Where Would Cows Hide by D.C. Stewart Giveaway

**How did you come up with your characters, Charlie and Brad?
A combination of what my brother and I were like as kids, the stories I heard about my husband and his twin when they were kids, and how I imagined my own twin sons acting when they reached eleven years old.

**Do you have experience living or working on a farm? Any funny stories related to that?
Everyone on both sides of my family are farmers, doing a combination of growing wheat and raising cattle. Our house was in town, but we spent most of our time, especially in the summer, on tractors, combines, wheat trucks, in pick-ups, and working cattle. The only funny story I can think of about me is helping my dad, mom, and brother one morning feeding and counting the cows. The cattle all came into the lots except one, and my dad told me to hurry and open the gate to let her in before the other cows could get out. As I pulled the gate open and trotted backward, I tripped over a concrete block used to hold the gate in place, and got hung up in the chain. I was stuck at such a weird angle I couldn't get myself loose and all the cattle were rushing at me to get out. I was kicking and waving all over the place trying to keep them back, but my family thought I was panicking because I was stuck. They still give me grief over that one.

**Brad and Charlie have a quirky younger sister who sometimes drives them crazy. Do you relate?
I have a younger brother who used to drive me nuts all the time, but we were also the best playmates because we are so close in age. I have friends who were the "younger sister" and I remember them getting yelled at by their older siblings all the time.

**Brad and Charlie stay at their grandparents for an annual summer vacation. What's your favorite place to vacation and why?
Honestly, I don't really have a "favorite" place to vacation. We didn't have the opportunity to travel much when I was a kid, so ANY vacation is awesome to me. I love to travel, eat different foods, take in the scenery, watch the people. It's all new and exciting to me.

**As a writing mom, how do you juggle the demands of your kids and your career?
With great difficulty. I have a wonderful and supportive husband who gives me time in the evenings and on weekends to write. Usually if anything suffers between my writing and taking care of the kids, it's our house. I'm more of a relaxed housekeeper (fancy title for slob), and I only move on the housework if there are no clean clothes, we have to order out because there is no room to cook in the kitchen, and if I walk across the floors and they crunch.

Jacob and I really like this book. Yes, as a parent I enjoyed it, too! We read it for his reading minutes. D.C. understands how siblings relate to each other, as well as family dynamics. The twins, Brad and Charlie, along with their sister Zoey have quite the adventure visiting with their grandma and grandpa while their parents are on vacation. There's great suspense, and as a parent I cringe when I see the kids, especially the boys, doing the things we don't always get to see as parents. A couple of times I thought, "If my boys did that..." because it's so realistic! My boys will be visiting with grandma and grandpa this summer for a couple weeks and there is certainly a lot of mischief they could get into just like Brad and Charlie. At least they won't have to help wrangle up cow thieves! I also loved Zoey's storyline. As Jesus said, "Let the children come to me." This is a great Tweener book!


D.C. Stewart grew up in a small town in Oklahoma, and spent most of her childhood getting into trouble with her younger brother on their ranch. She began writing short stories in high school, and won a writing competition at a nearby college at age 17. After graduating, she attended Northwestern Oklahoma State University and earned a degree in History, and also met her husband, Scott. She worked for a church in Maumelle, Arkansas as the Communications Coordinator for five years. After moving back to Oklahoma, she chose to stay home with their four year old twin boys, and six month old baby girl, and to pursue her dream of being a full-time writer. The Stewart’s live in Oklahoma City, Oklahoma. Where Would Cows Hide? is her first novel.

WAYS TO WIN Author D.C. Stewart is giving you a chance to win a copy of WHERE WOULD COWS HIDE?, and more! Here’s how to enter for a copy of WWCH and to enter the grand prize drawing:

1) leave a comment on this blog post (or on any of the blogs participating in the blog tour);

2) email the contest coordinator at contest@novelinspirations.com with subject line “WWCH ENTRY”;

3) join D.C. Stewart’s ezine list by either sending a blank email to: dcstewart_ezine-subscribe@yahoogroups.com or visiting http://groups.yahoo.com/group/dcstewart_ezine/ and subscribing through the yahoogroups page.

Book winners and the GRAND PRIZE WINNER will be drawn on or before May 31st, 2008 and will be notified by email. Please make sure you leave a valid email address on applicable blog posts.

Here's a list of the rest of the blog tour for WWCH:

May 20, 2008 : Kathie Nolasco at http://takingastroll.blogspot.com/
May 21, 2008 : http://www.reviewzbyjewelz.blogspot.com/
May 22, 2008 : Ashley Rutherford at http://godslightuponme.blogspot.com/

To read the first chapter of WWCH you can visit http://novelinspirations.com/blogtour_wwch/wwch_firstchapter.html

Thank you so much for the opportunity to share your book D. C.! Blessings on your continuing tour! ~Mimi

Hope for the Journey through Cancer by Yvonne Ortega & Giveaway

I recently met Yvonne through a Yahoo group. Since so many people have been diagnosed with cancer, that I know in my life, in different ways, I believe God brought her to my attention for a reason! I'm hoping her book will reach people where they most need it when they are going through this journey. Yvonne has been there, she knows what people with cancer are feeling and thinking. Who else better to share God's love during this time? My prayer is that she will be an inspiration and be used by the Lord to touch those who find themselves in the same circumstance. If you know someone who is diagnosed with this disease, please consider sharing this book with them. It may bring the lift and love they need. Here is Yvonne's interview:

1.What would you like for our readers to know about you personally?

