into my bedroom. The pain screamed in the back of my head and for a
second I saw stars. I didn’t expect Louis to lash out as me and I hadn’t
managed to dodge in time. Louis was my mother’s third husband. The one after
she found God. Louis kept telling me to call him dad, but I never did. I could
tell from the beginning he didn’t really mean it. Usually he yelled a lot, but
the punch was new. I suppose he probably wanted to punch me all along. Me
kissing Andrew was just the excuse he needed. Now, he stood over me quivering
like a freaking psycho. He wasn’t a big guy, kinda bald. It was hard for him to
get aggressive. Now that he was hyped up on adrenaline his nasty streak got
real obvious.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "garamond" , serif;">“Are you gay, Desmond?” he shouted, his
voice breathy. I hated him when he called me Desmond. I’m Desi. I have blue
hair I dyed myself. I pierced my lip. I’m getting a tattoo as soon as I have
the money. I am not a Desmond.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "garamond" , serif;">“What do you think?” I muttered as I
rolled over, holding my head. I pulled myself up to my knees, but I couldn’t
quite stand I was so woozy.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "garamond" , serif;">“Huh?” Louis demanded. “Cause if you are,
you can take your shit and get out of this house. We don’t want no abomination
here.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "garamond" , serif;">“What?” My head was still fuzzy from that
whack. It didn’t help that Louis always used the biggest words he could ‘cause
he thought he was smart. At least, he wanted you to think he was.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "garamond" , serif;">“I said get out!” I didn’t think he could
yell any louder, but he surprised me.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "garamond" , serif;">“You aren’t my mom.” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "garamond" , serif;">“This is my house and I say you’re out.
Get your shit and go!”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "garamond" , serif;">“What for?” I forced my head up and faced
him, too angry for tears now.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "garamond" , serif;">“For being a faggot, that’s why.” Louis
had his hands on his hips now, staring at me like he was God’s right hand man.
You’d never know he’d missed church a month of Sundays. Righteous asshole.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "garamond" , serif;">My little sister Kitty bounced on the
couch in the living room.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "garamond" , serif;">“Desi is a faggot…Desi is a faggot,” she
teased, too young to even understand what she was saying. Mom walked in the
door unnoticed by Louis, just back from work.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "garamond" , serif;">“Shut up!” I yelled at Kitty.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "garamond" , serif;">“No, you shut up!” barked Louis. “She
lives here. You don’t.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "garamond" , serif;">“What’s going on?” asked Mom, but the
lines on her face said she was too tired to really care. Kitty climbed into her
arms.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "garamond" , serif;">“Daddy says Desi’s a faggot,” she told
Mom.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "garamond" , serif;">“No, he’s not,” Mom said to Kitty. “Don’t
let me hear you talk like that again.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "garamond" , serif;">“As a matter of fact, he is,” said Louis.
“I told him to get out.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "garamond" , serif;">Mom turned to me, her face a mixture of
sadness and shock. I never wanted to tell my mom, but some part of me always
thought she wouldn’t care, that she’d love me anyway. Your mom’s supposed to
love you, no matter what, right? That’s not what my mom’s face said. Her
expression said I’d crushed all her dreams to dust forever.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "garamond" , serif;">“Is it true, Desi?” she almost whispered,
like it was too horrible to even imagine. I think my heart made a sound loud
enough to hear when it cracked open just then. It’s always easier to rage so I
cut loose.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh2m3abBg4jRDlWv9ScdjkXwhMOEO43YbTQ0vU8WVJwQSA89HfDfLUXuK3pTT83xS1olqy-D8qKHGo2jwEw81GP7Aa2pJHh74I5S_CxkBT6Wnf9dhjzpwWHb5vCQmB26a3WotBcuIlhQTz-/s1600/crawdad-front-v4-1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1024" data-original-width="692" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh2m3abBg4jRDlWv9ScdjkXwhMOEO43YbTQ0vU8WVJwQSA89HfDfLUXuK3pTT83xS1olqy-D8qKHGo2jwEw81GP7Aa2pJHh74I5S_CxkBT6Wnf9dhjzpwWHb5vCQmB26a3WotBcuIlhQTz-/s320/crawdad-front-v4-1.jpg" width="216" /></a></div>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: x-large;"><a href="https://www.amazon.com/Crawdad-Lisa-T-Cresswell/dp/1537461745/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1514563952&sr=8-1&keywords=crawdad+lisa+cresswell">You can find out more about Desi and Crawdad on AMAZON</a></span></div>
Lisa T. Cresswellhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03236954388520308165noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5544888348273161265.post-9547981097829169082018-01-15T03:30:00.000-08:002018-01-15T03:30:34.527-08:00Character Profiles - Jamil<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjSw9Ij3voZXc2L-FA-CMxebrkZSe-ByDaDNtkWge17BJU1NitofhiLzN_o6hgFqrJqE4IKiCcIf7BGK6eNTMoJbfPsXSkDi8Dec1Q-7YQrTcxtRSnGz1AeVzrokIh9wgpgwbLazH5LT0mz/s1600/shutterstock_264245777.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1067" data-original-width="1600" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjSw9Ij3voZXc2L-FA-CMxebrkZSe-ByDaDNtkWge17BJU1NitofhiLzN_o6hgFqrJqE4IKiCcIf7BGK6eNTMoJbfPsXSkDi8Dec1Q-7YQrTcxtRSnGz1AeVzrokIh9wgpgwbLazH5LT0mz/s640/shutterstock_264245777.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
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<br />
<span style="font-size: large;">On this Martin Luther King Day, I want to share the fictional story of Jamil Ramos. I have always been inspired by the words of MLK, even though he died before I was born. His message was one of hope that the injustices of men would one day be replaced by equality and freedom from fear. Dr. King had a dream of a better life for those who have been oppressed just because of the way they look or where they were born. His dream is the American dream, that anyone, no matter how poor or disadvantaged, can become whatever it is they want to be. And this is the theme of <i>Crawdad</i>. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">Jamil, as well as all the other characters in <i>Crawdad</i>, have challenges in their lives, but they each do the best they can to overcome those challenges. Jamil dreams of being a professional trumpet player despite having no money and very little family support. He doesn't let it stop him.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: large;">~Meet Jamil~</span></div>
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "Garamond",serif;">I spent most of my math class, staring at
my trumpet, thinking about what Mr. T said. I sat next to the window so I
always put my trumpet on the window sill. It had a few dents in the horn. Mama
said it was probably from too many late nights playing in the juke joints of
New Orleans. She bought it in a pawn shop there before I was born. A few of
those dents were from me though.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "Garamond",serif;">I grew up playing with it all the time,
like it was some kind of weapon till I figured out you could make sounds with
it. I made all kinds of awful racket with it. Mama said it sounded like dying
rooster. Sometimes it got so bad, she’d take it away, but eventually I got the
hang of it.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "Garamond",serif;">Mama would play her old vinyl records of
Duke Ellington and Miles Davis till the record player broke and we had to throw
it out. I’d play with those records over and over till I could make my trumpet
sound the same. Lots of times I’d play by myself till Mama got home from work.
