Four More Years...

...of first days of school. Actually, only three after today. My son started his second year of high school, and my daughter started her final year of junior high (she plans to finish high school in three years).

I love the first day of school, with all its expectancy and newness. Shiny lunchboxes. (Okay, so they were shiny when I was in school because they were metal!) Unscuffed shoes and new, unfaded outfits. Haircuts and smiles and a bundle of nerves. And maybe a tinge of queasy in the pit of the stomach, too.

Since my last post, a month has gone by in all its summer slowness. I don't know how many days it's been over 100 here. The heat has dulled my senses and I want to curl up and sleep. Only it's too hot.

We decided we wanted to flip for a pool with part of my book advance. Not a fancy pool, but something durable enough to enjoy for a few years. The pool man came, and we showed him our prime spot in the backyard.

Sigh. No pool. It turns out we fell for the classic bait 'n switch. "Oh yes, this pool is only $299. But it's only as durable as the one you'd get a Wal-Mart, and setting it up is on your own. But we can put you in this one for a cool $7,000." I told the man we weren't interested in purchasing the equivalent of a used car that day, so he politely left.

So we still have the dry spot in the backyard and we long for cooler temperatures and lower electric bills.

Today, just for fun, I cooked an egg on a ceramic tile I laid on the grass out front, but I don't know how long it took. Tomorrow I'll try again and time it. Maybe I can invent a new cooking trend: outdoor tile cooking.

The cover flats for Bayou Brides came in the mail today, and that was the only other highlight besides the first day of school routine. I think I like the cover art at the web site better than the actual cover. The trees look darker and more dramatic, and more eye-catching. But I love the story and I hope that's what the readers enjoy, too.

I'm trying to slog through the first few chapters of The Wiles of Watermelon, book two in my cozy mystery series. This is a new experience for me because I've never written a series before, and I have the same main characters from A Suspicion of Strawberries. While I have the advantage of knowing the characters, I face the challenge of introducing new readers to them, while still showing growth so the readers who are familiar with book one see the characters grow.

Doin' Just Beachy

Beaches are cool places. I just returned from the Gulf Coast after a few days of sun 'n sand. We stayed just steps away from the water. I read two books (Kristin Billerbeck's A Girl's Best Friend and Melanie Wells' The Soul Hunter), relaxed with the family, jumped in the water a few times, and ate a soft crab sandwich the one night we went out to dinner. I grew up on Maryland's Eastern Shore, where we'd catch blue crabs and steam a picnic tableful for supper. Every time I eat a soft crab, the taste brings me back. Delicious!

I've managed to wade through the last of our laundry and I wonder where the time went. Only a few days, but I'm at the point of the summer now where I think of things in terms of Before Vacation and After Vacation. Would you believe school supplies are on sale already? Of course now the kids are old enough so that their schools don't hand out school supply lists. They have to wait until the first week of school and each teacher hands out their own lists.

What's with that? So we parents of junior high and high school students need to condense seven supply lists into one master list. Then we have to make sure the folders with brads don't end up going to the kid whose Science teacher requested folders without brads. And of course, by the time we end up getting the supply lists (first week of school), ALL the stores are out of said pocket folders. Last year, it was the one-subject spiral bound notebooks.. Do these teachers not get it? No teacher comments, either, thank you. My best friend is a teacher and she shares my sentiment about the rant.

I think I'll add some notebooks and folders to my list now, and gamble that the kids will need them in August (when they get their lists the first week of school).

I also think I need to go back to the beach...

Juggling

You'd think summer would be quiet...lazy...tranquil. A time for sleeping in more, swimming, enjoying time with friends. So where does time go, anyway?

Our Sunday night Bible fellowship has been studying a series called "You and Your Priorities" for the past year or so, and I'm the study leader. The last two Sundays in July, we'll be tackling the issue of time management in light of the Scriptures.

This has brought me back again to working on my own harried schedule. While I won't play the world's tiniest violin to gain sympathy, I'm still amazed and a bit frazzled at how cluttered my schedule becomes. I start putting out fires in different areas and not seeing any true progress in any of them.

What causes this? Is it simply a matter of me trying to fit too much in my schedule? Do I fall into patterns of laziness from becoming overtired? I'm seeking some answers. How can I teach what I have not yet learned? I don't expect to master the time management issue, but I'd sure like to get a better handle on it. Working 40+ hours a week. Church commitments/attendance. Hubby time. Family time. Friends time. Boring life activities (cleaning, grocery shopping, writing out bills). Writing time (which includes actual writing, book research, blog commitments, and writers' group commitments). Oh. Um. Sleeping, too. I'd love to pare some of these things down.

On a fun note, check out the new Kanner Lake blog, Scenes & Beans. Suspense author Brandilyn Collins has launched Scenes & Beans to prepare readers for her newest series set in Kanner Lake, Idaho (try finding it on a map!) and the first book, Violet Dawn. You can get a sneak peek at Violet Dawn here.

Stinkin' Paparazzi

Life can be not-so-glamorous, but lately I've felt like my family is under scrutiny of the paparazzi. Not peering through the bushes, but instead like our personal business is set underneath a giant magnifying glass.

And it's hard. People can pass judgment without knowing the whole story, except that which the tabloid in their mind chooses to print. To those among "the inner circle," we need give no explanations.

Feeling misunderstood--or worse, misjudged--really hurts. We can only rally around each other as a family and pray that this too shall pass. It will. Nothing earth-shattering, but let's just say our world has been shaken a bit. Life brings changes, and sometimes bittersweet ones. My only sadness in this change is the hurt it's caused us.

The fishpond has felt mighty small lately. I'm waiting for another small fish to be the big news.

Sigh...now I know how Britney feels.

A Tunnel With Light at the End

I've been trying something new and rewriting cliches lately; hence, my blog post title.

Anyway, I'm so glad I'm almost at the end of this book. I love this story and I'm happy with A Suspicion of Strawberries. While part of me still has doubts and is tied up in knots, I realize I've got to wind it down and to the best I can. I've learned so much through this book. Most of it is about persisting in BIC time (butt in chair) and not fretting. I have awesome critique partners who don't hesitate to tell me what's right and what's wrong, and for that I'm grateful.

The crazy thing is that you'd think my life outside writing would be quiet the closer I get to deadline. HA!! We had a family uproar this weekend, and I'm thankful it's over for the most part. It was an external battle, lest anyone thing my family is in chaos. If anything, this has brought us closer together, plus some other close friends have grown closer to us. I'm still reminded about how much grace I need and how much farther I have to go. Plus, I'm learning to write in spite of everything else going on around me.

Lemme tell you, it can be difficult. But it's happening.

Oh! My coauthors of Windswept Weddings have an interview posted at Lena Nelson Dooley's blog. I really enjoyed participating. Check it out.

Deadline Observations

Pop and Drop is a really, really fun game.

I really get the munchies on deadline. The degree of munchiness goes up corresponding to the book's word count.

Once the deadline is over and this book is turned in, I'm going to get a massage.

My family had fish sticks for dinner tonight.

Personal hassles and family fun do not stop because of deadlines.

I need a laptop so I can go disappear somewhere with no Internet and no phone. A cat maybe, and a nice glass of sweet tea. But otherwise no modern conveniences.

Deadlines show what you're really made of. Gulp.

Huh?

While on deadline, I find my family's occupied themselves in various ways. But on this, I must speak.

What is up with the fascination with 30-year-old game show reruns? Every night, Game Show Network plays old episodes of long-gone game shows. Anyone remember Match Game? I remember watching that with my parents sometimes, back in the 70's in all its shrieking orange, wide-lapel, polyester glory. Holy cow, what innuendo. I never knew then what was supposedly so funny. But Gene Rayburn always scared me a little. Reminded me of Dracula with his dark hair and hollow cheekbones.

Anyway, I'll be at the computer and like clockwork at 10:00 p.m. CST, I hear the cheesy bwooww-bwoww music and the trumpets for "Match Game 74."

Why? I can chuckle at the clothes and set decoration, but after that I'm done with it.

Those people are gone. The money's spent. The new car prizes are already rusted out in some junkyard somewhere.

I just don't see the point in spending my time watching.

Back to Greenberg, Tennessee. Andi and her longtime BF are having a talk, and finally I think they're getting to an issue. Hey, gotta have that 20% romance in the cozy, ya know. Plus, my sweet critique partner thought Andi was being a little mean to Ben. I'll see what I can do.

Later!

P.S. My early crankiness from this week has gone. So if a dead body shows up, I had nothing whatsoever to do with it.

Couldn't We Just Kill 'Em and Tell God They Died?

Seriously, folks. No, I'm not really conspiring to commit murder, but there are certain people in life who always have the wrong thing to say. They strain out a gnat and swallow a camel. For some reason my Christianity sneaks out with the garbage and I want to start a good ole American catfight, claws and all.

