"Secrets of the Ash Tree" Interview

Secrets of the Ash Tree

By Siv Maria Ottem

~~~In the realm of the gods and fairy tales the mystery of life is an endless path with many secrets to be discovered. Some secrets are like dreams, just waiting in darkness hoping to get into the light.
‘Secrets of the Ash Tree’ is the story about Liv, a young woman who discovers her true nature through the unraveling of hidden secrets. Her adventures begin when she digs up a chest that was buried by her father under the old ash tree in her garden. What she finds inside the chest changes her life forever.  Liv discovers one secret after another and is thrown into a world full of dangerous and strange creatures, mighty Norse warriors and perils beyond her belief. What started out as a fairy tale in her father’s journal was to become her legacy, a guide line to survival, and a map to the world she was about to enter. Each day, each mystery, each encounter will ultimately reveal her true destiny and behind the edge of a sword awaits a young god who is willing to share that destiny with her.

Available in Hardcover, softcover, kindle:

Now for a fun interview about the book!

What's the one item you'd grab if your home was on fire?

Odin turns his head and fastens his one good eye at Elisa. He touches the rim of his floppy woolen hat and smiles.

“It has taken me over a century to get this hat just right and I would never leave home without out. Not even if all of Valhalla was on fire.”

If you could be a superhero who would you be?

Odin chuckled, “Am I not a superhero in your world? From what I have heard my son Thor has become quite the superhero. Actually you could say that I am the father of all superheroes.”

If you could fight any supervillian who would it be?

Odin placed both hands on his walking stick and leaned forward until his face was just inches away from Elisa. The breath on his whisper curled the air with the scent of stale ale as he answered, “Loki…I never tire of battling my wits against his. I find him most amusing, as I am sure you have read all about in the book Secrets of the Ash Tree.”

What made you fall in love with your significant other?

Odin tilted his head and curled his beard between his fingers. “You have such strange language. His voice raised an octave as he played with the words on his tongue… Significant other,” then broke into laughter. “Yes I could say that my wife Frigg is significant. Our marriage was arranged but I have come to love her. Frigg is the goddess of marriage, motherhood, fertility, love, and she is quite the housewife. What’s not to love?”

What is your favorite breakfast food?

“Now that’s more like it! Bring on the feast of dried meats and cheese, let us break bread together and celebrate the first story in a series of Gods and Fairytales. Bring on the ale so that we may toast to the success of Secrets of the Ash Tree!

"Secrets of the Ash Tree" Available in Hardcover, softcover, kindle:

Amazon- http://www.amazon.com/Secrets-Ash-Tree-Maria-Ottem/dp/1490708790/ref=sr_1_2?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1379498108&sr=1-2

Amazon kindle- http://www.amazon.com/Secrets-Ash-Tree-ebook/dp/B00E5Y79PQ

Barnes and Noble- http://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/secrets-of-the-ash-tree-siv-maria-ottem/1116186245?ean=9781490708799

Goodreads- http://www.goodreads.com/book/show/18259193-secrets-of-the-ash-tree?ac=1

. . . because people RESPECT redheads!

. . . because people RESPECT redheads! 

I dyed my hair just in time.

Not only did I dye my hair, but I also wrote ANOTHER depressing divorce song.  
YAHOO for depressing instrumental divorce songs.

Ask Elisa . . . Again

    Once again, I feel the need to share some of the funny ways people have found my site, and I'd also like to answer their questions.  
    

    These are the search keywords that have brought them here.
Note: The Search Keywords are in black.  My lovely comments are in red.

Are mimes worse than clowns?
Honestly, it depends on the mime and the clown.  For example, which one of these people would you rather meet in a dark alley?

#1

or #2?

How about #3  (Which I find VERY creepy--is this what happened to Quasimodo after he died?)

or #4?

These two just look like nice people.  (Except for how the one in the back is flashing a fake gun.)  But really, even I could beat them down if they proved evil.



Here's another search:

Ugly pimple lady
What the heck!  Why did that search bring them here? I'm a bit stunned . . . and sad.


Marsha Brady still sexy?