My trumpet kept me company like a friend. When I played, I wasn’t lonely by
myself. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "Garamond",serif;">By the time I was old enough to start band
at school, I was hooked. I was also way past the other kids my age. I wasn’t
too good at sheet music, but I could usually play what I heard. I thought
everybody learned that way till I joined band.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "Garamond",serif;">I wanted to play trumpet for real,
professionally. I always had, but now I wanted something even more. I wanted to
meet my dad, Leon Ramos in Charleston. I wanted to ask him a million questions,
like what he did to make Mama hate him so much. Or why did he never come
around? What had he been doing all these years? The more I thought, the more
questions popped into my head the way dish soap bubbles grow bigger and bigger
until they fill the whole sink and spill over the side. I was filling up with
questions I had no answers for and they were pushing my music out of the way.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-size: large;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "Garamond",serif;">If I was going to play well at audition,
I’d have to clear out all the cobwebs out of my mind, but how? The only way I
could think of was to find him.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh2m3abBg4jRDlWv9ScdjkXwhMOEO43YbTQ0vU8WVJwQSA89HfDfLUXuK3pTT83xS1olqy-D8qKHGo2jwEw81GP7Aa2pJHh74I5S_CxkBT6Wnf9dhjzpwWHb5vCQmB26a3WotBcuIlhQTz-/s1600/crawdad-front-v4-1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1024" data-original-width="692" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh2m3abBg4jRDlWv9ScdjkXwhMOEO43YbTQ0vU8WVJwQSA89HfDfLUXuK3pTT83xS1olqy-D8qKHGo2jwEw81GP7Aa2pJHh74I5S_CxkBT6Wnf9dhjzpwWHb5vCQmB26a3WotBcuIlhQTz-/s320/crawdad-front-v4-1.jpg" width="216" /></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: x-large;">You can find out more about Jamil and read <a href="https://www.amazon.com/Crawdad-Lisa-T-Cresswell/dp/1537461745/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1514563952&sr=8-1&keywords=crawdad+lisa+cresswell">Crawdad on AMAZON</a></span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: x-large;">Happy Martin Luther King Day!</span></div>
Lisa T. Cresswellhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03236954388520308165noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5544888348273161265.post-92189307931087485962018-01-07T01:30:00.000-08:002018-01-07T01:30:22.320-08:00Character Profiles ~ Angel<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEivuGlSMwp22ZpFaHqcmqerk5mH_9EQA5QzW4uv6USxdR2i34eX-6L3X_qCBWFYUVlbeejsBn13_FNrzmzDy_EDNvloxJ6oa5cv9inaN06fu03DM4nWpzGUEpkP11vnRH6-X-rhzDaU1jWs/s1600/angel2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="804" data-original-width="490" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEivuGlSMwp22ZpFaHqcmqerk5mH_9EQA5QzW4uv6USxdR2i34eX-6L3X_qCBWFYUVlbeejsBn13_FNrzmzDy_EDNvloxJ6oa5cv9inaN06fu03DM4nWpzGUEpkP11vnRH6-X-rhzDaU1jWs/s400/angel2.jpg" width="242" /></a><span style="font-size: large;"></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">Of all the characters in Crawdad, there's nobody quite as damaged as Angel, but she's probably one of the toughest too. She's made some bad choices in her short life</span><span style="font-size: large;">. Choices that have left her with nothing. She ran away from home on a whim, misled by someone she thought she could trust. Can she ever go back?</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: large;">~Meet Angel~</span></div>
<br />
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "Garamond",serif;">Mikey glared at me like he might hit me
again, his eyes so dilated they were like huge black holes in his head. I got
up and went to the kitchen before he could do it again. There was nothing
inside him. He’d burned it out a long time ago and now he wanted to burn out my
soul too.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "Garamond",serif;"> I
hovered in the kitchen by the sink overflowing with smelly, putrid dishes
because no one ever washed them. I stared out the back window at the yard
filled with weeds as high as your waist and remembered the smell of fresh cut
grass when my dad mowed the lawn back home. The buyer came banging on the front
door. When Mikey opened the door, I slipped out the back unnoticed. I sprinted
across the overgrown lawn, glad I’d put my flip flops on this morning. They
weren’t great for running, but at least the rocks didn’t hurt as much as
barefoot. Once I hit the alley, I was out from under the shady trees in the
shabby yards.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "Garamond",serif;">The sunlight blinded me at first until my
eyes adjusted. It had been awhile since I’d been outside much. I could feel the
sun burning my pale skin, but it felt good to me, like it was burning away the
crust of filth that had grown over me like moss on a sick tree. For the first
time in a long time, I felt alive, maybe even happy. Maybe I could go home? I
could finish school. I was still young enough to go. They had to let me in,
right?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "Garamond",serif;">Mikey’s voice nagged my brain. <i>You can’t do that. You’re too stupid. They
don’t want you. </i>It had become. a constant in my life. Sometimes I believed
it, but I never wanted to think those things about myself. I knew I wasn’t
stupid. It’s just I wasn’t sure about the other two.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "Garamond",serif;">I shoved Mikey’s voice out of my mind and
tried to put some distance between me and his house. All I had in my pockets
was a dead cell phone somebody left at the house after a night of partying and
a watermelon Jolly Rancher. My tummy grumbled so I unwrapped the candy, stuck
it in my mouth, and kept walking.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "Garamond",serif;">I got a few blocks before I saw a cop car,
its lights flashing, stopped in the middle of the street. It wasn’t a busy
neighborhood so it wasn’t blocking a whole bunch of traffic, but there were a
few gawkers across the street. Part of me knew I should turn the corner and
avoid the mess, but curiosity got the better of me, so I kept walking the way I
was going. Pretty soon I could see two officers hassling this big black kid.
Some cops think they gotta interrogate every person they talk to, but I
couldn’t see how the kid was doing anything wrong. I supposed he could a robbed
a gas station, but he didn’t act guilty. Suddenly, one of the cops went for his
Taser gun.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-large;"><a href="https://www.amazon.com/Crawdad-Lisa-T-Cresswell/dp/1537461745/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1514563952&sr=8-1&keywords=crawdad+lisa+cresswell">You can find out more about Angel and Crawdad on AMAZON</a></span></div>
Lisa T. Cresswellhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03236954388520308165noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5544888348273161265.post-63635725511029112962017-12-29T07:39:00.000-08:002017-12-29T07:39:38.670-08:00Goodbye 2017 ~ Hello 2018<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<span style="font-size: large;">2017 has been a good year for me personally. I'm cancer free so far. My job is going well. My garden succeeded for a change. My kids seem to be doing well in school, dare I say thriving? In fact, I've been so busy that a few things have fallen off the plate. I've pretty much been on a writing hiatus since my diagnosis in 2016. </span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">At first, I needed the time to focus on my health, but after that improved, I never got back into the habit. Now I'm one of those people who says "How do you find the time for that??" except I already know how. I'm ashamed to say the news of the world has knocked me out of my "happy writer place" and made it difficult to concentrate on most anything fictional. I've even been reading less fiction, which is probably the opposite of what I should be doing, for my sanity's sake.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">I have plenty of writer chores I need to do: write a couple sequels, finish Troll Teeth, begin querying again. It's hard work and there's no one around forcing me to do it, is the problem. If I had a deadline, I'd be more effective. Of course, the answer has always been, make your own deadline and make yourself meet it. It's no easy feat, which is why not everyone is a writer.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">I also don't exercise like I did before my diagnosis. Again, busy work got in the way and it was easy to put it off. When I was diagnosed, a part of me was angry about all the exercise and weight loss I'd been doing. Wasn't I making myself healthier?? Apparently not. After my surgery, yoga and arm exercises were painful for me. I've since learned I have to stretch through the pain to become flexible again, but at the time, it was easier just to not do it. Part of me was like "*uck it, you only live once, might as well eat what I want to". But the other part of me likes to eat healthy and fit into size 8 jeans. I feel better. I've come to the realization that women only need 1200 calories a day, maybe less, to survive. Anything after that is stored away as fat. It's not fair, but its a fact. I still love a good Krispy Kreme, but I want to try to get back to my 2015 weight. Again, work no one makes you do but you.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">Written goals are always better than "somedays" so here's my list for 2018~</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">* write more - finish projects in progress; write sequels; maybe write something new; blog more</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">* eat healthy - eat out less often, eat less in general</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">* exercise more - yoga and cardio</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">* less internet news</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">What are your plans for 2018? Whatever it is, I wish you peace and happiness in the coming year~</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>Lisa T. Cresswellhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03236954388520308165noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5544888348273161265.post-43914006081167383962017-11-11T07:52:00.001-08:002017-11-11T07:52:50.545-08:00Poppies for you~<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<span style="font-size: x-large;">Veteran's Day always reminds me of my grandmother, who was a veteran of the U.S. Marine Corps in World War II. She grew the most wonderful gardens, so grandma...these are flowers from my garden for you. Love you forever~</span><br />
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<br />Lisa T. Cresswellhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03236954388520308165noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5544888348273161265.post-19368894304682407412017-09-04T04:00:00.000-07:002017-09-04T04:00:17.773-07:00Release Week Blitz: Black Bird of the Gallows by Meg Kassel with Giveaway<br />
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<span style="font-size: 12pt;">Hello Readers! Welcome to the Release Week Blitz for</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14pt;"><strong>Black Bird of the Gallows by Meg Kassel</strong></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12pt;">presented by Entangled Teen!</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12pt;">Grab your copy today!</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 18pt;"><strong>Congratulations Meg!</strong></span></div>
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<blockquote>
<div style="text-align: left;">
A simple but forgotten truth: Where harbingers of death appear, the morgues will soon be full.</div>
Angie Dovage can tell there’s more to Reece Fernandez than just the tall, brooding athlete who has her classmates swooning, but she can’t imagine his presence signals a tragedy that will devastate her small town. When something supernatural tries to attack her, Angie is thrown into a battle between good and evil she never saw coming. Right in the center of it is Reece—and he’s not human.
