Basketball Blues

Here are two of the three reasons I’ve been so erratic in my blogging lately.

With SIX basketball games a week, when’s a girl supposed to get any writing done? My days are spent catching up on house stuff because that we aren’t home in the evenings do, or that get pushed out of the way by things like homework and dinner. Between boys middle school, girls varsity and boys varsity, we go to games Monday, Tuesday, Thursday, and Friday—on a typical week. Then there are weeks like this one: a holiday on Monday, therefore THREE games on Tuesday alone! All at the same place! Four solid hours of basketball! I love basketball and I love watching my kids play but . . .

A couple more weeks and the season will end. Thankfully, only one team has the possibility of a playoff run.

Persuasion

I’ve reserved my judgment about the new Masterpiece (they’ve dropped “Theatre” apparently) version of Jane Austen’s Persuasion until I had time to watch it, uninterrupted. I finally got the chance yesterday, curled up on the couch under a blanket, the main TV in the house all to myself.

Now I have to admit: I love the 1995 version of this-book-turned-movie. I’ve seen it probably 100 times. And I’ve read raging debate all over the internet among Jane Austen lovers about which version is better, etc. I wanted to give this one a chance. After all, the story is so good it would be hard to mess it up, right?

I thought the casting and acting and sets and costumes were fine. No problem. My beef is with the writer, the one who wrote this screen play adaptation, and with the director. I felt rushed through each scene, no unfolding of character, just a hurry to say the words that would advance the plot. I couldn’t even tell Henrietta from Louisa Musgrove because they were only onscreen a little bit, when the plot required their presence, but because I didn’t know them, the plot they helped shape felt contrived.

The writer also moved one of the best lines—the one that is supposed to be the hinge on which the story turns, and plops it into the middle of the movie where the lines are said but nothing happens as a result of them. On top of that, instead of letting Anne’s pain and desperation show in her words and actions, the writer tells it by having Anne write journal entries which are voice-over so the viewer can “hear her thoughts” so to speak. Anne is also shown sobbing alone. In the other version, we knew how Anne felt, that she probably sobbed in her private moments, but we didn’t have to see them to know—and it tugged at our hearts more deeply. Subtlety and pacing were both, in my opinion, neglected shamefully.

Finally, my biggest criticism of the director comes when Anne and Captain Wentworth realize they love each other and want each other to know it. The director chooses, at this critical moment, to focus the camera on Anne’s face only. There is no romantic satisfaction in that! That would be like only looking at the bride at a wedding. But isn’t the real moment in a wedding when you see both the bride and groom gazing at each other, adoration naked on their faces? We were cheated out of that moment in this film.

So I’ll go on loving the 1995 version, the one with Amanda Root and Ciaran Hinds. The 2007 version will fade quickly from my mind.

Lost and Found

This is how frazzled I’ve been lately:

Last night I changed out of my jeans and into my workout clothes to go walk while my son took his piano lesson. This morning, I woke up, tired and cold, and looked for my jeans on the floor of my closet. They weren’t there. The top I wore yesterday was there, but not the jeans.

Perhaps I had folded them and put them back in their place. I looked up to the top shelf. Only one pair of jeans, not two, met my eye. I frowned, picked up several things on my closet floor. Still no jeans. Finally, I put on the folded pair to run to my Moms In Touch prayer time.

But the mystery still niggled at me. Where could those jeans have gone? They weren’t in the laundry basket. They weren’t under my bed. They weren’t in my closet. The only time I’ve had something go missing that I knew I put on the floor was years ago when we lived in apartment with rats and my kitchen towel went from the middle of the kitchen floor to underneath the water heater. Yuck!

But no rat could be big enough to drag off a pair of jeans! The dog? Perhaps. But she’d never done anything like that before.

I couldn’t shake the irritation of not knowing where those jeans went. After all, I only have the two pair. I came home at lunchtime in a frenzy of determination to find my jeans. I knew they couldn’t have grown feet and walked off, as I so often remind my children. I searched high and low, finally tossing aside the purple throw crumpled in the middle of the love seat in my bedroom.

Wa-la! My jeans! Then I remembered: in anticipation of the cold morning, I had placed my jeans in my room (as opposed to my cold closet) under the blanket so they would be somewhat warm when I put them on in the morning.

Too, too many things to keep track of in my head right now. I guess cold jeans I can find are better than warm jeans I can’t!

