Yes, I Complained A Little

On Thanksgiving Day I whined a little about not having much snow since moving here. So today is this.

I took this picture after receiving a blizzard warning on my iPhone. I don’t recall saying that I missed blizzards. 

Lord Hear Our Prayer

Other than praying Psalm 23 in church, I did not use the Psalms as a part of my prayers until I was a professor at MidAmerica Nazarene University. While serving there, I was regularly introduced to Spiritual Formation topics. These were designed to help our students develop spiritually, but I was greatly influenced by some of the disciplines. One of those was praying the Psalms. As I have learned to pray various Psalms over my life, I use personal pronouns.

This week I read a request from Mrs. Kavanaugh that people pray Psalm 40 over her family. I had already been praying for this family during my devotional times. However, when I reread Psalm 40, I wrote the prayer I now pray for them. It is based on verses 13 – 16:

Be pleased, O Lord, to deliver the Kavanaugh family from those who are attacking them and protect them from the evil that surrounds them. Let those seeking to destroy their lives be ashamed and humiliated. Let those who delight in their hurt be turned back and dishonored, and cause them to be appalled because of their own shame. Let those who seek You and desire Your will rejoice and be glad in You. Let all who love Your salvation exalt You. I pray these things in the name of our Lord Jesus Christ.

Lord Hear Our Prayer.

~ Clipart from Free Christian Clip Art 

Sixty-Two Years Ago Today

This remains my favorite picture from our wedding day because it represents so much. 

·     The vows before God.

·     The blessings for our future.

·     Our mutual commitment to the unknown.

Nothing changed with our promises while much was changing in our lives.

·     Children

·     Grandchildren

·     Great-Grandchildren

·     Careers

·     Moves 

·     Celebrations

·     Travel

·     Challenges

As we have attempted to follow God’s guidance during these many years, we always found Him to be faithful. Did we make mistakes? Of course. But nothing that was done can be changed. Not words. Not decisions. Not actions. So my reference point is always the place where I turn to the Lord and seek His mercy. This may be why I like John Henry Jowett’s take on, “Surely goodness and mercy will follow me all the days of my life, …  .” in Psalm 23. He wrote: “I have turned my face toward the Lord. My yesterdays pursue. God’s grace comes between me and my yesterdays.”

Lately, we have come to accept the realities of our years as we develop one-on-one relationships with things that scan, gram, ultra, and image. We now . . .

. . . travel less.

. . . ache more.

. . . climb ladders less.

. . . slow down more.

. . . value things less.

. . . think about end of life issues more. 

. . . go out less.

. . . cherish special times together more and love deeper, knowing that each passing day serves to bring closure to our time together on this earth.

-->

Happy Anniversary, Elvin. You deserve a medal for patience and long-suffering.

Now That I Write

My high school experiences included friends, fun, and learning. In all honesty, I experienced mostly fun and friends. I knew the purpose of friends and fun, but I sometimes questioned the same with regard to things that required study time, such as Algebra, World History, and Nineteenth Century Literature.

Possibly the time I spent doodling on my notebook during classes accounts for why I missed important information that could have lead to me being a more informed individual. I thought I was saving my sanity.

Although I loved to read, “studying” literature was not the same and I thought Edgar Allan Poe’s writings were dark and chilling. I did not consider his works to be great reading during the daytime and they were downright frightening when tackled as late night homework.

My take on learning about nineteenth century authors could have been summarized with one question: Do I care about dead authors? I’m sure my lack of interest screamed to my teachers that I was not a serious student. However, I did learn enough to earn grades that did not produce frowns from my parents (and for many years I could quote a large chunk of “The Raven”).

Now that I write, I’m much more interested in the lives of those dead writers and what made them tick. What I have come to realize is that possibly all writings somewhat reflect the lives of authors, as Poe’s dark writings reflected the darkness in his life.

While I’ve had people ask me if my novel is about my life (perish the thought) it’s worrisome to think that maybe someone out there is analyzing my story and assigning me a classification from the Diagnostic and Statistical Manual of Mental Disorders (DSM).

Yikes!

