2006 In Review

As for us all, the end of the year affords a look back. In the span of twelve months, what challenges have I met and mastered? What has tripped me up? Where have I persevered? Where have I fallen short?

So many things come to mind as I consider 2006, but I’ll stick to writing for this venue. For the second year now, I set up a spreadsheet in January to track my writing productivity. I do it for two reasons: to keep myself accountable for actual writing time and to look back and realize (hopefully) that all the time snatched here and there added up to a measurable accomplishment. (I tweak the stats I keep each year to show this more accurately.)

And guess what? It continues to work. Not only did I revel in being able to log in numbers of words written, pages revised and critiqued, and books read, but as I entered the function equations to total my numbers for the year, I was shocked! Little does add up to a lot!

Given the circumstances of the year—my nephew’s heart surgery, selling and buying a house and moving—I felt some frustration at my lack of writing time. But feelings don’t necessarily reflect reality. In the midst of this crazy year, I wrote almost 7,000 more new words than last year! Add to that over 1500 pages rewritten or critiqued and 54 books read and I’d say I have nothing to be frustrated about!

Isn’t God good? Only He could have turned my offering of a few loaves of bread and a couple of fish into basket loads left over. I gave Him what I had, doing what He asked me to do, and He multiplied my effort above anything I could have imagined.

So tomorrow I’ll set up my spreadsheet for 2007, adding in new columns for research and pre-writing time spent—to keep myself accountable, but also so that at the end of next year I will again be able to see the grace of God in my life.

Another Christmas is relegated to memory. This one will not be forgotten for several reasons: for the stressful situations leading up to it, for it being our first in this house and the first with family nearby. It was the year of Dad’s big birthday bash—Celebration Station with all the kids and grandkids. He even played Laser Tag for the first time (the adults skunked the older kids.)

Today we are all a bit sluggish—watching movies, playing video games, trying to figure out all the electronic gadgets we got for Christmas, scarfing down leftovers. Down time is good. We can reflect on the past year and plan for the coming one.

But our respite won’t last long. Thursday we begin a two-day varsity basketball tournament. Tuesday is the first district game. Middle school basketball kicks into gear the next weekend with a tournament, too.

But basketball means school begins again. And when the kids return to classes, I can get back into my routine of writing. More on that later.

For now, I hope you and your family had a Christmas you will always remember.

A Request

If you are reading this, please stop and say a prayer for me. I am under an extreme amount of stress at the moment dealing with a family situation that roller-coasters up and down. I’m stretched to my limit. I’m begging the Lord for answers.

More after Christmas.

I hope.

Just when I thought things couldn’t get much worse (last week was an incredibly emotional week) . . .

Kablam!

I got rear-ended today.

The repair is estimated to take 2-3 weeks.

And I still haven’t finished my Christmas shopping!

A Gift of Hope

I admit it. I’ve wondered if I have what it takes for this writing thing. I mean, did God really gift me in this area or am I like the kid trying out for every NBA team because he has a dream, not realizing he lacks the talent level?

This week I got two rejections. Nothing new. Rejections are a way of life in the writing business. But these two were different.

I’ve had nice rejections before—the kind that are polite and personally written rather than a form letter. But never have they been as bittersweet or as personal as these two. Both came from well-respected people in the CBA. Both highly complimented my writing. Both left the door wide open for future submissions to them. But in the end, both rejected me.

I followed up with one and received further, unsolicited encouragement to keep working, that my writing was at the publishable level, I just hadn’t hit the right story and the right time yet.

The Lord knew I needed to hear that. I needed those words from Him through another to sweep away the discouragement that has nagged at my heart. It showed me yet again the power of words, especially written words—words in a medium that can be reviewed again and again without elapsed time to skew them into more or less than they originally were.

Last Christmas, the Lord gave me a gift on the 23rd—an acceptance of a short story for publication. This year He gave me another, in the form of two rejections that infused me with hope.

And isn’t that what Christmas is all about anyway? Baby Jesus in the manger, God in human form. He is our ultimate Hope.

An Early Resolution

Looking back over the last few posts, p.C. (pre-Christmas), I realized I’ve been a bit whiney lately. Yuck!

So here is my early resolution: NO MORE WHINING!!

