I have trouble in cars. The nine wrecks I had in one year as I tooled around Houston qualifies me as a road disaster. Sarah, my haphazard angel (in the book series), causes trouble in vehicles. She has accidents in red high heels too. She often tumbles into someone, knocks them down and falls on top of them.
Not all car disasters have been my fault. Houston has other crazy, inept drivers besides me.
These days, I drive a red car. In fact, my last two cars have been red. If another one is in my future, it will be red too. Why? Not because the color attracts the police, but because others can easily see me. I have no desire to own a gray color. Steely colors blend with the road. If you can’t see me coming, you can’t get out of the way.
However, speeding in a red car does gain a patrolman’s attention. I once was going about 95 on Texas Highway 6, speeding to meet a friend for lunch. I was late, as usual, and even though I’d been there many times, I didn’t remember how to get to the spot. Like Sarah, the scatterbrained, dyslexic angel I write about, I have no sense of direction, and it makes no difference if I’ve been to a location before.
The nice patrolman pulled me over. After the identities, he asked why I was in a hurry.
“Well, officer, it’s like this, I always drive fast when I don’t know where I’m going. I have to hurry up because I’m so lost. Going faster means I have a better chance of finding my destination before time runs out.”
He scratched his head and smiled. “What are you trying to find?”
After I told him, he said the place was up the road and if I traveled the speed limit, I’d get there in ten minutes. He was super nice. I drove slowly away with a warning instead of a ticket.
Sometimes, I’m totally innocent. Like the day I went to court.I was called for jury duty and left early enough to wander about Houston’s freeways. The bizarre experience that followed was my red car’s fault, not mine.I arrived at the court annex, parked, gathered my purse and grasped the door handle to get out. Oops! No way!The lever was broken. I was trapped!
I decided to crawl over the console to exit on the passenger side. Oh, my goodness! People were walking around and would see me.Should I go feet first? Bottom first? Those small car spaces aren’t made for tall people. I finally made it out. Plenty of people inside the courthouse were on their way to jail. I didn’t tell them how I escaped confinement. It’s my secret.
In my humorous, Sarah books, some of the episodes are based on my life experiences. Sarah is a dyslexic angel who comes to earth to help humans find romance. In Sarah: Laney’s Angel, Sarah, masquerading as a bride, is dressed in a wedding dress and veil. She doesn’t know how to drive, but she’s in a car. She accidentally thrusts the thing into reverse and totals the hero’s car as he sits behind her in his expensive sports vehicle. She tells him she was on the way to her wedding. Being the kind, Texas guy that he is, he offers to take her to the church. As they ride along, he discovers Sarah doesn’t know where the church is. Oh my. I enjoyed writing that scene. Stuff happens in Sarah’s adventures. Count on it.
A new Sarah book comes out in July 2018. Sarah must help a young woman lose weight and gain confidence. She also must find a mate for the lady. Just wait till you read her adventures in the gym.
All the Sarah books are set in Texas.My Sarah Series has ten books, but two books have three stories in them. Novellas were combined into a print selection. In Sarah and Three Times a Charm, or Sarah and a Family Affair, you receive several stories.
I’ve written two serious books. The latest is Mattie’s Choice. It’s historical, Christian, women’s fiction, loosely based on family experiences, and helps the reader consider attitudes and social mores. My mother-in-law was married to a demanding man who refused to let her see her family. Research shows that controlling men do this, even today. In 1925, women had few choices, but more are available today. Women can choose not to live in an abusive household. There’s humor in the book, but there’s also a lot about faith, or the lack of it.Clue into Kindness is a contemporary novella with a similar theme.
Want to know more about my books? Here you go. http://amzn.to/2hwc6nB and http://gaynlewis.blogspot.com/
(Guest blogger Gay N. Lewis, a Texas minister’s wife, writes about angels and romance. She and her husband primarily have served churches in Texas. Before becoming a full time author, her livelihood embraced interior design, photography, and communication.)
Cover reveal–new book coming out in just over a week! “Falling Like a Rock.” Unloved and unemployed. That’s Elaine Svoboda, after she’s sacked, then flees across country to her boyfriend who drops her flat. Teetering on the abyss of disaster, she calls an old friend who invites her to a tiny mountain town with fresh prospects. There she meets rugged, hunky Joe Richter-Leon, mayor of Falling Rock. From there, a woman gambles all, including her life, when she’s “falling like a rock.”
New author’s Facebook page to keep people posted about developments in my writing. Go to http://www.Facebook.com/authorBonnieMcCune to “like” the page. Or click the Facebook logo on upper right corner, this page. And forward to interested parties, too, if you would.
The human face owes its expressiveness to muscles and features. Eyebrows certainly have their share in the mix. Raising one or two eyebrows can indicate surprise, shock, superiority, doubt or disapproval. Some people can raise a single eyebrow, and this skill allows them to increase both the strength and range of emotions. A prime example of the use of eyebrows is Mr. Spock on Star Trek, who was indeed played by a human actor although he was supposed to be an alien. He often accompanied his raised eyebrow(s) with the label “fascinating.”
Somehow we always seem to be able to assign the correct interpretation to the eyebrows’ action. But all these abilities depend upon having eyebrows to raise. I’ve lost most of mine due to a little-known side effect of menopause, which not all women get. On the plus side, I’ve also lost most of the hair all over my body (except my head, thankfully). But losing my eyebrows isn’t a picnic because I haven’t been able to find a suitable replacement.
I know I’m dwelling on a relatively minor drawback to my overall appearance. I placidly accepted my aging face and figured eyebrows aren’t that important. After all, my mother-in-law didn’t have any, having been a vigorous plucker in her youth; and. I have friends who are losing theirs.
Then one day an eight-year-old girl was looking at me and my older sister. She decided I was older than my sister, partly because I have gray hair, while my sister tints hers. But also because, “You don’t have any eyebrows.”
Well! If eyebrows make a difference to a child, I figured I’d better start drawing some on. So began my quest for eyebrow color. Brown, black, blonde, taupe, applied with hard pencil, soft pencil, eyeshadow powder, smeared with a tiny brush, blotted with a tissue, tapped with my pinky finger. Arched, drawn at a straight slant, thick, thin, blended colors. Nothing looked natural. I finally decided the fault lies in the hue. Makeup experts evidently figure all women want dark brows, for that’s all they sell.
To me, dark eyebrows look threatening. They certainly overwhelm the rest of my face. I don’t want to scare children with a glowering dense substitute for regular eyebrows on my forehead. But I DO need eyebrows. After all, how else can I condescend to snippy eight-year-olds? So now I’m waiting patiently for someone to create eyebrow pencils in a range of grays to match the rest of my hair.