STORM WARNING by Billy Graham (book review)

So, this has been a long time coming. To be honest, I'm not even sure how long ago I got this book from BookSneeze. I'm finally getting around to reviewing it, though, so I guess late is better than never...

STORM WARNING is a reprint of a book Billy Graham actually wrote about 10 years ago, but what he covers in this book is just as important a topic today as it was then. If anything, it may be more important. In this book, Billy Graham looks at the crazy things that are happening today in light of Biblical truths. He points out that, although so many bad things are happening right now, we can still have hope in Christ.

Billy Graham has an amazing gift for explaining difficult material in a way just about anybody can understand. STORM WARNING is no different. Although it has taken me a long time to get around to reviewing this book (sorry, BookSneeze!) with everything that has been going on in my own life lately, I would recommend this to anyone who is looking at the world around us and wondering what in the world is going on. Once you actually start reading it, it really doesn't take too long to make it through. Billy Graham blends together today's headlines and Revelations, something other people try to do but not everyone can accomplish.

Disclosure of Material Connection: I received this book free from the publisher through the BookSneeze®.com book review bloggers program. I was not required to write a positive review. The opinions I have expressed are my own. I am disclosing this in accordance with the Federal Trade Commission's 16 CFR, Part 255[...] : "Guides Concerning the Use of Endorsements and Testimonials in Advertising." 

**Wow, multiple posts in one month--you would think I was writing a blog or something ;~D

Syndria and a wolf

I know this is another long section, but I just didn't know where to cut it off. So, here's the next part of Syndria's story...

***********

Syndria stood frozen, her eyes wide as she stared at the wolf blocking the path ahead of her. Here by the stream’s edge there were just a few feet of clear land between the water and the forest, and the large grey beast stood growling right in the middle.

           

“First the cat, now this,” Syndria whispered. Though she knew little about beasts of prey in the woods, the young Healer knew it was unusual that she was having her second close encounter with one in a matter of hours. Unlike the cougar, though, the wolf didn’t appear injured in any way, nor was he made nervous by the human before him. Judging by the tongue that darted out every few seconds to lick the snarling lips, to him Syndria was nothing more than a meal, and an easy one at that. When the wolf crouched and then sprung, the girl closed her eyes, knowing there was little more she could do. A split second later there came a whimper and Syndria opened her eyes in time to see the wolf crash to the ground with the shaft of an arrow sticking out of its ribs.

            

 “You’re awful lucky, girl.” Turning toward the trees, Syndria saw a man step out into the small clearing by the stream, bow in hand and a second arrow notched and ready. He approached the wolf cautiously, not releasing his bow until he was sure the animal was dead. When he prodded the beast with the toe of his boot, a strange expression came across his face. Dropping his bow to the ground still strung and sliding the arrow back into the quiver on his back, the man knelt beside the dead wolf.

            

 Syndria studied the man as he studied the wolf. Dressed in leather breeches and a leather tunic, the man had a thick mustache and beard which covered his mouth. His wiry black hair was flecked with silver and he wore it tightly pulled back at the nape of his neck. His hands were gnarled, most likely from years of manual labor since the man did not seem old.

            

 “That’s one strange creature,” the man muttered, speaking more to himself than to the girl just three feet away. “I just felled him and the bugger’s already stiff. Oh well, I suppose a scrawny beast like that’s not goin’ to make good meat anyhow.” As the man spoke, Syndria let her gaze drift from the man to the “strange creature” he had examined. Something about the animal seemed odd, but at first she couldn’t place what that might be. The man reached out and with one hand grasped the arrow to remove it from the dead wolf, placing his left hand against the animal’s rib cage. As soon as he touched the wolf the man jumped back, almost falling in his haste to get away. His eyes wide, the man seemed more frightened by the dead wolf than Syndria had been of the live one just minutes earlier.

            

 “That ain’t natural,” the man whispered. “That creature was alive, but…” he trailed off.

