Mister Marmee Has Returned - The Case of the Wayward Fae Is Now Available

There are some moments in life that are worth celebrating. Marriage. The birth of a child. The big promotion. Getting that goiter removed. For me, I have tremendous cause for celebration because my second novel, The Case of the Wayward Fae ~ A Chronicle of Mister Marmee, was released on December 7, 2013, just in time for the Christmas holiday. I know, I know. We are two months past the release date, and I am only now getting around to posting about it on my blog. I never said I was the best PR person in the business or very good at marketing in general.

The truth of the matter is, it felt like the release day would never get here. Not the announcement part....the release part. The journey to bringing The Case of the Wayward Fae was a hard one. It was paved with sweat, as one would expect, but it was also paved with pieces of my shattered heart.

I suppose every novel can be described as a labor of love, but for this novel, it could not be more true. As most readers will discover when they reach the conclusion of this adventure, tucked within the 'Thank You' at the end of the book, is the soft, nuggety truth behind this story. The Case of the Wayward Fae might never have been completed. At least not for a long, long time. I know. It sounds a bit dramatic, but it is true.

My real-life Sir Happy Heart...my inspiration for the dachshund detective in the Chronicles of Mister Marmee...passed away February 19, 2013 before I had completed the novel. I was roughly two thirds of the way through the manuscript when my world was shattered by his loss. His death was not a peaceful one, at least not peaceful for my heart, and I did not know if I would be able to finish the story that had begun so joyfully with him laying by my side. Every time I looked at my computer, the brittle pieces of heart that I had managed to gingerly pull back together fell apart once again. I could not write the words without feeling the emptiness on the bed beside me.

The voice of the story seemed to die with my boy as if he held in his tender paw the key to it all. There was silence in my head and in my heart. No words would come to me. There was an emptiness in me that defied expression. I wondered if I would ever hear the rich tones of Sir Happy Heart's and Mister Marmee's voices in my mind again; there distinct Bristish accents bantering back and forth. I wondered if my heart could bear to hear them. I often wondered if my heart could bear their crushing silence.


It took time, but in the aftermath of my loss, I found my way back to Victorian London. Slowly, the ending of the story took shape, and miraculously, I found my way to the last word of the final chapter. But it was months...MONTHS before I could bring myself to touch the novel for editing. My heart was too broken. Too shattered. There were too many eerie parallels between the story I had written and what had happened when I had lost my boy. The parallels were unintended and were written when my world was whole and full of happiness and the sounds of my real-life Sir Happy Heart. After he was gone, I found every excuse under the sun NOT to touch the manuscript again. I  even cleaned out my fridge. Who does that unless it is out of sheer desperation or under direct order from the Centers for Disease Control?

I found a lovely program called SmartEdit that enabled me to begin the process of editing my novel in a more clinical way. I lanced the adverbs and slashed the repetition. I boiled the clichés and the bad word usage right out of my novel without ever breaking a sweat or shedding a tear. It took the sting out of the emotional prose I had written and turned them into cold text that I could analyze without breaking my heart over and over again. It gave me time to heal. Then, when I was ready, I read my story.

This time I cried; not because my heart was broken from the loss of my boy but because I felt the triumph of seeing him once more gallivant across the page. The characteristics that made me love him in life were captured in all their charming glory. He was not lost to me. He was alive again in the pages of my book. Oh yes, I cut and pasted and bled upon the pages, "killing the little darlings" I had worked so hard to write over the two years of this book's creation. I would be lying if I said my words came out perfect the first time, but even in their imperfection, I could see him. My Sir Happy Heart. The little tenacious boy I love still. Though I miss him as much today as I did the moment he left me, I feel a comfort in knowing he is near me once again as I write.

In fact, one of the reasons why it has taken me so long to make this post is the fact the voices of Sir Happy Heart and Mister Marmee have been hounding me with a vengeance. The third installment of the Chronicles of Mister Marmee is well on its way. The Christmas holiday proved very productive and gave the story a boost I could only have dreamed of.

The Case of the Monkey's Misfortune is proving to be a fun adventure and every bit as unexpected as the first two novels. I cannot wait to see where the story will take me to next. The one thing I know for certain, above all other truths. No matter where the story leads, Sir Happy will be with me, walking by my side through each and every word. Wherever we end up, I know now we will journey there together, just as we always did.

If you enjoyed this post, don't forget to join the community by clicking 'Join this site' on the right or by following via Google+. Checkout H.L. Stephen's novels 'The Case of Jack the Nipper' and 'The Case of the Wayward Fae', available at Amazon and Barnes & Noble.





Life Lessons From My Dog: Throwing Off the Shackles of a Sophisticated World

Grow up. Act your age. Be an adult. Be serious.

