EddieSnipes.com

Confessions of a dyslexic writer.

The Guitar in the Corner – And a Happy New Year

Written By: Eddie Snipes - Jan• 04•12

Several years ago I passed my guitar down to my daughter, Lucy. Sometime before that, she won a child’s guitar at a church event. That little guitar set her love for music in motion. Within a short time monkey guitarLucy learned to play and started taking lessons to learn more. After she outgrew the small guitar, I gave her my Ibanez acoustic guitar. Then she upgraded to the violin. Having a more refined instrument to master, the guitar remained in a stand in the corner of the living room.

Every day for the last year, that guitar has been calling out, beckoning to be played. Unfortunately, no one else can play it. It had been my intention to learn it when I bought it more than a decade ago. Such is the path laden with good intentions. Work, writing, and ministry have taken priority over learning a new song.

For the last year or so, it has been eating at me seeing that lonely guitar wasting away in the corner. Time is always the challenge, but the sissy factor has also been a deterrent. Picking up the guitar means pain. I remember that pain. For weeks the tips of my fingers were sore, and the thought of going through that again made me say, “Nah. Not today. I’ll subject myself to suffering and torture tomorrow.”

For the last few months life has been so busy that my writing has taken a back seat. Even when there is time, some days I just want to do something different. It would be nice to just resonate the music and relax in the evenings. Then came the Christmas holidays. I took vacation and the weather was bad, my verbal section of my brain wanted time off, and the old guitar in the corner kept sticking its neck out and peeking at me. After listening to its whining for a while, I said, “Oh, okay. But only if you promise not to hurt me.”

That scoundrel did hurt me.

Over the last 47 years, I’ve broken two fingers and dislocated one. All my past injuries seemed to gravitate toward my left hand. So each of those fingers protested vehemently when I started making them push on the strings. But I knew that was coming because of my attempt to learn guitar 10 or more years ago. I also know that pain goes away fairly quickly. The pain in the fingertips does not. So I braced myself to endure torture for the next month or so and started learning my chords. No, that’s tears of joy, not tears of pain when I’m playing. Honestly. Real men don’t cry.

I’m now at the end of my first week and here’s where I stand.

  • I have no rhythm. But then again I never did. When people clap to a song, I have to watch the person beside me and attempt to clap when he/she does.
  • I have no timing. I made my first attempt at a metronome. It wasn’t pretty, but after a few days I was able to keep time – if I watch it.
  • My eyes water and my voice cracks while playing. But that might be due to the torture inflicted upon my fingertips.
  • My fingers are as sore as a baby with diaper rash. No. Worse. But I feel the beginnings of callouses. Unfortunately, the nerve endings in my fingers seem to be unaware of these callouses.
  • The tendon pain in my once-dislocated ring finger now only hurts a little. It only affects me when I play. But then again, it didn’t affect me at all before.
  • I memorized 9 basic chords. I audition for Foo Fighters next week, so I better get a few more under my belt. And learn to change chords. I can almost change between three chords. D, G, and Cadd9 are my practice chords until they are mastered. Or should I say, until they master me?
  • I’m not whining. Okay, maybe a little. But half the enjoyment of pain is getting to share it with people who don’t care. Except you. I know you care, but you’re the only one.

My New Year’s resolution was going to be, “Do the same thing as last year, but only do it better,” but some said that wasn’t specific enough to be a real goal. So my goal in 2012 is to do something I’ve wanted to do since I was 10. Because the Mayan calendar indicates that the world ends this year, I figured it was a good time to get started. Since I started up on 12/22, I can just get a year in before the world goes ‘poof’.

This is my third attempt. My first was at the age of 10. My instructor quit. I and several students showed up about three weeks into lessons, and no teacher. We never saw or heard from her again. My incredible talent must have overcome her. Oddly enough, I still remember the strumming pattern I learned – down/down/up/up/down. It’s the most music I learned from any instructor. Oh, I also learned to pluck the strings one at a time and say, “My dog has fleas.” I still don’t know what that’s supposed to mean.

The second was about 10 years ago. My instructor quit then too. I was self-taught, but that still counts. They say, “The third time is a charm.” Great! I’m prepared to be charmed.

If I learn to play something more pleasing than ‘My dog has fleas’, I might upload it here. I would upload something now, but if it caused my instructor to flee the country, just think what could happen to you.

Have a Happy New Year! And feel free to share your plans for the coming year.

Eddie Snipes



—
Did I mention that my book is only 99 cents? You’ll laugh. You’ll cry. If you act now, I’ll include four other emotions for the same low price. It’s holding on to a 5 star rating. Find out why. Where else can you get that much entertainment for less than a buck? Buy I Called Him Dancer here.

Simple Faith: How every person can experience intimacy with God – the ebook version is a free download. Click Here.

Feel free to email me by clicking here.

Don’t forget to look at the menu to the right and connect with me on Google+, sign up for email updates, or follow my blog. ——————>

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I Called Him DancerEddie Snipes 
Author of I Called Him Dancer
President of the Christian Authors Guild

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Christmas with Pappy

Written By: Eddie Snipes - Dec• 24•11

Two things were certain when I visited my Grandfather, Pappy. He would tell me corny, over used jokes, and if there was anyone visiting, he’d squeeze my shoulder and say, “This is my grandson. I learned him how to fish.” He would then launch into a story about how we caught thirty-five fish the last time we were at the river, and then say something like, “And I’m talking about good sized one’s too.” He’d demonstrate the size with his hands.

Sometimes, he felt the need to reminisce about the first time he took me carp fishing. Below the dam near his house on the Yellow River, years of erosion cut a hole into a wide rocky area. Large carp lived in the hole. They weren’t good for eating, but they were fun to catch. My first carp weighed eleven pounds. After landing it, he pulled the hook out and started to let it go. But I was so excited, I wanted to keep it. Never had I caught such a big fish, and I wanted to save my trophy.

After a brief debate, he relented on one condition—I took it home with me. Two years later, he still asked me when I planned to get that fish out of the freezer. My guess is, the fish was long gone, but he enjoyed reminding me of it. In fact, for the rest of my life he brought up the carp Eddie left in the freezer on regular intervals. His jokes and stories were like old reruns. If you missed one, fear not. It would be aired again in the near future.

No one could tell a joke like Pappy. Though I didn’t hear a new one for the last thirty years Pappy was alive, he still had a way of keeping my interest. He’d lean over and say, “Do you know what I saw on the highway on the way home? I looked up and there was a head rolling down the center lane. When it got closer I heard it singing, I ain’t got no body, I ain’t got no body. I ain’t got no body…and ain’t no body got me.” It was a play off an old song.

The first time I heard this, I thought it was a highway accident, so the punch line caught me off guard. For the next three decades it was a rerun, but it still kept me listening. Not only did he keep my interest, but each story kept anyone in the room listening attentively. Perhaps it wasn’t the anticipation of hearing the punch line or conclusion, but the enjoyment of watching Pappy laugh heartily at his own words. He made you want to laugh, even if the story wasn’t funny.

Another story caught my childhood mind off guard on its first showing. It was only a few days before Christmas, and Pappy rushed into the room with a newspaper. He held out a picture of an awful crash, where a car ran through a railroad guard and met its demise. The vehicle was unrecognizable. Only a tangle of metal remained. “Did you see this?” he exclaimed. “Santa was taking the sleigh out for a test run and got hit by a train!”

I was shocked. Too young to read, I could only look at the heap of metal in the black and white picture.

