Lost in Translation!

 

Okay, so I wanted to show off my son's carpentry work. The building that the window is mounted in is a 40' by 60' three bay doored garage. But could you tell that by the picture? Not today! I was trying to highlight my son's craftmanship and what did I come up with? A picture of a stained glass picture in a window. (My son didn't make the picture. A man by the name of Russell did.) It is the last bit of an obsession. The obsession was to send him (my son) a ton of pictures that was a bit by bit showcase of the work on the garage from the escavating on up to the completed building as it was in progress. Read the post under this if you are the least bit interested in what I was thinking... It's been a long day and I'm out of here. Visit my son's new web site and see his handiwork!

http://www.distinctremodeling.com/

Rat Girl by Default

 
 
 
 

I hadn't intended to post about the Rat Girl car. The last time I posted the rat I had to delete it because someone told me that it was out of my character to be ranting about the issue that was bothering me... I guess it should have been at least! Oh, well! What can I say? God's still working on me.

What I had intended to post was in a set of pictures that I had in a program. I clicked on one and these four appeared! That's wonderful to know as I didn't know how to post more than one picture at a time. Only problem is, the picture that I had intended to post is still back in the other program in the photo tray along with the other five that were all hanging out together.

I think I'll type up a book tonight! I have a new job - Praise the Lord! And I've been trying to type on a straight keyboard... What a mess for me! Control Alt Delete is Greek on it even! Can you imagine trying to find the right keys? I learned how to type on my split key board and the other ones are just awkward and even a bit painful to use. I'm happy type, type, typing away!

What I was going to post was a picture of the Rat Girl in stained glass that is hanging in the window of my husband's shop. I was going to carry on about my son's new business venture. He's (my son) a carpenter and does excellent work. He built the shop with my husband and it's huge and gorgeous both! It's on our property and blends in with the house and doesn't take away from the landscape at all. I'll post the picture on the next blog, which will post after this one. I'll also put a link for my son's 'under construction' web site. Why don't you visit him and tell him that his mom says Hi! http://www.distinctremodeling.com/

Book Giveaway!

 

No, it's not my book that is on the giveaway! Shadow World is still just a figment of my over-active imagination. My friend Kelly has a book giveaway on her blog. Here is the link. http://enroutetolife.blogspot.com/

My Lulu Storefront

AN ARTFUL EYE FOR DETAIL

Okay, and so here I are. Here I am. Here I were? Yes, that's it. I were. I am. I are... I'm pretty busy in my brain is what that is all about. I've been thinking, and that's always a frightening proposition. And no, please don't correct me. And pleeeease don't tell me to think more highly of myself! When someone assumes that I don't care for me and that I'm putting myself down that tells me a lot about them right out the gate! It tells me that they don't know me very well - no - not very well at all! And why is that? It's because I never really had an identity until I found my place in Christ and so I hang out pretty okay with myself, and why not? I'm a child of the King! And I know that right well! Honest!

Anyway, what have I been up to? Not a whole lot of anything that a person could actually put a finger on, but I've been pretty busy just the same. Been searching for work and that's always fun. But I still get a bit giddy when I wake up in the morning and consider that I don't have to go to work... I was pretty done with my work taking care of the elderly. The physical aspect was a bit draining as a lot of my clients errantly believed that they were my only client... and even more so than that I was starting to lose my patience with some of them. Some people can be a bit testy! I think it was the ones that felt like I owed them something that were the worst. I did my work as a servant and they would treat me like their personal slave... Bit of a difference in mind set. I did what I did because I wanted to, not because I had to... And I wasn't no slacker either. Heck, it was in my heart to help these people and so I rolled up my sleeves and gave it my all. Anyhoo, no more fussing. I'm just glad I'm done.

I guess 'bit' is my word for the day. I hate it when someone overuses a word, and here I am. I wanted to change the word a couple of times but it just fit. Guess that's just how it goes.