Yes, she's still quite pretty.  Take a look.

 

Puss in boots eyes surgery
Dear, sweet, person.  Yes, Puss-in-boots does have amazing eyes, but I don't think you need to have a surgery to get that same look.  Just buy black contact lenses and some mascara--vwa-la!

ugly man tall nerd
Is this the man you're searching for?
 


Who pees standing?
Great question.  In fact, I've written three blogs about this.  
And in answer to your fabulous search: Once again, it depends on the person.  

For example:

Book Lovers Pee Standing Click here to read that post.

 

Intellectuals Pee Sitting  (That link is here)

while

Manly Men Pee Standing (That link is here)

Got it?

Lady dragged by classy dogs?
Okay . . . what?  Dogs like this?
That's more terrifying than clowns!


Hotboxing pirates

I decided to conduct a search of my own,
and here are the pictures I found:

 

So high, they traded sexes.

No one is shocked by this handsome revelation.

Seriously, who is this guy?

And finally . . .

Wow, I really have no words for this picture other than:

    In the afterlife, will sister Mary Wana be judged for this more harshly than other nuns?  She breathed defiled air AND wore mascara on the same day--talk about a double sin!

Very lazy blogger
Why did you find my blog from this search--how rude!
    Come forth, you fiendish searcher, and tell me your name.  I may be a lot of things, but hopefully "lazy" isn't one of them.  I'd rather be called "an idiot" than have people think I'm a slug.



    On that note, I'd like to show you a screenshot I took today.  Pretty hilarious if you ask me.  I might have to respond to these searches next time.

Ask Elisa: Ridiculous Ways People Found My Site

This summary is not available. Please click here to view the post.

Can you tell me the meaning of this dream?

At sixteen, life is wonderful.  I'm running through the forest, trying to find a special place.  I know it's just past the Orc-like Copse and the Sycamore Woods.  I continue to run, barefoot and free, my strawberry blonde hair flowing behind me as I laugh . . . because he'll be there.  I turn, dancing through a bend in the road, and then chance upon a tiny stream.  It tickles my toes as I trace the water, making dozens of pulsing circles on its surface.
    That's when the birds fly away, and I turn.  He's arrived. 
    A man steps from the brush, looking happy and free, like a Greek God.  We hold hands and run to the top of some crazy hill that never existed anywhere except in my dreams.  Then my best friend from high school and I run and jump.  We smile and laugh as the wind hits our faces.  Our feet land in soft mud and we skid to the bottom where there's a gorgeous glade.
   And the whole time, I can't get over this feeling: having a friend who wants nothing more than to be friends with me forever.
    And that's where the dream used to end . . . until my life fell apart when I was seventeen.

    There's something strange about running away as a teenager.  It can make things worse, maybe even subconsciously.  I'm not sure if I should have stayed, with all the rumors and terrible things that happened right before I left Utah.  But what I do know is that the dream changed afterward.

I'm sixteen and I'm running through an ever-darkening forest, trying desperately to find a special place.  I know it's just past the foreboding Orc-like Copse and the spindly Sycamore Woods.  I run, barefoot, my matted strawberry hair is practically glued to my greasy forehead.  I turn, hurtling through a bend in the road before lurching into a rushing river.  It bites my aching feet and it doesn't even ripple when I try washing my hands in it.
    That's when the birds fly away, and I turn. But no one is there. So I sprint parallel to the water . . . alone.  I clutch my own hands to keep from shaking and dart to the top of some crazy hill that only taunts me in my dreams.  Then I jump off the edge.  The wind hits my face.  And when I land, instead of the ground being soft and muddy, it's filled with thorns and rocks.  I tumble to the bottom and cry.

You want to know something strange?  For the first time in 13 years, I had the first dream again.  What could this possibly represent?  
    I'm so confused.  Everyone says we can learn about ourselves by being alone.  Maybe I'm learning something new and my dream is trying to show me?

Verbal Judo, no a-worky for-a me...

I visited Workforce Services today--to BEG them to help me pay for childcare costs.  It's ridiculous, I know, but it almost killed me.  I wore my best outfit, something my mom bought for me to wear at my first big book signing, the one at Barnes & Noble.