We have all heard these phrases before; either directed at us or someone we know. If we are old enough, perhaps we have even found cause to say them ourselves in moments of anger or frustration. So often, there comes a turning point in our lives, when these phrases cease to be just phrases that are spoken out of a moment of rash impatience. They become our mantra....our identity....the banner by which we live our lives, where we no longer identify with the child we once were. Where there is no room in our hearts for that child to exist.

The moment tends to come when we reach that magic age of maturity. At that golden pinnacle of maturation, we are expected to grow up. Be mature. Put away childish things to embrace a world that is serious and sophisticated. We replace Kool-Aid with mixed drinks. We pretend to be chic - cooler and hipper than we really are. We scoff at the simple pleasures that used to bring us joy, like chasing fireflies in the back yard and walking barefoot in the grass. We seek instead to fill our lives with more grown-up noises and distractions, as though somehow sophistication will make our lives feel more meaningful and fulfilled. We forget what it feels like to be silly and care free, because in our grown-up world, part of being grown-up means taking the weight of the world upon our shoulders and plugging our ears to the sounds of joyful jingles and silly giggles.

I have felt the growing weight of my grown up world as of late, and I have, at times, felt suffocated beneath the burdens it has laid upon my already over-burdened shoulders. I have found little solace, or joy for that matter, in the sophistication and serious demeanor the world has taken on around me. I marvel at the letdown I feel in the environment I once craved so much as a burgeoning young woman. I could find no comfort in any of it. Not the noise. Not the sophistication. Not the grown-up ways. I thought I would be swept away by it all until a simple, little fluff of joy showed me the secret to maintaining my sanity in the midst of my crazy, grown-up life.

My secret lies with Peanut Pumpkin Pie. She just turned nine years old. That means by human standards, she is very mature. In fact, some might even go so far as to categorize her as having passed the old fart stage and slipped well into her Sansabelt-wearing, shuffleboard playing years. She is mostly blind in one eye, she had her right knee reconstructed, she has issues with her gall bladder, and she has a touch of arthritis that plagues her when the weather grows cold or when the air conditioner is turned up too high. She has a retinue of medicines that have to be taken on a schedule; some of which are compounded by our local pharmacist. She is a mess, but you better not tell her any of that, because Peanut won't listen to you. She is too busy enjoying life.

Peanut doesn't "act her age;" she defies it. She is the same silly billie baby she was when she was little. I have had her since she was six weeks old, so I should know. Maybe it is because no one has ever told her what her limitations should be. I never set the ground rules on how she should act, aside from 'don't poop on the floor' and 'no chewing mommy's shoes'. Even such transgressions would be forgiven were they to occur. I have just spent the last nine years relishing the joy Peanut brings to my life; the uncomplicated, silly, undemanding, pleasurable joy that comes from the life we share together.

Peanut and I wear silly clothes together. I have often said if I were to open a line of shops, they would be a string of 'Mommy and Me' boutiques where eccentric owners like me could buy matching outfits for themselves and their pets. Sweaters, shirts, coats, flashy shoes, the works! The sky would be the limit as far as what I would offer. Not because I view pets as an accessory to be dressed up and shown off but because pets are too integral a part of our lives to be given anything less than what is equal to what we give ourselves.

Peanut and I play with the same toys. I have often assaulted and annoyed my fellow shoppers with my incessant need to test the squeakability of the dog toys I contemplate buying my little angel. In my mind, it must have the right tone, texture, and look to be acceptable for my Peanut. And not just any toy will do. It has to be something that will bring out the smile on her face; the smile that I love so much.

We sing together, break bread together, do laundry together, read books, tell stories, run amok, you name it. There are so many things Peanut and I share. I could enumerate them all, and still never reach the end of the list because something new would come along and add itself just at the moment when I thought I had reached its ending. Peanut is full of surprises and so is my life with her.

With Peanut, I am not sophisticated. I giggle like a child when she kisses my face. I seek her kisses just so I can feel the giggles bubble up from my tummy and burst forth, lightening my heart in a way nothing else can. I run in the grass with her like a gangly adolescent; awkward and graceless, true, but oblivious to anything but the joy I feel when that little smiley face looks back at me. I roll on the floor when we play in the house; forgetting that I am "too old" for such childish behavior. We share popsicles together, and I always give her the best part. I kiss her nose with abandon, never contemplating the germ count or what she might have been sniffing or licking before coming to say hi.

Everything in life is sweeter for me when Peanut is near. I have often wondered why that is. Why does Peanut transform the world for me? Why does she make my life so special? One day the veil was lifted, and I was blessed with a rare moment of understanding. Every day, Peanut renews and rekindles the child in me. She reminds me what it feels like to embrace the wonder and the innocence in the world around me. She helps me throw off the shackles of my oppressive "grown-up" ways so I can once again find the joy in chasing fireflies and walking barefoot in the grass.