On to the heading and my task at hand... I'm going to see about offering my services to people to help them to self-publish some of their writing. I figure that it's gotten to be pretty simple for me to upload pictures and to format books and I love to create covers, so why not? I'm a little nervous about reading the 'copy' though! Especially the thought of bad poetry! Bad poetry to me is like scratching on a chalk board or hitting a sour note in a bar of music. It makes me wince in pain. Is that theatric, or what? I have to laugh at myself. I think that anyone who writes poetry has written bad poetry at some time or another! Myself included! And don't even get me started on a novel that doesn't make any sense! I've made it a life-long promise to myself that when someone asks me to read their manuscript for a proposed novel I'm just not available! I will for this endeavor, but the rules are, I'm not a copy editor for grammar corrections, or a book doctor. I want to work on clean manuscripts when it comes to consistency of story and plausibility of plot. I can handle dealing with sentence structure and obviously incorrectly spelled words and maybe the incorrect usage of words, but other than that I'm just in it to format the thing and make it a reality. With poetry or for non-fiction I can see myself sorting and structuring the contents, but not for fiction! If I'm feeling like throwing the book across the room then it is highly unlikely that we will be working together long... I'll send you off to have someone help you clean it up... You being who I'm talking about, and who ever is reading this, surely that isn't you?

AN ARTFUL EYE FOR DETAIL is what I'm calling this endeavor. I considered saying, adventure, but that aspect of the deal is yet to be seen. I've already got a couple of ladies that I may be looking at their poetry. One is a freebie as she helped spur me on in my thoughts to do this in the first place. She will teach me what I need to know to cover all of my bases. I guess her book is a template for the real deal. I'm interested to see if people can actually follow simple instructions. I'll have their book all in order but it'll be up to them to open up the Lulu account and to actually create the book. I don't want to mess with any copyright issues that could possibly arise and so this way I'll stay protected. If they have me design a cover using someone else's artwork and I don't know it then I won't be in trouble, so long as I don't publish the work. If they publish something that they have no rights to then it is their mistake and liability. I have more integrity than that, but I know that not everybody does. I guess that's how there are even thieves in the world in the first place... Hmm. Novel though... And I can ask them if it is their own work, but how would I know? Problem solved. I won't chance it... In this modern day of technology I can't even know if a photograph is copyrighted by a different person than by the person who supplies it to me... Nope, no chancing it! Not this girl! I'll have to set up a billing structure and until I get gainful employment I won't be able to start this business anyway. I'm getting pockets full of money from Unemployment that I can't afford to lose! Not if we still want to eat, and have you seen the prices of groceries lately? Kidding about the pockets full of money... I'm looking for a job, but I already said that, didn't I?

An American Writer?

So, what do you think about my photoshopping me into the sky? I'm not really sure. I would have liked to have placed me down and to the right a little, but for the life of me I couldn't get me to budge! And I would have liked to have figured out how to resize me too... Some things are just easier to figure out than others, at least for me. It's a program that I am not familiar with, but maybe if I mess around in it (the program, that is) long enough I'll figure it out.

I've abandoned my blog for way too long. Well, I did have a post up for a couple of weeks, but one of my clients, (former now, as I don't have a job and so surely I have no clients?) anyway, she told me that it was out of character for me to have the story up. Maybe it was the title... I took it off. It's really a shame though. It wasn't out of character at all, she just thinks way too highly of me? Surely not? What's a nice Christian lady like me doing posting about stoning someone to death? Truly it was a silly story and it's not my fault that I have some woman running around on this planet thinking that it's okay to annoy me past tears! I've been trying to get the victory and just ignore her, but some things are easier said than done! At least my blood pressure isn't elevated any more every time I see her... Maybe I'm getting there and I just won't know it until I arrive! I hope that's the case because I'm really tired of the scenery - I don't care for "One more time around this mountain!"

As I look at the picture I see that it is a little silly itself... Such is life. The story that I'm posting today isn't a silly story at least. It's one of my favorite shorts for my book, On a Ramble. I guess because I put a lot of me into it. I'll get on with the story and try not to be such a stranger around here... And as I consider it I think that this short will end up in Crooked Places Straight as it's not really the right tone for the Ramble book. I'll have to sort that all out later. On a Ramble isn't going to be put together and have its final edits until I write my last story for it, WE WON! But who knows? Once I write that story it may well end up in a different book too... Too much to be thinking that's for sure! One way or another I'll write the story and then I'll close the book...

An American Writer

Now what in the world could a blue eyed all American girl know about An American Writer? How does one get to be An American Writer? Must one go abroad? To be culturally savvy surely one must be a world traveler? Is that not true?

But how about the mean streets of indifference? Can not a person gain insights and understanding in the stained and dirty suburbs of any given city within the parameters of any given society? Are not the basic needs of any culture centered upon humanity as a whole? People need to feel included and accepted and understood. People need the warmth of a touch; the healing mercy of a smile; a compassionate glance of tolerance.

