Myriad Musings

Finding Your Center

2012-01-27T10:00:00.000-06:00

Interesting fact: Psalm 118 is the center chapter of the Bible. There are 594 chapters before and 594 chapters after Psalm 118. Add 594 + 594 and you get 1188. The center Bible verse is Psalm 118:8.

So, what can the center verse of God's Word teach us about life? It says, "It is better to take refuge in the LORD than to trust in man."

The next time you want to be at the center of God's will, go to the center of His Word. And there you will find your answer.

Trusting God

2012-01-06T10:00:00.000-06:00

Trust God. That seems to be my theme for 2012.

I stayed up to see the new year open it's eyes—I hadn't planned to, but when I looked at the clock and it was already 11:27, I thought I might as well stay up another thirty minutes. Despite that, or maybe because of that, God woke me up at 3:00 AM and whispered that He blesses those who put their trust in Him. I didn't understand why He was telling me that, but He wouldn't let me go back to sleep until I got out of bed, stumbled to my computer, and did a Google search on those words.

I found several websites on the subject, but two particularly stood out, and shared their insight on the benefits of putting our full, unwavering trust in God; not in money, not in your job, yourself, your best friend, the government (especially them!), or the lying words of a Godless society (aren't these last two the same thing?) but trust in God alone. You have to completely let go and let God if you want any peace in this life.

One of the websites left this advice: "It is one thing to have faith in God, to know that God exists, that He is all powerful and that there is nothing He cannot do or accomplish—but it is quite another thing to be able to fully trust Him with your life, and to fully trust Him to properly handle it for you, especially if everyone in your life has let you down in one way or another."

Later that morning, the message in my devotion was "Trust God." After that, I opened my Bible to the chapter reading of the day. It was John 14, and the first verse said: "Do not let your hearts be troubled. Trust in God, trust also in me."

Methinks He's trying to tell me something.

Hey, wait a minute! Hold the phone! I thought I was already trusting Him. I've prayed for certain requests, and I believed it could happen. But I realized believing He can accomplish them and trusting that He will are two different things. Confession time: when I didn't see results or answers to my prayers, I began to doubt that He would while I still believed He could if He wanted to. Satan told me I didn't deserve what I wanted, and I let him win.

I also need to trust that God knows what is best for me, and the things I want for myself may not be best or part of His plan. If I tell Him what I want instead of asking what He wants for me, I'm limiting Him, putting Him in a box, and I'm missing out on many blessings He has in mind for me. I need to trust that His way is better than anything I could have asked or wanted for myself, even if I'm still stuck in the same situation.

So even though I had resolved not to make any New Year's resolutions, I resolve to trust Him more and let Him lead, because I cannot see the way.

Goodbye 2011

2011-12-30T11:11:00.000-06:00

Wow. Time flies, doesn't it. This is my last blog of 2011, and 2012 is banging on the door. My mom once told me, "The older you get, the faster time flies." She was right. It seems that once I reached a certain point in my life, I started going downhill, and gaining momentum.

I do wish time would slow down. Just a little. When I was a child, the weeks between Thanksgiving and Christmas were agonizingly long. Now, I blink and January vanishes into December.

While 2011 had it's ups and downs, I'll be a bit sad to see it leave. This year has brought many challenges, changes, new beginnings, and saying goodbye. I wouldn't want to repeat some of the things that happened, but now that I'm standing at the end of 2011, I feel at peace. Everything happens for a reason, and with God, everything goes wrong just right.

A new year is a fresh start, and perhaps better things are on the horizon. May 2012 be the best yet for all of my faithful blog readers. God bless.

What do you think?

Did you like 2011, or will you be happy to usher in 2012?

Have you made any resolutions, or do you plan to? If so, what are they?

Are you freaking out that the Mayans ran out of space on their calendar? ;-)

Family Tree

2011-12-23T11:11:00.000-06:00

As I was driving home last night, my Blackberry rang. I rummaged in my purse, snatched it out, and answered it. My mom's voice trailed through the phone to tell me my niece had died.

The youngest daughter of my oldest brother, she was only 37 years old. Next month, she would have celebrated another birthday.

I remember her running after her older sister and me when we were kids, wanting so much for us to play with her, to include her, and oh, how we tried to avoid her.

I haven't seen her in 20 years or more, and I know nothing about her. I've never met her husband, never met her son. Still, I mourn her death for the simple fact that I didn't know her. I mourn because I should have known her. I mourn because if our family weren't so unsociable, I would have known her.

A branch is broken off our family tree, and it seems wrong, not only because it's just a few days before Christmas when families should gather and be happy, but because parents shouldn't have to bury their children—it's the reverse order of things—because she was a part of my childhood. And because despite the years since our last meeting, she was a part of me.

