Blog Hop The Next Big Thing

Today
my blog is part of something bigger than usual. Last week, Dana Arcuri invited me to be part of a blog hop called The Next Big Thing. I was not familiar with doing a blog hop, but I decided to try it because it is an opportunity for me to bless other authors.  It has been a prayer of mine to be an encourager to others.  This is a small step, a small help to show you the amazing talent that's out there that God is blessing our amazing readers with.

The purpose is to help readers discover the next great book or author; i.e., the one they will be compelled to read or the author whose work they simply can't put down.

Check out Dana's book debut and blog:

http://writing4theheart-n-soul.blogspot.com/2013/01/the-next-big-thing-blog-hop.html

Dana Arcuri is a Contributing Author for Inspired Women Succeed, published in May 2011.  She is the Director of Prayer and Contributing Writer at Write Where It Hurts.  Currently, she is writing Harvest of Hope: Living Victoriously Through Adversity, which brings an inspirational message of hope, healing and overcoming hardship.

What is awesome about this blog hop is the exciting adventure to learn about authors from various genres and styles.  One may never know the possibilities in our future. Her work might just be the next big thing,
or perhaps mine, too. Whatever the case, we are living out our passion for writing and making a positive difference within our world.

 Another part of this blog hop involves me answering ten questions about my book:



1.         What is the working title of your book?

 My Mother's Kitchen.  Volumes 1-4 are presently published.

2.         Where did you get the idea for your book?

My amazing publisher once saw an old photo of my great-grandfather and said it would make an awesome story someday.   I thought about a woman finding such a photograph for the first time, looking into the haunting eyes, wondering about the life of the man.   Thinking about stories my mother and I talked about through the years, I wanted to share the feeling of a close-knit family and how they build one another up by remembering stories from their past.

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3.         What genre does your book fall under?  

Women's inspirational fiction.

4.         Which actors would you choose to play your characters in a movie rendition?  

Diane Lane or Meg Ryan for Kate.  Kathy Bates for Kate's Mom.  

5.         What is the one-sentence synopsis of your book?

Join Kate and her Mom as they share warmth, love and the answers to some of life's issues in the comfort of her mother's kitchen. 

6.         Will your book be self-published or represented by an agency?  

I am represented by Helping Hands Press.

7.         How long did it take you to write the first draft of your manuscript?

Probably about a month.  Each volume takes a little over a month. 

8.         What other books would you compare this story to within your genre?

Books by Karen Kingsbury or Debbie Macomber. 

9.         Who or what inspired you to write this book?  

Having a very close relationship with my dear Mom.  Being like best friends through the years, sharing stories from her youth.  Mom's childhood was quite the roller coaster ride, some good, some bad with an abusive, alcoholic father, but also loving Italian family and vivid imagination to get her through.  Some of the things I write about in this series really happened, such as the strange visitor one Christmas Eve, the creepy, old house with an odd man who was misunderstood.  I take some truths, add in a dash of imagination and hope to spark in my readers the sense of old-fashioned family values missing from today's society.

10.       What else about your book might pique the reader’s interest?

Each volume deals with truth interspersed with fiction.  For example, the first volume deals with an Italian immigrant when he first arrives in America.  The next volume shows a character much like Boo Radley in To Kill a Mockingbird.  Another volume deals with 9-11 and the horrors of that day. 

      Next week, please take the opportunity to hop on over to the blog listed below.  Grace Yee is a very talented, new young author.  Her short story series The Woman in Scarlet is amazing with a fairy tale type flair.

 http://www.graceyee.blogspot.com/

My name is Grace, lover of books, keeper of secrets, and cookie connoisseur. Being the youngest of four children has given me insight and passion for the people and activities which form the pattern of my day-to-day life. Dancing has given me a physical escape while writing allows me to put that passion into words. Being homeschooled, I've had the opportunity to step into a magical wardrobe before breakfast, go on covert missions in Wal-Mart, and chasse' to the Nutcracker. So allow me to share with you the stories and novels which color my dreams, quotes that ricochet in my mind, and characters that I hope you will love just as much as I do.


Thank you all for joining in this fun venture and please check out the blogs of the amazing women I've shared with you today.