“Looks like Christmas is canceled this year,” he said.

“No!” I protested. My sister quickly joined my lamentation. Then suspicion hit me. He didn’t seem upset. In fact, he seemed quite pleased with this tragedy. In a moment of revelation, I declared, “That’s not really Santa!”

“Oh yes it is. Just ask your Grandma.”

We flew into the kitchen where Grandma sat talking with my mother. “Did Santa really get hit by a train?” we said in unison.

“Don’t listen to your Pappy, he’s just teasing.” Good ol’ Grandma. She never had the heart to participate in my grandfather’s reindeer games. With the myth busted, we returned to debunk his news story. It took several more trips to Grandma before the doubts of the story subsided enough to ease our concerns. Every year after this, Pappy would save a newspaper and show us Santa’s wreck with a twinkle in his eye. I often wondered how many months ahead of time he started looking for carnage in the paper.

For the last decade, Christmas has limped along without his animated stories. Though I miss Pappy, I rarely feel sad when I think of him. Instead, it brings back fond stories that I tell my children. The memory of him warms the holidays, and he comes alive in my heart when I speak of him. It’s almost like he isn’t gone, but just out of sight. I suppose, in a way, that’s true. He indeed waits just out of sight, but that reunion will one day come. It’s as the Psalmist once said when he lost a loved child, “I shall go to him, but he shall not return to me.” This is the hope of every believer. The memories are token treasures to enjoy until the time when the real treasure is revealed.

Merry Christmas

Eddie Snipes

—

Did I mention that my book is only 99 cents? You’ll laugh. You’ll cry. If you act now, I’ll include four other emotions for the same low price. It’s holding on to a 5 star rating. Find out why. Where else can you get that much entertainment for less than a buck? Buy I Called Him Dancer here.

Feel free to email me by clicking here.

 


—
Did I mention that my book is only 99 cents? You’ll laugh. You’ll cry. If you act now, I’ll include four other emotions for the same low price. It’s holding on to a 5 star rating. Find out why. Where else can you get that much entertainment for less than a buck? Buy I Called Him Dancer here.

Simple Faith: How every person can experience intimacy with God – the ebook version is a free download. Click Here.

Feel free to email me by clicking here.

Don’t forget to look at the menu to the right and connect with me on Google+, sign up for email updates, or follow my blog. ——————>

Support a writer!

I Called Him DancerEddie Snipes 
Author of I Called Him Dancer
President of the Christian Authors Guild

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Posted in christmas, Favorites, real life | 4 Comments »

Death of a Christmas Tradition

Written By: Eddie Snipes - Dec• 21•11

I knew it wasn’t going to be a happy day when I walked into the mall. Weeping children passed, ushered away by parents with hollow expressions. A crowd pressed into the police tape, craning their necks, and trying to get a view of the Christmas horror at Santa’s Workshop.

I pushed through the crowd and flashed my badge as I ducked under the yellow tape. Elves in green hats huddled together, occasionally taking a peek toward the big man’s workshop. Wails and chatter filled the air. A particularly stout elf paced around with his hands on his head while babbling between his sobs. He sounded like a chipmunk on espresso, and I couldn’t make out a word he was saying. A police officer was kneeling down beside a fat man in a red suit. He wrote faster than a secretary in a board meeting.

The officer in blue looked up as I approached, and I said, “What do we have?”

“We’ve got a 187. Probably started as a 211, but might have been a 217. There are reports of a 653M before—”

“Stuff those lottery numbers back in your pocket,” I said while holding up a hand. “I didn’t take up accounting because I’m not good with numbers. I got the 187. Murder.”

“Correct.” The officer returned to his pen and pad.

Apparently, the guy’s head was full of numbers, but he was at a loss for words. “Can you provide a few more details?”

“He was murdered just as the mall opened.” The officer returned to writing in his pad.

I pulled my hand across my face to wipe away the frustration. “Maybe you could flip back a few pages in your notebook, and translate the numbers into English for me.”

The officer stood up and faced me. I finally saw his badge. Officer Valentine. His eyes examined the pages as he flipped. A few contorted expressions flicked across his mouth as he tried to decipher his own notes. “Okay. The guys name appears to be Chris Kringle, but the hobbits over there call him Santa.” The officer pointed to the elves with the eraser end of his pencil.

I nodded, wondering if he understood the implications of his words. And if he knew the difference between an elf and a hobbit.

The officer graciously continued. “I was the first one on the scene. If you don’t count the hobbits.” He thumbed toward the little men in green suits.

I couldn’t resist any longer. “You do know these are elves, and not hobbits, right?”

He shrugged and started again. “I was working security at the mall, and after hearing a commotion, I rushed over. The man in the red suit was laying just as you see him now.” The policeman reached over his shoulder and scratched his back, and then readjusted his shirt. “By the time I got here, the little green men were running in circles, screaming like school girls. Santa was laying beside a Yule log and the hobbits,” he stopped and gave me a patronizing grin. “The elves were howling Christmas carols and crying something awful. Looks like O Mr. Kringle had a Yuletide crinkle in his noggin.”

The officer’s callousness struck me. I’m glad I am a detective. We see enough crime to get jaded to the scenes we investigate, but the daily life of street cops took things to a new level. I had often heard police officers make cruel sounding jokes at crime scenes. It was a survival mechanism. Repel the pain and harsh realities of crime with a joke or two. But this man was too much. I hoped the weeping elves weren’t listening to his explanation.

I excused myself, and the officer adjusted his shirt and knelt by Santa again. When I stepped toward the elves, I could see water puddling on the floor as they sang a tearful rendition of Jolly Old Saint Nicholas. I walked up to the one who looked to be in charge.

“Hi. My name is Detective Anderson. Can I have a word with you?” The elf nodded and I led him away from the others. He sat down on a chair and I pulled out my notebook. “For the record, what is your name?”

“Bardakin.” Songs of lamentations drifted into our conversation, and Bardakin’s eyes began to well up with tears. His red nose indicated he had used many tissues. I pulled a handkerchief out of my pocket and offered it to the man, err elf.

He looked at it with suspicion, so I said, “Just pulled it out of the wash, so it’s clean.” Bardakin smiled and took it.

“Don’t want to take a chance on getting a cold so close to Christmas.” Bardakin began to wail, “Oh, I forgot. There won’t be a Christmas!”

I patted his shoulder, and he filled the hanky with his large nose and blew. After the violent blast, he offered it back to me. “No thanks. I’m giving it to you.”

“Mr. Uh….”

“Anderson. Detective Anderson.”

A thin smile appeared on the elf’s face. ”Detective Anderson, we are Christmas elves. We can’t take gifts, we can only give them. It’s one of our codes of honor.”

Bardakin held out the handkerchief again. It hung like a wet rag. I stared without moving and he raised his gray eyebrows as he pushed it toward me. I identified a dry corner on the cloth and took it with the tip of my index finger and thumb. The elf wiped his eyes on his sleeve, and I used the diversion to drop the used rag behind me into a nearby waste bin.

“Mr. Bardakin,” I said, “I know it’s hard for you, but I need to ask you a few questions.” The elf nodded. “Do you know if Santa had any enemies?”

“He’s Santa. Everyone loved him. Everyone but Peter.”

“Peter?”

“Yeah, Peter. The Easter bunny. Peter Cottontail. But I wouldn’t say he was an enemy,” Bardakin added.

