Every writer creates characters to convey a story. Fiction or non-fiction, the heroes and heroines are groomed by the writer’s experience and vision. Author Milan Kundera, in his book THE UNBEARABLE LIGHTNESS OF BEING, writes the following:

The characters in my novels are my own unrealized possibilities. That is why I am equally fond of them all and equally horrified by them. Each one has crossed a border that I myself have circumvented. It is that crossed border (the border beyond which my own "I" ends) which attracts me most. For beyond that border begins the secret the novel asks about. The novel is not the author's confession; it is an investigation of human life in the trap the world has become.

On Monday (9/26/2016), authors Beem Weeks and John Howell joined me to discuss the above quote. Beem and John are both strong fiction writers, and they both have strong characters. Beem assumes the voice of a young woman aspiring to greatness in his novel JAZZ BABY; John speaks through an unwitting attorney in his thriller series, the last of which is his newly published OUR JUSTICE.  

If you have a moment and have interest in character development, please join us for the discussion. Tune in to the Rave Reviews Book Club’s BlogTalkRadio show, Aspire to Inspire that is now archived for your listening pleasure.

Could it be that there are always two stories – that which is in print and that which hides behind the unfolding events and its characters? Consider joining the CLUB to find out.

by Gwendolyn M Plano

During these crazy days before the election, it is easy to despair of even the possibility of a future blessed. Violence of words and deeds dominates what we hear and what we see.

​Our trust has been broken by bank corruptions and lies that stretch across the political landscape. 

Sometimes we might feel that we stand at the edge of a precipice, not knowing if we will fall or fly.  

We forget that there are reasons to hope, because those reasons are lost in the battleground that has become our lives. 

Today I want to introduce you to an organization that offers an alternative and fills my heart: The Tree Sisters. 

​What if we could re-direct our thoughts to the whispers of possibility that surround us? Could we, maybe, rediscover a reason to hope again? 

​I invite you to watch this video... ​

     Today it is my pleasure to introduce author Mary Schmidt to this blog. Mary and I met through the Rave Reviews Book Club, where her book, When Angels Fly, has received notable recognition.

​     Mary grew up in Kansas, though she and her family now split their time between their Kansas home and Colorado. She is a retired nurse, who has worked for the American Cancer Society, as well as the March of Dimes. She is also an amateur photographer and graphic artist. When she writes, she uses the pen name, S. Jackson.

​     Welcome and thank you for joining us, Mary!

     Thank you, Gwen, for hosting me as a guest on your Reflections Blog. Your blog is perfect for me to write about my experiences and my memoir, When Angels Fly.

     For brevity’s sake, I will touch on bits and pieces so that readers can see what God has done in my life.

     As a child, I was mentally, emotionally, and physically abused by my mother, and this abuse didn’t end until her death. Throughout all the cruelties, I knew something better would happen in my life, and I knew God was in control. My battered body cried out, but I thought God must be too busy to help me. From that abuse, I went into another relationship post high school, and it turned out to be abusive as well. I was caught in a vicious cycle of domestic abuse.

     My oldest son, Shane, was stillborn. The one thing that I thought was all good and wonderful in my life was snatched away from me, and I was angry at God. I lashed out at Him with so much anger, that I fell into a deep depression, a hole I just couldn’t climb out of.  I had tried so hard to become pregnant, and ended up burying my son.
 
     After about a year, I learned I was pregnant again! Elation and fear took turns in my head and heart. When I reached eight months gestation, I knew I would have the baby I dearly wanted. After 36 hours of labor, my baby boy came into this world blue! Feverishly, the staff worked on him and then I heard his cry. God had intervened and breathed life into him. I doted on my baby boy, Gene, and I felt completely blessed by Jesus.

     Fifteen months later, I had another boy, Sam. Elation soared and my boys took to each other instantly. Best playmates, best friends, they were inseparable. However my husband remained abusive in all imaginable ways. When my boys were ages four and five, I knew I had to leave him for their sake. Long story short, we moved into an apartment.