             

Stepping forward, the Healer knelt beside the wolf’s head for a closer look. That is not possible, she thought, but at the same time she could not deny what she saw. Stretching out her hand to confirm what she already knew, the Healer gently lay her hand against the wolf’s fur. Instead of coarse hair, Syndria was touching something hard and unyielding. In fact, the wolf’s entire body had turned to stone. When she pulled at the arrow the feathered shaft broke off in her hand--the head was encased in the marble wolf. What magic was at work here? Syndria hade never seen such a spell worked by any of the King’s Wizards, yet who else could have done such a thing? And why had this beast been sent after her, for there would be no other reason for such a creature to be in these woods. Why hadn’t Simann just sent a guard?

            

 “Come away from that,” the man said gruffly, pulling Syndria’s mind away from her questions. “It ain’t safe to mess with magic--it’s unnatural.” Syndria obliged him and took a step away from the marble wolf, but she hesitated to move toward the man. If he was so against magic, what would happen if he recognized who she was? Looking him over from head to toe again, Syndria decided she had nothing to fear. Judging by his appearance the man who had just saved her life had little interest in the happenings of the castle. It seemed likely that he would not even know of the search for the Healer who had betrayed her King.

            

 The man had started back through the woods, but stopped when he realized the girl was not following. “Well, come on, girl,” he said, his tone impatient. “You’re wastin’ my hunt. If I get you to the Missus quick enough, then maybe I can get back out here before it gets too dark. That woman’s likely to tan my hide if I don’t get her no meat today.”

            

 Syndria smiled when the man turned back to her, holding back a laugh she was sure would irritate and offend her rescuer. Never before had she heard such colorful speech, or at least not that she could remember. She hurried along behind the man, anxious to meet his “missus.” The man moved quickly, and soon Syndria was standing in front of a small cabin nestled in the trees. Smoke rolled from the chimney and since a fire wouldn’t be needed for warmth today the Healer assumed the woodsman’s wife must be cooking. Her stomach rumbled at the prospect, earning Syndria an odd look from her guide.

            

 “I suppose you’re gonna be wantin’ some grub,” be grumbled, stepping through the open doorway. “That’s the missus, over by the fire. I don’t have time to mess with you if I’m gonna get some meat.” Turning, the man left Syndria standing in the middle of the one room cabin. It seemed the woman at the fire hadn’t heard her husband talking, for when she turned she jumped at the sight of the girl.

            

 “Why, child, you just about scared the life outta me! Here I was expecting to see some injured critter dropped off in my doorway and I turn to find a pretty little girl. By all that’s good, what’s a tiny little thing like you doing out in these woods alone anyway?” The round woman quickly crossed the small room, wrapped her arm around the Healer’s shoulders, and ushered her in to sit at a small table. If she felt the girl stiffen at the foreign feeling of having someone’s arm around her, the cheery woman didn’t let on. “Just sit right down and let me get you something to nibble on. I just started the fire fore some stew tonight, so I’ll toast you up some of the bread I made yesterday and you can slather on some sweet cream butter. I told Simon I would move out here to the middle of nothing only if he let me keep Maybelle and that calf of hers, and am I ever glad I did. Sweet cream butter is just one of those things that’s hard for a girl to give up!” As she spoke, the woman tore off a chunk of bread and sat it on the rack over her fire, just above the flames.

            

 “Well, where is my head?” she chuckled. “I imagine you’d like to know who’s feeding you. Like I mentioned, that grump you met in the woods would be my man Simon, though he’s not as gruff as he would like you to believe. My name is Josephina, but I’ve not been called that for a long while now. Simon calls me Ina, and I suppose it would work for you to just as well. What would your name be, dear?” she asked, handing Syndria the warm bread smothered with butter.

