30
Jan

WWII Life in the Small Home Town

Mrs_Odboddy_Full_Front (2)

Posted on January 29, 2016
JAMES CALLEN WEBSITE POST

Today’s guest is Elaine Faber, the California writer who generally has a Faber-2scat as the chief sleuth. She departs from that to bring us a story centered around World War II in her latest novel, Mrs. Odboddy – Hometown Patriot. (Of course, there’s a cat in it.) Elaine is a member of Sisters in Crime, Inspire Christian Writers, and Cat Writers Association.

While researching California WWII events, the following events became an integral part of the plotline for Mrs. Odboddy – Hometown Patriot.

Rationing:
The government convinced the Americans public that giving up their precious food, clothing, tires, and other goods was not only necessary to win the war, but was patriotic.

During part of 1942-43, coffee was rationed; one pound every six weeks per adult. This was due to Brazil’s blockade of ships bringing coffee to the United States, as well as the need to send much of the limited supply to the troops.

A citizen could purchase only five tires during the entire war. This sounds like plenty by today’s standards, but neither roads nor tires were as good in 1942 as today. People were strongly encouraged, almost required, to car pool or use bicycles and motorcycles.

Sugar and other food items were extremely expensive and required a ration stamp which limited its purchase. Beef was in short supply and costly, as well as eggs, which induced many a chicken to take up residence in the suburban backyard.

Victory Gardens:
To reduce the reliance on purchasing vegetables and fruit, it was considered patriotic to have your front lawn converted to rows of cabbages, zucchinis, tomatoes and carrots. Even Mrs. Roosevelt planted zucchini in the Rose Garden. Any high producing vegetable in a limited space became the focus of the weekend gardener and the mainstay of many Meatless Meals.

Watch Towers:
Californians and Oregonians lived in fear of Japanese invasion. Volunteers were stationed in watch towers every several miles up and down the coastline with binoculars pointed skyward.

In Mrs. Odboddy–Hometown Patriot, Agnes experiences rationing, volunteering at the Ration Stamp Office, organizing can and paper drives, tending her Victory Garden and cooking meatless meals, fighting the war from the home front. But this eccentric lady also keeps an eye on her nefarious neighbors, some of whom MUST be Nazi spies. She finds herself knee-deep in what is sure to be a black market ration book scam, but when the watch tower burns down on her coast watch shift, she takes the blame to keep a National Security secret.

Toss in the return of an old lover from WWI who wants to re-ignite their romance, chickens in the bathroom and a search for a million dollars in missing Hawaiian money and you have the crux of the story.

When Mrs. Roosevelt comes to Newbury to attend a funeral, and Agnes’s eccentric notions become reality, she must prove she is, indeed, a warrior on the home front.

On Amazon at: http://tinyurl.com/hdbvzsv

Elaine.Faber@mindcandymysteries.com (e-mail)

21
Jun

He said… She said. Why does it matter?

cover_cat_eyes-realistic-face-3

Readers love books with lots of dialogue and not so much narrative. Good dialogue should never just be idle chit-chat or casual conversation. Dialogue moves the storyline forward and is written specifically to create a certain mood.

In the following edited conversation between Brett and Kimberlee, from Black Cat’s Legacy, she shares her darkest secret.

Kimberlee took a deep breath and sighed. “I’ve had nightmares all my life. I never thought they had anything to do with my father’s death.”

“Nightmares?” Brett wrinkled his forehead. “Go on.”

“I remember now. In my dream…maybe it wasn’t a dream... My father is lying at the foot of the stairs and there’s someone standing in the shadows!”

Brett leaned across the table and took her hand. “You were there? You saw the killer?” His grip tightened on her hand. “You know who it was?”

She shook her head. “I heard voices. I came down the stairs. I remember something red, maybe a piece of clothing? I heard a shot and then I saw his…his… body. That’s all I remember.” She laid her head on her arms. “I never realized what it meant. I thought it was just a nightmare.”