With Peanut in my life, I can see the pictures in the clouds as they float by. She helps me believe in fantastical possibilities, which are the essence of the worlds I create. As a writer, it is paramount that I have the ability to dream the impossible; to imagine realms beyond the world in which I live my daily life. Such pure abandon is something I knew when I was a child, unfettered by the harsh realities of an unyielding world. Everything was possible then, and with Peanut as my daily example of silliness and unsophistication, all things are possible once again.

I am still required to live within a "grown-up" world with its "grown-up" responsibilities. I still have bills to pay and people to answer to. Sometimes the two are as unpleasant as it gets. I do not live in Never-Neverland. I have discovered, however, thanks to Peanut's example, that I do not have to live by every rule the "grown-up" world requires.

As long as there are fireflies to chase, I will chase them. As long as there are clouds in the sky, I will look for the fantastic images they form. I will run and giggle and seek every opportunity I am granted to let the child in me come out to play. If I am truly blessed, each one of those moments of pure abandon will be shared with a little 10 pound Pomeranian named Peanut Pumpkin Pie who reminds my heart each day what it means to live life to the fullest at any age.

**********

If you enjoyed this post, don't forget to click "Join this site" in the upper right hand of the screen. Check out H.L. Stephens' novel The Case of Jack the Nipper available at Amazon and Barnes & Noble. The Case of the Wayward Fae, book 2 in the Chronicles of Mister Marmee series, has been newly released and is available at Amazon and Barnes & Noble.

H.L. Stephens is mystery and fantasy novelist who lives in the Appalachian Mountains with her best friend and Pomeranian Peanut Pumpkin Pie. She is currently finishing her third novel Journey to the Darkened Realms, a fantasy adventure novel, and has just begun work on the third installment of the Chronicles of Mister Marmee series entitled The Case of the Monkey's Misfortune. Both novels are due out in 2014.

When the World Grows Still and Silent

There is beauty in silence, or so I have always believed. I never knew snow made noise when it fell until the unending thrum of our electronic world stopped abruptly one harsh winter morning. It was a heavy wet snow that knocked out our power and brought the world around me to a grinding and blissfully silent stop. I stepped outside in the crisp wintry wonderland to revel in the beauty of a world renewed. A world that felt in its pristine whiteness less fallen; less corrupted. Less dark. Less imposing than it did on every other day. I expected to hear nothing. Instead I heard the snow and the gentle sound it made as it lazily travelled from its heavenly source to the world below. This was no blizzard. It was a gentle, heavy waltz of nature. White and wonderful.

This new sound I had added to my repertoire was a glorious discovery; one I never would have made were it not for the silence of the rest of the world around me. I have often asked people since that day if they knew snow made noise when it fell. I have yet to hear a single person answer with a definitive 'yes'. The usual response is a mixture of incredulity and disbelief; as though my goal in posing such a question is to make the other person appear to be a fool. It certainly is not my intent. I long only to share a miracle and a moment.

I often seek the silence because in the quiet comes clarity and inspiration. I live in a world of words. I am a writer. I have loved the written word since my beginning. It is in the marrow of who I am. But my words get jumbled sometimes and unwieldy, so I seek the stillness to help me find that certain something which I cannot find in the chaos of my mind.....peace.

I always thought the silence I sought was an absence of sound. An absence of words. A place where I can see everything but hear nothing. In truth, it is merely a place where chaos has little room to flourish. It is in truth a place of quietude. A place where my words are unhindered and disentangled by the constraints of the world and its worries. When the chaos dies down and my mind begins to quiet, I can once again find the beauty in the words I love so much. The quietness that is not truly empty, becomes my refuge and my place to reconnect with the unending possibilities that become my solace. I find a certain magic in this stillness which enables me to rediscover the hidden miracles of the world around me like the sound the snow makes when it falls to the ground.

I have been told before that one day, the world will not need people like me. Writers....manipulators of the written word. The world has technology and pictures in an endless array of digital formats. In such a world, words are meaningless. They have no place. No real value. As everyone knows, a picture is worth a thousand words. I would say that in some cases, this is true. Who hasn't been moved or inspired by the images of great moments in history like Pearl Harbor, D-Day, and 911? Who doesn't cherish the memories of a moment shared, captured in the image of a photograph to be remembered for all time? We honor our images with frames; we celebrate their whimsy in calendars, cups, tee shirts, and a myriad of products. They make us smile, laugh, and cry, often without a single word spoken. There is beauty in the simplicity of an image and elegance in its silent message.

I would however say one simple thing to challenge that age old saying which makes us believe where photos exist, words are not needed anymore. True silence is a double-edged sword. No image can fill the void that is left when the words cease to come; when the silence envelopes you so completely, there is nothing left. When there is silence...when there are no words any more, the images only remind you of what no longer exists. The silence is complete. There is no peace there; only chaos.