Books, Books, Books

My friend Mary tagged me on this fun blogger game.

1. One book that changed your life.

Bright Captivity by Eugenia Price. I read this historical novel at a time when I was wrestling through issues in my own life. I resolved that I didn’t ever want to act as selfishly as the main character did, which pushed me to deepen my relationship with the Lord.

2. One book that you have read more than once.

Only ONE!!??!! I’ve read so many over and over. The one I’m re-reading now is The Train to Estelline by Jane Roberts Wood.

3. One book you would want on a desert island.

My Bible--with all its notes in the margins and dog-earred pages.

4. Two books that made you laugh.

The 2 ½ Pillars of Wisdom: The Von Igelfeld Trilogy by Alexander McCall Smith. I know, technically that’s three books, but I bought them as one volume and all three of them made me laugh out loud. Seriously. And since I count those three as one book, the other book that made me laugh is every Jeeves and Wooster novel by P.G. Wodehouse. Love ‘em!

5. One book that made you cry.

My family would say that every book makes me cry, but I guess I’ll go with Jane Eyre. I read it again in 2007. I can’t help it.

6. One book you wish you'd written.

Little Women. I love that it spans so much of the girls’ lives and that its characters and story still impact girls and women today.

7. One book you wish had never been written.

The Handmaid’s Tale by Margaret Atwood. I had to read this book in college and I hated it!

8. Two books you are currently reading.

The Train to Estelline by Jane Roberts Wood and I don’t have a second book going at the moment.

9. One book you've been meaning to read.

Techniques of the Selling Writer by Dwight Swain.

10. Five people that I tag: Rachelle, Heather, Carla, Tina and Richard.

Romans 5:3-5

I’ve been a bit frustrated and discouraged with my writing lately. One of my writer friends has been with hers, too. As I was praying the other morning, the Lord reminded me of a verse we had discussed at length at church not long ago. I read it again and sent it to my friend.

Last night, as I lay in bed, I personalized the verse with my writing in mind. So here is Romans 5:3-5, the Writer’s translation:

And not only this, but we also exult in our tribulations (our frustrations with plot and characters and finding time to write and telling the story of our hearts and rewriting and rewriting and rewriting that story again and again!), knowing that tribulation brings about perseverance (even when we walk away from the work, declare it drivel, swear we will not continue to waste our time, we come back—hours, days, weeks, months, perhaps years later—with fresh insight, with renewed vigor, with determination to tell the story in the best possible way); and perseverance, proven character (tweaking words, analyzing characters and plot, unwilling to let the story remain untold or to let it be told in a way that is less than our best); and proven character, hope (that the story will minister to someone—even if the only someone is me!); and hope does not disappoint, because the love of God has been poured out within our hearts through the Holy Spirit who was given to us.

New England White

It’s been a very long time since I’ve read a book that so drew me in as a reader and so fascinated me as a writer as did the book New England White. This is the second novel by Yale law professor Stephen L. Carter. It gripped me from page one. I read all 550 or so pages within five days—even taking it to my kids’ basketball tournament and reading during time-outs and half-times!

This mystery/suspense is intelligent as well as page turning—and the plot and characters are so intricate that I am almost desperate to pick Mr. Carter’s writing brain to learn some of his processes for plotting and writing such a book. (I’ve searched for an email address for him and haven’t found one. Nor does he have a writer website. Who knows? Maybe he’ll find this post and contact me!) Anyway, I rarely have this insatiable desire to contact a published author, but as I am at a bit of a stalemate with my own novel writing, I would love some tips from a writer who accomplished such memorable characters in such fascinating circumstances.

I highly recommend this book. But don’t pick it up unless you’re willing to let everything else go until it’s finished!

Twelve Mighty Orphans

I don’t often read non-fiction. When I do, my preference is either history or biography—both for pleasure and research for novels. Early in December, for my husband’s birthday, we gave him three books he asked for—1 biography, 1 history, 1 a combination of history and biography. Well, after he read the combo, he told me I needed to read it. So I did.

And what an enjoyable experience! Twelve Mighty Orphans by Jim Dent is the ultimate underdog sports story. Beginning in the depression and continuing into the days of WWII, Mr. Dent, an engaging sportswriter, tells the story of the underfunded (or should I say non-funded), undersized football program at the Masonic Home, an orphanage in Fort Worth, Texas. He interweaves the story of football with the biographies of key players. It is an engaging and fascinating read, both from biographical and historical standpoints. In fact, I learned much about the history of the city I grew up in from this book!

