With Fear and Trembling

Pursuing your passion can be a scary thing.

The first writers conference I attended, I took my very first completed novel. It was historical in nature, though not a true romance in content. I had some good reaction—and some bad. Ultimately, the agent who requested it declined to represent me.

So I moved on. I wrote a women’s fiction with an element of suspense. It was a story I knew God put on my heart. It caused me to work through some of my own faith issues as I wrote. I went to another writers conference. Had good feedback, but ultimately, rejections.

Then my husband jumped in the picture. He asked me to write a legal drama. I did. By its merit, I became a Genesis finalist—but it didn’t go any further. I have a couple of requests for this, as well as the knowledge that it is a hot topic, therefore a greater possibility of interest. But while at the conference, I remembered my passion: historical fiction.

I have always loved history. I majored in it in college. I’ve always read that genre first—even sometimes before the classics, which I love. In middle school, I wanted to write historical Christian fiction. That was before Janette Oke. Before that market exploded.

So the question: do I pursue my passion or the market? Historicals abound. The competition for a few spots is fierce. If I found a different outlet, perhaps I could find success more quickly—but at what price?

So after a unbelievable turn of events where I actually have a request for my historical as a romance, I am rewriting, rekindling that passion that brought me to the place of pouring my life into words on a page.

I’m attempting to pursue my passion in spite of the fear that it will never amount to anything more than forgotten files on a languishing laptop.

Validation

If you write fiction and have never gone to an ACFW conference, you’ve missed a treat. It feels like spending the weekend with 400 of your closest friends. It feels like a fun family reunion.

I’ve been to Christian writing conferences before, but never to anything like this. The emphasis on your relationship with the Lord is paramount. Opportunities for worship and prayer abound. Editors and published writers alike were accessible and encouraging, their humility worn like a pair of old pajamas.

I came home mulling over many things. My writing schedule. My writing goals. My pursuit of craft. My pursuit of the Lord.

I also came home with new friends—real people attached to names I’ve seen on email loops or blogs as well as some that were new altogether.

I didn’t place in the Genesis contest. And you know what? It didn’t ruin my weekend. Although I was disappointed, I wasn’t devastated. It let me know I still have some work to do, still have a goal to shoot for.

I had good appointments and disappointing ones with editors and agents, but those didn’t color my weekend, either. God has really been doing something over the past year and half, because this weekend a rejection of my writing did not feel like a rejection of ME. Nor did an encouraging word send me soaring to unrealistic heights. And that is major improvement. I no longer need success to validate me.

My validation is in Jesus—and it never changes.

Heigh Ho, Heigh Ho

. . . it’s off to conference I go—ACFW conference. And, of course, things whip into a frenzy of craziness before time to leave.

I’ve been feeling better about going—maybe because it’s my third conference and I’m beginning to know what to expect, what to focus on. And because I am a Genesis finalist, for the first time I don’t feel like an imposter at a writers conference!

But even with the confidence of being a Genesis finalist, I’m nervous. I wasn’t—until this week. Now the Saturday night awards ceremony looms before me. Will I smile and clap as other people’s names are called and my heart sinks into my shoes? Or will my dreams come true, my name be called, and my stomach churn at the thought of saying even one word in front of 400+ people?

In the long run, I know it doesn’t really matter. If and when the Lord wants my books published, they will get published—somehow. If He just wants to teach me things through the process of writing or if He just wants me to be friends with and pray for other writers, I’m okay with that. I have to be. I can’t make anything happen.

So I’m going this weekend with that thought overriding all the rest. I want to enjoy each moment, each relationship that God brings my way. And if, in the end, it leads to publication, I’ll be thrilled. If not, I’ll still be satisfied.

A Chat With Author Mary DeMuth

I’m so excited to kick off the blog tour for Mary DeMuth’s Wishing on Dandelions, which is available, for the first time, TODAY! Wishing on Dandelions is the sequel to Mary’s critically acclaimed first novel, Watching the Tree Limbs.

Set against the backdrop of a small Texas town, Maranatha maneuvers her seventeenth year still haunted by the sexual abuse of her childhood. But you’ll have to read Wishing on Dandelions to discover Maranatha’s story. We’re here today to talk to the author (and my friend), Mary DeMuth.

