Price…..$15.00 plus $2.50 shipping
Make check to: Forrest Press
Mail to: Shirley Buxton P. O. Box 4577 Crestline, CA. 92325
Need to charge an order? Book is available from Pentecostal Publishing House
My other books here.
Books will be available at the United Pentecostal Church, International, Worldwide Pentecostal Fellowship, Advance Ministries, and directly from me. (In a short time, they will be available on Amazon.)
At the UPCI general conference in Louisville, KY. from October 12 to 15, I will be signing books in the PPH display area.
As soon as I receive the books from the printer, which should be early next week, I will ship books to those who have pre-ordered. Again, thank you for that. It helped me tremendously with the printing costs.
HAVEN’T ORDERED YET?
It’s easy. Go to My Books page. Don’t delay so that I can mail yours before leaving for Louisville.
I was pleased a couple of weeks ago to receive an email message that read in part:
I just wanted to let you know that you have been featured as a must-read author on ApostolicNews.org in the Arts & Entertainment section.
If you were like to read the article, it’s here Author Shirley Buxton, A Great Read
ApostolicNews.org is the fastest growing news site for the Apostolic Movement. We appreciate your contributions and wanted to feature you this month.
God bless! Thank you!
Arts & Entertainment Editor
That was nice of them, wasn’t it. If you’d like to have a look, an active link is here.
New post on my devotional blog here.
Wednesday was the day I missed the birthday. The Internet turned 40 years old and I didn’t find out about the celebration until yesterday. I, of all people, one who loves the internet so much and who uses it daily. The least I could have done was throw a small (or large) party and bake a cake (or at least a cookie or two.) We should have shared party hats and “Pin the Tail” games…or something like that.
I cannot remember when I first learned of the internet, or when I first used it, but today, I tell you, I cannot image life without it. I communicate with people all over the world, I read the news, I stroll through libraries, I laugh at funny pictures on YouTube, and watch dynamic speeches and powerful sermons, I market my books (to all three of you who eagerly await every word I utter), I pay bills, I check my bank balance, I talk to my kids and my grandkids, I show off my pictures, and people tell me how wonderful they are, and a few honest ones say something like rather pitiful–surely you can do better, Helen tussles with me, I meet old friends on Facebook, and make some new ones, (some of whom have become so dear that I am making plans to meet them in person, and, actually, I have already met one in person), I advertise our church, and blog, and see articles published that I have written, see pictures of my friends and their babies, and quite old pictures where our hair and clothes look really funny, get prayer requests and praise reports from our church headquarters, and find out how hot it will be today in Lake Havasu or how cold in Crestline, and what the dewpoint is, and make airline reservations, and drool over cruise itineraries and find words to songs and learn ingredients for recipes, and check the spelling of words and the location of Scripture…and…
It happened forty years ago when some smart men at UCLA taught two computers to talk with each other, thus beginning this world wide web we call the internet. I for one am extremely glad they did, and belated though it is, I wish the internet a very happy birthday and many happy returns.
You might want to check this link for a Computer World article where there are more details about the birth of the internet.
How about you? Did you wish the internet a happy birthday? Do you like the internet? Do you wish it many more healthy years?…or do you believe its dangers exceed its profitability?
Picture courtesy of Google images
I feel so honored that Renaissance Guy knighted me as a Kreativ Blogger.
I was supposed to list 7 things I love, but I got mixed up and listed 10, and since I went through all that thinking I’m leaving up the 10.
SEVEN THINGS I LOVE …plus THREE
1. Music (a) the sound of a Hammond organ (2) large, excellent church choir (3) live performance of an orchestra
2. A Pentecostal worship service with an anointed preacher. (Nothing better!)
3. God and His Word
4. Having all my family at our home in Crestline
5. Shopping at thrift stores
6. Taking pictures with my digital camera and analyzing them.
7. Editing my serious writing; searching for the precise word in a sentence, the flawless construction of sentence and paragraph, vivid imagery.
8. Meandering about in a distinctive downtown area, with my camera, and with money to buy coffee and a sandwich at a street cafe.
9. Travel, both in and out of this country. Love flying. Love cruising.
I’m tagging the following exceptional people, declaring them also Kreativ Bloggers:
Linda at Echoes From the Elms
Ronda at More For Your Life
Tena at In His Time
Jana at Jana’s Jive Talkin‘
Jayleigh at Jayleigh’s Grand Adventures
Scott Andrew at Scott Andrew’s Studio Blog
Jana at Notes of Joy
Yesterday was its 50th birthday, and although I’ve been an acquaintance for many years, I didn’t light one candle or bake a single cupcake. For one reason, I was traveling to Tucson; another reason is that I didn’t know about the birthday until this morning, as I read Thursday’s edition of USA Today,
I’m referring to the birthday of a book, a slim book named The Elements of Style, that was written by William Strunk, Jr. and E. B. White and published 50 years ago. New York editor David Remnick calls it, “The little book that never goes out of style.”