So what am I saying in my exploration of silence and sound? Images and words? Only this. There comes a day for all of us when we are left with nothing more than silence in the room around us and the images of the ones we love. The images are no comfort. They cannot replace the words of love that are spoken no more. The silence is complete in all its wicked intensity. Never fail to cherish the moments when the words pour forth in blissful abundance. Relish the quiet moments, but share them always with the ones you love, for they too may long to hear the sound the snow makes as it travels from its heavenly source to the world below. Not every moment requires a barrage of sound, but do not embrace the silence until its time.

*********

If you enjoyed this blog post, sign up for future posts by clicking "Join this site" on the right of the screen. Also, check out H.L. Stephen's popular cat mystery The Case of Jack the Nipper ~ A Chronicle of Mister Marmee available at Amazon and Barnes & Noble. The Case of the Wayward Fae, book 2 in the Chronicles of Mister Marmee series will be out in time for Christmas 2013!

Life Lessons From My Dog: Taking One Day At A Time

For so many of us, as life unfolds, it begins to feel a little like a game of chess. It is never enough to plan for tomorrow; we must stay several moves ahead of the game, planning out aspects of our lives to the umpteenth degree. Parents plan their children's academic careers while their children are still in diapers. Teenagers begin their lifelong battle with anxiety over becoming a failure before they have a chance to enter puberty, and adults (if they are "smart") begin to plan their retirement before they are old enough to buy alcoholic beverages legally. We live so far in the future in our planning, in our hopes, in our worries, we tend to miss out on the important little things that happen around us each and every day.

I will be the first to admit that I have been caught up in the future's game before. It is an easy enough habit to slip into. I always loved the game of chess, and even as a child, I was a natural at the strategy it required. I was never annoyingly competitive the way some people are. I just loved the challenge of out-thinking and out-maneuvering my opponent; surprising them with moves they could not anticipate. I loved learning from my mistakes and my losses, which were many in the beginning but grew fewer and farther between as I gained experience.

I would focus on the game and make sure at all times, I had at least seven moves planned out ahead of where I was. I always tried to anticipate my opponent's response to each of my moves, planning in turn what I would do next. It was an exhilarating mental exercise. I used these skills when I went to college, and I applied them when I entered the work force. I had every move of my future planned out perfectly, but then life happened.

The one big difference between chess and life is that chess has rules that every strategist must follow. Your opponent can't knock your pieces off the board or smack you in the face with them. He or she can, but they can expect to be banned from the game. Life on the other hand is not limited by such restrictions. There is no etiquette when life knocks you on your rear-end. It just happens, and all the planning in the world...all of the strategy...cannot prepared you for what you weren't expecting. You have one of two options when this happens. You can fold...give up...admit defeat...lay down your king and walk away, or you can pick yourself up...wipe off your bloody knees...allow yourself a good cry (if you are me) and start a new course.

I have been knocked down so many times in life, I have a pillow tied to my bottom for good measure. I plan for the future. Don't get me wrong. I dream of things both big and small. I am a writer. I weave the impossible every day. What I try very hard not to do is allow myself to become so focused on tomorrow that I miss the beauty each day brings. The simple little miracles that uplift the heart and keep you from being eaten with regret if and when tragedy strikes.

No, I didn't attend a self-help seminar to help me reach this moment of clarity, and I didn't gain any wisdom from staying at a Holiday Inn Express. I learned the importance of living each day to its fullest and taking each day as it comes by living my life with my dog, Peanut Pumpkin Pie.

Peanut is a nutball...my silly billie girl. She gives me more reasons to laugh in a single day than anything else. She is my happy place, and I have written about her many times, to the joy and perhaps annoyance of others. I have shared her adventures, her antics, her wisdoms and her copious photos. What I have not shared...what has remained my private struggle...has been the many times I have faced losing my precious little girl.

I have always known my time with Peanut would be too short. Dogs don't live as long as people. We are only gifted with their unconditional love for a short time, but I had always planned on it being at least 15 years of bliss. That was my minimum. The first time I was faced with the possibility of losing her because of her health, Peanut was 3, and I was still a wreck for weeks after she pulled through. She was up and playing with her toys; I was balling my eyes out about how unfair life was. The second episode wasn't much different. She was fine, living each day as a new day while I was looking into the dark, unknown wondering when the terrible day was going to come along and destroy my happiness forever.

Then, it was my turn to scare my family with illness. That is when I discovered what it meant to take one day at a time. I won't go into the details of my illness. It really doesn't matter. It was long. It sucked. It required surgery. That sucked. I was out of work for two months recovering. All the while, my Peanut was there by my side. Each day was a new glorious day for her. It didn't matter what tomorrow brought. Today was the best day. Mommy was home. I wasn't leaving. That was all that mattered for her today.

