Book review and giveaway contest:The Fourth Wish

Melanie isn’t in the mood to believe in magic, but it comes looking for her anyway in the form of a most eccentric character in Elizabeth Varadan’s The Fourth Wish (CreateSpace, reprinted in 2010).

Eleven-year-old Melanie McCormick thinks her school vacation will be, at best, boring, although she suspects it will be something much worse. Her parents have recently divorced, her mother is working longer hours and Melanie has to help out more around the house. If that weren’t enough, her younger brother and sister and her brother’s best friend are tagging along everywhere she goes. How will she ever manage to catch the eye of the school’s newest heartthrob or talk privately on the phone with her best friend, Jenny?

While on their way to see a magic show, Melanie, Cory, Erin and Arthur help a stranger pick up the spilled contents of a shopping bag. What the four don’t realize is the stranger, who introduces herself as Mrs. Seraphina, is the one who really is magic. When she grants a wish to Melanie’s brother, the first to volunteer to help Mrs. Seraphina, a domino effect of complications ensues, sending ripples into the lives of not only the four children but the magician, The Great Mondo, a struggling performer who adds his own unique, and unintended, magic to the plot.

Filled with mystery and enchantment, this fast-paced and gripping story will make you wonder what would you ask for if granted one wish. Would it be a wise choice without any unexpected consequences? What about the person who is the recipient of your wish—how will it change his or her life? And what if one day you were the recipient of someone else’s wish, for remember Mrs. Seraphina can grant four of them, and Melanie, Erin and Arthur still have theirs to make …

This is a book whose characters, dialogue and setting are all on target, and the mystery is both magical and satisfying. You’ll wish you didn’t have to reach the end. And you’ll find yourself wishing for a sequel. It's a great summer read for youth.

Elizabeth Varadan

ABOUT THE AUTHOR
A retired elementary-school teacher, Elizabeth Varadan’s work has been published in Story Friends and Ladybug magazines. In addition to two picture books, Varadan has written two middle-grade novels, a story collection for children and an early chapter book. Presently she is working on a chapter-book mystery. She also writes children’s book reviews for Sacramento Book Review (http://sacramentobookreview.com/) and teaches art classes for 8 to 12 year olds one day a week. The Fourth Wish is her first published book.

Varadan lives in Sacramento with her husband, Rajan, and their dog, Cezar. Visit her at
http://elizabethvaradansfourthwish.blogspot.com.

Support your local library! Ask for a copy of The Fourth Wish. It’s also available at http://www.amazon.com/Fourth-Wish-Elizabeth-Varadan/dp/1440413061 and https://www.createspace.com/3353849.

WIN A COPY OF THE FOURTH WISH!
Would you like to have your own copy of this magical book, inscribed with a personal message from Elizabeth Varadan? You can enter to win up to three times:

• Comment on this post; your feedback is what every blogger and author wishes for! If you’re reading this as an e-mail message, just click on the hyperlinked headline then scroll down to the bottom of the blog page. If you’re reading this online, click on “Post your comment—or see what others are saying!”
• For an additional entry, add yourself as a follower of Bird’s-eye View. If you’re already a follower, please let me know when you comment on this post.
• Become a subscriber, which will give you another entry. If you’re already a follower, please let me know that as well when you comment on this post.

The contest will be open until midnight June 17, and the winner will be announced June 22. Be sure to watch for next week’s two-part interview with author Elizabeth Varadan.

What’s on your book list for this summer?

Enjoying a blue mood

I have a blue day every time I clean house, and it starts with the bathroom.

A glass shelf over the commode contains miniature perfume bottles, a collection that began with a gift from Toni Giovanni, an exotically beautiful woman who lived down the block from my childhood home in Chicago. My favorite bottle is a semi-transparent, cobalt-colored rectangle that stands not quite two inches tall. Vertical lines accentuate all four sides, while the cap and base are a pale gold metal with matching indentations.

In the master bedroom I take time from dusting to open a wooden jewelry box that once graced my mom's dresser. An aquamarine pendant, an antique from Germany, glows softly next to the splashier turquoise rings and necklaces Mom loved to wear.

Polishing the piano brings to mind years of lessons as well as the impromptu recitals I gave for my family. One of the most requested songs was the tune Five Foot Two Eyes of Blue, a rollicking ragtime piece that always sent Grandma's foot tapping. The sheet music almost danced against the music stand.
 

