Christian Fiction News: Tyler Perry & Why You Should Buy Christian Books Online

Tyler Perry's House of Payne Six Days A Week

The TBS syndicated sitcom is now also syndicated through Peachtree TV to air beginning today six days a week Monday thru Saturday from 7-8 (two back to back shows.)

Cindy Woodsmall on the New York Times Besteller's List

Atlanta's Cindy Woodsmall once again sits on the New York Times Bestseller's List at #15 for When the Soul Mends, the third book in her ____ trilogy. Cindy belongs to the ACFW WORD Chapter, one of the greatest ACFW chapters in the world. (hint, hint) Congrats, Cindy again and again and again. :)

Should Christians Not Buy Books Online?

Curtis Riskey of CBA said that " Shopping at brick-and-mortar outlets keeps the money in the local community where some stores support church ministries, while Web buys can support online merchants who also sell pornography and other objectionable materials," according to ChristianRetailing.

I think that argument is up for debate and so did others who responded to Tim Challies survey about the best place to buy Christian books.

One reason for no longer purchasing from the local Christian bookstore chain here is I didn't think the treatment of Gospel Today Magazine's last issue was in poor taste. Moreover, there is a poor selection of African American Christian books there, and an even poorer response to supplying more books from publishing houses they have relationships with.

Going back to Riskey's remarks on online booksellers I disagree. Christian Fiction Blog's online bookstore sales tripled last year. This blog has affiliate relationships with Faithpoint, Christianbook.com, Booksense and Amazon.

Also as a mobile bookseller for Mocha Readers here in Atlanta, we can provide the same service to the community, because we don't have a brick and mortar store. We come to you. What's wrong with that?

What's your reason and what will it take to get you to shop in a Christian bookstore now?

More Articles up your Alley:

• Why is Atlanta #8 Most Literate City

• CFB Top Twelve, October 2008

• Christian Fiction News: NYT Bestsellers

• Is African American Christian Fiction on the Rise

• Christian Fiction: Tyler Perry's The Marriage Counselor January 08"

Wildcard: Are You the Kind of Mom You Want To Be?

It is time to play a Wild Card! Every now and then, a book that I have chosen to read is going to pop up as a FIRST Wild Card Tour. Get dealt into the game! (Just click the button!) Wild Card Tours feature an author and his/her book's FIRST chapter!

You never know when I might play a wild card on you!

Today's Wild Card author is:

Mary M. Byers

and the book:

The SOS for PMS: Practical Help and Relief for Moms

Harvest House Publishers (September 1, 2008)

ABOUT THE AUTHOR:

Mary Byers is a professional speaker and writer whose passion for transforming lives is evident in every project she takes on. In her first book with Harvest House Publishers, The Mother Load: How to Meet Your Own Needs While Caring for Your Family, Byers teaches women how to take care of themselves so that they can nurture a happy, healthy family. The mother of two lively children, she offers down-to-earth suggestions, spiritual truths, and real-life advice on how to juggle family responsibilities while creating a balanced life through supportive friendships, stress-relieving laughter, regular exercise, rejuvenating solitude, and an intimate relationship with the Lord. The founder of Word Works, Byers graduated from Indiana University with a Bachelor of Arts Degree in Telecommunications. She is also a Certified Association Executive. Byers and her husband, Stuart, reside in Illinois with their two children.

Other books by Mary:

How to Say No...and Live to Tell About It
Extraordinary Women: Secrets to Discovering the Dream God Created for You



Visit the author's website.

Product Details:

List Price: $11.99
Paperback: 192 pages
Publisher: Harvest House Publishers (September 1, 2008)
Language: English
ISBN-10: 0736921702
ISBN-13: 978-0736921701

AND NOW...THE FIRST CHAPTER:

There's Yellow Caution Tape in the Kitchen Again

Callie O'Keefe stood in the bathroom crying. Her two children, ages four and two, were outside the closed door, listening to their mother sob. Abby still felt the sting of her mother's hand on the back of her head. She'd made her younger sister cry, setting her mother off and resulting in the physical smack that seemed to come from nowhere with the speed of a rattlesnake strike. Abby stood in the hallway confused. Though she was the one who had been struck, her mother was the one crying.

As her children stood bewildered outside the bathroom door, Callie cried into a bathroom towel. "Lord, please help me stop this," she begged. "This is not the kind of mom I want to be!" This prayer had been uttered at least once a month for many years as she struggled with depression, anger, and fits of unpredictable behavior that descended on her prior to the onset of menstruation.

It was the same every month. The familiar twinge of oncoming cramps alerted her that her period would begin within the week, which meant she had to watch her words and actions very carefully. Each PMS battle started the same. Callie resolved to "do better and be kinder." And each resolution was quickly broken when her children set her off by arguing, complaining that the other got the bigger piece, or spilling a glass of milk at the very moment Callie's ability to cope was at its lowest. And it wasn't only the children who were bruised by her irrational behavior. Her husband, Steve, was just as likely to be the target of a tirade that she would later regret. Some nights it was so bad she'd wait until he was asleep and then slink into the guest room to bed down for the night. That way she wouldn't have to face him in the morning and see the hurt in his eyes.

As sobs racked her body, Callie grieved the fact that each month she seemed

to get worse. What had started as mild PMS in her 20s was now cause for serious concern. Two children in the house and an inability to control her words and emotions was a combustible combination. Callie knew she was doing damage to the family and feared the long-term consequences.

