Storytime Tapestry Newsletter

The newsletter devoted to spreading love and cultural awareness around the world.

July 17, 2006

Today’s announcements

I must bring to everyone’s attention at this time the Story "The Little House Out Back" which appeared in Hart Dowd’s column actually belongs to our writer Pamela Blaine and copyrighted in 2004: http://blaines.us/pamyblaine/stories3/little_house_out_back.htm

I take full responsibility for not checking as a publisher to make sure proper accreditation was given to Pamela.  Hart did not know the true author of the story and I neglected to include the author unknown to us at the present time acknowledgement.   

Pamela please accept my sincere apologies.  I understand that Hart has apologized to you directly in an email as well.

Congratulations Joan Clifton Costner, you have become a senior writer for Storytime Tapestry.

Special Prayers

After spending a week in the hospital for asthma/bronchial problems I
still am in need for complete healing in the lungs. 
I like to BREATHE.   I do not like to cough my chest out of my skin. 

I am humbling myself to ask prayer for my financial needs this month.
No work no pay.  I trust the LORD to met my needs and HE has.  He will
continually to do so because I have faith.  I am blessed to have to have
prayer warriors I can count on to pray.   This I am very thankful.  

In HIS service
Tennie

GOD is love.  Jesus loves you and so do I. 
Tennie Winter

tenwinter@webtv.net

Now onto the good stuff!

Today’s Queue Stories

~**~**~

ValueSpeak

A Weekly Column

By Joseph Walker

valuespeak@msn.com

LITTLE BATHROOM OF HORRORS

            I don't want you to think I'm paranoid or anything, but my razor is out to get me.

            Really.

            I'm serious about this.

            It bit me the other day when I was shaving.  And no, I didn't cut myself.  I may be paranoid, but I'm not . . you know . . . whacko.  It bit me.  I know the difference.  I tend to cut myself when I'm not paying attention, or trying to shave too quickly.  I make a false move and I nick myself.  I've done that a thousand times, and I know it when I do it.

            But this was different.  I was concentrating on my shaving.  I was in sort of a shaving "zone" -- totally focused.  I wasn't trying to move too quickly, and I didn't make any false moves.  But all of a sudden I could feel this nick, and I was bleeding, and the only explanation is that my razor just reached up and bit me.

            I'm not making this up.

            I looked at it, and it's steely, double-edged lips seemed to be turned up slightly at the ends in a deviously sharp, slightly bloody smile.  I spent the rest of the day dabbing at the little slits by the corner of my mouth, trying to explain to everyone who would listen that I hadn't really cut myself shaving; I had been bitten by my razor.

            And then I went home to my Little Bathroom of Horrors.

            The only thing I can figure is that somehow Gillette sold me a direct lineal descendant of Sweeney Todd's razor.  You remember Sweeney -- "the demon barber of Fleet Street" of song and Broadway musical?  According to the legend, people would come in to get a shave from the guy and end up in a meat pie.

            That's what I'm talking about.  This razor is a bad seed.  It got me again when I shaved today.  And now that it has tasted blood, there's no telling what it will do.

            I don't mind telling you: I'm afraid.  I'm very afraid.

            Of course, it COULD be that the thing I'm really afraid of here is that everyone will know what a klutz I am, so I've invented this "razor bite" story as a way of explaining all these scars on my face.  I don't mean "invented" to imply that I'm lying -- I may have convinced myself that it is true.  But deep down inside -- somewhere below the layers of skin that I seem to be systematically scraping away with my razor -- I know that I'm not being victimized by an inanimate object.  I'm being victimized by me -- or rather, by the same lack of hand-eye coordination that made me an all-field, no-hit Little Leaguer and still causes me to quiver at the mention of the word "Pong."