“I’m not following you. Was there a disagreement between Santa and Peter?”

“Kinda.” Bardakin nodded. “Well, yes. We all had an Easter celebration, and Santa brought his famous cony stew. Cony stew is quite savory and one of our favorite springtime dishes. It is very good, but not as good as Peter’s chocolate eggs.” Bardakin put his finger on his lower lip and looked up. “I don’t know which I like best, the chocolate eggs with the white sugary cream and the yellow yolk, or the ones with the colored sprinkles and the truffle cream centers. I like the sweet cream eggs with the yolk, but I also love sprinkles—”

“Thank you, but I don’t need descriptions of the food. What does the stew have to do with Peter being upset with Santa?”

“It wasn’t just stew. It was cony stew – cony is rabbit stew. Santa apologized and assured Peter that it wasn’t anyone related to him, but he was boiling. Haha. That’s funny. Stew, boiling.” He looked at me, but I didn’t see the humor. “Anyway, Peter didn’t speak to Santa the rest of the evening.”

“Did he threaten him in any way?”

“Nope. He just stared at him from across the room, twitching his whiskers and chewing on a carrot.” Looking up, Bardakin said, “Peter’s a vegetarian you know. He makes delightful treats, but he never eats them. I don’t know why. Chocolate isn’t a vegetable, but it isn’t meat either. He might be more cheerful if he ate a few—”

“Let’s move on,” I said. It was hard to keep this guy on track. “I need you to tell me everything you remember about the events leading up to Santa’s attack.”

A smile eased onto Bardakin’s face until he was beaming as if nothing bad had ever happened. I thought this odd, and the elf must have read my expression. “I think of happy things to get me out of my despair. It gives me a clear mind.”

“I see.” But I have to admit, I didn’t see. The instant change gave me cause for suspicion. “Okay, now please tell me about this morning.”

“This morning started like just about any other morning. We all sat down for elk chops, eggs, and berries with cream.” His eyes sparkled while he thought on his breakfast. “Mmmm. The berries were fresh, and oh how I love elk chops. Especially with eggs—”

“Mr. Bardakin, please stay with the facts that pertain to this case.” This guy was a piece of work. It wasn’t hard to figure out where he got his protruding elf stomach.

“Oh, but it is relevant. We ate around seven this morning. 7:14 a.m. to be exact. This was unusually late. Since the mall opens at nine, it didn’t leave us enough time for our mid-morning refection.”

“Refection?” I asked.

“Refection. It’s the meal we celebrate between breakfast and lunch.”

My eyes dropped to his massive belly. Of course, I should have known. I nodded. “So why did you eat so late this morning?”

“Our cook received a call that his wife was taken ill, and he had to rush back to the North Pole last night. Santa hired a new cook and he had a time preparing the elk chops. We brought the elk with us, but he didn’t seem to welcome the idea of joining us for breakfast. You know, preparing a live elk for…” The look I shot toward him stopped Bardakin from derailing his explanation again. He quickly wrapped up his story. “Sorry. By the time breakfast was served, it was time for us to head to the mall.”

“I see. But I’m still not following how this relates to Santa’s demise.”

“Well, by the time we got here, we were absolutely famished. It was two, maybe three hours before lunch.” Bardakin’s tone indicated there was an important point hidden behind this explanation.

“Go on,” I encouraged.

“Me and the guys were working to get ready for the children and complaining about our hunger. The mall food stores don’t open until after we need to be working, so we were pretty depressed about missing mid-morning refection. That’s when I spotted it.” Bardakin pointed toward the edge of the Santa’s Workshop display. “Just in view was a cookie on the floor. I couldn’t believe my good fortune, and I rushed over to get it.”

This guy is afraid of catching a cold from my handkerchief, but doesn’t mind eating cookies off the mall floor? I shrugged. “Okay, tell me what happened after you found the cookie.”

A dreamy smile emerged on Bardakin’s face. “When I walked over to the cookie, I saw it was my favorite kind. It was a white sugar cookie with colored sprinkles. Yum! Just like the kind we ate at our Valentine’s dinner party last February. Actually, we have all kinds of cookies at the Valentines dinner, but the sugar cookies with the sprinkles are my favorite. They are so good! Almost as good as the Easter treats, but that bunny never uses sprinkles on—”

I had to cut the elf off before he could reminisce on another dessert experience. It was time to move this interview along. “Please, Mr. Bardakin. I need you to keep the conversation on track.” He licked his lips while patting his stomach, but nodded to acknowledge my demand. “What does a sugar cookie with sprinkles have to do with Santa’s murder?”

“Oh, yeah. When I bent down to get the sugar cookie with colored sprinkles,” he swallowed his mouth watering memory, “I saw another one. Then I saw a trail of cookies leading around the corner over there.” He stood and pointed across the mall. “I said, ‘Hey guys! I found some cookies.’ My friends came and we gathered the cookies while we ate our way around the corner. To our delight, they extended all the way down the hall. It was enough for all of us to have our mid-morning refection. By the time we reached the end of the hall, we were all quite satisfied.” His eyes dropped to the floor, and Bardakin said in a quiet voice, “That’s when we came back and found Santa and the Yule log.”

“Did you hear anything or see anything?” I asked.

“We were snatching up cookies and laughing at our good fortune. It was quite noisy.”

I looked up to the ceiling, trying to absorb the information. Stroking my chin, I asked, “Didn’t you think it was odd to see a trail of cookies leading you to the other side of the mall?”

Shaking his head, Bardakin said, “I guess we weren’t thinking. We were so excited to find the food, and we were all so hungry, all we could think about was our mid-morning refection.” The elf licked his lips and stared off in the distance. “The cookies were so good. Sprinkles on sugar cookies. All we needed was a little yak milk to complete the day. You know, we don’t get this type of cookie for Christmas. Christmas cookies usually don’t have sprinkles—”

“Thank you, Mr. Bardakin. That will be all for now. Here’s my card. If you think of anything, call me.” I produced the card and he took it. My words did little to snap him out of his dream-like state. It wasn’t hard to figure out how to create a diversion with these elves. In fact, as I talked with each of them, I had difficulty keeping their minds off food. I combed through their food musings, trying to glean out what few non-culinarily facts were present.

Strolling back to the crime scene, I examined the victim. I put on gloves, and picked up the log. It fit perfectly against the wound on the man’s head. This was definitely the murder weapon. I took a closer examination of the log. It contained festive lettering with the words, Eros nikao pas. Too bad it didn’t live up to its name.

I took a stroll down the hallway where the cookies had led the elves. I stepped around the occasional sprinkles and crumbs until I stood in front of the outdoor recreation center. It would have been closed at the time, so I turned my attention to the surrounding area. Near the mall exit, I spied something behind a planter. Walking over to it, I discovered an Easter basket. Inside was shredded green plastic and a single sugar cookie with colored sprinkles.

It looks like we may need to bring Peter in for a few questions.

***

After I called in, officers wasted no time picking him up. When I arrived at headquarters, Peter was already waiting in the interrogation room. I grabbed a new pad of paper and a voice recorder and headed to talk with Peter. I also carried a little surprise in a plastic bag.

I sat across from him and put the voice recorder on the table. “You don’t mind if I record this session, do you?”

Peter just shook his head and chewed nervously. Even though the room is under surveillance, I like to place a recorder on the table for most interviews. It makes it clear that this isn’t a time for games.

