Most people are aware of the need to protect themselves from identity theft, but there are some who remain vulnerable despite precautions—fictional characters. Statistics show identity theft against fictional characters has doubled since 2018. Criminals are filling out credit card applications and loan paperwork in the names of well-known characters and ruining their credit in the process.

“These victims are extremely vulnerable,” says Al Ias of the Federal Trade Commission. “We tell people to guard their privacy, but their lives are an open book. It makes them easy prey.”

Easy prey is not how Mr. Fitzwilliam Darcy likes to be described. In 2019, fraudsters purchased three tons of pineapples on credit using his name. According to local townspeople, Mr. Darcy’s mother-in-law had bragged far and wide about his £10,000 a year income, making him an alluring target for thieves who used his information on a Bank of Derbyshire Credit Card Application.

This happened one year after Mr. Jay Gatsby was targeted. Relying on his stellar financial reputation, crooks were able to open a medical account in his name and purchase thousands of pairs of eyeglasses from Dr. T. J. Eckleburg. In both cases, thieves made off with millions in fraudulent, fictional dollars and pounds.

Does it really matter to these fictional characters that others are getting rich on their good names? Yes, it does.

“We can’t have our heroes hampered by bad credit,” says Regina Jennings, author of Courting Misfortune. “Identity theft devastates a person’s financial reputation and hurts their romantic prospects. Their property might be fictional, but it’s the only property they have.”

So what can be done to protect fictional characters? Mainly, guard their private information. Authors should carefully consider before sharing too much of their background. The public doesn’t need to know their mother’s maiden name or their birthplace. Also, specifics on birth dates should be avoided. An innocent party scene can be used by fraudsters to determine their birth date and give criminals another tool with which to defraud them. Even pets’ names should be used sparingly. Consider giving fictional characters a fictional, fictional dog instead of sharing their real fictional dog’s name.

While it might take some time and forethought to safeguard our fictional friends, we owe it to them. There can be serious consequences for victims of identity theft, from being included in a criminal investigation, to losing a tax rebate, to finding one’s credit ruined. They, like everyone else, deserve justice and protection. They trust us with their stories. Let’s not leave them defenseless.

The post Identity Theft Finds New Victims appeared first on Author Regina Jennings.

Always looking to save some money, we decided to park way out at the Lloyd Noble Center and walk to the stadium. We’re both healthy, so what would it hurt, even if it was 100 degrees in the shade? We can take the heat.

One thing I couldn’t take though, was walking two miles in uncomfortable shoes. Just a few weeks earlier I’d made that mistake when my friend and author buddy Becky Wade had visited OKC. Someone in the group who is related to me by marriage and should know better, underestimated the distance to the OKC Memorial. It turned into quite a hike…especially for someone wearing an adorable pair of new high wedges. Once we got to the Memorial, I took off my shoes to give my feet a rest before we started walking back to Bricktown. Unfortunately my feet swelled like inflatable rafts. The shoes would not go back on. At all.

Poor Becky and Mr. Wade were escorted back through downtown by a barefoot hostess. At one point, crossing a gravel parking lot, I had to catch a piggyback ride to make it across. Just what you want to do in the trendy section of town on a Saturday night. We gave them a visit they’ll never forget.

And I hadn’t forgotten either. No cute shoes on this trip. I was going to wear my tried and true flipflops with a lot of cushion.

And that worked well for the first mile to the stadium. Becky (my sister) and I chatted, laughed and sweated as we hurried along just behind the crowd. We were a little late.

(Owen Field – photo by Andrew Rine, WikiCommons)

Suddenly something snapped, and with the next step I was standing on bare pavement. What just happened? I looked behind me and there was my flipflop with the strap broken. Now, if you’ve ever had flipflops break, you know that they become the most useless thing in the world. They aren’t sandals. There aren’t other straps to hold them on. Nope, they are just a flat piece of foam with no method of attachment to the bottom of your foot.

This was trouble. I could walk a mile barefoot. I’d proved that in Bricktown. But did I want to walk two miles back in the dark when the game was over? And would they let me into the stadium barefoot? Somehow I doubted it.

