After four months of not moving far beyond the triangle from my house to the assisted living center where Mom is to Jaran's house, I decidied it was time to explore Oklahoma a little bit more. I tried what I did in Colorado. Travel for an hour in any direction and see where I ended up.
Last week I traveled south on I-35 to Paul's Valley and came back via 77. It was a lovely afternoon jaunt.
Yesterday I traveled west on I-44. First surprise (although I should have expected it): it's a toll road that cost me &6.50 for travelling about 50 miles "there and back again." After about half an hour, I decided I was tired and only wanted to get back home. At the time, I was approaching Chickasha. I thought the sign read "next 3 exits," so I was looking for one that that said "food" this exit. I bypassed the MacDonald's because I wanted "real" food.
Big mistake. Only two exits led to Chickasha and the next exit was twenty miles down the road. What could I do? I trundled down the road, exited at Sterling and hoped I could at least find a gas station with bathrooms and snacks. Five miles off the highway, over the crest of the steepest hill I've seen in Oklahoma so far, I think I found Sterling. The main portion of the town lay somewhere to the south of me but I didn't want to get lost trying to find it.
And no, I didn't find any gas station, let alone a restaurant. Thank the Lord I had plenty of gas.
So I headed back for Chickasha and headed for the place a sign advertised for serving "fried pies." I found the stand; but it was closed. But at least I found a gas station. After a bathroom and a nice long cold drink of diet coke and cheese crackers, I felt much revived and made my way home.
Oklahoma, here I come. I think I need to get off the highways and onto the back roads to actually see more than billboards and rest stops.
Monday, November 9, 2009
Monday, November 2, 2009
Missing Jolene
Hardly a day goes by when I don't think about Jolene; but rarely do I brood and cry any more.
Until last week. I was trying to think of an example of someone who shared all news, good and bad, with that one special person. And I remembered how Jolene always called me with the details of her life. Oh, how I wanted the phone to ring and to hear her voice. Oh, how I longed to have her run to me full of joy and throw her arms around me. I cried, hard, for several minutes; and tears continued to spill throughout the weekend.
This morning I woke up from a dream about Jolene. I have stacks of boxes to sort through ... things that belonged to Jolene and Mom, as well as some of my own. In my dream, someone found a quilted black-and-pink purse that Jolene prized. They wanted to throw it away; I wasn't sure.
So Jolene was in my thoughts when I woke up. During my quiet time, I sang, "Draw Me Closer, Lord, to Thee." Jolene again skipped into my thoughts when I sang "I long to rise in the arms of faith." Again, I missed her arms around me.
But then I realized ... Jolene doesn't need to be drawn closer to the Lord. Not anymore. She's as close as she can get. That which I prayed for, she already knows.
All I can do is look forward to the day when I join her in the Lord's presence.
Until last week. I was trying to think of an example of someone who shared all news, good and bad, with that one special person. And I remembered how Jolene always called me with the details of her life. Oh, how I wanted the phone to ring and to hear her voice. Oh, how I longed to have her run to me full of joy and throw her arms around me. I cried, hard, for several minutes; and tears continued to spill throughout the weekend.
This morning I woke up from a dream about Jolene. I have stacks of boxes to sort through ... things that belonged to Jolene and Mom, as well as some of my own. In my dream, someone found a quilted black-and-pink purse that Jolene prized. They wanted to throw it away; I wasn't sure.
So Jolene was in my thoughts when I woke up. During my quiet time, I sang, "Draw Me Closer, Lord, to Thee." Jolene again skipped into my thoughts when I sang "I long to rise in the arms of faith." Again, I missed her arms around me.
But then I realized ... Jolene doesn't need to be drawn closer to the Lord. Not anymore. She's as close as she can get. That which I prayed for, she already knows.
All I can do is look forward to the day when I join her in the Lord's presence.
Tuesday, October 20, 2009
How Mondays evaporate ... two weeks ago staying up until almost 2 a.m. on Sunday night (you heard me right) listening to the Rockies lose to the Phillies and see their season end ... yesterday, Grandma time with Jordan who slept most of the time but I couldn't get on the Internet.