“I’ll get straight to the point, Peter. Santa was found dead this morning.” Other than a twitch of his whiskers, Peter gave no hint at an expression. He glared at me through those beady little eyes, but sat motionless for a few moments. He returned to his chewing. “Do you know anything about this?”

“No.”

“Is it true that you and Santa had a little fall out last Easter?” I watched his eyes, but saw nothing.

“It wasn’t anything.” His voice caught me by surprise. I expected it to be, shall we say, rabbit like. But his dialect was educated and proper. This was an intelligent rabbit. Not the type of rodent you would expect to go around clubbing jolly men with a log. But then again, it had to be someone clever enough to trick the elves. I thought about this for a moment and reconsidered my assumption. Anyone with an eye for pastries could trick these elves.

“Why don’t you tell me about it?” His whiskers twitched and I could tell something was eating at him. “Is it true that you were upset over a dish he brought to your house?”

“It wasn’t at my house. It was a banquet hall, and yes, I was disturbed by the obscenity of his culinary dish,” Peter barked.

“What bothered you about it?”

A sigh escaped from Peter. “I really didn’t want to dig up the past, but since you insist, it was rabbit stew. He called it cony. I am offended at the sight of any animal being slaughtered for gluttonous purposes, but even more so when it is one of my relations.”

“The elves tell me Santa assured you it wasn’t anyone related—”

“All rabbits are my relations,” Peter said in a condescending tone.

“I see.” Time to rattle the bunny’s cage. “So did you determine to get revenge at that time?”

“I wouldn’t stoop so low as to seek revenge.”

I reached down and opened the plastic bag. Dropping the Easter basket on the table, I said, “Can you explain this?”

“It looks like you have been to Junk Mart,” the rabbit said sardonically.

A smile slid onto my face. This rabbit is good. “Where were you this morning when Santa was murdered?”

“I’m certain I was hopping down the bunny trail. And I don’t believe that’s a crime.”

“Do you have an alibi?”

“I live alone, and I don’t think I should need an alibi.”

Reaching into the basket, I retrieved the cookie and laid it on the table. “Do you recognize this?”

“I recognize it as a cookie.” He leaned forward to look closer. “A sugar cookie, I do believe.”

This rabbit was a bit arrogant and was getting on my nerves. But I might have been a little self-absorbed too, if children sang about me every year. As annoying as this rodent may be, I had to admit he didn’t come across like someone who was guilty. He was either a good liar, or an innocent jerk.

After asking several more questions, I wrapped up the interview. I would visit him with these questions again to see if his story changed. In the mean time, I had a few more holiday personalities to visit.

***

A week into my investigation, the facts suddenly came together. I gathered my notes in preparation for confronting the murderer. After studying all the case files, it was a slam dunk. I knew exactly which of those crafty fellows committed this heinous murder. I sent Officers to round up my holiday friends. After placing the files into a box, I headed to the interrogation room where the suspects awaited.

Walking in the room, I asked Officer Valentine to ready the cuffs and wait by the table. These characters are very capable of avoiding detection while performing their yearly duties, so they are also quite able to escape if given the chance. I placed the officer by the shackle ring in the floor. Once I revealed the killer, I intended to secure him before he could attempt an escape.

“Gentleman.” I looked over to Mrs. Claus and added, “and ladies. I know who the perpetrator is.” Each person began looking around the room.

“Who is it?” Bardakin asked, followed by several chattering voices of the other elves asking the same question.

“It had to be someone with motive, opportunity, and the ability to avoid detection,” I said. “There is only one person in this room that fits all three. The killer had to be someone who could hide in plain sight.”

I took a stroll through the suspects, examining each face. I stopped before the leprechaun. “Mr. Paddy had an airtight alibi. Several people testified to his presence in a pub in Ireland, but we all know that leprechauns only need a rainbow and motivation, and they can scoot around the globe. Paddy is a little guy, but these magical creatures can be quite strong.” I turned to St. Paddy and tried to put a hand on his shoulder. It was below my reach so I put my hand on his head instead. I pressed a little too hard, and inadvertently pushed his hat over his eyes. “But I know you didn’t do it. You had no motivation.”

I gave a couple of friendly taps and stepped forward. Paddy lifted his hat, pushed out the dent where my hand rested, and slapped it back on his little head.

“Mr. Cottontail had motive and possibly the opportunity.” I looked at Peter and said, “But you couldn’t avoid detection in plain sight. Rabbits are good hiders, but not on a mall floor. There was no fur in the mall, and no cover where you could hide. You didn’t kill Santa.” I walked to the table and held my hand out. “Officer, the cuffs please.” He handed me the cuffs. I pushed the table away from the shackle ring.

“Elves,” I continued. “You had opportunity, and the ability to avoid detection. In a crowd of elves, one could easily blend in.” I looked to the elves and saw wide-eyed quivering bodies. I paced in front of the table, dangling the cuffs. “But none of you committed this crime. You lack motive.” I gazed at the relieved looking elves. “You guys live for treats and food. Living with the jolly man provided a never-ending source for food and snacks.” I looked at Bardakin’s belly for emphasis.

I bent down to examine the ring. “Cupid is the murderer.”

Everyone gasped.

Bardakin looked around and said, “But he isn’t here.”

“Oh, he is here.” I knelt down to the floor. In a swift motion, I slapped the cuffs around the ankle of the police officer and secured the other end to the ring. Pulling out my sidearm, I pointed it at the policeman. “Don’t move. Paddy, grab his gun.”

Paddy snatched it quicker than a pot of gold.

“What is the meaning of this,” the officer demanded.

I looked at him and said, “Eros nikao pas.” Fear invaded the man’s eyes and his face turned white.

“What does that mean?” asked Bardakin.

“Love conquers all,” Peter said.

I looked back at the rabbit. “Very good.” Confused voices echoed across the room. “When doing my interviews, I was never able to locate Cupid. But as I examined the evidence, it hit me. Cupid has been in our midst all the time.” I turned to the officer and said, “This, of course, explains why you kept playing with your back and adjusting your shirt.” I grabbed his shirt and gave a hard yank. It tore from his body to reveal his wings. Gasps filled the room. I held up the badge and turned it to Cupid. “Officer Valentine. You had opportunity. You had the ability to hide in plain sight. And you have motive. Do you want to share the motive, or would you rather I do it?”

Cupid looked down at his shackled leg, and began speaking to the floor. “I have always loved Delphine,” he raised his hand toward her, “Mrs. Claus. When Kringle married you, I was devastated. I’ve spent years trying to find someone to fill the void in my heart, but all I could think of was you. Finally, I decided that if Santa was out of the way, I could come to your aid and you’d fall in love with me.”

I nodded. “Mrs. Claus was the key. When I probed into her past looking for enemies, you were the only possibility and the only one with motive.” I walked over, and opened the door. “You may escort him to a cell.”

The mystery was solved. When I walked out of the room, the elves were debating the future of Christmas.

***

Of all the cases I’ve had, I can’t think of a stranger group of suspects. It makes one wonder about the holiday spirit. Somehow, the legend of Santa Claus goes on, and people still claim to see the fat jolly guy. Rumor has it that he’s shorter than people expected, and he has an affinity for sugar cookies with sprinkles. But we all know that’s just rumor.

Have a Merry Christmas!

Eddie Snipes 11/2010 ©


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Did I mention that my book is only 99 cents? You’ll laugh. You’ll cry. If you act now, I’ll include four other emotions for the same low price. It’s holding on to a 5 star rating. Find out why. Where else can you get that much entertainment for less than a buck? Buy I Called Him Dancer here.