Novel: Child of Desire

Clipart from Acertijos y mas cosas

Advice

Never continue to read a book that contains grammar and spelling errors, excessive repetitions, or unrealistic dialog. There are hundreds of thousands of books from which to choose. Don’t “settle” for irritating reads.

Clipart from Santa Clara Library

Link: Child of Desire

The Power of Reading

Enjoying life is a great gift, but sometimes the stresses of life rob us of our joy. Often when I’m feeling overwhelmed, I curl up with a book and become lost in a good story. While reading, darkness is dispelled by imaginative authors who employ humor as they create characters with unique personalities. These talented authors lure readers into a positive world that provides a temporary escape from trouble and pain. 

During an extended stay with our younger daughter as she valiantly battled cancer, relatives and friends joined us in reading and sharing stories. These entertaining stories lifted spirits and the sun seemed to peek through the dark clouds of fear.

Alexander McCall Smith, author of The No. 1 Ladies’ Detective Agency series, is one of the talented authors whose works we chose to read. We laughed our way through Mma Ramotswe’s hilarious adventures at her very own detective agency in Botswana while trying to guess how she would arrive at solutions.  

Another series we enjoyed was The Mitford Series by author, Jan Karon. Ministers’ spouses and/or children in our little group could easily identify with Father Tim as he dealt with situations and people in his church. While laughing at the way he handled unusual problems, we rooted for him to find a wife.

I will always be aware of the power of these stories to relieve stress and provide joy during that very stressful time. 

“A book, too, can be a star, a living fire to lighten the darkness, leading out into the expanding universe."~ Madeleine L’Engle

Link to: Child of Desire

Thanks to the Fox, the Dog, and the Strict Teacher

I think the long-term objective of my high school typing teacher was, “Each student will be able to type a jillion words per minute by the end of the semester.” Sitting in a basement classroom filled with ancient typewriters, I viewed that teacher as a demanding taskmaster who had no life beyond the dimly lit room where she persistently attempted to squeeze from us at least one more word per minute.

The most important sentence to master in typing was, “The quick brown fox jumps over the lazy dog.” This sentence is significant for typing teachers because it includes all of the letters of the alphabet. So, each day while our brains notified our fingers concerning the locations of the letters on the keyboard, we raced against the clock to correctly complete repetitions of this sentence. When the teacher rang a bell to signal that we were to stop typing, all fingers had to instantly be in the air and visible. Trying to type one additional letter after the bell meant no credit, regardless of how many points had been earned minus that small infraction.

Some of my fellow classmates aspired to get by with the grade of  “C.” This was the lowest passing grade. Our high school did not recognize “D” as a grade.  I, on the other hand, was the uptight student striving each day to beat my own record. 

Many years have passed since taking high school typing, and I now have great appreciation for that class. In public places I sometimes see people using two index fingers to enter things on their computers. It is then that I’m reminded of the brown fox, the lazy dog, and the very strict teacher. I can’t imagine what it would have been like to type my novel, which contained 77, 322 words, with two fingers. 

Current educators often argue that drill inhibits creativity. I used many drills to learn useful skills (think cursive writing, multiplication tables, sight words) and I’m actually quite creative. At least that is my assessment.

Link to novel, Child of Desire

~ Clipart from Modiru &Clipground. com

Memories of a Great Storyteller

My dad recounted things that happened in his life with great flair. As a child I loved his stories and listened attentively to every detail of his amazing adventures. 

During his younger years, Dad planned to be a boxer and was actively pursuing that path. I’m extremely happy he chose a less brain-damaging career. It was because he had such a keen mind that he remembered things in detail, and he passed those memories on to his children in the form of remarkable stories.

During the Great Depression, Dad and Mom lived in Scott County, Virginia, near the Clinch River. I fell in love with that beautiful mountain area long before I ever visited there, and it was Dad’s stories that caused me to choose that unique place as the childhood home for the protagonist in Child of Desire. No matter how many times Dad told the same stories, I was always transported to that place where, along with him, I climbed the mountainside, fished on the Clinch River, and gathered and cracked black walnuts to take to market. I could visualize the swiftly flowing, muddy water when the river flooded and feel the possessiveness of the people as they protected their little community against outsiders, of which Dad was one.

