HOLIDAY STORIES: WHITE CHRISTMAS

The month of December has traditionally been a month I've used as a break. I usually don't do much beyond holiday stories. This year it's been a bit different, I've not published my blog on it's regular schedule for several months. I've desperately needed the extra time to just be, healing time in mind and body with no deadlines. This year I've also been working and while it's a blessing to work from home rather than go out to a job, still, it more hours than I've been used to working and it takes its toll. But, my blog should be back on it's normal schedule in January.

I'll be mostly offline today and tomorrow as my office computer will be in the shop getting updated and programs revamped. My poor laptop is down and hopefully we'll have it resurrected soon. 

I thought I'd reprise a Christmas story written by a friend. It's one I really like because it's one about finding faith again. White Christmas, by Simon Garte, tells the story of a soldier at war, raised an atheist and what changed it all for him.

                                          ~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

It was not a white Christmas that year. At least not for him. He was in a land that had never seen snow. Rain, yes - lots of rain. But no snow. In fact it was raining that Christmas morning. He was sitting by himself in the rain. Alone. The camp was almost empty. He had volunteered to stay since he wasn't a Christian.

Not then.

And also Snake eyes had asked him to stay. That weird thing had happened two days earlier, when he had been sitting alone in the rain, just like now. Snake eyes had come up to him and started talking. Snake eyes hated him, so that was already weird.

“Hey man” Snake eyes said.
“Hey.”
“I need a stabber for Christmas.”

He looked up at Snake eyes dark, inscrutable face.
“Me?” He asked.

“Yeah you. Abdul can’t make it and all the other brothers and crackers are going to that thing down river. But I figgered, you bein a atheist or a Jew, or whatever the f-ck you are, maybe you want to do it.”

He thought about it. He had never done this before, never been asked to.
“OK” he said.

Now he was waiting in the rain for Snake eyes. “It’s Christmas” he thought to himself. His father, a committed atheist, refused to have a tree or any decorations in the house. The family had always exchanged presents on New Year’s day. Christmas meant nothing to him.

Nothing good.

An hour later, he and Snake eyes were walking north on the trail. They were soldiers, and there was a war, but they were not fighting. They hadn't been fighting for months. There was no point to it.

When they got to a place that Snake eyes recognized, he pointed into the jungle, and the white boy left the trail. He found himself a position with a good sight of the trail and Snake eyes. He rested the M1 on a branch, and settled down to wait. The rain stopped and then started again. Snake eyes was sitting in the mud of the trail.

The two kids in black pajamas came down the trail smiling and laughing. They were the “enemy”, but had been doing business with the platoon for a long time. One of them carried a large sack, the other an old rifle of some kind. The kid with the rifle went into the jungle on the opposite side of the trail from where the white soldier was crouched, and that left Snake eyes and the kid with the sack standing on the trail. Snake eyes started talking to the kid. They were smiling and laughing. At first. But then the kid started saying something that Snake eyes didn't seem to like. Snake eyes began raising his voice, and the words came through the thick jungle to him sitting with his M1.

“That’s bulls-it, man. That is bulls-it. What the fu-k are you saying?”

The kid answered, but too quietly to be heard. Finally he shook his head, and put down the sack. Snake eyes reached behind him and took out a small stack of bills from his rucksack. The kid took the money and then grabbed the bag and began running.

“Fu-k”, shouted Snake eyes, “shoot the mother.”

He raised the M1 and fired a round which went wild, and then he saw that Snake eyes was down.

“Snake eyes”. He yelled. No response. Except for the rain it was quiet. He scanned the jungle on the opposite side of the trail, and saw nothing, but lay down a lot of fire. Then he ran to the trail. Snake eyes was alive, but there was a hole in his chest and blood was mixing with mud all over.

“Fu-k it man. Its Christmas, I don wanna die on Christmas.”

And then he did.

The white soldier tried carrying the body back, but only got a few yards. He dragged the body into the jungle a couple of feet, and then headed down the trail. His mind was blank. At the camp, he went into his tent and lay down. The chopper had not returned from the party yet, and he still had a couple of hours of solitude left.

The angel appeared as a dark haired, blue eyed young girl of about fifteen. She was dressed in pure white, and she stood in the center of the tent. He knew it was a dream. The angel spoke in a foreign language, but he understood it, as if he were reading the subtitles at a foreign movie. She said this to him,

“Your sufferings will be intense, but the Lord loves you. Never forget this.”