Seriously. The funny thing is, and I don't mean ha-ha funny, is that seven churches in our area just completed a series of seven nightly meetings as an outreach and to bring more unity among churches. We had wonderful, uplifting services and heard some excellent preaching that definitely made me reconsider some of my lines of thinking. Such as being cynical in one breath and asking God's spirit to move among us in the next moment. Ha. So why do I want to slug this person, put laxative in their coffee, shave their pet, etc., etc.?

I plead the fifth on the situation, since blogworld is actually a small place and someone who knows me may read this and wonder who I'm talking about. I won't even get into the scenario and this person's snide, asinine, inane, inept, mealy-mouthed, self-righteous, uninformed, sour grapes comments, especially since I know their real motivation for what they said. Snicker.

I do want to tell them, "Would you just do me a favor and go away? Take your nitpickiness elsewhere, your rebellion, your fake piety, your innate ability to say the wrong thing at the right time. Just go away. Siberia or Guam or Bora Bora would be wonderful choices." Of course I would say this with the utmost Christian luuuv.

I think I'm done now. I'm still a fallible woman trying to make her way and get it right. No, this is a reminder that I don't have it all together.

And guess what? Tomorrow is our monthly women's group meeting. Weeee!

Characters Welcome... Plus, Mount Hermon Part 2

The USA Network's slogan is pretty neat... Characters Welcome. Of course they put emphasis on quirky. In my current book, this is really handy. I've also figured out why reality shows are so successful. We love quirky, real people. Life (virtually) without a script. Edited, of course, but you just never know what stunts people are going to pull. I believe that the characters we create as writers can leap off the page as vividly as the most memorable people we've known...

I think of George Meister, a guy in a nursing home. My family met him when I was about twelve. I remember him as wrinkled, gray, and round with a shelf full of books in his room. He lent me one on the Dead Sea scrolls, not the typical preteen's reading, but then I wasn't the typical pre-teen.

I think of my Great Uncle Enrico, who ran a restaurant for many years in South Hadley, Mass. His wife and three daughters helped him, and he always gave me a candy bar whenever I visited. I called him "The Candy Man" after I'd seen Willy Wonka.

Then there's Jocie, who decided once she retired to go to the Philippines and start an orphanage. Just like that. When I met her while she was on furlough here in the States, I realized that retirement doesn't mean retired, and poor in the world's eyes doesn't mean you can't own beautiful things.

I could go on about the characters who've drifted through and are still in my life (hey, I married a character!), but you get the idea. We see an image of someone without knowing anything about eye color or hair color or height. If you asked me right now what color Andromeda Clark's eyes are, I couldn't tell you. But I know Andi. And it's time I get back to Greenberg, Tennessee and see what trouble she's in right now. After all, there's a murderer at large and she's trying to prove it.

Mount Hermon Update:
I will not apologize if my book seems a bit "fluffy." At Mount Hermon, one speaker held up a copy of USA Today and the New York Times. Which, he said, looks more serious and educated and deep? (NYT, duh.) Which, he said, has won the most awards for its journalism? (USAT--huh?). It may look fluffy with its brightly-colored graphics, but there's substance inside. Sounds good to me!

Night-o!

Back in the Fast Lane: Plus, Mount Hermon part 1

Here I am, home again with a full plate and stuff spilling from the plate onto the table. We went to Austin for our anniversary this weekend. I bought a shirt (besides a pair of cute sandals, but that's not important to this post) that seems fitting right now. "Mrs. Incredible...Stretched to My Limits." A book due in about seven weeks with hmmm chapters left to go. I owe critiques to friends. I need to find mentors for writers and put people in critique groups. Oh, and shuttle kids places. My cousin-in-law, I've just found out, is an aspiring children's author who has some questions about writing so I'd like to help her find some resources. Tomorrow night, the local nursing home is hosting an appreciation dinner for its volunteers. I'm going. Not only do I volunteer, but I won't have to cook tomorrow night.

First, about Mount Hermon. If you want to write in the CBA market, go to Mount Hermon. The atmosphere is phenomenal. I had no pressure since I wasn't "trying" to meet anyone or sell anything, just go and have a good time. And I did. James Scott Bell's Fiction track was fabulous. If you didn't go, BUY the CDs. You won't be disappointed. He is an extremely gracious and entertaining speaker who packs a lot into his seminars.

One night at supper I sat at his table, and after we all introduced ourselves and what we wrote, someone asked him how he got through writer's block. He answered them, then looked at me (I guess he thought I was the junior published author).

"So, Lynette, what do you do about writer's block?"

Gulp. Who, me? I felt like the kid in A Christmas Story when Santa asked him what he wanted for Christmas. Doh--doh--um..."A football?"

"I do like you do," I squeaked out, unsure if anyone heard. All eyes were fixed on me. "I spend time with my family, read a good book, or even write something for fun." What was he thinking, asking me, who still feels like a wet-behind-the-ears newbie?

This is what I also should have added:
When in the throes of writer's block, sometimes you have to just push through and write, no matter how bad you think it stinks. And pray. You can go back later and fix things when the mood lifts. Most of the time for me, it's a mood thing. If it's not, I pray and see if there's something about the story I've gotten wrong.

Also, I look at writing as my part-time job. When you have a job, you don't have worker's block. You have to work. Or the pay doesn't come, or worse, you lose your job.

I learned, too, that no matter where we are in our writer's journey, we have something to offer another writer who might not be in the know. I sometimes take for granted things I've known for years, not realizing that to another it might be a startling new revelation. And then, I realize how much I have yet to learn.

More on Mount Hermon reflections another time...gotta finish chapter hmmm...

Gramps

Armand William Gagnon, 1920-2006

I was going to eventually post about my Mount Hermon experience, but I haven't been home 24 hours and I'm already planning to jet out again. This time, to the East Coast. To Boston.

Gramps passed away today, suddenly. He was 85. When I was little, he was tall and had the largest nose I'd ever seen. Shaggy brows and deepseat brown eyes, with a voice that could rattle the windows. And did, when he laughed. A cribbage fanatic, he tried to teach me. Once. I can still smell the sweet tang of his pipe in their den.

Gramps knew the value of hard work since the age of 12 when his father died. I never was quite sure about his formal education, but he was one of those people who knew a bit of everything about everything, combined with a generous heap of common sense. That propelled him to be a life insurance salesman for many years, and he planned well for his and Gram's future.

They spent a long retirement together, with Gram his only concern after she had a stroke nearly two years ago. But today, that ended. And it turned out he was in far worse shape than he would let on, even worse than her.

Gram is alone tonight after being married 60+ years. Not in an empty house. Two of her sons are there, plus the other two on their way. I expect I'll see them all soon. I'm still making plans. Part of me does not want to go. Part of me knows I must.

Do you know the way to San Jose...

...bump-ba-ba-bah-bum-bum...
Okay, I couldn't resist.

I'm typing this way too late, but had to slip a post in before I head out. I'm so glad I have such a cool family. Don't get me wrong, I'll miss them terribly but I'm grateful they let me pursue my dream, which is starting to have glimmers of reality in it.

Writers conferences can be funny things. But this one won't be stress-filled. I'm not trying to sell anything or get signed by an agent. I just want to learn and hang out with my writer friends.

I've never been to California, either, so that's pretty cool.

Sometimes the best part about leaving is coming home again. Maybe that's why my stomach's felt ishy off and on all day today. I'm going to pray tonight for a good sleep and I'll be rarin' to fly out in the morning.

Sneak Peek at Latest Cover!

What a gorgeous cover. It amazes me how the design crew can pull exactly the image I imagined. This reminds me of a quiet afternoon, watching the bayou water drift by, covering its secrets... Check out the cover for Bayou Brides. I've tried uploading the jpeg but for some reason Blogger won't cooperate. The copyeditor is going through the anthology now, and I'm looking forward to hearing what she has to say.

That, as I put the finishing touches on Reuben's Atonement, to be released in December in the anthology Brothers of the Outlaw Trail.

Oh, and there's the other matter of finishing A Suspicion of Strawberries, due June 15th.

No one mentioned to me about the juggling a writer must do. Old projects, new projects, future projects. Okay, maybe someone did mention that part about juggling. It sure is different when you try it, though.

One thing I have learned in the process of "becoming published" is that from the time I sign the contract, it's not about me or what I want for the story. There's a whole list of people involved in a book from acquisitions, to editing, to marketing. Again, like the juggling part, I knew that. But I didn't really know it.

Off to la-la land for some sleep now...

How I Spent My Spring Break (sort of)

There are some things better left unknown.

The picture of the hotel looks pretty ordinary. That's after an extensive renovation. If you look closely, some of the windows have iron bars.

Yep. Built in 1879, this served as the Bexar County Jail in San Antonio until the 1960's. We thought it would be the ideal quirky place to spend our spring break weekend. It was! Spacious room, high ceilings, original 19th century windows (no bars). A pool, hot tub, and complimentary breakfast were great touches. Across the street catty-corner from the hotel, a building still proclaimed "Cabs & Horses" and "Livery Stable."

