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Book Review: Is It Far To Zanzibar

Have you ever been on safari? Bought a juicy mango from a street vendor? Searched for the elusive crown of Mt. Meru in the clouds? If you live in Tanzania, chances are you have at least chanted about doing all these things and more while playing childhood games.

Tanzania’s rich and varied cultural tapestry is beautifully painted in Nikki Grimes’ simple poems. Ancient traditions and native foods blend with crowded bus rides and modern adventures in the pages of this book, just as they do in Tanzania itself. Every young reader can experience the cozy hut in rainy season or run from the hungry lion.

The language in this book is simple enough for children to read on their own, but we had so much fun using this as a read-aloud. We enjoyed stumbling over the swahili words introduced by Ms. Grimes, then checking our pronunciation on the glossary page at the end of the book. Perhaps your children would enjoy making up tunes or dances to the catchy rhythms of the poems.

Book Teaser: Songs of Fae

Ballad of the Door, excerpt

“With ancient feuds forgotten, and minds with ballads filled,

Two worlds long torn asunder will find the door again.

Pure of heart and human, a Chosen warrior comes,

The barrier shall be broken, two worlds unite as one.”

Sterntaler Fairy Tale Child Fairy Tales Human Girl

Irvu’s Lullaby, excerpt

Born of power, born of flame,

The one has come her throne to claim

The child of light our hearts will tame,

Daughter of earth with heaven’s name.

Seasons

She stretched her nearly thawed wings to brush the trees on either side. How much fun dancing among the branches had been, their bare bones crackling beneath the ice of her feathers. How delighted she had been by the cooling that had silenced the world and dressed her in crystal lace. The touch of her dancing feet had adorned every surface with a shining imitation of her, and the flakes that fell from her fluttering wings left white drifts into which she plunged again and again in gleeful abandon.

How strange when warmth began to creep upon her, first little more than an odd spark within her belly but quickly growing to melt her lacy garment thread by thread. The warm drops that fell from her exploded with color where they landed, transforming her playground into an artist’s palette. Silence slowly filled with song and chatter. The wind that had played with her became drunk on her increasing warmth and ripped the melting ice from her wings to fling it to the ground where it sprouted green in soggy puddles.

Soon enough she understood. The warmth had tired her, left her sitting or walking quietly among the blossoms, until her body could no longer contain it. Her child, this flame that had transformed her, hovered near her with the uncertainty of infancy. Wings still unformed, she blinked at the world from the familiarity of her mother’s palms. Her mother fed the last of her strength into the child, who sprouted wings of flame and hurtled skyward with all the enthusiasm of youth. Her fire would grow until the world reflected it’s brilliance, then cool in the last fling of youth before the birth of her own spring.

Book Teaser: Chosen – The Sprite

With my first full-length novel tentatively releasing this summer, I will be sharing a teaser from the unpolished manuscript every couple of weeks until release. I hope you enjoy reading them as much as I enjoy writing them.

Laughter like the tinkling of a wind chime drew my attention to a small copse. I approached slowly, my heart fluttering, peering closely into the shifting branches. A delicately pointed ear nearly escaped my notice until a merry eye the color of deep indigo followed it around the trunk of a tree. It disappeared the instant I saw it, but the chiming laughter rippled through the leaves. I followed it, forgetting the strange path entirely as the mysterious creature led me deeper into the forest.

   The laughter suddenly ceased, and a heart shaped face dropped from the branches overhead, inches away from my nose and upside down. Green hair hung like Spanish moss from a pale impish face, and slim fingers sprouting tiny pink flowers prodded my eyes and ears and pulled my hair. I tried to back away but my heel struck a root that had inconveniently pushed its way above ground behind me, and I crashed into the underbrush with my arms and legs flailing awkwardly. The creature laughed again, tumbling out of the tree and somersaulting through the air as it clutched its belly that shook with mirth.

   I stared at the creature from the flat of my back, too astonished to even be irritated at its mischief. “What are you?” I asked, my heart skipping with excitement.

Fantasy Woman Golden Mythical Creatures Forest

Doorman

The floor undulated beneath me, its checkered waves lifting me although I could not feel a surface under my feet. I wasn’t sure I even had feet; I couldn’t seem to find myself. The door hung from nothing, stood on nothing, with light streaming through it from some unidentifiable source. A Fedora sat on top of it, incongruous and yet belonging.

“From where have you come?” The light flickered with every word that hung heavy in the blackness like a star.

“What are you?” I would have gasped, but could not find my lungs.

“I am the Doorman. From where have you come?” The stars increased and yet lit nothing.

“Um, Earth?” I would have swallowed, but could not feel my tongue. “Small town USA?”

“What is your purpose here?” The stars began to coalesce into nebula, filming the blackness with cloudy light that could not obscure the Doorman.

“I don’t know.” I would have shaken my head but the muscles had vanished. “You tell me, I don’t even know what here is.”

“Where are you going?” The light behind the Doorman intensified, searing into my unprotected soul.

I would have covered my eyes with my hands if I had possessed either. “I wish I could tell you. Where do you lead?”

“You have asked correctly.” The checkered waves froze, the fedora vanished, and the door opened.

Book Review: Sarah, Plain and Tall

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I have loved this simple story since I was a child, and this week I was finally able to share it with my children. Sharing my childhood favorites tends to be somewhat risky with these superhero, cartoon, and video obsessed little people, but this story proved to be timeless. I read it aloud and reveled in every giggle and every delighted smile. I wanted to take a photo of our copy with them to share with you, but I’m fairly certain my four year old has secreted it somewhere she deems safe from sibling discovery.

You see, Anna and Caleb just want a mother who sings. And Sarah is the perfect fit, if only she doesn’t miss her beloved sea too much to stay. Like most children, they see what others do not, and as they watch Sarah try to adjust to prairie life they alternate between worrying and dancing with excitement. They fill Sarah’s days with little ordinary moments, like making waves in the cow pond or turning a haystack into a prairie dune.

No matter how many times I read this book, I wait with Anna and Caleb, almost holding my breath, to learn if their love is enough to hold Sarah’s heart and complete their family. I feel as if I am standing with them on the front porch, watching for a cloud of dust and a yellow bonnet. Sarah, Plain and Tall captures the essence of love and family, in simple yet poignant language that reaches young and old alike. I have a feeling it will continue to be a favorite in my family for many years to come.

The Road

FB_IMG_1582732885221She had lived in the shadow of the mountain all her life. No matter the season, it’s snowy crags had punctuated her world, piercing the sunrise and reflecting the fire of sunset. Now, standing here on the old Roman road, it stood as the final bastion of my old life.

The road itself seemed as timeless as the mountain. From the first time I saw it as a child running wild on the moor, it had fascinated me with its ancient mystery. When I asked my father about it, he would only say that it was the old Roman road. My mother gasped over her loom and dropped her shuttle, something her expert hands never did. In twenty years I had never asked again, but its stones had called to me in my dreams, and often I had searched for its path among the heather and gorse.

Now my parents were dead, my mother to a fever my fifteenth winter, my father to old age only a month gone. Nothing held me to the village; marriage would soon no longer be a possibility even were I drawn to any of the young men. Already glances slid over me as if I were no more than scenery.

I walked the moor for the last time, and for the first time placed my feet upon the ancient Roman stones. My breath caught in my chest. Soon the mountain would be behind me, only the road stretching before me stone after stone. I hefted my bundle and with a deep breath set one foot before me, then another.