“I can’t imagine how you must feel. I want to help get to the bottom of this. What can I do?” Brett’s voice shook
.
She lifted her head. Tears ran down her cheeks. “There is one thing, but I hate to ask.”
“Anything. Just name it. How can I help?” A flicker of concern swept across his face. He squeezed her hand.

“Maybe get me a tissue?” Her eyes crinkled in a smile.

What does this dialogue reveal?
In a few short sentences, we learn that Kimberlee never understood the connection between her nightmares and her father’s murder. We feel empathy for her pain. We see Brett’s increasing attraction to her, and suddenly during this tense moment, she delivers a one-liner that hopefully, if I did my job well, makes you smile.

Even more than the narrative in a story, good dialogue can create drama, romance, angst, or humor. If you can put it all in one conversation, go for it!

The reader doesn’t understand the creative effect of what a writer has done or admire their skill of their craft. They just know that as they read, the dialogue makes them feel they are watching the scene unfold, or better yet, they become one with the characters, feeling their joy, their pain, or their sorrow as they are pulled into the story.

The mark of a good book is when the reader reaches “THE END” and wishes there was another 100 pages. The mark of a GREAT book, is when that same reader searches for the sequel or another book by this same author.

Beyond a good plot, a charming setting or appealing characters, writing dialogue that sings is essential to creating this kind of reader’s response. It contributes to the success or failure of a book and to the writer’s career.

25
Jul

Why Are All Mystery Novels So Similar?

Avid mystery readers, whatever version of mystery they prefer, whether Thriller or Cozy mysteries, read multiple books each year. They acquire their reading material through book sales, garage sales, the library, borrowed from a friend and sometimes, though rarely, actually purchased from the author. At least there is a demand, so there is a need for supply.

Let’s pretend for a minute, we’re an author desirous of launching a new mystery series.

After careful analysis of a number of mysteries, we see a tried and true template; apparently we must follow to guarantee success.
Our story needs a female sleuth, preferably blonde and beautiful. She has a German Shepard in order to capture the animal lovers out there. The dog doesn’t have to help solve the crime, but if he can, so much the better. Now she needs an unusual job or hobby so she can encounter the crime which the inept police force can’t solve. Don’t forget the sweetheart somehow connected to the police department, otherwise how could she access the official information generally withheld from the public?

Sadly, most of the best jobs or hobbies have been taken by other mystery series’. We already have book store owners, catering services, coffee houses, writers, and private detectives, to name just a few. We need a career that hasn’t been done to death, but one that will give our sleuth access to plenty of material. It is going to be a series, after all.septic tank px

How about a lady sewer technician who pumps out septic tanks? She’d be in plenty of back yards spotting nefarious going’s-on, or how about the Jehovah’s Witness that goes door to door handing out literature. Plenty of opportunities to look beyond the screen door and see someone bound and gagged…

Maybe not. Let’s stick with the 'sewer-pumper-outer'.

So let’s see…to follow the template formula. The plumber and her quirky sidekick (did I forget the quirky friend?) find a body in the pump house. Proceed to red herrings, a romantic interlude, unrequited love, and suspicious characters, all with alibis. Lots of flavor of plumbing tossed in, stopped up toilets, overflowing bathtubs, (a humorous scene or two), and move right on to the climax where our heroine goes alone to meet the villain in a warehouse, but doesn’t tell anyone where she’s going. She is captured, strung up by her thumbs to the rafters, death being imminent until her detective boyfriend and her dog burst down the door and save her life. The murderer is revealed, every toilet is unstopped, every drain unplugged and the heroine and detective ride off into the sunset in the sewer-truck. The end.

That’s the template. Lots of ways to change up the various topics; hobbies, quirky friend, red herrings, suspects, romantic interludes, murder, theft, kidnapping, contraband, illegal alien housekeeper, secret message or what-have-you that begins the mystery, identity of villain (always the most unexpected member of the cast) and final climax, etc. This is the formulaic template, with assorted variations, that most mysteries novels follow.