Many decades later, he had forgotten those intense sufferings, but he never forgot the dream of the angel standing in white in his tent on that Christmas day.

His white Christmas.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Dr.Simon Garte has published non-fiction and also writes fiction. He's a marvelous storyteller. Simon is a New Yorker currently living on the East Coast. 

ANNE ELIZABETH ON ROMANCE, COMICS, AND HEROES

My guest is romance author, Anne Elizabeth. Anne, welcome to Over Coffee! 

You write both for adults, such as the sexy action packed story, Once A Seal, and for teens. I found it interesting that you also write graphic novels. 

How did your Pulse of Power comic world come to be?

• It was created when I was in high school. I wrote several short stories as part of an assignment and [the stories] continued to grow through college and graduate school. Now the series is blooming with the main storyline and off-shoot journeys.

How has being published changed your life? In what ways?

• Being published has changed my life in many ways. I find myself walking around with a constant writing track in my head. It was happening before my books were released, but now there is direction and purpose and the words come faster. I also find I need to be attentive to how I write and what I’m working on. It’s hard to dial-out when the day is done, but it’s important to me to be present in my marriage and personal life. No wants a mate or friend that’s only half-there. Being whole is monumentally important.

What’s a hobby you enjoy?

• I hike, mountain bike, kayak, swim, volunteer for the California Parks, and do a multitude of outdoor sports. It’s fun to get my inner-athlete excited and I like to bring that love to sports and activities into my writing.

Does a hobby play into your writing?

• My hero and heroine are into the outdoors. They are engaged in their environment, which is also very typical of individuals living in Southern California. People spend a lot of time outdoors.

What temptation do you wish you could resist?

• Chocolate. I cannot decide if it’s evil or angelic.

Who is your real life hero and why?

• My real-life hero is my husband. He’s a retired Navy SEAL who continues to contribute to the community and teaches what he’s learned to others. His humbleness and thoughtfulness are two attributes that awe me, and that true kindness inspires me to face each day with joy in my heart.

What’s the last thing that made you laugh?

• I just watched an episode of The Neighbors. The Weavers were a BLT sandwich (Seriously, they were dressed as parts of a sandwich) and that image is seared into my brain. Anything that has aliens and/or humor is something I’m going to watch, read or collect.

What’s the last time you stopped and reflected and realized you’re happy just where you are?

• I like to hike. Oftentimes, I will sit and meditate or commune with the world around me. It was during one of these experiences I realized how blessed and grateful I am. 

If they made a movie of your life, what would it look like? What genre would it be? 

• If a movie could be made out of my life, I’d like to be animated. My characters from my PULSE OF POWER comic book world would be there and they’d be participating as well as narrating it. Everyone would concentrate on having fun and the only hard moments would be teachable moments and they would resonate with the audience. The ending would be a happily-ever-after and it would bring peace everywhere, national fiscal solutions, and solve world-hunger, too. Hey...a writer can dream. :)

If you could live anywhere in the world, where would it be? Why there?

• In Hawaii. My husband and I feel very connected to Oahu. The sand, the surf, the rhythm...it’s very peaceful.

                                                                                                                                                     

ONCE A SEAL

A Hero of Her Own

What woman hasn't dreamed of what it would be like to marry a Navy SEAL? Dan McCullum is everything Aria has ever imagined—sweet, strong, and sexy as hell. She just never expected how tough the SEAL life would be. Dan could be gone at a moment's notice and not allowed to tell her where he's going or when he'll be back.

Dan has never backed down from a challenge in his life. But this one is his hardest yet. How does he balance his duty to his country with a soul-deep love for Aria? It's going to require patience, ingenuity, and some of the hottest homecomings he can dream up. Because for him, this isn't a fling: this is forever...

EXCERPT (Chapter 1 Sourcebooks)
BUY: Amazon, B&N, INDIEBOUND

                                                                                                                                                        

Anne Elizabeth is an award winning romance author, the creator of the teen PULSE OF POWER comic book series, and the Columnist on Comics, Manga, and Graphics Novels for RT BOOK REVIEWS magazine. With a BS in Business and MS in Communications from Boston University, she is a regular presenter at the RT Book Lovers Convention as well as a member of the Authors Guild and Romance Writers of America. Her published credits include stories with Atria/Simon & Schuster, Highland Press, Dynamite Entertainment, Sea Lion Books, Bravo Zulu Studios, LLC, and Sourcebooks, Inc. She grew up in Greenwich, Connecticut, and now lives in the mountains above San Diego with her husband, a retired Navy SEAL. In her free time, she is also a serious Amelia Earhart who is always on the hunt for a new adventure. Catch AE on the Web at AnneElizabeth.net.