My life is my life. So what if I can’t write as many hours a day as I would like? The fact of the matter is I still write consistently. And I ponder. While I drive kids I think through story lines, get to know characters. In snippets of quiet moments I jot down conversations that have drifted my way and situations I’ve observed. And I read—good books that will raise my standards and not-so-good books that exemplify how not to write—while I wait for ball games to begin or kids to pile in my car or a friend who is running late for lunch. (Sometimes even at a red light—but don’t tell!)

All of the above is writing work, even if it doesn’t net me a certain number new words every day. And until I have a deadline staring me in the face, I need to embrace the flexibility my writing affords.

So good-bye whiney writer. I’m leaving you in late 2006. This writer—one of the five bazillion other writers in the world—is moving forward, past whining to contentment.

My most favorite Christmas book is The Best Christmas Pageant Ever by Barbara Robinson. In my growing up years, we often spent Christmas vacation traveling to Colorado for a week of skiing. Reading this book aloud became one of our Christmas traditions. I would read, laughing and crying along with every one else.

Fast-forward thirty or so years. Last night I watched my daughter perform in the play "The Best Christmas Pageant Ever." A group of high school students brought Beth and Alice and Mrs. Armstrong and the Herdmans to life before my eyes. My daughter was Gladys, the youngest, meanest Herdman who infuses the role of the Angel of the Lord in a traditional Christmas pageant with much enthusiasm. (That's her in the picture. She had a blast looking dirty and mean!) I laughed, I cried. I remembered just how wonderful this story is. I’m ready to pull the slim volume from my bookcase and relive it once again.

It’s a short book, one you can read aloud in an hour or so. If you haven’t read it, or haven’t read it in a long time, give yourself and your family a treat for the holidays and enjoy it together. I promise you won’t be disappointed!

Christmas Movies

One of our favorite holiday traditions is the watching of Christmas movies between Thanksgiving and Christmas Day. It gets to be a bit challenging finding evenings with enough free time for a full length movie given that it is also basketball season for all three of my kids, but we always manage.

I have a collection of about 10 of our favorites. So far we’ve watched Elf and Holiday Inn. Okay, so you’re probably scratching your head and wondering about us right now. I mean, Will Ferrell and Bing Crosby? Who enjoys both? The answer: I do!

My definition of a good Christmas movie involves a couple of criteria. Number one: it has to have SOMETHING to do with the Christmas season. My boys question Holiday Inn on these grounds, but I think the song “White Christmas” and the fact that the movie begins on Christmas Eve and ends on the next New Year’s Eve, qualifies. Second, it must have a moment that makes me teary-eyed.

I’ve seen Elf several times, but the end always gets me. I always cry, in spite of Ed Asner as Santa Claus (or maybe because of!). And when Bing shows up on the Hollywood set and gets the girl with the song “White Christmas,” well, it’s hard to beat that.

Today I received the DVD version of one of my favorites: Christmas in Connecticut with Barbara Stanwyck. It goes in the unwatched stack of eclectic holiday movies including: Veggie Tales The Star of Christmas, How the Grinch Stole Christmas (the animated Dr. Seuss version), It’s a Wonderful Life, Miracle on 34th Street (ONLY the Natalie Wood/Maureen O’Hara version, thank you), The Homecoming (the very first Waltons movie and a MUST for every writer), While You Were Sleeping, A Charlie Brown Christmas, and, of course, A Christmas Carol (the Alastair Sim version.)

So have a missed any Christmas-time tear-jerkers? What is your favorite Christmas movie? I hope you find time to watch it with you family—preferably with a sweet treat and a roaring fire.

The Advent of Christmas

I love Christmas. I love the decorations and the celebrations and buying gifts for all the people I love.

We try to make time for Christmas parades and charitable shopping as a family. I love the baking—which my daughter does so well. And the eating—which I do way too well. I love a crackling fire on a cold winter’s night, a Christmas movie or music playing, a hot drink in my hand.

I love traditions. Some of our traditions come from my family of origin. Things like the candy-tied-on countdown to Christmas calendars my kids use that are just like the one I used as a child and setting each child’s Santa gifts and stocking in a different part of the living room on Christmas morning.

Some come from my husband’s family. Like opening a gift on Christmas Eve.

Others are all our own. Like attending a Christmas Eve service and watching our store of Christmas movies through the month of December.

Most of all, I love watching those around me enjoy the sparkle and wonder and laughter that tends to abound in December. I love imaging the birth of my Savior on a starry night in a rude stable, Mary and Joseph trembling with awe and probably more than a little fear.