She raised her head from the towel, looked into the mirror, and saw the face of a mother in agony. Surely I'm not the only one who's out of control like this every month, she decided. Callie remembered a neighbor down the street who had once mentioned at a party that her husband had nicknamed her "The Human Hurricane" because of the damage she did regularly while in the clutches of PMS. At the time Callie laughed because she couldn't imagine quiet, gentle Amber turning into anything close to a hurricane. But after the morning Callie just experienced, she now believed it was possible.

After rinsing her face with cool water, Callie opened the bathroom door and sat on the floor next to Abby. She gathered her sweet daughter into her lap, rested her chin on the top of Abby's head, and murmured the words she'd had to say so many times before: "Abby, mommy lost her temper, and she's very sorry. I was angry that you made Jessica cry, but how I handled it was inappropriate. I'm so sorry."

Abby's response was the same as always. "It's okay, Mommy. I love you." The ease with which she offered forgiveness amplified Callie's pain.

After hugging Jessica, Callie headed to the phone to make two calls. First, she'd call her physician to make an appointment to discuss her symptoms. Then she'd call Amber, the Human Hurricane, and ask if she'd come over some afternoon for a cup of coffee while the children napped. She finally realized she needed help and couldn't fight the PMS battle alone.

Though the phone calls were small steps, they would pay big dividends. By acknowledging the problem, Callie placed herself on the road to healing.

allie is like me--and many women I know who suffer from severe PMS. We don't want to act the way we do. We're normally fairly balanced, kind people. We love our husbands and children. And yet, when triggered, we speak words we regret in an ugly tone

of voice. We overreact. Sometimes we punish our children physically. Sometimes we rebuke them by ignoring them or withholding our love. One mother I interviewed confessed that, while under the influence of PMS, she ran away for a day when she felt she could no longer take the pressure of mothering.

Do you know you suffer from PMS? Or are you wondering if you do? Let's start by taking a closer look at the symptoms.

Physical Symptoms

acne

bloating, water retention, weight gain

breast swelling and tenderness

bruising

changes in bowel habits (constipation/ diarrhea)

decreased sexual desire

dizziness

fatigue, lack of energy

food cravings, especially for sweet or salty foods

leg cramps

nausea

nipple discharge

pain (headaches, aching muscles and joints, cramps, low back pain)

rashes

sensitivity to light

shakiness

sleep pattern changes and/or insomnia

sweating

swelling of hands and/or feet

vaginal irritation

Behavioral and Emotional Symptoms

anger

anxiety

decreased alertness

depression, sadness, hopelessness

forgetfulness

inability to concentrate

indecision

irritability

loneliness * paranoia

loss of control * suicidal thoughts

mood swings * unexplained crying

nightmares * withdrawal from family and friends

panic attacks

These are just a few of the 150 or so PMS symptoms that have been identified. Individually they are often manageable. When combined, they can be debilitating. According to WebMd:

Although 85 percent of women experience PMS at times in their lives, about 40 percent are significantly affected.

While most women first experience PMS in their mid20s, PMS becomes even more common among women in their 30s.

PMS can come and go during the reproductive years, and symptoms may worsen as a woman approaches perimenopause in the late 30s or 40s.

Severe PMS symptoms may be premenstrual dysphoric disorder (PMDD), which affects up to 8 percent of women.1

For the purpose of our discussions, I'll be dealing with PMS. However, if you suffer from PMDD, please note: The symptoms you are wrestling with are more severe than regular PMS indications. Because of that, it's even more essential that you be proactive in developing a personal coping plan. The unexpected, unpredictable nature of PMDD mood swings, depression, and feelings of being overwhelmed make it extremely detrimental to mothering. The sooner you respond to the monthly tsunami that sweeps you away each month, the better off you and your family will be.

Mothers, be encouraged! You are not alone in the PMS battle, and you are not imagining your symptoms. Here's what a physician wrote about her own challenge each month:

When I asked my mother for help she could only offer sympathy. She told me that I'd probably grow out of it as I got older. Instead, it got worse. My PMS continued all through my medical training at Northwestern University in Chicago. One week out of the month I was in too much pain to do my work properly. I still remember the many afternoons when I had to leave the medical or pediatric ward. I went to the medical student on-call room and lay there in agony with severe nausea and cramps. My body swelled up so badly that I couldn't bear to bump against anything. The cysts in my breasts became large and tender. I was the only woman student on many of my rotations, and my symptoms made me feel inferior to and different from the male students. My moods fluctuated terribly. Part of the month I would feel calm and relaxed--like everyone else. But before my period I became quarrelsome and hard to deal with. I became much more sensitive to imagined or real slights and put-downs. I craved sugar and went on junk-food binges. Often I'd steal away and cry, not knowing how I was ever going to get through my training.2

Another physician wrote:

It is clear that PMS exists because among the thousands of women I have listened to, I have never had one say that each month, after her period, she loses self-esteem or fights with her husband or wants to kill herself. I have never heard a woman say that she wanted to feel postmenstrually as well as she does each month premenstrually. I've never heard a woman say, "You know, I get irritated easily, but premenstrually nothing could bother me."3

I'm sure you can identify with some of the symptoms and emotions

just expressed. Though reviewing the list of symptoms in this chapter

and realizing you have many (or all!) of them can be alarming, I hope

you also experience relief and comfort. I remember hearing about PMS for the first time and thinking, I have that! I was so relieved to understand the cause for my wild mood swings and unpredictable behavior.

