A view from Pamela Ewen's Window! Welcome!

It is my pleasure and privilege to share a recent interview I completed with Pamela Ewen. I posted a review of her latest novel, The Moon in the Mango Tree here.

Pamela is a fascinating lady, and her writing is both powerful and thought-provoking. I will post her direct response, as it includes the questions I sent to her. I hope you will enjoy our conversation, and that you will gain some insight about her latest work. Welcome, Pamela!

You have asked why Barbara's faith was weak during her time with the missionaries at Nan. When I read her letters after she passed on, I was amazed to find that she'd endured the same agonizing search for faith that I experienced, and just at the same age. Although I was raised in a Christian home, the rug was yanked from under my feet when I left home and began reading philosophers and writers like Ayn Rand who said this life is all there is, so you'd better make the most of it. Some of your older readers might remember the cover of Time Magazine in the 1960's that asked - Is God Dead? When I asked my pastor and others how they knew that the Gospel stories were true, the answer that I got was this: There's no way to know for sure, you just have to have faith. But I was a questioning young woman and that answer didn't help me. There are so many people today, skeptics, who want very much to believe, but just can't get there. They seem to approach the question of faith in a different way, as I did--taking what some might call a rational approach. That is, they need to find the soil for the seed of faith to grow. Their hearts just cannot accept what their minds reject. I believe that is why Jesus showed us 'Doubting Thomas' in the Gospels. And that is why He talked about the lost sheep that must be returned to the fold. It took many years for me to find the answers, and now I'm a committed Christian.

My grandmother, I found, was the same. But of course, by the time I came along, the problems were resolved. I knew her only as a Christian, and so that part of The Moon in the Mango Tree was probably the biggest surprise that I found in her letters.

But back to my grandmother, Barbara. She was raised in a large family, the oldest of seven, and Summit Presbyterian Church in Philadelphia was the center of family life when she was growing up. She sang in the choir, her friends were there. She met Harvey there; his father was an elder in the church. Barbara's family was very traditional--as I mentioned, her father tipped his hat when he passed Valley Forge! But she was girl and a woman who questioned things. Read a lot of philosophy and, as I found later, was particularly interested in the philosopher, William James, brother of Henry James. As a young woman, before going to Siam, I don't think she gave the questions regarding faith too much thought--she was happy in her church, was in love with Harvey, in love with her music and immersed in a romantic idea of singing on stage, and of course, WWI (called The Great War) took Harvey away from her for a period of time. So, I don't think that her philosophical musings at that time had a great impact on her faith, surrounded as she was by family and church. But I also believe that at that time her faith was untested, and comfortable, resting on childhood teachings.

You've asked whether it was the lack of grace in the other missionary's lives or the strange newness of Eastern religion that caused Barbara to question her faith? I think that the Nan Valley in the jungles of Siam is where her faith began to first be tested.

Remember that she was already an inquisitive, questioning young woman when she arrived in the jungles of Siam--quite to her surprise, as she'd expected to live in Bangkok. This was a young girl who had marched for women's rights--and this sort of challenge to authority was not readily understood by the missionaries at Nan. Small things at Nan seemed to combine to build a wall between her and the other missionaries (with the exception of her husband, Harvey, who she adored). But Harvey was immersed in his work as a medical doctor, and she was left to find her own way of fitting in with the missionaries. Their rejection of her attempts, the mission's disregard for the very music that she loved, their general lack of interest in anything different or challenging to the status quo, and her constant struggle with daily life and trying to conform--I think that all of those things brought her to the low point. I believe that her intentions when she first arrived at the mission were simple: to be a good wife for Harvey, and to fit in, to find her place there. But the missionaries were harsh, almost rigid, and her nature was to be interested in everything--people, ideas, differences in culture. Remember that her interest in Buddhist thought wasn't sought out deliberately. It was sparked during a trip to the abandoned temple that had been forbidden by Mr. Breeden, the headmaster at the mission, a move that was viewed as a rebellious act from the mission's point of view. But once she'd spoken to the old monk in the temple, she began to think about his words and thoughts, and as things grew more difficult day by day, she began to find herself becoming entranced with the fluid, and to her, exotic, Buddhist way of thinking. In the end of Part One though, neither Buddhism nor the Christianity enforced by the mission provides the answers she is seeking.

The result of suspecting that this life is all there is...that the clock is ticking...is a fierce desire to make every moment count, and that infuses Part II with Barbara's idea that she will seize each day. Harvey, on the other hand, never lost his faith. He didn't see himself as a teacher of faith, however, but rather as a medical doctor whose obligation was to help those who can not help themselves. His entire life was an act of faith. The questioning of faith was always on Barbara's part, not his. I was close to him as well--he was a kind and gentle man who loved God, and recognized God in the vines of the jungle that wound their way to the sun, in the nature of animals and birds, in the passion and needs of people. But he was quiet, private about all of this. He loved Barbara deeply, but his total immersion in medicine and duty and people who needed his help left Barbara dealing with her problem on her own. I don't want to give away the secret that came between them, or the answer, or the ending to the story (!!), so I'll just leave it at that, for now.