HOLIDAY STORIES: WHITE CHRISTMAS

Christmas means many things to many people. For some it's a profound holy day. For others it's a day of gift giving, or just another day. Still others have learned to revere the holiday and what it stands for through other ways and means. 

Such is the story showcased here today. White Christmas, by Simon Garte, tells the story of a soldier at war, raised an atheist and what changed it all for him.

It was not a white Christmas that year. At least not for him. He was in a land that had never seen snow. Rain, yes - lots of rain. But no snow. In fact it was raining that Christmas morning. He was sitting by himself in the rain. Alone. The camp was almost empty. He had volunteered to stay since he wasn't a Christian.

Not then.

And also Snake eyes had asked him to stay. That weird thing had happened two days earlier, when he had been sitting alone in the rain, just like now. Snake eyes had come up to him and started talking. Snake eyes hated him, so that was already weird.

“Hey man” Snake eyes said.

“Hey.”

“I need a stabber for Christmas.”

He looked up at Snake eyes dark, inscrutable face.

“Me?” He asked.

“Yeah you. Abdul can’t make it and all the other brothers and crackers are going to that thing down river. But I figgered, you bein a atheist or a Jew, or whatever the f-ck you are, maybe you want to do it.”

He thought about it. He had never done this before, never been asked to.

“OK” he said.

Now he was waiting in the rain for Snake eyes. “It’s Christmas” he thought to himself. His father, a committed atheist, refused to have a tree or any decorations in the house. The family had always exchanged presents on New Year’s day. Christmas meant nothing to him.

Nothing good.

An hour later, he and Snake eyes were walking north on the trail. They were soldiers, and there was a war, but they were not fighting. They hadn't been fighting for months. There was no point to it.

When they got to a place that Snake eyes recognized, he pointed into the jungle, and the white boy left the trail. He found himself a position with a good sight of the trail and Snake eyes. He rested the M1 on a branch, and settled down to wait. The rain stopped and then started again. Snake eyes was sitting in the mud of the trail.

The two kids in black pajamas came down the trail smiling and laughing. They were the “enemy”, but had been doing business with the platoon for a long time. One of them carried a large sack, the other an old rifle of some kind. The kid with the rifle went into the jungle on the opposite side of the trail from where the white soldier was crouched, and that left Snake eyes and the kid with the sack standing on the trail. Snake eyes started talking to the kid. They were smiling and laughing. At first. But then the kid started saying something that Snake eyes didn't seem to like. Snake eyes began raising his voice, and the words came through the thick jungle to him sitting with his M1.

“That’s bulls-it, man. That is bulls-it. What the fu-k are you saying?”

The kid answered, but too quietly to be heard. Finally he shook his head, and put down the sack. Snake eyes reached behind him and took out a small stack of bills from his rucksack. The kid took the money and then grabbed the bag and began running.

“Fu-k”, shouted Snake eyes, “shoot the mother.”

He raised the M1 and fired a round which went wild, and then he saw that Snake eyes was down.

“Snake eyes”. He yelled. No response. Except for the rain it was quiet. He scanned the jungle on the opposite side of the trail, and saw nothing, but lay down a lot of fire. Then he ran to the trail. Snake eyes was alive, but there was a hole in his chest and blood was mixing with mud all over.

“Fu-k it man. Its Christmas, I don wanna die on Christmas.”

And then he did.

The white soldier tried carrying the body back, but only got a few yards. He dragged the body into the jungle a couple of feet, and then headed down the trail. His mind was blank. At the camp, he went into his tent and lay down. The chopper had not returned from the party yet, and he still had a couple of hours of solitude left.

The angel appeared as a dark haired, blue eyed young girl of about fifteen. She was dressed in pure white, and she stood in the center of the tent. He knew it was a dream. The angel spoke in a foreign language, but he understood it, as if he were reading the subtitles at a foreign movie. She said this to him,

“Your sufferings will be intense, but the Lord loves you. Never forget this.”

Many decades later, he had forgotten those intense sufferings, but he never forgot the dream of the angel standing in white in his tent on that Christmas day.

His white Christmas. 

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Simon Garte has published non-fiction and also writes fiction. He's a marvelous storyteller. Simon is a New Yorker currently living on the East Coast.