It's one thing to understand why questionable behavior is occurring. It's another to do something about it. In retrospect, that's where I dropped the ball. There were many reasons that my new awareness did not lead to behavioral changes. Mostly, I was not willing to admit to myself or anyone else that I was unable to control my emotions and the resulting actions. To do so would have required admitting a weakness, something I wasn't willing to do. (Then I became a mother. Suddenly all my weaknesses showed up, en masse, the minute I arrived home from the hospital with that bundle of pink blanket and joy in my arms!)

In addition to not wanting to admit my struggle, since I was married when my PMS worsened, it was much easier to blame my husband for my problems and expect him to be the one to change. Needless to say, that plan failed dismally.

It wasn't until I noticed that once a month my normally upbeat, positive nature melted into hopelessness, helplessness, and apathy that I begin to consider getting help. Honestly, the help wasn't so much for me as it was for my family. Month after month of irrational, uncontrollable, and unlike-me behavior finally took its toll. After struggling mightily to manage the unmanageable each month, I finally got down on my knees and admitted to God that I needed help. Then, like Callie, I called my doctor, acknowledged the problem to a friend (who, it turned out, had also been struggling alone with the problem), and admitted to my husband that "Black Tuesday" at our house was a result of my hormones--and not his shortcomings as a husband. (More on this later.)

My willingness to surrender was the turning point in my battle with PMS. By acknowledging it and being proactive, I've been able to lessen the effects on my family and me. Though I certainly haven't perfected my response, my family and I are more hopeful about it than we've ever been.

Skulking around, hoping PMS will go away on its own doesn't work. Admitting that there is a problem, enlisting help, searching for solutions that work, and making the changes necessary to minimize the effects of PMS are the only ways to slay the hormone dragon.

That's what this book is about: finding hope and taking back your life. Are you ready?

CFB Top Twelve, October 2008

Click the arrow below to listen to this post.

Greetings, this is Dee Stewart. Today I am announcing the Top Twelve Book Picks of Christian Fiction Blog. This list is in random order:

1. Letter to My Daughter, Maya Angelou
2. If Memory Serves, Vanessa Davis Griggs
3. Go Grow Your Church! James F. Miller
4. Sinful, Too! Victor McGlothin
5. Fly Away Home. Vanessa Del Fabbro
6. Havah. Tosca Lee
7. Let it Shine! Mary E. McCann
8. When in Doubt Sing. Jane Redmont
9. Secret Life of Bees. Sue Monk Kidd
10. Say a Little Prayer. Dionne Warwick
11. The House at Sugar Beach. Helene Cooper
12. Change We Can Believe In. Senator Barack Obama
    

Wildcard: One Extraordinary Day

It is time to play a Wild Card! Every now and then, a book that I have chosen to read is going to pop up as a FIRST Wild Card Tour. Get dealt into the game! (Just click the button!) Wild Card Tours feature an author and his/her book's FIRST chapter!

You never know when I might play a wild card on you!

Today's Wild Card author is:

Harold Myra

and his book:

One Extraordinary Day

Tyndale House Publishers (August 13, 2008)

ABOUT THE AUTHOR:

Harold Myra served as the CEO of Christianity Today International for 32 years. Under his leadership, the organization grew from one magazine to a communications company with a dozen magazines, co-published books and a major internet ministry.

Author of five novels, numerous children’s and non-fiction books and hundreds of magazine articles, Myra has taught writing and publishing at the Graduate School of Wheaton College in Illinois. He holds honorary doctorates from several colleges, including Biola University in California and Gordon College in Massachusetts. Harold and his wife Jeanette are the parents of six children and five grandchildren. They reside in Wheaton, Illinois.

Visit the author's website.

Product Details:

List Price: $12.99
Hardcover: 112 pages
Publisher: Tyndale House Publishers (August 13, 2008)
Language: English
ISBN-10: 1414323581
ISBN-13: 978-1414323589

AND NOW...THE FIRST CHAPTER:

AWAKENING

The alarm barely penetrated David’s sleep. He fumbled with the unfamiliar hotel clock, found the button, and pressed.

Ten minutes later, another alarm blared at him from across the room. Although he had set it himself, he threw back the covers and stamped toward the sound, slammed it quiet, then burrowed back into his pillow.

An hour later, morning sunlight through the sliding glass door played on his face. He opened one eye. Outside, aspen and birch leaves filtered the light. A swallow flitted by. He sat bolt upright and looked at the clock beside him.

Already 6:30! He only had one day here, and now he had wasted the best hour.

David had wanted to rise before dawn, to inhale these surroundings as the trees and lake became visible. He loved rising at dawn to see the sunrise and feel some control over his day, though he hadn’t done so in years. Now the sun was already bright in a blue sky.

He felt little control over his life these days. The communications company where he worked had downsized, firing half his colleagues. Maybe he’d be next.

To make matters worse, he felt betrayed by his boss, Frank, who had persuaded him to give up a very good job to take his current position. Now David realized Frank had known all along that his company was in trouble, that David’s strengths would enable him to function with fewer people. It was particularly galling that Frank had lured him not with money but with a mission he knew David believed in—providing hope to mentally ill children. David cared deeply for children and had been willing to swallow a reduced salary. He had accepted the deal but now would have to do the work of at least two people and as a result had come to detest Frank.

Twisting his body toward the window and putting his feet on the floor, he reached over to pick up a photo of his wife, Marcia. It was his favorite—she was looking out from under a beach umbrella with an impish grin. At least Marcia wouldn’t let him go.