But here I am today, determined not to let another week go by without writing something.
Fall has arrived in Oklahoma. I took Jordan for a walk along her street last week after rain. I handed her yellow leaves and introduced her to dogs we met. I felt like a teacher when she replied "oof!" the next time she heard a dog barking. It's cool and damp and definitely time for long sleeves. I understand it's already snowed in Colorado, and I can't say I mind having rain instead!
Pumpkins abound everywhere ... the residents in Mom's assisted living place recently decorated pumpkins. One creative person painted theirs with black, white and gold stripes ... very striking. Another lies on the floor of Jaran's house, ready for Shannon to take it to school to decorate.
Speaking of Jaran's house, their cats seem to have adopted me. The adult cat, named an improbably "Pinky" (male and black. Where did Pinky come from?) dozes on my hood whenever he has the opportunity. The kitten Mister (also male and black) isn't satisfied with dozing outside the car. He jumps in as soon as I open the door, probably looking for more of the hamburg he found there once.
In other words, life is good, and Oklahoma begins to feel like home.
But here I am today, determined not to let another week go by without writing something.
Fall has arrived in Oklahoma. I took Jordan for a walk along her street last week after rain. I handed her yellow leaves and introduced her to dogs we met. I felt like a teacher when she replied "oof!" the next time she heard a dog barking. It's cool and damp and definitely time for long sleeves. I understand it's already snowed in Colorado, and I can't say I mind having rain instead!
Pumpkins abound everywhere ... the residents in Mom's assisted living place recently decorated pumpkins. One creative person painted theirs with black, white and gold stripes ... very striking. Another lies on the floor of Jaran's house, ready for Shannon to take it to school to decorate.
Speaking of Jaran's house, their cats seem to have adopted me. The adult cat, named an improbably "Pinky" (male and black. Where did Pinky come from?) dozes on my hood whenever he has the opportunity. The kitten Mister (also male and black) isn't satisfied with dozing outside the car. He jumps in as soon as I open the door, probably looking for more of the hamburg he found there once.
In other words, life is good, and Oklahoma begins to feel like home.
Monday, October 5, 2009
The Dangers of Boasting
Since I decided to start writing full time back in June, I have received several affirmations.
--the three book Vermont historical series for Heartsong (Prodigal Patriot, book #1, due out next summer)
--another novella for 2010 (Face of Mary in A Woodlands Christmas)
--Book of the Year nomination for Dressed in Scarlet in Snowbound Colorado Christmas
--every devotional I've sent out has sold
--publishers considering my longer books
--the awesome booksigning in Denver
--This year's novella anthology, Wild West Christmas started out wild at the gate and promises to sell very well.
--most recently, an invitation to join the staff of a magazine
Not much of this has amounted to much money yet, mind you, but the possibility is there.
I also gave my first speech at Toastmasters and was told I did things well that some Toastmasters take years to learn.
I could be walking around with a puffed up head. Probably am.
Maybe that's why God has sent this path across my path twice in the past week: "Let him who boasts, boast in the Lord" (Jeremiah 9:24, 1 Corinthians 1:31).
Jeremiah in fact reminded me "Let not the wise man boast of his wisdom or the strong man boast of his strength or the rich man boast of his riches, or the writers of her contracts (my insertion) but let who boasts boast about this: that he understands and knows me."
I pray I will be faithful with the opportunities God is giving me.
--the three book Vermont historical series for Heartsong (Prodigal Patriot, book #1, due out next summer)
--another novella for 2010 (Face of Mary in A Woodlands Christmas)
--Book of the Year nomination for Dressed in Scarlet in Snowbound Colorado Christmas
--every devotional I've sent out has sold
--publishers considering my longer books
--the awesome booksigning in Denver
--This year's novella anthology, Wild West Christmas started out wild at the gate and promises to sell very well.
--most recently, an invitation to join the staff of a magazine
Not much of this has amounted to much money yet, mind you, but the possibility is there.