But we would press on. We were resourceful. We could figure out something by the time we reached the game.

My first try was to poke my chewing gum into the holes that hold the strap in. Both the side and the hole between my holes had quit on me, so I filled them with green, spearmint gum. Then I carefully pushed the prong into the hole and waited.

Did I mention that it was 100 degrees? That gum wasn’t going to set-up and harden for anything. One step and I realized that all I’d accomplished was getting spearmint gum stuck between my toes. I tried to pick it out, but people were starting to stare at the crazy woman who’d chosen the middle of a busy sidewalk to clean the gum from between her toes. It’d have to wait. I had bigger problems.

We kept walking and soon we were in tailgater land. We asked a few times for duct tape, and unbelievably there was none to be had – a fact I share with the deepest shame and regret.

“We could borrow a rubber band,” Becky said. “Oh, wait. I have a ponytail holder.”

She pulled a ponytail holder off her wrist. By stretching it over my foot and shoe, I was barely able to hold it on. Enough to fake appropriate footwear as we went through the gate at least, but that thin band wouldn’t hold for long. Not being scraped against concrete the way it was. Something else must be done.

I hobbled through the gate and went to the concession area. Surely there’d be something to buy, and there was. The cutest pair of OU flipflops I’d ever seen. For $38.

(The Sooner Schooner – Photo by Nmajdan, WikiCommons)

Suddenly saving on parking didn’t look like such a great idea. Neither did leaving my wallet in the car. I’d stuck a twenty in my pocket for snacks during the game, but I don’t like using plastic when I don’t have to. I also don’t like carrying a purse. Hmmm…. I might need to rethink some of these preferences.

Luckily my sister was with me.

“I only have twenty dollars,” I told her.

“You can borrow some,” she said. She reached in her pocket and pulled out…. $2. She blinked. “I thought I stuck two twenties in there. Not two 1s.” Evidently the aversion to carrying a purse was a  family trait.

“Can I buy one shoe?” I asked the kid behind the counter. He didn’t even answer.

The crowd above us roared. The game had commenced. At least we could watch the game. It was only the walking two miles back to the car in the dark barefoot that concerned me.

On our way to our seats we passed a Medical Emergency Station. I stopped in front of it.

“You’re not going in there, are you?” Becky asked.

“They could probably help me.” The more I thought about it, the surer I was that it was the answer to my problem. We found our seats, me dragging a leg Zombie-style to keep the shoe on, but at the first break I slipped down to the medical station.

I felt guilty standing there among all the heat-stroke victims. The nurses kept eyeing me until they took care of those who had real medical issues to deal with. Finally one was free.

“I’m sorry to bother you,” I said. “But my shoe broke and won’t stay on my foot. Do you have any tape I could repair it with?” Because if the shoe wasn’t fixed and I stepped on something, then it could actually become a bonafide medical issue. That’s what I told myself, anyway.

She pulled out latex gloves and pointed me to a cart away from the front desk. It didn’t take her long to size up the problem, but instead of reaching for clear tape, she grabbed an ACE bandage.

“We’ll make sure that shoe stays on your foot,” she said. Then fast as a whirlwind she spun that giant ACE bandage around and around my foot and shoe until I thought she was turning me into a mummy. But do you know what? It felt very comfortable. And since it looked like I had a verifiable handicap (besides my inability to choose footwear), no one would be staring at me like they had when I was walking around with one shoe on.

“Thanks so much! This is perfect!” I wanted to high five her, but she had other, fainting people to worry about.

She ripped her gloves off. “That should hold it, but there’s one other thing. You have some bright green stuff growing between your toes. I’d get that checked out if I was you.”

The post How I Lost My Sole at the Football Game appeared first on Author Regina Jennings.

Being an inquisitive sort….

Of course I couldn’t just let it go without finding out for sure whether there was a whole flock of birds in my parents’ bedroom chimney. I told them to stay there and watch the chimney. I was going inside to start a fire.

