Writer | Author | Blogger
Being the daughter of a visual artist makes for both an interesting childhood and a unique way of looking at the world. I recently wrote an essay and a devotion titled The God of Story where I discussed how I think of God first as a storyteller.
Upon hearing this, my mother said, “Funny, I’ve always considered him an artist.”
Which of course makes sense to me as well. I create pictures with words. She does it with scraps of metal.
Earlier today I posted this picture on She Reads as part of a book giveaway for my novel, Eye of the God. Who knew that such a little pinky could cause such a big stir? Inquiring minds want to know how one becomes Nine Fingered Frodo….er…Ariel.
It’s a simple story, really. One that involves an older brother and a shopping cart.
I was a wee child, not yet two, riding in the basket of a shopping cart. It was Christmas and my mother had my older brother and I with her as she ran errands. As brothers are want to do, mine began messing with the shopping cart. One minute he was pushing the cart back and forth to make me laugh, the next we were on the floor, his weight, my weight, and everything on the cart landing on the tip of that little finger.
There was nothing left to sew on.
The healing process required minor surgery, a skin graft, three months in a bandage, and a sock (pinned to my sleeve so I wouldn’t remove the bandage).
My only regret about the whole ordeal is that my brother never got a spanking. I’d still lodge a complaint if I could. Yet honestly, I rarely give my finger a second thought. Unless I’m typing. In which case you may not want to sit on my left side. In effort to reach Q and Z I might stab you with an elbow.
Thanks for dropping by! This website is so new it squeaks. So please forgive the bare walls. I’m still unpacking boxes. But I promise that I’ll have some paint on the walls soon. Even a few pictures.
Until then know that you’re welcome.