I’m an extrovert and love to laugh. Since I’m a “winter,” I prefer the deep vibrant colors for my wardrobe. I’m 5’ tall, but remember that diamonds and dynamite come in small packages.

2.Tell us about your family.

I am divorced. I have one son who is grown up and lives on his own. He insists I drink a lot of water daily and abstain from red meat. I do both. My parents inspire me to exercise every day and stay fit. If they can at their age, so can I. My younger brother and I both share a love for music.

3.Have you written other nonfiction books?

I am a contributing author to the book The Embrace of a Father, Bethany House 2006. The title of the chapter I wrote is It’s Part of Life, which tells about how my father’s care of my mother who has Alzheimer’s reminds me of my heavenly Father’s care for us. The more I need God, the more closely He hovers.

4.With all the books on cancer survivors already out there, why did you chose to write this book on cancer?

Cancer shattered my world. I wanted a book full of Scripture, prayer, and hope that would assure patients and their families that God would never leave them or forsake them. I also wanted a book that, with honesty and boldness, would address the emotional roller coaster ride that cancer patients, even Christian ones, endure.

5.Was there anything good that came about through your illness?

Oh, yes. I am a stronger Christian today. I know God loves me and that he is faithful. I no longer doubt his call on my life as a counselor as well as an author and speaker. After going through the trauma of cancer, I counsel with more effectiveness. When clients tell me they are scared, depressed, or angry, I understand because I’ve experienced those same emotions.

6.During your illness and now in recovery, have you ever asked God, “Why” or “Why me?”

I didn’t ask, but I lashed out in anger at God. I knew he called me to be a counselor. So I spent hundreds of hours studying, writing papers, and completing projects and paid thousands of dollars for my master’s degree in counseling. Half-way through my residency, I received my diagnosis of cancer. I thought the timing was outrageous and let God know it.

7.Is there ever a time when you can laugh about cancer?

I asked God to help me keep my sense of humor. The day my hair started to fall out, I went to work with wet hair. My colleagues thought I had a power outage. I told them I was afraid to blow dry my hair because I might blow it all off and arrive looking like a Buddhist monk. I laugh now about how angry I was with God. I thought he had made a mistake. Now I understand he used the cancer for good in my life and the lives of others. I laugh every time I reminisce about George, my radiation therapist. He entertained me with stories about his childhood adventures.

8.What is the most important lesson you learned from your experience in having cancer?

In God’s economy, nothing is wasted, not even cancer. Romans 8:28 (NIV) says: “And we know that in all things God works for the good of those who love him, who have been called according to his purpose.” I prayed that God would use cancer for good in my life and the lives of others, that it would be to his honor and glory, and for furthering his kingdom here on earth. I never dreamed he would do that through the publication of my book, much less through TV and radio interviews and speaking engagements.

9.Was the Bible real to you during treatment?

The Bible filled me with hope and peace. I clung to God’s precious promises during treatment and wrote verses with special meaning in my 3x5 notebook. Within days, I memorized those passages and repeated them daily. Terrified after my diagnosis, I slept with the Bible literally over my heart. I took my 3x5 notebook with me daily to radiation and reviewed my Bible memory verses on the way to treatment.

10.Why do some cancer survivors say cancer is the best thing that ever happened to them?

We say this because God has used cancer as a refining fire for us. He has used it to make us better people, stronger Christians, and more powerful in our careers and outreach.

11.How do you live differently today as a result of having had cancer?

I’ve learned to listen to my body. When I get tired, I take a nap. When I’m thirsty, I stop and drink water. Short breaks from my work help me relax. A weekend at the beach revives me. I don’t put off my plans and dreams because “next year” may never come. I signed up for a phone package with unlimited long-distance calls. Now I can call my family and friends any time. I appreciate the little things in life—thirty-minute walks to enjoy God’s beautiful world, a ride in my friend’s convertible, and sunrise and sunset at the beach. I also left teaching to become a full-time counselor because I felt God leading me to do so. I’ve never looked back.

12.How did you keep your spirits up while going through the cancer treatments?

I played praise and worship music every day and watched videos and DVDs by Christian comedians. During treatment, I planned the party I would have after completing my residency and obtaining my state license. I selected the music for the dance my friend would choreograph for us to perform. I dreamed about the sheet cake with white icing and hot pink roses with “Yvonne Ortega, LPC” and “To God be the glory” on the cake. I chose the Bible verses for my party invitations. After my diagnosis, I accepted an invitation to present a workshop on writing devotionals at the Maine Christian Writers Fellowship state conference the following August. I listened to tapes and researched the topic to prepare for my workshop and looked forward to the reunion with fellow writers in Maine and snacks of delicious Maine blueberries.

13.Did you ever think about giving up—that the treatments were too hard?

After my second treatment, my blood counts dropped to 500. Normal is between 4,000 and 11,000. My doctor hospitalized me. She said she would release me when my counts rose to 1,000. My counts dropped two days in a row. I called my parents to come see me, but Dad’s heart condition prevented them from doing so. I feared I would die alone in a military hospital more than an hour from my home.