I removed the little fireplace screen and tossed a few Kleenexes in the fireplace. I got a match  and then because I would never want to cause any harm to their lovely house by making it smell like smoke, I reached in to open the flue.

The noise was akin to standing beneath a helicopter when it takes off. A massive whirling, fluttering noise rose up over my head and immediately birds came pouring out of the fireplace. I smashed the fireplace screen over the opening, but the fireplace tools were in the way, keeping it from falling flush against the brick. Dozens of birds were flapping, their little claws poking my fingers through the screen, their soft bodies squeezing between the screen and the brick where the fireplace tools were leaving space. They were determined to get into the house.

I started yelling to see if anyone was in the house. I needed to get the fireplace tools out of the way because one by one, birds were squeezing through the gaps and flying around the bedroom, but I knew if I let go of the screen, dozens of birds would flood in. No one was in the house. Both hands were holding the screen, so I started blowing on the birds, yelling at them, hoping to scare them back up the flue. Surely one of my family members would come inside and check on my experiment… but no. I was on my own.

Eventually, more and more of them found their way back up the chimney and I was able to toss the tools aside so the screen fit flat over the hole. All while dodging the darting birds that had made it into the bedroom. Finally there was only one left in the fireplace. I put something heavy against the screen to hold it in place, then went outside to get the swimming pool net and start rounding up the birds inside. There was the family, watching the chimney.

“Gina, you wouldn’t believe how many birds were in the chimney!”

Yep. I think I would. In fact, y’all didn’t even see them all, because some are still flying around the house.

So much for my science experiment. My parents are so proud.

This poor bird came down the chimney, got squished in the fireplace screen, flew into a light fixture where it was trapped until we got it out with a pool net. Now it’s too tired to fight off the kids.

 

The post Alfred Hitchcock fans, this is for you – appeared first on Author Regina Jennings.

The fact is that recent research has shown that over-exposure to flash bulbs can have disastrous consequences…consequences that could have already affected you and your kids.

Noelle Buss of Bethany House Publishers was kind enough to forward to me a letter from their modeling agency (whose name I can’t reveal) regarding a new policy that directly affects our book covers. BLOOD EYES! Have you EVER heard of this? Scary stuff. Here’s the letter:

RE: Photography Policy Changes 

Recent studies have uncovered a disturbing trend between repeated camera flash exposure and photosynthetic ocular rosacea (referred to as POR, or Blood­ Eyes), a permanent condition that results from Red-Eye effect. This condition is relatively new and there is still much to be learned. Until we can be assured of the safety of our models, we are implementing the following policy change: 

During photo shoots, all models will be required to wear proper eyewear when facing the camera in flash photography sessions. The eyewear will be small and similar to that worn in a tanning bed. An expert in Photoshop may be able to edit the eyewear out of a photo. Otherwise, designing a cover in a way that does not showcase the model’s face may be necessary. 

We understand the great inconvenience this will cause to our clients. However, retina health is a growing concern in the modeling industry and we have decided to be proactive in this area. 

 

Here I thought they were just doing it so they could use the same models over and over, but instead they are trying to protect the health of these young ladies. And obviously we can’t work all of our story lines around a heroine who wears plastic goggles…especially writing historical fiction! It seems the only logical response is to crop the pictures so that the model’s safety gear is not visible.

But I had many more concerns, so I contacted Dr. Rebecca Urisik, a specialist in Photosynthetic Ocular Rosacea. Here’s a bit of my discussion with Dr. Urisik:

Exactly what causes Red-Eye in pictures?

The term “red­-eye effect” refers to the phenomenon that occurs when light from the flash reflects from the retina at the back of the subject’s eye. During a camera flash, the pupils of the eyes cannot constrict quickly enough to control the amount of light entering their eyes. Therefore, this large burst of light hits the retinas, reflects back, and is captured in the photo. The red color is due to the blood supply of the choroid.

When I see a picture of myself with Red-Eye, did my eyes actually change color for that second?

Yes. Contrary to popular belief, the eye does actually momentarily “change” colors. This is not usually seen by the naked eye, but occasionally caught on camera.

What is photosynthetic ocular rosacea?