In fact, if you google "ec stilson barnes and noble" these three pictures will come up. 

Thank you, Fran. *giggling* (This is her husband--and I'm not sure why he comes up when searching for my signing on Google Images--but it's EPIC!) 
Check out her blog HERE

Anyway, as I walked into Workforce Services, I held my five and three-year-old's hands.  I bit my lip, to keep from crying, and trudged to the line near the counter.  A woman standing just in front of me, studied everything about my appearance, grimaced, and scooted ever-so-slightly away.
    Did she know how far my life has fallen?  Is it that obvious?  
    After all, my full-time job makes just as much as it costs to pay a childcare provider for my four kids each month! Did she know how horrific the last month has been, with some family members and friends--and neighbors who I don't even know--judging me because of rumors that have spread.  From the nights I spent with my kids in a women's shelter?  From how desperate, scared and alone, this makes me feel?  

    As I stood waiting, I started to think about last night again . . . . 

    I had a dream that Cade held me like he used to.  I kept telling him, "Forget about all the bad things both of us did. Forget them.  I can't pretend in real life, but I can right here. Right now."  Then as if I knew I'd wake up, I said to him, "Meet you tomorrow night in my dreams again, okay?"  But when I woke up, I didn't want a tomorrow night or an ever.  And I stayed so angry, wondering why I dream about him even though it NEEDED to be over for so long--for BOTH of us.
    
Somehow I made it to the counter, trying to appear strong and independent, and for the first time in forever I swallowed my pride.
    It wasn't until I backed out of my parking spot that things unraveled.  My kids whined as the woman who'd stood in front of me in line earlier had backed out of her spot--directly behind mine--at the same time I went into reverse.  And by some crazy luck we didn't hit each other.  We stopped, parallel to one another.  
    I opened my driver's door, since my window doesn't work, and tried using the "verbal judo" I just learned about in security guard training.  But she didn't even let me say a word.  She just started screaming about how people like me shouldn't be allowed to apply for government support.  "YOU look rich!  What could you have possibly gone through?  And now you almost hit me!  I wish you would have, you F'n B****.  Then I'd get the insurance money and you'd have to pay more each month!"  She drove off, squealing, and my kids paled, having heard every word.
    Instead of driving off too, I pulled back into my spot, hugged the steering wheel as if it were life support, and started crying.  I tried looking nice because on the inside--right now--I feel completely worthless.  The outfit gave me strength, reminding me of my big signing, when I felt like I MIGHT be worth something, finally.  The cold air conditioning blew across my face and smeared my tears.
    "Are you okay, Mama?" my five-year-old boy asked from the backseat.  "What's a B****?"  
    I almost choked on my own tears.  
    "You K, Mama?" my three-year-old piped in.
    "I'm . . . fine, guys."  I wiped my eyes, but refused to turn around.  "This is tough, but we're gonna make it through all this crap!  And I swear to God, I'm gonna remember that woman--and that you never know what someone else is going through."
    I'd finally calmed down enough, I felt like I could look at my kids without crying.  "Always be nice to people, kids.  When they're mean, it hurts.  When we're mean to others, it hurts."
    So we drove away.  And I hope God will bless the woman who likes calling strangers the F'n "B-word," even though she has no empathy for people like me . . . people who are trying as hard as they can to be a good mother and just make it through each day--whether we look rich or not!

I wrote a song about my divorce: Walk the Fire Alone

I may be the goofiest goofball, but I'm having a terribly hard time with my divorce.  So after thinking about a certain idea myself and then receiving timely advice from Dee Ready (Coming Home to Myself Blog) I decided to write a song about my divorce.  It's rough, but I hope you'll possibly like it.

Walk the Fire Alone

Lyrics ©2013 Elisa Morris

There's a storm and it's coming for me.
Will I be strong enough, and will it set me free?
Carry me, I can't make it on my own.
But you aren't here, so I'll walk the fire alone.

The wind's a rustlin' and the ground turns to fire.
Soon I feel, nothin' but desire.
The flames are creepin' closer to my feet.