After my final chemotherapy treatment, I thought I would never stop vomiting. I experienced a weariness that made my bones ache. I had to keep reminding myself that it would soon pass and in a few months I would travel to Maine for the writers’ conference.

14.What kinds of emotions did you experience during this time?

I experienced denial. If I didn’t talk about the cancer, maybe it would go away.

I experienced anger at God, the government, the Food & Drug Administration, televangelists who preached health and wealth, and anyone who told me Christians couldn’t be angry with God.

Fear overwhelmed me after my diagnosis and at times during treatment.

Depression forced me to my knees in prayer. When I found out the cancer had traveled to one lymph node and adjacent to another, I became depressed.

15.Are these emotions typical for every cancer patient?

Not every cancer patient will experience all of them. However, these emotions are typical. Also cancer patients don’t experience one feeling, get over it, and then go on to another one. They can go back and forth.

16. What can people do to help friends who are going through cancer treatments?

Listen without judging them. Expect cancer patients to ride an emotional roller coaster. Send cards, post cards, or e-mail greeting cards, especially humorous ones. Phone and visit them. Prepare a meal for them and take it in a disposable container or help with yard work and house work. Buy groceries and run errands for them. Take cancer patients to their chemotherapy and radiation treatments and pray with them and for them.

17.What is the most important thing you think women can do to start improving their heart health today?

I’m not a doctor or a nurse, but I can share with your readers what I do. On a physical level, I walk outside almost daily. As I walk, I review my Bible memory verses. I call the walk my double blessing exercise. I abstain from fried foods, pork, red meat, shell fish, soft drinks, and more often than not from sugar. I don’t drink or smoke. Fresh fruits and vegetables are a part of my meals. I eat whole grain cereals, mostly oat and buy Ezekiel bread from Trader Joe’s or Kroger’s. I have a juicer and make fresh carrot juice with Granny Smith apples. I see a doctor of naturopathy monthly who is also a nutritionist and an herbalist. Vitamins, minerals, and digestive enzymes compliment my meals. I get eight hours of sleep most nights. I watch comedies, read joke books and cartoons, and make sure laughter fills a part of each day. Interestingly enough, these same things help us women in the fight against cancer.

I enjoy the beach. I feel restored after walking at least two or three miles on the beach early in the morning and again late in the afternoon. The sound of the waves refreshes me and stirs up my creativity. I have lots of beach toys and make sand castles and collect shells.

The few times it snows in Virginia, I throw snowballs at the neighbors and make snowmen and angels in the snow. When it rains, I like to put on my knee high boots and splash in the puddles.

We women need to slow down and have fun. We get overwhelmed with household chores, outside jobs, church, and community responsibilities. Our hearts scream for a break.

On a spiritual level for heart health, when I first wake up, I kneel at the side of the bed and thank God for the gift of life and another opportunity to serve Him. Then I have a quiet time as I sip on hot herbal tea. I’ve already mentioned my daily Bible memory verse walk. Praise and worship music plays in my car, soothes my soul, and draws me closer to the Lord. Throughout the day, I pray for my clients and every need that arises in my life and that of family and friends. Before I go to bed, I kneel again at the side of the bed to thank Him for the day’s blessings and to seek His forgiveness for anything I’ve said or done wrong. On the weekends, I play praise and worship music throughout the day as I do household chores. If I’m working on a writing or speaking project, I set a timer on the hour to remind me to take a break to pray and review Bible memory verses. I need to focus on the source of my strength and wisdom to keep a healthy spiritual heart. These spiritual heart health tips serve the cancer patient as well as the heart patient.

I pray that some of these heart health tips will work for your readers.

18.What do you want the reader to take away from the book?

I want the reader to be honest with God. He knows what we’re thinking any way and longs to help us. He won’t be disappointed or fall off His throne if we experience fear, depression, or anger. These are normal emotions, and God won’t love us any less for being human. He made us with tear ducts, and it’s OK to cry.

God has promised never to leave us or forsake us. We can put Him to the test, and He will pass it.

19.Where on the Internet can the readers find you?

My website is at http://www.yvonneortega.com/ .

If you would like an opportunity to win this book, leave a comment about someone you know (including yourself) who is taking this journey. If you comment on this book for someone else, let us know why you'd like to win it for them. I will choose the winner on May 19th so enter before 8pm Central Time. This is only available for shipping in the US since it's being sent by Yvonne herself!

Blessings, Mimi

Invisible Moms

Invisible Moms




My kids: Brie, Ryan, Jake and Amber

It all began to make sense, the blank stares, the lack of response, the way one of the kids will walk into the room while I'm on the phone and ask to be taken to the store. Inside I'm thinking, "Can't you see I'm on the phone?" Obviously not; no one can see if I'm on the phone, or cooking, or sweeping the floor, or even standing on my head in the corner, because no one can see me at all. I'm invisible. The Invisible Mom.


Some days I am only a pair of hands, nothing more: Can you fix this? Can you tie this? Can you open this? Some days I'm not a pair of hands; I'm not even a human being. I'm a clock to ask, "What time is it?" I'm a satellite guide to answer,"What number is the Disney Channel?" I'm a car to order, "Right around 5:30, please." I was certain that these were the hands that once held books and the eyes that studied history and the mind that graduated summa cum laude - but now they had disappeared into the peanut butter, never to be seen again. She's going, she's going, she's gone!