Many years ago, I chanced on a copy of this paperback in a thrift store, knew right away it was a valuable tool for such as I, and have since then bought and given away many copies. At my home in Crestline, I have two or three of the thin volumes scattered here and there where I do my writing.
Spend a 10 dollar bill on this book which is dedicated to concise and clear writing. You will thank me.
I find it peculiar that the word sanction means restriction and deterrent, while also meaning assent and approval. Go figure. No wonder English is considered one of the hardest languages to learn. Do you know other words of this caliber?
1 trade sanctions penalty, punishment, deterrent; punitive action, discipline, restriction; embargo, ban, prohibition, boycott. antonym reward.
2 the scheme has the sanction of the court authorization, consent, leave, permission, authority, warrant, license, dispensation, assent, acquiescence, agreement, approval, approbation, endorsement, accreditation, ratification, validation, blessing, imprimatur; informal go-ahead, OK, green light. antonym prohibition.
From MacBook online thesaurus
Given our natures and our ages, both Jerry and I were sound asleep when the significant hand sweep occurred, bringing us all into the year of our Lord 2009. But here we are–all of us, whether awake or asleep–standing in the raw dawn of a new year; tentative, questioning, cautious, hesitating, and probably so unsure of the world that our throats tighten in reluctance when asked for prediction.
A year? What is a year? A period of time–we know that– a 12 month segment: it is God, a space of birth and death, a number of days, a slippery slot where determined hands will craft both good and evil, a cycle of heat and cold–of those we are sure. But, in truth, little else may be stamped of absolute and of certitude.
Were I artistic, I would trace the bent figure of the retreating aged 2008 man as pocked with near-mortal wounds and scars, bloodied and tattered. I would scrawl of ragged and dark lines, and with candor and frankness illustrate the dismal and sad year of recent history. My hand would not linger, nor would I allow hesitation as I chalked the naked, undisguised truth.
Yet, somehow with great pains and endeavor, I
would find a way to infuse the leaving of wounded 2008 with hope and
dream and optimism for the baby of 2009. For we Americans have slogged
through other dismal years…and yet have we emerged a living, vibrant
nation. We have been knocked about, both by others and by ourselves,
but, always, we have struggled to our feet, victorious, our vision
clear and sure. We have fought and scratched and clawed; loved and
tended and bound up wounds. We have failed and, again, succeeded. Anew, then,…in 2009, we will rouse ourselves, and with fresh resolve and determination fix our eye on success–on morality and integrity, so
that from the last page of its calender we may honestly label the year 2009 a good one, one of progress and advancement.
Were I a cartoonist, I would craft such an image. Lacking that ability I scribe instead these words…and, from my heart, wish you, your families and your friends a happy, prosperous year.
Powered by ScribeFire.
I enjoy reading books that describe the writing process of well-known authors, or not so well-known ones for that matter. I haven’t bought any, nor checked out any at the library lately, but over the years, I have read such books and find them fascinating. I like to see early drafts with lined out sentences, scribbled over words, and I find it especially interesting if the author explains his reasoning for the changes he makes.
It intrigues me to know whether such writers use pen and paper or typewriter or, now, computer: the hours they keep, their writing spot, whether they need solitude or have the ability to write in the midst of a crowd of people. How do they edit? Can they edit their own work, or must someone else do that for them? Do they ever suffer from writer’s block, and if so, how do they rid themselves of that dreaded malady?
A few days ago, I was reading a very old Southern Living magazine, in which was an article about Carl Sandburg and that pictured the outside of his home in the Blue Ridge Mountains of North Carolina. Also pictured was his cluttered office where he worked. Absolutely amazing was his typewriter stand: an orange crate. At this time in his life, Carl Sandburg was a successful, beloved poet who had been awarded two Pulitzer Prizes. Yet, in his office was a wooden box on which sat his black typewriter. I love it!
Southern Living says he “was happiest when surrounded by the rural quiet of a farm. For his last 22 years, Sandburg found that peace at Connemara…”
“If I live to a majestic old age becoming the owner of a farm, I shall sit under apple trees in the summer.” Carl Sandburg”
I’d like to hear about your writing techniques. Any of you have your computer on an orange crate?
My devotional blog is here.
