Too Much Cheese!

Hanzel was a jolly Dutchman with a white shirt and a vest who liked to make cheese almost better than anything else in the world. He liked it so much that Hanzel was positive that his cheese was by far the best in the whole county of Leyden. Problem is every farmer for miles around insisted that their own was superior to any other made in all of Holland and that lead to quite a hullabaloo on market day. There were rows and rows of stalls in the cheese section of the market, and the competition was fierce. Many if not all of them had banners in varying colours advertising their wares. The bolder ones went even farther and hired drummers which added to the din. Even the shyest had to resort to calling out the virtues of their special product.

And what was the result? No one got very much business. Friends, I feel very much like that bewildered Dutchman. Since the market has been opened wide to thousands of authors through the advent of self-publishing we are being drowned in a cascade of literature just at the time when technology is causing the interest in paper books to wan. Tell me, what should I do? If you have any advise, anything at all, please let me know. www.marilynshistoricalnovels.com

The Reluctant Drummer

Oh, I know, I know it's taking me an 'awful' long time to get this book out. Here's another tidbit to tantalize your taste buds, and maybe, jut maybe I'll hit send today, yet.  

This is based on a true story that happened in 1549. The wife's name was Hadewijk, but I don't know what the drummer's name was. It happened in Leeuwarden. Do you have any idea where that was?  It is supposed that the martyr was a man by the name of Sikke Sneijder.

“Fabian, please, just do as you’re told,” Hadewijk pleaded worriedly. “You cannot let them know that you are an Anabaptist supporter. Please, for my sake and the children’s don’t make a fuss about it.”

Fabian slammed his fist against the thick wooden table, making the dishes rattle. Anna and Daniel looked up from where they were playing beside the fireplace to see what all the noise was about.

  “Lower your voice,” Hadewijk whispered as she cleared the table.

Fabian scraped back his chair and stretched his legs. Then he tucked them in again and folded his arms across his brawny chest. He scowled.

 Hadewijk carefully stepped around the contented children to retrieve the cauldron of hot water hanging from a hook over the fireplace and prepared her dishwater.

“I’ve known Sikke all my life,” Fabian said when his wife’s long dress brushed against his leg. “Ever since he’s gone and got rebaptized he’s been more likable than ever.”

 He sunk lower into the chair.

 “Shh,” his wife cautioned, “The children are listening.”

He sighed, ignoring her comment. “Now that we are working in the same shop, it gives us plenty of opportunities to discuss what it truly means to be a Christian.

 “Fabian! That’s not safe!”

 “Will you quit worrying all the time? There are more important things than being ‘safe’! There’s a deep hunger in my soul that longs to be satisfied. I want to be sure me, you, and the children make it to Heaven, you know!”

Hadewijk didn’t answer.

“Well, he’s been found out. Someone tattled on him, and he was apprehended.”

Hadewijk groaned, “So he’s in prison now?”

 “Worse than that”—this time he did lower his voice—“he will be executed.”

 “Oh, no! What about Mary... and the little ones? Aren’t they expecting their second baby in a few months?”

Fabian nodded glumly. Daniel leaped up and placed his hand on his father’s shoulder. “Are you talking about ‘Uncle’ Sikke, Papa? Is he going to be killed?”

Fabian turned and hoisted the boy onto his lap. He brushed a lock of white blond hair off his forehead. Anna also stood watching them.

“Not only that but the authorities are insisting that I play the drum to drown out whatever the ‘martyrs”—for that’s what they are!!—have to say.

“Oh, Fabian, surely you didn’t object!”

“I knew better than to object vehemently, but I sure they know how I feel.”

He got up and reached for a bottle of homemade brew in the rough-hewn cupboard by the door. Maybe if I let myself get just a little bit intoxicated it won’t bother me so much.

Hadewijk cast him a stony glare. She never did like it when he drank too much, but this time, he promised he wouldn’t. 

Hadewijk sent the children off to bed. Fabian got the chickens in for the night then went for a long walk beneath the starlit sky. It did little to soothe his agitated spirit.

 _________________________________

 “Keep the children off the streets,” Fabian warned the next day and was soon milling with the crowds in the filthy, congested marketplace.

He grimaced when he saw the crowd of soldiers forming a barricade around the prisoner, knowing  full well there were other sympathizers besides him that felt like an injustice was being done  that day. The leaders wanted to avoid a protest.  

He was feeling more than a little tipsy from that last mug of beer gulped down rather convulsively just before dragging himself out of the house. He dared not be late. 

“Ah, here comes the drummer! Now we can start.”

Sikke Sneijder met Fabian’s eye as they bound him, and Fabian dropped his gaze first. There was a light, nay a radiance resting on Sikke’s calm features. It seemed such a shame that a kindly, peace-loving gentleman’s life was to be cut short. “Start drumming, boy,” the magistrate bellowed. “We’re waiting.”

Fabian started drumming all right, and he did it more loudly and vigorously than the occasion required. “Hear ye, hear ye!” he shouted, “A good man is going to be put to death.” His slightly intoxicated tongue wanted to slur the words, but he tried even harder and pounded louder on the large skin-covered drum. 

“Take a look at good Sikke Sneijder; he was a peace-loving neighbor with a kindly heart. Look out for your pocketbooks, my friends, thieves are milling around waiting to rob you while this fine Christian is being offered up!”

 Someone snickered, and others elbowed each other in the ribs.