So if there is a sports fan or a history buff in your life and you’re wondering what a good read for them might be, try this one. I think they’ll be glad you did.

The Last Week of December

I have a love/hate relationship with the week between Christmas and New Year’s Day. Let me set the stage for you. I love Christmas. I love the decorations and the presents and meditating on various facets of Jesus’s foray into our world to bring us life and hope. But, of course, being the Mom, most of the preparations fall to me. And after five weeks of parties and programs and shopping, I’m tired.

So what I want, in that week after Christmas, is to rest. To let everything go and just “be.” But then the other me raises her head—the organized me. I don’t get a frenzy to “clean out” in the spring time, like normal people. For me, that feeling always hits the week before a new year begins. I have this insatiable desire to begin the new year fresh, with closets organized and files weeded of old documents and everything in its place.

Somehow I wish I could have a “week after Christmas” to rest and a “week before the new year” to clean out and organize. But, alas, they are the same week. Some years the rest wins out. Other years I breathe a satisfied sigh when the last closet is straight and accessible. Which will win this year? Who knows. Considering that the next two days I’ll be at a basketball tournament, son and daughter both participating, it might be neither one!

The Gift

I was reminded this week of a Christmas story I wanted to share with you. It is a story that began the Christmas I was 17 and, I thought, finished when I was 21. But several years ago when I needed to speak at a women’s retreat, the Lord brought the story to mind again and showed me a spiritual truth in it that I had not seen before. Now I’d like to share the whole story with you.

I always had a penchant for books. And really long books were my favorite. So digging around under the Christmas tree my senior year of high school, I found a book-shaped package with my name on it. I thrilled at the thickness of it. I wondered what it could be. I pondered day and night until curiosity got the best of me. One day when no one was around, I took my package into the bathroom and locked the door. Then I carefully unwrapped it. Heart pounding with excitement, I turned it over.

Jane Austen, the cover read, followed by what appeared to be several titles. Who in the world is that? (Yes, even in my AP English class we didn’t read her.) I had a vague sense that she had written things long ago. Disappointed, I re-wrapped the book and set it back under the tree.

Christmas morning, I unwrapped it and pretty much tossed it aside without another thought. Fast forward three years. I’m in college now, majoring in history, minoring in English. I take a class called The English Novel where I read Emma by Jane Austen. I’m hooked. I love this woman! Even then it takes a little while to connect her to the dust-gathering monstrosity of a book on my bookshelf. I pull it down. The book contains all of Austen’s works. I am amazed. I am thrilled. An unexpected gift that was already mine!

Many years later, the Lord brought this story to mind and I saw it in a whole new light. I realized that often we receive gifts from the Lord that puzzle us. We have little to no understanding of what to do with it, why it is important. We toss it aside, let it gather dust, until one day something triggers a memory of that gift and makes it suddenly relevant. And often, like my Jane Austen collection, not just relevant, but a treasure.

So as you unwrap your gifts this Christmas, remember that some gifts take time to appreciate. And remember that the gifts God gives to us are never without reason.

A Christmas Luncheon and A Precursor of Days to Come

It’s been a C R A Z Y week and half! Sorry I’ve been silent.

Last Tuesday, Mary DeMuth, Leslie Wilson, and I hosted a table at the Friends of the Library Christmas luncheon. It was a table filled with—what else? Writers! Five other writers joined us for a yummy lunch and great conversation. Wish you could have been there!

I’ve had a fun few days hanging out with my youngest—my 13 year old. His brother and sister are off on a mission trip (more on that when they return) and it’s been fun to have him all to myself. It’s a little preview of what it will be like in just three and a half short years, when he is the only one left at home. And it’s been great. He’s been incredibly amiable and I think is reveling in our alone time as much as I am.

I’ve still got Christmas errands to run and writing to get done, but I promise you will hear more from me soon. Until then, take time to notice the sights and sounds of the season all around you and enter into the joyous celebration of the birth of our Savior.

Tis the Season

The tree is up, the lights are on. It even turned cold outside—finally.

This is the week of Christmas frenzy before things settle a little into what I hope will be a fun, yet restful, family Christmas. I realize we haven’t many left like this. This year and next, then my daughter will be in college and I know how quickly things can change! My first Christmas after high school, I had a serious boyfriend. By the second Christmas in college, he was my fiancé. By the third Christmas, I was married. So I take nothing for granted.