The Moon in the Mango Tree raises the issue of a woman who is faced with a choice between love for her music, and love for her family. In the beginning, there really is no choice. Barbara loved Harvey and was married to him, and in those days, the husband's career and decisions came first. But for so many years during the 1920's, both in the jungles in the North of Siam, and during the halcyon days of parties and the Charleston, and the royal court in Bangkok, Barbara still longed for her music. She wanted to sing, and to have some accomplishment that would give meaning and purpose to her life. So on to Paris, Lausanne, Rome. The natural question to ask here, though, is why wasn't the family that she and Harvey built accomplishment enough? That is the very heart of the story; and as Publisher's Weekly wrote, some people will love the ending and the final choice she makes, and some will not. I think your readers will love her choice.

You raise an important issue with this question, Kim: "Given the opposition faced by today's children--drugs, sex, homosexuality, gangs, etc...is it really such a mystery that women would come home and stand in the gap for their children?" I like the way you phrased that, and I think the answer is no, it is not a mystery at all. But statistics and the US census do show that this trend is something new, perhaps a shift from the prior decades since the 1960s, and suddenly everyone is interested in this idea.

I believe that today, because of women like my grandmother, women now have choices in their lives that weren't available before. My grandmother left for Siam just as women got the right to vote in 1920. It wasn't until 1926 that they were able to serve on juries in most states! So the idea of a musical career...tough! Now, today, it's a routine choice that can go either way--home or work. Any woman can achieve anything she wants SO LONG AS SHE UNDERSTANDS THE CHOICE. As I wrote in The Moon in the Mango Tree -- actions have consequences. And when you choose between two things you love, give that choice a lot of thought, because one might be forever lost.

Why do women feel they must be given the choice between a career and a full-time wife and mother? I think they just want to have the right to make the choice. And some women have to work for financial reasons, too. But the problem I think young women face today, however, is the idea that we can have it all. I dislike that old commercial--we can bring home the bacon, cook it up in the pan..etc, etc. No one can give 100% to everything. A woman today can be CEO of a major corporation, or President of the United States, if she's willing to work hard enough. But can you do that and also spend the time that is required to raise small children into strong, independent adults, particularly in today's environment? I'll leave that to your readers to decide!

Is there a balance between the two? Sometimes we have to find a balance, for a variety of reasons. Financial. Emotional. I'd be very interested in your readers' ideas on this question.

I have been blessed with the gift of faith after a long and grueling search that I described in my first book, Faith On Trial, and explored further in my first novel, Walk Back The Cat. I thank God for this strong, new belief every day of my life, and for my family, and for giving me the chance to write and to meet people like you and your readers. I want to write books that will give something to each reader to take away and ponder, people and characters and conflicts and universal ideas that will live on with them and not only entertain, but will hopefully make their lives richer and fuller. That is my hope and dream. And I hope that you and your readers will visit me at my web site--www.pamelaewen.com. Thanks for inviting me to share these ideas with your readers! Pamela

Where Would Cows Hide? Give Away!

MY REVIEW:

What happens when identical 11-year-old twins spend two weeks on their grand-parents’cattle farm? Oh, the usual lizard hunts, pasture exploration and creek bed adventures would make for a nice story. However, D.C. Ste wart adds a bit of a twist, bec ause when Brad and Charlie arrive at the farm, they find out that their Grandpa is dealing with the mysterious disappearance of his cows! Can the boys help? Well, their younger sister Zoey might prove to be even more helpful…if the boys will just listen to her!

D.C. Stewart has written a delightful adventure for the young readers in your life. She incorporates the realistic agitation that exists between siblings, and she even captures the parents’ and grandparents’ agitation when the children disobey or ague over something trivial. Yet the boys persist in their clue-gathering adventure, because they have figured out who the rustlers are! They just have to figure out a way to tell their grandparents before their parents return to take them home!

This book would make a great Summer read for the children in your life, and it could also be used as a read aloud story for a long trip. If the young readers in your life are stirred to adventure by the great outdoors, then you want to check this story out! You can purchase a copy here today!

MEET THE AUTHOR:
D. C. Stewart grew up in a small town in Oklahoma, and spent most of her childhood getting into trouble with her younger brother on their ranch. She began writing short stories in high school, and won a writing competition at a nearby college at age 17. After graduating, she attended Northwestern Oklahoma State University and earned a degree in History, and also met her husband, Scott. She worked for a church in Maumelle, Arkansas as the Communications Coordinator for five years. After moving back to Oklahoma, she chose to stay home with their four year old twin boys, and six month old baby girl, and to pursue her dream of being a full-time writer. The Stewart’s live in Oklahoma City, Oklahoma. Where Would Cows Hide? is her first novel.

WIN YOUR OWN COPY!
Author D.C. Stewart is giving you a chance to win a copy of WHERE WOULD COWS HIDE?, and more! Here’s how to enter for a copy of WWCH and to enter the grand prize drawing:

1) leave a comment on this blog post (or on any of the blogs participating in the blog tour);

2) email the contest coordinator at contest@novelinspirations.com with subject line “WWCH ENTRY”;

3) join D.C. Stewart’s ezine list by either sending a blank email to: dcstewart_ezine-subscribe@yahoogroups.com or visiting http://groups.yahoo.com/group/dcstewart_ezine/ and subscribing through the yahoogroups page.

Book winners and the GRAND PRIZE WINNER will be drawn on or before May 31st, 2008 and will be notified by email. Please make sure you leave a valid email address on applicable blog posts.