But I will walk the fire alone.

Burn with desire...
as I walk my own way.
Burn with desire...
as the fire takes my pain away.

There's a storm and it's coming for me.
Will I be strong enough, and will it set me free?
Carry me, I can't make it on my own.
But you aren't here, so I'll walk the fire alone.

Burn with desire...
as I walk my own way.
Burn with desire...
as the fire takes my pain away.

There's a storm and it came for me.
I was strong enough, and it set me free.
Don't carry me, I can make it on my own.
You weren't there...
so I walked...
the fire alone...

Making Divorce Easier on Your Child(ren)

Experts say we should help our kids identify their true feelings--and that's fantastic.  But I say, we should help them have fun.  And like an awesome friend of mine said, we need to make new memories with them.
    Soooo...when we passed some sprinklers that were running on Main Street, I made my four kids get out and run through them with me!

  

We got soaked!

 

But they'll never forget it!

     Then when we saw an abandoned shopping cart last night, we made this video.  I'm either the craziest mom, or the silliest.  But there's one thing that's certain: I LOVE these kids, and somehow we're going to make it through this divorce.



P.S.One of my best friend's books was published today.  It's better than Percy Jackson--honestly.  If you're interested, click on this cover and go check out the awesome reviews.

I'm Going to be a Security Guard!

So, remember how I wrote about the bonsai tree on Monday? Read about that HERE. Well, on Tuesday, I posted this picture & text on my Facebook account:

After getting ready for an interview to be a security guard...admit it, I look more like a could-be victim than someone who would effectively protect lives and prevent crimes. THIS is freakin' hilarious!
At least I'm laughing about life now.

Well, I went to the interview--it was the sixth (or seventh--who the hell is counting anyway!) interview I've had in the past two weeks.  And the whole time I kept thinking, there has to be SOME sort of sign when I find the perfect job.  Right then, I looked over and guess what I flippin' saw?!

Yep, a bonsai tree!

So I discretely took this picture--because let's face it, I'm a badass!
And guess who actually got the job!!!

You're reading a blog FROM A NEWLY HIRED SECURITY GUARD.  

I start next week and I can hardly wait!  Wish me luck.

(Maybe I will survive this divorce after all!)

I am now a bonsai tree

    Twelve years ago, an old gardener decided to plant two seedling bonsai trees in the same container. . . .

    At once, the two seedlings found one another, wrapping their leaves together, entwining until their very beings grew as one.  It was beautiful really, how the two became as a mangrove, even their roots wrapping together in places no one else could see.  
    The gardener perceiving their unified strength, gently transplanted them into some fertile soil outside.  At first they braved many storms, growing closer all the while.  But then as years passed, something changed.  It was subtle, maybe even so slow neither bonsai felt it at first . . . still, change they did.
    One bonsai grew stronger, slightly overpowering the other with sadness and anger.  The smaller bonsai tried to be strong, doing everything . . . anything.  But slowly, the smaller bonsai began losing strength.  And the bigger bonsai, unhappy in its own way, lost strength as well.
    The leaves browned.  Their bark no longer had a healthy feel.  They were dry . . . dying.
    And so, the old gardener, after watching their demise, decided to pull the two trees apart.  But he had to cut so much that by the time he'd untangled roots and branches, there was hardly anything left of either tree.
    He set them in separate containers, on opposite windowsills in his quaint little house.
    As the months passed, both trees grew.  The smaller bonsai, stretched and strained.  The larger bonsai, leaned toward the sun, reveling in the solitude.  And as summer came, both trees began to blossom.  And for the first time, both trees saw each other for what they were: The smaller bonsai had orange blossoms.  The larger bonsai had a thick trunk and reddish leaves.

   As the two bonsais felt each other across the room, they were no longer saddened, angry, or fearful, instead they saw the facts for what they were: they'd been two different breeds, and if you know anything about bonsais, it's that the only kinds that should be in the same container are those of the same breed.

And it all came crashing down...

Do you ever feel like your whole world is crashing down? Like everything you believed in, hoped for, dreamed of, is suddenly gone?

It's all been taken away, by something I should have seen long ago. But I didn't want to see it.