             

Unsure how to answer, the Healer took a bite of the bread in order to have time to think. Swallowing, she said, “Forgive me be for being so rude and not answering before I sampled your bread, but it looked delicious and I hadn’t realized how hungry I was until you handed this to me. My name is Kierney,” she finally said, deciding to use the name Councilman Lawrence had given her. “Your husband happened upon me at the most important time and saved me from the jaws of a ferocious wolf. I am ever in his debt.” She bowed her head slightly in thanks, a gesture with which Ina seemed unfamiliar. “Perhaps one day I may repay you.”

            

 “Oh, don’t you worry about that, child. I’m just happy you’re here because it gives me another woman to talk to. Now, don’t say one more thing about ‘debts’ and ‘repayment.’ None of that has too much meaning out here anyhow. Now tell me, where were you headed to before my Simon came upon you?” she asked, leaning toward Syndria and propping her arms on the table between them.

            

 “Honestly, madam, I don’t know where I was headed. There were those at home who no longer welcomed me, so I sat out to find those who will.”

            

 “Why, you’re not much more than a child! How old are you?”

            

 Syndria smiled. All her life people had mistaken her for younger, although most realized their mistake when she spoke. “I am twenty and six, though I may not look it. And despite my appearance I am quite able to take care of myself.”

            

 “Well, I’ve lived your life twice over now, and Simon has close to three, so to me you’re still hardly more than a child,” she said, almost pouting, before cheerfully adding, “However, I suppose you’re old enough to look after yourself, seeing as how I was looking after me and Simon both when I was your age.” Just then the burly man came through the door carrying a rabbit, and Ina turned her attention to her husband.

            

 “Take that dirty critter out of my house. I don’t want you trailing blood all over my floor again. But take care to keep that hide in good condition this time. I couldn’t even use it last time you brought a rabbit home!” Muttering something under his breath that Syndria imagined she wouldn’t want to hear, Simon turned and stepped back outside, his wife following close behind in order to oversee his work.

***********

a narrow escape

So, this is definitely not "later tonight" as promised...here, though, is finally the next installment of SoT.

**********

Early in the afternoon, Paodin was replacing some warped boards on the barn when he spotted Adair running up the hill. He pulled the heavy wagon behind him, bouncing its contents wildly.

               

“Paodin!” he yelled breathlessly as he reached the top of the hill. “Paodin!”

            

 Dropping the hammer and picking up his sword, Paodin ran to the boy. “What is it? Is someone following you?”

            

 “No,” the boy panted, “it’s not me. They- they-”

            

 “Take a breath, Adair. There’s no rush,” Paodin laughed, figuring Adair was overreacting to whatever he deemed the problem. Taking the handle of the wagon away from Adair, Paodin started walking toward the house.

            

 “No!” The boy reached out and grabbed Paodin’s arm, stopping him. “It’s you! They are looking for you in the city. Some man even told me to be careful because you would be dangerous. You have to leave. They were talkin’ about goin’ out to search people’s farms today and tomorrow, and they already don’t like me and Mum.”

            

 “Let’s go inside,” Paodin said, pulling the wagon along behind him, “and you can tell me more of what was said in Lurn.” Adair followed him in, still trying to catch his breath from running up the hill.

            

 “Is that you, Addie?” Brigitte called when she heard the door open.

            

 “Yes, Mum.”

            

 “Why, I must say that I am pleasantly surprised to have you home so early. Was the Tavern going to be serving liver and onions today?” she joked, drying her hands on her apron as she walked out of the kitchen. When Adair didn’t answer right away, Brigitte grew concerned. “What is wrong, son? Did something happen in at the market?” Dropping her apron, Brigitte held her hands out to her son, drawing him to her when he reached out and took her hand.

            

 “Mum, they are searching for Paodin,” he began.

            

 “Yes, Adair, I am aware of that. I suppose I should have told you last might that our guest is hiding from King Simann and his Guard, but I did not think---”

             

“No, that’s not it,” the boy interrupted. “I heard all that while he was tellin’ you.” Adair continued, either unconcerned or unaware that he had just admitted to eavesdropping. “Some farmer out to the north said he saw Paodin, and now the men in town are searching all the farms. Somebody even said they thought the King would reward them for bringing him the traitor.”

