Aug 2, 2017 |
by Molly Jo Realy @RealMojo68
Frankly, My Dear . . . : Hannah’s Lace
It’s official! My sweet tea of a daughter has opened her Etsy store. Folks, this has been a project in the works for quite some time and I don’t mind telling ya this momma is strutting around like a proud peacock!
Dot’s Peacock
Y’all remember when she gifted me this peacock painting? Yeah. Sorry to break a million hearts, but it’s one of a kind, and not for sale.
But a whole lotta other stuff is!
I mean, this girl has been creative since the day she was born. Who in the family can forget her little 18-month-old fingers peeling wallpaper from the nursery? Or the handcrafted centerpieces she made for her wedding reception?
Hannah’s Wedding
Yes, the creative genius I gave birth to is expanding her horizons with Hannah’s Lace. She graciously donated a collection of her handcrafted cards for my website launch, and now those cards (and more) are available!
Frankly, My Dear . . . Hannah’s Lace – Hello
Do I sound like an infomercial? Gads, sorry. I just really am pleased as punch she’s excelling with her creativity. And photography. I mean, my girl does it all, folks!
Check out her soon-to-be-available matching painted Bible and journal sets.
Frankly, My Dear . . . : Hannah’s Lace – Painted Bible
I can see I’ll be spending quite a bit of money at Hannah’s Lace. Not that her creations are pricey. They’re very reasonable. There’s just too much beautiful to choose from!
Want to see for yourself? Knew you would! Just click on any of the photos in this post to be taken to her Etsy shop.
You can also follow Hannah’s Lace on Instagram for more.
Frankly, My Dear . . . : Hannah’s Lace – Thank You
TWEET THIS: She’s a creative genius. #HannahsLace @RealMojo68
TWEET THIS: Frankly, My Dear. . . : Hannah’s Lace #Etsy Store is now open. @RealMojo68 #hannahslace
And Frankly, My Dear . . . That’s all she wrote!
Aug 1, 2017 |
by Molly Jo Realy @RealMojo68
INVITATION: The Harbingers, Cycle One
Sigh.
Book Four.
I’ve been both really looking forward to this, and really dreading it.
Looking forward because my good friend and faux pa (see what I did there?) Alton Gansky wrote this one.
Dreading it because I don’t have the next Cycle yet, and because, well, my good friend Alton Gansky wrote this one. I mean, what if I give a bad review? What if, out of all four books, this is the one I like the least? Can I admit such a thing publicly?
We’ll find out . . .
Book Four, The Girl, is told from Tank’s perspective. It opens with him visiting his uncle, a sheriff in a small town area of Oregon.
“To tell the truth, I had enough ‘interesting’ stuff happen to last me a lifetime,
and I had a feeling more was coming.”
In Books One through Three, Andi has been my favorite character. It must be her love of numbers and ability to see patterns in everything. Yes, Andi’s brain attracts me. I wasn’t sure Tank could win me over.
Now, I’ve read other books Al has written. I’ve heard him speak on writing. Heck, we do the bi-weekly Firsts in Fiction Podcast together. So it’s not like I’m unaware of the man’s talent. But . . . wow. I mean, within the first two pages I was hooked. How could you not be, when an elderly man speaking with an east coast accent shows Tank and his Uncle Bart, the local sheriff, mysterious tracks in the snow?
I like that Bart expects real answers from Tank, not something dumb like others do. So Bart and Tank start to follow the tracks, definite impressions of a child’s bare feet. Mr. Weldon tells them what to look for: something to see at the fence line, and something to pay attention to at the barn.
The tracks don’t stop. They don’t shift, they don’t allow for climbing a fence or going around. They just continue as if this small person walked through the fence line. And at the barn? It’s as if the roof was raised up after the person tracked over it. The path leads right up to the eaves then on the eaves/roof, then back on the ground on the other side.
A police helo verifies that two miles down, the tracks just stop in the middle of an open field.
So who is the little tracker, and where did he or she . . . or it . . . go?
After searching the snowy field and surrounding woods, Tank wonders if he should share his perspective with Uncle Bart. Tank’s been through some stuff, y’know? But he keeps it to himself. Dispatch calls them back to town–the kid is there! A young girl, barefoot and in the middle of Main Street. She won’t let anyone get near her. Bart expresses his unease, and Tank agrees without telling him why.
The crowds gather, deputies and lookieloos alike, squeezing in on the girl until Bart orders everyone to back off. he tries to approach her, but she resists. Tank watches from a distance, wanting to help but unsure what to do.
Now, it doesn’t read like much here, because I want y’all to experience it firsthand, but there’s a tension in this scene that is nothing short of a suspense movie. The girl who can’t–or won’t–talk, Deputy Wad who tries to intervene and disregard Sheriff Bart’s orders, Tank on the sidelines, and people in the mix. It’s a recipe for a blow up, yes? Of course it is. And in a flash of drama and did-I-really-just-read-that action, the girl is here, gone, Wad is sliding on the snow, and she reappears to stare at Tank and suddenly he’s holding her.