Encouraging words

          Just the other day I posted on Facebook how good it feels for someone to "like" what we write about or "like" the pictures we share.  It gives us a sense of purpose, a way to belong and have our voice be heard.
     Think back to when you were a child.  We would tug on our parent's sleeve, pulling at them to come see what we drew, or what creation we were up to.  We would practically hug ourselves with delight when our beloved Mom, Dad, aunt, uncle or grandparent would acknowledge what we showed them.  Their words of encouragement such as "That's the best picture you've ever drawn" or "Wow,  you really did a great job!" really ring in our ears as some of the best things we ever heard.
     Or how about the look on your own precious child's face?  Okay, they might have slopped finger paints all over your kitchen table, but when they feel they've done something good, something worthy of your praise, how can we fail them by not giving our undivided attention to them?
     It's a different world we live in full of electronic devices which can suck the very life from us.   I'm using one of those even now as I write this.  But let's take a step back from the cell phones, i-pads, touch screens, laptops just for a few moments a day and truly reconnect with our children and loved ones.  Let us be the encouragement they seek, the kind word, the approving look, the "atta boy" which is so necessary in today's society.
     While growing up, my son loved being filmed.  He would chant over and over, "Dad, tape me, tape me!"  Then when we'd watch the video later, he would point at the television screen proudly declaring, "That's me!"  The precious moments captured on film will live on forever.  The time it took to create these memories is priceless.
     God is waiting for us with His own encouraging words.  "Do not fear for I am with you.  Do not be dismayed, for I am your God.  I will strengthen you and help you.  I will uphold you with my righteous right hand."  He's just waiting for you to talk with Him.  Not with flowery words, but with gritty, from-the-heart words which pour out from your very soul.  He will acknowledge you.  He will make you feel you are special, you are loved, you are approved.
     Let's all get back to basics and be like the little child we once were, waiting for approval from our beloved Daddy.  Let's do it in the quiet and stillness of our hearts. 

Buy my heartfelt book on Amazon:
  http://www.amazon.com/Shadow-my-Fathers-Secret-ebook/dp/B00C50FKJE/ref=sr_1_5?s=digital-text&ie=UTF8&qid=1365980927&sr=1-5&keywords=karen+malena

Ambridge man claws his way to video fame - Timesonline.com: Local Entertainment

Ambridge man claws his way to video fame - Timesonline.com: Local Entertainment

     Twenty-five years old.  An amazing young man.  A little timid when he was younger, my son Matt now has a YouTube following with his Journey to the Claw machine series.  Obsessed when he was a small boy playing crane/claw machines, he actually purchased his own in his early twenties.  He taught himself the ins and outs of the workings of the machine, and eventually the tricks of the trade enabling young and old alike to have more "wins" at the game in video arcades.
     He has fun with this, making crazy videos, sharing his enthusiasm, whooping it up for his fans.  But recently he took on a more serious role.  Matt has begun to donate his claw machine wins to some charities that specialize for children in dire situations such as Hurricane Sandy victims and the recent school shooting in Connecticut.  He also met a fan of his who has Asperger's syndrome recently and the two played machines together as if they had known one another their whole lives.
     It makes my heart happy to see how far my son has come in such a short time.  I always knew God had great things in store for him, and now I see the promise being fulfilled.  

A Day of Changed Lives

     September 11, 2001.  A day that would change history in our country.  As a younger, single mother, I couldn't watch as the events unfolded on the television that night.  I couldn't bear to think about what was going on around me and my young son.  Would we be safe?  Would more devastation happen perhaps even closer to home this time?
     I had been working at a dentist office at the time when the news first hit the airwaves.  I looked up from the patient seated before the dentist and I, eyes wide behind the safety glasses I wore.  Hmmm, just an accident, I thought at first.  Then the report came in of a second incident and later more tragic news.  I wanted to bolt from the office, pick my child up from school and hunker down somewhere safe.  The dentist would not permit me to go.  He told me it was business as usual and nothing further would happen.
     As I walked through the door to my parents home after work that evening, seeing the faces of my loved ones before me, I gave silent thanks to God.  How many others would be crying out to Him that night?  How many others were in the midst of grief and despair?
     I shut down after that.  I would not view television reports, look at newspaper or magazine articles.  It was as if I wanted to live in my own little world.  A world where things like this did not happen.
     It would take me many years to finally watch the events of that fateful day.  My new husband saved newspaper articles, and little by little, I became curious.  We would sit and view poignant programs about the many events of September 11th.
     The day my husband took me to the plane crash site in Somerset, Pennsylvania would change my life.  As we stood on the hillside, the wind whipping about us, I could feel the solemness, the almost spiritual quality in the very air.  I began to appreciate the heroes and the many people who had died that day in a way I never had before.  The small chapel where many had left condolences and tokens of love was an all too vivid reminder of the lives snuffed so briefly out.