Me: Mary, this book deals with difficult subject matter: childhood sexual abuse and its residual affects. How did this book emerge?

Mary: My passion is to write about redemption through the avenue of story. I started the first book, Watching the Tree Limbs, in a flurry. In my mind I saw the streets of Burl and a girl who didn’t know where she came from. Because my personal story involves different instances of sexual abuse, I wanted to write a story that showed the reader how God could intersect an abuse-victim’s life and make a difference.

Me: So why another Maranatha novel?

Mary: Well, she kept talking to me, that persistent girl! I sold two books to NavPress, one being Watching the Tree Limbs and another yet-to-be-determined. I asked if they'd be willing to do another Maranatha, and they agreed. It's been my heart in these books to show the progression of difficulty and yet God's healing for a victim of childhood sexual abuse. So it made sense that I set the book when Maranatha is seventeen, that awkward time romance and love enter into the equation.

Me: What made you choose East Texas as the setting for both novels?
Mary: The South fascinates me. I grew up in the Northwest. When my last child was born, my husband was transferred to East Texas to start a department in a hospital. Because I was a stay-at-home mom and home schooling, I didn’t have much else to do there except to observe small town southern culture. Because I didn’t grow up in that culture, my senses were heightened and I eventually began to really appreciate the differences.

Me: What is your favorite part about writing novels--initial draft, re-writing, marketing, etc.?

Mary: Definitely the initial draft. Writing it on the fly is intoxicating to me. I feel my head's about to explode with characters and plotting points, so as I sit at the computer, everything nearly vomits out onto the page-a true creative rush.

Me: 4. What is one thing people don't know about you that you wish they did?

Mary: That though I write edgy fiction, I'm not edgy or contentious.

Me: What do you want your reader to take away from Wishing on Dandelions?
Mary: That redemption of a broken life takes time. We’re all on a journey of healing. Sometimes it’s slow going, but if we can endure through the dark times, God will bring us to new places of growth. I want the images and characters to stay with a reader for a long time.

I love hearing the voice and ideas of the writer behind the stories. I hope you have enjoyed getting to know Mary DeMuth a little better. She is worth knowing. And her books are worth reading.

Field Trip

I went on my first “Writer’s Field Trip” today. My husband took me to the Federal Courthouse, where several scenes in my WIP are set. Being an attorney, he knows his way around there. He even called around to some judges’ offices, trying to find us a courtroom to see. Fortunately, we found a hearing in progress.

It was really fun to be in a place with an eye for a specific story. The building was different than I imagined, thus I’ll have to re-work a couple of scenes. But in many ways, the real thing lends itself to so many more possibilities than my visualization did.

I got to observe attorneys in a courtroom, too. That was interesting. And it made me understand my husband a little better. I recommend this exercise for anyone married to a lawyer!

However, the funniest part of the whole thing was the preparation. I asked my husband what I should wear. “Business attire,” he answered. Business attire? I work, most days, in shorts and a t-shirt or jeans and a t-shirt, depending on the season. But my most favorite working outfit is my pajamas. I get the most done on days I don’t take the time to put on clothes!

So anyway, between my job as a SAHM and a writer, I have no “business attire.” Thankfully, I did have one pair of slacks and a new pair of heels. I raided my mother’s closet (while she was out of town—thanks, Mom) and found a shirt and purse to go with them. It was close enough, although to have fit in with the attorney crowd, I apparently should have had a black or navy suit!

All in all, it was a great day. I’m looking forward to many more writing field trips—both for the experience of a new thing and for the creativity it inspires.

Writer Reunion

I love getting together with friends. And getting together with writer friends is an unusual treat. Three years ago, on my first trip to the Mount Hermon Christian Writers Conference, I met most of these wonderful ladies. A few more were added on the second trip. I didn’t get to go to Mount Hermon this year, but I’ll meet a few of these again at the American Christian Fiction Writers Conference this month in Dallas.

But here’s how it happened. The flight from Dallas to San Jose contained several writers from as far away as three hours outside of Dallas. We met on the San Jose bound flight. We bonded on the three hour delay from San Jose to Dallas—twice. Yes, two years in a row we spent three hours yakking it up in the San Jose airport waiting for our flight to take off.

