Ten Things I Know at Seven.

Here is what I know about my son so far:

1.  Someday he will be president (president of his senior class, president of GE Corporation or president of The United States, I'm not sure which);

2.  Even though right here and now I know better than to do this, I am certain by the time he's in high school he will convince my husband and I he is responsible enough to be left at home alone.  We will go away and he will throw a ridiculously raging party.

3.  He will dance at said party in true 'white boy' fashion.



4.  Chances are good he will soon stop telling me things like, "Mom, did you know the skin on my penis is even softer than the back of my blankie?"

5.  Chances are not so good he will stop peeing on the tree in the backyard any time soon.

6.  He makes us laugh.

7.  He singlehandedly upped the noise level in our household to earsplitting volumes.

8.  He will grow up and marry this girl.  I will be very thankful because she will make him toe the line and insist he wear something besides plaid pants and a Star Wars t-shirt. 

 

9.  Despite the fact that she beats up on him, locks him out of her room and argues semantics with him, he worships and loves his sister.  And she loves him back, kinda, on a good day.

10.  And the most important thing I know about Child # 2 is none of us could imagine life without him.  He is our joy and our light.  Today is his seventh birthday!  Happy, Happy Birthday Child #2!!
  

MotherSexer

I'm a writer, so if anything, I should have a firm command on language.  Still, there are some questions that take away my grip on English and make me grip the steering wheel really, really hard.  We are always in the car when this type of question is posed.  We are also, always without my husband. 

Invariably, it's just me sitting in the car with the kids in the back seat when the gas station attendant decides to go all Rambo Motherfucker-this and Rambo Motherfucker-that on the homeless man digging through the garbage can.  Usually the questions start as soon as I pull out into traffic.

"Mom, what does fuck mean?" 

"It's a verb that means to make love."

"What does make love mean?"

"It means sex."

"So why was the guy at the gas station telling the other guy to get his MotherSexing hands off of the garbage?  I thought you said sex was a beautiful thing between two people who love each other?  Do you think they love each other?  Are they like married daddies?  Would it be okay if I called you a MotherSexer because you're my mother and I love you?"

This is when I go very quiet because I'm trying to negotiate traffic.  I'm also engaged in the mental process of 'issue spotting'.  I learned how to issue spot in law school.  In law school, it's a good thing to be able to issue spot.  In motherhood, sometimes it's a bad thing.  Sometimes there are so many issues that the only reaction is paralysis. 


I am not a MotherSexer!



"Mom, MOM, MOMMMM, why are you not answering my question.  Can I roll down my window?  Can I have a piece of gum?  Can I call you MotherSexer?  MOM, WHY AREN'T YOU SAYING ANYTHING?"

This is the point where the careful, well-thought out explanation a career in words should provide simply disappears.  This is where I pull the car over and turn around so that I can look my children in the eyes. 

"You may not ever use THAT word."

"Which word?  MotherFucker or MotherSexer?"

"Either word.  They are very bad words and they are only used by bad, bad people.  If you use those words at school you will be sent to the principal's office.  Your friends' parents won't invite you over any more.  Those are the kinds of words people use in (dramatic pause) prison.  Do you want to wind up in prison?  Is that the way you want to spend your lives?" (voice climbs to a hysterical pitch)

Two pairs of wide eyes look at me and shake their heads.  No, they most certainly do not want to end up in prison. 

Yes, I know I'm deliberately using ambiguity to steer my children away from a certain, ahem, genre of language.  And yes, I also know I haven't heard the end of the subject.  But maybe, just maybe, I will never, ever have to hear the word MotherSexer again.  If that's the case, then I feel like my scare tactics will have been 100% justified.

Writer Bipolar

I'm starting this post off with a disclaimer.  I have friends who are bipolar.  I know it's a serious issue.  I understand it can seriously impair the quality of people's lives.  It is serious and by writing a post entitled Writer Bipolar I am, in no way, trying to make light of people who really and truly are bipolar.