I even love waxing nostalgic about the past year as it wanes, remember the goodness of God in bringing us through times of trial as well as times of abundant blessing.

So my prayer for you—and for all of us—is that the wonder and joy of Christ’s birth be evident all season long. And that it would amaze us in new and surprising ways.

The Susans

I’ve read a lot of books over the past couple of months. Two were standouts. Both authored by women named Susan. Both of whom I met at ACFW this year.

Susan Meissner’s A Seahorse in the Thames was a lovely read. Its characters enthralled me with their depth and vulnerability. She drew me in from the first scene and never let go. I met Susan briefly at ACFW and she seemed to be as lovely a person as her words suggest. I’m looking forward to tracking down some of her other work.

Susan May Warren’s Sands of Time convinced me that I could like romantic suspense. It sat on the bottom of the stack of books I brought home from ACFW, and after reading several not so inspiring books, I reached for Sands of Time as I ran out the door for a road trip—not expecting much, especially the time to read it. But we hit traffic. And I’m so glad we did! Susan’s book was suspenseful and insightful. It gripped and held me. And I didn’t find myself editing it in my head! What a joy! I sat next to Susan at the awards banquet at ACFW. Delightful woman. Funny, kind, inspiring. The kind of person who could be a friend. I will definitely find more of her stories to cuddle up with this winter.

So do yourself a favor—consider trying a book by a Susan. Meissner or May Warren. Either will be a treat to remember.

My Thanks

For a daughter who is growing up,

For sons who stand for right,

For a husband who is in my court,

For my Lord and His sacrifice.

For friends who make life’s journey fun,

For family who always cares,

For writers who’ve encouraged me,

For dreams I’ve learned to dare.

For all these things I’m thankful,

These things make me glad

That I know the One to be thankful to—

The One who holds my life in His hand

It's a Season

Just a season. At least that’s what I keep telling myself.

Not the holiday season.

Or basketball season.

Not the flu season or the season of the year.

It’s a life season. Perhaps you know the one. It’s the all-of-my-kids-are-busy-and-none-of-them-can-drive season. I haven’t felt this discombobulated since all three were in the toddler-preschool years! I know part of my frustration is coming to an end soon—four months, to be exact, when we go from 15, 13, 12 to 16, 14, 12. But that doesn’t help me now.

Even moving closer to school, I feel like my days are spent running here, there, and everywhere. I keep reminding myself that when your kids are close in age, this happens. At least I’m not dragging a little one around while I do it!

The real problem is it cuts into my writing time. And I do know which is more important—so I drive. But I get restless inside after days of not writing. I feel jittery and anxious. Nothing a day with my characters wouldn’t fix, but when?

So I have high hopes for Thanksgiving week. No school. No sports practices. Amidst a doctor’s appointment on Monday, a birthday party on Monday/Tuesday, cooking for Thanksgiving on Wednesday, eating and visiting with family for Thanksgiving on Thursday, and a football playoff game on Saturday, maybe I can manage to put words on the page.

Or not.

Moaning and Groaning

I really didn’t mean to torture myself. I knew the week after my writing frenzy, I’d need to catch up on things like laundry and grocery shopping and doctor’s appointments, etc. No writing allowed. So I did the next best thing—I picked up a writing book to read between times.

Big mistake.

NEVER read a writing book right after you’ve sent off a manuscript! I’ve moaned and groaned my way through Sol Stein’s How to Grow a Novel as the deficiencies of my sent story become clear. I found myself lamenting “if only.”

But alas, the deed is done. I must take a deep breath and begin work on another story, this time taking into account the things I’ve both learned and been reminded of as I read on writing. Every story gets stronger—at least that’s the goal. I want my final work to be eons above my first one.

It’s a more “normal” week at my house. Time to get back into routine. Time to pound out words on another story. Explore other characters. See what the Lord has for me to learn this time around—about writing, about myself, about Him.

In the Mail

I handed my baby to the postal worker this afternoon. I left it reluctantly, even though I feel better about this book than any other I’ve written thus far. In fact, I went back to my car and cried. I’ve never done that before. Usually when I send things off, I’m anxious, jittery. This time, however, thankfulness welled up in me. I cried because finishing this book has been a deeply spiritual experience.

Last Friday, my task seemed impossible—finish the revisions on this book to fulfill a request from an agent. I sent an e-mail to a group of friends and family that have been praying for my writing for a couple of years.