The first person other than family who read and critiqued my novel asked me when she returned it if the story was about me. The answer to that question is no, but parts of the story are “as seen through Dad’s eyes.” The descriptions of the time and place and some incidents in my novel are retellings of stories I heard as a child.

I will forever be indebted to Dad for the stories around the dinner table and during family events. 

“What will the world miss if you don’t tell your story?”  ~ Author, Donald Miller

Becoming Peter Rabbit – and others

I purchase many new books. I know, it’s an addiction, but with a Kindle I don’t even have to get out of my jammies to shop. However, I blame a magazine review for one recent purchase. Once I read their published review, I needed to find out what a little boy knew about a murder. As is the way with addictions, I was helpless and out of control.

Reading has been a part of my life since my first memories and, if a story is well written, I’m soon experiencing the emotions and feelings of the characters. During my childhood, my mother read to me almost every night and one of my favorite stories was Peter Rabbit. As Mom read to me, I experienced the emotions of Peter, an adventuresome bunny, who just couldn’t seem to be good like his sisters. Even though I had heard the story many times, each time Peter had a close call with the angry farmer, my heart beat faster and I felt anxious about his safety.

I have to believe that Beatrix Potter, as she wrote, felt what that little bunny felt each time he was discovered by, and then slipped away from, the farmer. I believe that’s what made her such a great author.  

A while back I read Mark Twain’s Connecticut Yankee in King Arthur’s Court and, as I read, I experienced the emotions of being in Hank Morgan’s life-threatening situations. It would be unimaginable that Twain remained distant from his characters. I think he had to “become” the people he wrote about in order to make them and their situations real to me.

I’ve heard writers say they can’t understand why they get questions from readers, such as: “Did you pattern the main character after your life?” or “Were things that happened in the story your experiences?” I think those questions can be answered with both “yes” and “no.” No, in that, in general, a character does not reflect the author’s personality nor are the experiences the author’s reality. Yes, because the author managed to crawl inside the skin of the protagonist and live as one with that character: thinking the thoughts, experiencing the emotions, and feeling the pain and joy as each scene unfolds on the pages of the book. 

I have concluded that when the heartbeat of the author and the heartbeat of the protagonist become one, the emotions and actions of the story become real and the reader of this “real” account is transported through time and circumstances to live inside the story.

While writing Child of Desire, only a select group of people was allowed to read my story. Reviewers received the manuscript along with instructions to be honest. My first readers were family. You would have to know our family and the security we have within the ranks in order to understand the brutal honesty from my nearest and dearest.  

Following circulation to kin, I expanded my readership to include trusted friends, critiques by members of my writing group, and, finally, I ventured out into the world of writing contests.

From each of my readers, I received helpful comments and beneficial evaluations, but there is one comment that I especially cherish. Via a phone call, the reader simply said, “I laughed and I cried.” It was then that I knew I had become one with my protagonist and the feelings she had were the feelings shared by my reader.

Link to Book Group Discussion Guide

~ Image: Royal Mint Peter Rabbit coin

It's All About . . .

. . . spelling, grammar, punctuation, word choice, and ideas.

My manuscript had undergone two months worth of scrutiny and critiquing by my conceptual editor before being returned. She titled the returned document, “First Edit.” Never mind that a savvy conventions editor had already combed, page-by-page, through the same document to be sure it was in compliance with the Chicago Manual of Style (CMOS).

Even though Ms. Conceptual Editor had taken two months to write her critique, I was under the pressure of a fifteen-day deadline for returning my comments and/or defense. I knew there would be some long days in front of my computer screen.

Very soon after I started reviewing, I discovered the truth in the warning that proofreading one’s own work is not a good idea. This is because proficient readers use prior knowledge and read what should be on the page, regardless of what is actually written. 

The following two sentences serve to illustrate how easy it is to ignore misspellings and read correctly despite what is on the page. 

Did you konw you're a guiens? 

Taht you can atllacuy raed tihs porves taht fcat.

As I reread and made changes to my manuscript, I became more and more obsessed with accuracy. Finally, weary of my grousing, Hubby volunteered to read the manuscript aloud to me while I checked it against my original copy. Have you read a novel aloud lately? This is very time consuming.