David stood, ran his fingers through his reddish brown hair, pulled his jeans on, and buttoned them over his flat belly, the result of careful eating and no-nonsense workouts. He had always brought passion to whatever he did and drove himself to be self-disciplined and to make a difference in the world. He inserted the coffee bag into the cabin’s little Black & Decker coffeemaker and filled the carafe only halfway. Lately he wanted his coffee stronger and stronger. He felt like he had been an ice skater pumping full-bore through life and gaining speed but had suddenly hit a line of dirt and crashed.

Marcia had arranged this cabin for him. “Get away—at least for one day,” she had said. “Go up north this Sunday. Take all day in the woods. Decompress!”

Thank goodness for Marcia. He hated making her feel bad; he wanted to match her enthusiasm for life as he always had. But Frank’s treachery and David’s own career slump made his drive and dreams of significance seem a farce.

The two mugs of black coffee were just enough to wash down the big sweet roll he had bought the night before. Now he was wired, but he sat quietly, staring at the woods and lake. His parents had often brought him here as a child to explore this lake and the trails through the woods. Now he longed for that uncomplicated joy, for the solitude and wonder of sighting a hawk floating above or being startled by the warning snort of a deer. Once he had come upon a doe in a meadow with two speckled fawns, one nursing at her side. He had scarcely breathed as he watched until the fawn pulled away and all three walked slowly into the woods.

Finally David slid open the glass door and walked down to the lake. At water’s edge he watched five seagulls skimming the surface, rising, plunging, soaring in their spontaneous choreography. Two mallards dipped toward the lake and gracefully hit the water.

In that instant, magnificent music erupted into David’s world, resonating throughout his body, music of unknown instruments lifting and inspiring. At the same moment he saw the blue sky shattered by a kaleidoscope of colors and vivid images pulsing from horizon to horizon. On the lake, shimmering, cascading light illumined the waves, reflecting purples, magentas, and greens.

A sliver of something like joy rippled through him and then evaporated. Fragrances filled his nostrils, odors he found so delightful he involuntarily breathed deeply to capture more.

All this happened in a moment and was gone. The extraordinary phenomenon that was forever imprinted on his memory was over in a moment, leaving every sense of his mind and body jolted, tantalized, drawn into the strange, celebratory dynamics, as if his entire being was made for them.

A few years before, David had happened to look out his window during a storm just as a bolt of lightning had struck a nearby tree. It had sheared off half the trunk, and David had been stunned at both the blinding light and the force—like a giant sledgehammer of light that had slammed into his yard.

Now, standing at lake’s edge, he felt the same extreme of force, but far more than a sledgehammer of white light. It had captured the sky with colors and shapes and had reverberated like cannon fire. Yet like the lightning hitting the tree, the mysterious phenomenon was over in seconds. What had it been? Could it actually have lasted just moments, all that grandeur, all that force and image and fragrance already vanished?

He looked around. All was as it had been. No broken trees. No breaks in the lake’s perimeter. Just clear sunlight shimmering on the waves. He scanned the sky. Only a few white clouds in the expanse of blue. He sniffed the air. Nothing but the scent of pine. He looked behind him to the hotel. No one in sight.

He stood on the sand by the lapping water for long moments, letting all the elements of those extraordinary seconds flow through his consciousness.

As he slowly sat down on a bench, the shapes and sounds and emotions still resonated in his trembling body. He could make no sense of what he had just experienced. He felt like a man on a raft in rapids, plunging and spinning through waves, spray, rocks, and logs, not knowing what might befall him next. At the same time, nibbling at the deep pools of his angst was a wondrous elixir of the scents and sounds and images . . . and a tantalizing element of peace.

The mallards flew off. The gulls had settled across the lake, five white, bobbing specks on the waves. Yet the serenity around him did nothing to soothe his inner turmoil. What was happening to him? He looked down at the white pebbles of the manicured walk beside his feet. Everything was perfect, lovely, “decompressing”—yet within him, a maelstrom of weariness, confusion, and desires.

David trudged the pebbled walk to the resort office, his eyes probing every bush, brick, and branch. He picked up a fat pinecone and felt its perfect ridges in his hand. Everything was the same as when he’d awakened this morning, yet in some strange way, his world had changed.

In the office he asked the woman at the counter, “Did you hear that loud sound out at the lake? About half hour ago?”

Cocking her head and scrunching her angular features, the woman looked up from counting restaurant receipts. “Nope.” She looked back down, her fingers still working the receipts.

“It was a strange sound,” he said, “and a huge flash of colorful light. Someone must have heard or seen it.”

She shrugged.

He watched her moving fingers and squeezed the pinecone till he felt a little stab of pain. “I was hoping someone besides me had heard it.”

“Sonic boom!” The hearty voice from behind startled him, and he whirled around to face two older men lounging in captain’s chairs. They wore flannel shirts under battered fishing hats. “Happens up here, young fella,” one of them declared.

The man was sitting back in his chair, eyes on David as if to appraise this city boy. His authoritative tone rankled David.

Despite himself, David put a sarcastic edge on his response. “Not a sonic boom! I’ve heard sonic booms. And there were brilliant, strange lights.”

The man edged up in his chair as if savoring this new development. “Strange, eh?” He turned to his companion. “Hear anything or see anything strange, Ed?”

Ed, heavyset and sunk in his chair, smiled, shook his head, and said, “Naw, Pete. Not today.”