She squeezes him with hugs he interprets as answers to his questions, and nicknames her Littlefoot. Back at the Sheriff’s station, the EMTs observe her as best they can. Normal. Normal temp. Normal blood pressure. No cuts, scrapes. Nothing to indicate abuse. One of the EMTs leaves after commenting about her baby blue eyes.
Tank looks at her. And her brown eyes.
Littlefoot holds a rolled up paper, protecting it like a scroll. She won’t let anyone take it except Tank. It’s gibberish. Pictures or letters or a combination. No one know what it means.
Without instigation, Tank receives a text from Andi. The gang is arriving tomorrow to help. He’s learned not to question how they know. He’s just happy to know they’re on the way.
And it gets weird again! They go to the break room for food, Wad brings in burgers and shakes, and Littlefoot’s eyes are now hazel. Reading Girl say what?!?!
CPS takes the girl away but the next day, there she is in the middle of Main Street, still barefoot. Tank picks her up again, her small body that’s getting smaller! His spirit and energy are being sucked from him and growls are emanating from nowhere.
The gang shows up and now Tank’s dreaming about an IT Beast, but he’s not the only one. Uncle Bart dreamed it. Brenda tattooed it and sketched it. So you know the real danger’s just about to start.
Oh, peeps. How I want to share the rest of the story with you. How I want to tell y’all how it ends. But I can’t. I just can’t. You simply have to experience this adventure for yourself.
I can tell you, Littlefoot has some strange physical attributes. Like changing eye colors and physicality. But why wouldn’t she? If she were an ordinary little girl, she wouldn’t need the Harbingers, would she?
Pick up a copy and find out what happens next.
TWEET THIS: INVITATION: Harbingers, Cycle One, Book Four @RealMojo68 @altongansky #amreading #harbingers
And Frankly, My Dear . . . That’s all she wrote!
Jul 31, 2017 |
by Molly Jo Realy @MollyJoRealy
Frankly, My Dear . . . Effervesce, baby.
This is one of those Do-I-or-Don’t-I-post-this posts. Prayer life is personal, private. Yet we’re exhorted to pray with and for one another.
At Blue Ridge I had many conversations. About writing. Living in faith. Bringing the two together and at times, amplifying one over the other.
Saying our good-byes is always hard. I wanted to leave my peeps with a message of hope and empowerment. And it struck me.
We are the champagne, and God is the bubbles. We’re bottled up tight, conforming to our surroundings only until that moment we are uncorked, set free, and sent overflowing into the world. We are the champagne, but God is the bubbles. We are created for nothing less than to be the vessel He uses to tickle the world with his glory. We are the vehicle He uses to shine and explode. We are designed to not be bottled, but to use the gifts He has given us to move forward, to refresh others, to bubble over when the time is right. We are made to effervesce.
I was asked how I have such a strong prayer life and I nearly fell out of my chair laughing. Not because the question was ridiculous (it wasn’t) but because I don’t think my prayer life is all that great. In fact, I very often think it’s lacking or worse, nonexistent.
Today I opened my Bible- the Bible I’ve had for a year. The Inspire Bible for Creative Journaling. Today I chose to stop being delicate and stop tip-toeing around what I want, and what I want to say to God.
And today I read Proverbs 22. Verse 1 is who I strive to be for Him. For you. For all my audience and the world at large.
“Choose a great reputation over great riches;
being held in high esteem is better than silver or gold.”
~Proverbs 22:1, NLT
But I’m not perfect. Not at all. And in my imperfection, I’ve been holding back. “I’m not great, so I’m no good at all.” Oh, what a terrible self-thought! What a detrimental, discouraging whisper from the enemy.
And so to you who asked how I am the way I am, this is me being as honest as I possibly can. This is my instruction to you:
Just talk to God.
Don’t try to be eloquent if you’re normally not. If you don’t know what to say in prayer, tell Him. Ask Him to help you find, and recognize, the words. Ask Him to open your Spirit to give and receive what it is He has planned for you. If you’re mad because the world hurts you and those you love, tell Him. When He puts a tiny penny or a huge gift in your path, thank Him. Be honest with Him.
There’s something else. Many times, we don’t go fully to God. Those lies of inadequacies prevent us from reaching out. He already knows. I don’t want to admit my thoughts. Other people need Him more. Me and my situation are insignificant.
Do you feel the pressure of the cork closing in on you? Are you pressed in on every side, not knowing which way is up? Does it feel like your life is just a black hole about to collapse in on you from every side?
Then I’ve got good news for you: Black holes turn into Supernovas.
Frankly, My Dear . . . Be the Supernova you were created to be.
Released from the pressures within, they too, like the champagne, explode in a torrent of color and worth and life-affirming creation and they excel beyond anything the black hole tried to contain.
Don’t be the black hole, friend. Be the Supernova.
Run full force into God and fall into Him laughing. He will always catch you.
God is your best playmate. Your favorite friend. He is your keeper, your maker, and your cheeriest cheerleader.
So just start. Your prayer needn’t be perfect.
It just needs to be.
Remember, friend: You are no longer a black hole. You are a Supernova. You are the champagne and God is the bubbles.
Effervesce, baby. Always, effervesce. You got this. And He’s got you.
Can I get a holla?
And Frankly, My Dear . . . That’s all she wrote!
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