 “Yes, sir, folks, the world is being turned upside down, today. Mr. Sneijder is bound with chains while even our clergy gets away with wickedness.”

“Is he ever drunk!” someone hooted. “Yeah, crazy as a coot,” another man slapped his thigh then nudged in closer to get a better look at the prisoner who was trying to say something.

But it was Fabian's voice that carried the best. “Whores are stealing your husbands, women, while the upright are being butchered.

“Bang, bang, bangety bang. The wicked are free to roam the streets of our fine city. Bang, bang bangety bang-bang. And our leaders allow it!”

Some of the audience looked at each other then looked down.

“He speaks the truth” one woman whispered to her sister, who nodded her head in agreement.

Soon it was all over. Not one blasphemous utterance spewed forth from the benign saint’s lips, nor even a word of protest did Sikke utter.

 He was ready to go, many observed, and has no fear of Hell or even purgatory.

Fabian looked at his friend one last time, and then his eyes locked with someone else’s. The bailiff: and that man was furious.

Help! Where Have I Been?

 Help! Where have I been?? I've been feeling like my tires were

spinning in a mud hole while  the tools I needed were in my trunk all along.  So what tools you ask? 

Mary's Diary, the Life of Jesus through His Mother's Eyes

Some of you have been so good about buying Mary's Diary, the Life of Jesus through His Mother's Eyes, even with it's blah, blah, blah cover. Did I tell you already that I'm getting it redone, and reedited, and I think those of you that haven't bought a copy will like it better than ever. Meanwhile, I will dole out a pre-Christmas preview! So here' the beginning!

By the way, I'll need to think of another title. What do you think of these ideas.

Mary'am Muses
   about her son Jesus

Mary's Journal

Mary's Memories
  of Jesus

More suggests and votes would be most welcome!

April 2^nd

10^th Nissan

             

                          

                              

I will always be grateful to my dignified, elderly Uncle Zachariah

for teaching me to read and write that long ago summer when I was

ten. There are some thoughts that are too personal; too profound to

give voice to, but they must be shared, and writing is the best way.

How can I get close to HaShem? Yet that is what I am striving for.

HaShem means The Name, and is the most respectful title I know to

call The Holy One. We hesitate to speak His Name out loud, but I pray

He will pardon me if I write it from time to time. There is something

About  Adonai , hallowed be His Name, that is dreadful, but I long to have a

more meaningful relationship with Him.

This week I have been thinking much about the sacred prophecies

concerning the Mashiach. (Messiah,) What kind of woman would Yahweh choose

as the mother for His Son? It would be such a delightful honor, and

a privilege! I wish it could be me.

Did you hear my tiny sigh? I suppose hundreds, nay, thousands of talitha, (girls), more honorable than I have longed to cherish the Holy Child as their own, but they were not chosen, so why would I be?

We are of the lowliest of the lowly. The Judeans, particularly the religious leaders, look down their long noses at us Galileans. Do they not think we are so dim-witted

about understanding the finer points of the law?

The Anointed One’s mother would be someone without the many

faults that I have! I imagine she will be someone like the virtuous

woman our noble King Solomon described many years ago. She would

diligently reach out to the poor, and needy, and in her tongue would

be the law of kindness. I have a lot to learn in that area!

I am guessing that the Mother of the Mashiach, (what elegant

sounding words!) would need to be someone of royal birth so she would

know how to groom her Son to become the future King.

 But I am of the right lineage! David is my ancestor. We have the precious documents right here in our chest to prove it. They have been passed down from generation to generation, and are among our most valuable possessions.

Yea, I must admit though, that thousands of others are of the same lineage.

Just this one last time I will confess it hurts deeply that I cannot

mother HaShem’s Son. He must be born of a virgin, and I am soon to

be married.

You will not ere in your thinking, no? I am joyfully planning to

wed my beloved Yosef, but when I do, this other dream will have to die

forever. It is most difficult to lie down. It has been a secret desire for

so long, but I will; I will lift a brave face, and cheerfully walk hand in

hand with my betrothed for all my days, and if perchance some other

aant’at ,(woman,) gets this blessing during my lifetime I will try to be

happy for her.

Perhaps it will be my own daughter!

Feeding the Little Folk

Listen, I won't even pretend to have a corner on the history of Jesus as a child. This is pure imagination.

The life of Jesus through His Mother's eyes,

Dear Diary,
  H'm. It's pretty quiet around here. I wonder what the boys are up to. I finished making the soup for dinner, checked to see if baby Lydia was still asleep then wandered outdoors. James was close by. He called to me and I duly admired what he was building in the sand pile with scraps of lumber from the carpenter's shop.
"Where's Yeshua, (Jesus), "I soon asked.
"He went to yonder woods to feed the little folk, " James solemnly replied as he stuck a row of sticks in the ground.What a perfect day to be out of doors. I walked eagerly down the path to 'yonder' woods. Since no one was around I

What Works?

Help! I'm trying to make an eye catching cover for the new copy of my book. The older cover doesn't 'grab you'. The book is about the life of Jesus through His Mother's eyes, and I thought it would be neat to show Him as a little boy in Egypt or something similar but unusual. (Maybe going across the Nile in a reed boat.) How in the world am I supposed to get something realistic?  Here's a glimpse into the Older Version. It sure doesn't jump off the shelves, does it?  The original cover is of a sunrise in Israel. http://www.maryamsdiary.webs.com 

http://www.authorsden.com/marilynffriesen