The goofiest thing I ever did.... Huh?

I'm new here, so I guess let me introduce myself.

My name is Heather S. Ingemar, and while I've been an author at Echelon Press since 2007, I recently fell in love with YA literature and had the yen to write some myself. My first YA novella, "Requiem" got accepted (today, actually... yay! :D ) and so you'll have to watch for that. Let me know how it goes, will ya? Great.

So, the theme for this week is "the goofiest thing I ever did." I'm not used to doing themed posts, so just gimme a minute.

Hmm.

Hmmmmmmmmm.

You're probably thinking I can't even think of something, right? Actually, it's quite the reverse; I guess you could say I'm a bit of a clutz... or at least goofy girl, and I'm having a hard time picking just ONE event out of a whole lifetime of goofy events.

I could tell you about the time I ran over the dog on my bicycle... (it was his fault, really!)

Or about the time I helped my husband make a mock gallows & accompanying newspaper-stuffed-dummy for Halloween... (you should've *seen* the funny looks we got from people driving by!)

Or when said newspaper-stuffed-dummy scared the bejeezus out of me when I was looking for something in the basement... (sad part was, I *knew* he was there)

Or maybe about the umpteen times I've tripped over my own feet, gotten people confused with other people, or ran into things.... (can we say "slap-stick"?)

Or better yet, I could tell you about the time I sang the entire chorus of "Yes, We Have No Bananas" (I even did it with a little dance!) to the customer lady who merely wanted to know when our next produce shipment would be....

On second thought, I suppose it's probably better if I don't. ;)

Have Some Poison, Sis

The above title probably sounds like this ought to be in the "Sibling Rivalry" category, but actually, this does fall under the heading of "The Goofiest Thing I've Ever Done."

When I was a little kid, I was probably as close to a priss as you could get without wearing dresses and anklets all the time, or worrying about the barrettes in my hair. My big sister, who had been under the heavy influence of our two older brothers for years before I became a walking, talking kid was a tomboy. So while she found me handy for being her student while she played teacher, her patron while she played librarian, or the annoying little sidekick while she played superhero, I know I got on her nerves as well. After all, I was the baby of the family and I'm sure she felt I got the velvet gloves treatment because of it.

Our childhood home had a fantastic back yard. It was huge with lots of big trees, the better for my brother to build a treehouse (more like a platform) and hang a swinging rope from, could accommodate my dad's rose garden as well as my mother's day lilies and carnations, and still had plenty of room for us to run around like maniacs. Maniac being the definitive word.

One summer my sister, my younger cousin, and I were out in the yard after dinner. By the back fence where my brother had his tree platform and rope, there was a tangle of bushes and weeds that the grownups clipped back but basically left alone, since it was nowhere near any of the cultivated plants. One of the shrubs blossomed with purple flowers and then gave rise to beautiful red berries every year. That night, my sister dared me to eat some of them.

Now, being the priss I was, I shunned activities that might cause me to hurt myself. I was born with mile-wide streak of self-preservation. But I was also tired of being teased and mocked, and so I thought, well, fine. I'll eat them.

For being gorgeous, red, and plump, the berries were AW-FUL. They were bitter and acidic and cloying all at the same time. I couldn't even swallow them. I bit into them, gagged, and promptly spit them out again, running into the house for a drink of anything I could find to get the taste out of my mouth. Of course, my sister and cousin thought this was amazingly hilarious. I think I could taste those things for the rest of the summer.

Years later I found out I had been trying to munch on deadly nightshade. Now, I'm sure my sister meant no harm at all, daring me to eat some of it. I imagine she had no idea whatsoever that she was talking me into poisoning myself. Of course not. How silly to think that. Uh, did I ever tell you about the time that she -- never mind.

I could go on and on about the rivalry with my brother, like how he used to shove me into a footstool when I was five or six, then sit on the lid until I almost passed out from lack of oxygen (which may account for my claustrophobia). But, I think I'll stick with the rivalry with Cynthia's brother and sister.

As you probably know, Cynthia and I are best friends, and have been since day-one. Her sister is seventeen - five years older, so we always make it a point to stay out of her way. As far back as I can remember, we never caused her one minute's trouble! So, why does she consider us more annoying than the red clay she scrapes off her shoes at the front door? What'd we ever do to her?