     Each year my husband and I make the hour or so trip to this hallowed site.  There have been several changes through the years, improvements as it were.  But the initial feeling of the sacredness, the feeling you perhaps get when you first stand on the Gettysburg battlefield remains. 

Thanksgiving Humor

     With trepidation, I pulled the portly bird in its wrapped packaging from the refrigerator yesterday morning.  I laid it upon the counter, eyeing up the name Butterball.  "Yes," I thought, "very appropriate."  I set to work, with surgical precision cutting the wrapper from the body.  I was expecting a demon-possessed entity looking back at me.  All I saw was a white, plump body of a turkey.  Nothing to be frightened of.
     I donned thin, latex gloves.  No way I was going to stick my hands up into the cavity of this thing.  I'm supposed to pull out what?  Hmmm, so far, so good.  I found the necessary innards to remove:  turkey neck, very ugly; some package of red, squishy things I didn't even want to know what they were.  Okay, it was going well.  With salt shaker in hand, I began to wash, even scrub the bird inside, outside, under wings and over legs.  When the thing was practically squeaky clean, I began speaking to it.  Now, this is not a normal thing for me.  I talk to my cats on occasion, and they love me for it.  I sing crazy songs to them while they look up at me, love clearly written on their feline faces.  But I felt it necessary to address the bird.  Tell it some stories about what a pretty thing it was, how good it was going to look after it was baked, and just some all around general chit chat.  Hubby didn't even glance up from some work he was doing at our kitchen table.  I asked him about that today.  His answer:  "I didn't even notice."
     Does this mean it's normal then for me to speak out to inanimate objects?  Has he become so immune to this type of behavior from me he barely notices?  Perhaps.
     This was only the third turkey I've prepared in my lifetime, you see.  The thing just intimidates me.  I worry it won't be cooked thoroughly.  I worry on how to get it out of the oven when it's done.  I worry over gravy-making, carving, the list goes on and on.
     Let me tell you, though.  When all was said and done yesterday, the meal was great.  Turkey was handled with care, gravy came out fine, even hubby got into the act and did the carving.  My eight guests were pleased and even went so far as to congratulate me on one of the most moist turkeys they had eaten.
     Phew, glad it's all over for now.  Until next year, or next holiday.....Perhaps the ham at Christmastime will hear some entertaining story from me as I prepare it.  At least the cats will be sitting at my feet, waiting for scraps to fall.  Waiting for me to sing some crazy song lovingly to them.

Christmas visitor

     My mother told a story once about a Christmas Eve when she was a young girl.  It was the 1940's when money was tight due to the war.  In those times, children didn't receive the amazing bounty of gifts we do today.  They were lucky to have an old stocking filled with some hard candy, nuts, maybe even an orange or other piece of fruit.  But they were special times, warm and cozy.  Families gathered for their meager meals. Prayers were said around tables thanking God for his goodness.  Stories, laughter and songs were shared.
     It was on such a Christmas Eve night that while cleaning up after a family meal, a knock sounded at the front door of my mother's aunt's house.  My mother and a  young cousin went to see who it was. A strange, disheveled fellow stood upon the porch, barely dressed in enough warm clothing for the snowy night.  He asked if perhaps their family would be able to spare some food for him.  The children ran to their mothers who were washing dishes from the evening meal, explaining about the man and his odd request.
     My aunt packed a bag of food for him, knowing she was perhaps giving away some of the meal they could have had themselves in the upcoming days.  But they had big hearts, these poor Italian people and would give the last of what they had to help another.
     The stranger left after he took the package of food from my great-aunt, and the women folk went back to the kitchen to finish washing dishes.
     My mother and her young cousin were very curious where such a person would go on such a cold, snowy night.  But as they went out onto the front porch and looked in every direction, the man was nowhere to be seen.  The strangest part was, there wasn't one footprint in the snow which had fallen earlier, not one.
     They talked about this for years in our family of the strange Christmas Eve visitor.  This story has been handed down several generations now with always the same outcome.  None of us have ever questioned that it really happened.  And we all are pretty sure who the visitor might have been...
     Do not forget to entertain strangers, for by so doing some people have entertained angels without knowing it.  Hebrews 13:2

http://www.amazon.com/My-Mothers-Kitchen-Christmas-ebook/dp/B00A8OJUGI/ref=sr_1_7?s=digital-text&ie=UTF8&qid=1365980927&sr=1-7&keywords=karen+malena