When will a brave author be willing to break the mold, or at least one who dares to write a mystery that doesn’t end with the heroine strung up in the barn (figuratively speaking)? Sadly, as long as the public is willing to buy these trite storylines, mystery books will continue to follow the same template.

What are your thoughts about books with similar storylines?

12
Apr

WHAT IS A COZY MYSTERY?

BCL-bookmark-front-1

• Reader is usually a woman who easily identifies with the protagonist.

• Often, protagonist is an outgoing, friendly woman, 30+ years old, with an interesting job or hobby. This provides the opportunity to solve a mystery she never asked for, but is obligated to solve.

• The setting is a community or location providing a sense of camaraderie and frequent contact with the population or patrons. (e.g., small town, college campus, coffee house, gymnasium, cruise ship.)

• Protagonist is an animal lover and often has a dog or cat. She has a sense of humor and a good deal of humor is mixed into the story line.

• She has a friend or boyfriend connected with the police department. This provides access to legal material and information.

• Cozies are frequently a series. Emphasis is on the plot and character development. Readers become emotionally attached to the characters and want to ‘go back’ and spend more time with that character and community. Readers often choose the series or author due to setting which may provide instructions, recipes or household hints. (e.g. knitting shop may give knitting pattern. Bakery or caterer gives recipes.

No graphic sex. Any suggested sex is always behind closed doors. No explicit violence. Any death occurs off screen or in the past. We never harm a child or kill a cat. No profanity. The story is suitable for younger readers or those who prefer a clearer read.

Multiple hints or clues (red herrings) are provided so the reader can play along as she reads and attempt to solve the crime with the protagonist.

Murder with a lighter touch. Never a storyline or situation that lingers to trouble your mind or keep you up at night. Reading a cozy mystery allows you to escape from reality for a while, have fun and forget your troubles.

Black Cat’s Legacy: With the aid or his ancestors’ memories, Thumper, the lodge black cat, must help solve a cold case murder, but someone at the lodge will stop at nothing to hide the Fern Lake mystery. Elaine Faber Author

4
Mar

BLACK CAT'S LEGACY - AVAILABLE NOW

EXCERPT from BLACK CAT’S LEGACY: See BOOKS FOR SALE TO ORDERcover_cat_eyes-realistic-face-3