Simple Faith: How every person can experience intimacy with God – the ebook version is a free download. Click Here.

Feel free to email me by clicking here.

Don’t forget to look at the menu to the right and connect with me on Google+, sign up for email updates, or follow my blog. ——————>

Support a writer!

I Called Him DancerEddie Snipes 
Author of I Called Him Dancer
President of the Christian Authors Guild

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Author Spotlight-Zeke Lam

Written By: Eddie Snipes - Dec• 19•11

Zeke Lam, author of Submission, is our special guest today.

Thanks for sharing on my blog today. Tell readers more about yourself.

ZekeheadshotI am 27 years old and have been married to my beautiful wife, Kathleen, for 6 years. We have three children (4, 2, and 2 months) that we love very much. I have ministered since the age of 18 as a youth minister and evangelist. In addition to this, I operate a small business which constructs ornamental concrete such as flower pots, bird baths, etc. I also help out with the family furniture when time permits. We are passionate to see Christ glorified through our lives, and seek to use our lives to share the Gospel. This has led our family all over the world. Our most recent “adventure” involved us literally driving to a town in Texas, renting an apartment, and seeking the Lord. Although we knew nobody or anything about the place, God gave us an entire church fellowship in 2 days! This turned into an incredible 7 month stay that is surely not finished yet.

What motivated you to write this book?

Compromise is way too commonplace today. I have seen it in the church, in families, and in my own life. If revival is to take place in or society, God’s people must be willing to operate with the level of obedience and submission God requires. Mixing our opinions with God’s commands or desires is the very recipe for disaster. If we will fully release ourselves to Jesus Christ, and be willing to follow Him the way He commands, a shift will take place in our society! Ultimately, shortcomings in my own life with regards to submissions sparked this fire.

3) What do you hope this book accomplishes?

My hope and prayer is that Christians nationwide will be challenged to step into a realm of Scriptural obedience that will spark revival!

What did you learn as you were writing this book?

I certainly experienced moments where I was convicted about the level of submission I lived under. God revealed to me the importance of denying any and all voices that seek to lure us from His presence. Submission to Him will position us for spiritual greatness!

Do you believe people struggle with the idea of "submission" and why?

Yes, we all struggle with the idea of full submission. It means releasing our control and desires to the Lord. When we do not feel in control, it creates an emotion of insecurity. This insecurity is what makes us resists submission on many levels. When it comes to submitting to our Lord Jesus, we must reject these emotions, and faithfully surrender our lives.

Your subtitle mentions obeying only God’s voice. What are some ways you believe people can hear God’s voice?

God desires to interact with us in ways we could never imagine. The Holy Spirit is very much alive and active, but the question is, will we allow ourselves to get in position to hear Him. He speaks through the Scriptures, His written word. He speaks to our hearts as we intimately seek Him daily through prayer and fasting. He can speak through people and situations around us. God is not limited to anything and can therefore speak any way He chooses. The only real issue is that which restricts and hinders us from hearing.

About the Book:

What is the greatest challenge that the Church is facing today? Zeke Lam suggests that one word is the greatest challenge:  submission, or the lack thereof. It is not external forces that nullify the subMissionCover1testimony of a Christ-centered believer, but rather the failure to humbly submit to the voice of the Lord. This book will help you to live a surrendered life abiding in Christ.

Is the approval of God more important to you than the approval of man?

Is the presence of God evident in your life?

Do you fiercely protect your intimacy with Christ?

Do you desire to live a life of truth, free from the lies of the devil?

Is God’s divine character visible to those around you?

Learn how to submit your life wholeheartedly to the Lord so that you can dwell continually in the secret place—a place of intimacy, surrender and joy.

 

Buy Submission by clicking here.



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Did I mention that my book is only 99 cents? You’ll laugh. You’ll cry. If you act now, I’ll include four other emotions for the same low price. It’s holding on to a 5 star rating. Find out why. Where else can you get that much entertainment for less than a buck? Buy I Called Him Dancer here.

Simple Faith: How every person can experience intimacy with God – the ebook version is a free download. Click Here.

Feel free to email me by clicking here.

Don’t forget to look at the menu to the right and connect with me on Google+, sign up for email updates, or follow my blog. ——————>

Support a writer!

I Called Him DancerEddie Snipes 
Author of I Called Him Dancer
President of the Christian Authors Guild

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Author Spotlight-April Gardner

Written By: Eddie Snipes - Dec• 08•11

AWGardnerMediumApril W Gardner resides in Georgia with her USAF husband and two sweet kiddos. She is the author of the historical romance series, the Creek Country Saga, as well as the children’s adventure series, the Channel Islands Resistance. She is the founder and senior editor of the fun literary website, Clash of the Titles. In her free time, April enjoys reading, organizing, and DIY. In no particular order, she dreams of owning a horse, visiting all the national parks, and speaking Italian.

Hi Eddie and All!

Thanks for having me today. I adore meeting and chatting with new readers, so I’ll be around if anyone want so to ask a question or leave a comment.

Of all the jobs in the world, which would you actually pay to do?

The one I’m already doing! I’m an inspirational writer and so far, I have yet to make a profit. Call me crazy, but, outside of being a mother, nothing beats it.

Of all your favorite foods, which would you find most difficult to give up for the rest of your life?

Chocolate! (I’m a woman. Did you really think I’d answer any other way?) The mere mention of the word makes my eyes roll and my mouth to water. If you want to rocket to the top of my Favorite Fans list (yes, I have one!), send me a bag of snack sized Mr. Goodbars.

If you could be any character in your book, which would it be?

Wow. Tough question. I love each one of my characters, even the scoundrel Major Collins (hey, Jesus loves sinners, too!), but they all go through some really rough stuff. The 1816 American wilderness was not an easy place to live. But if I had to choose, I’d say Isum. He’s a minor character, but makes you smile every time he make an appearance. Isum is young slave with a bubbly talkative personality, a positive outlook on life, and a lifetime of possibilities ahead.

What annually televised sporting event is an absolute must-see for you?

The Highland Games. Have you seen those guys chucking logs? Who could miss that? Makes me want to write a Highland Romance next. Just kidding.

What’s your all-time favorite TV commercial jingle?

More saving. More doing. That’s the power of The Home Depot.

I guess it’s not technically a jingle since it’s not set to music, but it runs through my head All. The. Time. And I don’t even like the place! I’m a Lowe’s gal.

If you could add one month to the calendar year, inserting it between two existing months, where would you put the extra days?

I wouldn’t add a new one. I’d just extend the best one—April! It’s my month, so I can do whatever I want with it. You’ve heard of birthdays? I have a birthmonth. Aren’t I special? That’s about the time of year my husband wants to crawl into a hole.

Everyone has a book in their head they want to write. What’s yours about and supposing you wrote it one day, what would you call it?

I’d call it Warring Spirits, and oh yeah! I already wrote it. Here’s what it’s about:

warringspiritsIn 1816 Georgia, escaped slaves control the land just beyond the American border in Las Floridas. Lost somewhere between white and black worlds, Milly follows hope to the only place that can offer her refuge. The first, sweet taste of freedom convinces Milly that surrender is not an option. Death would be more welcome.

Major Phillip Bailey has orders to subdue the uprising and return the runaways to their masters. Forced to fight alongside Creek warriors—the same who etched the scars into his mind and flesh—Phillip primes himself for battle.  But inside, a war already rages—return for the woman he thought lost to him or concede her to the enemy she loves; follow orders or follow his heart.