Whew, got that out of the way!  Writer Bipolar may not impair writer's ability to live their lives, but as my circle of writer friends grows I'm increasingly convinced it's something most writers experience.  Writers, almost all of them, seem to run a little hot and cold.  It stands to reason.  For those of you who aren't writers, a typical day often goes like this:

I have no time to write NO TIME.  It's entirely possible I'll never, ever have time again!  Much hand wringing follows. (Down)

One hour and ten minutes later--now I have time!  Hooray!  Tweet #amwriting. (Up)  Make tea, sit down, open up work in progress and....instantly develop a burning desire for cheesy popcorn.  Eat cheesy popcorn, wash hands, sit down, repeat (at least four times) until you realize cheesy popcorn is just an excuse not to write. (Down) 

Stare at keyboard for fifteen minutes.  Study your cuticles and try to ignore the siren call of the internet  (Further Down)  Realize you have nothing to say and you will probably never have anything to say ever again.  Begin to doubt your worth, as both a human being and a writer, (All the way Down).  BAM all of a sudden an idea hits you.  You're off and your fingers can barely keep up with your thoughts so you have to write it in a crazy typed shorthand so you can capture the ideas before they escape. (Way Up).  Reread what you wrote and realize your mother was right.  You are a genius and exceptionally pretty too, and if people don't like you it's just because they're jealous.  (All the way up on the ceiling Up).

You'll stay up on the ceiling until the next time you look at your work.  You'll pull up your masterpiece and realize it's beyond awful, worse than you could have possibly imagined (Down).  Except then you will edit and edit and edit and edit and edit until it's amazing again. (Up).

I'm going to end this post on an Up cycle, just like I've learned to end my writing days.  To all my amazing writer friends who experience the ups and downs of writing, keep at it, and make sure to end on an Up!  To all the people who love us and want us to be as Up as possible, here's a little word of advice.  Whatever you do, don't eat the last of the cheesy popcorn!

MoonStars: Chapter Four

If you're a new follower to my blog **welcome new followers** you will have no idea what MoonStars is, so here's a quick summary.  My nine year old daughter asked if she could write a serialized summer story.  Originally she was going to write one segment a week but....summer is summer and we seem to be on a once every two or three week schedule. 

Yesterday, she spent whole tens of minutes scribbling away in her bedroom until her brother started shoving lego people under her bedroom door in a frantic bid for her attention.  His bid worked, but not before she put out a copious three and a half hand-written pages.  If you are the kind of person who likes to read things from start to finish here is the link to the previous installments. http://www.johannagarth.com/2011/07/moonstars-chapter-three.html 

If you don't want to click through the links here's a quick summary.  Our heroine, Isleia, was recently transported to a magical planet called MoonStars.  She has just moved to her new house with her roommate Halle.  Together they will be studying magic.  The house has fifteen floors and Isleia has been warned to stay away from the "Fifteenth Floor" because it is "known to be haunted."

MoonStars: Chapter Four

Isleia was filled with curiosity.  She got out of her room and went to the elevator.  The elevator took her upstairs to the Fifteenth Floor.  When she got to the Fifteenth Floor, Isleia found herself in a dark cave.  Before she managed to take very many steps she met a monsterous creature.  Isleia realized that it wasn't really a creature.  No, instead of a creature, it was a spirit! 

Isleia ran and ran and ran.  There was a strange looking bat in front of her in the hallway.  It blocked her path and said, "Not one more step or I'll steal your blood."  Isleia ran backwards, back towards the elevator.  She pushed the first button her finger touched and the elevator took her to the second floor.  The doors opened and on the second floor stood Halle.

"I told you not to go on that Fifteenth Floor," said Halle.  "Since you managed not to get yourself killed, I suppose now you have time to get to your house."

"I thought I was going to stay with you," said Isleia.

"Change of plans.  Anyway, you might be better off in your own house."