The Warriors by Mark Andrew Olsen

This week, the
Christian Fiction Blog Alliance
is introducing
The Warriors
(Bethany House April 1, 2008)
by
Mark Andrew Olsen
ABOUT THE AUTHOR:

MARK ANDREW OLSEN whose novel The Assignment was a Christy Award finalist, also collaborated on bestsellers Hadassah (now the major motion picture: One Night With the King), The Hadassah Covenant, and Rescued. His last novel was the supernatural thriller The Watchers.

The son of missionaries to France, Mark is a Professional Writing graduate of Baylor University. He and his wife, Connie, live in Colorado Springs with their three children.

ABOUT THE BOOK

A failed recon mission deep in the tunnels of Afghanistan has provoked a demonic onslaught that had been brewing for centuries. The mission's sole survivor is reformed black ops assassin Dylan Hatfield, and he once again teams up with Abby Sherman, now at the helm of the Watchers, an ancient spiritual force. Uncovering and preventing a secret wave of death whispered across cyberspace and threatening to be unleash against civilization will require another level of spiritual power and expertise--the Warriors.

Journeying across the Alps of Europe through the multilayered history of warfare in the unseen world, Dylan and Abby uncover an age-old stone engraving that rouses the church's Warriors to action, placing them dead center in one of the fiercest spiritual battles of their time!

And once again they are reminded: This is all part of a vast and perpetual war, a war beyond all human conflicts, one that has engulfed heaven and earth since before the dawn of history....

Abby Sherman is headed back to Israel, where a Watcher, the Sentinel of Jerusalem, lies dying. In her last breaths the old woman tells Abby of an ancient document prophesying humanity's full-scale entry into the ongoing conflict between armies of heaven and fallen angels.

Dylan Hatfield has decided to answer a summons from his old boss and join a secret operation, its mission to reconnoiter the Afghani tunnel complex from which Osama bin Laden escaped in 2001. What he discovers sears his very soul and likely will end his life.

Abby learns of the peril facing Dylan, and she sends out a call for intercession on his behalf. Her frantic email message sets in motion a series of harrowing events, propelling the two on a new mission and quest--one where the stakes are the lives of millions!

The Warriors is packed with high-octane action, featuring exotic international locales, with characters in a clash against spiritual "principalities and powers" with eternal consequences, The Warriors is a story that will enthrall, enlighten, and engage its readers.

If that piques your interest, you can read the first chapter HERE


MY REVIEW:

“I know you’re used to hearing powerfully from God,” Skinner said, “but I know from my own experience that a lot of times, responding to Him means just turning away from the wall I’ve been beating my head against and stepping out in faith. With no obvious response to guide me. Sometimes that’s the greatest faith of all. To just take one unsure step after another, with no strong leading, and yet trust that He’ll still guide the way.”(p. 281).

If you had the gift of literally seeing the spiritual warfare taking place around you, you’d think your faith in God would be so secure and so strong that NOTHING could shake you. However, when you are pleading with God for direction and no obvious answer is forthcoming, your “seeing” gift seems of little use. That is exactly the position Abby Sherman finds herself in time and again in Mark Andrew Olsen’s latest suspense tale, The Warriors. The sound advice from a friend about trusting God to provide direction is just one wonderful example of the practical faith lessons nestled among the pages of this incredible story!

Abby Sherman is one of the main characters in this fast-paced, suspenseful tale. Dylan Hatfield comes alongside as the other key character in the story, and together they must discover God’s call for His people to become the spiritual warriors our nation needs in order to defeat Satan and his legions. While some of this story is a bit fantastical in regard to “seeing” into the spiritual realm, Olsen makes a very strong and valid point regarding the importance of all Christian’s heeding the prompting of the Spirit to act when they hear God’s still small voice. Abby and Dylan’s heart-pounding race against time is really a great example of trusting God when it doesn’t make sense – trusting God to direct when it seems the odds are against us – trusting God alone for our direction and strength no matter what! You see, the United States is facing an attack of unknown origin. The Watchers are getting very clear and direct messages that send the National Intelligence and Homeland Security Offices scrambling! Meanwhile, Abby and Dylan are receiving their own messages, and they are left with more questions than answers!

This is an awesome book! Don’t miss it’s powerful and exciting tale! I know I’ll be eagerly awaiting the next book with Mark Andrew Olsen’s name on the cover! In the meantime, I plan to read The Watchers and learn more about Abby and Dylan! I hope you will too!!

"Olsen, one of the better writers in this subgenre, delivers powerful, action-packed plots that delve into mystical paranormal worlds."
~Library Journal, Feb. 2008

"Olsen delivers an entertaining thriller likely to be enjoyed especially by fans of the spiritual warfare genre."
~PUBLISHERS WEEKLY

A beautiful story!! The Moon in the Mango Tree by Pamela Binnings Ewen

“We all have to make choices sometimes, and our decisions have consequences.” (p. 463)

These twelve words are the summation of a great truth in all of our lives. Each day we live, we make choices that will roll forward into the future and carry with them unfathomable results. Pamela Binnings Ewen has written an enchanting, haunting tale that re-captures the life of her grandmother Barbara during the roaring 20’s. While some of the story has been fictionalized, the heart and soul of the tale exists within a captivating, independent-minded young woman searching for truth and meaning in her life. Her search spans many years and several continents, and it will take you back into a vibrant, tumultuous period in our country’s history. It is a story that will linger in you mind just as the evening moonlight lingers in your heart.