If you could have any book instantly memorized—cover to cover—which would you choose?

The Bible. Imagine the lives the Lord could use me to reach if I had a better grasp on Scripture.

The year is almost up. What the best place you visited in 2011?

Why, Eddie Snipes’ blog, of course. We dyslexics gotta stick together. J Thanks for having me, Eddie! It’s been a blast.

I’m suspect that you may have found a little more excitement that my blog, but hey, slydexics are teople poo – and you’re right. We gotta stick together. Kind of like velcro and glue. Or is it paper and jelly? Something like that. Thanks for sharing your story on my blog. If readers want to connect with April, go to http://www.aprilwgardner.com/

Check out her new book, Warring Spirits by clicking here.



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Did I mention that my book is only 99 cents? You’ll laugh. You’ll cry. If you act now, I’ll include four other emotions for the same low price. It’s holding on to a 5 star rating. Find out why. Where else can you get that much entertainment for less than a buck? Buy I Called Him Dancer here.

Simple Faith: How every person can experience intimacy with God – the ebook version is a free download. Click Here.

Feel free to email me by clicking here.

Don’t forget to look at the menu to the right and connect with me on Google+, sign up for email updates, or follow my blog. ——————>

Support a writer!

I Called Him DancerEddie Snipes 
Author of I Called Him Dancer
President of the Christian Authors Guild

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It’s a Secret – Fond Christmas Memories

Written By: Eddie Snipes - Dec• 06•11

It’s that time of year – when my younger children begin fidgeting with anticipation and getting excited about the holiday season. I remember the joys of Christmas as a young boy, but the magic of Christmas seemed to fade as I reached adulthood. But now the excitement returns each time the sparkle in my kids’ eyes remind me of those fond memories.

My children are amazed when I describe the types of toys we had. My sister ignited our senses with her Easy Bake Oven as its light bulb baked its single serving cakes. I performed with my TV Magic game as my parents pretended to be surprised at my poorly rehearsed tricks. I like to underwhelm my kids with the descriptions of our first electronic games. I tell them how amazed we were when Pong came out in 1972. We would stand at the display counter at Sears and entertain ourselves by turning a dial to move a line of light back and forth to hit a square dot, hoping our opponent would miss. My sister would fly in a rage when I ran the dial back and forth, creating a blur of light that she was convinced was cheating her out of a point. The strategy never worked, but I would always try it. Maybe it was just fun hearing my sister protest.

I’m convinced that our Perfection game was designed to give children posttraumatic disorders. We rushed to fit the twenty-five pieces into their spot as the sixty-second timer reminded us of our eminent doom. My excitement would rise as I had only two shapes to go, then twenty-three pieces would fly at my face with a bang, making me jump out of my socks.

One Christmas my sister was given a new kind of doll. It had plush skin made out of rubber that felt almost like real skin. Most of the time, her dolls had the natural look. Without clothes, they basked on the floor under the sixty watt lights. I don’t remember exactly how I discovered it, but I found that if I poked the doll with a sharpened pencil tip, it made an interesting gray pattern. I decided to give her new doll the measles. It was only pencil lead, so I figured the dots could be erased when it was time to recover from the measles. Unfortunately, the gray measles turned out to be incurable.

After realizing my mistake, I decided to cover my tracks by putting the clothes back on the doll. I dressed her and tucked the doll into bed before making my escape, hoping my sister wouldn’t notice. She did. Within minutes after walking in the door, agonizing screams came from her room and she ran down the hall crying, “Look what Eddie did to my doll.” She visualized a violent act and to this day, she swears that she saw me stabbing her doll like a serial killer.

The highlight of Christmas for me was when my grandparents would arrive in their Chevro-sleigh and bring in wrapped presents from grandma’s workshop. My sister and I would sit under the tree with our cousins identifying which ones had our names. Presents would not be opened until after dinner, and we could hardly wait. We would beg to open just one, and my grandfather would tease me by saying, “Pick out a present and I’ll let you know what is in it.” I would grab the most promising looking package and return. He would study it thoughtfully, and lean over saying he needed to whisper it in my ear. I inclined to listen closely and he would say, “It is….a secret.” I would bounce up and down, and beg for the real answer. He pretended to relent, but then he’d tell me the same thing before giving a jolly laugh.

Today I have the privilege of seeing that same delight in my own children. They bounce with excitement as we visit their grandparents and try to identify their names under the tree. Sometimes the anticipation of the contents behind the wrapper causes them to beg to open just one. I can’t let them, but I do tell them what is inside – it is…a secret!


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Did I mention that my book is only 99 cents? You’ll laugh. You’ll cry. If you act now, I’ll include four other emotions for the same low price. It’s holding on to a 5 star rating. Find out why. Where else can you get that much entertainment for less than a buck? Buy I Called Him Dancer here.

Simple Faith: How every person can experience intimacy with God – the ebook version is a free download. Click Here.

Feel free to email me by clicking here.

Don’t forget to look at the menu to the right and connect with me on Google+, sign up for email updates, or follow my blog. ——————>

Support a writer!

I Called Him DancerEddie Snipes 
Author of I Called Him Dancer
President of the Christian Authors Guild

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Author Spotlight-Precarious Yates

Written By: Eddie Snipes - Dec• 02•11

Today’s author spotlight is Precarious Yates, author of The Elite of the Weak.

 

Book_Project6_SMALL1.      What is The Elite of the Weak about?

The Elite of the Weak is set in the near future, when Babylon is rebuilt over the ancient ruins, odd political alliances are forged and strong earthquakes occur in strange places.

 

Trained to do covert missions from a young age, Hadassah enjoys few things more than thrills, whether it’s jumping out of an airplane, a high speed chase after a Somali pirate or crawling through the air ducts in a mafia-owned warehouse. But nothing is more thrilling than rescuing kids from human trafficking. The only thing is, she might do better on a team than on her own.

 

Enter Revelation Special Ops and their unique short-term mission trips. This elite group of people, R.S.O., is trained to rescue kids from the darkest forms of human trafficking. And they may be willing to take seventeen year old Hadassah on board.

 

2.      What was your favorite part about writing this book?

I loved writing the action scenes. Since there are a ton of them in this suspense/thriller, I had so much fun writing this book.

What made you want to write about the issue of human trafficking?

Eleven years ago I worked with a friend of my dad who was putting together a film about the issue of human trafficking in Eastern Europe. After the fall of the Soviet Bloc, girls were promised jobs as actresses, waitresses or dancers in more prosperous countries. Once they crossed the boarders, the girls were thrown into brothels and their passports were confiscated. I was horrified when I learned about this, and from that summer on I set my heart to become an abolitionist.

 

After this, every time I tried to write creatively the issue of human trafficking sprang onto the page. My heart was too broken about this to ignore it. So I decided to plot and plan a novel that came from this place in my heart.

You wrote this book for the YA audience. Is it important for American teens to learn about this issue?

Absolutely. Every day there are stories about American teens rescued from forced prostitution. The average age of the kids is 13. It happens more often than anyone would like to know. Many teens are facing this subject, either directly or through friends. Looking back on my teen years, I realized I faced this with friends on a number of occasions. Kids need to learn the factors that contribute to the problem. They need tools to help them talk to their friends or avoid harmful situations. But most of all, they need hope that there are solutions to this problem and they can be a vital part of those solutions.