If you have a close-knit family, thank the Lord above and cherish every moment, hold tight to every memory, love them and tell them that you do. Not everyone is as fortunate to have that bond, and while we know what it is we're missing, we can't force people into our lives who don't want to be there. But one day comes when you get a phone call to tell you a branch of your family tree that you thought was young and strong has withered and died—then you realize time has gone by, the years have slipped away, and so very has been lost.

Popcorn and a Movie

2011-11-25T11:11:00.000-06:00

Remember stepping into a movie theater and how the aroma of popcorn welcomed you, making you ravenous for a bucket full? It doesn't smell the same these days; it doesn't taste the same either. And there's a reason.

Theaters used to pop their corn in coconut oil with real butter. Then a few years ago, the FDA had to step in—or stick their beak into our business—and declare coconut oil and butter unhealthy. Their claim: the fat in one tub of popcorn is equal to eating eight Big Macs.

The solution? Many theaters now pop the corn in canola or vegetable oil and use hydrogenated soybean oil to replace butter. "Hydrogenated soybean oil" just sounds yummy doesn't it? Um... didn't think so.

The last time I ate popcorn at the movies, I ended up with a queasy stomach, as though I had drank a cup of oil. I never felt that way in the old days. So how can this new, "healthy", way of popping corn be better for us? And that smell, that wonderful, intoxicating popcorn smell has vanished from theaters—perhaps forever.

I bought some coconut oil and tried it at home. As soon as the corn began to pop I thought, That's the smell I remember.

If you want to try it at home, here's a recipe:

(I pop mine on the stove, but you can try this with a popper as well.)

Need:
2 quart sauce pan
1/3 cup popcorn
3-4 TBLS coconut oil
Salt
Butter

What to do:
Turn the stove on to medium heat. Add oil to the pan. Drop in two kernels of corn and put the lid on, tilted, to vent it. Wait for the two kernels to pop, then add the remaining 1/3 cup.

Remove from heat and shake the pan to saturate all the kernels in oil. Set the pan aside and wait thirty seconds. This will heat all the kernels to the same temperature, so you'll have less old maids. After thirty seconds, return to heat. Be sure to keep the lid vented. The popping will start right away. Once it does, shake the pan to keep the corn from burning.

After the corn has popped, immediately dump into a large bowl or it will burn at the bottom where the pan still has heat. Melt the butter in a small pan and pour on top, salt to taste. Stir and enjoy.

Buy American

2011-11-18T11:11:00.000-06:00

"Buy American. It means your job."

That message came from a visitor to the factory where I worked in 1986. I didn't think much about it then—I didn't understand how much it mattered.

But it did matter, and little by little we sold our country to Mexico. To China. To India. Factories that once proudly waved the American flag now have empty buildings with locked doors and boards over the windows. Those companies moved overseas then shipped their product back to America and sold it to the same people who used to build it themselves.

Now, millions of people are out of work, the economy is on the brink of total collapse, and the product made by foreigners is junk. A few days ago, I needed a new flashlight. Raovac: made in China. Coleman: made in China. Maglite: made in U.S.A. Even though it cost more money, I bought the Maglite. It may have saved someone's job.

If every American started making the choice to buy products made in the U.S.A. and left the foreign stuff on the shelf, would those companies get the message and come back? Or have we reached the point of no return?

Back in the '80s and '90s, if I saw an American made product and a foreign made product and the latter was cheaper, I bought it. I didn't think just one person buying one measly item could make a difference in whether or not someone kept their job. Now, I'm trying it in reverse to see if one person can make a difference. It does matter to someone. One day it may matter to you. "Buy American. It means your job."

11-11-11

2011-11-11T11:11:00.000-06:00

I like the number 11. My older sister Bonita would have been 11 when Sharon was born, and Sharon would have been 11 when I was born.

But I never knew them. Bonita was three-days old when she died, and Sharon only lived 24 hours. They didn't get a chance to live or grow up—never got to play with a puppy or have a kitten's whiskers tickle their faces. They never danced in the rain, or made snow angels, or rolled in a pile of leaves.

I've often wondered what kind of people they would have become. What would they have looked like? Would we have been friends?

All my life, they've been part of me, something that was supposed to be there, yet isn't—such as a phantom or a shadow—something you're aware of, but you can't touch it, can't see it. Sometimes the awareness comes similar to a jigsaw puzzle and the gaping hole a missing piece leaves behind, the image marred, ruined, because it isn't complete.

How would my life be different had they lived?

When I get to heaven, they're the first people I want to meet. I want to hold them and say how much I've missed them. I want to complete the jigsaw puzzle.

On this date: 11-11-11, I hope they know I'm thinking of them. Because it is possible to miss what you've never had.

Jeffrey

2011-11-04T11:11:00.000-05:00

Jeffrey came to me in 1995 with his mother and siblings when he was only eight weeks old. Then one day I came home to find Mom and the family gone, and Jeffrey screaming on the back porch. His nails ripped at the screen, determined to get inside. I don't know why he didn't follow his family that day, but perhaps he chose to stay with me.

