Who's this for anyway?

I often forget who I write for.  Is it for myself?  Do I get some intrinsic value out of writing?  Is it to please my masses of fans?  (note the sarcasm in the last statement as I neither have nor want fans...fans are fickle and wave around hot air)  Or do I do this for God?  Because if I don't then I'm denying a part of myself that he created as beautiful and essential to who I am?  I want this to be about God, and when I'm steeped in the love of the moment, then it is.  But, somehow that doesn't translate well into my life.  

Because I could just ask the question: why don't I write?  What stops me?  Is it the rebellious part of myself that's going to deny myself (and God) the joy of completely being myself?  Is it my lack of motivation or desire?  What is it?  I don't know...does it matter?  Probably not.  Whether I write or not, it only affects me.  Right?  

Maybe not.  God has a plan for each of us.  He's bestowed amazing gifts on every one of his children.  You don't give a gift only to see the recipient hide it away in a closet never to see the light of day again.  A gift is meant to be shared.  

I suppose I just need a change of mindset.  Maybe I just need to write a sentence every day and see where that gets me.  

Here's today's sentence: I have what it takes because God has made me worthy.  No one else can do that for me.

relationally

I really enjoy writing the interactions between people, especially friends and family.  My goal is to make those relationships seem as real as possible.  But I have to admit, that often they tend more towards the ideal than the realistic.  I write what I want those relationships to be like...maybe I write how I'd like my relationships to be.  The open communication, joking manner, and all-around love between friends and family is what I want to convey.  Like any person, those are the things you want in your relationship--the things that sustain you when tragedy strikes or problems arise.  Granted, most people aren't suffering from amnesia, but I think the desire is the same.  What makes good drama is good conflict, and I don't think conflict has to be painful in order to be gripping.  Life is dramatic.  Just ask anyone.

discombobulated

I feel really tense and anxious right now.  It's hard to think about writing fiction when my life has taken a serious turn for the bizarre.  It seems as though I've always done things in reverse, but it's getting ridiculous!  

God has placed on my heart my great-nephew.  A little boy just 3 and a half.  Due to circumstances out of his hand and his mama's, he needs a new home, and I've offered mine.  What does this mean?  Not much yet...not until the court decides that I would make a fit parent.  I know it's more than that, but it's too overwhelming to think about all the details.  

What it really comes down to is, I trust God.  I trust that he has a plan for me and nothing takes him by surprise.  I know that has a plan for the little guy as well, whether that means I get to be his insta-mommy or not.  I really want him; I know I'd be a good mom, and I know that with God for me, who could possibly stand against me?  But, I don't know what his final plan is.  I can only pray and wait.  

Contest

The Writer's Digest has a short story competition every year.  I've entered it before, but I recognize that my particular gifts aren't always the short story variety.  Due to recent developments in my life, I have a new idea for a short story.  If I can gather my wits about me, I might be able to write something.  I'll let you know how it goes. 

God's sledgehammer

It's easy in life to become complacent with the place God has brought me.  I love the life I've been given; I've come to terms with the gifts God has given and the gifts that he has withheld.  It's been a challenge to push through the times of resentment and depression over what God hasn't given me.  But it came to me recently that my life is awesome.  I get to teach in a place that honors God, and I have had the chance to impact dozens upon dozens of teens who have struggled through pain and anger of their own.  I finally committed to put down roots of my own by buying a house (a little place that in my head I call the cottage), and I am involved in a growing, dynamic church that continually challenges me in my relationship with Jesus Christ.  

So, I guess I should have been expecting a great big shakeup...that is often the way God has worked in my life.  This shaking me out of my complacent life.  But, this most recent challenge was like a sledgehammer to the side of my head.  What do I do with this?  How do I know what the right decision is? 

I need to clear my head and trust what God has for me.  Now, how do I separate my fears from the plan God has for me?

Excerpt from W.t.W.W.Y.N.

Since I was just talking about dialogue, I thought I'd include an excerpt from the totally not complete manuscript of Lizzie's story.  This is from early in the story before Nick (Lizzie's husband) has learned of her return.  This is a dialogue-heavy portion of story, so let me know if you think the dialogue seems real or contrived.  Does it work?