But we found out during our last night that the jail used to perform the executions by hanging on the third floor. The bodies would drop down to the second floor, where they would then go down a chute to the first floor, to the outside. Ain't that jest a smidge beyond quirky?

Hannah freaked a bit when she heard, since the vending machines were on the third floor and she'd used the workout room on the third floor. I comforted her.


"Don't worry. Our room is on the fourth floor."

Despite its past, I'd stay here again. Only four blocks from the Riverwalk and one block from Market Square. And cheap parking.

Before spring break, I received the galleys for Heart's Refuge. I've been busy with life away from cyberworld, so I'll share more about galleys later.

In The Trenches

Progress on Reuben's Atonement:

9,155 / 18,000 (50.9%)

April first looms before me. Right now, I'm watching this intricate dance between my reformed outlaw Reuben and Charlotte, his long-ago love. I had hit a block with their story, even though I already had a summary written. I broke through when I realized one thing.

The bulk of their conflict was internal, and not external. I realized I had to cause more external problems for them as well, besides the obvious. Reuben's past.

So I threw a wrench of suspicion into the mix. What if...Reuben's really not reformed? That would be almost worse for Charlotte than seeing him ride off again. I turned her other would-be suitor into more of a villain as well, planting doubt inside her head.

I still have a lot of work to do before I submit this story. There've been times I was convinced the thing was a bunch of drivel, and then they'd realize I can't write. Gasp!

Reuben and Charlotte will likely travel with me to San Antonio. My husband and I are taking the kids. I hadn't planned on my conflicted couple coming along. But that's fine by me.

Building The Christian Family You Never Had

Where no one has gone before...at least not in our family!

Today I'm talking with Mary DeMuth, author of Building the Christian Family You Never Had: A Practical Guide for Pioneer Parents. Mary's book is available now through all major on-line booksellers, and I'm sure your local bookstore would be happy to order you a copy.

I'm not one to jump into the latest self-help books or parenting fads, but when I first heard the title of Mary's book, it intrigued me.

If you've visited my blog, I talk not only about faith and writing, but my life as a thirtysomething wife and mom. You've heard of my adventures with the teenagers, and at this oh-so-tricky age I not only want to parent them right, but parent them better. I know my parents made compromises along the way. Maybe they did the best they knew how, but I have a running joke that my family puts the "fun" in dysfunctional. I don't think I'm doomed to repeating my parents' past mistakes. But I'm a believer in seeking wisdom, and I know this is one gift I'll receive.

Now for my chat with Mary:

Tell us about your background, Mary. What inspired you to write this book?
I was tired of parenting books written by experts who didn’t seem to understand someone like me—a mom who didn’t grow up in a Christian home. I wanted to offer other pioneer parents hope that they could build a new type of family even if they had no example growing up.

Pioneer parenting. What is it, exactly? I'm sure you've been asked this question already, but I won't assume everyone knows what you mean by a pioneer parent.
A pioneer parent is someone who doesn’t want to duplicate the home he was raised in. It’s a first generation Christian who longs to create a faith-based home even though a home like that was not modeled.

We've got Dr. Dobson, Dr. Phil, Dr. Kevin Leman, and others who've written parenting books and built entire careers on family life. What makes your book different from other parenting books on the market?
I admire all those guys, so I’m not saying my approach is better. I’m just a mom who has struggled. I don’t have a PhD in child psychology. I have simply clung to Jesus through the process of parenting and allowed Him to heal me from a very difficult past. So the book is unique because it’s about parenting from the inside out. What is inside us is what flows out of us as parents. We can decorate the exterior of our parenting with all sorts of methods, but it will mean little if our inside is still suffering from the past.


What would you say to the Pioneer Mama who's standing in the bookstore or looking at an online bookstore for answers, as her heart breaks for her kids and she feels inadequate? Why would your book be important for her?
Because she will know she is not alone. And she will hear from someone who’s walked that path of inadequacy. One thing I celebrate in the book is that pioneer parents actually have an advantage in that they are well aware of their own need for help. And that’s the place where Jesus loves to come in and be strong. So, our weakness is actually a stage for Jesus to dance His power through us.


Here's the billion-dollar question. How did you figure out what a Christian family should look like? What's the dream, and what can we do to make it a reality?
I haven’t figured that out yet. I think it looks different in every home. But I can say this: a genuinely Christian family is authentic. It’s not that we are trying to “look” Christian by adhering to someone else’s standard. A Christian home is a place where our children can be real, where grace is more than just a prayer we pray before meals, where parents live out the Christian life in reality. I’ve known too many families where the parents exude a sort of control over their children to try to make them look like the perfect Christian family, while sweeping away all the muck under the rug.

The Christian life is not easy. We do our children a disservice if we portray it that way, or if we spin our wheels trying to look a certain way when our hearts don’t feel that way. To make a home like this a reality, it’s vitally important that parents model humility and forgiveness. You will do more for your children by apologizing and asking forgiveness than trying to make them appear a certain way. A Christian family follows Jesus. And Jesus was humble and approachable and full of grace.


This is more of a personal question from me, since I know in a few years my teenagers will be spreading their wings. I've watched my friends' children "grow up in church," only to see their young adult lives differ very little from their unchurched counterparts--cohabitation outside marriage, unwed pregnancies, harmful habits and addictions, living emotionally bankrupt lives. Why do you think this happens? (I'd like to know, because I sure want my kids to live abundant lives!)
This relates to the question before. Children can spot a fake a mile away. If their parents are saying all sorts of nice churchy words in public but are yelling and screaming behind closed doors, children will hear the yells over the churchy words. One reason (and there are many other reasons) children rebel is that they don’t see authentic Christianity modeled. They don’t see parents voice struggles or work through difficult faith issues, so when one faces a teen, it’s easier to rebel and discount it than see value in the struggle.


What can we pioneer parents do to protect our children as we interact with other family members who aren't Christians? Obviously, they're family, and we shouldn't feel that family might "contaminate" us.
If at all possible, do everything you can to preserve the relationship with those family members. Don’t judge non-Christian family members. If, for instance, an aunt is living with her boyfriend, have your children pray for her—but don’t necessarily forbid your children to see her because she’s not making Christian choices. However, there are instances where you need to protect your children—like if a family member drives drunk or is a known sexual abuser. In that case, by all means, separate your children from the family member.


Give me seven adjectives that describe Building the Christian Family You Never Had.
Honest
Painful
Hopeful
Instructive
Healing
Unique
Comforting

Thanks, Mary for stopping by Slices of Life. If you want to know more about Mary DeMuth and her books, check out Relevantblog and RelevantProse.

Evan Lysacek, My Hero!

Evan Lysacek lived in Johnny Weir's figure skating shadow prior to these Olympics. All we heard was "Weir-Weir-Weir." But did you notice who came from TENTH place after the men's short program to place FOURTH? In a brief Disney movie moment, I wanted him to medal, but that didn't happen.

I have to say I felt sorry for Lysacek the other night while watching the men's short program. (I felt sorry for myself when I learned he was born when I graduated high school in June 1985, but that has absolutely nothing to do with my post.)

He missed some jumps. He fell. He didn't look like a champion. And when you're out there, there's no second chances to do it over. Someone said Weir was the U.S.'s only hope of a men's skating medal.

But what's a medal now? Endorsements, of course. There's a lot to be said for winning first place. Or second, or third. Nobody remembers fourth, but in this case I do.

Lysacek was the one who overcame the mental challenge of being a flop the first time. He'd gotten sick in the meantime, had an IV going because of dehydration. Then with the long program coming up, he pulled out the stops and was one of the best performers of the night. Enough to move from tenth to fourth, and pass up the golden boy who wasn't.

His Olympics was more than medaling. It was about overcoming, not other skaters, but his own obstacles from within. Way to go! Lysacek is my Olympic hero.

A Suspicion of Strawberries

I just got a contract for my cozy mystery, A Suspicion of Strawberries, to be released by Spyglass Lane Mysteries in the spring 2007. My book is set in the fictitious town of Greenburg, Tennessee. Andromeda Clark has a homemade soap shop, her latest in a long string of homespun craft businesses. When one of her customers dies from an allergic reaction to Andi's facial scrub, Andi sets out to prove the death was no accident. It was murder.

Spyglass Lane is a new book club of Barbour Publishing starting late this year, or early in 2007. I'm excited to be in on the ground floor of this new venture. If you like Agatha Christie, the Cat Who books, or shows like Diagnosis, Murder or Murder, She Wrote, I bet you'll enjoy these stories.

Strawberries has a southern tang with a commitment-phobic heroine whose truck driver boyfriend is getting a hankering to settle down, once and for all, while Andi has her business crisis and tries to hunt down a murderer.

And if all goes well, you'll get to see more of Andi Clark and her life in Greenburg.