 

A gracious lady

     She's in her mid eighties now, skin still smooth and lovely, a warm smile on the pretty face I know and love so well.  She taught me so much in my twenties, those formative years where you teeter on the brink of becoming a woman, while holding fast to your rebellious, teenage ways.
     When I first met Rose, we immediately clicked.  I had been brought up in an old-fashioned Italian home much as she'd been and we bonded over stories of our upbringing and similar family backgrounds.
     She was elegant in a Jaclyn Kennedy sort-of-way to me.  Soft spoken and kind.  Yet this woman could out work any man as she went about daily chores.  I marveled at her strength physically and emotionally.  She was small, yet with unshakeable courage and a poise which made me want to emulate her.
     She taught me graciousness, she taught me patience and forbearance.   I learned how to become a gentle woman of God with her as my guide.  Even though our ages were almost thirty years apart, I felt a kinship with this woman, a friendship.
     To this day, when we speak on the phone, or on the occasion where I am fortunate enough to visit with her, I still feel the calming presence, the warmth and familiarity of a woman who I will always consider like a second mother to me.
     Thank you, Rose.  All my love.

Ellis Island

Ellis Island, gateway to a new life

Posted: 05 Oct 2012 08:35 PM PDT

Karen Malena is today’s Adventurista 
What was it like for newcomers passing through Ellis Island?
I wondered this, and more, about the brave souls who left the old world to pass through ports of entry like Ellis to begin a new life for themselves.
Did you know you can find the names of the actual ship that carried your loved ones to Ellis Island? I found my great-grandfather’s ship, the Verona, and a sketch of what it had looked like back in the day, along with the names of other passengers who travelled with him.

Ellis Island, circa 1918 (photo courtesy of the Library of Congress)

In the early 1900’s, European immigrants travelled to America seeking new and better opportunities for their families. They would board a huge ship, and those who couldn’t afford to pay the fare for the upper decks were relegated to an area just below the main deck called “steerage,” an area originally designed to be a cargo hold.The conditions were crowded, with hundreds of people crammed into cramped quarters.  Nighttime was especially uncomfortable with tiny, closely-packed palettes for beds.
When they arrived at Ellis Island, New York, the poor immigrants were ushered into a processing center which daily herded thousands through for screening. Inspectors questioned them first, and then they were poked and prodded by doctors and nurses looking for diseases or handicaps.  This process took about four hours, and then they were free to leave.  If they didn’t receive approval, they were sent back to their place of origin.
In the thirty five years of operation, 1892-1954, Ellis processed eight million immigrants. In 1897, a fire destroyed many of the records. 1907 saw the most, when 1,004,756 people passed through the portal. Estimates are that over a hundred million Americans can trace their ancestry through Ellis.
Italian immigrants settled in the Pittsburgh and Philadelphia areas. They worked as  carpenters, brick-layers, shoe makers and clothiers.  Many found jobs in the newly fabricated steel mills.  As soon as they saved enough money for passage, and could arrange for accommodations, their families left behind in the old country joined them, processing through the same ports of entry.
Besides searching the records from Ellis Island, you can type a loved one’s name into the Google search engine. I recently searched for my grandfather’s history and found lots of details our family had forgotten.
Ancestry.com often has free trials so you can get a taste of how easy it is to search.  The more information you have, such as spouse’s and children’s names, and where they were born, the more information you’ll turn up.

My grandfather Pietro Biancuci, who emigrated from Italy through Ellis Island

While I searched, I noticed that someone had corrected some misspelling of our family’s last name, and had left their email address.  I wrote her, and a new friendship was forged. We laughed and cried together over dear loved ones, long gone.
My long lost, now found, relative gave me the name of another site.  Family Search lets you search for free.
One of the search engines, Find a Grave, revealed the  final resting place of my great-grandfather, Pietro. I found it, and as I stood there, tears coursing down my face over the end of my quest, I gave thanks for being born into a family who had such a strong patriarch, brave enough to leave the old world, pass through Ellis Island, and begin a new life in America.