Is there not a oneness with creation that begs belonging?

You can teach me about all of the pain and the suffering and the great injustices of the world. You can teach me about all of the world religions and belief systems. You can teach me about Socrates and the great minds of days gone by. But can you teach me to care? I mean to really care: To reach out my hand to the helpless; to the desolate; to the rejected. Can you show me the way to right all of the past wrongs? Can you show me how to restore lost cities, lost hopes, or lost dreams? Is there anything that I could possibly have to write that would matter? What kind of a message can a girl from the city, from the country, from the uppermost part of New York have to say?

A world traveler? No, I am not. As a young divorced mother of three I did go to Mexico once. I saw the poverty and the lack. I saw the hopelessness and despair. But these things I saw on the memory of the back hand of a less than honorable man. These things I saw first hand as macaroni and cheese, out of a box, no less, was a mainstay in my children’s diet for lack of education, income, and opportunity.

And how about intolerance? That I experienced outside of the conventional box of religion or politics. That I experienced at the back of the line; the welfare line as I was forced to ‘apply’ for State assistance. Was I greeted with compassion or care either one? No. I was greeted by an overworked paper pusher that most likely could afford Velveeta cheese with her macaroni and not much more. And my tears? They were wasted on indifference and a harsh predetermination that surely I was from poor stock or just lazy. How about abused? Was my pain no less real than any others that had suffered before me? Did I need to know of far away and far reaching social injustices and calamities to experience my own devastation and sorrow? What atomic bomb had savaged my childhood, and what ghastly plague had robbed me of my dignity? What greater loss can one experience that equals the loss of one’s own self?

Do I, a woman, a mother, an American, dare to compare my suffering with the great travesties of the world? Not even. My pain was only a scratch compared to the gaping wounds of those who have gone before. My pain had remedy; resolution; an end. So much suffering goes uncharted for the vastness of the wound – a world of pain and suffering, winked at by a society that considers their Starbuck’s coffee a cultural experience.

Am I naive? I am. Apathetic? Sometimes. Observant? Always. Am I an American Writer? I guess not. But what am I really? I am a voice; a voice of compassion; a voice of concern; a voice of hope: A voice of an American. I am the voice of a writer bleeding red, for the slaughtered, bleeding white for the innocents, and bleeding blue for the honest and true.

(C) Audrey Semprun
Joyful Noiz Ministries
4/8/08

Newest Creation

I've been wandering around the planet not doing anything of any great significance... That is if you don't count working myself into an early grave! I've pretty much left my blog alone as I liked the book cover that I had been displaying. What can I say? Yesterday's child has been replaced with tomorrow's adventure. I've got lots and lots of stories for On A Ramble. I can call it a done deal any time, any time that is, after I write the final story. "WE WON!" I look forward to that day! I'm still fighting for my daughter's Social Security. I have people tell me that I will never win. They don't know me very well. My daughter needs to have an income and a safety net and I'm not going to give up fighting for her rights, ever! There. That's my story and I'm sticking to it.

If anyone is actually reading me then they will be pleased to know that I am now a contributing writer for http://granolabardevotional.blogspot.com/ . My first devotional will be coming into publication later this month. They have been very warm and inviting over there and I look forward to submitting often! I've never written devotionals, but hey, this multi-faceted writing life is getting more and more interesting all the time!

Do I appear to be off task? I know - what's with the Crooked Places Straight? It's brewing in my spirit. I have a couple of things that I have written lately for a couple of different pastors. I'm tired of hearing them have to apologize for speaking the word of God in love. I've gotten out my shovel and just started digging! The first entry to this book is going to be, A Dissertation on a Dispensation, and the first and last line of that little ditty is, "This is as close to an apology as I ever intend to come for what I write." I guess that speaks clear enough! After that I might be putting a short called, "A Life Well Spent" which I wrote for my most recent pastor. He has retired from the church and is going to be ministering in a different capacity with more of a world outreach mission. I love him dearly. The runner-up for the first entry after "A Dissertation" is "Sin Soup". It's delicious. I wrote it for my daughter's pastor. He said it was a bit scary at first, but as he read it he thought that it was phenomenal! Phenomenal for a writer is icing on the cake that is not only sugar-free, but fat-free also and chock full of flavor! Wonderful response! And with that intro I'll let it speak for itself... God is gracious, use a napkin.