Both men looked at David with amusement. David squeezed the pinecone in his hand so hard he could feel it etching little ridges in his palm. Turning his head toward the woman, David saw she had set aside the receipts, her full attention on the little drama, mouth crinkling toward a smile.

Disdain. The old man’s face was eloquent in showing his contempt, with just a trace of triumphant grin. His expression reminded David of an action movie scene he remembered: the hero, with that same look of disdain, had silenced a bragging Nazi youth, staring him into humiliation.

This old guy with the same look was no movie hero. He was pudgy and looked a little like David’s boss. In fact, the man reminded David far too much of Frank, and he felt rage growing in his chest. He thought of all sorts of cutting responses, yet he sensed more verbal jousting would most likely result in his being humiliated even more.

David looked over at the woman at the desk. Her smile masked a hint of gloating satisfaction. She slightly raised her eyebrows as his eyes met hers and then, maddeningly, she winked at him.

Instead of responding, he turned abruptly and stepped outside. Halfway back to his cabin, he flung the pinecone in a high arc toward the lake.


Copyright © 2008 by Harold Myra. All Rights Reserved.

FIRST: Camy Tang Single Sashimi

It is time for the FIRST Blog Tour! On the FIRST day of every month we feature an author and his/her latest book's FIRST chapter!

The feature author is:

Camy Tang

and her book:

Single Sashimi
Zondervan (September 1, 2008)

ABOUT THE AUTHOR:


Camy Tang is a FIRST Family Member! She also is a moderator for FIRST Wild Card Tours. She is a loud Asian chick who writes loud Asian chick-lit. She grew up in Hawaii, but now lives in San Jose, California, with her engineer husband and rambunctious poi-dog. In a previous life she was a biologist researcher, but these days she is surgically attached to her computer, writing full-time. In her spare time, she is a staff worker for her church youth group, and she leads one of the worship teams for Sunday service.

Sushi for One? (Sushi Series, Book One) was her first novel. Her second, Only Uni (Sushi Series, Book Two) was published in March of this year. The next book in the series, Single Sashimi (Sushi Series, Book Three) came out in September 2008!

Visit her at her website.

List Price: $12.99
Paperback: 336 pages
Publisher: Zondervan (September 1, 2008)
Language: English
ISBN-10: 0310274001
ISBN-13: 978-0310274001

AND NOW...THE FIRST CHAPTER:

Single Sashimi
By
Camy Tang

Chapter one

Venus Chau opened the door to her aunt's house and almost fainted.

"What died?" She exhaled sharply, trying to get the foul air out of her body before it caused cancer or something.

Her cousin Jennifer Lim entered the foyer with the look of an oni goblin about to eat someone. "She's stinking up my kitchen."

"Who?" Venus hesitated on the threshold, breathing clean night air before she had to close the door.

"My mother, who else?"

The ire in Jenn's voice made Venus busy herself with kicking off her heels amongst the other shoes in the tile foyer. Hoo-boy, she'd never seen quiet Jenn this irate before. Then again, since Aunty Yuki had given her daughter the rule of the kitchen when she'd started cooking in high school, Jenn rarely had to make way for another cook.

"What is she cooking? Beef intestines?"

Jenn flung her arms out. "Who knows? Something Trish is supposed to eat."

"But we don't have to eat it, right? Right?"

"I'll never become pregnant if I have to eat stuff like that." Jenn whirled and stomped toward the kitchen.

Venus turned right into the living room where her very pregnant cousin Trish lounged on the sofa next to her boyfriend, Spenser. "Hey, guys." Her gaze paused on their twined hands. It continued to amaze her that Spenser would date a woman pregnant with another man's child. Maybe Venus shouldn't be so cynical about the men she met. Here was at least one good guy.

Trish's arms shot into the air like a Raiders' cheerleader, nearly clocking Spenser in the eye. "I'm officially on maternity leave!"

Venus paused to clap. "So how did you celebrate?"

"I babysat Matthew all day today." She smiled dreamily at Spenser at the mention of his son.

Venus frowned and landed her hands on her hips. "In your condition?"

Trish waved a hand. "He's not that bad. He stopped swallowing things weeks ago."

"I'm finally not wasting money on all those emergency room visits," Spenser said.

"Besides, I got a book about how to help toddlers expect a new baby." Trish bounced lightly on the sofa cushion in her excitement.

"And?" It seemed kind of weird to Venus, since Trish and Spenser weren't engaged or anything. Yet.

Trish chewed her lip. "I don't know if he totally understands, but at least it's a start."

A sense of strangeness washed over Venus as she watched the two of them, the looks they exchanged that weren't mushy or intimate, just . . . knowing. Like mind reading. It made her feel alienated from her cousin for the first time in her life, and she didn't really like it.

She immediately damped down the feeling. How could she begrudge Trish such a wonderful relationship? Venus was so selfish. She disgusted herself.

She looked around the living room. "Where is -- "

"Venus!" The childish voice rang down the short hallway. She stepped back into the foyer to see Spenser's son, Matthew, trotting down the carpet with hands reached out to her. He grabbed her at the knees, wrinkling her silk pants, but she didn't mind. His shining face looking up at her -- way up, since she was the tallest of the cousins -- made her feel like she was the only reason he lived and breathed. "Psycho Bunny?" he pleaded.

She pretended to think about it. His hands shook her pants legs to make her decide faster.

"Okay."