What's more, she knows something most don't. That the secrets her town holds could kill them all. But that’s only half as dangerous as falling in love with a harbinger of death.</blockquote>
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Black Bird of the Gallows by Meg Kassel
Publisher: Entangled Teen
Publication Date: September 5, 2017</div>
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<a href="http://a.co/5agve43">Amazon</a> | <a href="http://www.amazon.com.au/dp/B01MZ1IC9W/ref=cm_sw_r_tw_dp_x_AHdRzbQ1FMJV6">Amazon Australia</a> | <a href="http://amzn.eu/ctu4PeP">Amazon UK</a> | <a href="http://a.co/dIdy2zm">Amazon Canada</a> | <a href="https://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/black-bird-of-the-gallows-meg-kassel/1125323353;jsessionid=46042A5B8A263403134470802F57254D.prodny_store01-atgap10?ean=9781633758155">B&N</a> | <a href="https://itunes.apple.com/us/book/black-bird-of-the-gallows/id1188068806?mt=11">iBooks</a> | <a href="https://www.kobo.com/us/en/ebook/black-bird-of-the-gallows">Kobo</a></div>
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His soft voice clashes with the intensity of his gaze. “You’re adorable when you’re trying to be mad at me. You needn’t work so hard at it, though. We aren’t meant to be adversaries.”</div>
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“I, um…” My thoughts disband, leaving nothing for communication purposes. I’m adorable? Adorable has many definitions. I think my dog is adorable, for example. “That…wasn’t what I was going to ask you.”</div>
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He inclines his head. “Okay, then. Ask.”</div>
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But that “adorable” echoes through me, clinking around like a penny down a well. “What are we meant to be, then?”</div>
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His lips curls up at the corners. “That wasn’t your question, either.”</div>
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Meg Kassel is an author of paranormal and speculative books for young adults. A New Jersey native, Meg graduated from Parson's School of Design and worked as a graphic designer before becoming a writer. She now lives in Maine with her husband and daughter and is busy at work on her next novel. She is the 2016 RWA Golden Heart© winner in YA.</div>
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<a href="http://megkassel.com/">Website</a> | <a href="https://twitter.com/megkassel">Twitter</a> | <a href="https://www.facebook.com/megkasselauthor/">Facebook</a> | <a href="https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/8353652.Meg_Kassel">Goodreads</a></div>
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Lisa T. Cresswellhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03236954388520308165noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5544888348273161265.post-3063334797487788232017-08-19T17:10:00.000-07:002017-08-19T17:10:02.433-07:00This life is not a line...<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiXWE4zqQ2f0Lt3GdvpySGhIzVHhYsQQUS5ODpkai73rG2ddLt9TUjxoamwC_QWFuPs_D-k-rm8nyllIx3IBqzBSsr10t80LOTBtyuzZERJE5k9Mr74iC-llxS3GbNryaHClTW0bRuQWyI_/s1600/IMG_3185.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiXWE4zqQ2f0Lt3GdvpySGhIzVHhYsQQUS5ODpkai73rG2ddLt9TUjxoamwC_QWFuPs_D-k-rm8nyllIx3IBqzBSsr10t80LOTBtyuzZERJE5k9Mr74iC-llxS3GbNryaHClTW0bRuQWyI_/s400/IMG_3185.JPG" width="300" /></a><span style="font-size: large;"></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">The older I get and the more I live through, the more I realize this life is not a line. It's not some magical set of stairs to the top. It's a circle, a spiral that goes around and around and around. We experience things, we learn, and then we start again, experiencing yet more things, learning new truths. We all prefer happiness, but often times, experiencing pain is what teaches us the most. We are sensory beings, feeling the things around us. Not really soaking them up like a sponge, but reacting like sea anemones - open to what we desire, closed to any perceived danger or threat. I say "perceived" because we can let irrational fears rule us just as easily as real fears.</span><br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjxN2qP8gm9oO1IcmvU2_DhF2LmBVM4vx-_A_pSUo_sg1a61-AZPdAW8I3aTNYhjeJrKb2AztWoWXWf7rPiTNqFNh74pRtS8Vo2oVsDVuH0WZLy57dZDwpwibShYGCVXgxYlGUxu1dncumr/s1600/IMG_3207.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjxN2qP8gm9oO1IcmvU2_DhF2LmBVM4vx-_A_pSUo_sg1a61-AZPdAW8I3aTNYhjeJrKb2AztWoWXWf7rPiTNqFNh74pRtS8Vo2oVsDVuH0WZLy57dZDwpwibShYGCVXgxYlGUxu1dncumr/s400/IMG_3207.JPG" width="300" /></a><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">Most of us no longer live in true "fight or flight" situations, but that ancient part of our brains still thinks we do. If we can recognize that irrational fear and overcome it, we often learn that it wasn't so terrifying after all. Meeting new people, taking a class, starting a new job can all be daunting, but ultimately satisfying. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">Sometimes we lose though. When you lose or things don't go the way you thought they would or should, don't lose the lesson. Ask yourself, what did I learn? Was it as scary as I thought? Probably not. Was everyone as nervous as I was? Probably so. How am I changed for having gone through that experience? </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">Are you facing new challenges? I hope you do, no matter how old or young you are. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">This life is not a line. It's a circle.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjFO5kbE9LGqtrETuZDx3C8FgAbahjPK-xZQtpIMlKKkyNYmVYU_PeIkpsS4GIUA3u1ZS5c579g2CnwB2zizxyjGA1eCmqLTxU6uEV8WcO1_AIWsYT-QP5x6mKVTLr4kLnUktF4I_Gy9iUz/s1600/IMG_3270.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjFO5kbE9LGqtrETuZDx3C8FgAbahjPK-xZQtpIMlKKkyNYmVYU_PeIkpsS4GIUA3u1ZS5c579g2CnwB2zizxyjGA1eCmqLTxU6uEV8WcO1_AIWsYT-QP5x6mKVTLr4kLnUktF4I_Gy9iUz/s640/IMG_3270.JPG" width="640" /></a></div>
Lisa T. Cresswellhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03236954388520308165noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5544888348273161265.post-2181271427026659612017-05-21T19:38:00.000-07:002017-08-18T07:07:19.406-07:00Character Profiles ~ Aisha<span style="font-size: large;">In life and in fiction, we see what someone is made of when they're under pressure. In <i>Crawdad</i>, all the characters are stressed by something in their lives, usually events outside of their control.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">In Aisha's case, she's got a strange insight into people she's learning to understand, but can barely control. Is it voodoo? Aisha doesn't know, but it scares her and the people around her. Who is she? Is she evil? Is she crazy? Is the power real or just her imagination? And when will it go away?</span><br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: x-large;">~Meet Aisha from <i><a href="https://www.amazon.com/Crawdad-Lisa-Cresswell-ebook/dp/B01MXSSGGQ/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1495420030&sr=8-1&keywords=crawdad+lisa+cresswell">Crawdad</a></i>~</span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjD9Kc1RUCj1BFWqgwsyv0OIt5ebLZuhl2-e4wQxYYEjAXof8CS0RZ4s-5YvEg6yb1q3hN9aQ-NRaBewbggdD84o05DoD197flYurYHHcSkHImBff_PHNLa7iRtWJZVvUMV-8qweftqfmC9/s1600/2570df887f21bd4464dfe24450800d5f.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjD9Kc1RUCj1BFWqgwsyv0OIt5ebLZuhl2-e4wQxYYEjAXof8CS0RZ4s-5YvEg6yb1q3hN9aQ-NRaBewbggdD84o05DoD197flYurYHHcSkHImBff_PHNLa7iRtWJZVvUMV-8qweftqfmC9/s1600/2570df887f21bd4464dfe24450800d5f.jpg" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in; text-indent: 27pt;">
“Aisha?”
I could hear my grandmother calling me from the porch where she’d been shelling
peas in a big, red bowl. A vibration, so faint most folks wouldn’t have
noticed, had lured me off the porch and out into the woods, wet and green,
steaming like a rain forest. I glanced back over my shoulder where I should have
seen grandma’s house through the trees. I saw only shrubs. I could still hear
her yelling though.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in; text-indent: 27pt;">
“Aisha,
you get back here or I’m a tan your hide!” she was screaming but it sounded
like she was a million miles away. She used to scare the crap out of me, but
she’d threatened me too many times in my young life. I didn’t believe her
anymore. Besides, I had something in me I needed to understand. No one else
around me understood, so I kept walking. I wanted to see Naomi.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in; text-indent: 27pt;">
My
head buzzed with electricity. It was just a feeling I got sometimes when I knew
stuff. Once, it started on Friday at school. I knew what the answers were on
Mrs. Whitnack’s quiz cause she was thinking them. I knew Paul was gonna ask me
out, so I hid in the bathroom until most everyone had got on the bus or left
for home. I didn’t like that boy and he couldn’t seem to get it through his
thick skull. Missing the bus meant walking a long way home, but it was worth it
to avoid Mr. Grabby Hands. I took a short cut through the woods, like I was
now, and I was overcome by the same feeling both times. Alive with a vibration
like no other. Every leaf was sharper, every sound perfectly clear in my ears,
like it was right beside me. Something was coming.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in; text-indent: 27pt;">
I
thought I knew the way, but pretty soon there was a creek I didn’t recognize
and the trail turned to little more than a pattern of pine needles and dead
leaves.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in; text-indent: 27pt;">
“What
you looking for?” I heard a voice say. I looked around me. I was sure there
weren’t nobody there before, but now there was a woman, old and wrinkled as the
bark of a gum tree, staring at me with eyes blacker than midnight in a
rainstorm. She rattled me, but I tried not to let it show. That was the first
time I ever met Naomi.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in; text-indent: 27pt;">
“Nothing.