Barbara and Harvey leave the familiar home of their Philadelphia upbringing to become medical missionaries in Siam in 1919. Barbara meets the challenge of life in the remote jungles of Asia with remarkable flexibility at first. However, she experiences a violent, spiritual rape by one of her fellow missionaries that leaves her forever changed. From the moment she encounters this harsh, unloving god of religion she begins to question what difference any of her husband’s service to these people makes in the scope of things. Once she begins to question the reason behind this mission work, it’s as if her heart and mind goes into an all-out rebellion against all she has ever known of Christianity.

When circumstances in Siam become unbearable for Barbara, Harvey takes her home to Philadelphia. They aren’t in the states long before they discover everything from creation to theological doctrine has come under fire. This philosophical earthquake sends Barbara into an emotional tail-spin while Harvey once again finds fulfillment in his medicine. My heart absolutely ached for Barbara the entire last half of the book. I think everyone has suffered through the throws of their own spiritual awakening. God works through every circumstance in our life – every thought – every decision – showing us the way by revealing the consequences of our actions and choices. He lovingly draws us to Himself even when we can’t see His hand in any circumstance around us.

A wise friend finally confronts Barbara at the very pinnacle of her struggle. “The value of life is not measured by success – neither ours, nor others – nor by happiness or tranquility, nor by what people think of us. There are right actions and wrong ones. It’s not decided by how we obey men’s rules, sometimes even the rules of a church. It’s neither simple nor easy. Faith is grace. But the value of our lives is measured by what we do, by how we live. The words are nineteen hundred years old; ‘Ye shall know them by their fruits.’” (p444)

Barbara’s choices are not easy ones, and dear Harvey’s love for Barbara has got to be the strongest, sweetest testimony of marriage I’ve read in a long time. Their story is rich and will leave your heart and mind deeply changed. For you see, all of us have lived this story to one extent or another. I’m so thankful God loves me enough to bear with me in loving patience as I travel my own life journey, and I’m very thankful that The Moon in the Mango Tree was part of that! Don’t miss this wonderful story! You can visit the author's website here to learn more about her work.

Book 2 in The Star Fighters of Murphy Street Series

From the Publisher's Website:

Know Your Star-Fighters Beamer: California transplant to a weird Midwestern town. Feels like he’s living on another planet. Scilla: the gangly tomboy next door. Ghoulie: the class nerd.

Add one spaceship-shaped tree house capable of taking them most anywhere in the universe. Hop in and blast off for fantastic outer space adventures in Star-Fighters of Murphy Street—the quirky, funny, fast-paced new trilogy by Robert West.

Taking a shortcut home from school, the Star-Fighters are chased by a horrible one-eyed creature into a cavern that houses an entire miniature world. Everything is animated—cars, trucks, moon, clouds, stars—but no one is at the controls. Who would make such a thing and then abandon it?

The Star-Fighters’ search leads them on a wild adventure to a palatial mansion within a wintry jungle that hides a terrible secret—a secret that defines the limits of trusting God.

MY REVIEW:

In the second book in The Star-Fighters of Murphy Street trilogy, Robert West expands his adventures. As we learned in the first book, There’s a Spaceship In My Tree, God has designed each of us with special gifts and for a special purpose. Beamer, Scilla and Ghoulie have learned to function as a star-fighter team, and now their adventures lead them to a truly strange world! If you thought Mrs. Parkers house was weird in book one, you should see her brother’s house in Attack of the Spider Bots!

No longer afraid of school bullies, the star-fighter trio encounters two different people who need someone to re-open their hearts and minds to the dreams they once held dear. Mr. Parker is an older man imprisoned in his own home and Jack is a young homeless boy who believes his mother is a hopeless cause. What do the two have in common? They both need an encounter with the Star Fighters of Murphy Street! Together they all learn that “…if you trusted, even in the darkest times, that the Lord wouldn’t desert you, you just might find that God has laid out another dream for you even bigger than the one you first imagined. All you had to do was hang on for the ride.” (p148-149)

The tree-house is still taking folks on unbelievable adventures, and there is still some mysterious creature lurking in the attic. All-in-all, Robert West has created another exciting adventure that your young readers are sure to enjoy! You will certainly be ready to pounce on the third in the series…Escape from the Drooling Octopod! Start your Murphy Street adventure here today!

Robert West presents The Starfighters of Murphy Street

From the publisher's website:
Beamer, age 13, who speaks only Californian, is an alien in the world of Middle America, exiled to a bizarre, ancient house on a mysterious street that may or may not exist on any map. With the help of a nerdy African-American kid named Ghoulie, a gangly tomboy named Scilla, and a miraculous, broken-down tree house shaped like a spaceship, he battles the indigenous life forms in his new home, from bullying creatures to the strange inhabitants of dark castles, subterranean caverns, and a spider web the size of a house, to discover how God gives a distinctive purpose to each uniquely designed human being.

Know Your Star-Fighters Beamer: California transplant to a weird Midwestern town. Feels like he’s living on another planet. Scilla: the gangly tomboy next door. Ghoulie: the class nerd.

Add one spaceship-shaped tree house capable of taking them most anywhere in the universe. Hop in and blast off for fantastic outer space adventures in Star-Fighters of Murphy Street—the quirky, funny, fast-paced new trilogy by Robert West.