As I put away the laundry, my husband teases me that I haven't bought a navy trouser suit in more than a year. My dad wore navy-colored uniforms to work every day for more than 30 years, and my closet contains twice as many dark-blue business suits than any other color. Mom always said my love for dark blue shades began when I received my first box of Crayolas. While most of my classmates used their colored sticks to create artwork, I preferred looking for exotic names such as Midnight Blue and Indigo.

Blue uniforms have even more significance for my husband, a former infantry officer. Marcelo sounds off "Hua!" whenever he sees something light blue, the color the U.S. Army selected to symbolize this branch of the military.

I am fortunate that my blue mood follows me outside of our home.

When Marcelo and I lived on the Gulf Coast, we often sidestepped the formal dining area, choosing instead a sunny breakfast room, whose five southern windows faced the hydrangea's periwinkle blossoms as well as three dozen blueberry bushes. In June when the berries were at their peak, Marcelo and I would take a baguette of French bread, a sampling of goat cheeses and a bottle of wine, spreading our impromptu picnic in the shade of the seven-foot bushes. When the crop was ready, we harvested the fruit not only for pies and snacking but to crush in our press for blueberry wine.

My husband's mother and maternal grandmother say they also receive inspiration from the color blue. Maybe it brings to mind the azul skies and cerulean waves of their native Mexico. When my husband and I come home for a family dinner, Josefina, my mother in law, and Abuelita Queta, her mother, reach into the china cabinet for their cobalt-colored glass plates, a sure sign that we are celebrating a special day.

Even the cats in our lives think it's cool to be blue. When looking for the perfect name for a long-haired Himalayan with smoky blue fur, the family selected "Safir," the Spanish word for "sapphire." Our oldest catly daughter, Hannah, is a playful charmer with eyes that shade from mint green to aquamarine as she waits for a pair of bluebirds to swoop closer to a nose pressed in vain against the French doors.

And where would our country's flag be without the blue background to hold together our 50 stars? I first learned to love Old Glory while helping my dad place her pole gently in the bracket affixed to a column of our crisply painted front porch. Seeing Dad's face as he watched the colors ripple in the Memorial Day breeze, I began to understand the deeper meanings of life.

From a blue moon to a true-blue friend, I feel richer than someone with a blue-blooded heritage when I see this noble color. Mother Nature, I salute you.

What colors inspire you and why?

If you are reading this in your e-mail, please click on the hyperlinked title at the top of the page. It will take you to my blog, and two things will happen: I’ll know how many people are really reading my blog, and you can leave a comment at the end of the post. If you aren’t reading this in your e-mail, please look on the right side of the page to sign up for a subscription. I’ll do my best to make it worth your while with interesting reviews, interviews, slice-of-life columns, and links to other interesting sites and blogs. Thank you very much, and happy Memorial Day!

Cheerios announces book contest

When I find myself needing a break from working on my current young-adult novel but don’t want to put my writing completely on hold, I usually find myself wordsmithing text for a picture book.

Maybe it’s the former journalist in me, but I enjoy the challenge of trying to say something memorable in only a few hundred words. It’s also a refreshing change of pace to be able to complete something in fewer than five years. (OK, so now everyone knows this is how long it took for me to complete my Civil War book, The Underground Gift!)

For my blog readers who also write picture books, you might want to take a look at the new author contest Cheerios is sponsoring. The entry form and details are at www.spoonfulsofstoriescontest.com, and entries don’t have to be in until July 15.

I like several things about this particular contest. First, it has no entry fee. Equally amazing, you can submit more than one story. The main criterion is that you must be an unpublished author. (For now, at least, I regretfully meet this requirement!) Cheerios asks that your work be fewer than 500 words and be a great read aloud for 3 to 8 year olds. Rhyming text is allowed, and judging by previous winners, judges view it quite favorably.

The grand-prize winner will receive $5,000, and the story will be offered to Simon & Schuster Children’s Publishing (http://kids.simonandschuster.com/) for a possible contract. Two first runner-up prizes of $1,000 each also will be awarded, and the stories from these winners will be posted at www.spoonfulsofstories.com. It also looks as if copies of some of the stories will go inside specially marked boxes of Cheerios. Winners will be notified by phone on or about Oct. 15, a very quick response time.

I’m planning to enter Roger Jolly, The Backwards Pirate, whose scatterbrained hero is always losing things; Rhoda Belle Red, who discovers a single word can encompass many “shades” of meaning; and New Shoes, where a surprising twist changes how everyone views a pair of troublesome footwear.