"Where is it," asked Isleia?

"Third twenty-second MoonStars, 896 12 3 88."

So Isleia found her home and realized it came with a pet.  It was a rainbow bunny named Bone.  The bunny could say a lot of things.  She seemed very strange because she was hopping around on the ceiling. 

Isleia didn't feel like talking to Bone.  Instead she wanted to take a tour of the house.  It was ginormous.  She wandered around until she discovered her room.  It was huge with two triple bunk beds and a huge purple canopy that hung from the middle of the ceiling and came down all around her room.  There was a mini-radio sitting on a bookshelf. 

She turned the radio on and a voice came out of the speaker.  "Don't go on the last floor.  It's haunted.  HAHAHAHA," said a voice.

"There is no such thing as a last floor so HAHAHAHA to you," said Isleia

All of a sudden Bone came into the room and said, "I have a very important message for you."

"What is it," she asked.  Before Bone could say a word there was knock at the front door.  The knock grew louder and louder and Bone started to shake.

That's the end of Chapter Four.  I got a hint about what happens next but the rest of the blogosphere will have to wait until Child #1 gets around to writing Chapter Five.  Thanks for reading!! 

The Losing Beauty Book Trailers

I tried, really I tried to ignore all the stuff about book trailers. I pretended that it didn't matter. I told myself that I wasn't selling a movie, I was selling a book. I blamed my technophobia but in the end I sucked it up and put together a book trailer. Actually, I made two book trailers set to different music. They're on my blog today to be shared with you.

Option one seems like it might be better for the True Blood and/or CW Network crowd. Option two is less choppy.

I don't know?

After all, I'm a writer not a film maker.


This one is more of a mood-setter. Losing Beauty isn't horror but it does have some disturbing things that happen. Maybe this one is better. I just can't decide.



What do you think?

Craigslist

Here's my confession for the day.  I love Craigslist.  Have you seen the t-shirts that say "J'adore Dior"?  I wish they had one that says "J'adore Craigslist".

I'm convinced Craigslist is the modern version of finding gold at other people's garage sales.  It's like what people used to do before The Antiques Roadshow came along and ruined it for all of us goldhunters.  I have bought and sold enough things on Craiglist to earn a blackbelt Craigslist shopper award.  At the very least I could teach a seminar on ins and outs of Craigslist business dealings.  Come to think of it, I've probably made more money on Craigslist than I have from writing....hmm maybe I don't want to examine that too closely.  The point I'm trying to make is there are deals to be found on Craigslist.  Really, amazing deals and I excel at sniffing them out.

Which brings me to my point.  Child #2 is still sleeping in the expandable toddler bed that was supposed to be temporary.  The same bed, in fact, that I decreed unsuitably small for Child #1 when she turned five.  For Child #2 it's been just fine, despite the fact that every time I change the sheets, the slats underneath the mattress fall off and I spend ten minutes trying to wrestle them back on to the bedframe.

Last week, on a whim, I pulled up twin beds on Craigslist and there was the perfect bed frame!  At a really good price!!  I sent an email to the person listing it and it was still available.

"I'm not driving an hour round trip to look at a bed frame," my husband informed me. 

"That's okay," I said, undaunted.  "I can do it by myself."

This is the bed!  Cute, right!!

And I did.  That night I braved rush hour traffic to the 'burbs.  At the end of a long drive, there was the perfect bed frame.  The owner and I stacked all the pieces in my car and, as I drove home with bed slats wiggling between me and the passenger's seat, I had two niggling worries.  The first one, that I would get into a horrible car accident and be decapitated by my son's bedslats thankfully didn't come to pass.  As for the second worry, I wasn't so lucky.