“What’s going on, Dan?”  He hooked his hammer into his tool belt as he watched Dan pound the last nail. 

            “What do you mean?” Dan sidestepped the question as he leaned against the fence and looked out at the fields. 

            “Something’s on your mind.” Nick reached out and turned Dan towards him.  “I’ve known you too long to be easily fooled.”

            “Am I really that obvious?”

            “Yes,” Nick said as he grinned.  “Now, spill it.”

            Dan’s look turned serious. “I don’t know how.” He whisked his hat off his head and thoughtlessly ran his fingers through the dark hair as he glanced away from Nick.

            “You can tell me anything, Dan.”

            “Yeah, I suppose so.” He started pacing in front of Nick.  “I don’t even know how to start.”

            “Does this have to do with Tess?” He’d sat beside Dan many a night as his cousin poured out the agony of watching his wife suffer through yet another miscarriage, and the thought of them going through that fire again hurt.  “Did the doctor have bad news?”

            “Tess?” Dan threw Nick a blank look.  “No, it’s nothing like that.  Actually, this should be good news.”

            “Then it should be easy to share.” Nick suddenly felt nervous, wondering what was disturbing his no-nonsense cousin so much.  Shouldn’t good news bring joy? 

            “You’d think.” Dan sighed and rubbed his hands across his face.  “It’s about Lizzie.”

            “What about Lizzie?” Nick felt his palms beginning to sweat, and his stomach suddenly jumped into knots. 

            “I don’t know where to start.”

            “Try the beginning.  I find it works well.”

            “Alright,” Dan paused, as if to gather his thoughts.  “We’ve, all of us, have felt as though Lizzie was alive, that despite her absence, she was still with us.”

            “I still feel that way.”

            “I know.” Dan glanced away and then brought his gaze back to Nick’s.  “How much do you want the truth, Nick?”

            “What do you mean?”

            “I mean, what if you found out she was dead?  Or, if something terrible had happened to her?  What would you do if she did come home?”

            “I think about her all the time, Dan.” Nick’s heart ached over the questions.  Questions he’d thought over and over again.  The answer was always the same: it didn’t matter, he loved her.  He wanted her back.  “I want my wife home.  I want our life back, no matter what that would look like.”

            “What if she wasn’t the same?” A ribbon of anxiety entered his voice, and Nick took a step backwards. “What if she’s not the Lizzie we remember?”

dialogue moves the story along...or just confuses the reader

Imagine enjoying a book.  The characters are dynamic, the plot is interesting, and you can't wait to find out what happens next.  Then they start to talk.  You're following along, getting what they're saying...then suddenly you're lost.  Who said what?  What are they talking about?  Why are they talking about this?  It makes no sense!!  I hate that!  It really bugs me when I have to go backwards to count the lines to figure out who said what.  Don't lie, you've been there.  

Personally, I really like dialogue.  I think I'm a better dialoguer than a narrative descriptor.  A good conversation will flow easily, seem realistic, and will move plot and offer character growth.  I'm still developing in this area, but I do think it's one of my strengths.  

The etiquette for grammar with dialogue is a little hazy depending on who you're talking to.  Some people swear by 'said', 'reply', 'questioned', etc...while others think these descriptors are obsolete and annoying to read.  I agree, they can be annoying when the same one is used over and over and over again.  That's probably my one problem with the Harry Potter novels: J.K. Rowling loves to use the word said.  

I like to add physical description or actions to my dialogue.  I think it's easier for the reader to picture what's going on.  

What are your thoughts on these and other dialogue issues?

30 days to go

Today it's been one month since I sent W.B.S.F. off to a couple of prospective agents.  I still haven't heard anything.  The websites say to give it 2 months, so I still have 30 days.  I'm not sure if I really believe anything could or will come of it.  We'll see.  I just have to keep praying that God's will take precedence over my desires.  

Excerpt from W.B.S.F.

Here is a short excerpt from the beginning of When Broken Sparrows Fly.  Tell me if this seems interesting to you.

    It was another one of those nights that made Katerina Pascal wish she could cut the pain out with a knife or maybe burn the memories from her head.  As it was, she couldn’t and that was a shame because she could really use a good night’s rest. 