Photosynthetic ocular rosacea (POR) occurs when the Red-Eye effect lingers longer than usual or even becomes permanent. Occasionally, flash photography models will present with Red-Eye effect for hours or even days after a photo has been taken. The “blood eye” appearance is disconcerting and enough to cause most models to immediately retire, as they can only find work in vampire movies or other paranormal dramas. Fortunately, most cases of POR will resolve over time, however there have been a growing number of cases in which it is permanent. All patients with permanent POR have had careers in either the modeling industry, professional welding or both.

Here you see what the original CITM cover looked like with the model following the safety procedures. The art department had to draw in her eyes for the cover, which is both time consuming and expensive.

If POR is dangerous for models, can regular people get it?

Absolutely. Pediatricians are reporting more cases of POR as social media increases the number of instances children are photographed. Selfies with flash involved seem to be particularly harmful, especially those taken in front of a bathroom mirror. Every time Red-Eye occurs, it takes longer for the eyes to transition back to their original color, running the risk that eventually they will lose the ability to switch back.

Is there a cure for photosynthetic ocular rosacea?

Currently, there is no cure for photosynthetic ocular rosacea. Colored contacts can help with the cosmetic issues, but the pain and sensitivity can be debilitating. Trying to color the cornea with a Sharpie marker is not recommended, either. Ophthalmologists are researching the option of eye transplants, but finding willing donors is an ongoing challenge.

Thank you, Dr. Urisik!

I can’t imagine what it’d be like to spend the rest of your life hiding behind dark glasses. I’d never wish that on any of these lovely girls. Now that I understand the reason behind the faceless heroines, I know I’ll never complain again about not being able to see the model’s face. In fact, I might enjoy writing about one of these real life heroines, if I ever stopped writing fiction.

So let me know what you think. Have you ever heard of POR? What precautions can we take to protect our kids while still chronicling their every achievement through photos? Help me get the word out about this potentially disfiguring disease!

The post The Shocking Truth Behind the Book Covers: The Red-Eye Effect appeared first on Author Regina Jennings.

Enjoy!

The post I’ve Always Dreamed of Making a Movie… appeared first on Author Regina Jennings.

In the hopes that there might be a few kindred spirits who appreciate this, we present:

Twas the Night Before a BBC Christmas

T’was the night before Christmas and all through the house,

Not a child was scrolling, not even their mouse.

The school books were stacked on the shelves without care

In hopes the next school day would never be there.

The children were muzzled and flung in their beds

While visions of Minecraft danced in their heads.

With dad in his recliner and no one in my lap,

I was finally taking my long winter’s nap.

When out on the lawn there arose such a clatter,

I sprang from my chair to see what was the matter.

Away to the window I flew like a flash,

Stepped on a Lego and tripped over trash.

With the moon shining in on the toys strewn about,

I crawled to the window to take a look out.

When what to my wondering eyes should appear,

But a magic blue box and my BBC dears.

When a spry Scottish driver came out in a minute,

I knew right away it must be David Tennant.

More proper than tea time, his colleagues they came.

I whistled and shouted and called them by name!

Benedict Cumberbatch, Matt Smith, Hugh Grant, Colin Firth

Martin Freeman, Richard Armitage, Tom Hiddleston– WHAT MIRTH!

Come up on the porch! Come into the hall!

I have cookies and egg nog to share with you all.

Don’t slip on the diaper, don’t step on the cat.

Oops! Mind the puddle. I meant to mop that!

Please, pay no attention to the rancid laundry pile.

Let’s pretend it isn’t there, and just chat awhile.

Tell me about Baker Street, Pemberley and Gallifrey

London and Rivendale and other galaxies far away.

I hear the kids stirring, the husband still snoring

While visions of palace life I am adoring.

The conversations flowed lightly with laughter and glee

Until I heard a voice down the hall cry “Mom! I gotta pee.”

Here I sit with a Time Lord, a Sleuth, and a Duke

When echoing down the hall comes the cry “I’m gonna puke!”

I looked at my guests and sighed in despair,

Torn between my children and all this stunningly crafted hair.