One night, a group of us were having dinner, celebrating the return of a friend from England. Janice had just gotten back from a fabulous trip, and she was going on and on about the hotel she stayed in. I was sitting there, looking around at the others all put together so well. It was hard not to compare and feel sorry for myself as I looked down at my out-of-style dress; it was the only thing I could find that was clean. My unwashed hair was pulled up in a hair clip and I was afraid I could actually smell peanut butter in it. I was feeling pretty pathetic, when Janice turned to me with a beautifully wrapped package, and said, "I brought you this." It was a book on the great cathedrals of Europe. I wasn't exactly sure why she'd given it to me until I read her inscription: "To Carol, with admiration for the greatness of what you are building when no one sees."


In the days ahead I would read - no, devour - the book. And I would discover what would become for me, four life-changing truths, after which I could pattern my work:


1.) No one can say who built the great cathedrals - we have no record of their names.


2.) These builders gave their whole lives for a work they would never see finished.


3.) They made great sacrifices and expected no credit.

4.) The passion of their building was fueled by their faith that the eyes of God saw everything.


A legendary story in the book told of a rich man who came to visit the cathedral while it was being built, and he saw a workman carving a tiny bird on the inside of a beam. He was puzzled and asked the man, "Why are you spending so much time carving that bird into a beam that will be covered by the roof? No one will ever see it." And the workman replied, "Because God sees."


I closed the book, feeling the missing piece fall into place. It was almost as if I heard God whispering to me, "I see you, Carol. I see the sacrifices you make every day, even when no one around you does. No act of kindness you've done, no sequin you've sewn on, no cupcake you've baked, is too small for me to notice and smile over. You are building a great cathedral, but you can't see right now what it will become."


At times, my invisibility feels like an affliction. But it is not a disease that is erasing my life. It is the cure for the disease of my own self-centeredness. It is the antidote to my strong, stubborn pride. I keep the right perspective when I see myself as a great builder. As one of the people who show up at a job that they will never see finished, to work on something that their name will never be on. The writer of the book went so far as to say that no cathedrals could ever be built in our lifetime becausethere are so few people willing to sacrifice to that degree. When I really think about it, I don't want my daughter to tell the friend she's bringing home from college for Thanksgiving, "My mom gets up at 4 in the morning and bakes homemade pies, and then she hand bastes a turkey for three hours and presses all the linens for the table." That would mean I'd built a shrine or a monument to myself. I just want her to want to come home. And then, if there is anything more to say to her friend, "You're gonna love it there."


As mothers, we are building great cathedrals. We cannot be seen if we're doing it right. And one day, it is very possible that the world will marvel, not only at what we have built, but at the beauty that has been added to the world by the sacrifices of invisible women.


I'm not sure who wrote this as my friend, and fellow mom sent it to me in an email. There may be typos as well, and I tried going back to fix what I could quickly find since I'm in the middle of who knows how many things. Anyhow, I would give credit where credit were do if I knew who it was. This is for all the Mom's out there who are Invisible. Have a blessed Mother's Day. I love you mom!

Christian Author Shirley Kiger Connolly - Romance Novelist

THE BOOK:

Flame From Within:

The journey of healing begins early for young Amethyst Rose (Aimee’s) soul. Her discovery of love and faith she thought she'd never find happens when a Yankee-induced fire destroys her family and her home. Because of her loss, ten and eight year old plantation-bred Aimee Lebrun, Vicksburg darling finds herself on the run and with a desire to perhaps, give up her life. Angry towards a God she’s never known and the men in blue, she finds her only choice left is to move in with her elder, controlling sister, who runs a bordello in The French Quarter of New Orleans-a decision guaranteed to destroy her personal respect and tarnish her family name. With her bitter hatred towards all Yankees plunged into high gear, nothing seems to matter anymore. Nothing, that is, until on a riverboat en route to New Orleans, Aimee finds herself intrigued by the presence of not one, but two Union officers and a Frenchman. Each find a way to tug at the heart and perhaps soul of this woman lost. Will she respond to one of them?

Q. Tell us a little about yourself first, Shirley.

A. I was born and raised in Portland, Oregon out by a creek, so I grew up a country girl from the start. I also knew from the beginning, or almost from the beginning that I would want to be a writer someday. My dad was a mystery writer back in 40s and I guess I picked it up from him. That is why for my pen name I kept his name (Kiger) in my writing name as a memorial to him. (He passed away in the 80s.) For hobbies, I love to watch old classical movies, read literature, poetry and historical romance novels. I also enjoy teaching Bible Studies to women and speaking at and going to retreats or preparing them. Something else that inspires me is moving my furniture around… if I am not outside talking to my chickens. My husband and I enjoy traveling also (quite a plethora of things, I know). I’m kind of a lady of many interests.

Q. Does where you come from or where you live now work into any of your writings?

A. It did in my first book, Mimi, which is out of print now. And of course in all my devotionals…very much so! I should say it does in my historicals as well, because if I had not traveled to the east coast and learned so much about West Point (The United States Military Academy) where I used to work and the south where I learned about the Civil War era, I might not have finished the novel I just did! So much history back there… I loved living back there!