Peanut knew I was sick; catastrophically sick. When she brought me toys, it wasn't so we could play some rowdy game of tug-o-war or "it's gettin' me". It was so I could rest the toy in my hand, and she could groom it, because somehow she knew that was all I could handle. My recovery was hard, but Peanut helped me get through it one day at a time, without dreading the next day. The next day didn't matter. All I needed was to get through the day I was in.

Peanut and I got through my illness together. We have gotten through a great many things one day at a time since those days. I have never forgotten the lesson she taught me.

The last time Peanut got sick, I was faced with the possibility of her dying. Her liver and gall bladder were damaged by toxins in a high end dogfood, and we didn't know if her little body would pull through. I spent every penny I had to save her and then some, wracking up a massive bill with her vet. We did everything modern veterinary medicine offered as a solution. All we could do once the medicines were given and action was taken was wait and pray. I had a choice. I could either fall to pieces and miss whatever time I had left with her, or I could take it one day at a time and relish each moment Peanut and I had together. I chose the later of the two choices.

Peanut wasn't well enough to play, but I wanted her to have as much interaction with me as I could give her, so I carried her everywhere. I sang songs to her; songs I had made up over the years that had her name in it. I brushed her. I rubbed her ears. I caressed her. I did all of the things I could think of to make her feel the full measure of my love for her. I took one day at a time, and I made sure each day was as full as I could make it. I endeavored as much as was humanly possible to lay down the worries of tomorrow, and I just took one day at a time. Peanut and I are still taking one day at a time.

Life has bopped me in the face so many times since I learned Peanut's valuable lesson. It feels sometimes like life is challenging my ability to just take it one day at a time. Some days it is easier than others, and there are those moments when I find myself reverting to those old habits of plotting my moves far into the future. Then little Peanut comes along with a toy or a scrunchie or a happy sock, begging me to remember the joy in the day that God has given me. I look at her smiling little face I find so utterly irresistible, and I lay my strategizing down once again. I never regret the surrender; at least I haven't so far. It has gotten me through too many other challenges that life has thrown my way.

Leave it to a dog to teach mankind what true happiness is all about.

If you enjoyed this blog post, don't forget to "Join this site!" on the right of the page. Also, check out The Case of Jack the Nipper Book 1 in the Chronicles of Mister Marmee, available at Amazon and Barnes & Noble. The Case of the Wayward Fae, Book 2 in the series, is coming soon.

What is Written In the Stars

For millennium, mankind has looked to the stars for answers. We have sought guidance for our future and validation for our decisions going back as far as our written records can capture. It is an age old habit. Even in this modern era of iphones, tablets, social media, and instant communication, we still look to the stars to validate our worth, and we use the same stars to validate the worth of others. If you don't believe me, go to the nearest big name online store, and see if the stars don't tell you something.

As a writer, I know the stars have value. I am not talking about horoscopes and fortunetelling. I am talking about those wonderful star reviews that are attached to every published work. Every writer who puts their work out on the market watches those stars as if their very life depended upon them. In some small way, it does. The life of their work depends upon those stars. Poor reviews can break an author, just as much as great reviews can make them. Every author hopes for 5 star reviews. We shout to the world when they come in. We are slightly less enthusiastic when the number reduces to 4. We are delightfully silent when the number of stars falls to 3 or less. To most authors such lackluster reviews are hardly worth mentioning. In fact, many believe they should be hidden in some dark corner of the world where no one can see their dim light. But I say, there may be something written in those stars that is worth our notice.

Back during the gold rush, everyone was looking for the giant hunk of gold that would make them instantly rich. Few people paid much attention to the tiny flakes of gold that drifted by on the currents of the rivers and streams where they panned. Those flakes and specks were hardly worth mentioning. They were hardly worth the effort to chase after them. After all, what could they possibly be worth?

The industrious few who had the gumption to sift through the muck for the gold dust and gold flakes others ignored or rejected were able to make a comfortable living for themselves. They weren't afraid to accept a less than perfect outcome, and they didn't give up. They may not have "struck it rich", but they did well for themselves.

I still remember the first time I got a 4 star review. When I read what was written by the person giving the review, their praises were so glowing, it made me wonder why not 5 stars? Then I decided to see what was written in those stars. I looked at the other reviews the person wrote. What I saw surprised me.

The ratings this person gave were very dim elsewhere. 2 and 3 stars were the most this person ever granted. I received the highest rating for any book or product. Those 4 stars were a precious gift....the highest compliment that reviewer could bestow. I felt the full measure of that honor as I once again poured over the words that were written about my book. It didn't matter how many stars were there...it was what was written in the stars that counted. I was humbled. I stopped counting the stars and started reading their message from then on.