Clicking "Send"

just shot off through cyberworld to the editor's desk. I still am not sure which is harder, sending off and unsold proposal or sending off a finished product that's been purchased. It's at times like these, when I click the "send" button, that I feel the weight of the publisher's investment. I am coming to grips with the fact that there's always going to be better writers than me, unpublished writers, and all I can do is work on my own writing skills. Hey, I've been there, reading someone's work and thinking a bit smugly, "I can write better than that." Now the shoe's on the other foot and I find it's uncomfortable. Yet there's nothing I can do about opinions, except write the best story I can and keep working.

Tonight as I've worked, however, I found many pet words. I should buy them all collars and leashes and cute little crates so they don't mess on the floor and sleep on the furniture.

But.
Now.
Still.
Only.
More.
Few.
Little.
Once.
Just.

I could go on, but you get the picture. What I watch for is repetitions that might catch someone else's eye. There's nothing wrong with using any of those words, but can't you tell when there's too much ginger in the pumpkin pie? Or I should choose a boring flavor. One time I put sage in my homemade meat stuffing, and I could tell the sage was a bit stale. The stuffing didn't taste right. But I digress. The same novella whose ending made me sniffle also had plenty of stale words inside. Interesting.

Now that I've made myself a bit hungry and it's midnight here, I think I'll sail off to bed.

And dream of my next project. Night-o!

Cryin' Like Joan Wilder

One of my favorite writer movies is Romancing the Stone. I'm sure you remember when Joan Wilder is sitting at her typewriter (!) and finishes her book? Well, she was sobbing. I'm bawling too right now.

Joie de Vivre is done. For now, at least.

When I finished the epilogue and skimmed it, the tears came. Only if you are a writer will you understand this, the feeling that it's wrapped up and over. The first draft only comes once, with its freshness of ideas and characters springing to life as the cursor skims across the computer screen.

Oui, Edouard found Josee, and together they fought off the gator who did not like the pirogue coming so close to him. I will miss them, in a strange way. Like I said, if you are a writer you will understand.

I will pay dearly in the morning. It's 1:00 a.m. here and I just shipped off chapter 9 to my critique partner in South Africa, where she's probably getting her brood off to school.

I already went to Christianbook.com, where Bayou Brides is listed already--no cover yet--and its release date of Sept. 1, 2006 is there for all to see. I'm picturing the cover in my head. A line of cypress trees, dripping with Spanish moss. A tiny bayou cabin underneath their canopy of green. A beautiful brown bayou flowing past.

So I'll turn in for now, and bask in this glow of the first draft, the draft from my heart. My editor hat will go on my head starting tomorrow, which isn't nearly as emotional but very necessary.

Thanks, Lord, for making me creative. You are my best reader and fairest critic. Merci.

Completion, not perfection

Novella Progress

15,612 / 18,000 (86.7%)

I am almost done, and I can feel it happening already, like when you know you're car's going to stall. Josee is still lost on the flooded bayou in a storm. She's found a pirogue and now is lying there, shivering in the dark. Edouard still cannot find her and is a bit ticked off at le Bon Dieu at the moment. Their issues are coming to a head. And I'm trying to shut the thing down. I'm not worried. I'll get there. I know it's important to push through to the end, then edit later. Completion, not perfection.

One exciting bit of news: I've just submitted a proposal to Spyglass Lane Mysteries for my book A Suspicion of Strawberries, a cozy mystery with a southern chick lit tang. When amateur sleuth Andromedra (Andi) Clark dropped into my head, her story followed. Rarely has my keyboard burned with the fury of my typing, a combination of fun and hard work. Perhaps cozies are my thing, allowing me to use my odd sense of humor and create a puzzle for readers at the same time. We'll see. I sure hope so.

Coming soon: Q&A with Mary DeMuth, author of Building the Christian Family You Never Had. I'm not one to read lots of nonfiction, but in reading the overview and listening to Mary share on her blog and various web sites, I believe it's worth checking out. To use one of Mary's terms, it's relevant.

Back to work I go!

Web Of Lies...

Open the cover...if you dare!

Author Brandilyn Collins has done it again. She's woven a riveting tale where, of course, spiders figure prominently. If you get the creepy-crawlies, read this book anyway.

As a reader, I loved how Brandilyn brought Annie Kingston and Chelsea Adams together in one story. I enjoyed seeing Annie through Chelsea's eyes, where in the first three books we only see Annie's view of herself. Brandilyn also kept me questioning the possibilities that a suspense reader loves to guess at--Who's causing the trouble? Why? How? What's next? While the noose got tighter and tighter around Annie, my nails got shorter and shorter. I prided myself on guessing one of the story lines, but only one. The others snuck up on me. I can say this much: Never assume everything is as it seems. Never think you have it figured out. It's quite a tangled web.

As a writer, I feel like I'm going to B.C. Writers' University whenever I read one of her books. The first time, I read for fun. Then I let the book sit a while, and go back with pencil and paper and outline the book (as much as my distractable mind will allow; I don't do longhand for very long). I figure somehow, her techniques will start sinking into this writer's subconscious and I'll start using them too, in my own way. Brandilyn makes the rollercoaster ride of her book seem like an effortless trip. But rollercoasters are designed very carefully, and that's why hers holds up so well.

Coming Up For Air

Novella Progress

9,434 / 18,000 (52.4%)

Well, neither the Redskins nor the Patriots are going to the Superbowl. That cuts my excitement factor wayyyy down for Superbowl Sunday. I hope at least the chili's good

Writing in a flurry, reading too. And flu season has arrived at the hospital, which means more work for us in Transcription. People, if you're sick, try to stay home. Don't share. Drink your fluids. Wash your hands with warm soapy water. Get enough sleep at night.

The novella is coming along, although this week I really want to plow through most of it so my reader and critique partner can both read the story. I'm working on other novella proposals. A few are in the research stage, and in the proposal stage. I'm working on a mystery. In short, I'm busy and loving it.

Hannah turned 14 today. Yummy food specially requested by her, and a party coming up on Friday night, which means giggling teenage girls overnight. Oh my.

I'll cut it short. My next post will be a review of Brandilyn Collins' latest suspense novel, Web of Lies. I am absolutely thrilled at where Brandliyn's career has gone. I first 'met' Brandilyn in 2000 through the then-named American Christian Romance Writers, when she visited my critique group and worked with me for a month. Her first book was due out. I had no idea then that she would become a household name in Christian suspense. She's a gem of a person and a true wordsmith, always seeking to improve her craft. The lady has a love affair with words, and you can tell through her stories. I'll save more for next time. Night-o!

New Year, New Stuff

Novella progress:

8,226 / 18,000 (45.7%)

8,226 / 20,000 (41.1%)

Instead of new stuff, I should say new habits.

I have encountered many people who are dissatisfied with aspects of our lives, and only a few have made the changes they so desperately wish to make. Why do we resolve, and then fail? Those of us who are believers, why do we still fail if we "have God"?

We complain about family. Complain about money. Complain about jobs. Complain about physical shortcomings (and I don't mean diseases). Many things have but one cure, but few of us actually find the cure. The cure is choice.

Free will. I thank God for free will. Without it, we'd be puppets on a string, or characters on a game board, like in Clash of the Titans. But many people blame God for what goes on in their lives, or if they decide not to believe in God's interest in their lives, it's because of the often-heard "If God loves us so much then, why--?" Or, some who choose not to believe resent the idea of having God stick His nose in their business. It sounds a bit wishy-washy. How can we say, "God, come to my rescue, but otherwise butt out?"

I have seen tragedy. I've seen a loving father and pastor, a well-respected man, ripped from his family in a horrible motorcycle accident. I still see the effects of that today in his widow's and children's lives. So I have asked "Why?"

At the brink of this new year, I'm reminded of free will. God's greatest gift to us (besides Jesus, of course). My prayer is that my free will bends to His, and that I will not raise my fist in anger or harden my heart in unbelief because He does not interfere with my poor choices. The world is full of billions of free wills treading on each other. Often, we're the brunt of others' poor choices.

This year in 2006, I pray to make better choices. There are many things which I cannot control, but I do have a choice. I can say, "God, what would You have me to do?" and then listen.

Made of Honor Blog Tour!

Some Serious Fun! -- Q&A with Mary Griffith and Dana Rose

This is a first here at Slices of Life--a guest. Or, I should say, two guests. Marilynn Griffith's book Made of Honor, released on December 27th. I've also asked Dana Rose, Mary's heroine from Made of Honor, to join us. Welcome, ladies!

MG: Hey Lynette! Dana and I are honored to be here. Hopefully we won’t bump heads too much.

DR: I hope not, girl. You’ve already bumped my head enough telling my story.

MG: Shhh. We’re guests here.

First, a question for Mary. I'd like to hear about your slogan on the cover… "life, faith, and getting it right." When did you discover this would be your focus?

MG: That’s Steeple Hill’s slogan actually. I love life, have faith, but seldom get it right. God does though.


Your book is filled with scents that bring many delightful, delicious moments. Does this come naturally in your writing? Where did the scents come from (besides the obvious fact that Dana is a scent diva)?