He darted into the living room and plopped in front of the television, grabbing at the game controllers. The kid had it down pat -- in less than a minute, the music for the Psycho Bunny video game rolled into the room.

Venus sank to the floor next to him.

"Jenn is totally freaking out." Trish's eyes had popped to the size of siu mai dumplings.

"What brought all this on?" Venus picked up the other controller.

"Well, Aunty Yuki had a doctor's appointment today -- "

"Is she doing okay?" She chose the Bunny Foo-Foo character for the game just starting.

"Clean bill of health. Cancer's gone, as far as they can tell."

"So that's why she's taken over Jenn's domain?"

Trish rubbed her back and winced. "She took one look at me and decided I needed something to help the baby along."

Jenn huffed into the living room. "She's going to make me ruin the roast chicken!"

Venus ignored her screeching tone. "Sit down. You're not going to make her hurry by hovering." She and Matthew both jumped over the snake pit and landed in the hollow tree.

Jenn flung herself into an overstuffed chair and dumped her feet on the battered oak coffee table.

Venus turned to glance at the foyer. No Nikes. "Where's Lex?"

"Late. Where else?" Jenn snapped.

"I thought Aiden was helping her be better about that."

"He's not a miracle worker." Spenser massaged Trish's back.

"I have to leave early." Venus stretched her silk-clad feet out, wriggling her toes. Her new stilettos looked great but man, they hurt her arches.

"Then you might not eat at all." Jenn crossed her arms over her chest.

Venus speared her with a glance like a stainless steel skewer. "Chill, okay Cujo?"

Jenn pouted and scrunched further down in the chair.

Venus ignored her and turned back to the game. Her inattention had let Matthew pick up the treasure chest. "I have to work on a project."

"For work?"

"No, for me." Only the Spiderweb, the achievement of her lifetime, a new tool that would propel her to the heights of video game development stardom. Which was why she'd kept it separate from her job-related things -- she didn't even use her company computer when she worked on it, only her personal laptop.

A new smell wafted into the room, this one rivaling the other in its stomach-roiling ability. Venus waved her hand in front of her face.

"Pffaugh! What is she cooking?"

Trish's face had turned the color of green tea. "You're lucky you don't have to eat it. Whatever it is, it ain't gonna stay down for long."

"Just say you still have morning sickness."

"In my ninth month?"

Venus shrugged.

The door slammed open. "Hey, guys -- blech."

Venus twisted around to see her cousin Lex doubled over, clenching her washboard stomach (Venus wished she could have one of those) and looking like she'd hurled up all the shoes littering the foyer floor.

Lex's boyfriend Aiden grabbed her waist to prevent her from nosediving into the tile. "Lex, it's not that bad."

"The gym locker room smells better." Lex used her toes to pull off her cross-trainers without bothering to untie them. "The men's locker room."

"It's not me," Jenn declared. "It's Mom, ruining all my best pots."

"What is she doing? Killing small animals on the stovetop?"

"Something for the baby." Trish tried to smile, but it looked more like a wince.

"As long as we don't have to eat it." Lex dropped her slouchy purse on the floor and walked into the living room.

Aunty Yuki appeared behind her in the doorway, bearing a steaming bowl. "Here, Trish. Drink this." The brilliant smile on her wide face eclipsed her tiny stature.

Venus smelled something pungent, like when she walked into a Chinese medicine shop with her dad. A bolus of air erupted from her mouth, and she coughed. "What is that?" She dropped the game controller.

"Pig's brain soup."

Trish's smile hardened to plastic. Lex grabbed her mouth. Spenser -- who was Chinese and therefore had been raised with the weird concoctions -- sighed. Aiden looked at them all like they were funny-farm rejects.

Venus closed her eyes, tightened her mouth, and concentrated on not gagging. Good thing her stomach was empty.

Aunty Yuki's mouth pursed. "What's wrong? My mother-in-law made me eat pig's brain soup when I was a couple weeks from delivering Jennifer."

"That's what you ruined my pots with?" Jennifer steamed hotter than the bowl of soup.

Her mom caught the yakuza-about-to-hack-your-finger-off expression on Jenn's face. Aunty Yuki paused, then backtracked to the kitchen. With the soup bowl, thankfully.

"Papa?" Matthew's voice sounded faint.

Venus turned.

"Don't feel good." He clutched his poochy tummy.

"Oh, no." Spenser grabbed his son and headed out of the living room.

Then the world exploded.

Just as they passed into the foyer, Matthew threw up onto the tiles.

Lex, with her weak stomach when it came to bodily fluids, took one look and turned pasty.

A burning smell and a few cries sounded from the kitchen.

Trish sat up straighter than a Buddha and clenched her rounded abdomen. "Oh!"

Spenser held his crying son as he urped up the rest of his afternoon snack. Lex clapped a hand to her mouth to prevent herself from following Matthew's example. Jenn started for the kitchen, but then Matthew's mess blocking the foyer stopped her. Trish groaned and curled in on herself, clutching her tummy.

Venus shot to her feet. She wasn't acting Game Lead at her company for nothing.

"You." She pointed to Jenn. "Get to the kitchen and send your mom in here for Trish." Jenn leaped over Matthew's puddle and darted away. "And bring paper towels for the mess!"

"You," she flung at Spenser. "Take Matthew to the bathroom."

He gestured to the brand new hallway carpet.

Oh no, Aunty Yuki would have a fit. But it couldn't be helped. "If he makes a mess on the carpet, we'll just clean it up later."

