WHERE HAVE ALL THE HEROES GONE?

Let's face it, heroes these days have a difficult time staying on their pedestals.
Some heroes seem destined to become one, but we, the public, are often to blame for awarding the title to the wrong people or those who don't really qualify.

A hero is an everyday person who can change the world for the better. It could be a simple act such as helping one person out or by helping millions. There are big heroes known for a particular event, and there are small everyday types of heroes.
However, I think we overuse the term so that the word truly has little meaning.

What makes a hero?
Nelson Mandela was a true hero in every sense of the word.

But suppose I say my mother was a hero because she dutifully followed my daddy all over West and North Texas while he followed the work in the oil fields? She kept us fed, clothed, and happy. She went without a home of her own so we'd all be together.
Even though I loved and appreciated my mother, truthfully she does not come close to being a hero in the same category as Nelson Mandela. In fact, few people are.
But to me? She was a heroine, and my daddy was a hero.

Men, women, and even children are recognized all over our country

on a daily basis as being a "hero."

~*~A sick child with a positive attitude.

~*~A man who catches a baby falling from a third story window.

~*~All the firefighters who battle the mountain forest fires.

~*~The SWAT team who rescued hostages.

~*~A little girl who saves a kitten from a drain pipe.

History has given us time to ferret out true heroes of battles, wars, and liberations. Some have been proven to have clay feet after all.

Perhaps labeling a person a Hero lays a burden on his/her shoulders. How can a person live up to being a hero on a daily basis?

In romance novels, the hero is the important character. The heroine has a great role, too, but it's the male hero on which we focus.

Lucky for us, we have a definite list of What Makes a Western Hero.

Courteous, respectful attitude toward women.
A loner. No close friends, no personal conversations

Rugged face; seldom smiles
Excellent shot

Brave

One companion, usually his horse

Hates rude people and will put them in their place
Great fighter - uses fists

Accepts all races

Traits of a typical Hemingway Hero are:

A love of good times, stimulating surroundings, and strict moral rules, including honesty.
The Hemingway Hero always exhibits some form of a physical wound that serves as his tragic flaw and the weakness of his character.
A Few Texas Heroes:
Stephen F. Austin
Sam Houston
Jack C. Hays
Lorenza de Zavala
Some Heroes of the Cinema:
Atticus Finch-To Kill a Mockingbird-Gregory Peck
Will Kane-High Noon-Gary Cooper
Tom Joad-The Grapes of Wrath-Henry Ford
Rooster Cogburn-True Grit-John Wayne

I'm particularly searching for a true modern hero. We expect our politicians, leaders of any kind, military personnel, and some dissenters to be hero material. Goodness knows, we can't expect that across the board.

Where have all the good ones gone?

Maybe I should lower my expectations of a true hero.

In fact, the heroes I create most often are flawed. I've even written one who abused the woman a little, but I redeemed him, and made him ashamed of what he did. Not one reader ever mentioned that perhaps he was not a good hero.

I think we all know heroes are made, not born, and it's not an easy task to expect one to be 100% true to the calling of a hero.
***

At this moment, my three Texas novels are on special for 99cents each.

The hero in each of these is different.

TEXAS BLUE--the hero is Buck Cameron, the town's "favorite" son, good to everyone, does his job, and stays out of trouble. However, the villain blackmails Buck into a deed he'd rather not do...but he does. The story gets complicated.

TEXAS PROMISE--the hero is Dalton King, son of one of the prominent families in the same town. Yet, he hurts his new bride by running away to join the Texas Rangers. Again...it's complicated.

TEXAS TRUE--the hero is Sam Deleon, and while he might be redeemed eventually, he is a liar, a conniver, and cold. He's the one who was most difficult to redeem...but he did finally come around.