I’m just walking home,” I said.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in; text-indent: 27pt;">
“Dat’s
not what your heart says,” she said in a little know-it-all voice.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in; text-indent: 27pt;">
“My
heart?” <o:p></o:p></div>
<div style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in; text-indent: 27pt;">
“’Bout
to beat right outta your little chest, it’s so loud. I hear it searching.” I
gave her my best “you must be crazy” look, which was easy ‘cause she looked
kind of crazy. Her hair was covered by a tightly wrapped purple bandana and her
eyes darted around like she kept hearing things in the forest I couldn’t hear.
She wore a flowered house coat and slippers, like a patient who just wandered
away from the old folks’ home.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in; text-indent: 27pt;">
“What
are you?” I asked her.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in; text-indent: 27pt;">
“My
name is Naomi Wentworth. I got a lotta names, but that’s my favorite.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in; text-indent: 27pt;">
The
name sounded a little familiar, but too normal to be the person I’d heard all
the stories about.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in; text-indent: 27pt;">
“You
ain’t Mama Copperhead, are you?” I blurted out. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in; text-indent: 27pt;">
I
always thought Mama Copperhead was a story meant to keep us out of the woods or
away from snakes, but his lady made me wonder if it was true. She laughed a
raspy sound.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in; text-indent: 27pt;">
“Maybe…maybe.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in; text-indent: 27pt;">
“Well,
nice meeting you, Naomi, but I gotta go,” I said, moving my feet away from her.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in; text-indent: 27pt;">
“But
you ain’t told me what your blessed heart is looking for yet,” she said almost
pleading.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in; text-indent: 27pt;">
I
paused. What did she expect me to say?<o:p></o:p></div>
<div style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in; text-indent: 27pt;">
“I
know you been misunderstood a time or two,” she offered as she pulled a loop of
string out of her pocket and started lacing her fingers through it to make a
cat’s cradle.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in; text-indent: 27pt;">
“That’s
the truth,” I muttered.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in; text-indent: 27pt;">
“So
maybe you’re looking for understanding?” I squinted at her, the momentary glare
of the sun through the trees blinding me. A rare breeze cooled my face for a
second.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in; text-indent: 27pt;">
“Ain’t
everybody?”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in; text-indent: 27pt;">
“Maybe,
but that ain’t exactly what I mean, honey child.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in; text-indent: 27pt;">
I
never really heard nobody use that expression before, except for in a joke.
Naomi made it sound like the most natural thing in the world.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in; text-indent: 27pt;">
“I
won’t hurt you, sweet pea,” she murmured. I felt the humidity dripping down
between my shoulder blades now, itching.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in; text-indent: 27pt;">
“I
know,” I said, a little too smart mouthy. I didn’t mean to be rude, but
snapping at people had gotten to be a habit with me.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in; text-indent: 27pt;">
“Sometimes
it’s ok to ask folks to help us, especially when we can’t see the path too
clearly,” she said shuffling toward me.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in; text-indent: 27pt;">
“I
heard you was some kinda witch,” I said, backing away a few steps.<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in; text-indent: 27pt;">
“Maybe,
maybe not. All in how you look at it, I suppose. They don’t call them witches
in voodoo.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in; text-indent: 27pt;">
<br /></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEilQ7JozSBEwrqDB9uNBUEeMzoSqwi4A4CqZsn4RMFP0uGeheF_SkKFBOz16MrLKCXx2h7VYoqTZ2vtBctWsro6bS9jgIDoJqC4240dKfCcgDAeCuf7PIRSbASSrsa7pvm0LVqkNAZBpT2M/s1600/crawdad-front-v4-1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEilQ7JozSBEwrqDB9uNBUEeMzoSqwi4A4CqZsn4RMFP0uGeheF_SkKFBOz16MrLKCXx2h7VYoqTZ2vtBctWsro6bS9jgIDoJqC4240dKfCcgDAeCuf7PIRSbASSrsa7pvm0LVqkNAZBpT2M/s400/crawdad-front-v4-1.jpg" width="270" /></a></div>
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You can find Crawdad on<a href="https://www.amazon.com/Crawdad-Lisa-Cresswell-ebook/dp/B01MXSSGGQ/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1503065212&sr=8-1&keywords=crawdad+lisa+cresswell"> AMAZON</a></div>
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Lisa T. Cresswellhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03236954388520308165noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5544888348273161265.post-35069960289017839492017-05-13T21:18:00.000-07:002017-05-13T21:18:02.063-07:00Mothers<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: large;">~Happy Mother's Day~ </span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgKInRYxyl1jZ7L3b4naKgwnYz9C_22DlHLO_UlknIk5WqbRX3xWJWM6CHg6G-zS8AWLDt4WT6bW6K_5UvyEOEse2QqF6DSmNsqlt6K1NVG4JBxLJZyugwGsEtKuMVivAJ74K_ueoU6JpQj/s1600/roses.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgKInRYxyl1jZ7L3b4naKgwnYz9C_22DlHLO_UlknIk5WqbRX3xWJWM6CHg6G-zS8AWLDt4WT6bW6K_5UvyEOEse2QqF6DSmNsqlt6K1NVG4JBxLJZyugwGsEtKuMVivAJ74K_ueoU6JpQj/s400/roses.JPG" title="" width="300" /></a><span style="font-size: large;"></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Mothers are complicated creatures. Some are mothers by choice, some not. Some are biological mothers. Others are mothers out of necessity. And they aren't perfect by any means. These are the messy, complicated mothers I like to write. Mothers who mean well, but have maybe lost their way, by choice or by accident.</span></div>
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /><br />One of my favorite moms is Karla, a new widow trying to care for her depressed daughter, Samantha, in <i><a href="https://www.amazon.com/Color-Water-Lisa-Cresswell-ebook/dp/B014L3J8GS/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1494735286&sr=8-1&keywords=the+color+of+water+lisa+cresswell">The Color of Water</a></i>.<br /></span><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjogRqisqijHUuc5bOWp6bt1LSgtFp7aBTSf2nnkXxXXTdivebDcZi8-wEeoXSfmz4QXijsXYJq0Wt6rSUN2sNm-qGDZbps1YkdEoMr1pJwOc2iwyldczoNrWsYbGq8AunWiIEyXe-qGo53/s1600/the+color+of+water+cover.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjogRqisqijHUuc5bOWp6bt1LSgtFp7aBTSf2nnkXxXXTdivebDcZi8-wEeoXSfmz4QXijsXYJq0Wt6rSUN2sNm-qGDZbps1YkdEoMr1pJwOc2iwyldczoNrWsYbGq8AunWiIEyXe-qGo53/s320/the+color+of+water+cover.jpg" width="212" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">Somewhere
way down deep, I still love Karla. She’s my mom, but there’s no finding my way
back to her. At least, it doesn’t seem
like it to me. For now, I follow her around, sometimes her shadow, other times
more distant. She’s not making me finish
my junior year of high school. There’s
no way I could have. I guess she knows that cause she never even brought it up.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">But
this morning, instead of lying in bed until ten like we have been, Karla’s up
packing what little we have into the trunk of her Civic. She’s been worrying for weeks about money and
rent and all, but I really wasn’t paying attention before today. Just before five in the afternoon, we slid
into the seats of her car and she started the engine.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">“This
will be good for us,” said Karla, staring straight ahead at our now former
apartment. She awakened a curiosity in
me that hadn’t been there for awhile.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;"> “Where are we headed, Karla?” I asked. My voice came out
soft from lack of use. She didn’t hear me or she didn’t answer anyway. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">“Good
bye, Wilmington. Beaufort, North
Carolina, here we come,” Karla said. She
smiled her “I’m pretending I’m happy about this” smile. She used it a lot where Dad was concerned.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;"> <i>At least it’s on
the water</i>, I thought, slouching down in my seat as I settled back into
sleep. Cars bore me. I would rather spend my time sailing with
Dad. Karla always accused us of growing
gills and fins.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;"> “This will be good, right?” she said again. I guess she
was trying to convince herself it was a good idea. With a bittersweet smile, she kissed two
fingers and touched them to the picture of me and Dad taped to the dash. Blowing the blonde strands of hair out of her
eyes, she backed the Honda out of the driveway and that was it - our lives
changed again.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<span style="font-size: large;">Others mothers are more difficult to love. They do what they think is best, but sometimes they're wrong because they're human. This is Loretta from <i><a href="https://www.amazon.com/Crawdad-Lisa-Cresswell-ebook/dp/B01MXSSGGQ/ref=sr_1_4?s=digital-text&ie=UTF8&qid=1494735355&sr=1-4">Crawdad</a></i>~</span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEilQ7JozSBEwrqDB9uNBUEeMzoSqwi4A4CqZsn4RMFP0uGeheF_SkKFBOz16MrLKCXx2h7VYoqTZ2vtBctWsro6bS9jgIDoJqC4240dKfCcgDAeCuf7PIRSbASSrsa7pvm0LVqkNAZBpT2M/s1600/crawdad-front-v4-1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEilQ7JozSBEwrqDB9uNBUEeMzoSqwi4A4CqZsn4RMFP0uGeheF_SkKFBOz16MrLKCXx2h7VYoqTZ2vtBctWsro6bS9jgIDoJqC4240dKfCcgDAeCuf7PIRSbASSrsa7pvm0LVqkNAZBpT2M/s320/crawdad-front-v4-1.jpg" width="216" /></a><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: 27.0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">Once, she told me he was living under a
rock somewhere. To a little kid like me, I figured that meant he must have
magical powers to be able to do that. I looked under rocks in the creek behind
our house all the time after that, but all I found were crawdads and snails.