So this year, with one of our number home for a visit from France, we organized a reunion luncheon. It was great to re-connect. It was inspiring to hear about careers taking off, agents and contracts procured. We prayed for those having personal struggles. We laughed and ate—a lot.

Is there a group of people you’ve shared an experience with in the past? Call them all together again. Renew memories. Catch up on news. Enjoy the tapestry of relationships God has brought into your life.

818 Pages Later . . .

I did it. I slogged through Bleak House by Charles Dickens. I say “slogged” not because I didn’t enjoy the experience. I did. Thoroughly. But 800 pages of ANYTHING becomes a bit wearisome after awhile. (When the bookmark doesn’t seem to move after hours of page-turning, well, you get the idea.)

But I’ve experienced the euphoria before, and knew the pay-off would be worth it. I slogged through Les Miserables and War and Peace—the unabridged versions, mind you—on my own initiative. In all three cases, the story, the characters, the themes, the writing made it worthwhile. For a writer, missing these stories would have been like a world traveler missing the pyramids while in Egypt, Big Ben while in London.

Take, for example, these examples of imagery in Bleak House I might have missed:

“Thus, night at length with slow-retreating steps departs, and the lamplighter going his rounds like an executioner to a despotic king, strikes off the little heads of fire that have aspired to lessen the darkness.”

“In Lincolnshire, the Dedlocks of the past doze in their picture-frames, and the low wind murmurs through the long drawing-room as if they were breathing pretty regularly.”

See what I mean? Who would want to miss writing like that—let alone compelling stories and memorable characters?

What lengthy works of classic literature have you conquered? I’d love to know, because I intend to keep adding to my list.

But not until at least next year!

Closing the Deal

I’m about to run out the door to close on our old house. I’m still shocked. It all happened so quickly.

Two weeks ago, we had an offer on our house—with a difficult negotiation. We thought we were closing Sept. 14th, just in the nick of time for our IRS payment, due the 15th. Then, lo and behold, the closing was suddenly pushed up to today! Over two weeks early! We are elated, and in awe of our incredible God, who meets our needs.

And on top of it all, we had RAIN—yesterday and today. And for those of us in certain parts of Texas, that is truly a miracle. Our 100-degree-days streak was snapped and all our thirsty plants are soaking in the needed moisture.

It’s been a long summer, but in spite of all the difficulties, we’ve not only survived, we’ve grown. We’ve grown closer as a family. And I have grown, spiritually. I learned to pursue Jesus instead of the solutions to the circumstances and found Him more satisfying than ever before.

So to those of you out there in the midst of difficult and trying situations: Hang On! Pursue Jesus! He will reveal Himself in amazing ways.

One Toe Before the Big Splash

I’ve never been one of those people who can jump into a cold swimming pool. I have to ease in. First my toes, then my whole foot. Inch by inch I wade into the water, my body getting used to the temperature in small doses.

That’s why I love it when my kids start school on a Thursday. It eases us into the school routine. Kind of like that first swim of the season. For two days we’ve done the school schedule—the getting up and getting ready, the after school car pools and practices, the earlier bedtimes. Now we get the weekend to recover before we hit it full-force, dive in with a resounding splash.

Five days at a time.

Encouragement from the Ultimate Encourager

I’m in a Ladies Bible Study right now. It’s on encouragement. One of the things we’ve talked about is that God encourages us. Have you ever received specific encouragement from the Lord? I did. Just the other day.

Wednesday morning I woke up, still trying to shake the whole “fretting” thing. I asked the Lord to give me some encouragement from Him—today. Something concrete. Something only He would know would encourage me. Something only He could orchestrate.

One of the things I’ve wanted to do this coming school year is Meals on Wheels. I drove groups of students to do this during our “mission” days at school last year and loved it. In looking at my schedule, I figured that Fridays worked best for me. When I emailed my friend on Wednesday to find out the volunteer coordinator, she forwarded me an email she had received THAT MORNING looking for a driver on FRIDAYS!!! Talk about concrete encouragement. And quick, too.