These books may be found on my Amazon page:

Amazon: https://www.amazon.com/author/celiayeary 

Celia Yeary…

Romance, and a little bit of Texas

Amazon: https://www.amazon.com/author/celiayeary

My Website

My Blog

Sweethearts of the West-Blog

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SARAH'S MUSIC: A BEAUTIFUL CHOCTAW CHILDREN'S TALE FOR ALL AGES

JESSICA PIERSON

I'm giving my normal blog days to my daughter, Jessica Pierson, to talk about her part in illustrating the beautiful new children's book, SARAH'S MUSIC, published recently by Publishing by Rebecca J. Vickery. The story is by one of my writing students and long-time friends, a professional storyteller for the Choctaw Nation, Stella Long. This story was based on her own life, and I know she is working on "book 2" right now. Here is Jessica's post about illustrating the book for Stella and working with her--a once in a lifetime experience! ----- Cheryl Pierson

Over the course of the last two years, I’ve been lucky enough to work with Choctaw storyteller Stella Long on the illustrations for her children’s book, Sarah’s Music.

At out last meeting, I struggled clumsily to explain to Stella why I thought Sarah’s Music was so special, and ended up saying something incredibly articulate, like “It’s just…I mean…it’s a great story.” She hadn’t asked me, but I desperately wanted to tell her why I had been so grateful for the opportunity to work on her story. “You know…” I began, “when I think of the books the girls I work with like to read, I mean, there’s nothing like this. There’s nothing…relatable. It’s all just… princesses.” (Slow clap) Well said, Jessica. Well said. Maybe you could have been less specific, but I doubt it. Not to be dissuaded, however, what follows is another more targeted stab at using my words.


Why Sarah’s Music is a “Great Story”: A Book Report by Jessica Pierson

Sarah’s story begins when she discovers that she is inspired by music, but seems to have no way to share her songs with others. With the help of her animal friends, Sarah goes on a journey all by herself and receives the gift of a musical instrument made especially for her by her. When she fails initially to make it sound, she becomes discouraged, but she doesn’t give up. Instead, she tries again, and practices, and learns at last to release the songs that have been locked in her heart.

Sarah’s Music is a moving glimpse at a worldview long forgotten by our dominant culture. In Sarah’s world, the creatures she encounters in the woods are not strange or frightening, but her closest friends. The natural world isn’t Sarah’s adversary. There is no “big bad wolf,” or “dark forest.” Rather, the natural world around her is generous, helpful, and inclusive. Sarah is a member of the forest community, not a stranger or an interloper. She isn’t superior to the plants and animals around her, but considers them her loved ones and her wise teachers. She lives comfortably among her relations in nature, learns from them humbly, and is ultimately only able to accomplish her goal because of the gifts she receives from her friends. Imagine the improved health of our planet if more children began to see themselves not as separate from the natural world, but as members of a community of living creatures.

In what is yet another departure from our established modern archetypes, Sarah is a child, a girl, and an empowered individual all at once! Her parents have shown her how to meet her needs, and allowed her the autonomy to make her own discoveries. It is no surprise, then, that she is brave enough to embark on a journey all by herself because she feels confident that she is prepared. Throughout the story, Sarah chooses for herself, and asks for help and guidance when she needs it. As a result, her learning process is unhurried and unstructured, the result of her own unique experiences. Her self-knowledge is completely uncontrived, and part of her accomplishment. Sarah isn’t a helpless object waiting for someone to save her, or take care of the hard parts. She is an active participant in making her dream a reality.

Perhaps the most subtly beautiful and surprising element is Sarah’s wish itself. Sarah’s greatest wish is not to gain anything for herself, but to share her music, which is already inside of her. She doesn’t dream of a husband, or a crown, or a treasure, or wish to be something she isn’t or to attend a ball. She wishes for an ability, not so she can gain something, but so she can use her own gifts for the enjoyment of those around her. What a delicate, wise wish for our world!

In addition to the opportunity to revisit a familiar and yet foreign traditional reality, there is one final facet of Sarah’s Music that I fell in love with as I worked to create the images. The final item that would make me want to read this book to my child every night at bedtime is that there is not one singular mention of Sarah’s physical appearance.