Kimberlee pulled her suitcases from under the bed and flipped them open.
“What are you doing, Mama?” (Amanda, four year old daughter)
“Let’s go now. We can visit the elephants tomorrow morning.”
“I don’t want to go,” Amanda whined, clasping Thumper to her chest in a death grip. “I don’t want to weave Fumper. He’s my fwiend. He woves me.” Tears puddled in her eyes. Her little mouth quivered.
Kimberlee put her arms around Amanda and the cat. “We were just staying for a little while to visit, Amanda, and now it’s time to leave. When we get settled, I’ll get you another cat, just like Thumper.” Her smile felt forced, but for Amanda’s sake, she’d do anything to make her smile.
“I don’t want anovver cat. I want Fumper.”
She tried to pry Thumper from Amanda’s arms. Amanda clung tighter. “Don’t you want to see the ocean and the wild animals in the park?”
Amanda nodded. “Yeesss.” She pulled away from Kimberlee’s grip. “But I wove Fumper. Can he go wif us, Mama?”
“Oh, I don’t think so. He belongs to Mrs. Herman.” Kimberlee stared at the cat, looking like a furry toy, his black tail swishing across Amanda’s tummy, his long fur spilling over her arms. As she stared, Thumper’s big gold eyes locked on hers. In that instant, he became the symbol of Herman’s Motor Lodge and Brett and the two-faced jealous twit, Dorian. She trembled.
Mrs. Herman’s ugly voice echoed in her ears. ‘There has always been a Black Cat at Herman’s Motor Lodge.’ She’d been so proud, her chest all puffed up like a turkey gobbler. ‘Why, I think we just might go out of business if we didn’t have our very own Black Cat.’ The old bat!
Kimberlee’s hands shook, her chest heaved. Her heart beat so fast, she thought it might burst through her chest. Go out of business? Hell. The place could burn to the ground for all she cared. Here was something she could do to strike a blow for all the pain they’d caused her. It would serve them right if their precious Black Cat disappeared in the night and the lodge went broke because of it.
“Good idea. Let’s go.” She picked up the two suitcases. Amanda clutched Thumper around his middle and waddled to the door. His long body hung loose, his legs reaching almost to her knees.
Kimberlee slammed the cabin door a little harder than needed and propelled her daughter toward the car. She flung the suitcases into the trunk with a thud and slammed the lid.
She snatched Thumper from Amanda and tossed him into the front seat.
She strapped Amanda in her car seat, slid under the steering wheel and slammed the car door. She glanced toward Brett’s cabin.
His cabin door blurred through her tears. Where was he? He might at least come out and say good-bye. Maybe try to stop her. Maybe not. But, could she blame him after the way she spoke to him? She wiped her eyes on the back of her sleeve, turned the key and gunned the engine. Gravel flew, her tires spun as she barreled toward the street.
At the edge of the sidewalk, she brought the car to a stop. What about the motel bill? They had her credit card. They could charge her credit card for the blasted motel room. Her tires peeled rubber on the asphalt. “We’re going to Oregon.”
Kimberlee glanced in the rear view mirror. She caught sight of Amanda waving good-bye to the lodge. Hadn’t Jack told her about a little girl waving from the back of a yellow taxi? And now she understood how her mother could abandon her house, her friends, everything that Fern Lake represented. She, too, wanted to forget. Mother could not leave it behind. Whatever happened that night had followed her day after day until it destroyed her.
Would she ever forget her father’s sins? Probably not. Could she forgive herself for Jack’s tragedy? Not likely. She pressed the gas pedal to the floor and reveled in the roar of her engine, every minute taking her further and further away from Fern Lake, Herman’s Motor Lodge.
Kimberlee clutched the steering wheel, her head thrust forward, her eyes scanning the road, rocketing down the road toward the freeway and Oregon.
Thumper stood on the seat, his front paws on the window ledge. He leaped over the seat and snuggled down beside Amanda. His purr, a throaty purr, rattled through the car in a steady rhythm that sounded content. Perhaps he understood the symbolism he represented and had aligned himself with the Resistance. For, surely, he had gone willingly with his captors into the night.

BLACK CAT’S LEGACY IS AVAILABLE NOW. PRE-ORDER ABOVE AT BOOKS FOR SALE.
SPECIAL PRICE - $13.00 pay with PAYPAL
FREE SHIPPING WITHIN USA

Available at Amazon by April 1, 2014

30
Nov

The Year of the Christmas Stick

Christmas Stick

In the early 1980’s, when my kids were young teenagers, we had to close our business, leaving us in debt. Collection agency calls came almost daily. I paid my house payment with the Visa card. We gave up a 1972 Cadillac convertible to settle a business obligation. The IRS emptied our meager bank account (without notice) to pay the overdue California sales taxes, resulting in bounced checks all over town.

Christmas came and we were in a bad way, financially. No way was there money for a Christmas tree.

My husband brought home a beautiful manzanita branch, mounted it on a base and decorated it with red Christmas balls. Not the traditional Christmas tree, to be sure, but pretty. We set our few presents underneath.

Hubby and I were prepared to deal with the substitute tree, trusting that things would be better next year. The kids hated it, calling it the Christmas Stick. They were embarrassed when their friends came to visit.

We muddled through that financial disaster, took a second mortgage on the house at 14% interest (true) and paid off all the debts. The next Christmas we were back on our feet and had a real Christmas tree.

I was thinking the other day that sometime in our life, we should all have a Year of the Christmas Stick. A year when we can’t afford to buy the children expensive gifts that break before New Year’s Day. A season where we do without the luxuries we’re used to, Christmas trees, lights in the front yard, presents and expensive holiday outings. A year when we become one with folks out there, by virtue of unemployment, natural disaster or illness, who are without a tree, without gifts, for that matter, maybe without a home with a chimney for Santa to slid down.