So I’m signed up, ready to drive. Actually, my mother and I are splitting the route, each taking two Fridays a month. I’m thrilled to be able to serve others this way. But I’m even more thrilled at the answer to prayer, at the encouragement I received from Father God. Encouragement tailor-made for me.

Fret Not

The second half of Psalm 37:8 says, “Do not fret, it leads only to evildoing.”

I’ve been fretting a lot lately. Fretting over my daughter’s unresolved health issues (and the new one that cropped up.) Fretting over my husband’s new position as President of our small school board. Fretting over finances. Fretting over my unsold house. Fretting over my work being considered by an agent.

Apparently this isn’t the first time I’ve drowned in a deluge of fret. The verse I quoted at the top had already been underlined in my Bible. So I guess this fretting business is a continual thing for me. Well, I don’t guess—I know.

So how do I stop fretting? I get frustrated when I read David’s admonitions to “wait for the Lord.” Hebrews 6:15 tells me that Abraham “patiently waited” and received his promise. But for me, to wait is to fret. I need practical, active combatants for this fretting. Otherwise, I’m doomed to evildoing.

So I’m going through the Psalms now, marking down the specific things that will keep fret far from me. Things like declaring His righteousness and His praise all day long (Ps. 35:28), delighting myself in the Lord (Ps. 37:4), setting the Lord continually before me (Ps. 16:8), giving thanks to Him and singing praises to His name (Ps. 18:49). And the list goes on. I’m eager to discover more practical ways to combat the fretfulness that so often overpowers me. Because above all else, I don’t want to indulge in an activity that leads to evildoing!

So join me in a “fret out.” Leave the fret behind. Let’s journey together into holiness and righteousness and peace, leaving evildoing in its fretting form far behind.

Gratitude of a Humbled Heart

Another first draft completed. I’m amazed. From my teens into my early thirties, I couldn’t finish anything. Oh, a few short stories here and there, but nothing of any length. Now, in a span of six years, I’ve completed three novels. Three. And two of those in the past two years!

I started thinking back, marveling at such a turn-around in my writing. Yes, six years ago I enrolled in some writing classes. Three years ago I joined a writers group and a critique group. Two years ago I attended my first writers conference. While all of those contributed to how far my writing has come, I realized that another thread ran even deeper.

Six years ago, my relationship with the Lord began to deepen and mature. That, and only that, has caused the change. As I mature, I’ve discerned the Lord’s voice more clearly as to what to write and how to say it. I’ve gained a teachable spirit, both in regards to life and writing. I’ve grappled with keeping my priorities in line. And I’ve learned that the spiritual life requires discipline, which has translated to other areas of my life, as well.

So in my joy at completing yet another novel, I sat humbled, realizing the work the Lord has done. The work the Lord is doing. It started in my heart and extends through my words. He is continually shaping my vessel for His use.

And I am grateful.

A Turtle on a Highwire

I don’t do well talking about my writing. One reason: I don’t communicate well verbally. I mean, I do better when I WRITE something rather than say it. (Okay, if I write what I’m going to say, things are fine. But spontaneous speaking about my work or my life? Forget it!)

Things that stew and simmer in my heart come out more clearly when I write them down. But some of those things that come out need more of an audience than my journal. Not because I need an audience, but because God needs an audience. His work in my life needs to be on display, and not just through my actions.

But this little turtle, who likes to live life inside her protective shell, hesitates, unsure of the reception of others.

That’s why I love blogging. I can write about things important to me, things I think about, without having to look my audience in the eye. I guess you could call that a coward’s way out, but I see it as my safety net. Like a beginner on a highwire, I need to know something is beneath me as I inch forward, hundreds of feet above the air. That’s how I feel as I begin putting my writing into a public venue.

If, someday, the Lord sees fit to allow my words to see publication on a larger scale than they have until this point, I need to have had some practice living with my words out there. That, to me, is the beauty of blogging.

Now, no one may ever read my blog (although I know there are a few faithful followers of my ramblings), but whether my words are read or not, they are out there. And I’m learning to live with that.

Two Quickie Reviews

A couple of quick book reviews. (I know, they aren’t “hot off the presses” books, but I get a little behind in my reading!)