I spoke not a word, but went straight to my work,

Cleaned up the vomit and came back to Colin Firth.

His eyes how they twinkled! His dimples, how merry.

His cheeks were like roses, his nose wasn’t hairy!

And Matt’s shirt was tied with a cool little bow.

Then number Eleven said, “Darling, it’s time that we go.”

They said, “Come away with us, there’s much we could show.”

I sighed sadly and said, “I can’t. Ninety school days to go.”

I look ‘round my house, moonlight fell on the walls.

The pictures of children, to my heart they do call.

No tea time at noon, no audience with the queen.

My mornings are in yoga pants and on good days, blue jeans.

My life is not filled with breathless adventure,

Instead I haul kids in my old Chevy Venture.

I looked at my husband, my own handsome elf.

I smiled when I saw him, in spite of myself.

The BBC dears called out, “We must depart.”

Please go on without me, this place has my heart!

They stepped into the Tardis and closed the blue door.

I thought “Alas! I will see you no more.”

But David exclaimed as they flew out of sight,

“You can watch us on Netflix every single night!”

-Regina Jennings, Carol Leeth, Heather Fowler, Amber Parrow, 2014

The post Twas the Night Before a BBC Christmas appeared first on Author Regina Jennings.

Even more exciting was when the lovely Dianne Burnett from Christian Book Distributors asked if I could meet her in her room for an interview.

Me? Seriously?

And thus began my misadventure.

(Notice: If you are affiliated with my publisher or agency, for your own peace of mind you might not want to read any further.) 

Being interviewed before me was the wonderful author Anne Mateer, so I found a corner of the hotel room to hide in so no untimely stomach rumbles would be recorded during Anne’s interview – which was, of course, amazing. I’ve read all her books and loved hearing more about the background and research behind them. (Her interview here.)

I was really enjoying myself until Dianne asked her to share her favorite scripture. Then panic set in and I began my education in media.

Four Steps to Flubbing an Interview

1. Don’t anticipate the questions. 

I read the Bible daily. I’ve memorized chunks of it, too. A few years ago I memorized the whole book of Ephesians, and even though I can’t quote it straight through anymore, you’d think I could come up with a favorite verse on the spot.

Well, Eph. 5:22 about submitting to your husband wasn’t really what I wanted to share. Ditto on Eph. 6:1. There are a lot of nice verses I’ve memorized over the years about love and grace, but I wasn’t 100% sure I could name the address right.

The bedside table beckoned me. Surely there was a Gideon Bible in there, but I didn’t want to disturb Anne during her interview. If I could just get a quick refresher glance so I wouldn’t misquote “My Favorite Verse” but there wasn’t time.

So what did I say when I was in front of the microphone? The only verse I could quote under pressure – Jeremiah 17:9 – “The heart is deceitful above all things and desperately wicked. Who can know it?” 

True story.

**Interview Tip – If you’re a writer always be able to name your favorite books and authors. If you’re a Christian writer always have a verse on hand.

2. Talk about the wrong book. 

By the time of this conference, Sixty Acres and a Bride had been out for seven months. I’d done interviews, talked to book clubs and written numerous guest posts on the themes and background of the book. I thought I was ready for the interview. What I was not ready for was to talk about Love in the Balance – the second “Ladies of Caldwell County” book. It wasn’t scheduled to come out for another six months. I wasn’t primed to discuss the heroes, or the theme yet, but like the great promoter she is, Dianne was looking ahead to the next release. I should’ve been prepared.

**Interview Tip – The industry is always looking ahead. While you’re still promoting your current book, they want to know what’s next. 

3. Give one word answers. If you know Ms. Dianne, then you know she is warmth and charm personified. You won’t meet a more encouraging lady, yet she had to pry answers out of me.

“What was the one thing you learned while researching that surprised you?”

“Um….nothing.”

Doh! I went on to talk about the research I’d done on Sixty Acres (see point #2), but nothing came to mind for the second book. In my defense, the books are sequential and in the same location so much of the research served for both books…but I did research specifically for Love in the Balance, too. Train travel, court reporting in the 1880s, blacksmithing, shoemaking, extensive time pouring over fashion plates to get Molly’s wardrobe right…I even went to Caldwell County for crying aloud. But instead of talking freely I fixation on the literal question…”What surprised you?”