Everyone knows husbands don't have a clue how much the adorable little blue bed costs.  That's a Craigslist basic, Craigslist for Dummies if you will.   Instead of asking how much I owed him, I just handed him a wad of cash.  It was totally a rookie move.  He took it and we were done.  The only problem is, it occured to me on the drive home that I might have overpaid him by $15.  When I got home I loaded up my email and my fears were confirmed.  Now I know $15 is not a lot in the grand scheme of things, but in Craigslist terms it's huge.  It made my good deal, my amazing score, $15 less good!  Now that I've had more time to think about it, maybe a career teaching Craigslist seminars isn't in my future.  Maybe, I'd better just stick to writing.

Who Am I? The Harry Potter Version

In honor of the very last movie, sniff, sniff, my kids came up with a Harry Potter version of Who Am I.  Here are their questions.  Some of them are surprisingly tricky.  See if you can guess them all.

1.  I stick my head in the fire and I have a house elf.  Who am I?

2.  I'm very famous and I'm very good at flying on brooms.  Who am I?

3.  I'm very mean and I like to make rules.  Who am I?

4.  I work in the Hogwarts kitchen and whenever someone says "Hi" I cry.  Who am I?

5.  I'm part Veela and I'm a champion.  Who am I?

6.  I blow up like a balloon.  Who am I?

7.  I cry a lot and have a crush on Cedric Diggory.  Who am I?

8.  I put Nifflers in Professor Umbridge's office.  Who am I?

How'd you do?  I missed number 2 (to the delight of Child # 1) but given all the Harry Potter expertise out there, I bet you did better!

1.Sirius Black 2. Viktor Krum 3. Dolores Umbridge 4. Winkie 5. Fleur de la Cour 6. Aunt Marge 7. Cho Chang 8. Lee Jordan

What to Do With a Bad Review.

As much as I wish I could claim that everyone who reads Losing Beauty loves it, I can't.  It's already gotten some meh and even negative reviews.  I can't quibble with anyone's reasons because reading is such a personal thing.  I also understand that everyone won't love my book and am doing my best to develop thick skin.  Still, every time I read something negative I go through the following stages.

At first I'm a little sad (okay a lot sad) because I want everyone to love my book.  My second reaction is always more personal.  I find some reason to be annoyed with the reviewer (and we're talking professional reviewers here).  They didn't email me before they posted the review.  They mispelled something or used bad grammar or their review didn't make sense.  It doesn't really matter what it is because, let's face it, none of those things would annoy me if they'd written a glowing review.  My third reaction is to question myself.  Maybe the critics are right.  Maybe the book should be burned and banned and (even worse) ignored.  How could I have ever had enough hubris to agree to put my work out into the public domain?

It usually takes me a few days to recover from a bad review.  Maybe, with practice, by next year I'll have the whole thing whittled down to a day or even a couple of hours!  The funny thing is that, as with everything in life, I'm not able to hold on to the glowing reviews.  I mull over the bad things but the great, amazing, I loved your book so much it made me ache please stop whatever you're doing and write more kind of reviews don't ever keep me up at night.



Glass half full!



That's my challenge for this week.  I'm going to try to focus on the positive and let go of the negative.  In fact, maybe I shouldn't read those pesky reviews at all.  And, if I have a really hard time letting go of the bad stuff I'll just keep reminding myself of the words of a good friend after I told her Losing Beauty got a bad review, "They had a problem with the swear words, sex and morality issues!" she said.  "As far as I'm concerned that's a better endorsement than any five star review."

If The Shoe Fits...

Child #2 has a lot going for him.  He's adorable and charming.  He's the kind of kid who effortlessly gives out compliments about your toenail polish color or the way the shirt you're wearing makes your eyes look "big and beautiful."

He is blessed with the ability to make friends wherever he goes.  Sometimes my husband and I feel like we have a pint-sized celebrity in the house because wherever we go someone knows him.  He has all that going for him and yet every four months, like clockwork, he almost manages to put me into the insane asylum.  Every four months Child #2 needs a new pair of shoes and the agony that goes along with acquiring and wearing those shoes regularly pushes my patience to the brink.