MG: I had asthma as a child so I couldn’t really sniff things like I wanted to. (I still can’t really). When I got married and started trying to be crafty and domestic (only the crafty part worked out) I started making soap and bath and body products. I could sniff all I wanted and it was big fun. Though the products were marked, I always had to explain the smell to people, so I guess some of it came from that.

Made of Honor is chock-full of laugh-out-loud moments, like Dana trying to stuff herself into size B nylons and avoid the horror of having naked legs at church. But I also found some Dana-isms in the book, little nuggets of wisdom that jumped out at me. Dana, I'd like to ask you about some of these moments. I hope you can share without telling too much of your story.

DR: (Looking down to check her legs) Well, I’m wearing off black queen hose today so I think I can handle your questions. I can look back now and laugh but those pantyhose were just torture.


"We were all a little crazy. Isn't anyone worth knowing?"
Dana, would you say that you and your sistahs and family put the "fun" in dysfunctional?

DR: We definitely do. Rochelle, Tracey and I all have our own brand of crazy, but we manage to stay friends somehow. I’ve finally accepted that normal only exists in fiction. (Not Marilynn’s of course)

MG: (shaking head) Dane, didn’t I tell you to hush? LOL


Back to you, Mary. Which character was the most fun to write? Who showed up first in this wild 'n crazy family?

MG: Dana came first actually, along with her mooching cousins and aunt. It was just a scene basically. Then came Rochelle and Tracey. Dana’s Messianic Jewish friend Austin and her nephew’s girlfriend Shemika came out of nowhere. Dana’s father and Adrian were both a joy to write as well.


Here's another Dana quote: "I tried not to be offended by his surprise, remembering what a pistol I'd been growing up. Judging from the way I was acting today, I still had a few bullets left in me. "
One of the delightful things about you, Dana, is that you're real. What would you suggest to someone who's wrestling between the urge to pour out grace or fire bullets?

DR: Go for the grace. Bullets mean blood (usually Christ’s to cover the wound) and leave behind a mess. There’ll be all that crying and praying either way, so why not cut to the chase and get the forgiving over with? That’s what I ask myself at any rate. I’m trying to do better about it.


"Maybe when these couples smelled my stuff, they'd catch a whiff of the smell that had filled my imagination growing up when tempers grew hot and patience grew thin. A scent that said to my mind, 'God is here… and He's got flowers.'" Could you comment about this? It's a beautiful thought that expresses Dana's passion.

MG: Dana doesn’t think she wants to be married, but she respects and wants people to be happy. Though her mother is dead, she tries to give to people the gifts she wanted to give her parents. Something sweet, something sacred.


"Today, I realized that no matter how close people are to one another, there's always a place--a secret place--that only God can see."
We have the ability to alternately wound and bless those we love, depending on what's inside us. Dana, how did you discover what was inside you?

DR: I’m still learning what’s inside me. Some of it is amazing and some isn’t so pretty. Often it takes me being wounded to recognize my own hurtful words or actions. Just as I open my mouth to say something, I hear a whisper in my heart saying,”It’s not so nice, is it?”


"I didn't know what to think of Trevor's presence. How could someone act such a fool and traipse up in church the next morning with a Bible and a smile?"
Okay, this is a heavy question for a chick-lit, but Dana, you went there and I'm there too. How do people do this, especially in the church?

DR: Oh, Lynette, now you realllllly read that book, didn’t you? I have no clue how folks live two lives. I guess I’ve lost my phony skills because I can’t pull it off. If I’m not right, I’m likely to let you know. People know better to ask “How are you this morning?” if they really don’t want an answer.


"I'd loved him all my life, but how could I consider being in love with him, devoting my emotion to someone else when I wasn't sure how to love myself? "
I loved Dana's frank honesty with herself. Loving yourself when you're supposed to be selfless. Mary, how does a girl do that?

MG: Whoa, Lynette, you’re pulling out the big guns! LOL It’s a hard thing. Christians are taught to die to self. Some of us take that a little farther and just…DIE. I know I did for a while. There has to be a balance between loving God and allowing God to love us. Love your neighbor as yourself is in the Bible too. Sometimes we forget that and aren’t able to love anybody.


"I'd forgiven Dahlia--again--that day at the shower, but somehow her wrong had grown wings from the altar where I'd left it and dropped disease all over my spirit."
"Getting it right" is a process. Thanks for the reminder!

DR: It’s a process indeed. In the movies, people hug and everything is all right, but in real life, sometimes things go up and down and around as the healing continues, even in the church. All scars itch sometimes.


Mary, thank you for dropping by. I hope this little visit with you and Dana will prompt readers to drop by their local bookstore or favorite shopping web site and order Made of Honor. Buy two. One for you, one for a girlfriend. This book is some serious fun. Check out Marilynn Griffith's web site at www.marilynngriffith.com.

MG: Lynette, thank you so much for having us and for reading Made of Honor. This interview was some serious fun!

DR: I’ll say. You really brought back the memories for me. Those days were something else! Blessings to you and all your girlfriends!

Novella Progress

5,920 / 18,000 (32.9%) or...

5,920 / 20,000 (29.6%)

Either way, so far so good. My heroine Josee is now reluctantly wed to her hero, Edouard. Well, he's not really her hero yet since she wasn't too cracked up on marrying him. But what's an orphan without a dowry to do in 1819 Louisiana? Josee thinks he's dark, mysterious and brooding. The poor guy's been through a lot, so I don't blame him. Here's hoping she'll get him to lighten up a little.

The Best Laid Plans

Getting Christmas right? How does someone actually do that? What is right, anyway?

I've been shopping this week for our big "Fezziwig's Bash" on Christmas Eve after the candlelight service, when CJ and I invite about 50 of our closest friends (!) over for an open house filled with goodies. After umpteen years, actually about 7 or 8, we've gotten the menu down to a science. Tonight, I prepared to start baking and saucing and dipping and marinating and meatballing and cupcaking. Riiiight.

I didn't buy cupcake liners. Scratch making the mini cherry cheesecakes tonight. And the cream cheese surprise cupcakes. I just knew we had those little papers, but nope.

I didn't buy stick margarine, either, to make the pecan sandy balls, nor the peanut butter balls. Couldn't do those tonight. I know I stood there in front of the margarine display and looked at the packages of Bluebonnet Light, but I guess they didn't make it into my cart.

Tonight I figured I could at least do some almond bark covered pretzels. The first batch is now hardening on the wax paper. Then...um...something happened to my almond bark on the double boiler. It turned into the consistency of cake frosting, not the gooey liquid that I can dip the pretzels in. I ended up pitching the lump, along with a few pretzels, into the trash.

So...back to the store tomorrow I go. My choice. We were going anyway.

How we celebrate is all about choices. I love traditions. But I don't love the expectations that come with them sometimes. We can expect situations, recipes, and people to behave in certain ways. When they don't, well, at the very least it involves extra trips to crowded stores or at the worst, hurt feelings and disappointment.

I know several things for certain.
I know I'm blessed.
I know my kids will love what we bought them.
I know our family will eat well.
I know what Christmas means.

As far as how the extended family will behave, um, I don't know. But I won't pin my Christmas expectations on people who might not perform how I think they should.

I could hope that:
My sister-in-law won't have her freeloading friend come with five children.
My mother-in-law won't talk all the way through a movie, and then keep asking questions about what's going on.
My estranged brother-in-law and his wife won't try to cause a ruckus or make racial comments about my niece and nephews (part Hispanic).
My father-in-law won't open beer around said estranged alcoholic brother-in-law.
My other prodigal brother-in-law won't bring his ex-girlfriend (who he says he's still in love with even though she ran off with a friend of theirs and cleaned out their apartment).

Oh, I should just say family sometimes puts the "fun" in dysfunctional. All I can do is pray, grace, Lord, grace.

Whatever you do, enjoy it, go with the flow, and don't pin your hopes on doing Christmas right. Just remember why you're doing it.

The Electric Manger (Part 2)

Here it is...

The Electric Manger

You can see the glow from our yard at the end of the block. Clark Griswold has nothing on my honey. This year we bought two of those giant blow-up globes with the fake snow. Two. I keep telling my daughter, "less is more" when it comes to things like makeup. She actually does very well. Yet, now I know where she gets it from. CJ added the globes to the display of four spiral trees, two light-up metal deer (one has a red nose), and various plastic Santas. Plus there's multicolor icicle lights on the house, lights around the windows, and two trees in the front windows.

Last night CJ wrangled the 4-foot high plastic Nativity scene figures from the shed and got them set up in the front yard. Yes, Christ is still in Christmas, even in our front yard.

So where do Jesus, Mary & Joseph end up? On our wooden yard swing. The wise men, shepherd, sheep, donkey, and camel are all clustered on the ground facing the swing.

I asked CJ if he was going to put the spotlight in front of the display.

"No, I'm hanging twinkle snowflake lights all over the top of the swing."

The lights aren't quite as bright as the Vegas strip, but they're twinkling for sure. You can't miss 'em. I went outside and couldn't help but crack up at the sight of the flashing lights over the nativity scene.