The crawdads would raise their little claws up to me like they were saying
‘hey’ if they weren’t too busy scuttling away into the muddy water.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: 27.0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">Sometimes I’d catch one and keep it in a
bucket or the bed of an old wagon. I’d put in rocks and water, make it like a
real terrarium, a home for my crawdad daddy, but mama wouldn’t let me bring
them in the house. The raccoons usually got them.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: 27.0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">I remember when she found me crying over
what was left one morning. I gathered up the little bits of shell the coons
didn’t eat. Mama came out of the house with a load of laundry in a blue plastic
basket propped up on her hip.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: 27.0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">“What’s the matter with you?” she asked.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: 27.0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">“My daddy’s gone,” I whimpered.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: 27.0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">“You mean your crawdad?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: 27.0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">“My daddy,” I bawled. My seven year old
heart was broken. I carefully pet the little fan-shaped crawdad tail in my palm
with a fingertip.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: 27.0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">“Your daddy ain’t no crawdad, Jamil. He’s
just a plain ol’ sorry ass man,” said Mama. She plopped the laundry basket on
the soggy Bermuda grass and started hanging up clothes on the line in our
backyard.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: 27.0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">“But you said he was a crawdad?” Mama
snorted.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: 27.0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">“I did? Well, I was just messing with you
then.” She went on her merry way, hanging clothes like it was nothing. I don’t
even think she knew how she just dropped a bomb in my heart. I let the little
fan-shaped tail fall from my hand. It was worse than finding out Santa Claus
wasn’t real. My daddy wasn’t any enchanted creature trapped in a crawdad body.
He wasn’t even special. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="" style="clear: both;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-fareast;">Worse
than that, he had arms and legs, but he never even come to see me. Didn’t want
to hug me. I could understand a person not being able to visit you if they’d
been turned into a crustacean, but he was flesh and blood human. Why didn’t he </span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;">ever come to see me?</span></div>
<div class="" style="clear: both;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="" style="clear: both;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh4VvU0EH9IFCjH7FOoKutUyGvNrn-ywUC4elQDgFxn5AYdu39xpuCZfom2HOT9rXPjRw4vQVAUMo-iGF9pn9mcgYumYx_w1nqHowCWQYs4__dM2_5zHiN0IC7YxEkHDwmYWkgU7eEUH7wC/s1600/Hush+Puppy+cover.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh4VvU0EH9IFCjH7FOoKutUyGvNrn-ywUC4elQDgFxn5AYdu39xpuCZfom2HOT9rXPjRw4vQVAUMo-iGF9pn9mcgYumYx_w1nqHowCWQYs4__dM2_5zHiN0IC7YxEkHDwmYWkgU7eEUH7wC/s320/Hush+Puppy+cover.jpg" width="206" /></a><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">And some mothers fail us completely and others have to step in. Thank goodness for grandmothers. Corrine is raised by her grandmother in <i><a href="https://www.amazon.com/Hush-Puppy-Lisa-T-Cresswell-ebook/dp/B00EN3AVKY/ref=sr_1_5?s=digital-text&ie=UTF8&qid=1494735399&sr=1-5">Hush Puppy</a></i>~</span></span></div>
<div class="" style="clear: both;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Garamond",serif;">Almost as
soon as it closed, the screen door opened again and in walked a skinny woman
with an anxious expression.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="" style="clear: both;">
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Garamond",serif;">“Mama!” I
shouted and bounded to the door; she was looking around like she didn’t know
anyone. I was in her arms before I knew it.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Garamond",serif;">“Oh, baby,”
she called me, wrapping herself around me. “Happy Birthday.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Garamond",serif;">It didn’t
matter how many times she had disappeared without saying goodbye; I caved like
a kindergartener when she came back. It wasn’t until she had been around a few
days that I would remember her faults. Memaw never forgot. She was probably
somewhere silently cursing, but I didn’t care. I was just happy Mama remembered
my birthday at all. Most years, she didn’t.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Garamond",serif;">Mama swayed a
little, her high heels wobbly on the uneven linoleum, but she leaned on me and
I held her tight.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Garamond",serif;">“You looking
so fine, Corrine. You done grown up, girl.” She hadn’t seen me in probably a
year and a half.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Garamond",serif;">“You too,
Mama.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Garamond",serif;">The music
stopped and Uncle Terrance shouted over the chit-chat.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Garamond",serif;">“Look what
the cat drug in! It’s Shawna!”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: .5in;">
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Garamond",serif;">Mama’s eyes
lit up as she made a beeline into his arms. I thought I heard a woman’s voice
whisper something about a two-dollar hooker. No doubt, Mama was flashy in skin-tight
yellow leggings, giant hoop earrings with the gold paint flaking off, and her hair
sculpted high on her head, but I thought she was beautiful. A beautiful
disaster.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="" style="clear: both;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="" style="clear: both;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /> Happy day to all the moms out there :)</span></span></div>
<div class="" style="clear: both;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-fareast;"> </span></div>
<div class="" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<br />Lisa T. Cresswellhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03236954388520308165noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5544888348273161265.post-86282631453184488432017-05-06T17:51:00.000-07:002017-05-06T17:51:31.203-07:00The more things change, the more they stay the same~<span style="font-size: large;">Seems like these days you hear news a of a young black person being shot by the police all too often. A few years ago when we lost Trayvon, it became clear there are a lot of young men living a completely different reality than their white peers in this country.</span><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiaVfYdDXds2314s8hWwxCoqCepEtNyx6P9I8p0IF8ZPlSCDxVOIelgekO1fXlY56J2dw9pkpN7UmA8zKKU_t60wXSYaQNE7_tQGa62QnTwHjJZuU0kV7kLLhsC9kMFfjyPvltsyTTPrNYd/s1600/trayvon.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="166" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiaVfYdDXds2314s8hWwxCoqCepEtNyx6P9I8p0IF8ZPlSCDxVOIelgekO1fXlY56J2dw9pkpN7UmA8zKKU_t60wXSYaQNE7_tQGa62QnTwHjJZuU0kV7kLLhsC9kMFfjyPvltsyTTPrNYd/s320/trayvon.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">When I set out to write Crawdad, I was focused on Jamil's dream of becoming a musician against all odds, but as I wrote the story of what might befall a teen hitchhiking across the South, I couldn't ignore the fact that profiling does happen.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">At several points in the story, people discriminate against Jamil because of how he looks.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<div style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-indent: 27.0pt;">
A
white guy with a purple feather duster and a bright red vest walked by me and
started wiping off some Gulf Coast pelican figurines. He looked like a past
president of the high school chess club – uptight and no friends. At least none
that I could imagine. Maybe he wasn’t as smart as he thought he was.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-indent: 27.0pt;">
“We
got security cameras,” he said. “Watching every move you make.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-indent: 27.0pt;">
At
first, I wasn’t even sure he was talking to me, so I kind of ignored him. I was
looking for maps. I went down the aisles until I finally found them, tucked in
a corner on the back wall like nobody would want them. Maybe truckers all have
GPS now.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-indent: 27.0pt;">
I
carefully tucked the water bottle under my arm and squeezed the hot dogs in one
hand so I could open one of the atlases with my other hand. It didn’t work too
well, but I finally opened to a page with Alabama, Florida and Georgia on it.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-indent: 27.0pt;">
Charleston
was in South Carolina, I knew that, but which was the best way to get there?
Searching the map for Charleston, I started getting this creepy feeling like I
was being watched, but not in a scary movie sort of way. Just a “someone’s
hanging over your shoulder” sort of way. I looked behind me and sure enough,
there was red vest guy, surprised that I’d caught him watching me. He stuck his
pointy chin out like that would make him look tougher.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-indent: 27.0pt;">
“You
gonna buy that?” he snapped.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-indent: 27.0pt;">
“I
can’t look at stuff?”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-indent: 27.0pt;">
“This
isn’t a library,” he said like I was an idiot or something.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-indent: 27.0pt;">
“I
know that. I need to look at something to decide if I’m going to buy it, don’t
I?”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-indent: 27.0pt;">
“Well,
hurry up.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-indent: 27.0pt;">
Truth
was, I didn’t want to buy it at all. I just needed a minute to memorize it.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-indent: 27.0pt;">
“Is
the store closing?” I asked.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-indent: 27.0pt;">
“It’s
a twenty-four hour store, genius.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-indent: 27.0pt;">
“Then
I guess there’s no rush is there?” I pointed out. <o:p></o:p></div>
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">Many people experience the same treatment everyday in real life. It's hard to believe in 2017 it's *still* happening, but it is. It's not difficult to understand why young black men would be angry.</span><br />
<span style="text-align: center; text-indent: 0.5in;"><br /></span>
<br />
<div style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<o:p></o:p></div>
<div style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-indent: .5in;">
Little
kids playing on the curb stared at me like I was some kind of homeless drunk
coming to get them. They reminded me just how bad my face looked. I tried to
ignore it, but pretty soon a cop car pulled up behind me and turned on the
siren. Scared the crap out of me. I jumped left and bumped into an Impala
parked on the street.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-indent: .5in;">
“You’re
supposed to walk on the sidewalk,” the cop barked at me from his open window.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-indent: .5in;">
“I
was just going around those kids,” I told him, which was the truth. I knew I
looked scary so I was avoiding them.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-indent: .5in;">
“What
happened to your face?”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-indent: .5in;">
I
shrugged.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-indent: .5in;">
“Got
beat up,” I said.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-indent: .5in;">
“Drugs?”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-indent: .5in;">
“No,
sir.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-indent: .5in;">
“Did
you report it?”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-indent: .5in;">
“No.”