            

 Speaking for the first time since entering the cottage, Paodin questioned, “Adair, did anybody see you running home like you were running up the hill?” Moving toward where Brigitte stood, her arms around her son, Paodin knelt before the boy.

            

 Adair nodded and answered, “Yes, but I didn’t run until the smithy told me to watch out or the traitor might kill me on my way home.” As the boy spoke, all three heard the staccato of hoof beats galloping up the hill.

            

 Brigitte stood and quickly stepped toward the front door. “Master Paodin, move into the kitchen. If the men come to search the house you may be able to slip out the back. Adair, go out and begin unloading the wagon. Hurry now,” she said, shooing him out the door. Just as the boy stepped outside a rider appeared topping the hill. He rode straight to the front door and stopped without dismounting, pulling a second horse by its reins.

            

 “My lady,” the man said, pushing back the hood that shadowed his face, “there is no time to waste.”

            

 Brigitte tilted her head to the side as she tried to place the man’s voice, quickly coming up with his identity. “Jamis? Why have you come here?” As soon as she spoke the man’s name, Paodin hurried through the front room and stood beside Brigitte, sword in hand.

            

 “Please pardon my rudeness, Brigitte, but I have no time for pleasantries.” Then looking at Paodin he added, “You must leave here at once. Richard the smithy has gathered a search party and is headed up the hill this way.” Nodding, Paodin ran out to the barn to get rid of all signs of his presence and to tie up his pack.

            

 “Jamis,” Brigitte began, “how is it you knew Master Paodin had been a guest in my home?”

            

 The man hesitated before saying, “I’m afraid that is a conversation we do not have enough time for at the moment.” Knowing that answer would not satisfy her, Jamis added, “However, I promise you an answer once I have seen your guest safely on his way.” He nodded then spurred his horse quickly to the barn, arriving at the door just as Paodin stepped out. The younger man mounted the horse being led along, taking the reins from Jamis as he called out to Adair.

            

 “Shake out that blanket to remove the hay before you take it inside, Adair, and take good care of your mother. She is truly a remarkable woman.” Then riding close to the house in front of the door where she stood, Paodin added quietly, “Thank you for your kindness, Brigitte. Perhaps we will meet again under better circumstances, when the true heir has taken the throne.” With a swift kick, Paodin took off with Jamis and the two vanished into the woods.

            

 “Addie,” Brigitte called out, “bring that blanket inside. We don’t need it out in the barn when those men get here. Then I want you to come help me finish unloading the wagon.”

            

 “Yes, Mum,” the boy called back, hurrying to the barn. Then, seeing that his mother was searching for the wagon, he hollered, “It’s out next to the hitchin’ post.” 

Brigitte counted out six steps from the door to the post and then pulled out the fabric Adair had chosen at the market. It was heavier weight than she would have chosen for Addie’s summer shirts, but it didn’t matter. Since he had picked out the fabric on his own the boy would never complain. Smiling, she turned back to the house and had just stepped inside when she began to hear the voices of men approaching. She waited a few moments before calling out, “Adair, come inside! I don’t want you out here playing around while I try to carry in that big bag of cornmeal by myself. Hurry up now!” She closed the door behind her and took a few deep breaths as she waited for the men to arrive.

            

 Soon, Brigitte could hear the men outside talking to her son. Stepping outside, Brigitte called out, “If you have business here, sirs, it is with me, not my son,” then stood waiting, her hands on her hips.

            

 “Of course, woman!” one of them laughed, the man Brigitte assumed to be Richard, the leader. Without moving any closer to the house he yelled out, “We have orders to search your place, seeing as how you and your boy would be sympathetic to traitors,” he growled, then motioned for the men with him to spread out. When one of the men approached the door to search through the house, Brigitte did not budge. The man was forced to physically move the woman aside to get through the door.

            

 “While there is no question of my alliance,” Brigitte snarled back, “there has been no traitor in my home. Had I known such a man was in need of someplace to stay, however, I would have gladly given him shelter.”