Just because we occasionally play records (full blast) while she's practicing her precious piano. Or, maybe, once or twice lose phone messages from her precious Rodney (ICK!).

Her brother's job is to pester us at every opportunity. I'll never forget spending one cold winter night at Cynthia's house. She had an electric blanket that I thought was pretty cool. Okay...maybe it was hot. Whatever. Anyway, before we went to sleep, her brother opened the door and whispered, "Gus. Be sure you don't move a muscle during the night or that blanket will catch on fire." I don't think I closed my eyes all night.

No matter how hard we try, we can't seem to get back at him. Any suggestions?

Your friend, Gus

(also known as Mary Cunningham)

For a limited time: Buy Ghost Light eBook from Echelon Press and a FREE copy of The Missing Locket, Book One in the Cynthia's Attic Fantasy Adventure series, will be included with your download. (both stories are in the Ghost Light file.)

Mary Cunningham Books

Amazon

Discover the Magic in Cynthia's Attic ('tween time-travel series)

GirlForce: It's all about Girl Power!

Isn't amazing the things you run across when you go Blog hunting? Today, Teen Seen is featuring author and female extraordinaire Nikki Goldstein. Read the next paragraph and you will get to know her a little better. But I don't necessarily want to focus on the woman as much as I want to focus on what the woman has to offer, so read on, then get into the really good stuff.

Nikki Goldstein has worked as a beauty editor and writer for Marie Claire, Vogue, Elle, InStyle and Cosmopolitan. Motivated by her own experiences, she decided to share the positive impact of Ayuveda - and in doing so help millions of girls across the world to feel fantastic about themselves.

The web site name says it all. GirlForce. It's all about the girls. How they think, how they act, how they feel, everything. There is so little focus on what happens in a persons life before they become an adult. Is it any wonder that there are so many women who hit adulthood and have no idea who they are or what they want?

Nikki Goldstein has established a place for the girls to get a better feel for themselves and to know how to deal with the things life throws at them, so they are better prepared for womanhood. Knowing yourself through your own eyes is so crucial to stable personal growth. Nikki addresses these issues and so many more on her web site.

Body Type. A little quiz to help you view things from your perspective.

Once you've pinned it you can take a look at the Body Type Snapshot. I wish I had had someone to offer me positive influence when I was hitting "that" age.

Next we give a listen to our Voice. It's not just how you say or how you sound saying it. It is more about what you are saying.

I love the Quiz page. Always a bit of a fiend for them in the magazines, Nikki targets things that are important to girls, not so much what is important to the people in a girls' life.

Need a little time to chill? Visit the Meditation page and let yourself regroup. Personally this isn't something I would have thought of for girls, but life is hectic for everyone, not just those over twenty. Focusing on your inner self is equally as important as the shell and Nikki makes sure that her readers and viewers get that.

With a special Forum for the girls, Nikki offers a place to ask questions and delve into those topics that are important to every girl, no matter what.

But Nikki doesn't stop there. She's plenty of stuff for the parents dealing with the their daughter's changes from childhood to womanhood. When you visit Getting To Know Your Daughter, you know you aren't alone.

I encourage every parent or aunt, or relative or even just a friend to buy a copy of GirlForce
for a Special Teenage Girl in Your Life.

Karen Syed, former teenage girl

Sibling Rivalry

My first memory is romping through the grass with my brother, Johnny. He said, "I'll help you, Sissy," as we climbed over a fence on our Indiana farm. Being only 17 months younger, I tagged along after him everywhere he went. After that, I recall him pushing me into the creek, throwing dirt clods at me, pinching me when no one was looking, and the ususal pranks little boys pull on their younger sisters.

We became friends as we evolved into young adults, sharing some of the same friends. Not telling on each other. We joined the church together and even double-dated a few times. He taught me to drive and let me drive his old jalopy when I needed to drive my friends around.

But the pranks continued and became more sophisticated. One night I went to bed early, declaring to my family that I wanted to sleep, since I had to meet the band bus at 5:00am the next morning. John's room was next to mine and he made sure I was awakened every 30 minutes from 9-1 by rapping on our adjoining wall, slapping my window, and even pounding on the piano in his room.