In our image conscious world, this might seem, at first, like a glaring omission. Our fairy tales are often about girls who are described as beautiful. “Once there lived a beautiful princess.” Stories about girls are almost always about their extraordinary beauty, as though these precious women/children had no other important or distinguishing qualities. If beauty doesn’t figure heavily into the story (Snow White, Sleeping Beauty, Beauty and the Beast, etc.) it is almost guaranteed that as soon as the heroine is introduced, a physical description is provided. Sarah is not described as beautiful or in any other way, because it is utterly unimportant what she looks like. This is refreshing! She is a girl, acting to bring her goals about, and it doesn’t matter to anyone if she is beautiful. She has many praise-worthy qualities, and in the story, she learns new ones (patience, perseverance, etc.) It is lovely to find a story about a girl where literally everything else about her matters more than her appearance.

If you happen to be looking for a new bedtime story or a Christmas gift, consider sharing Sarah’s Music with your family. It is…healing. That’s the word I wanted to find for Stella, but somehow I suspect that she knows this already.

Sarah’s Music is currently available at Amazon in print for $9.45 and as an ebook for $3.99, thanks to Publishing by Rebecca J. Vickery.

http://www.amazon.com/Sarahs-Music-Stella-Long/dp/1492751456/ref=tmm_pap_title_0?ie=UTF8&qid=1382803522&sr=1-1

It isn’t possible to say an adequate “Thank You” Rebecca J. Vickery, Laura Shinn, and Cheryl Pierson for their hard work. Cheers, ladies.

TO MAKE THE MAGIC LAST

Today I have something kind of “unwestern-y” to blog about–it’s a short story of mine called TO MAKE THE MAGIC LAST. It first appeared in an anthology put out by VICTORY TALES PRESS last summer called A SUMMER COLLECTION. All the stories in the collection took place in the summer, but they could have been during any time period. Mine, I decided, would take place in a contemporary setting.

In Oklahoma where I live is part of the area known as “tornado alley.” The story opens with a newly divorced police officer starting down the stairs of his apartment building with the tornado sirens wailing in the distance. All in a day’s work for a police officer in Oklahoma City, but the excitement is only just beginning on this very unusual day. Who would ever expect to find love in the middle of Latino gang warfare and a tornado?

I was so pleased that my story was included in one of the very first anthologies that VICTORY TALES PRESS put out, and I can’t say enough good things about Rebecca Vickery and her up-and-coming publishing company. TO MAKE THE MAGIC LAST also appears now as a “stand alone” short story in one of the VTP imprint companies.

One thing that is very exciting to me about this story is that my daughter created the cover for the e-book stand alone version. I have several new releases heading your way over this summer, and wanted to start by showcasing this short story, the only non-western one of the bunch!

I will be giving away 2 copies of TO MAKE THE MAGIC LAST–all you have to do is leave a comment. Please check back tomorrow evening to see who the winners are! I hope you enjoy!

The set up:

To Make the Magic Last

Police officer, Steve Cooper, heads out for work one morning just as the city’s tornado sirens blast a warning. In the stairwell he runs into a different situation—a gang war in his apartment building. Shots ring out and Steve catches a bullet. Seriously injured, he pushes the beautiful woman who has come through the door behind him back toward safety.

Christy Reed, his enchanting new neighbor, pulls him into her apartment and attempts to stop the bleeding. Recently arrived from Mississippi, Christy has no idea what the sirens and gunfire mean, but she knows enough to be terrified.

The phone lines aren’t working and the storm is bearing down. They take refuge in the bathroom as the sound of a freight train roars over the building. Through the pain, Steve finds himself drawn to Christy. There’s some sort of magic about her. Christy feels the same about Steve. He’s the man she’s always dreamed of meeting.
When the building collapses around them and they meet the gunmen once more, will Steve and Christy have what it takes to help each other through this? Can they make the magic last?