            Accepting responsibility for your own actions can be tough -- especially when doing so makes you look clumsy or inconsiderate or thoughtless or dumb.  It can be particularly daunting for those in the public eye, who risk wide-spread criticism, ridicule and even legal action when they acknowledge personal responsibility for Stuff Gone Wrong.  That's why I admire those who are able to step up and accept the blame for that poorly thrown pass, or that ill-advised executive decision, or that inappropriate public comment.  To say "I'm responsible -- right or wrong" demonstrates great courage, extraordinary integrity and an awful lot of self-confidence.

            Not to mention a complete absence of paranoia.

~**~**~

 ~ Writer Wanna Be's ~

 Joyce Lock

    Before my discovery of the internet, in attempting to deal with Christian publishers, I came to realize what preachers have known for a long time.  Many publishers use the 'Christian' name for a fast buck.  Like others, they want to know who you know and everything else possible that might prove your book will sell on the merit of your name, only; without regard to what is actually inside the cover.
 
    They, also, expect you to work so hard at your presentation that the book is ready for publication before submitting.  Though, most of the time, it goes into a pile of manuscripts; to barely be skimmed, unless you have already developed a name.

    In addition, publishers either want your writing to fit within their specific doctrinal guidelines or they want the writing to be so non-controversial that all religions will accept it.  All this is without consideration as to if the Spirit is actually speaking through the writing.

    Poetry critiquers do not like me very well, either.  Oh, wait!  Maybe it is the other way around.
 
    First, you write, in hope of meeting someone else's acceptance and approval.  Talk about messing with your self-esteem, that will do it.  You may have to spend money for them to even look at your writing.  But when you do, you are almost assured they will tell you what you had hoped to hear ~ that your writing is absolutely wonderful!
 
    You can pretty much guarantee that those who offer self-publishing will really love your writing, too.  However, the price for encouragement, on that level, is considerably higher.
 
    Then, there are contests wherein expense is required, either to enter or to claim your prize.  In other circles, we call it gambling.

    Though, if you are otherwise accepted, you may be required to pay for the honor of having your writing listed among them.  However, unless you tell all your friends, no one that knows you will ever see it.  And, all the rest will not even remember your name.

    Such as these take unfair advantage; manipulating the heart strings of those whose dream in life is to, one day, be a writer.  In fact, most such cons stay within legalized limits; but steal from your wallet, none-the-less.
 
    I am not a writer wanna be.  In fact, I am not even a writer.  I do not seek to become a writer.  But, I could keep going with this skeptism as, when I do write, it is with motivation and purpose.  Maybe I just have a lot of issues.  :-)
 
    What got me going, this time, was a shared link to a website implying they were interested in original Christian writing submissions.  However, in addition to all else, they suggested that 'if you wait for the Spirit's moving, you may never write'.  So, at that point, I was no longer annoyed but a bit ticked.  If the Spirit is not in it, it should not be written.  Shame on them!

    When God inspires one to write, it does not need criticized.  There are times when a different arrangement of words would read more smoothly.  And, definitely, proofing helps the reader to be able to better absorb content.  However, the intent in which God gave it should never be changed.  God does not do anything inferior.  Only, some take it upon themselves to think they know more than God.

    But, also, as is really obvious (when the only accepted poetry submission is 'non-rhyming poetry', regardless of content), those have pre-determined what good poetry is ~ while they look down upon the rest.  That might be a good deal, to at least know what is expected.  Only, no two critics agree on what good poetry is.
 
    So, there are no guidelines that the 'would be hopeful' can obtain ~ unless the writer throws out their own style, to match someone else's, in hopes of being accepted into that group.  And, that could even be a good thing, if only that group were a 'for real' publisher.  But what really happens is, authors sell their soul to be accepted by a group of 'writer wanna be's'.
 
    As it is with many, one's dream of writing is not all that different from the self-defeating teen-age dream of, one day, winning the Miss America pageant; only with more substance.  If you are fixed on becoming famous by the world's methods, go right ahead and let the world keep kicking you in pants.  As Christians, when we follow the majority, we lose sight of why we are writing and end up inviting our own defeat.
 