            

 Richard laughed. “I see your temper flames up as red as your hair, woman,” he said, once again addressing her as one would a low-class woman instead of the customary title of “lady.” “And had you not already been put in your place I would be tempted to do so myself. As you are now, it’s not worth the time.” At his words Brigitte’s face turned red, but not from shame. Her fists and jaw clenched in anger.

            

 Though Adair did not understand all the man’s words insinuated, he could read the signs of her anger unmistakably. Quietly he took a few steps away from the man and picked up one of the smaller boards Paodin had been using to fix the barn. While the man spoke, saying something Adair didn’t understand about Brigitte’s virtue, the boy moved up behind him and swung the board with all his strength, connecting with the man’s lower back and cracking the board. The man moaned as he fell to his knees, one hand going to his back and the other catching himself so he didn’t fall forward.

            

 Standing over the man and still holding the board, Adair spoke through gritted teeth, “My Mum’s better than you’ll ever be!” As he spoke, the two men who had been searching the barn came running out. Seeing their ringleader on the ground, one snatched the board out of Adair’s hands as the other grabbed the boy tightly by both arms.

            

 “Let me go!” he yelled, struggling to get away from the man who held him.

            

 “Take your hands off my son,” Brigitte ordered, moving quickly toward the commotion. “I do not know what he did, but he was defending my honor. Turn him loose!” As she moved toward Adair, Brigitte ran into Richard, who was still hunched over on the ground. A tiny smirk spread across her lips when Brigitte realized her son had knocked the big man to his knees. Addressing the smithy she mocked, “What now? Are you going to teach the boy a lesson? I’m sure your friends will be terribly impressed to hear you won a fight with a child, especially one who was defending his blind mother.” At her words the man holding Adair let him go, and the boy quickly moved to his mother’s side. Brigitte laid a steady hand on his shoulder to calm the still raging boy.

            

 Slowly, and still clutching his back, Richard stood. “Get Thaddeus. The traitor is not here with this wench.” Turning, he slowly began to move toward the downhill path, his men soon following. Brigitte stood still as they left, waiting until she could no longer hear their footsteps. Then she silently hugged her son and the two walked inside together.

i have to admit...

I have been doing absolutely nothing with my writing the past few days. Over the break I was writing a lot, even with the crashed computer and missing story. I started working on the background information and planning for my next story and I actually got quite a bit done. Since school has started back, though, I haven't even picked up a pen for anything other than class. It's slightly depressing, to be honest. I was told the other day that I seem to have a part of my soul missing when I don't get to write. At first I though that was crazy, but I'm starting to see the truth in it now--I'm desperate to start writing again. In the meantime, we got the dead computer back. More importantly, though, we got the information that was on the dead computer back. That means I once again have access to my story, so I'll post the next section tonight sometime. I also want to take a second to say thank you. I can only imagine the things you could be doing that are more important than reading the words I spill out here every once in a while. I really appreciate the couple of minutes you take out of your day to listen to what I have to say (very often about nothing!) It is really nice to see that people from all over the world are spending just a little of their time on me :~D

happy 2012!

1 January 2012. Today is the first day of a brand new year. 2011 was full of changes for my little family, and I can only imagine what is in store for us for 2012. Since today is a day for resolutions, I'm going to make some writing resolutions. The first is a 100% finished date for SoT. That is 12:01 am, January 23rd. Why? Because I'm going to submit my story for the Amazon Breakthrough Novel Award. They have two categories (General Fiction and Young Adult Fiction), and right now I'm trying to figure out which to submit to--Fantasy doesn't tend to do well in contests with General Fiction, but I would have to make some changes to get it to work as Young Adult Fiction. Mainly, I'm just wanting to use this contest as a deadline for myself so I'll finally put the finishing touches (haha! I imagine I'll edit this story in my mind for years to come!) on this story so I can feel comfortable moving on to the next one. That brings me to my second resolution, about my new story. This one is another idea I've had stewing in my mind for years now and it's quite a bit different from SoT. Still in the fantasy genre, but think more along the lines of elves and dwarves (though neither one appears in my story). So, for the resolution: I will finish the planning and start writing the actual story. That may not sound like much of a resolution, but after what basically amounts to a 6-year planning stage, believe me--it will be a challenge. A third resolution: I will submit SoT wherever I may have a chance of catching somebody's attention. I'm not going to be passive about this (though that is definitely my natural inclination) because the writing world isn't a place for timidity. If I want to get my writing out there for people to read, I can't just sit back and expect it to happen. It's time to actually pursue my dreams. So, there are personal resolutions to go along with these, but they are completely different and aren't going to make their way onto a blog. Trust me when I say, though, that 2012 is going to be a year of changes! Have a wonderful, adventure-filled 2012!