That made the cop frown.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-indent: .5in;">
“How
do you expect me to do my job if you don’t report crimes?”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-indent: .5in;">
It
was a weird question, like I was personally responsible for giving him stuff to
do. I shrugged again. Mama warned me about cops. Do everything you possibly can
to stay away from them, she’d said. I just thought she meant to stay out of
trouble, which I normally did. I knew my daddy had been in jail and she
probably didn’t want me to turn out like him.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-indent: .5in;">
The
cop took off his sunglasses so he could get a better look at me. His eyes were
too small for the size of his face somehow, little black specs almost covered
by his giant forehead. You could tell he had to squeeze into his flak jacket.
He wasn’t good looking like the cops on TV. There were people on the curb
stopping to watch me now, just what I didn’t want.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-indent: .5in;">
“Where
you going?” he quizzed.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-indent: .5in;">
“Charleston,”
I said, like a dumb ass. I should have made up something else.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-indent: .5in;">
“Isn’t
that a little far from home? How old are you?”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-indent: .5in;">
I
paused a little too long before I lied.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-indent: .5in;">
“Nineteen.”
It was kind of true. OK, not really, but someone once told me I looked older.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-indent: .5in;">
“Got
I.D.?”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-indent: .5in;">
“No,
everything I had got stolen.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-indent: .5in;">
“Where
are you from?” His eyes narrowed down to tiny slits, like I was really bugging
him now. Just then, another cop car pulled up behind the first and an officer
got out. I really didn’t want to tell them I was from Alabama. What if they
thought I was a runaway or something?<o:p></o:p></div>
<div style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-indent: .5in;">
“Am
I under arrest?” I asked.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-indent: .5in;">
“Not
at the moment,” said the first cop. The other guy smiled big and smacked his
gum in his mouth. He had his hands on his hips, like he was ready to give me a
lecture too.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-indent: .5in;">
“Well,
I think I’ll be going then. Nice talking to you.” I tried to smile, but it hurt
my face, so I settled for a wave. I turned toward the sidewalk. Maybe if I got
on it, he would be satisfied, I thought.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-indent: .5in;">
“Woah,
woah, there. Not so fast,” said the second officer with the square jaw and
square hair. He grabbed me by the shoulder to spin me back around but I had
enough experience with fights to be ready for it. If he’d been a kid at school
hassling me, I’d have punched him hard, but that definitely would have got me
trouble so I just pulled away and got to the curb.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-indent: .5in;">
“I’m
getting on the sidewalk, see? Walking on the sidewalk. Ain’t no law against
that.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-indent: .5in;">
I
tried to be nice about it, but it was hard not to be angry. Why should I have
to ask permission just to walk down a stupid street anyway? The cop got mad
too.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-indent: .5in;">
“When
I tell you to stop, you stop!” he shouted. He had his hand on his gun, like he
meant to pull it on me.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-indent: .5in;">
“I
ain’t done nothing wrong!”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-indent: .5in;">
“We
decide if you’ve done something wrong, not you.” They were both out of their
cars, coming at me now.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-indent: .5in;">
“Don’t
you have something better to do?” I snapped. I felt my fear turning to
determination, hardening in my brain like concrete. Hadn’t I been through
enough already? I got beat up by bad
guys. Now I was getting beat up by cops? What else could possibly go wrong?<o:p></o:p></div>
<div style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-indent: .5in;">
“Go
find some junkie. Go find a car jacker. Not a black man walking down the
street!” I was yelling now and waving my arms.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-indent: .5in;">
“Just
calm down,” said one of the cops. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-indent: .5in;">
“I
will not calm down. I have had the night from hell and now I want to take a
walk. That’s all I want to do. I thought this was a free country.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
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for people like you,” said the shorter cop, pulling out a gun that looked like
a plastic toy with a cord attached.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Crawdad has a hopeful ending despite all of this because I can't bear the thought that we can't get through this without tragedy. Maybe its naive of me, but I know it's possible to change the world, even if it's only a little bit at a time. I want there to be more Jamils and fewer Trayvons. For everyone's sake.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">~Now available on <a href="https://www.amazon.com/Crawdad-Lisa-Cresswell-ebook/dp/B01MXSSGGQ/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1494116758&sr=8-1&keywords=crawdad+lisa+cresswell">Amazon</a>~</span></div>
Lisa T. Cresswellhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03236954388520308165noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5544888348273161265.post-39127721502313135402017-05-01T18:32:00.000-07:002017-05-01T18:32:58.640-07:00The cure for any ill is salt water~<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj2cDm-wqzht457UcShNSFqnRNrjuVYw62K-1O_RyH804ypy2FsHhVxDL42MAfNHDK1H0Pz49KqQibxH3HHmx_Xy29mXoJugDd7g9F3ygJo2nufFuSzjI-P_DuiIX24wYEjYOOm5f5EOsH-/s1600/IMG_2622.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj2cDm-wqzht457UcShNSFqnRNrjuVYw62K-1O_RyH804ypy2FsHhVxDL42MAfNHDK1H0Pz49KqQibxH3HHmx_Xy29mXoJugDd7g9F3ygJo2nufFuSzjI-P_DuiIX24wYEjYOOm5f5EOsH-/s640/IMG_2622.JPG" width="640" /></a></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZY3kerskl67jUxAMhHL742PDMaKvZj3Ad6AlboKL8M4Y5BDpPxt9AnhHSwOi8j2RrFVT6mDSNPxljm0UmEFjAD7l1bkBX34Vdts8Zl4bGvqg0-4rNSTKuILgMcwV425LucUhE_pB8Qz4k/s1600/IMG_2643.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZY3kerskl67jUxAMhHL742PDMaKvZj3Ad6AlboKL8M4Y5BDpPxt9AnhHSwOi8j2RrFVT6mDSNPxljm0UmEFjAD7l1bkBX34Vdts8Zl4bGvqg0-4rNSTKuILgMcwV425LucUhE_pB8Qz4k/s320/IMG_2643.JPG" width="320" /></a><span style="font-size: large;">What a long winter that was! Whew. As a matter of fact, the entire last year has been a long slog for me. After all that, I really had a yearning to see the Gulf of Mexico one more time. It was one of the bright spots of my childhood back in 1982 and it seemed like the perfect place to get away from it all one more time.</span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiAK_g4i6sW2G6yUXszbz5BA9IIqe23MjtGDj_yt3ang-_7LkhDfYHY_eaDu1aRjUpWY7JjmQGukG_MMMg3crhsZNitQYidMEF7FjGHFrhNCJ63llw0vSw41ljfG4UPwnX5UHO2PxejNfNa/s1600/IMG_2638.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiAK_g4i6sW2G6yUXszbz5BA9IIqe23MjtGDj_yt3ang-_7LkhDfYHY_eaDu1aRjUpWY7JjmQGukG_MMMg3crhsZNitQYidMEF7FjGHFrhNCJ63llw0vSw41ljfG4UPwnX5UHO2PxejNfNa/s320/IMG_2638.JPG" width="240" /></a><span style="font-size: large;"></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Of course, it was totally different from what I remembered, but it was still a wonderful time. When you're young, you notice different things than when you're older. And a lot has changed in St. Petersburg, Florida, I'm sure. But the important things are still there, the white sand, the shells, and the beautiful water. The wildlife is everywhere, which is a relief after the Gulf oil spill. It's hard to describe the thrill of seeing wild dolphins and pelicans fishing for their breakfast.</span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgde0OIGaeSHrs72ILntjkqagT1KnVklMErnRnCKbaVe_SnquQJzWllBHyewawNP5vQrZDpwpX74r_961uZ2K_J0kNRBnHQDCQDS2hvUen1VmysbgSQB3SHI-16uQHFGoCl-fyoplBeVZ18/s1600/IMG_2803.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgde0OIGaeSHrs72ILntjkqagT1KnVklMErnRnCKbaVe_SnquQJzWllBHyewawNP5vQrZDpwpX74r_961uZ2K_J0kNRBnHQDCQDS2hvUen1VmysbgSQB3SHI-16uQHFGoCl-fyoplBeVZ18/s400/IMG_2803.JPG" width="300" /></a><span style="font-size: large;">I don't know why the ocean seems to call to me sometimes, but I can't go too many years before I need to visit there again. I'll get back to the ocean before too long. Until then, I'll visit in my books~</span></div>