Q. Who is your favorite character in the book that is out now and why? Can you tell us?

A. That is so difficult to answer! I got into so many of my characters! I really did! When I worked into their situations I tried to go deep and made charts on them, their pasts, their presents, and their futures, as if they were quite real My favorite Sometimes it was Aimee and sometimes I got terribly upset with her stubbornness. There were times when I really liked her best friend and I wondered if I was giving her too much space. Sometimes it was the captain. Yet then when he got indifferent I got upset with him too and wanted her to be in love with the lieutenant. There were times when I wished…

Well, Mimi, if you haven’t yet read the book, you are just going to have to. I just don’t know who in the end was my absolute favorite!

Q. Do you write in more than one genre? If so what? And how do you make it work for you?

A. Yes, besides historical romance, straight historical fiction. And then I mentioned above I write nonfiction devotionals. I am also going to attempt Regency. I think I would like to push toward Western but that is in the future.

Q. You write for the ABA market, I see, which is a smaller and newer press. Is it harder to reach the Christian audience out there or just as easy, and is there a reason you chose that market?

A. I do. Yes, it is more difficult. Because it is new, it isn’t involved in places like Crossings or Christian Book Distributors which makes my book at the mercy of places like Amazon and Barnes and Noble and Book Stores that are willing to place me on their shelves. That makes it tougher. I don’t get into clubs like CBA books, so I don’t get the promotional opps others do The reason I chose it? Being a newer author, I just reached out, and it happened to be the publisher, who liked my work first.

Q. What irks you the most about your writing experience?

A. That’s easy! Real easy! And I’ve shared it before. It happened to me at the first publisher and now it has happened again. It is when I see my book released and I find mistakes in my book and it is too late to do anything about it. It is humbling and I realize I still have a long way to go!

Q. And finally, what will you do next, Shirley, or do you already have something in the works

A. I am working very hard at cleaning up a project I have right now before sending it out next!
THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR HAVING ME, Mimi. THIS WAS INDEED AN HONOR and a blessing! People can come visit me at my website anytime at http://shirleykoinonia.tripod.com/ or see a recent review of my book at http://longandshortreviews.blogspot.com/2008/04/review-flame-from-within.html . The readers can also leave a comment there if they would like!

My book will be officially released on the 30th but it is now UP and available at Amazon so people can purchase it.

Here is the link. http://www.amazon.com/Flame-Within-Shirley-Kiger-Connolly/dp/0979332710/ref=pd_bbs_sr_1?ie=UTF8&s=books&qid=1208975606&sr=8-1

Shirley, thank you for allowing me the opportunity to get your name out there and hopefully on many a nightstand! Blessings on your author journey.

Finding Hollywood Nobody ~ Lisa Samson

It is May FIRST, time for the FIRST Blog Tour! (Join our alliance! Click the button!) The FIRST day of every month we will feature an author and his/her latest book's FIRST chapter!

Today's feature author is:

LISA SAMSON

and her book:

Finding Hollywood Nobody

Navpress Publishing Group (February 15, 2008)

ABOUT THE AUTHOR:

Lisa Samson is the author of twenty books, including the Christy Award-winning Songbird. Apples of Gold was her first novel for teens

These days, she's working on Quaker Summer, volunteering at Kentucky Refugee Ministries, raising children and trying to be supportive of a husband in seminary. (Trying . . . some days she's downright awful. It's a good thing he's such a fabulous cook!) She can tell you one thing, it's never dull around there.

Other Novels by Lisa:

Hollywood Nobody, Straight Up, Club Sandwich, Songbird, Tiger Lillie, The Church Ladies, Women's Intuition: A Novel, Songbird, The Living End

Visit her at her website.

AND NOW...THE FIRST CHAPTER:


Chapter One

Hollywood Nobody: Sunday, June 4

Well, Nobodies, it's a wrap! Jeremy's latest film, yet another remake of The Great Gatsby, now titled Green Light, has shipped out from location and will be going into postproduction. Look for it next spring in theaters. It may just be his most widely distributed film yet with Annette Bening on board. Toledo Island will never be the same after that wacky bunch filled in their shores.

Today's Hottie Watch: Seth Haas has moved to Hollywood. An obscure film he did in college, Catching Regina's Heels (a five-star film in my opinion), was mentioned on the Today show last week. He was interviewed on NPR's Fresh Air. Hmm. Could it be he'll receive the widespread acclaim he deserves before the release of Green Light? For his sake and the film's, I hope so.

Rehab Alert: I've never hidden the fact that I don't care for bratty actress Karissa Bonano, but she just checked into rehab for a cocaine addiction. Her maternal grandfather, Doug Fairmore, famous in the forties for swashbuckling and digging up clues, made a public statement declaring the Royal Family of Hollywood was "indeed throwing all of our love, support, and prayers behind Karissa." The man must be a thousand years old by now. This isn't Ms. Bonano's first stint in rehab, but let's hope it's her last. Even I'm not too catty to wish her well in this battle. But I'm as skeptical as the next person. In Hollywood, rehab is mostly just a fad.