Later on, after my first 4 star experience, I was searching for a book on a particular topic. Research for another novel. I found a book that seemed to have exactly what I was looking for, but it only had a single review. It was a 1 star review. I had learned my lesson, and sought what was written in the stars. As it turns out, the reviewer loved the book! They had accidentally hit one star instead of 5, and the system would not allow the person to change it. They wrote the most glowing review. Had I not looked beyond the number of the stars to the message behind them, I never would have seen what I needed to see. I wound up buying the book, and I celebrated that decision when I read it.

I have received several 4 star reviews for my first novel, and so far, that is the lowest I have received. I do not expect however to remain unscathed by the disgruntled reader who does not like what I have written. If I have learned nothing else in life, I have discovered you cannot please the world, and in a day and age of social media, the world has the right and the empowerment to make their opinions known. The best thing I can do is receive it graciously.

I have grown to celebrate each review for the gift that it is. Evidence of one more reader who took the time to sit through my work; whether they liked it or not. Whether they could follow the language of my novels or not. The fact that they made it to the end of the book is a joy in and of itself. They finished it. They didn't throw it away when they reached page 10. There is something to be said in the completion of a book.

I welcome the stars in all their number. Even a single star sheds light on the world. Never forget that as children, we wished upon the first star of the evening. We weren't afraid of the solitary star, shining all alone in the sky. We shouldn't be afraid of it now. It has so much to tell us.

If you enjoyed this blog post, please click "Join this site" on the right of the page to receive notices of new posts when they come out.

Rediscover the joy of reading with The Case of Jack the Nipper available on Amazon or Barnes & Noble. The Case of the Wayward Fae is coming soon!

Finding the Beauty In Numbers

In this world, we put a tremendous amount of emphasis on numbers. Whether it's a corporate business or the world of marketing and selling a book, it is all pretty much the same. The numbers are what we tend to focus on. They are the lifeblood of what we do, or so we tell ourselves every day as we pursue them. The bigger the numbers, the better we feel about things. More twitter followers. Bigger book sales. Higher ratings. The list goes on. We get so wrapped up in the numbers, however, we begin to lose sight of what those numbers are made up of. We forget that each hash mark on our tally sheet represents a soul...a living person.

In my day job, I have been buried by someone else's numbers; someone else's goals. There have been days when I have wondered how I was going to keep my head above the water, much less find time to do the one thing I love to do above all things. Write. It was an impossibly bleak situation, or so it felt. I will not recount how many tears fell for me; I admit only that they came and with abundance. I felt a sense of despair overtaking me, and I did not like it. I thought all was lost to me, until I was saved by a number of my own. It was a single, solitary boy.

A friend of mine from high school bought my book "The Case of Jack the Nipper" for his young son to read. His boy loves mysteries and he loves cats, so my book was the perfect gift to give. My friend is currently serving in the military overseas so his time with his family is currently shared over Facebook posts, Skype, and video clips. My friend posted on my Facebook page a video of his son reading the first few paragraphs of the first chapter of my book. His words were halted as he sounded out vocabulary that was unfamiliar to him, but as the sentences unfolded, something incredible happened. I found the burdens on my heart lifted.

I always thought the greatest gift I could receive as a writer would be a prestigious writing award or my name on the New York Times Best Seller List. Those aspirations are wonderful, and I look to them as future goals. They are part of the numbers game every writer plays a part in. When I played the video of my friend's son reading the first few paragraphs of my book, it ceased to be about numbers and became something more. I had received a greater honor with this young boy's introduction to my book. He was not just another tick mark on my tally sheet. He was a soul...a person. He represented the very reason why I write. The inspiration behind my words. He's not a number to me. He can't be. Not now, not ever.

As a new author, my numbers are small. I am not afraid to admit it. The world is just beginning to open for me, and I am just starting to navigate the waters that are required for my craft. Readers and fans are starting to find my book, and as I add to my list of offerings, that number will grow. Today, however, in my smallness, I find myself grateful for my adversity in someone else's numbers. It helps me to remember how precious each person is who adds to my own.

Numbers are important in this great, big world of ours. We live by them. We die by them. In the world of books, the bigger your numbers, the greater your chances of success. I understand the mechanism behind the numbers. We don't have to be blind to what's behind the numbers, however ~ the individual souls who take joy in the stories we weave for them. I will forever keep the image of my friend's son before me, struggling through the words of my book, seeking to lose himself in the world I created. I never want to forget that with each book sold, there is a heart behind it, longing for escape....longing for entertainment....longing for a connection to the world they have yet to visit. Or better yet, longing to reconnect to a world they lovingly visit over and over again.

Click here to read The Case of Jack the Nipper by H.L. Stephens. Available through Amazon, Barnes & Noble, and other fine book retailers on the web.