"What's so funny? It's supposed to be the starlit night when Jesus was born."

And so The Electric Manger glows in our yard.

Remember to shine, even if it's with twinkling snowflake lights.
Merry Christmas!

TAGGED!

Okay, catch me during Christmas season, why don't you? Well, fellow author and pal Chris Lynxwiler tagged me in blog tag. Sheesh, can't run fast enough, can I?

I'm supposed to tell 15 things about myself that are book-related.

1. I had a pre-birth exposure to books. Mom read to me. She also named me after a librarian she worked with at Mount Holyoke College. It figures.

2. When I was in fourth grade, Nancy Drew was my hero. So my original story and movie, The Mystery of the Uranium Cave won first place in the Worcester County Schools Film Festival. Look out, George Lucas!

3. I have never bothered to count how many books I own.

4. The best ending to a book that I've ever read is the final paragraph of The Last Battle of The Chronicles of Narnia. It still brings tears to my eyes. I don't think I've ever read a series ending like it. Simple language; deep emotion.

5. I didn't get in trouble in school for talking. I got in trouble for reading a book propped on the inside edge of my desk.

6. Favorite books growing up: The Narnia books; The Little House books; just about anything by Lucy Maude Montgomery; just about anything by Madeleine L'Engle; The Dark is Rising series by Susan Cooper; Little Women; Nancy Drew mysteries; Pounding Hooves by Dorothy Grunbock Johnston.

7. Back to my name again. I used to dislike my first name. When I was about nine or ten, I remember lamenting, "Why couldn't you have named me Sandra, Mom?!" You can hardly ever find a "Lynette" personalization. I didn't mind so much when I found out my name came from the Arthurian legend of Sir Garreth and Lynette. Okay, so it's not a book, but it's a story.

8. I read nonfiction either for book research or self-help, which is not often. Oooh, I sound like a selfish reader. :)

9. The more I write, the more I need to make time to read. So many books; so little time!

10. I have an ongoing book swap with my best friend Lisa. My "to be read" pile never goes down. And neither does hers. She also likes getting autographed copies that I buy from my fellow authors.

11. Some husbands groan about how many pairs of shoes their wives bring home. Mine groans about how many books I bring home (and shoes, too).

12. I wish I could write as adventurous as Michael Crichton, as everyday-creepy as Stephen King, as shivery-creepy as Brandilyn Collins, as prolific as Danielle Steele, as humorous as Kristin Billerbeck, as vividly as Colleen Coble, as heartfelt as Terri Blackstock, as imaginative as Angela Hunt; with the simple depth of C.S. Lewis. And still be me, whatever that is.

13. Books are no substitute for people. I must always remember this. I can stick my nose in a book and let the world go by--which is okay sometimes.

14. I have only read one book by Francine Rivers. This is probably much to the dismay of some of my friends who are big fans. Of Francine, that is. :)

15. I have read all The Cat Who... books by Lilian Jackson Braun.

So, if you've made it to the end, thanks for reading. And hey, stop by my friend Camy Tang's blog, Camy's Loft. Because, Camy--tag, you're it! Merry Christmas!

June 2006 Forecast: Windswept Weddings

Okay, I've got to say it. Amazon, CBD, and WalMart all have Windswept Weddings listed for June 2006 release. And... you can get a sneak peek at the cover here. The cover is super--the veil is just what I imagined. Eventually galleys will come my way and there'll be probably minor edits. Then the fun starts! Marketing. I'll be learning that as I go.

Seeing the cover made my night. Lately my work in progress has been a trial in just plowing through the story. One day I hope it'll get easier. I read the first chapter of a suspense author's latest novel, an author I admire, and I went, "Wow, her work just flows." One day too, I hope I'll get that kind of flow in my own work.

Three "Normal" Thanksgivings Left...

after this one, until our oldest graduates. Will he be away at college four years from now? Or home working and going to college? The circles of our kids' lives are growing wider and wider each year until finally they'll be far away. I can't help it. I think of things like this. When they were much younger, they drove me nuts sometimes...but it was a fun kind of crazy. Now I'm wondering where the years took off to. I wonder sometimes, too, why we didn't have a third, or even a fourth, Sowell child join the family. But God knows, and I have to trust I've done the best I can with the kids He blessed me with--not by my own womb, but through love and marriage. They were so little when we became a family. Now they can look me in the eye and pretty soon will look down on me. I want them to have it so much better than I--raised in the faith, I still had my problems and issues that even now I grapple with. No wonder youth is wasted on the young and when we're young, sometimes we're pretty hardheaded thinking the older wiser ones don't know what they're talking about.

The book is doing better. I'm trying to be patient and just write it, and let the process work, and trust that all the studying I've done will pay off when I have serious butt-to-chair time.

My next novella isn't due on the editor's desk until January 31st, so I'm okay where that stands. I finally feel like I have a workable writing plan. (And yes, of course, I think--"Wow!! This time next year I'll have THREE books out!")

We have a five gallon bucket in the kitchen. It brims with pecans. The bucket, not the kitchen. The ancient tree in the back yard has had a bumper crop this year, so yes, sir!--yes, ma'am!--we're having pecan pie for Thanksgiving. Oh, and yes, yours truly sits for a bit in the evenings and cracks the shells. I've filled about two-thirds of a gallon ziplock bag so far. Yum!! We might not have Texas black gold on our property, but we have almost the next best thing.

This year, as always, I am thankful for much.

Madame Blueberry has it right: "A thankful heart is a happy heart."

Cruisin' Through...

A cool quote I read recently:
"Religion is a guy in church thinking about fishing. Spirituality is a guy out fishing thinking about God." That's what it means to me. (Not the fishing part, I haven't done that in years.) Religion means being stuck somewhere when you'd rather be somewhere else. What holds your heart isn't religion. Religion is the law without having a relationship of worship. At best, worship is a chore. But spiritual worship can take place anywhere, at anytime. So what if the trees don't have a band. They wave their branches an rustle in the wind and live out Psalm 150. I believe we can live our lives as an act of worship.

At church we've been studying the book of John. I've read it before quite a few times. When I was much younger and went to a private school, we even memorized chunks of chapters 14 through 17. But when you really get into John's portrayal of Jesus, you'll see what a radical He was. (And is.)

On the writing front, I'm still working on my book quandary. The trouble is, I love research. I get so excited about a new idea I'd like to flesh out, that it's easy to spend time. Writing is hard work, place-your-butt-in-the-chair work.

I'm tired. Reading some new books, organizing my schedule for the next few months. They're going to be busy. Time to head off to dreamland!

Stuck-stuck-stuck!

I'm stuck on this story and the thing won't budge. I only have a month or so before I must leave it behind for a bit and focus on my contracted deadlines of January 31 and April 1.

This suspense story has undergone so many metamorphoses, and now I'm not sure if it's turning into anything better than it was before. Every time I hear someone's input, I feel I need to slice up the whole thing. Now, I think I'm afraid to write. What's happened to me?

This week on the ACFW loop we've been talking about rejections, and how it's important to keep submitting. It dawned on me not long ago that I haven't submitted anything new since the novella that sold this spring, and now I've only got one proposal sitting on an editor's desk. I think I need to get busy. I tell myself a hundred times that if I don't submit, I won't hear back. Is it being afraid of rejection?

I don't think so. I'm afraid of not getting it right once again. I've been told I need to knock it out of the park with my writing, yet somehow I'm not sure exactly how to do that.

I've been digging deeper into my heroine, and my hero. She's been easier to delve into--not easy, but easier than the hero. I see more changes on the horizon.

In short though, I need to just get it written.

I'll do some of that tonight. If I can keep my blog going all year, surely I can get this book proposal into shape and in the mail!

Camaraderie

I taste the loneliness
thick enough to eat with a spoon

I hear their joy of belonging
and wish that I could bask in the warmth
they feel

I want to say
Don't be nice to me because you're a Christian and you have to

Be my friend because you want to.

Alone in the crowd

Still I wait.

Ho, ho, ho!

On Today's Menu:
A nice cup o' hot chocolate (marshmallows optional)

Tonight, we decorated the Christmas tree. Yep, you heard right! I made hot chocolate, and we put on the Christmas music. It's a tad chilly tonight, damp and cloudy--perfect fall weather in Texas. This year we flipped for a good artificial tree, a gorgeous Noble fir eight feet tall. I'm tired of sweeping up pine needles and having the cats knock over a real tree like they did one year (don't ask--I lost some pretty ornaments in that two a.m. fiasco). If only this smelled like a real tree. But it looks real.

Cars have driven past our house since October first. Drivers sometimes hit the brakes, honk, or pass a little more slowly. Some men drink, some run around, some smoke like chimneys, some spend all their money on hobbies that don't include their families. My man? He's Kris Kringle's nephew and he can't pass up decorations and lights. If the original Saint Nicholas really had a long-lost relative, that would be C.J.