In Springfield, Mo. where I grew up, our school started in September, right after Labor Day, if I recall correctly, and since our family never had an abundance of money, I suspect it was probably not August when we bought our school supplies, but more likely, it was the days just before the opening bell that we went to the store to buy these treasured items. That jaunt was one of the highlights of my year, for I loved school and everything that went with it, and I recall my delight when I became the owner of such precious items. It’s probably accurate to say a kind of euphoria overtook me at these times.
A couple of days ago when I went into our new Super WalMart here in Lake Havasu and passed through the school section, I spied a Pink Pearl eraser tucked in the company of scissors and paper clips and glue. I stopped, fingered the eraser package, and my thoughts flared and carried me to those long-gone days when, with my mother, I stood by such shelves, and made my selections. Pink Pearl was my brand. I bought one on Monday–actually two–for that’s how they were packaged.
Clearly, I think of Big Indian Chief tablets, and though I don’t recall seeing any in stores in recent years, I do find they are still manufactured, at least in limited form. Covers of dark red with an Indian chief in full dress feathers protected the wide-ruled sheets beneath. They weren’t of the spiral ring style, but were glued at the top with a black band. There was a line to write the name of the owner of this fine pad of paper. Maybe I bought other tablets, but I don’t remember any of those, just red Big Chiefs.
School supplies have a unique scent, especially school paste, which emits a savor of peppermint–and to tell the truth–a taste of peppermint. I know, for in our school, we all occasionally took a nip of the white, smooth stuff. Distinctly adding to the school aroma is that of a newly opened box of crayons, pristine and unbroken, their sharp points a flare of blended colors. So careful would we be of our new crayons, and what a sad moment when the first one broke, or became so worn down, we had to peel away the paper covering, and finally they weren’t even kept in their own container, but were dumped helterskelter in the pencil box.
I racked around in my brain this morning, trying to remember my pencil boxes, but I just couldn’t bring up any images. I bobbed around on the internet, looking at pencil box images, and despite my extended surfing, I did not find a pencil box that seemed familiar.
Until…I recalled cigar boxes. Now, I’m not at all sure where I would have come to possess a cigar box, for neither my dad, and certainly not my mother, smoked cigars, but that’s what I used to store my school supplies; cigar boxes.
I realize now that I love cigar boxes–love the way they look, and the slightly wicked aroma that accompanies them, and the fact that for all my years in elementary school, I stored my school supplies in a cigar box. It’s strange, I have no recollection of how I came to possess such an item…and how about the other kids who also used cigar boxes? Where did we get them? Maybe we went to the drug store or the grocery store and asked if we could have the empties. I don’t remember.
Once I visited in the home of my friend Barbra Day; she opened a drawer, and several pencils were there.
“Whose pencils are those?” I recall asking her.
Nonchalantly, she replied. “Oh, anybody who wants them.”
I was impressed with that, for in our home, there weren’t pens or pencils just laying around, or a supply stash somewhere. We had our own items, carefully tucked away in our boxes.
The pencils we used gave a strong scent of cedar when we sharpened them at school, and if our lead broke while we were at home, we used a kitchen knife to fashion a point. Often my pencil eraser would wear out before the pencil was used up, and the metal ring that clasped the eraser would dig into the paper where I was attempting to annihilate my errors.
Watercolor sets were furnished by the school, and when they handed to each of us a metal pan with pats of color, and sheets of paper, and little brushes, we budding artists (and non-artists, such as I) enthusiastically began our work. On very special occasions would the teachers bring out the easels, pots of poster paint and big floppy brushes to accommodate our artistic bent. I remember yet how fine it was to dip my brush into a jar of brilliant paint, and blaze it over the eager white paper.
Impossible for me to explain is my fascination with Dorothy Lynch’s (whom I don’t recall seeing since 6th grade in Bailey School) notebook paper. I probably have never mentioned this to a soul until this moment, for it can’t be explained, but there was something about her paper that I liked. It had a certain “tooth,” I guess one would say. It was a little rough–not like newsprint–but not slick like ordinary notebook paper. Strange memory.
There is much to be said for Big Box Stores and WalMart and KMart and Target where one can buy bundles of Bic pens and cartons of yellow pencils and bags of assorted-color plastic paper clips and made in China pencil boxes. There is much to be said for affording the finest watermarked paper and Montblanc pens, and Fahrney Pelikan pens which can be purchased at a discount rate of $1,418.00. There is certainly much to be said for being able to easily buy school supplies for one’s children.
But there also is much to recommend striving, and for the cherishing of materials which is brought about by the understanding of their limited supply.