This summer I was successfully ignoring the fact that his Crocs were shrink wrapped to his feet until my husband rationally pointed out that Child #2 might need some decent hiking shoes for our trip to Yellowstone.  Yesterday, I took several deep breaths (instead of the Xanax or glass of wine that would have really done the trick) and we went to the shoe store.

I don't even bother with the cheap shoe store anymore.  I know he will claim every shoe in that place alternately pinches or is too loose.  Instead we headed straight for the expensive place.  The lady, a new employee, measured his feet and informed me that his current shoes were, "two sizes too small".  I didn't even bother to look surprised.  Instead I just started lining shoes up for him to try on.  He tried on eight pairs of identical Keen sandals in different colors.  At the moment that I was getting hopeful he announced, "They're all pretty good but not very comfortable."  

After that we tried on four different pairs of some other ridiculously overpriced kiddie shoe brand, followed by six other pairs.  The new employee was beginning to look frazzled.  "He certainly knows what he wants," she said.  I just smiled.  

 After five more pairs he went back to the Keens and retried on all the sandals plus the hiking boots in every color.  He tested each pair of shoes by a complicated series of running and jumping from one end of the store to the other.  After an hour and a half he settled on a pair of hiking boots.  Forget the fact that it's summer and the hiking boots are insulated.  By this time nobody cared.  The shoe lady and I exchanged looks of relief as I handed her my credit card.  

He wore the shoes all day.  I was exuberant! 

And then this morning he announced they were too loose.  Right now I can hear him upstairs talking to his sister about how he really prefers it when his shoes hug his feet.  The kid is lucky he gives a good compliment.  Right now, that's the only thing standing between him and a stark raving mad lunatic of a mother. 

My Body Is Private

I have quite a few books that I've finished recently.  I'm anxious to blog about them all, but somehow, on this lazy Sunday afternoon, the book that is the title of the post suddenly took precedence over everything else.

Why?  It's probably a combination of things.  It's a book that has been kicking around our house for years because I am nothing, if not a neurotic parent.  I bought it when Child #1 was about five and read it to her repeatedly until I was certain she understood the message.  I tucked it away on a bookshelf for Child #2 when he was ready and there it sat, untended and forgotton about for the last four years.

A couple of months ago I heard a third hand story about a case of child sexual molestation.  It had all of the makings of something that would keep me up at nights (parents were unable to prove the case, someone the child knew, the victim was in the same age bracket as my own children) but somehow the whole story slipped out of my mind before I had that important conversation with my children.

A month (or two) passed and I heard the story again from someone else.  Again I vowed to sit my children down and have a talk with them and again I let it slide.  Then, this morning at my gym I forgot to bring my headphones.  Instead of pounding music to keep me going on the treadmill it would have to be subtitles on T.V.  And lo and behold the local news was doing a piece about sexual predators.  Except it was more than just a piece about sexual predators, it was a piece about sexual predators at swimming pools in Portland. 

The symmetry was too much.  My kids are swimmers.  They even swim at some of the pools shown in the clip...in my neighborhood.  This was the third time I'd heard about sexual predators in as many months.  It felt like the universe was giving me a shake and saying "GO TALK TO YOUR KIDS."

So I did!  I dug out our neglected copy of My Body Is Private by Linda Walvoord Girard and read it out loud to my kids. 

"Any questions?" I chirped after the main character hugs her dad good night and says she's glad that 'most touching is a good thing.'

"No, no, we've got it," said Child #1.  "Everything under the swim suit is private, no one touches it and if they ask to touch, go tell a grown up."

"Yeah," said Child #2 which is what he often says after his sister talks so he may be in for another private reading tonight.

All I can do is hope they'll file this information away with all the other emergency information they learn. Like the book says "You don't need to worry about it; you just need to know what to do--the way you know what to do if a fire starts." 