Last year, we didn't really get to decorate until the second week of December because of our living room renovations. (Poor C.J.) So, like the good wife I am, I promised he could start decorating the house in October.

The kids of course helped. I reminded Zach, who remarked he'd rather be in his room reading, that in a few years he'll be at college and we'll do this without him. Where did the little sprites go with blonde hair and sparkling eyes? Now they can look me right in the eye, and don't say I told you, but I think they're already a little taller than me.

Christmas just can't last long enough.

Synergy!

Scientists talk about synergy, which according to Merriam-Webster simply means, "working together." A more expanded definition is "An effect of the interaction of the actions of two agents such that the result of the combined action is greater than expected as a simple additive combination of the two agents acting separately." Better put, we're stronger together than we are separately.

I saw synergy in action this weekend. On Saturday, October 1st, C.J. and I went with our buddies John and Lisa to roast in the sun at Kyle Field and see Texas A&M beat the Baylor Bears--in overtime! What an experience. We were in the semi-nosebleed seats. All we could see throughout the stands was maroon-and-white (with the rare Baylor green and orange). I won't get into the Baylor-A&M rivalry, which is nothing when compared to the Aggie War Hymn bellowing the merits of beating UT--saw Varsity's horns off--short!

The Aggie culture possesses a ton of traditions, handed down from student to student throughout the years. One of the unique things about Aggie is that no matter where you meet one in the world, you'll find they know and understand the traditions. It's an instant kinship I haven't seen in any other group. Well, maybe one group. I'll get to that later.

Take a look at the picture above--thousands of cheering students, on their feet for over three hours in the blazing Texas sun. From the photo you can't pick out anyone's age, economic status, upbringing, or race. All you can see is--they're Aggies, and they're working together to win. Down on the field, the players recognized the power of the "12th man," better known as the Aggie fans. The players would turn to the crowd and raise both arms as if summoning the cheer. In response, tens of thousands of voices would unite in a roar so loud you couldn't hear the person next to you. When the Aggies won--I thought the shout would shake the stands.

In our Sunday morning Bible fellowship we've been studying the writings of John. This has stood out to me:

The goal is for all of them to become one heart and mind--
Just as you, Father, are in me and I in you,
So they might be one heart and mind with us.
Then the world might believe that you, in fact, sent me.
The same glory you gave me, I gave them,
So they'll be as unified and together as we are--
I in them and you in me.
Then they'll be mature in this oneness,
And give the godless world evidence
That you've sent me and loved them
In the same way you've loved me.
(John 17:21-23)

That's the synergy God wants for us. For many years, in many ways, the Church has failed to show that oneness and unity. We meet a Christian in another part of the world, another country, another church, and when we see them, it should be like having an instant connection. Hey, you love Him, too, huh? Maybe we don't have the same traditions or sing the same songs. But we have the same foundation. I'm praying that John 17 prayer. We could use more synergy in the Church. We sure can't get the job done on our own!

Ask, Seek, Knock

"Zach, I'm not a mind-reader. If you need help or don't understand something, please ASK! I want to help you, but if I don't know, I can't."

My words to my son echo in my ears. So many times in the past, Zach has slipped under the radar because he hasn't spoken up in school. I haven't either. Not in school, but I've reached a point in my writing where something's got to give. I know quite a few authors through the writers' group where I'm a member. Do I ever ask for help? Usually it's like this:

"They'll say no."

"They're too busy."

"They're already helping people."

How do I know any of this? I don't.

Learning to ask for help is sometimes difficult for us independent types. We want to do it ourselves. Maybe we don't think enough of ourselves to believe anyone would help us. Or like Zach, do we think people "should know" we need help? I don't mean asking someone for help you've never met before and have no professional relationship. I mean, a writer asking a fellow writer for a hand.

I say these things because I know I'm not the only one who faces these dilemmas. Not wanting a critique or a line edit, but wanting some input and direction, and perhaps some correction, as painful at that may be.

"Ask, seek, knock" doesn't mean we're desperate. But then again, it doesn't mean sitting around waiting for someone to notice we could use some answers.

HAPPY NEW YEAR!

Okay, so it's not really New Year's. But the ACFW conference ended and I'm home from Nashville. Wow, what a rollercoaster. Seeing my friends, making some new ones, meeting some critique partners for the first time--all terrific! And the classes, oh, my brain is full. I can't wait to listen to the CDs for classes I missed. There's no way I could do it all!

I also found out how much I still have to learn. I repented of squandering my time. I came off my high horse, realizing I have a long way to go to being a more excellent author. I liken it to rock climbing, something I'd love to do once I lose 100 pounds and get into shape (but that's another story). You can only go up one handhold or foothold at a time. Sometimes you hit plateaus and look around thinking, "Wow, how far I've come." But then tilt your head back a bit and see how much rock face there is left to climb. I'm climbing!!

I left the conference with a request for a manuscript and a proposal from two agents, and an editor requested a proposal of the same book. PLUS--drumroll!--my long-neglected novel, Star's Daughter, won first place in the Sci-Fi/Fantasy category of the Noble Theme contest. I couldn't breathe. I couldn't hear. I didn't know I had so many supporters--thanks, everyone! I too cheered and screamed for other friends who won or placed in different categories. I loved seeing my author friends Linda Wichman and Chris Lynxwiler win in their categories for Book of the Year. I remember their stories before publication, and it sure was exciting to see how far they've come.

So I'm checking Star's Daughter over once again before sending a query to a publisher looking for fantasy stories.

But back to the New Year's thing. I have a whole year between now and the next conference to get ready. So what am I going to do? Work and write like it's a New Year's resolution. I'm ready to go!

So, HAPPY NEW YEAR! Time to get my word count in for the night.

Nashville, here I come!

I'm so excited. I leave Wednesday for Nashville where I'm attending the American Christian Fiction Writers conference. The only downer is leaving my family and kitties behind, but I'll survive until Sunday. (Did I say I was excited?) Can't wait to see my writing buddy and roomie Linda Mae again, plus a ton of other author friends. I'm talking to at least one agent at the conference. We'll see what comes of that. I'm helping in the bookstore. I'm Christmas shopping for books too. I'm in a tizzy getting my business casual wardrobe together for one last go through. Yes, again, I'm excited. I'm getting about as repetitious as one of those doctors I transcribe for.

I finished my edits on Heart's Refuge and it was e-mailed to the editor on Friday, along with the other stories in our anthology. I loved working on this story. It was fun to write towards a goal and know that this book is a done deal. Yet even as I clicked the "send" button on the e-mail sending HR to Rachel, I got a tad queasy.

What if it's not as good as they expected? What if the copy editor makes a ton of changes? What if? What if? What if someone hates it? What if it offends someone? (I can't think how.) But then I'm feeling self-conscious again. The old case of nerves and self-consciousness reveals again how it's so easy to slip into selfishness, as if the story is a reflection of me. It's not. People think of us far less than we realize most of the time. I don't want to be self-conscious.

As I get ready to leave Wednesday afternoon, I want to keep this in mind. The more self-conscious I am, the more I'm in the driver's seat, the more I calculate every word, every gesture--the more I think I'm in the spotlight, the worse it gets. So let's repeat this together, "It's not about me." (And thanks to Rachel for the reminder!)

Fostering Hope

Sometimes there are problems so wide and deep that we never think we will come to the end of them. It's the end of the weekend and it's been emotionally draining. New stories emerge from the aftermath of the hurricane. You know what I didn't know? The size of the relief area is estimated to be around 90,000 square miles, roughly the size of Great Britain? Like many people, I've been shaking my head wondering, "Why did help take so long?" We want things to be in a 90-minute movie where the bad guys are stopped, the good guys triumph, and the "extra" who dies didn't really die because he was only acting. Somehow battalions of aid works and tons of supplies just "appear" on the scene. The waves of water are only computer-generated, the wreckage only props. Not so. Real life moves more slowly and makes us pay dearly.

Frustration can give way to rage that seeks to pin blame on anything and anyone that makes a convenient target. The he-said, she-said, they-did, they-didn't can go on and on forever. Those of us who aren't in the know except by what the media feeds us can't go on rumors and excerpts from broadcasts "someone saw." We let our experience and beliefs color our opinions of what we see.

For example, I know someone who doesn't understand why "all those people" didn't just leave New Orleans. He thinks, "they stayed so they could loot."

I told him (after I resisted the urge to share a piece of my mind with him not so subtly), "Not everyone has a reliable vehicle they can just fill up with gas and drive. Some people--the poor, the elderly, the handicapped--they have no one to help them. They had no way out." So of course they didn't leave. Where? How? Poverty has shown how it limits people. I relate to Paul's words: "I've had little. I've had a lot. I've learned to be content." And I've never forgotten the days when I didn't have a steady reliable paycheck. During times like that, I did what I could. So did they.

So now, waves of evacuees have reached my area. We're going to help out however we can. Please, again, help in your local area. One person can't do everything, but we can all do something.