Sin Soup

The pot is brewing – simmering – stinking up the place. And there stands the Pastor, stirring in his heart and soul – pouring out of himself – ministering grace and mercy and a good dose of the need for repentance. But he may as well as be serving cyanide for as much as his ingredients for a life of abundance and peace are spewed out – rejected as a bitter pill.

All of these self-professed chefs are so in love with their hard-hearted stubbornness that they would rather die than give it up – whatever IT may be. Some are thriving on anger and self-pity and are serving up unforgiveness like a badge of courage – daring to hate, and daring any to try and touch them. If they were to let go of the past then Lord help them, it might open up the door for a real future. And then what would that be? The thought of no longer being a victim tastes of surrender – and no – they would rather fight their way to Hell than to do that!

And what about the green-eyed monster – poured into the mix from so many different outlets? Layer upon layer of envy and jealousy and strife: Even to the point of being jealous over the goodness of God! Why has He been pouring out blessings over Sister Sue? Doesn’t He know that my voice is sweeter? Doesn’t He know that my offering is more seasoned, more desirable? And what’s the deal with the Smith’s new home? And why can’t I have a new car? Meanwhile the widow woman digs deep within her own broken heart and adds a small shake of salt into the pot.

And where is this God of mercy and grace, the patron’s cry out, refusing the necessary diet of knowledge of the righteous indignation and judgment of God – and ignoring the crucial ingredients of a life consecrated to God in humility and holiness. Self-righteousness and judgment are poured into the pot instead, by vile and unsanctified vessels of dishonor.

The soup is sour, they complain, never even realizing that it is their own concoction that is wreaking havoc all around them and causing all of the dissention and putrefaction and unrest.

“Lord,” the Pastor cries out, “Help us.”

“I’ve got just what you need.” And with that the Lord opens up the portals of heaven and as His mercy rains down He reaches forth His nail-scarred hand – and with the compassion that comes only from a Father adds one drop of His precious blood to the soup. One drop and what was once a pot of rotting flesh was transformed into a feast to satisfy the hungry masses.

God is a Spirit. Those that worship Him must worship Him in spirit and in truth. And the saying, ‘love covers a multitude of sin’, was not said in vain. And the saying, ‘pick up your cross daily and follow me’, was written for a reminder that the pot of stinking flesh – it would be back on the fire tomorrow and every day thereafter – the only redemption coming from the blood of the Lamb, and the word of our testimony, and loving not our lives unto the death: The death of self: Surrendering to the newness of life which can only be found in Christ. And in Christ we will truly offer up a sweet-smelling offering, acceptable unto God.

The Lord will perfect that which concerns me; Thy mercy O Lord, endures forever; Forsake not the works of thine own hand. And Lord, please bless the works of this Pastor’s hand – and please season the pot of his congregation with the wondrous working power of your blood. Amen.

Never surrender to discouragement, but surrender to the Father who is able to sustain you.

Audrey Semprun
Joyful Noiz Ministries 9/3/07

BOOK PREVIEW!

Creepy, Creepy Spider


The spider bite scar held a place of prominence in the child's life and on the child's arm - and then came time and forgetfulness, distance and chubbiness that shrunk the remembrance almost completely.

Oh, sure, the place that was forever tattooed on her arm remained - but the memories were few and far between. That is until the boy surmised, "Hey, when were you ever bitten by a brown recluse?" The young man was genuinely surprised by his discovery.
She put the over-sized spoon down on the stove next to the pot of simmering chili and looked at her oldest son: Tall and lean, but nothing close to scrawny, that one. Definitely not a Mama's boy, but not a Daddy's boy either. A man on his own. If you asked him he'd tell you he does all right for himself. If you ask his mother, surely her reply would be a non-committal, "He's my son."

Instead of answering his question she poses one of her own. "How'd you know?"

She was about four - just a skinny little whisper of a girl. Hanging out at Grandma's house with all the cousins. Her mother's clan.

The stairs leading down to the basement were crude and narrow, as was the stairwell with its cold and unpainted cement walls. Grandma's basement was better than most. Had plenty of room and make-shift beds scattered throughout. Nice and warm and comfy.
Until the scream. She woke herself up with a blood curdling scream. And the pain. Her left arm was on fire.

Betty is an artist. First rate. Been at it for years. But Betty has a secret side too. She is a closet writer. She's got this book of poems. They aren't anything that she cares to share, thank you anyway, she tells the woman with the mostly never noticed disfiguration on the back side of her left arm.