It’s been several years since I’d read anything by Angela Hunt, even though I’ve always enjoyed her books. I picked up The Novelist because it was an intriguing premise—and it was about a writer! What I didn’t count on was it moving me so profoundly. In this book, a successful novelist writes a very different book as she deals with a young adult child out of control. What happens to her over the course of the story is the truth of what happens to us as writers when we write, although the overall theme of the sovereignty of God will ring true even with those who have never put words on a page (at least without the threats of an English teacher hanging over them!)

Another utterly unexpected pleasure was Savannah from Savannah by Denise Hildreth. This is a wonderfully refreshing story of a mother and a daughter, the dreaming of dreams and the death of dreams, of growing up and letting go. Wrapped in the beautiful Southern charm of Savannah, GA (a city, I must confess, I have always longed to see) this was a very enjoyable read. It’s fun and quirky and poignant and happy and sad and . . . well, read it and see for yourself.

Those are just two of my many reads this summer. I find that my writing and reading go hand in hand: when I read a lot, I end up writing a lot; when I am writing a lot, I am reading even more. And round and round and round it goes.

So what have you been reading? I’d love to know. My “to read” stack is tall and varied, but I’m always looking for something new to add to it.

A Life Well Lived

My grandmother went to be with the Lord on Wednesday. We were happy for her—she hasn’t been the same since breaking her hip eight weeks ago—but we will miss her all the same.

In thinking about her life and how it has intertwined with ours over the years, my brother and sisters and I came up with four things that we remember most about who she was.

1. She was generous—with her money and her time. There was always a generous check on birthdays, graduations, weddings as well as money given to mission trips, the church, and various other Christian ministries such as Campus Crusade. And she made time for whoever would drop in to see her, even to the point of sitting on the floor and rolling a tennis ball back and forth with her small great-grandchildren.


2. She enjoyed her family. When we sat down to meals, whether a full Thanksgiving spread or hamburgers and chips on paper plates, she always responded the same way: “It’s such a banquet.” I used to think she meant the food. Now I realize what she really meant was the company gathered around the table to eat it.


3. She found joy in living. In talking with my parents and my other siblings, we all agreed—never did we hear a negative word come out of her mouth. And there was always a smile on her face. Even in these past few weeks, after the physical therapists prodded and twisted her she would smile and thank them, in spite of her pain.


4. She left us a godly heritage. Both she and my grandfather were committed Christians who studied and loved God’s word and then lived it out. They impacted many lives outside our family as well. Their lives were not only a testimony and example to us but a heritage passed down to their children, and grandchildren, and great-grandchildren.

All in all, my grandmother’s life was a life well lived. We will miss her smiling face. But we know she is rejoicing with her Savior.

With Me, It's All or Nothing

I can hear the tangy, slightly off-key voice in my head, see the bright red lips purse around each word.

Ado Annie: “With me, it’s all or nothin’. It’s all or nothin’ with me.”

Actually she and Will sing that song to each other, but no matter, the sentiment is the same—and it describes me to a “T.”

I started writing again—I really did. But on days I had good BOC (bottom on chair) time, I got nothing else done. No boxes unpacked. Nothing put away. No nagging the children to keep things picked up in the house.

So the past three days I’ve written nothing.

Why? Because I’ve been unpacking boxes like a madwoman, determined to clear out the garage. Because I’m sick of burning the backs of my legs on the seats in my car which is parked in the driveway, in full sun. See what I mean? All or nothing. I started the boxes thinking I’d just work on them in the morning and write in the afternoon. No way. Doesn’t work.

In theory, I imagined I would use to summer days to write two to three hours then have the rest of the day continue unpacking and to generally keep my life together. In theory. Reality is: it’s all or nothin’ with me, baby.

So at least in recognizing this character trait (or flaw), I think I’ve come to at least a truce with myself. No more unrealistic goals of writing and getting other projects done. It’s an either/or proposition. Either I write that day, or I do other things that need to be done. I simply have to make sure that I have writing days at least three days a week.

I think I can do that.

Where's a Writer When You Need One?