So this week I will help host a table of fellow writers at the Friends of the Library luncheon here in town, spend an evening with the lawyers and spouses from my husband’s new firm at the Christmas party, watch my niece perform the lead in a Christmas musical at school, travel to my son’s basketball game, get my two high schoolers and my husband off on a mission trip to the Texas-Mexico border, and drive kids from our school to two days of local mission opportunities.

From there, my calendar is blessedly empty—except for the orthodontist appointment where both my boys will get their braces! We plan to bake and watch Christmas movies and play games and look at Christmas lights. And I intend to cherish every minute of it.

Freshman Year Football

This is the image I will remember from my son’s freshman year of football (he’s #32.) In our small school, all the football boys are on the varsity team, but, of course, some of the younger ones don’t play much, if at all.

So I watched my son on the sidelines. What I saw was an encourager—both to those coming off the field and those standing on the sidelines, like himself. He often grabbed the water bottles to hand to the boys on the field during a timeout or when they came off the field for a short rest.

His penchant for encouragement and helpfulness earned him the respect of many of the older boys, including the one he stands next to, a senior affectionately known as “Big E.”

It’s been a hard season in some ways: my son loves to play, not watch, and that got frustrating at times, and this team was slated to repeat as state champions, but they lost last weekend in the semi-finals to a team they’d demolished only a few weeks before.

But what I’ll remember most from this season is this image—my son, skinny and not overly tall, standing out there with the big boys.

A Serial Christmas Story

A couple of months ago, several authors of historical fiction, both published and unpublished, came together (via the Internet) with the idea of writing a serial Christmas story that reflected both their love of historical fiction set in Europe and their faith.

I’m so pleased to announce that the first installment of this story is up at http://www.homebychristmas.blogspot.com/. The installments, 13 in all, will post every other day from now until Christmas. On the in-between days, the bio of the author of the upcoming installment will be posted.

So click on over. I guarantee that after just a couple of posts, you’ll be hooked into the story set in late Victorian England. My part posts December 5.

Happy Christmas reading!

Leaving No Evidence

We spent Friday raking leaves. Last fall, our first in this house, we gathered 22 bags full from the front yard alone! This year, my teenaged boys, who grew up without mature trees that dropped their leaves, reveled in the piles.

But 23 bags later, a mystery. Friday, the bags surrounded our already full trash cans (no trash pick up on Thanksgiving Day). No problem. Trash Day would arrive on Monday and all would be well. Then Saturday I glanced out the breakfast room window. I couldn’t place it at first. The trash spot in the alley looked so—normal. Trash cans filled with black bags, waiting to be carried away. Nothing else.

Nothing else.

No 23 bags of leaves. Vanished. Gone.

Did someone take them? They must have. But we didn’t notice unusual noise in the alley at any time—and it would take a little while to load 23 bags. How did they know they all held leaves? Did they come searching for such things specifically—or did they watch us frolicking in the bright autumn sunlight, the crisp air stinging our hands as we worked and laughed and played?

It’s kind of spooky, if you ask me. 23 bags of leaves. The mystery still gnaws at me, probably always will. I’ll never know what happened to those bags. I’m sure someone took them on purpose, for some reason. I’ll have to make something up and use it in a novel someday!

Cold and Wet

It’s 38 degrees outside—and dropping. A drizzly mist is falling. It’s the perfect day to sit in front of the fire, drink hot chocolate, listen to Christmas music or watch Christmas movies and decorate the house. And I’m . . .

NOT!

Oh, no. Today we are driving two hours to a high school football playoff game! I’m gathering long underwear, hand warmers, scarves, hats, gloves, boots—anything that might ward off the wet-cold of the day. And I so hate being cold!

But when your kids are there, so are you. I’m sure it will be fun. Ok, maybe FUN is too strong of a word, but it will provide “remember whens” for years to come. So while you are cozy inside your house today, think of me in the freezing rain, cheering for my team. And try not to laugh too hard.

A Glimpse of the Future

We went to my cousin’s wedding this weekend. I love weddings, as most women do. But until now I’ve sat in pews thinking wistfully of my own wedding day, of how young and idealistic we were, how the years that stretched out before us are quickly flying by.