I also gave my first speech at Toastmasters and was told I did things well that some Toastmasters take years to learn.
I could be walking around with a puffed up head. Probably am.
Maybe that's why God has sent this path across my path twice in the past week: "Let him who boasts, boast in the Lord" (Jeremiah 9:24, 1 Corinthians 1:31).
Jeremiah in fact reminded me "Let not the wise man boast of his wisdom or the strong man boast of his strength or the rich man boast of his riches, or the writers of her contracts (my insertion) but let who boasts boast about this: that he understands and knows me."
I pray I will be faithful with the opportunities God is giving me.
Monday, September 21, 2009
ACFW Afterglow
ACFW=American Christian Fiction Writers. I went to their national conference in Denver last weekend.
The best way to describe conference for me a reunion with hundreds of my closest family members, to put faces with people I have come to know and love via email.
I may post several times about conference - different aspects of the experience - but for now I'll share high points and low points.
The low points jumped on me when I crossed the two-building length one more time to get to lunch--to discover the meal was a buffet and I had to stand in line. I started crying. I went to conference sans cane and sans pain pills and overall did well. But I'd had it by lunch that day.
As for high points, I laughed and smiled my way through the booksigning. No, I didn't have an out-the-door line like Debbie Macomber (I sat a table near her). But I did have a lot more than the "possibly none" every writer fears at occasions like this.
The laughter?
My roommate and good friend Connie Peters brought four of my books to sign. I wrote something different in each one. For my mystery, I was trying to write Enjoy the murder and mayhem.
I was talking while I was signing and my subconscious took over. I actually wrote Enjoy your murder and mayhem.
Susan Davis, who shared the table with me, told Connie,"Well, it's your book. You bought it."
Renewed laughter.
There is more to the story, about a purple pen (thanks to Rene Gutheridge).
Tears of happiness when a friend from Echostar took a bus from downtown Denver to the Tech Center to come to the signing. Waving at you, Gregory!
Later I'll tell you what I learned.
The best way to describe conference for me a reunion with hundreds of my closest family members, to put faces with people I have come to know and love via email.
I may post several times about conference - different aspects of the experience - but for now I'll share high points and low points.
The low points jumped on me when I crossed the two-building length one more time to get to lunch--to discover the meal was a buffet and I had to stand in line. I started crying. I went to conference sans cane and sans pain pills and overall did well. But I'd had it by lunch that day.
As for high points, I laughed and smiled my way through the booksigning. No, I didn't have an out-the-door line like Debbie Macomber (I sat a table near her). But I did have a lot more than the "possibly none" every writer fears at occasions like this.
The laughter?
My roommate and good friend Connie Peters brought four of my books to sign. I wrote something different in each one. For my mystery, I was trying to write Enjoy the murder and mayhem.
I was talking while I was signing and my subconscious took over. I actually wrote Enjoy your murder and mayhem.
Susan Davis, who shared the table with me, told Connie,"Well, it's your book. You bought it."
Renewed laughter.
There is more to the story, about a purple pen (thanks to Rene Gutheridge).
Tears of happiness when a friend from Echostar took a bus from downtown Denver to the Tech Center to come to the signing. Waving at you, Gregory!
Later I'll tell you what I learned.
Monday, September 14, 2009
Mom's Question
Mom is back in her apartment at an assisted living center. She is quickly slipping back into what we feared: doing nothing but lying on her bed except for meals and for the times therapists and aides come to help her.
Lying in bed might not be so bad if she was doing something. Watching television. Reading. Looking out the window.
But she lies there, blinds down, tv off, dozing on and off and thinking random thoughts. When I chide her, she says "But what is there to do?"
I don't know how to respond. She has puzzle books and coloring books and crayons. She doesn't do any of that. She doesn't even turn on the tv. She has the schedule of activities at the Center, but she only attends church services. I urge her to try them all out. Unless she truly hates something, take part in everything. But she chooses not to.
I feel like she's waiting to die. And it breaks my heart.