     Sam, now five years old, started having multiple sinus infections, upper respiratory issues, and more. CT scans were done multiple times, and he never remained well. In hindsight, those scans were misread and my son was misdiagnosed for eight months! By then, cancer had spread from his neck into his brain and metastases found in both lungs. For seven and a half months, he fought for his life.

     Most remarkable is that Sam wanted to go to Heaven! Sam knew Jesus! Sam knew God! Even though I was afraid to teach him about God, and my faith faltered throughout this time, my son knew! He said to me, “I want to go to Heaven, Mom.” 

     Twenty three years later, I started the process of putting my journals and events into digital format, followed by an award winning memoir, When Angels Fly. I now have 12 published books.
​
     Thank you for inviting me to your site, Gwen. If your readers have questions about my books or art, they can contact me through any of the social media links listed below. I am always happy to respond to queries. 

My favorite time of the day is just before sunrise. The silence is full with possibility, and as the light begins to emerge, there is magic. I took this photo early today from the deck. Is there any wonder why I love the Ozarks?

​A verse from F.Scott Fitzgerald comes to mind:

​     It was only a sunny smile, and little it cost in the giving, but like morning light it scattered the night and made the day worth living.

      I remember those anxious hours, waiting for word from my son, his office just a short walk to the Trade Center. Had he stopped there for coffee? Was he okay? My fear soon grew into panic.

      When we think of 9/11, aren’t we all aghast by the senseless madness of evil? And don’t we all mourn the innocent victims, while we salute the heroes who ran into danger?

      Shortly after the attack, I visited my son in New York City. He had not yet gone to the site, explaining only that he could not. So it was that I walked alone through the Lower East Side, silently praying.

      The stench of the remains of life confronted me, while the air hung heavily with debris. As I walked I came across a mountain of flowers, in front of a FDNY Ladder Company. Most of its crew had lost their lives, risking everything in the hope that they could save even one. In that moment, I understood why my son could not walk these streets, for I, a stranger, could barely.
  
      Going further, I went into the Grand Central Station. The walls of its long corridor were covered with hundreds upon hundreds of photographs of the missing, as well as letters from loved ones asking for help. Old faces, young faces, white faces, black and brown faces – the faces of innocent victims unrecovered. 

      9/11 is a day of remembrance, and who is not hushed by its solemnness? But it is not simply about remembering the victims; it is about remembering who we are.

      Behind the man-made atrocities of life, from the war-torn streets of Aleppo to the terror in an Orlando nightclub and the horror of 9/11, there are those who craft a world of hate and clothe it in rhetoric. Why do we humans listen or follow?

      Last night my husband and I watched the movie Sully, and if you have not seen it yet, do. It is a powerful testimony of the goodness of humankind, and of the choices we all face that hold the potential of greatness.  

      In the movie, there is a simple line which is attributed to Captain Chesley Sullenberger. Sully phones his wife after the water landing and says, “I want you to know, I did the best I could.”

      “I did the best that I could.”  This simple statement gives me pause about the choices I have made, for my hope is that I can claim the same: I did the best I could.

​      I leave you with this beautiful message of hope:

Two years ago, I joined the Rave Reviews Book Club, and through this extraordinary online Club, I have met hundreds of writers from around the world. Today it is my pleasure to introduce one of those authors, John W. Howell. We are co-hosts of the Club's
BlogTalkRadio show Aspire to Inspire.

​Every writer has a story about what propelled him or her into the writing world, and today John shares part of his story with us.

​From his home off the coast of South Texas, on a barrier island in the Gulf of Mexico, he celebrates life with his wife and rescue pets, while writing fictional short stories and thriller novels. If that weren't enough, he also maintains a daily blog and an active life.  

                    Please join me in welcoming author John W. Howell to this blog site.

        First of all, I want to thank you, Gwen, for having me as a guest on your Reflections Blog. I can’t think of a nicer way to introduce my new book, Our Justice. Secondly, you and I work so well together on our BlogTalkRadio show that it almost seems like coming home to be present today.