Newly arrived from California, thirteen-year-old Beamer MacIntyre feels like an alien in this bizarre Midwestern town. Strangest of all is the spaceship-shaped tree house in his yard. Surprises await Beamer and his two new friends, Ghoulie and Scilla, when they climb inside and blast off to a universe full of adventure—including a surefire way to make the school bully stop harassing Ghoulie (provided it doesn’t backfire!).

My Review and a view from my youngest son:
Both my son and I have read Robert's West's first book in the Star-Fighters of Murphy Street trilogy, and we really liked it! There is a lot of action, and the kids in the book face realistic challenges of bullying and teasing that many kids face today. The thing that draws the three main characters together is that they are sort of mis-fits. That makes them an easy target for the school bully. However, they discover that the school bully has a few hidden talents of his own - talent he wants to remain hidden, because he doesn't want to be laughed at or teased by his schoolmates!

The tree-house is a fantastical place, and the house that Beamer's family lives in is the craziest place on earth! But there is an elderly neighbor lady that turns out to have quite a bit of common sense. She encourages the kids to think about one thing in particular...that "God can make some people different - special - for a reason." Beamer, Scilla and Ghoulie have a wild adventure on their way to learning what their neighbor's words of wisdom mean for them as individuals.

This is really a great little book! If you have kids ages 7-12 in your life, pick up a copy today! It's never to early to start putting a Summer reading list together!

Finding Hollywood Nobody by Lisa Samson

It is May FIRST, time for the FIRST Blog Tour! (Join our alliance! Click the button!) The FIRST day of every month we will feature an author and his/her latest book's FIRST chapter!

Today's feature author is:

LISA SAMSON

and her book:

Finding Hollywood Nobody

Navpress Publishing Group (February 15, 2008)

ABOUT THE AUTHOR:

Lisa Samson is the author of twenty books, including the Christy Award-winning Songbird. Apples of Gold was her first novel for teens

These days, she's working on Quaker Summer, volunteering at Kentucky Refugee Ministries, raising children and trying to be supportive of a husband in seminary. (Trying . . . some days she's downright awful. It's a good thing he's such a fabulous cook!) She can tell you one thing, it's never dull around there.

Other Novels by Lisa:

Hollywood Nobody, Straight Up, Club Sandwich, Songbird, Tiger Lillie, The Church Ladies, Women's Intuition: A Novel, Songbird, The Living End

Visit her at her website.

MY REVIEW:
When I first met Scotty last Fall in the story Hollywood Nobody, I felt like I’d been dropped into the mind of a chatty, techno-nerd teen girl – and I had, sort of. Lisa Samson has created this wonderfully cool, brilliant teen who is very comfortable in her own skin. Now that she knows Charlie is her grandmother and she understands why her life has been lived full of secrets, she sort of settles down to the nitty gritty of dealing with her circumstances and deciding for herself how she plans to handle things.

However, as Scotty tries to sort through her own circumstances, she is befriended by other teens on the latest movie set and must come face to face with several very difficult, very adult-type situations. Through these difficult circumstances in the lives of others around her, Scotty learns that there are a lot worse things than living in an RV with your grandmother. Harsh reality forces Scotty to take stock and count her blessings from an entirely new perspective.

These new and disturbing situations blend with the building tension caused by the mysterious “biker guy” who follows so closely on the trail of Scotty and her grandmother. Both of them are getting pretty tired of being pursued, but their fear keeps them moving. As the story develops, Scotty finds that she is also being pursued on an entirely different level. It seems as if God is sending one messenger after the other into her life, and she begins to question her relationship with God as well as the unusual circumstances under which she encounters these loving folks.

Lisa Samson kicks up the suspense and the intrigue as the novel heads toward the finish line, and she allows Scotty to discover the truth behind many of the circumstances in her life. She left me shoutin’ for joy! I’m just sayin’!

Don’t miss this wonderful second installment of the Hollywood Nobody series! I know I can’t wait for the next one! The teens in your life will thank you for introducing them to this spunky, questioning, wonderful girl!!

AND NOW...THE FIRST CHAPTER:


Chapter One

Hollywood Nobody: Sunday, June 4

Well, Nobodies, it's a wrap! Jeremy's latest film, yet another remake of The Great Gatsby, now titled Green Light, has shipped out from location and will be going into postproduction. Look for it next spring in theaters. It may just be his most widely distributed film yet with Annette Bening on board. Toledo Island will never be the same after that wacky bunch filled in their shores.

Today's Hottie Watch: Seth Haas has moved to Hollywood. An obscure film he did in college, Catching Regina's Heels (a five-star film in my opinion), was mentioned on the Today show last week. He was interviewed on NPR's Fresh Air. Hmm. Could it be he'll receive the widespread acclaim he deserves before the release of Green Light? For his sake and the film's, I hope so.

Rehab Alert: I've never hidden the fact that I don't care for bratty actress Karissa Bonano, but she just checked into rehab for a cocaine addiction. Her maternal grandfather, Doug Fairmore, famous in the forties for swashbuckling and digging up clues, made a public statement declaring the Royal Family of Hollywood was "indeed throwing all of our love, support, and prayers behind Karissa." The man must be a thousand years old by now. This isn't Ms. Bonano's first stint in rehab, but let's hope it's her last. Even I'm not too catty to wish her well in this battle. But I'm as skeptical as the next person. In Hollywood, rehab is mostly just a fad.