My grandmother’s wedding party, with her father, my great grandfather, Pietro, standing directly behind her. (photograph property of the author)

With the power of the internet, and because of the meticulous records, your search for your ancestors might turn up even more than mine did, and I promise you’ll enjoy the adventure. I’d love to hear about what you turn up.
Ancestry.com
Find a Grave
Norway-Heritage Across the Sea
Family Search

Karen Malena

Karen Malena has several compelling stories about the search for her ancestors available on Amazon and Goodreads. A devoted mother, daughter and wife, she hopes to convey the ups and downs of true-to-life situations in her writing. Coming from an Italian family has given her passion, and a love of reading has given her the desire for creativity. Karen is a member of Ligonier Valley Writers, and Pittsburgh East Scribes.When she’s not tracking down distant relatives, she works in the dental field, where she developed a compassion  for people of all walks and ages.
Contact her at scoutfinch15003@yahoo.com. Visit Karen’s Facebook page, and learn more about her books.
 This post is a Coffee Break Escape – 7 Minute Adventures Exploring the World Together To contribu

A post for a friend

This is an excerpt from a blog which a friend writes.  Very powerful.  Very true.

“I have set the Lord always before me. Because he is at my right hand, I will not be shaken. Therefore my heart is glad, my tongue rejoices, my body will rest secure. Psalm 16:8-9

David’s life is filled with conflict, tragedy, and disappointment. Yet, His hope remained steadfast in God. Within these verses we find the Psalmist’s secret behind is positive attitude. Even in those scriptures where David’s heart wearied of Saul’s pursuit, when his heart ached because his children rebelled, David worked through his grief and doubt because his hope rested in the Lord.

To move from the prison of negativity, the Christian must first be cognizant of the Lord. We can only do that through diligent prayer and Bible reading. To know someone we must spend time with them. As we grow to know God more, we realize he cares for every aspect of our lives. When we remember His great love for us, we then are able to surrender to His sovereignty and to be grateful for His many blessings.

When the Lord encompasses everything we say, do, and think, we are bolstered. He is above, below, behind, forward and on both sides of us. He shelters us and protects us from Satan’s attempts to discourage us.

Read More 

Posted by Linda Rondeau at 2:19 AM No comments:

A figure larger than life

   



  One faded black and white photo and my life would change.......
   
     Sifting through old photographs one day with my mom, I felt drawn to one of a young man in dirty overalls, haunting eyes, and beautiful hands.  When she told me this was her grandfather, Pietro, and she never knew him, I hungered to know more about him.
      He came to this country in the early 1900's looking for work and a new way of life for his wife and four children.  My great-grandfather, Pietro paved the way for us, and brought a legacy to me that I will never forget.
     A quiet, gentle man, he was a carpenter by trade.  He was born in Patrica, Italy in the late 1800's.  He came to this country when he was twenty years old, seeking a good life for his family.
     I think back to being twenty years old.  Thoughts of fun, dating, parties, selfish ambitions.  Yet this simple man, at the same age already had so many responsibilities.  Poverty beckoned at the door in his hometown. Who knows how tough it had been trying to feed a wife and four children?
   Many already had made the decision to strike out to America for a new life and new opportunities.  It couldn't have been easy leaving behind loved ones, not knowing if you would ever see them again, yet hopeful that you would.
     What was the boat journey like?  An unending, long, nauseating trip with at least nine hundred others.  Was he fearful, hopeful?
     And when he first got to Ellis Island, what thoughts were on his mind? Did he kiss the ground, so grateful to see land again?  Was there anyone waiting for him, a brother perhaps?
     Again, I think of myself.  I was lucky to be able to drive to another town when I was the same age.  For I was a fearful, scared rabbit back in the day.  Afraid to venture outside of the confines of my comfortable, small world.
      Yet this man, who couldn't read, write, or speak the strange language of English, risked it all for a chance, a dream, a hope.
     I sit here now, thinking back on my own life.  I have come so far in such a short time.  Once afraid of my own shadow, I now venture into strange, new places.  Once so timid I could barely speak to others, I am meeting new, exciting people and sharing stories of my own with them.
     Could it be perhaps this patriarch, my great-grandfather, Pietro, this figure larger than life, has inspired me to be courageous, to seek so much more in this beautiful world?  I believe so.  And I am grateful to him for paving the way for my family and I as we travel this wonderful journey together.

     Thank you, Pietro.  Grazie.