Today's Quote: "It's a scientific fact. For every year a person lives in Hollywood, they lose two points of their IQ." Truman Capote

Today's Rant: SWAG, or Party Favors. Folks, do you ever wonder what's inside those SWAG bags the stars get? Items which, if sold, could feed a third-world country for a week! And have you noticed how the people who can afford to buy this stuff seem to get it for free? I'm just sayin'. So here's my idea, stars: Refuse to take these high-priced bags o' stuff and gently suggest the advertisers give to a charitable organization on behalf of the movie, the stars, the whoever. Like you need another cell phone.

Today's Kudo: Violette Dillinger will be appearing on the MTV Video Music Awards in August. She told Hollywood Nobody she's going to prove to this crowd you can be young, elegant, decent, and still rock out. Go Violette!

Summer calls. Later!

Monday, September 15, 4:00 a.m.

Maybe I'm looking for the wrong thing in a parent.

I turn over in bed at the insistence of Charley's forefinger poking me in the shoulder. "Please tell me you've MapQuested this jaunt, Charley."

She shakes her tousled head, silhouetted by the yellow light emanating from the RV's bathroom. "You're kidding me right?" She slides off the dinette seat. Charley's been overflowing with relief since she told me the truth about our life: that she's not really my mother, but my grandmother, that somebody's chasing us for way too good of a reason, that my life isn't as boring as I thought. We're still being chased, but Charley can at least breathe more freely in her home on the road now that I know the truth.

Home in this case happens to be a brand-spanking-new Trailmaster RV, a huge step forward from the ancient Travco we used to have, the ancient Travco with a rainbow Charley spread in bright colors over its nose.

"Where to?" Having set my vintage cat glasses, love 'em, on my nose, I scramble my hair into its signature ponytail: messy, curly, and frightening. I can so picture myself in the Thriller video.

"Marshall, Texas."

"East Texas?"

"I guess."

"It is." I shake my head. Charley. I love her, I really do, but when it comes to geography, despite the fact that we've traveled all over the country going to her gigs ever since I can remember, she's about as intelligent as a bottle of mustard. And boy do I know a lot about bottles of mustard. But that was my last adventure.

"If you knew, then why did you ask?" She flips the left side of her long, blonde hair, straighter than Russell Crowe, over her shoulder. Charley's beautiful. Silvery blonde (she uses a cheap rinse to cover up the gray), thin (she's vegan), and a little airy (she's frightened of a lot and tries not to think about anything else that may scare her), she wears all sorts of embroidered vests and large skirts and painted blue jeans. And they're all the real deal, because Charley's an environmentalist and wouldn't dream of buying something she didn't need when what she's got is wearing perfectly well. She calls my penchant for vintage clothing "recycling," and I don't disagree.

"Is this really a gig, Charley, or are we escaping again?"

She shakes her head. "No phone call. I really do have a job."

I feel the thrill of fear inside me, though there's no need right now. Biker Guy almost got me back on Toledo Island. (Yeah, he looks like a grizzled old biker.) To call the guy rough around the edges would be like saying Pam Anderson has had "a little work done."

I've been looking over my shoulder ever since.

But more on that later. We need to get on the road. And I need to get on with my life. I'm so sick of thinking about how things aren't nearly what I'd like them to be.

I mean, do you ever get tired of hearing yourself complain?

I flip up my laptop, log on to the satellite Internet I installed (yes, I am that geeky) and Google directions to Marshall, Texas, from where we are in Theta, Tennessee—actually, on the farm of one of Charley's old art-school friends who gave her some work in advertising for the summer. Charley's a food stylist, which means she makes food look good for the camera. Still cameras, motion picture cameras, video, it doesn't matter. Charley can do it all.

"Oh, we've got plenty of time, Charley. Five hundred and fifty miles and . . . we have to go through Memphis . . ."

My verbal drop-off is a dead giveaway.

"Oh, no, Scotty, we're not going to Graceland again."

The kitsch that is Graceland speaks to me. What can I say?

And you've got to admit, it's starting to look vintage. Now ten years ago . . .

I cross my arms. "Do you have cooking to do on the way?"

Yes, highly illegal to cook in a rolling camper.

"Yeah, I do."

"And do you expect me, an unlicensed sixteen-year-old, to drive?" Again, highly illegal, but Charley's a free spirit. However, she refuses to copy CDs and DVDs, so in that regard, she's more moral than most people. I guess it evens up in the end.

"Uh-huh."

"Then I think I deserve a trip through the Jungle Room."

She rolls her eyes, reaches down to the floor, and throws me my robe. "Oh, all right. Just don't take too long."

"I'll try. So." I look at the screen. "65 to route 40 west. Let's hit it. And we'll have time to stop for breakfast."

Charley shakes her head and plops down on the tan dinette bench. The interior of this whole RV is a nice sandy tan with botanical accents. Tasteful and so much better than the old Travco that looked like a cross between a genie's bottle and the Unabomber cabin. "You're going to eat cheese. Aren't you?"

"I sure am."

And Charley can't say anything, because months ago she told me this was a decision I could make on my own.

Freedom!

"I've rethought the cheese moratorium, baby. I know you're not going to like this, but three months of cheese is enough. I can't imagine what your arteries look like. I think it's time to stop."

"What?" Cheese is my life. "Charley! You can't do this to me."

"It's for your own good."

"Are you serious?"

"Yeah, I am."

"Why?"

"Because summer's over, baby, and we've got to get back to a better way of life."