So now where am I? Just in quicksand. That's all... Lost, and sinking.

Quicksand was terrifying at first because I struggled for years not wanting to go down deeper in the muck.
I'm not struggling now though. And I'm sinking slowly, slowly seeing it for what it is.

I always worried I'd die slow. I just didn't know that the death I saw coming was the death of who I am.

So here I am sinking...quicksand. No one can really help though because it isn't a physical death I'm scared of. It's what comes after the quicksand. I've dreamed of it many times. Hands reaching up from the River Styx--except usually I'm in the boat as the undead beg me to pull them out.

Not this time though; not after I've been in the quicksand.

This time I'm in the murky waters. Other dead souls are clamoring to push me to the depths while they seek solace in the boat. I look at the ferryman's glazed black eyes and watch as the poor living soul, who's being ferried, tries ignoring all those reaching up to him. And as I sink to the depths, I can't stop thinking, "That used to be me in the boat. That used to be me..."

After 12 years of being married, Cade and I are getting divorced. I won't go into details. I don't want you to think badly of either of us. But it is something that needs to be done, and it's hard.

A Streaker in a Library: Memory Monday

Cade and I sneaked into a library where I used to work (reliving a moment from my book, Bible Girl & the Bad Boy). 

    Sorry I didn't post more about why I've been sad.   I'm getting around to posting about it--I just haven't had the heart yet.

Memory Monday: Sand Jumping

My post is late today.  And honestly I'm really sad.  I'll tell you more about that tomorrow when I feel like sharing.  Right now I could cry--again.
    So, since I don't want to cry anymore, I'm going to post a video that makes me smile even when I'm sad. 
    This is my eight-year-old, the Hippie.  (Her birthday is Friday.)

And finally, my post for memory Monday:


That night, I had another dream that I went sand jumping with The Boarder, but the sand had turned to mud. When I landed, big rocks gouged my feet and legs. I rolled to the bottom of the hill, but no one was there to catch me.

-Excerpt from "Bible Girl & the Bad Boy"

This is symbolic of my realization that my childhood had truly ended.

If life weighs me down too much, I'll dream about this again, about having fun with my old best friend, only to land on rocky ground.  Do you ever dream about symbolic things like this? Longing for youth?

Cade and I visited the place where I used to go sand jumping.  Here's a picture of me there--Cade said it would make a cool shot if I stood on the van (too bad my right shoe got stuck in the mirror and it took some persistence to get it out).

Then after navigating my way onto the van, I had a difficult time getting down!

It was an adventure though.
Why dream about youth when I can have so much fun now?

I'll tell you tomorrow, why I'm so sad today.
--I hope you're having a great day.--

Watch My First TV Interview HERE--What do you think of it?

Here's the video of my interview.
I hope it'll help someone else out there.

For more info about "The Golden Sky," please go HERE.

To celebrate this exciting event, I'm giving away two physical copies of "The Golden Sky."

Goodreads Book Giveaway

The Golden Sky

by E.C. Stilson

Giveaway ends August 18, 2013.
See the giveaway details at Goodreads.

Enter to win

Do they have KSL in Heaven? My Big TV Interview is Today!

Before starting this post, let me share some big news:
Today I was interviewed LIVE on TV.  (You can watch the video HERE).  
View "The Golden Sky" Audiobook Version HERE

--Now, onto the post of the day--

I'm sitting near blazing TV-studio lights.  The whole time I'm remembering an important violin concert from years ago, when I practically went blind, wanting to stare at the lights instead of all the faces beyond them.
    It's almost my turn to be interviewed on live television.  A deep breath fills my lungs and I wonder again, why I'm doing this.  That's when I close my eyes for a moment and think of my boy in Heaven. . . .

source

Zeke sits beside an old man on the side of a misty riverbank. They throw their fishing lines into the water and talk. 
    "What do you think your mom is doing?" the old man asks, tilting his fishing pole at a thirty degree angle.
    "I don't know," Zeke says. "I didn't live long enough to know much about the living. And I don't get to see my parents unless they're hitting some sort of milestone."