If you haven't already talked to your children about this sensitive subject, please, please make time for it.  This is me, out in the internet-cosmos, reaching out to you to give you a gentle shake and reminder.  And if you need a helping hand, as I did, My Body Is Private strikes all the right notes.

Road Trips

Road trips are an American thing.  Even as I wrote that I could see all my European friends shaking their heads and formulating appropriate arguments to prove me wrong.  Be that as it may, I stand by the first statement.  Road trips are quintessentially American.  For one thing we're an enormous country and for the second, we've got a lot of roads. 

Over the Fourth of July weekend my family decided to do the American thing and take a little road trip.  We went to a local resort called Sunriver, or as my husband and children refer to it, 'Funriver'.

Funriver is a four hour drive from Portland.  When the kids were younger the prospect of four hours in the car would have filled me with terror.  I would have packed snacks, crayons, puppets, musical sing-a-long cds, books (both in print and on cd), flash cards, more snacks and multiple packages of wet wipes.  But never, ever, not under any circumstances would I have packed anything like a movie or a video game.  That's right.  I was that kind of mom! 

In the intervening years, all three of them, I've loosened up a bit.  Now that they are six (almost seven) and nine I pack just one thing.  Yep, that's right.  Somewhere along the line flash cards and sing-a-long cds gave way to Nintendo DS fully stocked with Mario Carts and the Harry Potter Lego game.  Good intentions, why did you forsake me?? 

Maybe it's more accurate to say I traded in the good intentions as soon as I discovered movies and Nintendo DS make it possible for me and my husband to have long uninterrupted conversations in the car.  Sometimes the kids are so fully occupied that we can finish our long conversations and then lapse into companionable silence.  Do you know how often that happens in my household?  Almost NEVER!

Usually just at the moment when I start to feel guilt-wracked for letting them have two solid hours of DS time Child # 1 will fire up the recording device function and begin recording her favorite phrase which goes a little something like this:

"I'm SNAPE and I always poop in my pants and I have no friends because I smell like broccoli.  Wait!  Let me go, just before I poop in my pants." 

Anyone care to wager how many times she recorded that, played it back at varying speeds and volumes and then re-recorded it? 

I lost count somewhere around three hundred, which was right about the same time that I broke out the Tinkerbell DS game.  Did I feel a twinge of guilt?  No, I did not.  Guilt is over-rated and silence,as it turns out, is golden!

Losing Beauty Giveaway

I'm still riding the Theta Mom high of yesterday.  You know how sometimes the stars align and everything seems to work and your world is full of bubbly, bubbliness?  That seems to be the moment I'm in right now.  Even as I wrote those words I experienced a little twinge of anxiety about the moment when my bubble bursts because if you've ever read "Oh The Places You'll Go," you know that eventually all bubbles must pop.

But today I'm setting aside my worry lines and forging ahead because I have even more exciting news.  If by any chance you happened to visit Theta Mom yesterday, read the article I wrote and were suddenly overcome with a burning desire to read Losing Beauty but don't have the funds to buy it... I have the perfect solution! 

There is a book giveaway today at Todays Creative Blog.  http://www.todayscreativeblog.net/  Kim Demmon is the writer of this blog, which is akin to a creative crafter's bible.  Kim also has the distinction of being my one and only bloggy friend that I've ever spoken to *gasp* in person.  I'm happy to confirm she is every bit as lovely face-to-face as she is on her blog.  Stop by, enter for a chance to win Losing Beauty and XXXX!!  In case my made-up emoticon wasn't clear, that's me crossing my fingers for you to win!

It's a Theta Mom Morning!

If you've ever happened upon the wonderful blog and online community created by Heather Reinhard you will know that a Theta Mom Morning is shorthand for a great morning! 