This time, I had none of those thoughts. Instead, sitting next to my three teenagers, I realized how close I am to being mother of the bride or groom! I watched the parents, noticing their graciousness to their children and all the guests. I mentally took notes of service arrangements and reception ideas. Of course, all my husband could see was dollar signs!! (Thank goodness we only have one girl!)

But instead of depressing me, the thought encouraged me. One day in the not-too-distant future, my children will stand at the altar, young and wide-eyed, looking forward to the coming years with the one they love. The thought doesn’t sadden me, but it sobers me. It drives me again to my knees, praying that God will work in the hearts of each of my children so that they can bring into their marriages unselfish hearts toward their spouses and humble hearts toward the Lord.

A Must-See: Bella

We saw an incredible movie this weekend. Bella is the story of a young woman who finds herself alone and pregnant and the man who risks his relationship with his brother to be her friend. It is a movie that celebrates life and love, family and friendship. It is real and emotionally powerful—and subtle.

Yes, subtle.

As I writer, I strive for this—to tell the story and let my audience connect the dots to discover the greater, overarching truths the story illustrates. The writer and director of this movie managed this superbly. They told a compelling story that drives home the sanctity of life without using any of the buzz words generally associated with such a theme.

But the subtlety of its theme isn’t the only reason I enjoyed this movie. Its excellence extended to every aspect of the film—the writing, the directing, the acting. Nothing second-rate or hokey about this film and frankly, you can’t say that about very many movies these days. Oh, and did I mention that there are no offensive scenes or language? Yet the feel of reality is all over this film. I assume it garnered the PG-13 rating because of the thematic elements.

This movie is the first offering from new production company Metanoia, whose mission statement declares they desire “to make movies that matter and have the potential to make a meaningful difference in people’s lives.” I’m already looking forward to seeing what they come up with next!

Creating is Messy

I was cleaning up the kitchen the other morning—yet again. Not that I’m complaining, mind you. I can clean when I don’t have to cook, and even consider it the best end of the deal. But when my daughter cooks, she doesn’t give a thought to the mess she leaves behind. When she is finished, it looks like a Texas tornado has hit my kitchen.

So after piles of dishes, I was down to wiping the countertops (and the appliances, and the backsplash, and . . . you get the idea) and lamenting the mess that comes from her creations. As I swept crumbs into the trashcan, it hit me: creating is messy, whatever the medium. Painting. Sculpting. Cooking. Even writing. When I get in a writing frenzy of creation, papers and books are often strewn from room to room, linking them like beads on a necklace.

It helped, realizing that her mess is simply a by-product of her creative process. It makes it easier to clean up after her because I know how she feels. I understand the creative urge, the need to see in visible form what exists in your head and heart, the complete focus on the creation, the oblivion to everything else around you.

So cook on, my girl. I’m right behind you, soapy rag in hand.

The Grocery Store Dilemma

I get lulled into complacency in the summer time. When I do my big monthly grocery shopping trip (stocking up on staples such as bread, cereal, and toiletries) I bring home bags piled high in the back of my car and then watch as they disappear up the stairs and into my kitchen. Sometimes I even have help unpacking the bags and putting the groceries away.

But once school starts I live with the inevitable dilemma: do I shop with the crowds on the weekends, when my kids are home to help unload, or do I shop in peace but carry all the bags myself. Every time I try one way, I swear the other is better. Today I shopped in peace, checked out in a reasonable amount of time, and then ended up making about ten trips up and down the stairs to the garage, arms sagging with bags. To top it off, I’ve had a nasty cold, so the effort quite wore me out! Then, after all that, I still had to unload the bags that now covered my kitchen table and the majority of my countertops.

I guess I should be grateful for the extra exercise, but I imagine the chocolate I ate to console myself canceled out any benefit from climbing the stairs. Oh, well. I guess it’s back to fighting the crowds. At least for next month.

Pumpkin Pie

I can’t remember when I started the tradition, but somewhere in the past, it began. October 31 is the day I make the first pumpkin pie of the season. It isn’t just any pumpkin pie, mind you. It’s my grandmother’s recipe—more nutmeggy, more creamy than a traditional pumpkin pie. It’s something I can actually make, something that turns out the way it is supposed to every time.

And my family loves it. The five of us can polish off a whole pie in nothing flat.

So the season begins. I will make one or two pumpkin pies for Thanksgiving, one or two for Christmas, and a few more here and there before Winter’s end. And all I know is I’d better keep to my exercise routine. Otherwise I’ll be round as a pumpkin by Spring!