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Lisa T. Cresswellhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03236954388520308165noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5544888348273161265.post-84158921018745111232017-02-21T09:25:00.000-08:002017-02-21T09:25:13.291-08:00February 21st<span style="font-size: large;">February 21st is an important day for me. Not only is it my father's birthday, it's also the day I found my cancer in 2016. An anniversary.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">My dad died of cancer a few years earlier and he's always on my mind this time of year. I can't help feeling like maybe he had something to do with me finding my cancer in some strange way. It was a completely random event on February 21st that led me down the path of diagnosis and treatment, early enough for me to get well. Maybe just a coincidence, but maybe not?</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">Happy Birthday Dad~ I'll be thinking of you</span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjjUbfQdJGFSdsj8UlO0Vlt2RjcyY2wbEdFbTP4kZuUDt2wKJqpH60xmMwvcDpNPOCHpMwG5S_vjHRsBCTtwARnSnAYdFEGsNTFQZOJ70Y1NQ4Hm3EMNys0qXv4zMjliFNy0uKTfY3cTU2d/s1600/Charleston.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjjUbfQdJGFSdsj8UlO0Vlt2RjcyY2wbEdFbTP4kZuUDt2wKJqpH60xmMwvcDpNPOCHpMwG5S_vjHRsBCTtwARnSnAYdFEGsNTFQZOJ70Y1NQ4Hm3EMNys0qXv4zMjliFNy0uKTfY3cTU2d/s640/Charleston.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>Lisa T. Cresswellhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03236954388520308165noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5544888348273161265.post-86711674044532361752016-12-30T11:56:00.000-08:002016-12-30T11:56:28.636-08:00Well, that sucked! Goodbye 2016!! And good riddance!<span style="font-size: large;">It's no secret 2016 sucked for a lot of reasons, but it also sucked for me personally because I was diagnosed with cancer. I feel pretty lucky I'm still here to tell the tale. Last winter/spring was a scary time to be me, but by June my treatment was well underway and I was getting better. I have a lot to be thankful for. Early detection and treatment saved my life. If I'd ignored it, it could have spread and caused me a lot more heartache.</span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJuhcpz8y2rBwhqZ5I_jmeCylkOpiyk7Ssy_JpD8jdaPqDmSPkUWY3At9Dh-vKM-eUrKYtxjOcfLQl6sgBs997JnF-XHeQV0gU5CYrC-2F78VV3hdPckl6UYhN5SXJkrGYquU-C4Fuxhrq/s1600/IMG_1464.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJuhcpz8y2rBwhqZ5I_jmeCylkOpiyk7Ssy_JpD8jdaPqDmSPkUWY3At9Dh-vKM-eUrKYtxjOcfLQl6sgBs997JnF-XHeQV0gU5CYrC-2F78VV3hdPckl6UYhN5SXJkrGYquU-C4Fuxhrq/s400/IMG_1464.JPG" width="400" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Two other women I love battled cancer this year. One is gone now and the other is still in the midst of the fight. I could easily be there myself one day, but for now, I'm focused on living the best life possible. That means taking my meds and taking care of myself, including eating well and exercising. Did you know that drinking alcohol daily raises your cancer risk? I never drank much before, but now I have even more incentive not to.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">But more than that, I have a renewed desire to travel. To see new places I've always heard about. I want to actually go there instead of putting it off to some magical future when I have loads of time and money. There is no such time. We only have today. This is it. This is what we get.</span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjVV9lQ2ZOrOi9XK8GTMpaoiX8TbOCdUbAIlDHf3cShjBfx9oyIxubw7a97M2ZNJ2NX5bBc__vofWQTO_Ys9ayNaolKyAQkDasKAb6b9qZtnxsQrNb8zpcCbwDHzFcUrSskQ03Kf-Yvqgnl/s1600/056.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-size: large;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjVV9lQ2ZOrOi9XK8GTMpaoiX8TbOCdUbAIlDHf3cShjBfx9oyIxubw7a97M2ZNJ2NX5bBc__vofWQTO_Ys9ayNaolKyAQkDasKAb6b9qZtnxsQrNb8zpcCbwDHzFcUrSskQ03Kf-Yvqgnl/s320/056.JPG" width="240" /></span></a></div>
<span style="font-size: large;">I read a great quote this year - we don't know how we'll die, but we can decide how we will live.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">The way I want to live is this: I want the peace in my heart that comes from knowing I did all the things I wanted to and never lost my sense of adventure. I want to be a citizen of the world and I want my children to know that sense of wonder too.</span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg2Dc-BZt2ovUoSeZqom-o0PH5l9w0zbwC63YEUwYvbJ0inqWKpPYa_68-EMLOMB6zuX6QIM5EOIJTCqjr55YdrOStO1KTOAkh66HkPzI8-4_0abu6aQyvSI_eveGtuih2V7JRmLipQsdXQ/s1600/2013-07-13+20.33.41.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><span style="font-size: large;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg2Dc-BZt2ovUoSeZqom-o0PH5l9w0zbwC63YEUwYvbJ0inqWKpPYa_68-EMLOMB6zuX6QIM5EOIJTCqjr55YdrOStO1KTOAkh66HkPzI8-4_0abu6aQyvSI_eveGtuih2V7JRmLipQsdXQ/s320/2013-07-13+20.33.41.jpg" width="240" /></span></a></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">For many years I've blogged about New Year's resolutions, but this year I spent a lot of time giving myself permission not to do a lot of things because I needed to rest and recuperate. For 2017, I only resolve to live. Really, truly live. I hope you do too~</span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhXnuvzd3nY60H4OynaS-s06TZ0lP44IBbVeWUXYwL_0qfF01_xcpACndZu9UG-u2qRva8anBI2PFQGwBYLrnCvXx8oYBAliaH9kLYRjQktZi006slQfcfBlRPSgQ5VrH_HV8BuBswbSe9H/s1600/IMG_2518.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-size: large;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhXnuvzd3nY60H4OynaS-s06TZ0lP44IBbVeWUXYwL_0qfF01_xcpACndZu9UG-u2qRva8anBI2PFQGwBYLrnCvXx8oYBAliaH9kLYRjQktZi006slQfcfBlRPSgQ5VrH_HV8BuBswbSe9H/s320/IMG_2518.JPG" width="320" /></span></a></div>
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<br />Lisa T. Cresswellhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03236954388520308165noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5544888348273161265.post-616997495492470252016-12-25T13:55:00.000-08:002017-01-02T18:40:07.077-08:00Crawdad Blog Tour<a href="http:"></a><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEilQ7JozSBEwrqDB9uNBUEeMzoSqwi4A4CqZsn4RMFP0uGeheF_SkKFBOz16MrLKCXx2h7VYoqTZ2vtBctWsro6bS9jgIDoJqC4240dKfCcgDAeCuf7PIRSbASSrsa7pvm0LVqkNAZBpT2M/s1600/crawdad-front-v4-1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEilQ7JozSBEwrqDB9uNBUEeMzoSqwi4A4CqZsn4RMFP0uGeheF_SkKFBOz16MrLKCXx2h7VYoqTZ2vtBctWsro6bS9jgIDoJqC4240dKfCcgDAeCuf7PIRSbASSrsa7pvm0LVqkNAZBpT2M/s400/crawdad-front-v4-1.jpg" width="270" /></span></a></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-large;">Happy New Year &Welcome to the Crawdad Book Blog Tour!</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">For the whole month of January, my new contemporary young adult novel Crawdad, will be featured on the blogs of some of my besties - authors and book bloggers who support the readers and writers of diverseYA - and I couldn't be more pleased. I hope you can visit them all and enter the giveaway. Here's the schedule:</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><a href="http://www.eileenschuh.blogspot.com/">Magic of the Muses - Eileen Schuh January 1</a></span><br />
<a href="https://patriciahamill.blogspot.com/"><span style="font-size: large;">I Read too much! January 5</span></a><br />
<a href="https://richinvarietytours.wordpress.com/"><span style="font-size: large;">Rich in Variety January 8</span></a><br />
<a href="http://bethfehlbaumbooks.info/category/httpbethfehlbaumbooks-infoblog/"><span style="font-size: large;">Beth Fehlbaum Books January 15</span></a><br />
<a href="http://cjburright.com/?page_id=323"><span style="font-size: large;">CJ Burright January 22</span></a><br />
<a href="http://twinjabookreviews.blogspot.com/"><span style="font-size: large;">Twinjas Book Reviews January 29</span></a><br />