This morning is especially exciting for me because my article, "Balancing Your Dreams" is featured today on Heather's blog.  http://www.thetamom.com/  If you are a mother or have a mother (I think that covers everyone) you should stop by and check out the amazingness that happens over at Theta Mom.  Of course, if you want to say hi or leave a comment on my article while you're over there, I'll be even more thrilled than I already am to be guest posting there....is that even possible?  I'm not sure?  Stop by and say hi so we can find out!

A Writer's Collective

Writers are generally solitary animals.  It's by necessity.  You can't write a book and carry on a conversation at the same time, at least I can't.  As far as I'm concerned, I can't even have people in my house carrying on audible conversations when I'm writing.  Things have to be calm and I need to know I won't be interrupted by tears, demands for food or people wandering into my office and attempting to climb into my lap. 

The ironic thing is that to be a good writer you need to interact with people.  You really do.  You need to understand the ebb and flow of conversation in order to write believable dialogue.  To make the plot work it's essential to have some kind of understanding of the human condition, what makes people tick.  All this knowledge requires social time, which isn't always easy to come by if you work at home surrounded by solitude. 

What's my point?  I promise I have one.  It's my publisher!  Fantasy Island Book Publishing ("FIBP") is a small, indie publisher.  Since today is Independance Day and my publisher is an independent I think it makes perfect sense to celebrate the two of them together.  FIBP is putting out twenty-five books this year.  Losing Beauty is lucky enough to be included in that group but that's not the only reason I love my publisher.  The real reason is because of the writer's collective.  Every single one of the twenty-five authors is part of a private group on Facebook.  We go there for advice, to commiserate about politics, music, give opinions on each other's book trailers and engage in random silliness like raiding each other's profile pictures and photoshopping them into pirate clothes.

I don't know how other publishers work.  My guess is the kind of after-hours camaraderie found at FIBP is something special and unique.  And if it isn't that's even better.  I think every writer should have the chance to enjoy hanging out with the kind of amazing talent I've been privileged to get to know this year.  I care about these writers and I want to see them succeed just as much as I want my own book to find popular success.  Some days it feels like we are all standing at the edge of a precipice that is the new era of publishing.  Except, instead of just one or two of us, there are twenty-five.  Our new website is almost ready.  As soon as we get the thumbs up to move in we'll be spending our "after hours" time on the threads at http://www.fantasyislandbookpublishing.com/.  Stop by and say hello  But if you wind up dressed in pirate clothes, don't say I didn't warn you!



To Author Doug Sanburn all I can say is Ahoy Matey!



MoonStars: Chapter Three

It's time for Chapter Three of MoonStars, the serialized summer story being written by Child 1.  In case you missed the previous installments you can find them here http://www.johannagarth.com/2011/06/moonstars-chapter-two.html 

If you don't want to click through the links I can summarize by reminding you that our heroine Isleia was recently transported to a new planet called MoonStars.  When we left off last time she had just discovered she will be learning magic during her stay at MoonStars.

The woman said to Isleia, "You look confused, are you?" 

"Yes," said Isleia.  "Very confused!"

"Well, Sahirea and Halle are the people you are going to study magic with."

"OOOOH," said Isleia.  Isleia looked from Halle to Sahirea. 

Halle stood up and said, "Hi Isleia.  I'm Halle.  Will you take one of these sheets?  It's a sheet of what you want to study." 

Isleia looked at the sheet.  It had stuff like PigmePuffology on it.  "Take that home," said Sahirea.

Isleia immediately responded, "Where's my home?"

"Stay at my house," said Halle.  "We'll have to talk about it tomorrow." 

Isleia followed Halle home and Halle showed her all around the house.  At last she showed her her room.  "Before you get settled I want to warn you.  Do not go on the fifteenth floor.  It is known to be haunted."

That's the end of today's segment.  It sounds like Halle has a very large house, possibly even an apartment building.  I asked Child #1 to please, please, pretty please write some more so we could find out what was on the fifteenth floor but she reminded me she needs to end it at a place where we are curious to find out what will happen next.  I'm curious, but then of course I'm also her mother!