    However, if you are inspired by Holy unction, you will write whether you ever become famous or not.  And, know this; when God inspires you to write, there are souls waiting for that message.  If you ever get a glimpse into the importance, significance, and magnitude of that, you will share your writings whether you ever get paid or not ... and you will stop welcoming criticism.  Our accuser's name is Satan.
 
    Also, when God inspires a writing, it does not really belong to you.  So, when 'represented to be' Christian (Christ-like) people holler about copyrights, I start to lose respect for them.  It is one thing for another to claim and or make a profit off your works.  It is another to threaten and sue when someone has paid such a compliment as to share your writing with others it might, also, minister to.  The same goes for all forms of Christian ministry.  For however many ways God opens doors, the seed He gives can and should be multiplied again, and again.
 
    It is God's job to determine how many times one's seed gets multiplied.  Our part is to be available, faithful, and obedient to share that which He blesses us with.  And, the more you share, the more God gives you to share.  Also, the better you will get at it!  Then, as it works in with God's timing and you are spiritually prepared for what comes next, God will open more doors ~ then more.
 
    If your calling leads in the direction of publishing, publishers will find you.  For others, writing may have helped develop your confidence in being a better speaker.  Whatever your path in life is to be, He who calls you will also do it.  His yoke is easy and that takes the pressure off us.
 
    Let us forget the 'wanna be's' and put our focus on being a servant.  God makes all things beautiful, when it is time.

~ * ~

But this I say, He which soweth sparingly shall reap also sparingly;
and he which soweth bountifully shall reap also bountifully.
 
Every man according as he purposeth in his heart, so let him give;
not grudgingly, or of necessity: for God loveth a cheerful giver.
 
And God is able to make all grace abound toward you;
that ye, always having all sufficiency in all things,
may abound to every good work.

2 Co. 9:6-8

Poetry Section

~**~**~

THE CITY
WITHIN OUR CITY
Joan Clifton Costner

There's a city, within our city,
That I'm learning well to know.
The feet go, shuffling down the lanes,
With feeble steps and slow.

The apartments there, upon its streets,
Hold souls so close to God.
Will they still be here, tomorrow?
Do I tread on holy sod?

Oh, it takes so little effort
To bring smiles upon each face;
Finding the value of old songs
I'm glad I have in place.

Their voices, very feeble now,
Can't be heard above the din.
I've often witnessed teardrops,
Or the quaking of a chin.

There are eyes too dim to read again,
And hands too weak to grasp.
There are ears that cannot understand
And minds trapped in the past.

But, love twinkles in their starry gaze,
When kindnesses are shown.
Hugs and kisses send out warmth,
Unique within this home.

It is said 'a nation's judged
By what it does with all its old',
Especially those not well endowed
With hoards of earthly gold.

I'd like to think our people cared so much.
It's written down for aye
And carried by the angels up
To glory in the sky.

jody@ptsi.net

© by Joan Clifton Costner
http://underhiswings0.tripod.com

~**~**~

~ Dusk ~

With Beloved Mother

Joan Clifton Costner

She sleeps and I sit by,
Unwilling, yet, to leave.
For, now and then, she stirs to see me.

The fear goes with the illness.

Anything becomes an object

She must shun or hide from.

Waiting for the light to come,

Again, is endless night.

With all her might, she hopes

For some familiar face, time, or place.
 

It is easier to leave when I hear

The rhythmic breathing begin;
Controlled by involuntary impulses.
 

Bright blue eyes will search,

Again, tomorrow.
They will find Me.

Will my face still be familiar,
Or will the thief I fear
Steal my memory, also?

Reduced to ashes and empty stare,
She waits by the door.

Some ask, "Why?"
Why do I come each day to see?
Because, I am me.

Because, I want to see
Traces of the smile I knew
And sweet relief from the misery
Of losing every single precious memory ...