And guess what?

They prayed!

How do I know? I felt the result of their prayers. Strength and stamina that could have only come from the Lord flowed through me each new—always spent by evening, but renewed each morning. The story crystallized under my fingers. Although I wrote 6-9 hours a day, from last Saturday to yesterday, I also managed to feed my family, cheer at my sons’ last football game, be at a family birthday party, attend church and my weekly prayer group, and have lunch with a friend. No way I could have done all that (and been fairly nice to my family in the process) without the Lord doing it through me.

My faith grew this week. My realization that God has indeed gifted me in the area of writing grew as well. (Even in the hard work of it, I loved playing with words and spending time with my characters!) I drove away from the post office with overwhelming peace. Whatever happens with this book—or any of my writing—is completely in the hands of the Lord.

After all God has done this week, I believe that more than ever before.

Trial Run

I guess you could say I’m on a “trial run” this week. I’m finishing the revisions of my legal drama manuscript so I can put it in the mail. It’s the first time I’ve felt like a real deadline loomed over me. So this week is a test. Can I handle it? Can my family?

I have to admit, God has been abundantly gracious in giving me this particular week as a trial run. One child is out of town for three days. My sister fixed us dinner one night. It’s the last week of football so I don’t have kids from 8 am to 5 pm and the last game is Saturday instead of Tuesday.

I’m making much better progress than I expected, although I still have a ways to go. I know it is the result of so many people praying for me this week. (I owe you big time!) My dry eyes have endured four hour stretches of staring at the computer. The words have flowed. Plot points have crystallized.

And I’ve finally, after six years of trying to write consistently, hit on a schedule that works for me: three to four hours on, two hours off—preferably away from the house, then three to fours hours on, etc. Okay, so it probably wouldn’t work for weeks on end, but I know now that I can make that work in crunch time.

So think of me this week, hunkered down in my dining room, pages spread all over the table, the desk chair behind the table, typing away. I hope to come up for air by this weekend!

Belated Blog Birthday Bash

(Don’t you love alliteration?)

I can’t believe I missed my blog birthday! A year ago—October 5, 2005, to be exact—my blog entered the world.

I wondered if anyone would read it. I wondered if I would have anything to say.

Amazingly, I’ve found things to say. Even more amazingly, I’ve found readers in the most unusual places. I’ve found other writers who share their words with me while I share mine with them. I’ve found out that friends and family, unbeknownst to me, keep up with me here. Some of you I’ve met face-to-face. Some I hope to meet in the future.

And since so many of my friends, old and new, blog also, for this birthday, I’d like to give you all a present: I’m going to expand my links list to include all the blogs I frequent these days—albeit weekly now instead of daily, due to the growing list. So look for the expanded list by this weekend. Maybe your name will be on it. (Or maybe you need to tell me you’re here and I’ll start reading you, too.)

Thank you for encouraging me this year. I hope in some small way my words have encouraged you.

Happy birthday to my blog!

I love it that you meet me here.

To Move Forward or Stay Still?

I’ll admit it. I’m afraid.

It’s not like I haven’t been rejected before. Many times, in fact. But there is something about an agent’s rejection that hurts worse.

I know that doesn’t make much sense. After all, just because an agent wants to represent you doesn’t mean you will get published. Or at least, not anytime soon. But there’s this gut feeling I have that I won’t get published until I have an agent—someone out there schmoozing on my behalf, championing my work, getting it in front of publishers.

But I can’t get an agent until I actually sent query letters to them. And here’s where the fear has paralyzed me. There are three names swimming around in my head. Two I’ve met at conferences. One would be a completely cold query. In all three cases, I’ve procrastinated sending anything.

Why?

Am I afraid of more rejection by agents? It feels so much more personal from an agent. Or is it the opposite? Am I really afraid that I’m getting close, that one of these people will actually say the words “I want to represent you”? Am I more afraid of failure—or success?

The fact of the matter is that after over three years of sending out my work to be considered for contests and publication, I’m used to failure. I’m okay with it. It doesn’t devastate me like it did at first. It just seems par for the course. Sure, I’ve had some successes along the way with short stories and articles, and that has felt good. But I’m comfortable here.

What if my book is really at the publishable point? I’ve listened to so many published authors relate struggles with deadlines and edits and marketing and sales numbers that I don’t have a romantic view of publishing anymore. In fact in many ways, it terrifies me.