Once I finished the proofing/changing (with a day to spare on the deadline), I sent my now perfect manuscript back to my editor. While waiting for her response, I decided to read some recently acquired novels. So during the fifteen days it took for the manuscript turn-around, I read three. 

The first novel I chose was translated from Swedish to English. I fear that this story lost much in the translation. It also had enough back-story for three books. 

The second novel I read was by a best-selling author. At one point in the story the protagonist left home dressed in a navy blue gown with gray beading on the collar and cuffs but, upon arriving at her destination (one page later), she was wearing a gray gown. I read the section three times to be sure I was not the one who was confused.

The third novel was a “debut novel” by a writer from England. Before I reached the end of that story, I was keeping track of how many pages I could read before I found the next grammar or spelling error. 

So, by the time my “perfect” copy was returned, I had decided that I appreciated both of my knowledgeable editors. I’m sure they saved me from someone counting my goofs as they read.  

Link to Child of Desire

Beware

Sometimes I feel inspired to write, sometimes I don’t. Writing a dissertation is a good example of a time when I felt compelled, but not inspired to write. That dissertation is what I now refer to as my “Gummi Bear Project.”

It would seem that a looming deadline should mean scheduling writing into one’s day, thus making it a priority. Not so for me! Deadlines seem to cause a little voice inside of my head to whisper, “You can do that later.” Because I often listen to that quiet little voice, I find myself writing against deadlines in the wee hours of the morning. This is where gummi bears enter the scene. When I’m writing during hours when I should be sleeping, I consume lots and lots of chewy food. After trying many things that messed with the computer keyboard and my waistline, I finally discovered these tasty little bears.

I think I have tried every kind of gummi candy on the market and I know which stores to visit in case of a middle-of-the-night emergency. So, based on my extensive experience, I am a self-proclaimed expert on gummi bears and I declare the best of the best to be Haribo^®Gold-Bears^®.

Even though I’m many years past my dissertation and Child of Desire has now been published in two editions, I still crave gummies while I’m typing.

I know, I know! They are little animal-shaped lumps made with sugar, glucose, corn syrup, starch, citric acid, gelatin, flavoring, coloring, and a few other things thrown in just for good measure. Empty calories. I also know there are some who contend that gummi candies may harbor prions, cause tooth decay, and contribute to obesity.  I don’t really care. (Just so you know.)

So, if you ever see an open package of Haribo Gold-Bears® beside my computer, I’m meeting a deadline. Beware! My mood may be a little bearish and I might attack in order to protect my gummies.

Check, Correct, Condense, & Improve

As a new elementary school teacher, I learned how much angst a red mark on a paper caused for some young students. You can’t even imagine the distress I felt when the use of my newly acquired red pencil caused tears. My way of correcting this problem was to mark papers with a variety of colors and save the red pencil for making stars and happy faces. The students never said how this worked for them, but I soon discovered that the parents were quite happy with the change.

I think the editor assigned to my novel must have been one of those students who hated it when teachers “bled” all over her papers, and I’m guessing this is why she used a very efficient color-coded editing system. If she thought something should be removed from the manuscript, it was highlighted in gray. Passages she wanted me to review for possible rewording were highlighted in green. If she had a suggestion regarding plot, voice, word choice, or a scene element, she typed a message using blue fonts. Red was the designated color for my responses. Red is the power color and I used that power often.

Even without red corrections, I was sometimes annoyed when something I valued was being questioned. However, despite the pain of the editing process, it is a good feeling when someone comments positively about various aspects of my writing, including some teacher types who might, at times, be viewed as picky. 

There was no outside editor for the second edition of Child of Desire, but to date I have been told about just one error. Yes, it was a teacher who let me know. No use of a red pencil but just a sweet, “I did see one small error.” 

Fortunately, Kindle Direct Publishing allows authors to make corrections.

~ Clipart, Public Domain

Case of the Flying . . .

My dad was a minister and I grew up living in parsonages. Parsonage is “church-speak” for a church-owned dwelling in which a minister resides. Such dwellings are considered by governing boards of churches to be a portion of ministers’ compensation packages, aka salary. Based on individual schemas for all things church, these dwellings are also known as rectories, manses, vicarages, and presbyteries. 