Today's Quote: "It's a scientific fact. For every year a person lives in Hollywood, they lose two points of their IQ." Truman Capote

Today's Rant: SWAG, or Party Favors. Folks, do you ever wonder what's inside those SWAG bags the stars get? Items which, if sold, could feed a third-world country for a week! And have you noticed how the people who can afford to buy this stuff seem to get it for free? I'm just sayin'. So here's my idea, stars: Refuse to take these high-priced bags o' stuff and gently suggest the advertisers give to a charitable organization on behalf of the movie, the stars, the whoever. Like you need another cell phone.

Today's Kudo: Violette Dillinger will be appearing on the MTV Video Music Awards in August. She told Hollywood Nobody she's going to prove to this crowd you can be young, elegant, decent, and still rock out. Go Violette!

Summer calls. Later!

Monday, September 15, 4:00 a.m.

Maybe I'm looking for the wrong thing in a parent.

I turn over in bed at the insistence of Charley's forefinger poking me in the shoulder. "Please tell me you've MapQuested this jaunt, Charley."

She shakes her tousled head, silhouetted by the yellow light emanating from the RV's bathroom. "You're kidding me right?" She slides off the dinette seat. Charley's been overflowing with relief since she told me the truth about our life: that she's not really my mother, but my grandmother, that somebody's chasing us for way too good of a reason, that my life isn't as boring as I thought. We're still being chased, but Charley can at least breathe more freely in her home on the road now that I know the truth.

Home in this case happens to be a brand-spanking-new Trailmaster RV, a huge step forward from the ancient Travco we used to have, the ancient Travco with a rainbow Charley spread in bright colors over its nose.

"Where to?" Having set my vintage cat glasses, love 'em, on my nose, I scramble my hair into its signature ponytail: messy, curly, and frightening. I can so picture myself in the Thriller video.

"Marshall, Texas."

"East Texas?"

"I guess."

"It is." I shake my head. Charley. I love her, I really do, but when it comes to geography, despite the fact that we've traveled all over the country going to her gigs ever since I can remember, she's about as intelligent as a bottle of mustard. And boy do I know a lot about bottles of mustard. But that was my last adventure.

"If you knew, then why did you ask?" She flips the left side of her long, blonde hair, straighter than Russell Crowe, over her shoulder. Charley's beautiful. Silvery blonde (she uses a cheap rinse to cover up the gray), thin (she's vegan), and a little airy (she's frightened of a lot and tries not to think about anything else that may scare her), she wears all sorts of embroidered vests and large skirts and painted blue jeans. And they're all the real deal, because Charley's an environmentalist and wouldn't dream of buying something she didn't need when what she's got is wearing perfectly well. She calls my penchant for vintage clothing "recycling," and I don't disagree.

"Is this really a gig, Charley, or are we escaping again?"

She shakes her head. "No phone call. I really do have a job."

I feel the thrill of fear inside me, though there's no need right now. Biker Guy almost got me back on Toledo Island. (Yeah, he looks like a grizzled old biker.) To call the guy rough around the edges would be like saying Pam Anderson has had "a little work done."

I've been looking over my shoulder ever since.

But more on that later. We need to get on the road. And I need to get on with my life. I'm so sick of thinking about how things aren't nearly what I'd like them to be.

I mean, do you ever get tired of hearing yourself complain?

I flip up my laptop, log on to the satellite Internet I installed (yes, I am that geeky) and Google directions to Marshall, Texas, from where we are in Theta, Tennessee—actually, on the farm of one of Charley's old art-school friends who gave her some work in advertising for the summer. Charley's a food stylist, which means she makes food look good for the camera. Still cameras, motion picture cameras, video, it doesn't matter. Charley can do it all.

"Oh, we've got plenty of time, Charley. Five hundred and fifty miles and . . . we have to go through Memphis . . ."

My verbal drop-off is a dead giveaway.

"Oh, no, Scotty, we're not going to Graceland again."

The kitsch that is Graceland speaks to me. What can I say?

And you've got to admit, it's starting to look vintage. Now ten years ago . . .

I cross my arms. "Do you have cooking to do on the way?"

Yes, highly illegal to cook in a rolling camper.

"Yeah, I do."

"And do you expect me, an unlicensed sixteen-year-old, to drive?" Again, highly illegal, but Charley's a free spirit. However, she refuses to copy CDs and DVDs, so in that regard, she's more moral than most people. I guess it evens up in the end.

"Uh-huh."

"Then I think I deserve a trip through the Jungle Room."

She rolls her eyes, reaches down to the floor, and throws me my robe. "Oh, all right. Just don't take too long."

"I'll try. So." I look at the screen. "65 to route 40 west. Let's hit it. And we'll have time to stop for breakfast."

Charley shakes her head and plops down on the tan dinette bench. The interior of this whole RV is a nice sandy tan with botanical accents. Tasteful and so much better than the old Travco that looked like a cross between a genie's bottle and the Unabomber cabin. "You're going to eat cheese. Aren't you?"

"I sure am."

And Charley can't say anything, because months ago she told me this was a decision I could make on my own.

Freedom!

"I've rethought the cheese moratorium, baby. I know you're not going to like this, but three months of cheese is enough. I can't imagine what your arteries look like. I think it's time to stop."

"What?" Cheese is my life. "Charley! You can't do this to me."

"It's for your own good."