I could continue to argue, but it won't do any good. Charley acts all hippie and egalitarian, but when push comes to shove, she's the boss. However, I'm great at hiding my cheese . . . and . . . I'm going to convince her eventually.

But still.

"This isn't right, Charley, and you know it. But it's too early to argue. And might I add, you have no idea what it's like to have a teen with real teen issues. You ought to be on your knees thanking God I'm not drinking, smoking, pregnant, or"—I was going to say sneaking out at night, but I've done that, just to get some space—"or writing suicidal poetry on the Internet!"

We stare at each other, then burst into laughter.

"Just humor me this time, baby," she says. "We'll come back to it soon, I promise."

I don't believe her, but I hop into the driver's seat, pull up the brake, throw the TrailMama into drive, and we are off.

Six hours later

I pull through Graceland's gatehouse at ten a.m., park near the back of the compound's cracked, tired parking lot, and change into some crazy seventies striped bell-bottoms, a poet shirt, and Charley's old crocheted, granny-square vest. Normally I go further back in my vintage-wear, but I'm trying to go with the groove that is Graceland.

I kiss Charley's cheek. "I'll be back by noon."

"When will that put us in Marshall?"

"By six thirty."

"Because I'm not sure where the shoot is."

"Please. Marshall's small. Jeremy and company will make a big splash no matter where they set up. Besides, growing up around this, I have a nose for it."

She awards me one of her big smiles. "You're somethin', baby. I forget that sometimes." She puts her arms around me, squeezes, pulls back, then smacks me lightly on my behind. "Tell Elvis I said hello."

"Oh, I will. He's one of the groundskeepers now, you know."

I've seen computer-generated pictures of what he would look like now, in his seventies. Scary.

I jump down from the RV, head across the parking lot, over the small bridge leading into the ticketing complex and walk by Elvis's jets, including the Lisa Marie. Gotta love anything with that name. Don't know why. Just has a nice ring to it.

Banners proclaim, "Elvis Is."

Is what? Dead? A legend? What? Because he isn't "izzing" as far as I'm concerned. Present tense, people! If the person's not alive, "is" can only be followed by a few options: Buried up in the memorial garden. Rotting in his casket. Missed by his family and friends. Not exactly banner copy, mind you.

Still, you've got to admit the name Elvis wreaks of cool. Perhaps the sign should read, "Elvis Is . . . A Really Cool Name."

But it's not nearly as cool as my name. You see, my real mother loved the writer F. Scott Fitzgerald. And that's my name: Francis Scott Fitzgerald Dawn. Only Dawn's not my actual last name. I don't know what my real last name is. My real first name is Ariana. Being on the run, Charley renamed us to protect our identity. So she honored my mother by naming me after Mom's favorite novelist. More on that later too.

It sounds fun, traveling on the road from film shoot to film shoot, never settling down in one place for too long, but honestly, it's very sad.

I always knew Charley lived with a sadness down deep, and when I found out why this spring, her sadness became mine. See, my dad is dead and my mother, Charley's daughter Babette, is too. Or we think she must be, because she disappeared under questionable circumstances and never came back. Learn that when you're fifteen and see where you land.

When I thought Charley was my mother, I had such high hopes for who my father might be. Al Pacino was number one in the ranking. Don't ask.

Okay, Elvis, here we go. Let's you and me be "taking care of business."

I hand over my money to the lady behind the reservations counter. I called thirty minutes ago on my cell phone, compliments of my mother's friend Jeremy, and reserved a spot.

"You'll be on the first tour."

Yes! More time amid the shag carpeting and the gold records. And the jumpsuits. Can't forget the jumpsuits. I want a cape too.

The gift shop calls to me. Confession: I love gift shops. They even smell sparkly. Key chains dangling, saying, "You can take me with you wherever you go!" Mugs with the Saint Louis Gateway Arch or the Grand Ole Opry promising an even better cup of coffee. Earrings that advertise you've been somewhere. That's exactly what I choose while I wait for the tour, a little pair of dangly red guitars with the words Elvis Presley in gold script on the bodies, and how in the world they put that on so small is beyond me. See, gift shops can even be miraculous if you take your time and look.

A voice over the loudspeaker announces my tour number, so I stand in line. By myself. Just me in a group of twenty or so.

Okay, here is where it gets hard to be me. I know I should be thankful for my free-spirited life. But especially now that I know my parents are dead, it feels empty all of a sudden. I shouldn't be standing in line at Graceland alone. My mother and I should be giggling behind our hands at the man nearby who's actually grown a glorious pair o' mutton-chop sideburns, slicked back his salt-and-pepper curls, and shrugged his broad shoulders into a leather jacket. Really, right? My father, who was an FBI agent the mob shot right in a warehouse in Baltimore, would shake his head like a dad in a sixties TV show and laugh at his girls.

We'd get on the bus like I'm doing now, each of us putting on our tour headphones and hanging the little blue recorders around our necks in anticipation of the glory that is Elvis.

The driver welcomes us as he shuts the hydraulic doors of the little tour bus with its clean blue upholstery, a bus in which an assisted-living home might haul its residents to the mall.

It smells new in here, and my gross-out antennae aren't vibrating in the least like they do when I go into an old burger joint and the orange melamine booth hasn't been scrubbed since the place opened in 1987.