EXCERPT FROM “TO MAKE THE MAGIC LAST”:

The wind was roaring outside, deafening even in the small bathroom. They were practically yelling to be heard above the storm.

Hesitantly, Christy crawled over the side of the tub, careful of where she placed her hands. Finally, his good arm came around her in a strong embrace, pulling her down flush with his body until she lay on top of him. She tried to hold herself away from his shoulder, but he drew her down, tucking her head beneath his chin, and she reached to pull the comforter around them.

Steve could feel her shaking as she lay down. She was more afraid of the storm than the gunmen, it seemed. But as soon as he thought it, she asked, “Do you think they were after you, or just anyone who came down the stairwell?”

Her breath was warm against his neck, the comforter enveloping them in a cocoon of false security. The wind roared outside, deafening in the small bathroom. There was a high-pitched sound of rending metal, the heavy clunking noise of tearing wood, and Steve knew the roof of the building was gone.

Christy gasped, pressing closer into his chest. He patted her awkwardly, his arm at an odd angle. After a moment, he answered her question. “Neither. They were after each other.” They’d been yelling at each other in Spanish, he remembered. He had just happened to walk into the middle of rival Latino gang warfare, ongoing in this neighborhood, day and night. What was a girl like Christy doing in this area? “Right now, this storm is more of a threat.”

She had stopped shaking despite the fact the storm still blew with wild strength outside. She seemed to have forgotten it, lying so close to him. But he knew they were still in terrible danger, and he might not get the chance to tell her what he needed to say if he waited.

A long moment of silence hung between them, the only sound the worsening storm outside. “Christy.” He touched her arm again, and she glanced up. “Thanks for trying to . . . help me.”

“I didn’t do anything.”

Her voice sounded muffled, he thought. Like she was crying, and trying to hide it. “Sure you did.” The comforter was soft. The bleeding was stopped. And, Steve decided, he loved the feel of Christy Reed’s body on his, warm and curvy, and more comforting than that damn piece of down-filled material ever could be.
Her fingers slowly curled into the folds of his once-starched uniform, then settled against the soft cotton tee shirt.

“You’re doing it . . . even now, sweetheart.”

Slowly, she lifted her head and met his eyes in the dark haven they’d made. “Steve—” she broke off, raking her teeth over her bottom lip quickly, nervously.

He smiled at that habit of hers, thinking how he’d like to kiss her; how he wished he knew her better; how it would seem to her if he even . . .

Hell with it. He pulled her to him slowly, her lips coming across his, warm and sweet and soft as the brush of butterfly wings. Uncertainly, she tasted his mouth, and he opened for her, letting her explore him. Her right hand moved to his jawline, her thumb skimming his cheekbone before her fingers found their way to thread through his hair.

“What’s happening to us?” she murmured, drawing back slowly to look at him.
Her voice was quiet and low, and Steve realized that they must be in the eye of the storm. There was no sound but the rain now, and far away in the distance, the wail of a siren somewhere. “Magic,” he whispered, believing it himself. He’d never felt so protective of any other woman—even Lacey. Christy needed him, but she was a giver, too.

She shook her head and lay back down against his chest. “Magic always fades away.”
Not this time, he wanted to say. But he was too exhausted to form the words. Instead, his hand drifted to her short curls, tangling gently there, finding comfort in the clean softness. She’d been hurt before, he knew; he could hear it in her voice. He wanted to know who…and why. But he couldn’t ask—not right now. He couldn’t keep himself awake. “Christy, I’m . . . so tired.”

There was a long pause. He knew she was afraid, not only of the storm and the predators, but also of what was happening—the magic they’d made so suddenly, the fire that had kindled so unexpectedly between them. He wouldn’t let it disappear, he thought fiercely. She was something special—he could feel that already. Something worth holding onto.“I know, darling,” she whispered finally. “Just rest, okay? I’ll be here when you wake up.”

http://www.amazon.com/-/e/B002JV8GUE
http://victorytalespress.yolasite.com/online-store.php