I e-mailed some fellow authors for help when I had a brainstorm. I thought of a way to find hope and comfort in a tangible way for some refugees, especially the ones in the mass shelters around Texas. Hair care. No matter what her race, a woman likes to do her hair. Girls like to play "hair do." I asked what kind of styling products African-American women would need and appreciate. (It's been a long time since Sheila Lee was my roommate in college back in '86.) Here is what author Mary Griffith shared with me:

"Large tooth combs, rubber bands (Wal mart hare care .99 for about 500) or hair elastics (Goody or other), barrettes for the little girls, hair grease (coconut grease is about 2.00 for a big jar, there are smaller jars for about .96), shampoo (Motions, Cream of Nature or other AA line, again on Wal Mart black hair care aisle), conditioner (anything cholesterol from Queen Helene, Motions or other, again Wal Mart), Magic Shave for the men's razor bumps, relaxer kits (precise, soft and beautiful, African pride are all 5.00 and under at wal mart), lotion for skin (.99 Jergens is fine), afro picks, headscarves (in black hair section of walmart for 2.00)

Any of the above would be greatly appreciated. People will definitely want to do their little girl's hair which can be done with grease, rubber bands or hair elastics, barrettes and possible "knockers", those big balls on elastic bands that you twine around ponytails. You can find these things reasonably at Wal Mart, but if there is an Oriental beauty supply in your area, you may want to compare there as the barrettes and knockers may be cheaper there, but Wal Mart is very comparable."

So besides diapers and lotion and stuffed animals, I'm going to get a bunch of products so some of the ladies can feel a little bit "done" again. They may not have a permanent home, but they'll have a little dignity. And maybe that will foster a little hope. I pray so. We need hope for the long road ahead.

And not only that, but we also glory in tribulations,
knowing that tribulation produces perseverance;
and perseverance, character; and character, hope.
Now hope does not disappoint, because the love of God
has been poured out in our hearts by the Holy Spirit who was given to us.

Vulnerable

God is our refuge and strength,
an ever-present help in trouble.
Therefore we will not fear, though the earth give way
and the mountains fall into the heart of the sea,
though its waters roar and foam
and the mountains quake with their surging.


This week I've been reminded at how precarious life is. I complain about the smallest things sometimes. I think now I'm going to keep quiet and count my blessings even more. I've heard some people saying about New Orleans, "All that sin got washed into the Gulf," and it sickens me. They act as if it's a good thing. These are people who call themselves Christians, i.e., followers of Christ. I read in my Bible that God so loved the world that He gave His only Son, and that whoever believes in Him should not die, but have everlasting life. That God didn't send His Son to condemn the world, but to save the world through His Son. I recall Zacchaeus, the tax collector and sinner who snuck a peek at Jesus when He came to town. And Jesus ended up inviting Himself to Zacchaeus' house for dinner--not banishing his sinner's house to the sea. Zacchaeus then realized he needed a change, and that Jesus could give him the change he wanted. Wow, and Zacchaeus ended up paying back with interest everything he'd swindled in his tax dealings (I think he was a card-carrying member of The Sinners' Club). The people Jesus really got cranky with were the religious ones who looked down on others and imposed legalism without changed hearts. While there are sinners in New Orleans, let's not forget the whole world is full of them. I'm a sinner who's found a way out because of Jesus' love, not His condemnation. I don't care if the ones suffering are sinners or blameless, because they deserve our compassion. Jesus would do no less.

CoffeeCup, the web site software company down in Corpus Christi, is soliciting donations that they're planning to truck up to the Astrodome. We're getting some boxes together to send down to them soon. If you want to get involved, check this out:

CoffeeCup Hurricane Relief

If you would rather give money, contribute to

The American Red Cross

Another way to give, especially if you live in the Texas, Arkansas, Louisiana, Alabama or Mississippi areas: Call your local school district and find out if there are any evacuees in your school district. These children are enrolling in school and have nothing right now. You can make a difference by donating clothes, school supplies, and other essentials while these families take refuge.

Lord, thanks for your blessings. Thanks for your mercy and grace, fresh and new every morning. Let us look to meet the needs around us. We may not be able to do everything, but we can all do something. Give wisdom to the relief workers and those in charge, bring order to chaos, peace to disorder, love from hate, hope from despair. Let your Spirit hover over the waters and make yourself known in this dark time.

Calgon, take me awayyyy....

On Today's Menu
A Big Pot O' Goulash

First, I should say I don't like goulash. Life has been a pot o' goulash lately. Oh, I like life very much. It's just the mix that's getting on my nerves.

Nick Arrojo, where ARE you?? What was I thinking, going to a new stylist and getting a brand new do? I need you. I need your $200 haircut. Whisk me away to "What Not To Wear" and work your magic. (I'll even pay.) I feel like a shorn sheep with a puffy face. Hannah screamed Friday when I picked her up after volleyball practice. "Omigosh!"

"What?" I looked around.

"Your HAIR!"

I wanted to start crying again. The girl who cut Hannah's hair did an amazing job, so I picked up her card. Then this week I went in and had her cut mine. I guess she had a good day when she did Hannah's hair. OH, mine looks perky and I can get it to flip, but it won't stay that way. Forget the publicity photo shoot in Nashville at the writers' conference. By Christmas some of it should be grown out again. But now...I hate looking in the mirror, and I realize how vain I really am. For a "big" girl. (gulp)

Which brings me to another thing. CJ and I are starting Body for Life again on Monday. I'm so tired of looking big on the outside and feeling smaller inside. I haven't seen anyone treat me differently for being about a hundred pounds overweight, but maybe God's kept me blind to that. Society should know that fat people don't sit around eating donuts all the time, nor or they lazy or want to dress like old fuddy-duddies. I eat (relatively) healthy. I've worked a desk job for the past almost 10 years, and I can tell. I need to get moving. Eat smaller meals. Work my muscles. All of which Body For Life does. So maybe it's not the hair. It's my face. With longer hair, I didn't notice my "pooch" face as much. Now, well. I'm pushing 38 and working against gravity, too.

In about a month I'll be in Nashville at the American Christian Fiction Writers annual conference. I'm excited about seeing writing friends, hanging out, networking and brainstorming with other writers about some projects. Talking to some agents and editors, soaking in the classes. My novel is one of the top three finalists in the Noble Theme contest in the Sci/Fi Fantasy category. I'm excited about just making the top three. My pal Ronie made the top three in Sci/Fi Fantasy also, and some other writer friends finalled in other categories. We've already got a nail biters' table planned for Saturday lunch at the conference, when the winners are named.

Yet there's that carrot dangling in front of me to be the best. Not that I'm "better than everyone," but to continually improve at my craft and storytelling to be better than I am now. I'm never quite satisfied. (Okay, I may pat myself on the back on occasion, then pick up another author's book and go, "Wow, wish I'd written that!) And so it goes...

I told you this was a goulash! Which brings me to something else. One more, and I'm done. Writing isn't about me, it's about the story. Right now I'm trying to figure out what stories I'm supposed to tell. What's my tag line? I've written contemporary, historical, suspense, fantasy. Whichever work in progress I'm slaving over is my favorite story at that time. I never write a story I'm not passionate about. To me, the pages of a story should swallow you up and pull you on an adventure. Hence, "Adventures on Paper." I'm not nailed down to a particular genre (yet). Plus, I got some awesome business cards at VistaPrint, so I'm stuck with the tag for now.

Enough! I'm done for tonight. Through bad haircuts, poofy faces, writing stuff, and kids starting school, my Lord is on the throne yet still close enough to whisper in my ear. I like that!

Lotsa Life in these Minutes

Why is it that everything has to happen on a weekend? Oh, yes. I slap my forehead. Because we're working during the week. Tell me why we rented a floor sander from Home Depot on Saturday so we could sand Hannah's floor. This stuff is never as easy as it looks on those shows, even with their carefully-scripted crises. And what's more? Home Depot doesn't make their money off a $35-for-3-days rental. They make their money off the sandpaper at 5 bucks a sheet. Whew. Add grocery shopping to the mix, a run to our favorite clothes' store for the "no tax weekend" bunch of outfits for the kids, and three nights of special services at church starting Friday night.

I survived. The special services were just that--special. I've got a lot of notes to re-read and a lot of personal reflection and quiet time to absorb what the Lord is showing me. Maybe I'll share some of it here. We'll see. I've realized I've got a long way to go, that I could stand to have more compassion for people, and more of the Word in my life.

Tonight after service and ordering Pizza Hut, I've spent the past hour using the hand sander on the floor. I think I'm going to call it Hand Sander Pilates. My abs and back and legs, not to mention my tingling arms, are getting a workout. The big rental sander takes off just that--big stuff. Now we're going behind and babyin' that birch floor, and it's going to be gorgeous when it's finished (no pun intended). I know Hannah will be thrilled to have "her" room back again. I'll be thrilled when we're done.

Oh, to luxuriate in a regular work week. (I'll remember this when they're asking for their required two hours' overtime.)