It’s been over forty years since the Year of the Christmas Stick. On Christmas Day, as our family stumbles from the table loaded down with turkey and all the fixings and we gaze at our ten- foot- tall Christmas tree with gifts piled high, we’ll laugh about the Year of The Christmas Stick. But we remember its message.

We are grateful for the important things. We are blessed with our families, our health, our faith, all gifts from God. We remember to share our bounty with those who are in need. Folks who might think they were blessed to have a Christmas Stick with a few presents underneath even if it was just sweaters and pajamas and sox, like my kids got that year.

I remember how hard things were when we closed the business and struggled to make ends meet, wondering how we could make good on our business debts, keep our home and feed our kids. We struggled and persevered and made do with a manzanita branch for a Christmas tree. Looking back, I remember and thank God for the Year of the Christmas Stick. We all learned lessons I hope we will never forget.

29
Sep

WHAT'S ALL THE FUSS ABOUT STARBUCKS?

coffeecupcoffee-dryingpatio-coffeeresearchorgcoffee-harvesting-cherries-coffeeresearchorgHave you thought about your cup of Starbucks? What’s its story, anyway?
THE COFFEE BEAN: The United States imports more coffee than any other nation. In 2009 the average person in the United States consumed 9 lbs of coffee. Brazil is responsible for approximately 45% of the world's total coffee exports.
The coffee bean is a seed of the coffee plant, the source for coffee. The pit inside the fruit is called a berry or cherry. Even though they are seeds, they are called beans because of their resemblance to true beans.
PICKING/DRYING: When the coffee bean is ripe, it is almost always handpicked. There are two methods of processing the coffee beans. The first method is wet processing. The flesh of the berries is separated from the seeds and then the seeds are fermented–soaked in water for about two days. This dissolves any pulp or sticky residue that may still be attached to the seeds. They are then washed and dried in the sun, or in drying machines.
The dry processing method is used for lower quality seeds. Foreign objects are separated from the berries and the fruit is then spread out in the sun for 2–3 weeks, and raked regularly by hand. The outer shell of the beans turns brown and the beans rattle around inside. Once the beans are dried, all of the layers are removed from the beans (this process is called hulling). Occasionally, beans may be polished in a machine to remove that last little bit of silver skin. Beans are then graded and sorted, first by size, then by density. Beans of unsatisfactory size, color, or otherwise unacceptable, are removed. The green beans are bagged and shipped to buyers around the world−to coffee buyers and then to Starbucks!
ROASTING: The green coffee beans are heated in large, rotating drums using temperatures up to 550 F. The tumbling motion of the drums keeps the beans from burning. Roasting time depends on the desired coffee strength−seven minutes for a light roast to fourteen minutes for espresso.
GRIND: The proper grind brings out the most flavor. Generally, the finer the grind the more quickly the coffee should be prepared. Coffee ground for an espresso machine should be ground finer than coffee brewed in a drip system.
BREWING: Before you brew your coffee, take a moment. Smell their aroma. Think of the many processes these beans have gone through since the day they were hand-picked and sorted in their origin country. Consider the long way they have traveled to your kitchen. Prepare your coffee thoughtfully and enjoy it with pleasure. Many people have been instrumental in bringing it to your cup.
WRITERS CORNER: Like the journey of the coffee bean, as writers we travel a long road from the idea of a novel to its completion. Take time to research for accuracy, fully develop your characters and your plot. Bring it to its fruitful conclusion with care and thoughtfulness.
EVERYONE ELSE: Never undertake a project or a journey without a specific plan, whether it’s baking bread or taking a trip across town. Without consideration of whether you have all the needed ingredients, your bread could be dry and tasteless. If you don’t have a mental GPS of how to get where you’re going, you could end up in Timbuktu. (Metaphorically speaking).