Her unwillingness to share her boundless imagination has left the scar lady a bit frustrated. She would like to publish the woman's book of poems.
"I'd be glad to do it. No cost. Really. I'd do it for my own copy of your book," she offers, to no avail.

She couldn't help herself. Within the scarce few pages of the said book of poems were some really creepy poems about spiders.

So, what's the fascination with spiders? No great fascination really. One of the poems was about vindication. 'Murder in the Morning.' Delicious.

A fear of spiders is more realistic. Or maybe fear isn't the right word either - no - it's more of an aversion. The woman doesn't want no spiders in her space. None. They are not safe around her. She'll do whatever it takes to rid herself of any creepy, creepy spider's presence - any spider. Tiny isn't good enough. They are out of there too. And that little kid song, 'Itsy Bitsy Spider' is one of those things that she'd rather that it had never been written - creepy.

She can't remember when Halloween became offensive to her, but it has. Year after year it's the same old thing. Spiders great and small - black and gruesome - everywhere! At the grocery store - at the bank - is there no place that is sacred? And the webs! Sticky white or grey webs harboring Lord knows what! Spiders maybe? Real, hairy, creepy spiders! It could happen!

As if pretend spiders weren't bad enough, she has to go out and find real ones too! She helps out this guy. He's sorta blind, kinda. She's dusting - dusting up a storm. Notices the cob-webs outside of the window sill that she is dusting. "You've got a bit of a mess outside. I'll go get it."

Off she goes with a broom. She'll get that mess out of there in no time. Sweeping away, even humming. She's enjoying the fresh air and the help that she's being for the old guy.
She brushes the wall with the broom. What a mess, but she's getting it all knocked down real nice. Except she disturbs a visitor of the old man's home - his resident spider! She screams and throws the broom up in the air. Shaking, she goes back inside. It's clean enough she determines. Creepy!

She puts the incident behind her. No more cob-webs for that old girl! Hadn't she learned her lesson?

So how was she to know that she was carrying this big brown hairy spider in all of that card board? She was shoving it all into the outside trash can and there it was, crawling right at her! She stretched her arms out in front of her as far as she could and thump. She bumped the spider off into the bushes instead of the trash can. "Today was your lucky day." She told the big brown hairy intruder as she shook off the chills that were running down her spine. Way creepy.

Did it go into the trash can after all? With caution as her guide, she didn't want the thing crawling up her leg, she leaned over and searched the twigs and the brush. No spider. She stepped around the can and looked behind the thing. Still no spider. She checked on her shoes and pant legs - then shook off the creeps and headed back inside.

"Brown spiders are aggressive. There were a bunch of them where I use to live in California. Really creepy."

"Err... Stop! I don't want to talk about spiders!"

The brunette looked at the blonde, but was not unkind. She well could have said, "Then why'd you bring them up?" but she didn't.

Then there was the small child. Right up out of the blue she says, "When a brown recluse spider bites you it can leave a blister this big." As she puts her two small hands together and makes one rather large cupped object lesson.

Creepy crawled down her spine as she replied to the little girl, "Yeah, I know. And when that blister pops it leaves a scar just as big."

"Yeah," the little girl replies. "It's the poison. It spreads."
"I know," the aged, but once a child herself, replies. "Like this." As she pulls up her sleeve and lets the child examine the handiwork on the back of her left arm.

"The blister popped?"

"My aunt popped it. She thought it was a boil. The poison spread all over. See?"

The little girl was readily shown all of the tiny scars that surrounded the larger, prominent, but faded, scar.

"When did you get bit?"

"When I was a little girl. I was in my grandma's basement. The spider bit me and it hurt so bad that I woke up screaming."

"The bite didn't wake you up. It takes a couple of hours for the pain to set in."
The woman with the bite - the child with the insight.

A week had passed after the big brown spider on the box incident. More cardboard boxes.

"Could you maybe just push the other ones down?"

"There's a spider out there!" The woman protested.

"No there's not," the older, wiser, woman replied. "That's gone."

There was no sense in arguing - but she knew the truth - no - that spider would never be gone! It would be there - she knew it. In the trash can - beside the can in the shrubs. Lurking under every piece of card board there ever was from then on out. She would just have to watch - just have to be careful. She would just have to deal with the past, the future, the hidden, and the stealth, creepy, creepy spider crawling up the water spout...

Audrey Semprun
Joyful Noiz Ministries 2/29/07