When my alarm went off at 4:30, I was exhausted and angry, vowing revenge. My mind whirled all day of possible pay-backs as I dragged myself around the state fair grounds having only half as much fun as I'd planned.

Finally, I came up with the perfect revenge.I collected alarm clocks from all my friends, then waited for the perfect night when he needed to get a good sleep. That day I slipped into his room and hid alarm clocks everywhere: in the piano bench, under the bed, behind the curtains,behind books, etc. ALL SET TO GO OFF AT 30-MIN INTERVALS.The first one went off at midnight, the last around four or so. Even though I had stuffed tissue into my ears, I smiled as I heard him running around his room trying to find the noise and stop it. Just when he got back to sleep, another went off. Ah....Revenge was so sweet. I'm glad I had so many friends. (Some of the clocks were electric, so he found those easily, but those little wind-up jobs just had to wear themselves out.)

Later I followed him off to college and we even taught English in the same jr-high school for a few years. He drops in now and we visit often, laughing about old times. No one mentions the alarm clock night or that it ended the pranks. He proofread my first book for me and only later did I wonder if the title Why Johnny Died was a Freudian slip. He hasn't bothered to read my newest book, The Secret of Bailey's Chase. I don't know why, maybe a little sibling rivalry.

Just Don't Mess With My Radio!

by Pam Ripling

Coming clean. I did it. I ripped Barbie's head off. And it was my sister's Barbie. BUT... this was after she broke my phenomenal, brand-new clock radio!

Normally, you could put Barbie's head back on, but I think, no, I know, I did irreparable damage that day, and the little bubble-headed bleach blonde couldn't keep her head in place ever again. My sister never forgave me. (Well, maybe a little.)

Why do we do it? Is it attention we need? It must be a common problem, because TV sitcoms have been pitting sibling against sibling for decades. From Beaver and Wally Cleaver to Drake (and Josh) and Megan. Lizzie McGuire had Matt, Hannah Montana has Jackson.

It all actually started a long time ago, before television families even existed. One of the first stories in the Bible (generally considered the oldest book in Western civilization) is about the rivalry between two famous brothers, Cain and Abel. Cain, the older, complained about having to take care of Abel, demanding to know, "Am I my brother's keeper?" This story doesn't end well, by the way.

My story does. The radio still worked, although I had to bang on it a bit. And a bit of tape helped Barbie stay sane. My sister and I are the best of friends, despite years of competition for attention. Most people will tell you that time heals all sibling-inflected wounds. Too bad Cain couldn't wait around to find that out.

Pam Ripling is the author of middle-grade mystery, LOCKER SHOCK! Buy it at Quake, Fictionwise or Amazon today! E-book version now available for your Kindle! Visit Pam at www.BeaconStreetBooks.com.

Mom Loved us Both, Right?

My brother was two years younger. We played great together—before he learned how to talk. He’d even let me put dresses on him and curl his hair. A family story says that in the middle of the night, I fed him a whole bag of chocolate chips—when he was just a few months old.
That all came to a screeching halt very quickly once he learned to say one word: “No.”

From then on, it was WWIII and while we had our moments of cease fire (usually in winter when we were so bored we could only play inside) for the most part, we were at each other’s throats. I couldn’t stand it that I always got punished—and he never did. On top of that, he stole my KISS stickers that came with my first ever album I bought with my own money. (I was nine.)

Mom never caught him doing anything at all. Of course, thinking back, I was probably more of a troublemaker. I did convince him to climb onto the roof of our two-story home with me and it was my idea to play by the forbidden river—where he fell in. I don’t remember everything I did, but I do know that he got to play outside a lot more. (At least that’s how I remember it going.)

I thought we’d fight forever, but as soon as he got bigger than me, suddenly—fighting with him wasn’t that appealing anymore. We got to be great friends after that and I’ll always remember goofing around on hot summer days and hanging out like I’d never knocked him down and he’d never pulled my hair.

Of course Mom always said she loved us both equally, but then—isn’t that what all mother’s are supposed to say? Okay, so yeah, I believe her now. Back then though, I would have told you my brother was the favorite. What about you? Got a sister or brother you’d like to put up for sale?


J.R. Turner is the author of the Extreme Hauntings series. The first book, DFF: Dead Friends Forever is available at Amazon.com, Kindle, Fictionwise, and Echelon Press.com