**Interview tip – the interviewer wants you to be interesting. This isn’t a deposition or a Congressional hearing. If your answer to that question isn’t interesting, answer a different question!

4. Imitate other authors.

Did I mention that the poised and lovely Anne Mateer was a witness to this mess? And when Ms. Dianne asked me what spiritual truth I wanted people to take from this book I thought I had a good answer. Love in the Balance has a strong message about hypocrisy and forgiveness, but as I started to share, it began to sound very similar to the message of Anne’s book. I’d read Anne’s book and I’d never thought they were close in theme, but the longer I talked the more I found myself affirming the message of At Every Turn.

Oh no, I thought. Am I plagiarizing Anne right in front of her? Holy cow! They are going to rip the “Published Author” ribbon right off my name tag.

Thankfully I caught myself in time to steer the life lesson back to my story, but it was a close call.

**Interview tip –  Be yourself. Hopefully what makes your books unique will make your interview unique as well.

There you have it. May you profit from my mistakes. If you want to hear the interview you can listen to it here…but if you’re looking for quality entertainment, I’d recommend buying the book instead. 🙂

What’s the worst blunder you’ve ever caught on tape? 

The post 4 Steps to Flubbing an Interview appeared first on Author Regina Jennings.

Just kidding. I wish I was that tough, multi-vitamin-eating mom in the commercials who jogs through the park talking about how she’s good to herself, but I’m not.

That’s why I took band.

Every year during marching band season some of us woodwind players would be chosen to beef up the percussion section. My assignment – the bass drum.

It was the best year of my life – or at least in the top thirty. The bass drum section consisted of two bass clarinet players, one flute and one oboe. We were all female so we cleverly named ourselves GLOBDL – Gorgeous Ladies of the Bass Drum Line.

And we were. Especially decked out in our huge white shirts with the red ascot, the black pants, cummerbund, suspenders and the shiny military shoes. Did I mention the giant black sombrero?  It was a lovely ensemble.

You might not consider marching band a sport, but it was hard work. Carrying a bass drum in the Oklahoma heat took stamina, keeping up with a maniacal drum major required speed and staying in step could involve complicated footwork.

When carrying my bass drum, all I could see was the plume of the saxophone player in front of me. After the football games we marched across the dark parking lot to the band room, a frightful trip made down a corridor of glaring headlights and impatient parents waiting for us to pass so they could get to Mazzio’s for pizza.

On one particular night, we’d lost an expected win. No fight song played, only the cadence to keep the band moving quickly through the gamut of disgruntled fans. I stepped over the parking blocks, trying to keep pace with lesser burdened instrumentalists, noticing how big the crowd was. No one had left early. Everyone wished they had.

Sharing their frustration our percussion section increased the tempo. The sooner the night was over, the better. Like a swiftly flowing river, we rolled through the parking lot toward the bandroom.

Once my feet hit the sidewalk, I lengthened my stride, trying to close the gap between myself and the brass section. Nothing to worry about on the grass. Clear sailing…

Except for that fire hydrant.

I don’t know how, but I hit it with both knees. My momentum carried me forward and with a crash that would leave massive bruises inside both of my arms, I landed on the drum in front of hundreds of stunned onlookers. The drum rolled until my sombrero hit the ground and my feet waved above me like the flag from the Iwo Jima memorial. In vain, I struggled to right myself but the fire hydrant wouldn’t allow the drum to roll backwards and my harness wouldn’t let me dismount.

I’ll admit it took me a moment to realize how completely stuck I was because the tuba player plowing into me was a distraction. A veritable pileup occurred, although all I could see was dirt and the inside of my sombrero. Before I could be assisted half the brass section had to be reversed and Mr. Tuba disentangled from his instrument. For awhile some considered calling the fire department, but a shop teacher stepped in to coordinate the clean up, making the Jaws of Life unnecessary.