            Scowling at the pile of clean clothes she’d dumped on the bed two--or was it three--days ago, she shoved them out of the way and curled her body around the one ragged shirt of Ben’s she’d managed to hide from her sister’s prying eyes.  There was no sense in letting Beau know it was still around, she was sure to throw it away like she’d tossed every other one.  Kat wanted to be angry with her meddling sister, but her sister was all she had left, and she wasn’t about to lose her too.

            Pushing her back against the wall, she tried to fight the sleep that would inevitably lead to the dream, but knew it was a feeble effort.  Her body was screaming for the sleep she’d denied it the past couple of days, and before she knew it she’d slipped into the past. 

            “Hey, babe!”

            “What?” Kat looked up from the suitcase she was attempting to drag across the front yard.

            “I’ll get that,” Ben said as he jogged over to her and pulled the suitcase from her.

            “But you’ve done it all.” She crossed her arms in front of her. 

            “That’s okay.” He quickly leaned down and kissed her forehead.  “That’s what husbands are supposed to do, didn’t anyone ever tell you that?”

            “I guess not,” she said as she smiled grudgingly.

            “You can do me a favor though.”

            “What’s that?” Kat perked up at the idea of doing something, anything if it meant he didn’t have to do it all.

            “I think I left my wallet on the bathroom counter.  Would you grab it for me?”

            “Sure thing, hon.” She smiled and turned back to the house she had locked up only five minutes earlier.  Digging through her pockets, which seemed strangely tiny, she finally found the house key and let herself in.  She was momentarily surprised to see the walls decorated in dancing elephants and wondered why she couldn’t remember putting the elephants up.  Shrugging, she focused on her mission.  She needed to find the wallet.

            “Well, where is it?” She muttered to herself as she pushed aside the clutter on the counter

            She sighed.  No wallet.  She decided to throw her net wider and started looking around.  She glanced into their bedroom, but didn’t see it on any of the surfaces.  Glancing back into the bathroom her gaze swept the room.  Just as she was about to give up her eyes fell on the corner of the leather wallet.  It was on the floor peeking from underneath a baby blanket.  Why on earth was there a baby blanket in the bathroom? 

            “Aha!” Pushing aside the blanket, she grabbed up the wallet

            As she exited the house she noticed Ben slam the trunk of the car and head towards the driver’s side. 

            “Give me a minute, hon,” she called.  “I just have to lock up.”

            He gave her a thumbs up and opened the door to the red Honda.

            Locking the house, she tossed her keys back into her pocket and headed to the car.  Just as her foot hit the cement of the sidewalk an explosion ripped through the car.  The force of it tore the hood from the car and flung it nearly 500 feet away where it landed in the neighbor’s yard.  The blast was so powerful that she was thrown backwards, and she felt immense pain flare up her back as she landed against the house.  Her head bounced off the brown brick, and her eyes teared up as gas fumes blew her direction.  The heat of the flames swept over her in waves.  The flames licked the car, and she imagined she could see Ben struggling against the fire that engulfed the vehicle.

            A scream ripped from Kat’s mouth as she awoke.  Sweat ran down her face as she looked around at her surroundings.  It was dark still, and she was wedged between the wall and the edge of the bed.  The only sound in the night was her heavy breathing. 

            She’d fallen asleep and her nightmare had returned.  Again.   

            She rubbed her palms violently against her eyes, hoping to wipe out the memory.  She glanced over at the clock and saw 2:47 flash back at her.  She probably wouldn’t get back to sleep this night.  The sheets were entangled around her legs, and she kicked them away as she attempted to get out of the bed.  Her head throbbed and she wasn’t sure if it was from the dream or because she’d knocked it against the wall in her nightmarish struggle against the past.

            She was under no illusion about why the memory kept resurfacing.  Only two weeks before was the anniversary of that day, a day she longed to forget.

            Stumbling into the kitchen, she flicked on the lights and headed toward the sink.  Piles of dirty dishes were scattered around the counter, finding a clean one took effort but she managed.  Turning on the faucet she filled the glass and reached for the pill bottle that rested on the window ledge. 