Tell me about the Revelation Special Ops series.

The idea for Revelation Special Ops was borne from years of studying the book of Revelation. I wanted to inspire myself as well as others: if we’re on the earth during the greatest time of persecution and tribulation, what will our responses be? Will we hide under the rocks? Or will we rise up to protect the widows, the orphans, the foreigners, the poor, and the poorest of the poor—the slaves?

 

Revelation Special Ops is about partnering with Jesus, the King of Kings, to bring the Kingdom of God to the darkest places on earth during the darkest time in history.

How can we learn more about human trafficking and responses from organizations?

On my website, www.precariousyates.com, and on my blog page, precariousyates.wordpress.com, there are links pages to various organizations that work to free people from human trafficking. International Justice Mission, Love146 and Exodus Cry are three places where I know people personally who are working daily to fight for those caught in modern slavery.

What non-writing interests do you have?

I love to read, to pray, to run around with my kid and my dog, to garden, to take care of chickens, and to cook. I love cooking ethnic foods, Indian, Japanese, Chinese, West African, and especially Italian.

Where can we find you?

Here are a few places:

www.facebook.com/precariousyates

www.twitter.com/precariousyates

www.precariousyates.com

precariousyates.wordpress.com


—
Did I mention that my book is only 99 cents? You’ll laugh. You’ll cry. If you act now, I’ll include four other emotions for the same low price. It’s holding on to a 5 star rating. Find out why. Where else can you get that much entertainment for less than a buck? Buy I Called Him Dancer here.

Simple Faith: How every person can experience intimacy with God – the ebook version is a free download. Click Here.

Feel free to email me by clicking here.

Don’t forget to look at the menu to the right and connect with me on Google+, sign up for email updates, or follow my blog. ——————>

Support a writer!

I Called Him DancerEddie Snipes 
Author of I Called Him Dancer
President of the Christian Authors Guild

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Morning Reflection – The Poor in Spirit

Written By: Eddie Snipes - Nov• 29•11

Matthew 5:3

 "Blessed are the poor in spirit, For theirs is the kingdom of heaven.

 

This is the first of the beatitudes given in Jesus’ Sermon on the Mount. In case you are wondering where the term ‘beatitudes’ originates, I’ll give a quick history. The eight attitudes given are all precluded with the word blessed. In the fourth century, the Latin Vulgate became the official translation used by the Roman Catholic church. Many theological terms were coined during this time – including the phrase beatitudes. It’s a combination of the Latin word ‘beatus’, which means ‘blessed’, and the word attitude. So beatitude simply means – blessed attitude.

 

In the beatitudes found in Jesus’ most popular sermon we find eight powerful truths directed to Jesus’ disciples. These eight instructions provide the pathway to the fullness of God’s blessings attainable by every Christian. In a mere 95 words, Jesus gave the blueprint for Christian living. Jesus had a way of boiling truth down to its simplest elements. For example, when asked what are the greatest commandments, Jesus said to Love God with all your being, and to love your neighbor as yourself. “On these two commandments hang all the law and the prophets.”

 

Between the Old and New Testaments, there are roughly 775,000 words in the Bible, yet Jesus reduced it down to four primary words – Love God. Love people. Simple, right? The truths of scripture are simple to understand, but very difficult to live by. While there are those who attempt to complicate the word of God with formulas, religious ideologies, and human philosophies, the truth is that scripture was intended to be understood by a child-like heart. Or as the Apostle Paul put it, “I fear that as the serpent deceived Eve by his craftiness, your minds might become corrupted from the simplicity that is in Christ.”

 

In other words, if truth isn’t simple, it’s probably not truth. Confusion is the breeding ground for deception. If Christianity requires a guru, it becomes man-dependent instead of Christ dependent. Jesus didn’t weave a tangled form of logic when leading His people toward their blessed assurance. He showed truth in its simplest form. When truth is taught, it should always clarify and show simplicity.

 

The teachings of scripture are very simple to understand, but very difficult to live by. The reason is our human nature. The Bible says that our flesh is at war with the Spirit of God; therefore, anything that appeals to our flesh is at enmity with God. Anything that comes from the Lord calls us to abandon the flesh. Such is the command:

Blessed are the poor in spirit, for theirs is the kingdom of heaven.

 

Think about how this contradicts human nature and worldly philosophy. Who wants to be poor? The poor are dependent upon help from outside of themselves. The same is true for those who are poor in spirit. Human nature wants to be self-sufficient. Sometimes this creeps in through religion, and things that seem to be words of wisdom. Most of these fall into the ‘believe in yourself’ category.

 

The problem is that we are trying to feel good about ourselves instead of focusing on humbling ourselves so we can be transformed. It’s not a matter of believing in yourself, but believing in God to accomplish what He has promised in your life. And that begins with a humble spirit.

 

As long as I am pumping up my ego and trying to enrich my spirit by human effort, I fall short of the blessing God intends for me. The promise is not, “God helps those who help themselves.” The promise is, “Blessed are those who are poor in Spirit, for theirs is the kingdom of God.” It’s a call to recognize my complete inability to raise my dead life up to God’s standard. Whether we realize it or not, we are completely dependent upon the Lord to lift us up.

 

There is no greater confidence than the one who believes in God, who gives life to the dead and the Lord, who calls things that are not as though they were (Romans 4:17). This was the blessing of Abraham. Abraham didn’t believe in himself, but the Bible says that even though reality was contrary to hope, this man still had hope in the promises of God. In other words, he recognized his own hopelessness, and that drove him to look outside of himself to the word of the Lord. He believed God and found the source of true hope.

 

This is what it means to be poor in spirit. It’s to recognize your inability to overcome human nature by your own efforts. It’s to abandon the hope of your efforts and look to the Lord. It’s to become a willing dependent upon the Lord knowing the blessing of life is found in Him alone. It’s not a blessing to believe in your abilities, for they are limited to the strength of the human spirit. And that human spirit can never rise above the flesh that is contrary to the Lord. Or as Jesus said, “The flesh profits you nothing.” While your best efforts may be noble based on the human standard, those who are poor in Spirit are blessed, for they find a greater kingdom than what they can build themselves.

 

It’s a hard concept to grasp, for we are achievement driven. We want to do something for God. We want to prove ourselves to God. We want to earn God’s favor. But His favor cannot be earned or bought. It is not to the rich, but to the poor – for grace means unmerited favor. The rich in spirit are rich toward their own kingdom, but the poor inspirit are invited into a kingdom whose maker and builder is God. And they are truly blessed, for that kingdom is built around God’s love toward His people and will not fail when His people fall short.

 

Blessed are the poor in spirit, For theirs is the kingdom of heaven.

 

Eddie Snipes

November, 2011



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Did I mention that my book is only 99 cents? You’ll laugh. You’ll cry. If you act now, I’ll include four other emotions for the same low price. It’s holding on to a 5 star rating. Find out why. Where else can you get that much entertainment for less than a buck? Buy I Called Him Dancer here.

Simple Faith: How every person can experience intimacy with God – the ebook version is a free download. Click Here.

Feel free to email me by clicking here.

Don’t forget to look at the menu to the right and connect with me on Google+, sign up for email updates, or follow my blog. ——————>

Support a writer!