"Are you serious?"

"Yeah, I am."

"Why?"

"Because summer's over, baby, and we've got to get back to a better way of life."

I could continue to argue, but it won't do any good. Charley acts all hippie and egalitarian, but when push comes to shove, she's the boss. However, I'm great at hiding my cheese . . . and . . . I'm going to convince her eventually.

But still.

"This isn't right, Charley, and you know it. But it's too early to argue. And might I add, you have no idea what it's like to have a teen with real teen issues. You ought to be on your knees thanking God I'm not drinking, smoking, pregnant, or"—I was going to say sneaking out at night, but I've done that, just to get some space—"or writing suicidal poetry on the Internet!"

We stare at each other, then burst into laughter.

"Just humor me this time, baby," she says. "We'll come back to it soon, I promise."

I don't believe her, but I hop into the driver's seat, pull up the brake, throw the TrailMama into drive, and we are off.

Six hours later

I pull through Graceland's gatehouse at ten a.m., park near the back of the compound's cracked, tired parking lot, and change into some crazy seventies striped bell-bottoms, a poet shirt, and Charley's old crocheted, granny-square vest. Normally I go further back in my vintage-wear, but I'm trying to go with the groove that is Graceland.

I kiss Charley's cheek. "I'll be back by noon."

"When will that put us in Marshall?"

"By six thirty."

"Because I'm not sure where the shoot is."

"Please. Marshall's small. Jeremy and company will make a big splash no matter where they set up. Besides, growing up around this, I have a nose for it."

She awards me one of her big smiles. "You're somethin', baby. I forget that sometimes." She puts her arms around me, squeezes, pulls back, then smacks me lightly on my behind. "Tell Elvis I said hello."

"Oh, I will. He's one of the groundskeepers now, you know."

I've seen computer-generated pictures of what he would look like now, in his seventies. Scary.

I jump down from the RV, head across the parking lot, over the small bridge leading into the ticketing complex and walk by Elvis's jets, including the Lisa Marie. Gotta love anything with that name. Don't know why. Just has a nice ring to it.

Banners proclaim, "Elvis Is."

Is what? Dead? A legend? What? Because he isn't "izzing" as far as I'm concerned. Present tense, people! If the person's not alive, "is" can only be followed by a few options: Buried up in the memorial garden. Rotting in his casket. Missed by his family and friends. Not exactly banner copy, mind you.

Still, you've got to admit the name Elvis wreaks of cool. Perhaps the sign should read, "Elvis Is . . . A Really Cool Name."

But it's not nearly as cool as my name. You see, my real mother loved the writer F. Scott Fitzgerald. And that's my name: Francis Scott Fitzgerald Dawn. Only Dawn's not my actual last name. I don't know what my real last name is. My real first name is Ariana. Being on the run, Charley renamed us to protect our identity. So she honored my mother by naming me after Mom's favorite novelist. More on that later too.

It sounds fun, traveling on the road from film shoot to film shoot, never settling down in one place for too long, but honestly, it's very sad.

I always knew Charley lived with a sadness down deep, and when I found out why this spring, her sadness became mine. See, my dad is dead and my mother, Charley's daughter Babette, is too. Or we think she must be, because she disappeared under questionable circumstances and never came back. Learn that when you're fifteen and see where you land.

When I thought Charley was my mother, I had such high hopes for who my father might be. Al Pacino was number one in the ranking. Don't ask.

Okay, Elvis, here we go. Let's you and me be "taking care of business."

I hand over my money to the lady behind the reservations counter. I called thirty minutes ago on my cell phone, compliments of my mother's friend Jeremy, and reserved a spot.

"You'll be on the first tour."

Yes! More time amid the shag carpeting and the gold records. And the jumpsuits. Can't forget the jumpsuits. I want a cape too.

The gift shop calls to me. Confession: I love gift shops. They even smell sparkly. Key chains dangling, saying, "You can take me with you wherever you go!" Mugs with the Saint Louis Gateway Arch or the Grand Ole Opry promising an even better cup of coffee. Earrings that advertise you've been somewhere. That's exactly what I choose while I wait for the tour, a little pair of dangly red guitars with the words Elvis Presley in gold script on the bodies, and how in the world they put that on so small is beyond me. See, gift shops can even be miraculous if you take your time and look.

A voice over the loudspeaker announces my tour number, so I stand in line. By myself. Just me in a group of twenty or so.

Okay, here is where it gets hard to be me. I know I should be thankful for my free-spirited life. But especially now that I know my parents are dead, it feels empty all of a sudden. I shouldn't be standing in line at Graceland alone. My mother and I should be giggling behind our hands at the man nearby who's actually grown a glorious pair o' mutton-chop sideburns, slicked back his salt-and-pepper curls, and shrugged his broad shoulders into a leather jacket. Really, right? My father, who was an FBI agent the mob shot right in a warehouse in Baltimore, would shake his head like a dad in a sixties TV show and laugh at his girls.

We'd get on the bus like I'm doing now, each of us putting on our tour headphones and hanging the little blue recorders around our necks in anticipation of the glory that is Elvis.

The driver welcomes us as he shuts the hydraulic doors of the little tour bus with its clean blue upholstery, a bus in which an assisted-living home might haul its residents to the mall.

It smells new in here, and my gross-out antennae aren't vibrating in the least like they do when I go into an old burger joint and the orange melamine booth hasn't been scrubbed since the place opened in 1987.