Food For Thought ~ The Bread of Life That's Gluten Free

We all know the saying 'a man cannot live on bread alone'. With as true as this adage is to those of us who know its source, there are many in this beautiful world of ours who are denied the enjoyment of bread every day. I speak of those who suffer from Celiac disease or who are gluten intolerant. For them, bread is like poison, and it begins to work its evil mischief within minutes of consumption.

Now one might ask why a writer would be blogging about something like Celiac disease. I could respond by saying I just felt like it, but in truth, this blog is a promise kept to a lovely young woman I had the joy of meeting through twitter. This young woman suffers from Celiac disease, and though I do not bear the burden of the affliction myself, I have a deep love for a sister who does. When I made the connection with this young woman on twitter and discovered she longed for yummy, squishy bread that was safe to eat, I knew I had to share a few of my secrets I had uncovered over the years.

Ever since I was a little girl, I have had a love affair with cooking. I used to sit and watch cooking shows on PBS (mainly Julia Child) before there was anything called cable TV. For me, there was something magical about taking a host of ingredients, putting them together in a bowl, mixing them up, and turning them into something completely unique and delicious. I savored every culinary victory, and I learned from every mishap or mistake. In my family, bread has always been an integral part of every meal. There was hardly ever a meal without it. For me, making something delectable for my family was the greatest way for me to say 'I love you', so with bread being our favorite side dish, I was determined to be its master.

 

I pulled out all the stops and purchased a master baker's instruction book. I learned about texture and how to impact the crumb. I studied sour doughs and sponges, and the chemistry behind the breads of the world. I was elated with my artisan breads, paninis, baguettes, and sweet rolls, but just as I was ready to crown myself an amateur master, I began to notice something. Every time my sister ate one of my creations, within 15 minutes or so of consumption, she would be racing to the bathroom with horrible, gut wrenching pain. It never failed.

She had never had a problem with bread before when we were growing up, but in her adult years, my sister became gluten intolerant. It was rare for it to strike in later years, but strike it did. She could no longer eat the foods that had been her favorites. They were now a poison to her system. We bought her all of the gluten free foods we could find here in the mountains, and with their high prices came the let down and disappointment that comes with eating hardtack and cardboard. The gluten free bread we could find was awful and hard as a stone. I think she cried the first time she ate it.

I laid my bread books aside, and took on a new mission of love. I would learn everything I could about baking gluten free and give my beloved sister bouncy safe bread she could love again. It wasn't enough for it to be safe. It had to be fun to eat with a yummy fun texture. Oh the failures I went through and the thousands of hours of reading I did to find out where I went wrong. I cried and prayed and tried again so many times, I lost count. I thought I would never get it, until one day......SUCCESS!!!!

It has been many years since I first began my journey down the gluten free baking road. My failures have helped others I have met along the way, and I hope to eventually write a cookbook of some of my best recipes......the ones that have passed the test of tricking others who have no idea they are eating gluten free breads. In honor of my twitter friend, I am sharing two of my gluten free recipes - my squishy buns recipe and my pumpkin gingerbread muffins. Enjoy!

For sources on some of the hard to find or specialty items, I am providing source links for convenience. I always comparison shop so feel free to do the same. The links just make it easier to identify products and places to find them.

SQUISHY BUNS

Pre-heat the oven to 350 degrees
Prepare a regular large cookie sheet by placing a sheet of parchment paper over the entire length of it. ** Don't use air bake cookie sheets. Don't even go there. Smack your hand away and just say no. If you use them, you will end up with gummy buns. Been there. Done that. Mistake 358. Don't cover the cookie sheet with aluminum foil. Mistake 273. Don't use Pam cooking spray. Mistake 194. The best buns cook on a plain sheet of parchment on a plain Jane cookie sheet.

Ingredients:
3 Slightly rounded cups of Featherlight Rice Flour Mix (Authentic Foods)
2 teaspoons xanthum gum
1/4 teaspoon ascorbic acid (Excalibur Foods) - This doesn't go bad and a little goes a long way.
1/4 teaspoon ginger
   NOTE: The ginger and the ascorbic acid replace dough enhancer and are more effective. They also don't contain hidden soy, which dough enhancer does.
2 envelopes of Knox unflavored gelatin (or 2 teaspoons) (Amazon)
1 Tablespoon baking powder
1 teaspoon salt
7 Tablespoons white sugar
2 1/2 teaspoons Rapid Rise yeast granules
2 eggs
1/4 cup canola oil
2 cups warm water (Should be the temperature required by the brand of yeast you are using)
(Makes about 12 buns give or take)

In a large mixer, combine together all dry ingredients including yeast. With the mixer on low, add the eggs and oil. Slowly add the warm water to the flour/oil/egg mixture. At first, the flour mixture will form a ball and pull away from the sides of the bowl. As you continue to add water, the mixture will once again begin to stick to the sides of the bowl. You want this to happen. Once the water has been added completely to the mixture, stop the mixer, scrape the bowl, and then turn the mixer on high and mix for 3 minutes straight. Don't skimp on the time. This three minutes does a few things. It adds air to the dough, which adds fluffiness. It also ensures the xanthum gum is well distributed throughout the dough which is important since the xanthum gum acts as a substitute for the gluten in making a tender piece of bread.

