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.

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.

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.

Under Construction

Good morning everyone! For anyone out there who is listening ... what would you like to see on my blog? Family updates? Writing news? Devotionals?

Let me know, and I will try to bring what interests you to bear.

Wild West Christmas has arrived!

On Friday, someone knocked at my door, carrying two boxes of books. I said, "Oh, my books!"

The UPS delivery man said, "You must like to read."

I corrected him. "No. These are books I wrote. See, that's my name on the cover!"

Oh, the joy of having a new "baby" to show off. And I love our covers for Wild West Christmas. And I counted my blessings that I have had three books release this year.

So in the interests of shameless self-promotion, I'm going to quote from the back cover of Wild West Christmas.

"Sharp-shooting LUCY AMES is thrilled to join Major Paulson's Wild West Show. But is she setting her sights too high when she begins falling for budding evangelist Gordon Paulson? Would she be better off aiming for a stable, widowed rancher?"

My story, Lucy Ames, Sharpshooter, follows Charlsey's Accountant by Lena Nelson Dooley, and before A Breed Apart by Vickie McDonough and Plain Trouble by Kathlee Y'Barbo. Each novella tells the romance for a different sister in the Ames family.

Wild West Christmas is available from Barbour Publishing and coming soon to a bookstore near you.

Lucy Ames, Sharpshooter comes on the heels of my Book-of-the-Year-nominated novella Dressed in Scarlet, which came out last year. Next year, The Face of Mary will appear in another Christmas collection. That's right. Last week I found I get to write another Christmas story. I love 'em! The new contract gave me always-welcome reassurance that I have might the right decision to write full time, at least in August 2009.

Have a good week, everyone!

"E"-sy Does It: A Primer on Dementia

I don't care what the calendar says. There must have been a full moon last Saturday. Nothing else explains the bizarre behavior at the skilled nursing facility where Mom is staying.

At a nursing home, I've learned to tune out the moans, wails and mumblings of other residents and focus on Mom. If I can wheel a patient somewhere, or give a hug or ring for a nurse -- I do it. But otherwise, I have to tune out the excess noise.

On Saturday, a woman named Eloise wandered into Mom's room. Mom introduced her as Eloise Smith. She said Eloise Jones (I've forgotten the real names, but they were different). Mom asked is Smith was her maiden name. Eloise got a confused look on her face, said "That was a long time ago," and then started talking about a boy. She stood in a muddle, unclear where she was or why she was there, so I offered to take her back to her room.

Out in the hallway, I encountered two more E's: Evelyn and Edna. They had joined their wheelchairs in a fierce battle. Whenever Edna tried to move past Evelyn, Evelyn turned to block her passage. Evelyn accused Edna of stealing her blankets.

Eloise couldn't remember her room. And we couldn't get past the wheelchairs.

The blankets belonged to the nursing facility. But Evelyn had it in her mind that they were her blankets. When a nurse's aide intervened, she grumbled. "I'll sell them up north. I can get better prices there."

It was funny and sad, both at the same time.

I joked to Mom, "Is there an Emily, Esther or Earlene?" And thanked God that Mom's mind is sharp, she lives in today, even if she sometimes forgets small things. She is alert and positive, much more so than when I first arrived in Oklahoma.

I walk by a room full of patients every time I go to see Mom. They recognize me, smile, greet me. I feel shame for my previous perception of the elderly living in nursing homes: scary, unattractive, ... unworthy of my time or attention. Only as I see my mother's slide and I catch an Edna or an Evelyn on a good day, do I recognize these people are also God's children. Precious treasures who have lived full lives and deserve respect and love.

And the day comes every closer that I will join their ranks ... and pray someone will still love me.

The Difference a Year Makes

Lately I have been reading my prayer journal entries from a year ago.



Man, did I struggle through my birthday. Every event made me miss Jolene all the more, my birthday especially.



This year I had the joy of spending the day with family. Eating ice cream with Mom (soft enough for her to manage). Going to Western Sizzlin' with Jaran and family. Watching Jordan's face go through every expression from disgust to delighted "give me more" as she tried all kinds of new foods: cottage cheese. lime jello. peas. And any number of other things.

Last year, Mom and I were struggling with whether or not she should have her heart valve replaced. Was the surgery successful? I don't know. She has gone downhill rapidly in these last few months, taking me with her on a journey that always arrives at an unexpected time.

A year ago, I asked God for patience, wisdom, courage ... and I still need all those things. And more.

Through good times and bad, surgery and recovery, contracts and rejections ... God is faithful. Praise the Lord that never changes.