He didn't hesitate. He hustled down the hallway with Matthew in his arms.

Venus kicked the miniscule living room garbage basket closer to Lex. "Hang your head over that." Not that it would hold more than spittle, but it was better than letting Lex upchuck all over the plush cream carpet. Why did Lex, tomboy and jock, have to go weak every time something gross happened?

"You." Venus stabbed a manicured finger at Aiden. "Get your car, we're taking Trish to the hospital."

He didn't jump at her command. "After one contraction?"

Trish moaned, and Venus had a vision of the baby flying out of her in the next minute. She pointed to the door again. "Just go!"

Aiden shrugged and slipped out the front door, muttering to himself.

"You." She stood in front of Trish, who'd started Lamaze breathing through her pursed lips. "Uh . . ."

Trish peered up at her.

"Um . . . stop having contractions."

Trish rolled her eyes, but didn't speak through her pursed lips.

Venus ignored her and went to kneel over Matthew's rather watery puddle, which had spread with amoeba fingers reaching down the lines of grout. Lex's purse lay nearby, so she rooted in it for a tissue or something to start blotting up the mess.

Footsteps approaching. Before she could raise her head or shout a warning, Aunty Yuki hurried into the foyer. "What's wron -- !"

It was like a Three Stooges episode. Aunty Yuki barreled into Venus's bent figure. She had leaned over Matthew's mess to protect anyone from stepping in it, but it also made her an obstacle in the middle of the foyer.

"Ooomph!" The older woman's feet -- shod in cotton house slippers, luckily, and not shoes -- jammed into Venus's ribs. She couldn't see much except a pair of slippers leaving the floor at the same time, and then a body landing on the living room carpet on the other side of her. Ouch.

"Are you okay?" Venus twisted to kneel in front of her, but she seemed slow to rise.

"Venus, here're the paper towels -- "

Jenn's voice in the foyer made Venus whirl on the balls of her feet and fling her hands up. "Watch out!"

Jenn stopped just in time. Her toes were only inches away from Matthew's mess, her body leaning forward. Her arms whirled, still clutching the towels, like a cheerleader and her pom-poms.

"Jenn." Spenser's voice coming down the hallway toward the foyer. "Where are the -- "

"Stop!" Venus and Jenn shouted at the same time.

Spenser froze, his foot hovering above a finger of the puddle that had stretched toward the hallway. "Ah. Okay. Thanks." He lowered his foot on the clean tile to the side.

Aiden opened the front door. "The car's out front -- " The sight of them all left him speechless.

Trish had started to hyperventilate, her breath seething through her teeth. "Will somebody do something?!"

Aunty Yuki moaned from her crumpled position on the floor.

Smoke started pouring from the kitchen, along with the awful smell of burned . . . something that wasn't normal food.

Venus snatched the paper towels from Jenn. "Kitchen!" Jenn fled before she'd finished speaking. "What do you need?" Venus barked at Spenser.

"Extra towels."

"Guest bedroom closet, top shelf."

He headed back down the hall. Venus turned to Aiden and swept a hand toward Aunty Yuki on the living room floor. "Take care of her, will you?"

"What about me?" Trish moaned through a clenched jaw.

"Stop having contractions!" Venus swiped up the mess on the tile before something worse happened, like someone stepped in it and slid. That would just be the crowning cherry to her evening. Even when she wasn't at work, she was still working.

"Are you okay, Aunty?" She stood with the sodden paper towels.

Aiden had helped her to a seat next to Lex, who was ashen-faced and still leaning over the tiny trash can. Aside from a reddish spot on Aunty Yuki's elbow, she seemed fine.

Jenn entered the living room, her hair wild and a distinctive burned smell sizzling from her clothes. "My imported French saucepan is completely blackened!" But she had enough sense not to glare at her parent as she probably wanted to. Aunty Yuki suddenly found
the wall hangings fascinating.

Venus started to turn toward the kitchen to throw away the paper towels she still held. "Well, we have to take Trish to the hospital -- "

"Actually . . ." Trish's breathing had slowed. "I think it's just a false alarm."

Venus turned to look at her. "False alarm? Pregnant women have those?"

"It happened a couple days ago too."

"What?" Venus almost slammed her fist into her hip, but remembered the dirty paper towels just in time. Good thing too, because she had on a Chanel suit.

Trish gave a long, slow sigh. "Yup, they're gone. That was fast." She smiled cheerfully.

Venus wanted to scream. This was out of her realm. At work, she was used to grabbing a crisis at the throat and wrestling it to submission. This was somewhere Trish was heading without her, and the thought both frightened and unnerved her. She shrugged it off. "Well . . . Aunty -- "

"I'm fine, Venus." Aunty Yuki inspected her elbow. "Jennifer, get those Japanese Salonpas patches -- "

"Mom, they stink." Jenn's stress over her beautiful kitchen made her more belligerent than Venus had ever seen her before. Not that the camphor patches could smell any worse than the burned Chinese-old-wives'-pregnancy-food permeating the house.

At the sound of the word Salonpas, Lex pinched her lips together but didn't say anything.

Aunty Yuki gave Jenn a limpid look. "The Salonpas gets rid of the pain."

"I'll get it." Aiden headed down the hallway to get the adhesive patches.

"In the hall closet." Jenn's words slurred a bit through her tight jaw.

Distraction time. Venus tried to smile. "Aunty, if you're okay, then let's eat."