    The old man smiles. "Your Mom's hittin' one today, boy." Zeke raises an eyebrow incredulously. "Just look into the water."
    Zeke peers into the heavenly river, so pure it smells like rain.  The waters swirl and suddenly Zeke sees something, more than he'd expected. . . .

Source

In my mind's eye, I'm walking along a beach.  I find myself holding someone's hand even though we haven't seen each other in years.  I keep gazing up at him and smiling.  "I've dreamed about this," I say, tears in my eyes.
    "So have I."
    We keep walking, for miles and miles.  After we've traveled across many sandy beaches and rocky shores, we turn to the sunset.  "Once," I say, "when I was very young, when colors seemed more important than a career, and playing the violin in a nearby cave was more desirable than anything, I said a prayer."
    He smiles.  "And what did you pray?"
    I look out at the tumbling waves.  "I asked God to give me a sign that He still loved me."
    "Did you doubt His love so much?" he asks.
    "I guess I did." I pause, wondering over the small moments that make up our lives. "Well, nothing happened for the entire day that I prayed.  I painted and drew.  I went to my cave and played my violin.  At one point, I knelt next to a rock and so much sadness overcame me.  I asked God if He even loved me anymore."
    "Did He answer you?"
    "I didn't hear it at first, but before long the words filled my very being and I FELT them.  'Of course,' a voice replied and the air smelled of incense.  'Look,' the voice said.  I looked at the sunset and my breath stopped.  It was unlike anything I'd ever seen in that area.  The clouds stretched orange and pink.  Orange is my favorite color not because of its hue but because orange represents eternity." I know he understands that this reveals more about me--about the desires of my heart--than almost anything.
    "That’s what you long for," he says.  "Some wish only for fame, fortune, or even death after years on Earth--you . . . you, seek eternal life." He pauses, still holding my hand gently. "And you knew God loved you . . . because of the beautiful sky?  You thought he answered your prayer?"
    "I know He answered it.  In some way, it made me realize how He painted the sky for me . . . for each of us, every single day.  His love shines everywhere, through almost everything."
    "And that's what you hold onto whenever bad things happen in your life?"  He studies a shell by our feet and I don't say a word.  "You remembered that, even when I died . . ."
    "Yes."
    Zeke--MY son just nods. "Orange is my favorite color too, a reminder that someday we'll be together in eternity."
    Tears fill my eyes. He's so strong and healthy, much different from the infant who died after two and a half months of struggling in the hospital.
    "I'm so proud you're my son. I've done everything I can so people will know you; your life won't be forgotten.  I can't make up for the past, but I'm trying my best for the future.  Every day I spent putting my journal--the moments from your life--into the computer . . . Every moment brought pain, but with it, you came back, just like today."
    My eyes close and a deep part of myself starts fading. A heart once full, seems a bit empty, and my fingers close on themselves because he's no longer holding my hand.
    I breathe slowly, willing peace to come again.  "Please know I won't forget you," my voice drifts away just like my son did.
    I look back, but Zeke really is gone, washed away with the wind and the waves. 

"Elisa?  Elisa? It's time for your interview," a sweet woman breaks my reverie, calling me from the side of the stage.
    I stand and begin walking to my seat in front of the cameras. My hands fold as if in prayer since the warmth of my day-dream still lingers.
    Zeke, I love you.  Always will.  My heartbeat slows and I remember the one question that always plagues me.  Do you still love me? I wonder although he's been dead for years, and I'm almost to my seat on stage. 
    The interviewer smiles kindly, but I feel as if my knees won't quit shaking.
    Then, I feel something--it's just a nudge at first, but so much peace comes with the words.  Of course, I love you, Mama. . . . Look.
    My eyes turn forward.  The studio lights are so vibrant, those yellowish-pink and orange colors wrap around me just like a surreal sunset. The faces below them glow blue, an endless ocean of hope and endurance.
    I no longer simply long for eternity, but I realize the truth in its meaning--eternity is part of right now, just like my memories and my dreams. Just like Zeke.
   "Thanks for joining us," the interviewer says kindly.
   "Thanks for having me," I say. 
    That's when the interview begins. HEREHERE