19
Sep

The Swallows Return to Capistrano

capistranoThey say the swallows fly 7000 miles from Argentina every spring headed for Southern California. Perhaps one day, on the flight south, Father Sparrow spotted the San Juan Mission located on the plains, next to the wetlands. “Whoa, guys,” he may have tweeted, using today’s vernacular. “Check out that pond full of mud, those orange groves over yonder full of insects, and the lovely bare mission arches. Let us, forthwith, suspend our travels and build our nests here.” And all the tired swallows flew down to feast and build their nests and raise their young. The weather wasn’t that bad, either.

So every year after, they returned to the mission on or about March 19th to spend a thrill-filled summer, raising a family and blessing the mission with lovely twittering songs until mid- October, when they headed back to Argentina.

Along came 1939, and Glenn Miller wrote a song, immortalizing the swallows and the town, bringing tourists to San Jan Capistrano to visit the Mission, built in 1776, to see the miracle of the swallows returning every spring on almost the same day. City fathers rejoiced, making merry with parades and souvenirs, food and song…and made money.

]When the swallows come back to Capistrano

That‘s the day I pray that you’ll come back to me.

Enter the development crews who noted the increasing public interest in the fair city. They drained the wetlands, built shopping centers and cut down the orange groves to build apartment buildings and housings. And the town grew. In 1990, the church noted all the expanding tourism at the mission. They decided to remodel those nasty old bare arches left standing after the 1812 earthquake, so they knocked down all the swallow’s nests to renovate…and the swallows stopped coming.

Despite frantic efforts to bring the swallows back to the mission, which now includes fake nests on the arches and piped in mating calls meant to woo the birds, it’s all for naught. Only a few sparrows come to the mission these days. Most nest under bridges or in the eaves of the taco stand down the street. They say it was a combination of knocking down the nests, draining the wetlands and taking away their food source. Do you think?

Authors: Don’t risk changing your writing from a genre that has been successful. “Forget Victorian Romance,” some may say, “Try Horror-Fantasy-Thriller-Sci-Fi. You’ll like it.” If it ain’t broke, don’t fix it. That’s not original, by the way. Stick with what you know. If you love writing Victorian Romance, forsooth, keep writing it.

Regular Folks: Remember family traditions. Bake the marble cake with lemon icing that your son always asked for on his birthday−even if he’s 40. Put up the manger scene at Christmas− even if the kids won’t be home this year. And don’t forget the note in your husband’s sandwich. One bite and he’ll find the note, saying, I love you. Don’t risk changing the traditions that made your memories beautiful. Don’t drive away the swallows. They may never return.

19
Sep

A Cat And Mouse Story

mousedroppingsONCE upon a time, or so the fable goes, there was a colony of mice who were tormented almost daily by the tattered old cat that lived down the way. Almost daily, as the less wary mice fell prey to the tattered old cat, the colony diminished in size. On a dreary day in the month of May, having heard yet again of the demise of another citizen, the mayor of the mouse colony called a town hall meeting to discuss this disturbing matter.

The mayor stood tall upon the top of a match box and shouted to his diminutive mouse constituents. “What can be done about this conundrum threatening our health and welfare?”

The towns-mice had no solution, having discussed the issue ad-nauseum and laying the blame to everything from feline over-population to unemployment.

One small mouse spoke up. “You all agree that the sly cat has made our lives miserable by the treacherous manner in which he sneaks around on padded feet. If there was a way we could be forewarned of his approach, we could scamper away and avoid his murderous attacks. Therefore, I propose that we break open the General Disaster Fund and purchase a small bell, string it to a ribbon and attach it to his tail.”

“Can’t happen,” said the Mayor Mouse. The General Disaster Fund is reserved against the day of a natural disaster, like a flood or famine. This is neither flood nor famine. We’ll have to raise a new tax to meet the demands of this monstrous issue.”