Because I married a minister, I went from parsonage living to apartment living in a college town, to parsonage living again. (This was after I swore that I would never marry a minister or be required to ever again live in a parsonage.) So much for swearing!

Living in church housing can be any or all of the following: amusing, annoying, frustrating, funny, hilarious, comical, peculiar, or weird. I actually think the description of this strange housing arrangement can be handily summed up in one word, “atypical.” More fortunate ministers are eventually in an assignment where the church doesn’t own a house and the choice of an abode belongs to the minister. By good fortune this happened in our lives while our children were still quite young.

I have a collection of strange parsonage-related incidents stored in my memory but, here, I will share just one.

Putting to use his pricey degree in religion, Hubby accepted an assignment with a small country church. A little white house across the lot from the church served as the parsonage. 

Arriving in the country, I found that there were no neighbors close enough to give a yell and that the parsonage included several surprises: flamingo pink kitchen cupboards, crayon drawings covering the upstairs walls; see-through floors (cracks between the boards through which the basement could be seen); and a view from the kitchen window that included cows grazing contentedly only a few feet away. In addition, we had a free phone answering service. If we were away, the neighbor down the road who shared our phone line answered our ring and let the caller know we were not home. For some reason our extended family did not appreciate paying the long-distance charges that came with this information.*

We arrived at our new church with a little one who was less than a year old and were expecting another child in a few months. So, one bedroom on the main level became ours and the other served as a nursery. Thankfully, we were not there long enough to deal with the whole house, but my Dad did arrive with a gallon of white paint one day to “redecorate” the kitchen cabinets. Goodbye, nausea producing pink.

To say that this city girl was petrified out there in the country is not an exaggeration of fact. Even with reassurances that more crime occurs in cities than in the country, I was fearful. I kept the doors locked at all times and the going down of the sun meant the pulling down of window shades. If someone knocked on the door after dark and Hubby was away, the door remained unanswered. While hanging laundry on the clothesline, my little daughter’s stroller was always just feet away. As I moved down the line, I moved the stroller so she would be within reach in case the boogeyman arrived. 

One terrifying memory from our short stay in that parsonage occurred in the middle of a dark winter night. Our second daughter had arrived and both girls were in the nursery. Around 2 a.m. I was awakened by a sound coming from the direction of their room. Jumping out of bed while screaming at Hubby that someone was trying to break into the house, I ran the few steps across the hallway and into the nursery. Hubby groggily peeled his body from the warm bed and followed.  

Arriving in the nursery, I switched on the light and saw something I don’t expect to ever see again – a walnut suspended about half an inch above the floor. As I stepped closer to the flying walnut, it started to move up and down, making a tapping sound against the floor. Brave Hubby, inspecting this phenomenon more closely, discovered that the jaws of a tiny little rodent were firmly clamped around the bottom of the shell and a determined little critter was attempting to move the nut from our level to his abode below. 

 I can laugh now.

I was born in this (former) church parsonage. (Bladen, NE)

Anyone who knows me and has heard me relate stories about parsonage experiences will not be surprised to learn that the young minister’s wife in my novel lives in a parsonage. Do my experiences enter the story? Well, I’ll have to admit that shades of past experiences do appear here and there, and that incidents involving how church people interact with the minister’s family and with each other appear on occasion.  

* Those who have never had a party-line phone might want check out that delightful situation. 

Link to Child of Desire

Clipart from OCAL    

                                                          

                       

A Perfect Day

Beautiful weather, great coffee, good read, and maybe a cookie (or two).

I always read with interest the reviews of my book and was honored that two authors took the time to read Child of Desire and write reviews. One of those authors is novelist, Batya Casper. She wrote:

I read Child of Desire on a plane ride, devoured it actually, grateful that I was on a 14-hour flight.

Verla Lacy Powers transported me into the fundamentalist, Christian community of an all but lost, rural American world. Only Powers allowed none of the expected clichés to creep into her text. We humans, she seemed to be telling me, are good and fallible--all of us. As such, Powers’ characters are beautifully rounded and fully, beautifully, flawed. No sanctimony. No patronizing. Powers looks humanity smack in the face, unperturbed by its proclivity for deceit and treachery, at times actually seeming to delight in her characters’ flaws. But Powers falls short of condemning her characters. Ultimately, she treats all with compassion. 