The injury I sustained would go down in band history – more spectacular than the lip-splinter the oboe player got from her reed or the concussion the flute player received from the trombonist. Every time we walked past a fire hydrant someone would throw themselves over it to protect me, ensuring that the incident would never be forgotten.

So don’t look for me on the co-ed softball team or on the tennis court. Given my history any attempt at sports would be foolhardy. You might have had a torn ACL or bad tennis elbow. I had a drum roll.

Do you have any unusual sports (or band) injuries? I’d love to hear about them.

The post My One and Only Sports Injury was from Band appeared first on Author Regina Jennings.

But along came a cautious tomato and a dingy cucumber and clouded my thinking. Alas, the seed fell among the thorns and the thorns grew up and choked out the true account and left me remembering the “Factured Fairy Tale” version. Now, when my kids ask me to tell them a Bible story, I hesitate –

Let’s see… there was David. He was a little shepherd boy whose sheep tipped repeatedly, but he was brave. He went to do battle against a 9-foot tall pickle and saved his people. They made him king and gave him a lot of duckies, but he wasn’t content. He saw a ducky that he couldn’t have and he was so unhappy.

Before him there was Joshua who had to endure the taunts of the French Peas on the big wall (evidently Jericho is a suburb of Paris). The French Peas practiced their Monty Python routine on the poor Israelites as they marched around dodging the catapulted cows.

The brutal Assyrians slapped people with fish, that’s how mean they were. If you really ticked off the king you’d be banished to the island of perpetual tickling. Speaking of Kings, the evil ones bore an uncanny resemblance to Bill Clinton – white hair and Southern drawl included. And Shadrach, Meshach and Abednego worked in a chocolate bunny factory. They got in trouble when they wouldn’t sing a really bad song.

I don’t want no health food when it’s time to feed.
A big bag o’ bunnies is all that I need.
I don’t want no buddies to come out and play.
I’ll sit on my sofa, eat bunnies all day.
I won’t go to church and I won’t go to school,
that stuff is for sissies, but bunnies are cool!

Yes, I might not be able to name the twelve tribes of Judah, but I can sing The Hairbrush Song and I Love my Lips.

Do you suffer from the same confusion? Do you lose at Bible Trivia because all you can remember is that Daniel was threatened with having his ears filled with cheese balls and his nostrils with sorbet? Please tell me I’m not the only one.

What’s your favorite Veggie Tales song or lyrics?

The post All I Know about the Old Testament I Learned from Veggie Tales appeared first on Author Regina Jennings.

Yes, I’m bitter.

Not that I ever made an attempt. Learning a talent, dieting and being pretty would be too much work. I really just wanted the crown, thank you. And being chauffeured in a convertible would be fun, too. But I might have tried if I could’ve made up my own title. How would the sash of your choice read? Miss Good Friend? Miss Beautiful Home? Miss Behaved Children?

Many local festivals don’t have titles that accurately reflect the honor bestowed on the lucky young woman. I’m not sure what prize package accompanies the Crown of the International Cow Chip Throwing Festival in Beaver, Oklahoma, or the Calf Fry Festival of Vinita. At the Fort Worth Stockyards there are pictures of past Fat Stock Show Princesses and Queens. Yes, Fat Stock. You don’t get to reign over every bovine inhabitant of the stockyards, only the fat ones. Sounds like discrimination if you ask me. I don’t know if the Footloose Festival in Elmore City crowns a prom queen, but they should as they celebrate the 32nd anniversary of the dance that inspired the movie(s).

And the most unusual festival in my state – Wetumka Sucker Days. (Story potential here, author friends.) In 1953 a city slicker came to town selling tickets to a big circus that was headed their way. Excitement swept the area. Vendors came to sell souvenirs and concessions. Businesses bought sponsorships. Citizens festooned the town with balloons, posters and flyers, and on the big day everyone went to Main Street to watch as the circus animals paraded to the grounds for the show.

But there was no circus. And no Mr. City Slicker.

The post Here She Comes…Miss Fill-In-The-Blank appeared first on Author Regina Jennings.