Check the consistency of the dough. The batter will be sticky. Remember, this is nothing like making regular bread dough. The sooner you accept that, the sooner you too will reach success. The batter/dough should be like a thick, heavy cake batter. If it is watery or runny in any way, add an 1/8 of cup of the Featherlight flour at a time to the mixture and beat it until the proper consistency is reached. Wet a scraper with warm water and scrape the sides of the bowl. The batter should look like the batter in the photo below.

Once the batter is the right consistency, you are ready to form the buns. I have tried every way to form this dough, and so far, the following method is the best and easiest way to go. Its messy but effective. Any other way, and you will wear the sticky dough from head to toe. Turn on the hot water to a trickle. You will need it while you are forming the buns. Wet your hands completely, front and back. Grab a handful of dough and form a ball, using the moisture in your hands to smooth the lumps. Try not to make the balls too big. They will rise in the oven. Trust me on this. The size in the picture below is a great size for sandwich buns or hamburger buns. I have small hands so you get an idea of the size.

Place the completed ball of bun on the parchment and completely rinse any remnant of dough from your hands. This is important. Otherwise the next bun will stick to your hands. If it starts to stick, rinse your hand under the water. Form another bun, and repeat. Try to keep your hands as clean as possible in between buns by rinsing off residue of the dough of the previous bun. You can make sandwich buns, hoagie rolls, or hot dog buns with this batter. It just depends on the shape. When the last bun is formed, scramble an egg in a bowl and brush the egg gently over the buns.

This egg wash will help provide a beautiful golden brown color on the finished buns. Let the buns rise for 20 - 25 minutes on the counter before baking. Place the buns in the oven and bake for 18 - 20 minutes or until a nice golden brown. Remove the buns and allow them to cool completely on a rack before trying to cut into them.

Variations: It can be fun to liven up this bread by adding herbs and spices to the dry ingredients. A few tablespoons of Parmesans cheese with Italian herbs can be a great addition to spaghetti night. Just decrease the sugar to 3 Tablespoons. Otherwise the sweetness will overpower the savory. Experiment with other herb blends at leisure.

One of the great things about both these buns and the following muffins is that they both can be frozen successfully for long periods. To process, Cool completely, then simply wrap each bun/muffin in Glad Press and Seal and place the wrapped items in a Ziploc freezer bag. Put the bag in the freezer and remove the contents at will. By wrapping each one individually and then bagging them, you prevent them from getting frostbite in the freezer. To warm them up, take them out of the freezer, wrap them in a paper towel, and pop them in the microwave for 10 - 15 second intervals until they are warm and soft. Then enjoy. It is that easy.

Heavenly Pumpkin Gingerbread Muffins

Pre-heat oven to 350 degrees
Butter the cups of two regular size muffin tins
(makes 24 muffins)

2 Cups canned pumpkin
4 eggs
1 1/2 cups white sugar
1/2 cup brown sugar
8 Tablespoons butter, softened (real stuff no imitations - you sacrifice enough already)
1 Tablespoon Vanilla (real stuff no imitations - you sacrifice enough already)
2 teaspoons cinnamon
1 teaspoon ginger
1/4 teaspoon nutmeg
2 teaspoons baking powder
2 teaspoons baking soda
3/4 teaspoon salt
1 teaspoon xanthum gum
3 1/3 cups Featherlight Rice Flour Mix
2/3 cup of water

In a large mixer, combine the first 13 ingredients (up to the xanthum gum) and mix well. With the mixer on the lowest speed, begin adding flour 1/2 cup at a time. Do this very slowly. Flour will fly everywhere if you don't. Between each addition of flour, add a little bit of the water. Again, do this slowly or you will wear it. Allow it to mix thoroughly between each submission. Once all of the flour and water has been added, turn off the mixer, scrape the sides, turn the mixer on high, and mix for 3 minutes. At the end of those three minutes, the batter should look like thick, fluffy cake batter like the photo below.

 

Pour the batter into the prepared muffin tins. Place the tins in the oven and bake for 25 minutes. Allow the muffins to cool in the tin for a few minutes before removing them to a cooling rack.

 

 

Now you are ready to munch away on muffins that are as fluffy as they are flavorful. Just prepare yourself, however. You might not be able to eat just one! Bon appetite!