            She sighed.  The doctor had prescribed the sleeping pills months ago.  She just wasn’t sure she wanted to take them.  They scared her because she remembered those early months when she probably would have ended her life if they had been readily available. 

            Setting the bottle back on the sill she instead grabbed the bottle of aspirin and quickly gulped down two.  Maybe she could at least get rid of the pounding headache.  As she gulped down the water her eyes fell on the Bible sitting on her table. 

            Leaving the glass on the counter, she walked over to the book.  Beau had brought it by earlier.  Said Kat needed to start reading it again, to give the pain to God.  Trust her sister to remind her about God.  She grimly eyed the book and turned from it.  She was still angry at God, and she wasn’t sure she was ready to let go of that anger.  The anger reminded her she was still alive.  She was still alive, and Ben was dead.

            Turning out the kitchen light, she headed back toward the bedroom.  She would try again to sleep.  Maybe the dream wouldn’t come back tonight. She knew it was a hopeless thought, it would be back.  If not tonight, then tomorrow.  She would just have to learn to deal with it.  

           

           

             

opening lines

A good opener can be the difference between a great story people want to read and a ho-hum, maybe I'll get to it later feeling.  I don't know if I've quite gotten the hang of great opening lines, but here are some that have recently come to me.  Do any of these make you think, hmm...this could be an interesting read?

The slamming of the door reverberated down my spine and made me cringe.  Mom was home, and I was not in the mood to deal with her drama, not today.  

I lie.  That's what I do best.  Everyone looks at me and accepts what I say as though it were God-given truth, but the reality is, I don't know anything except how to lie.  Unfortunately, that wasn't going to help me now. 

“Sam, I can’t believe you’d have the audacity to come crawling back into this office after so unceremoniously quitting.”

awesome

God is awesome.  His power astounds me.  His love and mercy overwhelms me.  I am continually reminded that God loves me with a strength that I can't comprehend.  I see this in my daily life.  God has never left me, nor deserted me when I've left him.  He's used the mistakes I've made to change and mold me into the daughter he desires.  There are days that it's hard to comprehend God's powerful love.  I know I don't deserve it, but then I have to remember that it's not about my deserving it.  It's about his gracious, all-consuming, powerful love that brought forth the mercy of His son's ultimate sacrifice.  There is nothing I can do that could earn such love but I know what it demands of me. 

It demands that I give my life to Jesus Christ's service.  It demands that I love others, even when they hurt me.  It demands that I give compassion, kindness, and discipline to those under my charge.  It demands that I devote myself to the furthering of Christ's message.  

So often I feel inadequate to that challenge.  I feel weak in the face of the challenges.  I remember that daily I struggle with the same sin that wanted to drown me years ago in self-pity and self-hate.  I only need to remember that I'm not in this alone.  He walks with me every step of the way.  He loves me, and he provides the means to accomplish his goals.  

All I can do is submit and love him.  Thank you, Yahwah.  Praise Jesus Christ for you truly are a wonderful counselor.  

thinking outside of the box

I was recently reading an article about writing shorter stories, and one of the options was personal essays.  This is an interesting idea, and I might attempt this, if only to grow in my writing skill.  

So, the question is, what do I write a personal essay about?  How long should it be?  What do I focus on?  Something from my childhood?  Or maybe from my turbulent teenage years?  Or the growth and trials I experienced in my twenties?  What story would make dynamic reading?  How do I even start it, and what do I want the reader to take from it?  

I thought this might be a good showcase for a shorter story, so if I can answer all of those questions that nag at me, then I'll post the story here and let you decide.  What do you think?

Passion to write

There are a lot of days when I have a real passionate desire to write, and I just HAVE to put the words down on the paper.  What I need to learn is to harness that passion because, unfortunately, there are a good many days when it's difficult to get even a trickle of enthusiasm rolling.  

I have to wonder how to cultivate passion in my writing and in my desire to write.  What do I do to get it going.  I guess I just need to write.  Put one word after another on the paper and hope that at the end it's what I want to say. 

Out of touch

I've been a little out of touch with my blog recently...I'll try to get going again.  Maybe I'll start by picking up a book and reading  for a while.  Reading is a great way to reinvigorate the writing.