The loving ways, the happy days;
When speech was easy,
Recollection keen!

The easy breathing comes.
Go, now.  Take up time’s hands
Until the light comes.

© 2003 by Joan Clifton Costner

http://underhiswings0.tripod.com

jody@ptsi.net

~**~**~

My mother has Alzheimer's Disease....

Joan Clifton Costner

Only Today

No yesterdays - no tomorrows

No plans for this afternoon;

No "next week" or "remember when?"

It's all gone away too soon.

We have this moment only

To bring that happy smile,

And even it will not be ours

In just a little while.



Too late for family history,

Too late for recipes-

Too late for how and why and when or

"Home made" remedies.

Too late to have the long talk

Or to sing an old song or two -

Too late to hear you cheer for me,

But I see a hero in you!


I could even stay away...

And you wouldn't really miss me

But bonds of love go deeper than

This horrid illness' history.

We only have this moment

And it is fleeting fast

The things that pass between us

Just for this instant last...



So...let's announce the challenge!

Who can bring a smile, a laugh?

Who can sing a song that lights the eyes

And gives the heart a lift?

For we've darkness all around us and

We've grieved enough today;

Give me a smile, we'll walk awhile and

Claim victory ... for this day.

Joan Clifton Costner

copyright

jody@ptsi.net

Readers Feedback

 Sweet angelsister, Carol,

Please let Hart,  Susan R., B. Walker,
Joyce and Joan know how much their writings blessed me.

I know Hart wrote a separate article about the
Independences of July.    It was informative and a blessing.

Please tell our angelsister, Joan, how much her poem,
"The Last Sunset"  touched my heart so deeply.
Yes, indeed, I wept.    What a wonderful vessel of the Lord
you are, precious angelsister, Joan.

Also,  I believe Joyce already knows in what esteem I
hold her, but,  just tell her again for me:-)

Thanks for your wonderful ezine, Carol.

Love and blessings,

Mary

Thank you Hart Dowd for your enlightenment on outhouses.  Wonderful!  We still have one of these wonders at our camp and it is much as you describe except that we enjoy the luxury of toilet paper which is kept under an empty inverted coffee can----to discourage nibbling or destruction by rodents.  Its a two holer but I’ve thankfully never needed more than one hole.  Louise Nomani

Senior Writers

Chief writer: Sharon Bryant

                                     Chief researcher/historian: Hartson Dowd

Agee, Vance; Apted, Violet; Baker, Kathy; Batt, Al; Berry, Nell; Blaine, Pamela; Boda, Ginger; Booher, Paula; Buhagiar, Victor; Cassady, B.J.; Cavalera, Costner, Joan Clifton, Robyn; Crider, Mark; Deming, Barb; Doherty, Maria;

Dowd, Hartson; Dowd, Helen; Gilbert, Robert, Jr.; Gold, Ron; Goodier, Steve; Braun-Haley, Ellie; Harris, Kathy Anne; Henry, Linda Ann; Hunt, Sharlett; Hymes, Christina; Jacobson, Gary; Kiser, Roger Dean; Kerens, Claudia; Kevin, Tim; Jenkins, Pamela; Liles, Norma; Lily Jodi Flesberg; Lock, Joyce; Marlor, Janice Bumbalough; Mazzella, Joe; Morris, Deepak; Ojeibge, Georgewaters; Petry, Dianna Doles; Roberts, Susan; Shiveley, Debra; Shaw, Bob; Sims, Richard; Streidel, Saskia; Swarner, Ken; Vaknin, Sam; Verhoeff, Jan; Walker, Bill; Walker, Joe; Warner, Gordon, K; Walsh, Sue; Weymouth, Barbara J.; Whirity, Kathy;

Wainland, David; Westerfer, Clara; White Robert;

Storytime Tapestry Staff

Carol Roach - Founder/publisher

Thelma Hartselle - Co-Founder, Moderator

Clara Westerfer – moderator

Bob Johnston - moderator