Jenn's eyes flared neon red. "Can't."

"Huh?"

"Somebody turned off the oven." Jenn frowned at her mother, who tactfully looked away. "Dinner won't be for another hour." She stalked back to the kitchen.

Even with the nasty smell, Venus's stomach protested its empty state. "It's already eight o'clock."

"Suck it up!" Jenn yelled from the kitchen.

It was going to be a long night.

***

Venus needed a Reese's peanut butter cup.

No, a Reese's was bad. Sugar, fat, preservatives, all kinds of chemicals she couldn't even pronounce.

Oooh, but it would taste so good . . .

No, she equated Reese's cups with her fat days. She was no longer fat. She didn't need a Reese's.

But she sure wanted one after such a hectic evening with her cousins.

She trudged up the steps to her condo. Home. Too small to invite people over, and that was the way she liked it. Her haven, where she could relax and let go, no one to see her when she was vulnerable --

Her front door was ajar.

Her limbs froze mid-step, but her heart rat-tat-tatted in her chest like a machine gun. Someone. Had. Broken. Into. Her. Home.

Her hand started to shake. She clenched it to her hip, crushing the silk of her pants. What to do? He might still be there. Pepper spray. In her purse. She searched in her bag and finally found the tiny bottle. Her hand trembled so much, she'd be more likely to spritz herself than the intruder.

Were those sounds coming from inside? She reached out a hand, but couldn't quite bring herself to push the door open further.

Stupid, call the police! She fumbled with the pepper spray so she could extract her cell phone. Dummy, don't pop yourself in the eye with that stuff! She switched the spray to her other hand while her thumb dialed 9 - 1 - 1. Her handbag's leather straps dug into her elbow.

Thump! That came from her living room! Footsteps. Get away from the door! She stumbled backwards, but remembering the stairs right behind her, she tried to stop herself from tumbling down. Her ankle tilted on her stilettos, and she fell sideways to lean against the wall. The footsteps approached her open door.

"9 - 1 - 1, what's your emergency?"

She raised her hand with the bottle of pepper spray. "Someone's -- "

The door swung open.

"Edgar!" The cell phone dropped with a clatter, but she kept a firm grip on the pepper spray, suddenly tempted to use it.

One of her junior programmers stood in her open doorway.

Copyright (c) 2008 by Camy Tang
Requests for information should be addressed to:
Zondervan, Grand Rapids, Michigan 49530

Pay it Forward Fall: Gifting Your Service

Me singing "You Can't Beat God Giving," click to listen if you date. :)

We spoke about starting a kindness journal two weeks ago. I hope those who began theirs with me share what they found today at Christian Fiction Blog or on their blogs, just link back to me, so I can find you. So far I discovered many acts of kindness and that I forgot to record some. I'll do better this week. Below are six that standout. Four of which deals with this blog's topic:

Gifting your Service as an Act of Kindness

Although this economy is tight and about to get down right ugly, wouldn't it be nice if we chose to provide our services to someone deserves it? I challenge you to do that this week and let me know how it goes next week.

Now unto my Six:

1. Every day I did saw acts of kindness at Atlanta Gas Stations. Yesterday I bumped into my mom there. We had a mini-family reunion as we waited for gas. I took a bad pic, but we got the crowd smiling.

2. Ella Curry, host of Blog Talk Radio's Black Author's Network has given me her Tuesday show(Tonight). Ella's show is popular. I'm new with BTR. I listen. I chat. I don't host. She's giving me a spot to chat with some of my write-or-die chicks tonight. I'm honored.

3. A vendor at the Rockdale County Fair gave Selah and me a pair of shades for free just for coming back to his table as we promised.

4. I offered to do a free press release for a Christian duo who desperately needs it.

5. My friend and internet marketing strategist, Deontee Gordon edited an article I have written for a trade journal.

6. My other new buddy Social Media Marketing expert, Alejandro Reyes gave this same Deontee Gordon his business coaching package for free.

• Pay it Forward Fall: Start Kindness Journal

• God, Good Books & Girls Chat tomorrow on Blog Talk Radio

God, Good Books & Girls Chat tomorrow on Blog Talk Radio

Come hang out with me, Victoria Christopher Murray, Rhonda McKnight, Mikasenoja, Ty Moody, Bonnie Hopkins, Reshonda Tate Billingsley, Patricia Woodside and Tiffany L. Warren on Ella Curry's Black Author's Network. We will be recapping the 2008 Faith and Fiction Retreat, introducing the 2009 retreat and talking about God, Good Books and who knows...which means you need to be there.

When: Tuesday, September 30, 2008 8pm.

We have a 2 hour show slot, but the show will last probably 45 minutes, so you have time to chat and ask us questions.

Call In Number: (646) 200-0402

If you want to ask your favorite author a question or can't listen on your computer, call in.

CHAT ROOM: www.blogtalkradio.com/black-author-network

If you want to join me in the chat room, please do. I will be taking questions and comments frmo the chatroom and on twitter.

I'll be giving away some goodies throughout the chat. If you can't make it, but have a question you want to ask these authors, leave your questions here or DM me on Twitter. I will ask them tomorrow during the chat.

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• CFB News: CFB Takes over Blog Talk Radio, the DNC, & Hope

• Friday FictionFest: Tyler Perry, Obama, Faith and Fiction Retreat

• Faith and Fiction Retreat: Ty Moody & Patricia Woodside

• Tiffany Warren on Who's Christian Fiction or Who's Not?