Again and always, I thank the following blog subscribers and followers who have been instrumental in helping me bring my picture books to life—Ed Sehr, Elizabeth “Mitty” Varadan (http://elizabethvaradansfourthwish.blogspot.com/), Judy Gumina (http://judysjotting.blogspot.com/), Michelle Wood, and Rosi Hollinbeck (http://rosihollinbeckthewritestuff.blogspot.com/). You’re the best, and I hope I’ll soon be blogging about how you’ve won this or another similar contest.

Patsy and the pink skirt

Patsy and David with Aunt May

Patsy Miller was tired of waiting for her mom and little brother. Leaning against the back porch railing, she watched the mid-morning sun shine first on one windowpane then another as it found its way between the apartment buildings. Looking up she saw birds traveling from Sheffield Street to neighboring blocks. Looking down she saw squirrels scampering on vertical surfaces.

Patsy watched a playful breeze ruffle the hem of her new pink skirt. Chicago didn't have many warm spring days, but this one was almost perfect. Except for the waiting. Rats, Patsy said.

Last year Patsy's younger brother, David, had been an energetic 2 year old that enchanted people with his golden curls and smile. A few months later he suffered a seizure that forced him to wear leg braces. Most days Patsy didn't mind that it took her mother almost 15 minutes to coax David's metal-clad limbs into his trousers. Today was different.

To celebrate Easter, the family was going to take the "L," the rapid-transit train that swooped along elevated lines and dipped into subways, to visit her mother's oldest sister. Aunt May would have lunch ready by the time they reached the south side of Chicago, a special, once-a-year meal of baked meats, sweet potatoes and fluffy dinner rolls. And lots of dessert.

Patsy's arms were going to sleep from leaning against the railing for so long. The yard looked a lot sunnier than the back porch.

Patsy, the summer before the fence
incident, David, 3, and Jimmy, 12.

The few blades of grass that had escaped other kids' feet scattered dew on Patsy's sturdy shoes. Patsy didn't mind that post-World War II conditions meant wearing brown footwear with a pink outfit. The color helped hide the dust that soon spotted the dew.

A few more seconds passed while Patsy investigated the area for interesting insects, lost marbles and other signs of spring. She smoothed her white blouse, which her mom had decorated with pink feather stitching along the collar, cuffs and both sides of the button placket. Her mom had worked on the garment a little bit each night in order to have it ready for today. Patsy spun a few times to make her felt skirt swoop in a circle. When she stopped with a dizzy sway, she was facing the fence.

This fence was more than an 8-foot high structure separating the neighbor's lot from the corner gas station. It was a rite of passage. If you could walk its length by the time you were 10, your friends said you were brave. If you mastered the fence by the time you were 8, you were precocious. Patsy was 7, and she had no fear of heights or broken bones.

She had tried walking the fence before now, but every time she got near the top, some of the big kids yelled at her to get down. They knew if a little one fell, they'd get in trouble for not watching out for their younger siblings. Others were less subtle and threw things such as dirt, rocks and cans.

Staring at the 6-inch pickets that blocked her view, Patsy heard a church bell chime. Soon the other kids would start walking back from church. But that wouldn't be for another hour. Patsy knew her mom couldn't see her, because the neighbor's house blocked the view of the fence. And the gas station was closed on Sundays.

Now's my chance, Patsy thought as she grabbed the rough surface of two broken slats. Wedging her feet into the improvised steps, Patsy wished she could trade her pretty outfit for some corduroy pants or a pair of shorts and her favorite pullover T-shirt. She liked to look pretty, but not if it interfered with life.

As Patsy struggled to pull herself onto the 2-by-4 stud that formed the top frame, her skirt snag on a jagged slat. Patsy never thought her skirt would tear. Now a hole as long as her hand gaped near the hem. Grease stained one sleeve of her blouse. But both feet were balanced on a piece of wood barely as wide as her shoe.

Eighth-grade graduation
required a fancy dress. Rats!

Patsy examined the oil drums, garbage cans and car parts that filled the gas station's lot. Years of work had packed the earth as hard as cement. Dirt with a little bit of grass filled the neighbor's backyard.

Next she looked over the tops of her neighbors' garages. This was something she never could have seen while out walking or even while taking a rare car trip. She was looking into a whole other world, one with a brighter sun and fresher breeze.

It was time for the final test—walking the entire length of the frame before turning around and returning to the starting point, a roundtrip of 200 feet.

Too soon Patsy completed the circuit. She knew the rules stated that each kid had to climb the fence with at least a pair of witnesses. But Patsy knew she had been there today, and that was enough. It was time to go home.

Opening the back door, Patsy walked down the hallway toward David's bedroom. She always was getting dirty, so the grimy cuffs didn't concern her. She'd just point out the one other small problem. She felt sad about the skirt but knew her mom could fix this; her mom could fix anything.