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A TinyLetter Email Newsletter

So, just in case the sporadic postings on here aren't enough (haha), I've decided to try out this "TinyLetter" thing... maybe I'll be a bit more regular about it, like once a month.

Though I have no idea where this writing journey will take me, I am anxious to keep moving forward on the road I see before me. Most of the time I can't any more of the path than the little section on which I'm standing, but I'm learning to live with it. After all, as E.L. Doctorow said, “Writing is like driving at night in the fog. You can only see as far as your headlights, but you can make the whole trip that way.”

I'm definitely not moving fast enough on this journey to feel like I'm driving, so to me I guess it's more like walking with a flashlight. Well, maybe more like a candle...

another baby step

So, I know it has been just about forever since I posted anything on here. Things are pretty crazy right now, it's true, but in all honestly I haven't been writing on here because I haven't really been doing anything with my writing lately. All that has changed recently, though.

I have found the next place I'm going to send my story, known here as DPG (Dream Publishing Group). This time, I am supposed to send a cover letter to introduce my story and myself, a 3-10 page (nice range there, huh?) synopsis that gives every major plot point in my story, and the first 3 chapters. According to the submission guidelines for DPG, every submission gets "reviewed by at least one member of the editorial staff." (I'm going to pretend, just for the sake of keeping my sanity, that that doesn't mean the intern who is assigned the slush pile for the day.)

I'm in the process of writing my synopsis and cover letter right now. The cover letter hasn't been started, but I've worked on the synopsis quite a bit. I typed up 3 pages a couple days ago. However, I then realized that I had somehow managed to write a 3 page synopsis that only covered the first page of my story. At that rate, my synopsis was going to turn into something close to 1,000 pages--for some reason, I don;t think it is supposed to work that way! How is it that I'm finding it more difficult to write about my story than to actually write the story?

Now time for a little brutal honesty (coincidentally, I would be more than happy to let someone read my story if I knew they would be totally, brutally honest with me, but I digress...). It is my dream to write. I've mentioned it before, but it bears repeating, partly for my own benefit. By that, I don't mean I want to be a famous author. I want to write because I can't not write. Of course I want someone to read my writing--it's no fun to tell a story if there's no one to tell it to. Despite this, though, most of the time I feel crazy for wanting this dream. It seems like one of those things most people grow out of, not a dream that keeps growing no matter how much I try to stifle it. I've always been a very logical person, someone who weighs the pros and cons of just about everything. I look at probability and statistics (though I really wasn't a fan of that class in college) and tend to shy away from doing things there's not a very high chance of succeeding at. If you look at the numbers, becoming a novel writer is definitely not something I would consider to have a high probability of success. My scientific, mathematical mind tells me it doesn't make sense to keep chasing this dream.

The deepest part of me, though, just won't let go of it.

for that reason, I'm going to keep writing. I'm going to finish this story and send it out to everyone I think might have an interest in a new, unproven writer. While I'm doing that, I'm going to write more. As crazy as it might be, I've got about 4 more stories floating around in my head right now. I'll write those and send them out, hoping someone out there wants to take a chance on me.

No matter what happens, I'll write because that's the desire of my heart.