The story is about an innocent who witnesses something no 16 year old should, an act that changes the course of her life. The story grips the reader as we follow our heroine through the thrills of first sexual awareness, to loss, maturity, true, ruthless grit—and, eventually, acceptance and love.

The clincher of this book lies in the twist at the end, in the trick she pulls on her readers, making us do a total double-take, causing us to wonder who, in fact is the good guy—and who the bad. Wait till you get to the end. You’ll see---Batya Casper, Israelathebook.

Of course, this review made my day!

Link: Child of Desire 

Research and Word Choices

Things that make me laugh while I’m reading a book include events and verbal expressions inappropriately placed in a time period and words that are misused. When events or expressions are not appropriate to the time period, I assume the author was too caught up in the story to recognize the need for research. However, when a wrong word choice is made, usually one that sounds much like the intended word, I guess that the author does not know better and the editor was “out to lunch,” so to speak. 

A while back, I read a best-selling book that had an example of the latter in the second sentence of the prologue. The author wrote, “He furls his brow…” It also stated that he does this “countless times each day.” Really? How does one furl his or her brow? Is this somewhat like furling a flag? 

Only a couple of months after reading the previously mentioned book, another book on the list of best sellers presented me with a line taken from a TV commercial. Problem? The commercial was made after the historical timeline of the story.

If my editor had been as lackadaisical as it appears some may be, I would not have been required to defend occurrences as being time period appropriate or to prove the existence of objects during the Great Depression. My word that something was correct meant nothing to Ms. Particular Editor. Every response to a challenge had to be supported with data. Yes, there were school buses in the 1920s. Yes, even young people who were poor graduated from high school. Yes, girls who were from wealthy families attended college. No, Hoovervilles did not exist in small towns and rural areas during the Great Depression. 

Much research can now be done online, but some things still need to be researched in document collections. While I was writing Child of Desire,I needed to locate accurate schedules for Colorado passenger train lines in the 1930’s. So, I visited the historical documents room of my public library. The documents there are considered so valuable that nothing can be carried into the room by a researcher. After several hours of searching, I walked out with copies of the information I needed to assure that a travel event in the story would be historically accurate. 

I really hope there are no “almost words” in my novel. But if you find one, please let me know so I can stress about it for the rest of my life.

Colorado Spring, CO, original Carnegie Library which now houses the historical documents collection. The new library is attached to this building.

Moving On

Hubby and I received a record player as a wedding present. It played 45’s, 78’s and 33⅓’s.We deemed it to be quite the special possession. 

Over the next few years, we collected what records we could afford and owned enough to provide a decent variety. Hubby liked Southern Gospel. Me? Not so much! Being the more “worldly” one, I preferred Pat Boone and a little bit of Elvis. I can still hear Pat crooning, “With the Wind and the Rain in Your Hair.” Then the 8-Track debuted. Although the 8-Track craze was short-lived, we had sufficient time to get on board and, in doing so, stir up the Southern Gospel/Other Music controversy.

Not long after moving into the land of 8-Trackdom, we discovered that a new development was entering the electronic world of sound. What we needed now was a cassette player to play music stored on little tapes. This was a format I liked, and one I stubbornly hung onto even after the introduction of the next big innovation, CD’s. But then I traded cars and, much to my dismay, discovered that there was no cassette player in my new model. So, once again, I had to pitch my favs - even the Judds!

I have come to accept changes in our tech savvy world, but was surprised at how quickly readers moved toward choosing eBooks over print books. As a result, much has changed with regard to the way authors publish. 

Even though originally one of the “hold-out people” who admired a book and savored the smoothness of the paper as I turned each page, I soon found myself enjoying the convenience of a lightweight reader. Okay, I’ll admit it, I felt a little guilty about that. But where else can I purchase a classic for ninety-nine cents or even get a free book?

The second edition of Child of Desire is on Kindle Publishing and, because so many e-Readers have been marketed, I made the decision not to offer print copies. Enjoy the convenience.

Clipart: Hawthorne K-12 - NJ