"Mama, I tore my new clothes."

"What? I just made that outfit!" Helen cried. "What were you doing?" Her dreams of having a little princess were destined for the rag bag.

A few days later the blouse became a short-sleeved top, and the skirt suddenly sported an appliquéd poodle. Patsy thought the dog leash that went up to her waistband was very cute. What Patsy didn't like was that for the next several weeks she was confined to the house, watching the other kids run races and play Hide and Go Seek.

After she was sprung from her parental jail, Patsy still climbed the fence; she just waited until her mom was busy or at work. It was important to keep training, because the next rite of passage was just around the corner. She had to bang her hand on the gutter of the four-story apartment building by climbing up the back porches.

But fate planned a surprise for Patsy.

Oh she climbed the building all right, and she climbed it safely. Her mom never even found out, but Helen still got the ultimate revenge. You see, Patsy Miller is my mother. And instead of a tomboy, Mom got me—a little girl who insisted upon Mary Jane shoes, lace dresses and no dirt.

Rats, Patsy said.

For all of my readers who are mothers, I hope you had a special Mother's Day.

Book giveaway ends Wednesday

http://readerssuite.blogspot.com/2011/04/anniversary-giveaway.html

 
Although I try to post a blog article only once a week, I just read about a book-giveaway that ends May 11 that you might be interested in entering.

Jamaican author J.L. Campbell (http://thecharacterdepot.blogspot.com/), whose second novel, Dissolution (Nevaeh Publishing), is scheduled for release May 20, is hosting the contest to celebrate the one-year anniversary of her blog. The titles are ones she has read during the past year or so, and although many of my blog followers are children’s authors, summer can be the perfect time to try something different when it comes time to escaping with a good book.

I’m putting Campbell’s new title and her first release, Contraband, on my book list and look forward to discovering a new author for my bookshelf.

What books are on your summer reading list?

Turning eggs into art

Every spring I think about Barbara Hollar.

Barbara not only was the subject of my first interview for a California newspaper. She is a charming woman with the ability to use simple supplies, intricate patterns and delicate skill to transform a common cooking ingredient into miniature works of art.

In fact, it was a cookbook cover from a Time Life series that inspired Barbara to begin decorating the delicate shells with Ukrainian designs. Her preferred medium? Jumbo-sized eggs from the supermarket. Her standard supplies include beeswax, dye and vinegar.

Pysanky—the Ukrainian term for this intricate craft—is rich with symbolic designs and rich, warm hues. Many of the designs reflect religious or nature themes, such as a butterfly for the resurrection of Christ and dots for the tears Mary shed, while traditional colors include orange, red, dark red, black and green. In the old days, artisans made their own dyes from whatever was available, usually foodstuff such as onion skins, carrots and beets, which is why you won’t see any blues or purples in the patterns.

Different stages of the same design.

Barbara draws her designs directly onto the egg with a pencil then uses beeswax to cover the areas she doesn’t want affected by the next color bath—just like batik. It takes her a minimum of three and sometimes 20 hours to complete a design.

Barbara became a pysanky artist in the 1960s, when she bought an egg-painting kit while shopping with a friend. In the following three decades, Barbara has painted eggs for pleasure, for friends and for celebrities including actress Joan Rivers and chef Martin Yan.

While watching Barbara gently yet confidently decorate the shells, it seemed as if her advice was as apt to her artistry as to life.

• “With color you never get the same shade twice.” Instead of being frustrated by this, Barbara allows herself to be invigorated and surprised by serendipitous joy.
• “The interesting thing about eggs is every one is a different shape. Each has some kind of flaw or bump or lump.” Instead of trying to endlessly pursue and never obtain perfection, Barbara sees differences as the foundation for something beautiful and exciting.
• “I have put hours into an egg only to have it break. But it is very exciting to finish an egg and have it come out beautifully. Every egg is a degree of success for you.” Barbara doesn’t let the possibility of something not coming out exactly as she planned stop her from trying something new. Every design teaches her something and leaves her with a memory.
• “When you are through, you have something you’ve put time and effort into. No matter how many times I do this, it’s still magic.” And it is magic, to use your heart and hands to create a tangible gift.

Springtime might make me think of Barbara’s eggs, but her words of wisdom are ones I treasure all year long, especially since they help me be a better writer as well as experience a more joyous life outside of the writing studio.

This egg, which Barbara made for Marcelo and I, has made it through five moves and almost the same number of cats.

 How has art transformed your life?