In my fantasy, my dad would sit beside me. And Mom, just across the aisle, holding onto the seatback in front of her, would look at me as we pass through those famed musical gates, because she would have introduced me to Elvis music. According to Charley, my vintage sentimentalism comes from my mom. I've learned a little about her this summer.

Charley said, "She'd wear my cousin's old poodle skirt and listen to Love Me Tender over and over again while writing in her diary." She became a respected journalist, loved books as much as I do. I pat my book in my backpack, looking forward to tonight when I can cuddle into my loft and get into one of Fitzgerald's glittering worlds. "She was different from me, Scotty. I tried to change the world through protest. Your mother wanted to build something completely different and much better." She sighed. "All my generation could do, I guess, was tear apart. It's going to take our children to put the pieces back together. Babette was a very careful person. Very purposeful."

If it drove my freewheeling grandmother crazy, she doesn't let on.

"I could try to describe how much she loved you, baby. But I don't think I could begin to do her devotion to you justice. I was so proud of her, for how much she loved and gave away. She was amazing."

So in May I found out she existed, the same day I found out she is dead, or most likely dead. And now I'm going into Graceland alone, truly an orphan. Who wants to be an orphan?

We disembark from the bus—me, Elvis Lite, some folks from a Spanish-speaking country, and a lot of older people. I miss Grammie and Grampie right now. More later on them, too. And you'll get to meet them. Like the waters of the Gulf Stream, we seem to travel in the same general direction. I spent a week with them this summer in Tennessee. Yeah, we did Nashville right. They're loaded.

Standing beneath the front porch, my gaze skates up and down the soaring white pillars and comes to rest on the stone lions that guard the steps. My father was a lion. That's why he ended up with a bullet in his chest. Speaking in very broad terms, the story goes as follows:

Dad, undercover, worked his way into a portion of the mob, or mafia if you prefer, that was heavily financing the campaign of a Maryland gubernatorial candidate. When they discovered him, they shot him on site, in a warehouse in the Canton neighborhood of downtown Baltimore. My mother watched, gasped, and a chase ensued. She hid in a friend's gallery, called Charley and told her to keep watching me. (Charley had kept me the night before because my mom and dad had some glamorous function to attend.) And then she disappeared.

The Graceland tour recorder tells me to look to my right into the beautiful white living room with peacock stained-glass windows leading into the music room. This room really isn't so bad, I've got to admit. A picture of Elvis's dad hangs on the wall. He really loved his parents.

I've toured this house at least seven times before, and I'll tell you this, Elvis's love for his family soaked into the walls. A girl that lives in a camper, has dead parents, and is being chased by someone from the mob who knows my grandmother knows what went down, well, she can feel these things.

Charley thinks someone's trying to kill us. This guy is always trying to find us, but Charley's really great at evasion. She said the politician who won the governor's seat all those years ago just announced his candidacy for president and—oh, GREAT!—he's probably trying to make sure nothing comes back to haunt him and sent Biker Guy to finish off the entire matter.

The thing is, he seems to be after me too. And what in the world would I have to do with all of that?

I'll bet Charley's back in that camper shaking in her shoes because I'm over here by myself; I'll bet she's figuring out more ways to be utterly and overly protective of me. I wouldn't be surprised if she's wondering whether locking a kid in an RV is child abuse.

But I love Charley. I really do. I know she's scared back there, and despite the fact that I would be no real help if Biker Guy caught us, I can't leave her there so frightened and alone for long.

Elvis dear, I can only stay a little while. So love me tender, love me sweet, and for the sake of all that's decent, don't step on my blue suede shoes.

I hurry past the bedroom of Elvis's parents, decorated in shades of ivory and purple, very nice, and through the dining room—a little seventies tackiness I'll admit—into the kitchen with dark brown cabinetry and the ghosts of a million grilled peanut butter and banana sandwiches, then on down into the basement. Okay, I admit, I've got to just stand for a second in the TV room and admire the man's ability to watch three TVs at once on that huge yellow couch with the sparkly pillows.

I shoot through the billiard room, which is, honestly, truly beautiful with its fabric-lined walls and ceiling, up the back steps and into the Jungle Room, probably Graceland's most famous room. Green shag carpet overlays the floor and the ceiling, and heavily carved, Polynesian-style furniture is arranged around a rock-wall waterfall at the end of the room. It really defies the imagination, folks. Google Jungle Room Graceland and see what I mean.

The second floor of Graceland is closed off to the public because Elvis died up there. On the toilet. Wise decision on the part of Priscilla I'd say.

Out the door, into the office building, down to the trophy hall, I whiz through all the gold and platinum records, the costumes, the awards, and even a wall full of checks he'd written for charity. According to my recorder, Elvis was an active community member in Memphis. And he obviously didn't care what race or religion people were. He supported Jewish organizations, Catholic, Baptist. Pretty cool.

Of course, this recorder isn't going to tell of the dark side of the man. But Elvis Isn't, despite what the banners say. So why drag a dead man through the mud?

I hurry through the racquetball court, more gold records, the infamous jumpsuits, back outside to the pool and memorial garden where Elvis has been laid to rest.

An older lady cries into a handkerchief. I don't ask why.

Good-bye Elvis. Thanks for the tour. Maybe one day I'll do something great too.

A few minutes later . . .