        At times like these, I have to wonder how I happened to become a writer. I think about the time in college when I almost lost my life. It was a rainy night, and I was returning to my residence from work. I decided to take a different road since my regular route tended to flood in stretches during heavy downpours. I was in a small sports car which did not do well in flooded areas. Whenever I would go through standing water, the car would die. 

        The road I took had more curves and was darker than the more citified route. As I was driving the twists and turns, I began to feel pretty comfortable that the road taken was the best decision in that it was higher and although wet, had no standing water.

        Somehow I missed the sign that indicated the next curve speed limit was no more than 15 miles per hour. Too late I realized my pace was too fast for the curve, and the car left the highway and came to rest after hitting some posts and trees.

​        The first strike (which I later found out was a concrete culvert) caused me to be thrown out of the car in spite of my seat belt, and I landed on the roadway along with the driver's side door. The result was a 70 day stay in the hospital with four crushed vertebrae, broken ribs, dislocated shoulder, and multiple contusions. How long I laid on the highway is anybody's guess, and since I was unconscious, I never would have known if another car had run me over.

        So why am I giving these details? Well first off, before the "accident" I had decided to drop out of school for lack of funds. I had enlisted in the army and selected the Air Calvary as my assignment. I wanted to be a helicopter pilot and the year was 1962. We had heard of a little conflict that was brewing now known as the Viet Nam War. The accident caused me to be 4F and no longer able to join the service. My only option was to go back to school after rehabilitation and finish by hook or crook. I chose hook by the way. I went on to get my degree and to get a job with one of the best companies. This one so called accident put me on a path to a full business career. So as a fast forward, I finished my career and then decided to write full-time.

​        I have three books published, and Our Justice is the final book in the John J. Cannon Trilogy. As the third book in the series, it brings together two strong wills for a showdown. The question to be answered is who will feel the satisfaction that the achievement of justice delivers - the terrorist leader or the hero, John Cannon? If the President does not survive the insidious plot against him, our worst fears will be realized.

       Our Justice is available for pre-order at Amazon for both eBook and paperback versions. The books will ship on September 23rd. If you'd like to see a quick glimpse, check out the trailer.  

       
        Thank you so much for inviting me to your site, Gwen. If your readers have questions about my work, they can contact me through any of the social media links listed below. I am always happy to respond to queries about my books. 

      This image has graced every national news station these last two days: a young autistic child and a notable Florida State football player eating together. Neither knew each other before this unexpected lunch date, but seeing the child alone prompted Travis Rudolph to share table with him. Travis could have chosen the boisterous students at other tables, or he could have sat alone; but, he chose to sit by a child who did not even know who he was.

Kindness knows not color.  Just as hearts beat red and tears burn pain, love always softens both.

I am Irish white, but my heart is shades of color. When I’ve been most desperate for help, it was Harriett Tubman I turned to for courage and Maya Angelo for a reason to dream. My whiteness did not bother them. Their blackness did not bother me. We knew each other through the secrets of our hearts and the tears we released.

I’ve never understood the racial divides, though my mom told me this story. I was just a few years old, she said, when a gentleman visited our family’s home looking for work. He was black in color, and I crawled upon his lap. According to my mom, I rubbed his arms thinking the black would come off, which tickled him and left me in giggles. A little white girl and a black man – both laughing at their difference.

A child does not know hate; a child knows wonder - until the child is taught otherwise.  

I’m reminded of a quote by Leo Buscaglia. He said, “Too often we underestimate the power of a touch, a smile, a kind word, a listening ear, an honest compliment, or the smallest act of caring, all of which have the potential to turn a life around.”

Travis Rudolph made a difference in a young man’s life, a difference that may affect all that lies ahead for him.

I wonder, what if each of us did the same? Could we, you and I, make a difference in the child down the street, the one who flails his arms when he walks or stutters when he speaks?

Just one child, what if we could help one child see white and black as shadows of the same.