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<span style="font-size: x-large;">~About the Book~</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Seventeen-year-old Jamil Ramos grew up on Alabama’s Gulf Coast believing his mom, Loretta, was his only living relative. She put a trumpet in his hands as a toddler and sparked his love of jazz. But when Loretta drops a bomb on Jamil from her deathbed- she’s not his mama and his daddy is still alive, living in Charleston, S.C. – his world is turned upside down. </span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">Now, with the only mama he’s ever known gone and the Loyola University trumpet audition less than a week away, Jamil has trouble feeling his music. When his band teacher tells him to get it together, Jamil decides to hitchhike to South Carolina over to find his father and get his questions answered. All he has is a name –Leon Ramos. </span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">Jamil relies on the kindness of the strangers he meets-a gay teen kicked out of his home, a runaway prostitute, and a street musician-as he makes his way across Florida and Georgia trying to avoid the cops along the way. But when Jamil is robbed of his most prized possession, his trumpet, his plans go anywhere but where he’d hoped. That trumpet was supposed to be his ticket for a scholarship, the only way to college his mama could give him. Lost and alone without it, Jamil wonders if finding his father is worth risking his future.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">You can find Crawdad in print and e-book on <a href="https://www.amazon.com/gp/product/1537461745/ref=x_gr_w_bb?ie=UTF8&tag=x_gr_w_bb-20&linkCode=as2&camp=1789&creative=9325&creativeASIN=1537461745&SubscriptionId=1MGPYB6YW3HWK55XCGG2">Amazon</a>, <a href="http://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/crawdad-lisa-t-cresswell/1125267930?ean=9781537461748">Barnes & Noble,</a> and <a href="https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/33223718-crawdad">Goodreads</a>!</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-large;">~About the Author~</span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_DmnNlvJ_Hydtnu9O9Gn9P7VpjC9yFbuZEG021wtu6A8jCHmLCyMnlXppKIaI2_RFLjtssUAwgjk62lGvfavCD9hd1wRcdFN99fi8j1hw-rf4450dkB9DDMMZ2vGR5opyBPCYun6w7zBQ/s1600/IMG_2643.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_DmnNlvJ_Hydtnu9O9Gn9P7VpjC9yFbuZEG021wtu6A8jCHmLCyMnlXppKIaI2_RFLjtssUAwgjk62lGvfavCD9hd1wRcdFN99fi8j1hw-rf4450dkB9DDMMZ2vGR5opyBPCYun6w7zBQ/s320/IMG_2643.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Lisa T. Cresswell has been writing middle grade and young adult books for what seems like a mighty long time. She can never seem to make up her mind if she likes reality or fantasy, so she writes both. She also likes lemon jasmine green tea, dark chocolate almonds, and lots and lots of coffee. And of course, BOOKS. ALL THE BOOKS!! You can see all of her work at www.lisatcresswell.com </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-large;">~Enter the Giveaway~</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Enter to win one of three copies of Crawdad to be given away in January!</span></div>
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<script src="https://widget-prime.rafflecopter.com/launch.js"></script>Lisa T. Cresswellhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03236954388520308165noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5544888348273161265.post-961843391511503862016-12-21T21:03:00.003-08:002016-12-21T21:46:00.217-08:00Life is too short.<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgpN9RMvAIhvqPFbSVXESNPXgjARqx73pndqzvLQE_iXsWPI2v6QkX33FNc8w0nJ-MLl61NBGtOetZAarWkQFfVarzxiOQm0uFZVXLgFmv661WUBRiaQ1Vnk6giOKXEgoP-VwDXdETBdg1p/s1600/IMG_1142.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgpN9RMvAIhvqPFbSVXESNPXgjARqx73pndqzvLQE_iXsWPI2v6QkX33FNc8w0nJ-MLl61NBGtOetZAarWkQFfVarzxiOQm0uFZVXLgFmv661WUBRiaQ1Vnk6giOKXEgoP-VwDXdETBdg1p/s640/IMG_1142.JPG" width="640" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-large;">Life is precious and life is too short.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-large;">Too short to let fear hold you back.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-large;">Too short to spend every day indoors.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-large;">Too short to hold grudges or be angry for long.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-large;">Too short for hate and prejudice.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: x-large;">Too short to hang onto your money.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-large;">Too short not to give.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: x-large;">Too short not to do the things you love, to find your passion.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: x-large;">Too short not to smell the flowers.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-large;">Too short not to let your loved ones know you care.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-large;">Your life is a precious gift you've been given. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-large;">Live it.</span></div>
Lisa T. Cresswellhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03236954388520308165noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5544888348273161265.post-21147147006260090652016-11-30T16:57:00.000-08:002016-12-03T21:02:23.267-08:00My next book cover reveal ~ Crawdad<span style="font-size: large;">I know I've been a little quiet this year, but I do have a surprise for you. I'm publishing a new novella titled <i>Crawdad</i>. It's a southern story, much like my first novel <i>Hush Puppy</i>, about a young man who goes on a cross country trek to find his dad after the woman he thought was his mom passes away.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">The book is inspired a lot by what I've seen in the news over the last few years. Kids today are living in increasingly violent worlds, but many kids are not violent. They're just trying to do the best they can, you know? Full disclosure, I am a white woman of European descent, but I've always believed we are more alike than we are different and our stories are essentially the same. We are all born the same way, we grow up with hopes and dreams for our futures, and we all fall in love. We all experience pain and rejection at some point in our lives. If we're lucky, we experience great joy. As my character Recks says in my novel <i>Vessel</i>, "The outside doesn't matter. It's what's on the inside that counts." I truly believe that.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><i>Crawdad </i>is now available in <a href="https://www.amazon.com/Crawdad-Lisa-T-Cresswell/dp/1537461745/ref=sr_1_fkmr1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1480827621&sr=8-1-fkmr1&keywords=crawdad+lisa+cresswell+in+books">print</a> and <a href="https://www.amazon.com/Crawdad-Lisa-Cresswell-ebook/dp/B01MXSSGGQ/ref=pd_rhf_gw_p_img_2?_encoding=UTF8&psc=1&refRID=W02NBJY824FBQY5J9D5H">e-book</a>!</span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgveCBWADKH9cl6GjaoGc43wyyVP-EkaB44_ZAESd0iamU4EwLhGTNz6yf_rNOieHL648fhX8BPjK-Kw-tQSpH_bEu_c7lVNnZa5V7OKv2s7jJ2j3GUJOgWpdTpaIb3rNKuh-FQmY9u8M7u/s1600/crawdad-front-v4-1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgveCBWADKH9cl6GjaoGc43wyyVP-EkaB44_ZAESd0iamU4EwLhGTNz6yf_rNOieHL648fhX8BPjK-Kw-tQSpH_bEu_c7lVNnZa5V7OKv2s7jJ2j3GUJOgWpdTpaIb3rNKuh-FQmY9u8M7u/s640/crawdad-front-v4-1.jpg" width="432" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Book bloggers friends, if you'd like to host <i>Crawdad </i>during the book tour in December, sign up with </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><a href="https://richinvarietytours.wordpress.com/">Rich in Variety Book Tours </a>as a host!</span></div>
<br />Lisa T. Cresswellhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03236954388520308165noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5544888348273161265.post-52338832851040280472016-11-23T07:34:00.000-08:002016-11-27T15:25:21.417-08:00A New Start ~ Vessel returns<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: x-large;">I have news! My young adult, sci-fi, dystopian Vessel is returning in print. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-large;">Call it Vessel 2.0 :)</span></div>
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You might recall, it was previously published as an e-book. I think that puts a book at a bit of a disadvantage, at least for young adult books. As technologically advanced as we think we are, print books are still in demand and many young readers only read print. Lesson learned!</div>
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If you haven't heard about the book before, it's the story of a slave girl and a thief who find themselves in a fight against the Reticents, a secret society that has claimed all knowledge for themselves after a solar storm wipes out all digital data on Earth.</div>
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So, now that the cover for the new edition is ready, I'd like to share it with you....</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiuG_6PUJiyoQOy-dpwQa1z3iqFKDxHLqtAfwPwWLtsnqHaWQ84L2AgWngUapk2v38-wASgtaf8k_LIBE79p1UWCFx_nR09NlT1XTLWjMjwOUDX5Ia72XQglRCgT7fqoZf2wf4whD18c2DV/s1600/vessel-small.jpg"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiuG_6PUJiyoQOy-dpwQa1z3iqFKDxHLqtAfwPwWLtsnqHaWQ84L2AgWngUapk2v38-wASgtaf8k_LIBE79p1UWCFx_nR09NlT1XTLWjMjwOUDX5Ia72XQglRCgT7fqoZf2wf4whD18c2DV/s640/vessel-small.jpg" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-large;">You can add Vessel to your <a href="https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/23006600-vessel">Goodreads</a> list now. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-large;">The new print edition is available on <a href="https://www.amazon.com/dp/1539462234/ref=sr_1_fkmr1_2?ie=UTF8&qid=1480288536&sr=8-2-fkmr1&keywords=Vessel+lisa+cresswell+in+books">Amazon</a>. </span></div>
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Lisa T. Cresswellhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03236954388520308165noreply@blogger.com0