So what to do? Quit? Stay in my comfort zone? Or keep moving forward, in spite of my fear? If I’ve learned anything in my life over the past few years, it’s that God works in my weakness. He uses my fear to draw me to Him and to keep me humble. If He has truly called me to this—to writing—then I have no choice. I have to walk the road, in spite of my fear.

I have to move forward and trust the Lord who sees what lies around the bend.

Connectivity Issues

I can't use my DSL. Apparently my modem is defective. My 5-month-old modem. The helpful people at AT&T informed me it would be 5-7 business days before my new one will arrive. No possiblity of overnighting the thing. Not even if I paid for it. "It's in the system, ma'am. There's nothing we can do to speed it up." Now it's dial up or use someone else's. So I'm at my parents house right now.

The thing is, in this day and age, with our dependence on the Internet for business (my husband often works from home, as do I) and schools (grades, emailing teachers, homework updates, etc), you'd think the companies would understand that even a day without access is more than just inconvenient. You could miss something important! And of course we have delivery companies that span the globe in a matter of hours, but apparently AT&T refuses to use them--even if it means happier customers. The almighty dollar still reigns supreme in American corporations. And we all pay with our time.

I wish I could switch--take my business elsewhere--but with the hassle of the changeover and the fact that we have an entire package of services with them, I don't think it will happen. Instead, I'll spend the next few days fuming as I travel around in search of an internet connection, praying the UPS driver pulls up to my house sooner than expected.

Continuation on a Theme

Continuing on the theme of my previous post, writers as friends, I finished Wishing on Dandelions by Mary DeMuth last night. Unlike the others mentioned in my last post—authors who are friends in my mind, not in the sense of a mutually giving friendship—Mary is a true friend. A what’s-going-on-in-your-life friend. An I’ll-pray-for-you friend. A let’s-room-together-at-the-conference friend.

What a privilege to cheer a friend from obscurity to acclaimed publication, to know and understand her progress from conception of the story (non-fiction or fiction) to finished product—5 times! I find such joy in my friend Mary as a person. And that joy overflows into my friend Mary as a writer.

I read Wishing on Dandelions for the first time as it spilled from Mary’s head onto the page. The second time, I read the entire book in almost one sitting—just before she turned it in to the publisher.

This time, I held an actual book in my hands and savored the experience. The language still enthralled me. And the story moved me yet again.

Maranatha’s story continues from Watching the Tree Limbs, but now Maranatha is 17, on the cusp of womanhood, and still dealing with the pain of the past. But in spite of hard times, and fear of good times, she ultimately comes to realize that Jesus does love her, even though His love is sometimes of the “I want you to grow” kind.

To watch Maranatha struggle and change from the first page to the last reminds me that we all have “green ‘mater years,” as Mama Frankie says—years when we are not quite ripe yet, years when someone or some circumstance wants to pluck us before we are ready. But like Maranatha, we must come to an unshakeable faith in Jesus’s love. We must come to understand that our difficulties don’t prove God is against us, they re-emphasize His love for us. At a pivotal time in my own life, I felt the Lord say “I love you so much that I can’t let you remain where you are.” That same theme comes through loud and clear in Maranatha’s story.

Read it. You will laugh. You will cry. But most of all, you will come away encouraged that God is there, He is working, and His love for you overarches it all.

Authors as Friends

There is a coffee mug at Barnes and Noble that one of these days I’m going to buy. It says, “Choose an author as you would a friend.” I love that. In fact, it is the way I choose many of the contemporary authors I read.

It’s why I love going to conferences and meeting writers. Of course, the real issue is that I’m a cheapskate. I don’t want to pay $10, $15, $20 for a book and then hate it. So I wait. But even good reviews don’t push me over the edge the way connecting with an author does. Whether listening to their heart as they teach or connecting through actual conversation, when I find an author I enjoy as a person, I’m much more inclined to spend my money on their book. That’s why I bought my first Brandilyn Collins book a couple of years ago, even though I’m really not a suspense reader, and a Randy Ingermanson book, even though time travel isn’t my niche either. It was the same with Meredith Efken, Rene Gutteridge, Kristen Billerbeck, and others. When I read their books, it is like listening to a friend.

So I came home from the conference with a whole new group of friends for my bookcase. Susan Meissner, Deanna Gist, Susan May Warren, Deborah Gypanog. And each one is calling to me as a friend.