I Called Him DancerEddie Snipes 
Author of I Called Him Dancer
President of the Christian Authors Guild

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Author Spotlight S. Dionne Moore

Written By: Eddie Snipes - Nov• 25•11

Sandra writes as S. Dionne Moore to appease the editor who had just contracted another Sandra and didn’t want to get the two mixed up! She resides in the rolling hills of Cumberland Valley, PA–a Sandra-MedRestransplanted city girl and glad of it! She enjoys ferreting out little-known historical details and crafting a story around them. She is Senior Editor for The Borrowed Book (http://www.theborrowedbook.blogspot.com). To learn more about Sandra and her work, visit her at http://www.sdionnemoore.com/. You can also follow her on Twitter: @sdionnemoore.

Describe a beloved personal Christmas and Thanksgiving tradition.

A favorite tradition is the cooking of the main dish–anything other than turkey or ham! Herb-crusted roast is a favorite. Cookie baking has got to be a close second. A group of my friends and myself get together and bake different varieties of cookies, box them up, and give them to our closest friends and co-workers as a Christmas treat. We have a great time making a mess!

Thanksgiving is special because it lands this year on my daughter’s 16th birthday. She was a preemie, weighing 1 pound 15 ounces at birth. For seventy-five days she struggled for life. Watching her grow outside the womb those last three months was both terrifying and amazing. I never knew how valuable a simple weight gain of one pound was until I cheered her gain, one ounce at a time.

It was her premature birth and the tangle of emotions I experienced that tugged me to start writing my feelings down and yielded my first published piece. But more than publication, I’m so thankful God saw fit to let her stay here with me.

Name one gift you would most like to possess?

My most coveted skill would be the gift of playing piano. What a thrill it would be to hear a song, sit down at a piano, and recreate the entire piece. And you thought I’d say the gift to write a bestseller. :)

Are there any of your characters that are extra-special to you?

LaTisha Barnhart of Murder on the Ol’ Bunions, Polly Dent Loses Grip and Your Goose Is Cooked (which releases for the first time April 26, 2012 as an ebook from Smashwords). She is the sassiest, funniest, most kind-hearted and tough-loving woman I’ve ever known-err, created. I’d love to have her as my neighbor and would go to her for advice on raising children or just to share a prayer with her, knowing I was wrapped in the arms of someone who truly loved my heart.

What novels do you admire?

Any of Mary Higgins Clark’s earliest mysteries. Mary’s books because they contain such unique twists at the end, while maintaining clean-reads. These were the books that developed my interest in writing stories that were succinct (no paragraphs of description or pages of backstory) but well thought out and suspenseful.

What does your writing day look like?

I write behind the desk that holds my 27” iMac. The display is great for editing docs side by side and I can use Scrivener–a program made especially for writers that use Macs.

As for the how-to of my writing. I usually land upon an obscure piece of history that captures my interest. From there I decide whether the information should be backstory for a character or if it is better suited for setting or adding to the present conflict. Then it’s a matter of fleshing out my characters and pitting their goals, motivations and conflicts against one another.

Once all that is in place, I set a word count goal for myself–usually 2500 words a day–and set about beginning after my daughter is off to school, quitting when she returns home. I do my very best to meet word count on a daily basis so that I have plenty of time to edit before deadline.

What, in your opinion, is the secret to getting published?

Ah. A soapbox moment. From what I’ve seen, the biggest difference between writers who want to get published and those who do get published, is the ability of the latter to do two things, 1) sit down and write. Daily. And 2) to take the critiques of others and instead of getting offended they *learn*. A writer’s greatest strength is knowing their weaknesses.

Tell us about your latest/most recent release.

PBPromise Brides is a compilation of three historical romances that are all set in Pennsylvania, my home state. Starting with Promise of Tomorrow, a 2011 Carol Award finalist, set in Johnstown, PA, before, during, and after the disastrous flood of 1889–Will the floodwaters destroy the fragile threads of a love crippled by neglect?

Promise of Yesterday takes place in Greencastle, PA–He cannot say a word, yet his silence speaks volumes to her wounded heart.

Promise of Time explores a Civil War confederate’s struggle with PTSD as he falls in love with his cousin’s widow, and harbors a secret that could get them both killed.

You can buy Promise Brides here.



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Did I mention that my book is only 99 cents? You’ll laugh. You’ll cry. If you act now, I’ll include four other emotions for the same low price. It’s holding on to a 5 star rating. Find out why. Where else can you get that much entertainment for less than a buck? Buy I Called Him Dancer here.

Simple Faith: How every person can experience intimacy with God – the ebook version is a free download. Click Here.

Feel free to email me by clicking here.

Don’t forget to look at the menu to the right and connect with me on Google+, sign up for email updates, or follow my blog. ——————>

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I Called Him DancerEddie Snipes 
Author of I Called Him Dancer
President of the Christian Authors Guild

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Remembering Christmas by Dan Walsh

Written By: Eddie Snipes - Nov• 18•11

Remembering Christmas is a nice cozy holiday novel. The settings is in the 1980s in a small town in Costal Florida. A young man struggles through finding his way in life after his father leaves. Though Remembering Christmashe doesn’t realize it until later in life, he has become bitter toward others. He pursues success in business, but doesn’t realize how little his growing wealth means until he’s forced to return home because of a family emergency. His step father is hospitalized and he gets a taste of the way of life he left behind after agreeing to watch the family bookstore for a few weeks. He reluctantly agrees to help, not knowing the people he meets will change his way of looking at the world.

Characters

The characters of Remembering Christmas were well crafted and believable. The reader feels like they know the main character, his parents, and the people around him. The characters are likable and well rounded. If I had one criticism, it would be that the main character was slightly overdone with his bad attitude, but not to the point where the story was harmed. It was enjoyable watching his negative attitudes break down, but at times he seemed a little too selfish.

Even with this said, the story was top-notch and characters came to life.

Setting

Dan mixed reality into a fictional town and made the setting believable and easy to picture. Small towns are a great setting for stories. By bringing in a young man who has become a city-lover, it creates a natural tension that every reader can identify with. The setting is a clash of two worlds and two worldviews.

A real town emerged from the pages of the book, and it was a great experience walking with the characters through the quiet little town of Seabreeze.

Plot

The story was well done and came alive. At no time did I lose interest and there wasn’t a sagging middle. It keeps the reader engaged from beginning to the end. It was a pleasure walking with the characters as they journeyed to the conclusion.

While the story is unapologetically Christian, Dan does a great job of presenting a strong faith message without flooding the story with Christian jargon and churchy plots. The ending was satisfying and I felt like my time was well invested. I highly recommend Remembering Christmas and give it 4 out of 5 stars.

Click here to buy Remembering Christmas on Amazon.

Eddie Snipes
Author of I Called Him Dancer

Disclosure — Revell provided a free copy of Remembering Christmas for the purpose of this review.

Available September 2011 at your favorite bookseller from Revell, a division of Baker Publishing Group.



—
Did I mention that my book is only 99 cents? You’ll laugh. You’ll cry. If you act now, I’ll include four other emotions for the same low price. It’s holding on to a 5 star rating. Find out why. Where else can you get that much entertainment for less than a buck? Buy I Called Him Dancer here.

Simple Faith: How every person can experience intimacy with God – the ebook version is a free download. Click Here.

Feel free to email me by clicking here.

Don’t forget to look at the menu to the right and connect with me on Google+, sign up for email updates, or follow my blog. ——————>

Support a writer!

I Called Him DancerEddie Snipes 
Author of I Called Him Dancer
President of the Christian Authors Guild

Print Friendly
Posted in Book Reviews , , , | 2 Comments »
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