The Sword of Senack Release

Over five years ago, I met a crazy girl at Sam’s Club. I never expected a lifelong friendship to be forged while waiting in line for a pretzel.

We shared more than our love of carbs. We were both closeted writers and soon, we began sharing our “attempts” at fiction. Let me just say, it wasn’t pretty. In fact, let me share an excerpt of Elisa’s first draft:

Did you hear that? Funny how loud a hundred pound woman sounds falling off her chair. Hahaha. No worries, E. It’s safe—for now.

Elisa’s second child, the boy she always wanted, died from birth defects at only three months. Recently she published her journal as a way of helping others manage their grief, called The Golden Sky. In it, she shows us what it’s like to lose a child—lose everything—and yet, come back stronger and more determined.

This determination was the driving force behind The Sword of Senack. She had her oldest child with a patchwork of memories of her little brother and subsequent children with only photos and endless questions. In an effort to settle her children’s curiosities and to help them cope, she filled their minds not of death and loss, but with wonder, magic, and love.

Each night Elisa would tell the story of young Jack and his quest. It grew more grand and elaborate as her children begged for more witches, pirates, mermaids, and magic. Not only did they love the story, but it also brought them closer to their lost brother—Zeke.

Sometimes writers are inspired by a question, a memory, a dream. Elisa’s story came from the best inspiration of all: the love of a child lost and the hope of the children remaining.

The Sword of Senack is introduced at a low price of $.99. And look at this cover! Fantastic. 

Click to Amazon

If you want more information about the author, please visit her blog at ecwrites.blogspot.com there you will find links to her publisher’s site and her web page. 

. 

Description from Amazon of The Sword of Senack: 

Aliya Fisher knows nothing about her true heritage until a vindictive sorceress kidnaps her brother and sister. The young adventurer must take up her birthright, battle strange creatures, and find the Sword of Senack if she hopes to best the witch. But even if Aliya finds the famed weapon and survives the perilous oceanic journey, the enchantress is far more than she appears. How does one defeat an immortal who lusts for revenge? 

The Reluctant Mom Meets the Pretzel Pixie

I moved away from my birthplace about eleven years ago, which was quite an accomplishment for this mama's girl. My husband had an opportunity he didn't want to pass on, so I put on my big girl hat and we moved to another state. I didn't jump back into my career, instead we decided to start a family.  

I love being able to stay at home and take care of my kids, but it isn’t easy. We didn’t move here with readymade friends, so my new social life consisted of a few neighbors and my little ones. Until an ordinary shopping trip to Sam’s Club changed everything. 

After buying an ultra-grande box of diapers and wipes, my two children and I waited in line for a pretzel. In case you haven’t tried a Sam’s Club pretzel, I highly recommend it. My stomach dips and rumbles with anticipation as I stroll through the warehouse aisles, waiting for the buttery, salty yumminess to slip down my throat. The line was long, but I wanted my  pretzel. I wasn't going to leave without one. 

A woman behind me complimented my daughter's irresistible cuteness. I smiled, but didn’t encourage chitchat. You really have to be careful who you meet nowadays and even though she looked like a pixie, I knew not to trust her. Pixies can be dangerous, right?

The line soon came to an abrupt halt when the trainee had some sort of Code Blue. The pixie lady took the opportunity and chattered away and cooed at my baby boy. 

“He’s darling,” she said. Her smile looked genuine enough—a bit too eager for my liking.

“Thanks.”

Yeah, I know I don’t sound so friendly, maybe even a tad cold, but that pixie had a good complexion. A complexion so perfect I just knew she had to be an Avon lady or even one of those pink Cadillac driving Mary Kay salesperson of the year.

As I used my Jedi mind tricks on the cashier to hurry along with the orders ahead of me, my daughter started playing with her two little girls, bouncing around and giggling. Thankfully, the line started moving and I got my buttery, salty pretzel and bucket of diet coke. I smiled and said goodbye to the pixie and wandered through the crowd to find a table. 

Somewhere along the way, my daughter had other plans. She turned around and returned to the pixie lady and asked them to join us. Horror filled my face, not only did my little girl run from my side, but she was bringing the pixie cosmetics pusher over to me. I vowed that she’d be grounded until she was five if I ended up with a jar of must-have wrinkle cream. The woman’s smile grew as she and her little girls strolled over to the table.