In our move, we had to switch internet providers. That meant a switch in email addresses, too. I really thought the kids would be able to keep their old addresses for awhile (they can still send and receive), but I forgot one important part: the parental controls are still on and I can’t access the area to change them anymore! No biggie, except this means they can’t receive email on those accounts from anyone except the currently approved list.

So we set up new email addresses today. No problem for most of us—the same as the old with a new bit after the @. Four out of five—it’s the fifth one that’s giving us trouble.

You’d think, as a writer, I could come up with a nifty little line for my 13 year old son. His old address reflected his love of playing soccer. But now he’s quit soccer and is playing whatever sport his school offers for that season (football, then basketball, then baseball with the possibility of track, cross-country, tennis or golf thrown in). He doesn’t have any suggestions, and I’m drawing a blank as well.

So I face the reality. I’m title-challenged. My books and stories reflect it. My unimaginative email address reflects it. Now my son must bear the brunt of my insufficiency. *sigh* Perhaps one of these days I’ll learn to come up with a witty phrase that encapsulates a story or a person. But for now I’ll just brood over that email address until I come up with something workable. Perhaps one of my other children will show proficiency for this kind of thing.

I can only hope.

Back to the Writing Life

Today is July 1—my self-imposed deadline to quit obsessing over moving into my house and get back to writing. It was a needed break, really. Otherwise I’d have gone crazy. I had to focus on getting moved in. But now the rest of the boxes can wait, and my novel can’t. So by writing this today—on a Saturday, a day I usually get no writing done anyway—I begin my foray back into my other life, my writing life.

I’m giddy with anticipation. I get to become reacquainted with the characters in my current work-in-progress. I get to mull over new ideas, put new words to paper, make old words sing with inspiration, honing each scene, each paragraph, each sentence.

And yet, I worry. Do I have the discipline to make some headway during the lazy days of summer? These days filled with children’s requests for friends over and trips to the pool; days unencumbered by scheduled activities, bedtimes, or alarm clocks.

Over the years, I have learned to love summer. Used to, the unstructured time sent me reeling. Now, on Monday, I begin the search for a happy medium—to accomplish tasks, both passionate and practical, while reveling in the casual schedule that allows relationships to flourish.

Can I do it? Can I relax without frittering away valuable time? This is the only answer I know: I can do all things through Christ who strengthens me.

So check back from time to time and see how I’m doing. Or better yet, use the nifty little email signup box to the right and get my new blog posts in your inbox.

And have a fabulous rest of the summer—it will be over before we know it!

Hiatus

I decided to take June off from writing. After all, with moving, sending my daughter on a mission trip to Ghana, and helping my parents and sister move, I knew I’d have little time. I have been diligent, even when I have wanted to hide in a closet with my laptop, my fingers itching to see words appear on my screen, my mind scraping at pieces of my work-in-progress, trying to remember details, see the next bend in the story. But I have been disciplined. I have resisted. I have rested, dadgumit!

Well, not rested exactly, but rested from writing, rested from the people in my head that clamor for me to tell their story. In the meantime my hands and feet have been busier than ever—moving boxes and furniture, organizing shelves, even wielding my power screwdriver to complete small projects! I drop into bed exhausted at night, but it’s a good exhaustion. It’s physical exhaustion more than mental (although that’s still there, too!) And it has shown me where I was lacking before—physical exercise.

I see now that some form of physical exertion in my day is no longer an option, but a necessity. I need it to think more clearly. I need it to sleep more deeply. So I’m revamping my daily routine come July, when my life kicks in again.

I guess that’s why I needed a vacation—of sorts. I just hope the combination of writing and exercise brings the excitement and energy I am envisioning!

Moving Mayhem

We own two houses. Sounds decadent, doesn’t it? Actually, it’s chaotic. And nightmarish. Half of our stuff is in one house, half in the other. Can you imagine making a 20 minute journey (each way, mind you) just to do laundry (which, by the way, I do at least every other day?)

My internet is up in the new house. All my books and writing files are still ensconced in the old. My favorite chair is here. My bed is there. And the list goes on.

I don’t know how much writing will get done in the next couple of weeks, but if the old house would sell, I don’t think I’d care. Three kids. Two houses. One husband. How much more can a girl handle?