In my fantasy, my dad would sit beside me. And Mom, just across the aisle, holding onto the seatback in front of her, would look at me as we pass through those famed musical gates, because she would have introduced me to Elvis music. According to Charley, my vintage sentimentalism comes from my mom. I've learned a little about her this summer.

Charley said, "She'd wear my cousin's old poodle skirt and listen to Love Me Tender over and over again while writing in her diary." She became a respected journalist, loved books as much as I do. I pat my book in my backpack, looking forward to tonight when I can cuddle into my loft and get into one of Fitzgerald's glittering worlds. "She was different from me, Scotty. I tried to change the world through protest. Your mother wanted to build something completely different and much better." She sighed. "All my generation could do, I guess, was tear apart. It's going to take our children to put the pieces back together. Babette was a very careful person. Very purposeful."

If it drove my freewheeling grandmother crazy, she doesn't let on.

"I could try to describe how much she loved you, baby. But I don't think I could begin to do her devotion to you justice. I was so proud of her, for how much she loved and gave away. She was amazing."

So in May I found out she existed, the same day I found out she is dead, or most likely dead. And now I'm going into Graceland alone, truly an orphan. Who wants to be an orphan?

We disembark from the bus—me, Elvis Lite, some folks from a Spanish-speaking country, and a lot of older people. I miss Grammie and Grampie right now. More later on them, too. And you'll get to meet them. Like the waters of the Gulf Stream, we seem to travel in the same general direction. I spent a week with them this summer in Tennessee. Yeah, we did Nashville right. They're loaded.

Standing beneath the front porch, my gaze skates up and down the soaring white pillars and comes to rest on the stone lions that guard the steps. My father was a lion. That's why he ended up with a bullet in his chest. Speaking in very broad terms, the story goes as follows:

Dad, undercover, worked his way into a portion of the mob, or mafia if you prefer, that was heavily financing the campaign of a Maryland gubernatorial candidate. When they discovered him, they shot him on site, in a warehouse in the Canton neighborhood of downtown Baltimore. My mother watched, gasped, and a chase ensued. She hid in a friend's gallery, called Charley and told her to keep watching me. (Charley had kept me the night before because my mom and dad had some glamorous function to attend.) And then she disappeared.

The Graceland tour recorder tells me to look to my right into the beautiful white living room with peacock stained-glass windows leading into the music room. This room really isn't so bad, I've got to admit. A picture of Elvis's dad hangs on the wall. He really loved his parents.

I've toured this house at least seven times before, and I'll tell you this, Elvis's love for his family soaked into the walls. A girl that lives in a camper, has dead parents, and is being chased by someone from the mob who knows my grandmother knows what went down, well, she can feel these things.

Charley thinks someone's trying to kill us. This guy is always trying to find us, but Charley's really great at evasion. She said the politician who won the governor's seat all those years ago just announced his candidacy for president and—oh, GREAT!—he's probably trying to make sure nothing comes back to haunt him and sent Biker Guy to finish off the entire matter.

The thing is, he seems to be after me too. And what in the world would I have to do with all of that?

I'll bet Charley's back in that camper shaking in her shoes because I'm over here by myself; I'll bet she's figuring out more ways to be utterly and overly protective of me. I wouldn't be surprised if she's wondering whether locking a kid in an RV is child abuse.

But I love Charley. I really do. I know she's scared back there, and despite the fact that I would be no real help if Biker Guy caught us, I can't leave her there so frightened and alone for long.

Elvis dear, I can only stay a little while. So love me tender, love me sweet, and for the sake of all that's decent, don't step on my blue suede shoes.

I hurry past the bedroom of Elvis's parents, decorated in shades of ivory and purple, very nice, and through the dining room—a little seventies tackiness I'll admit—into the kitchen with dark brown cabinetry and the ghosts of a million grilled peanut butter and banana sandwiches, then on down into the basement. Okay, I admit, I've got to just stand for a second in the TV room and admire the man's ability to watch three TVs at once on that huge yellow couch with the sparkly pillows.

I shoot through the billiard room, which is, honestly, truly beautiful with its fabric-lined walls and ceiling, up the back steps and into the Jungle Room, probably Graceland's most famous room. Green shag carpet overlays the floor and the ceiling, and heavily carved, Polynesian-style furniture is arranged around a rock-wall waterfall at the end of the room. It really defies the imagination, folks. Google Jungle Room Graceland and see what I mean.

The second floor of Graceland is closed off to the public because Elvis died up there. On the toilet. Wise decision on the part of Priscilla I'd say.

Out the door, into the office building, down to the trophy hall, I whiz through all the gold and platinum records, the costumes, the awards, and even a wall full of checks he'd written for charity. According to my recorder, Elvis was an active community member in Memphis. And he obviously didn't care what race or religion people were. He supported Jewish organizations, Catholic, Baptist. Pretty cool.

Of course, this recorder isn't going to tell of the dark side of the man. But Elvis Isn't, despite what the banners say. So why drag a dead man through the mud?

I hurry through the racquetball court, more gold records, the infamous jumpsuits, back outside to the pool and memorial garden where Elvis has been laid to rest.

An older lady cries into a handkerchief. I don't ask why.

Good-bye Elvis. Thanks for the tour. Maybe one day I'll do something great too.

A few minutes later . . .