Lying in bed might not be so bad if she was doing something. Watching television. Reading. Looking out the window.
But she lies there, blinds down, tv off, dozing on and off and thinking random thoughts. When I chide her, she says "But what is there to do?"
I don't know how to respond. She has puzzle books and coloring books and crayons. She doesn't do any of that. She doesn't even turn on the tv. She has the schedule of activities at the Center, but she only attends church services. I urge her to try them all out. Unless she truly hates something, take part in everything. But she chooses not to.
I feel like she's waiting to die. And it breaks my heart.
Tuesday, September 8, 2009
One Writer's Mind: Revisions
Revisions. Ugh. I find them almost as hard as starting a new project. In some ways, they're harder, because I have to examine my newborn baby closely for areas that are sick and need intervention. I'd like to believe they're perfect as they come out, but of course they're not.
My writing process: everyone's is different, so I'll let you in on mine. I write a first draft with no corrections. I make notes to myself along the way: "This sentence is bad but I'll fix it later." "Anac," which means I want to check whether the word or phrase was in use in that time period. "Go back and fix earlier references" when I change something. So it's really raw. I do the entire manuscript that way.
Then I do a major overhaul; send it out for critique; revise again; and give it one final look before I send it off.
I am in the first, major revision mode on two different projects at the moment: the last third of a manuscript that is due on the editor's desk on November 1st and the first three chapters of a new project for a proposal. I want to take that one with me to the ACFW conference in Denver next week.
The final third is the easier project. By that point in the story, I know my characters well and I know where the story is headed. Revisions consist of cutting out the junk, and making the writing sing and filling in a historical gap here and there.
But the urgent project at the moment are the three chapters for conference. And man, it's miserable. As usual, I started the story in the wrong place and had to cut out the first two scenes. Some day I hope I will figure out the right place to start the story before I write boring, unnnecessary stuff!
On top of that, I used different names for the same character. Oops. Another character didn't get a name. Double oops. And a third character changed from a teenaged Jewish girl to an older African Americian woman, and I had to decide if she was a protege, a mentor, or a confidante. So Miriam became Maggie and is neither Jewish nor African American but Irish.
All of that before I've started revising the actual wording of the manuscript at all.
Terry Brooks, author of marvelous fantasy books, wrote a writing manual called Sometimes the Magic Works.
That's what pulls me through the revision stage. The rough, raw, ugly baby turns into something magical--something that editors and readers want to read.
Amen.
My writing process: everyone's is different, so I'll let you in on mine. I write a first draft with no corrections. I make notes to myself along the way: "This sentence is bad but I'll fix it later." "Anac," which means I want to check whether the word or phrase was in use in that time period. "Go back and fix earlier references" when I change something. So it's really raw. I do the entire manuscript that way.
Then I do a major overhaul; send it out for critique; revise again; and give it one final look before I send it off.
I am in the first, major revision mode on two different projects at the moment: the last third of a manuscript that is due on the editor's desk on November 1st and the first three chapters of a new project for a proposal. I want to take that one with me to the ACFW conference in Denver next week.
The final third is the easier project. By that point in the story, I know my characters well and I know where the story is headed. Revisions consist of cutting out the junk, and making the writing sing and filling in a historical gap here and there.
But the urgent project at the moment are the three chapters for conference. And man, it's miserable. As usual, I started the story in the wrong place and had to cut out the first two scenes. Some day I hope I will figure out the right place to start the story before I write boring, unnnecessary stuff!
On top of that, I used different names for the same character. Oops. Another character didn't get a name. Double oops. And a third character changed from a teenaged Jewish girl to an older African Americian woman, and I had to decide if she was a protege, a mentor, or a confidante. So Miriam became Maggie and is neither Jewish nor African American but Irish.
All of that before I've started revising the actual wording of the manuscript at all.
Terry Brooks, author of marvelous fantasy books, wrote a writing manual called Sometimes the Magic Works.
That's what pulls me through the revision stage. The rough, raw, ugly baby turns into something magical--something that editors and readers want to read.
Amen.
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