“Your daughter is so sweet, she asked us to join you. Would that be all right?”

I smiled and shrugged, probably mumbled for her to sit down. I let her do most of the talking. She told me how hard it was making friends in a new city. She apparently just moved from California. We live in a predominately LDS (Mormon) community and meeting people can be hard if you aren’t of the same faith—or at least, it feels that way. I related to her problem because I was baptized LDS, but don’t go to church. And although I have two busy kids and hardworking husband, I really didn’t have much of a social life.

So maybe the Pixie wasn’t as crazy as I thought she was. The pixie just wanted a friend. But why in the world would she choose me. I’m the opposite of pixie. I have a hard time keeping my opinions to myself, I don’t talk to strangers in the Sam’s Club line, and I don’t trust easily. This girl looked like she breathed in Disneyland fairy tales. What would we have in common besides our kids? 

The Pixie asked for my number and I gave her mine, but vowed to file it away and never use it. A month later, the Pixie called and nearly five years after that, I’m happy to say she is one of my dearest friends. She is like a kindred spirit to me—a person I was destined to meet. I strongly believe there was a force greater than the pangs of longing for that pretzel when I met my pixie friend.

We are vastly different in so many ways, except for the ones that count. I look forward to our “Good Moorling” conversations and know that no matter what we’ll always be friends.

Sometimes in life, stepping out of your comfort zone is the thing that saves you. A person can tread water for only so long before he has to swim. Take chances in life and in your writing. I heard a saying once to write what you know. But to me, that’s like waiting in line for a pretzel and ignoring possibilities of something better—something lasting.

Do you experiment with your writing? Step out of your comfort zone? Or have you ever had a situation happen that lead you on a journey you never imagined?

Is This Being Recorded For Quality Assurance?

I’m fortunate enough to be in a critique group with two of my best friends. I love these women. When it comes to writing, they are the wind beneath my wings, the ice in my diet coke, the ketchup on my mac and cheese. I rely on them to steer me in the right direction and to scream and shout when I’m not. We have a system, and our system works.

For the last year, things have been rolling smoothly. Then along came a nasty four-letter word: B-L-O-G.

That’s right, blog. Our free flowing creative brains are now full of muck. No more plotting discussions or writing exercises. The grand stories we’ve toiled over for months are collecting dust because of hopping, tweeting, and following. You’d think these ladies might feel resentful with all this blogging business, but they are like little girls at a slumber party, giggling and plotting.

No one’s safe from my blogging friends.

With phone in hand to take an easy picture or send a quick tweet, these women are blog ready. Their eyes search any room they inhabit for that one subject worthy of a new post. They listen in on conversations, awaiting a juicy tidbit in some poor sap’s life that will get a chuckle. A funny sign in a restroom or an embarrassing moment in a family member’s past. Nothing is off limits as long as names can be changed to protect the oblivious.

I’m not immune either. After telling one of them, who we’ll call “Unfortunate Mary,” about a problem with a friend, I knew I wouldn’t be safe again.

“I’m worried about a friend of mine,” I said during one of our early morning chats. “She’s having intense breast pain.”

“Does she think it's cancer?” Concern filled Unfortunate Mary’s voice.

“She read somewhere that too much caffeine causes pain and swelling in breast tissue, so she’s not worried about it.”

There was a long pause on the other end of the phone, which should’ve clued me in.

“Swelling, huh?” She paused again. “Hmmm. Interesting.”

I knew by the tone in her voice that Unfortunate Mary had a plan—a blogging plan. She’d already posted about the lack of curves in her upper body and the pitfalls of wearing a training bra as an adult.

“How much caffeine do you think is too much?” she asked.

“Are you kidding me? It causes pain.”

“But it could be a really funny experiment and depending on the swelling . . . ”

I finally managed to dissuade Unfortunate Mary, although I heard she has a fancy new coffee maker.

Are you an obsessed blogger too? Do you have a little notebook stashed away just in case you discover a new post idea? Is your phone chirping from the new emails/tweets on your iPhone at all hours of the day?  ;)