The towns-mice applauded and shouted in unison, “Let’s do that. Raise a new tax.” A motion was made and carried to tax each mouse according to his means, laying the highest tax on the worker-mouse as the wealthiest among them had tax breaks and the poorest received cheese subsidies. The motion was voted on and passed. They would announce a tax, purchase a bell and proceed with the plan. Faint music could be heard in the background as an old mouse stepped forward, “But who’ll tie the bell on the old cat’s tail,” said the wise old mouse. “Who’ll tie the bell on the old cat’s tail, so we’ll know when he’s around the house?”

The towns-mice, having no answer, and with meetings to attend, scampered away.

Then the old mouse said. “Foolish mice. It is easy to propose impossible remedies, harder to accomplish the goal, when you consider all the impediments.”

Author Corner: “I’m going to write a book about my life.” Foolish people. We laugh. Only another author knows what is involved between the plan and publisher. And then there’s the marketing! Only when one has a true calling to write can one devote the time, energy, commitment, perseverance, luck, and skill to begin, complete and sell a novel in today’s market.

Everyday Folks: If you have a seemingly insurmountable problem, try discussing it with someone with a different perspective. Then, listen to what they have to say. Now with all points of view on the table, you’ll have a complete understanding of the problem and be able reach a plausible solution.

2
Sep

Angels All Around Us. Fact or Fiction?

balaamsangelangel and bridgecolorDO OTHER RELIGIONS BELIEVE IN ANGELS? Angels are part of many religions including Christianity, Islam, and Buddhism and are mentioned in the Bible as well as in the Qur'an and Hadith. All religions agree that angels are divine spiritual beings sent by God as messengers to comfort, or to protect in time of great need.

ANGELS IN THE BIBLE: The Bible includes many interactions and conversations between angels and humans. The most remembered− the Archangel Gabriel visited the Virgin Mary to foretell the birth of Jesus Christ.* Angels directed the shepherds to the stable where Jesus was born.** Following the Resurrection of Jesus, an angel rolled back the stone and spoke to Mary Magdalene.***

DO WE STILL BELIEVE IN ANGELS? In the US, a 2008 survey polled 1,700 respondents, and found that fifty-five percent of Americans, including one in five of those who say they are not religious, believe that they have been protected by a guardian angel during their life. Thousands of personal accounts have reported interactions with angels.

BALAAM’S DONKEY: One interesting story from the Bible describes the prophet Balaam who was instructed by God to deliver a specific message. Three times Balaam beats his donkey when it stops in the middle of the road. Finally the donkey turns and speaks aloud, “I can’t move forward? Can’t you see that Angel with a sword, standing right in front of us, blocking the road? Why are you beating me?”
Balaam answers, “Because you won’t obey. If I had a sword, I’d kill you!” Finally he sees the angel who delivers God’s message and Balaam obeys. (Loose translation.)##The amazing thing is that Balaam wasn’t the least bit amazed when his donkey spoke aloud to him. Instead, he argues and curses the donkey. Something to think about…But we’ll deal with talking animals another day.

FINAL THOUGHTS: The angels in the Bible are described as masculine. In the middle century, art and mythology depicted angels as female and artists added wings. Nowadays, angels could look like any one of us. The prophet in Hebrews admonished us to be kind, even to strangers, as they may be angels in disguise.

AUTHOR CORNER: Whatever success you’ve achieved as an author is due to many people who mentored and helped you learn your craft: writing coaches, critique partners, agents, publishers and other authors. Now you can be someone’s angel by mentoring, helping and encouraging new and budding authors. Be honest but remember, a kind word goes a long way to ease a tough critique.

EVERYONE ELSE: Donkeys can be stubborn and contrary. Sometimes they hold back when they should move forward. Angels lend a helping hand in time of need. Who knows? The person you meet on any particular day may need an angel. Or…he may BE an angel. Be not forgetful to entertain strangers, for thereby some have entertained angels unawares. Hebrews 13:2**** It’s your choice. Donkey…or angel?

* Luke 1:26
** Luke 2:10
*** Matthew 28:5
****Hebrews 13:2
## Numbers 22

Back to Top