When he was about a year old, we took a road trip. I put him in his carrier and set the carrier on the passenger seat beside me.

Jeffrey was fine until we turned onto the street, then he had a meltdown.

He clawed at the carrier door, flipped on his back, then upright again. The pupils of his eyes dilated, blocking out the beautiful yellow I so adore. He wailed, he howled, he bounced from side to side of the plastic carrier. Talking to him only raised the volume and increased his panic. I tried singing to him—bad idea, as anyone who has heard me sing will agree. The radio also offered little hope. Music may calm the savage beast, but it didn't calm Jeffrey.

I pushed out a heavy sigh, ready to turn around, leave him home, and call a pet sitter when my eyes fell on the only cassette tape I had in the car: Donny and Marie Osmond - Greatest Hits. I grabbed the tape, pried open the plastic case, let it tumble to the floorboard, and shoved the cassette into the player. It was worth a shot, right? Things couldn't possibly get worse.

When the first notes filtered through the speakers, Jeffrey ceased his efforts to dismantle the carrier. He stopped shrieking, and he listened. As Donny began singing, "I'm Leavin' It all Up to You", Jeffrey lay down in his carrier, much like in the picture, and he closed his eyes. Soon, he began to bob his head to the beat.

Um... who switched cats with me? More important, how did they manage do it without me catching them in the act? This is the same cat who was freaking out, right? Now he's calm, chilled and enjoying... Donny and Marie? Seriously?

The song ended, the music faded, Jeffrey's eyes flew open—and he vocally alerted me to his displeasure. I told him to be patient for the next song. When it began to play, he again slipped into his trance.

Before we arrived at our destination, I had to play the same cassette three times, then do it again on the return. But it made Jeffrey happy, and since he was quiet and content, I didn't end up with a migraine.

And we both survived the trip.

Author Interview with Linda Yezak

2011-10-07T11:11:00.026-05:00

Today, I welcome Linda Yezak, author of the newly released romantic Christian comedy, Give the Lady a Ride. I had the opportunity to interrogate... er, question... um, I mean interview Linda about her novel. Welcome, Linda. Have a seat and grab a cup of hot chocolate.

What is your favorite scene in the novel?

I have so many favorites, but if I had to narrow it down to just one, it would be when Talon and Chance are teasing Patricia about the procedure to check for estrus cows. Much of that scene is my husband's brainchild, and the original version was far funnier, but we toned it down a bit. Sometimes, I wish I'd had the nerve to keep the whole thing.

Where did you come up with the title?

I really don't remember how I came up with the title, but some at the ACFW considered it a bit racy. That had never crossed my mind, but in deference, I ran a contest for a new title if one was needed. My first choice out of several was "Chaps, Size 6."

What research did you do for this novel? Did you get to ride a bull yourself?

Nope, I didn't get to ride a bull—not that I didn't want to. I taped bull riding events and watched them over and over, using the pause and slow buttons with my old VCR to make sure I saw everything. I also interviewed a former bull riding champion who invited me back to his rodeo ranch to watch them "buck the babies," the result of which landed in the novel. That was one exciting experience! I came home with a sunburn, tons of pics and ideas, and an odor that clung to my car for weeks after.

Is there a message in the novel you want readers to grasp?

Patricia had neglected the faith of her childhood and replaced it instead with faith in herself. When that got knocked out from under her, she floundered, seeking to regain it. In the novel, she learned that there is only One deserving of such faith, and she set out on the path to re-establish that relationship. That's one of the messages I want readers to get—only One is reliable and deserving of faith. But the other message is that it doesn't matter how long you've been estranged from God, He takes you back. Eagerly, lovingly, happily.

If you had it to do over again, what would you change in your novel?

The only thing I wish is that it was longer—the proper length for one of the major publishers. I'm tickled to be published by Port Yonder Press, but (and Chila knows this), PYP isn't my goal or my dream. Just being published was never the point for me—if it had been, my first novel, Shattered Crystal, would have been out long ago.

If you could meet one person—living or dead, famous or not famous—and have dinner with them, who would it be?

I've been asked this, and the answer changes every time. My choices are never profound—my dad, because I miss him, or Billy's mom, because I never met her. Today, my answer is Ken McNabb. Ken is a horse trainer who has a show on RFD TV. He's a Christian, and he and his wife are raising their kids right, with good Christian and country values. I've been watching a lot of RFD TV shows dealing with horses and horse training as research for my next western romance, Southern Challenge, but Ken is my favorite. I'd love to meet him and "pick his brain."

If you won a million dollars, what would you do with it?

Hmmm. I really don't know. Probably see to it that all our grandkids can go to college. Of course, once Billy retires and we move closer to home, I may want a well-padded account on the side so I can have a few horses and a training ring. Yeah. that would work! I've always wanted horses.

Have you ever felt like giving up writing, just chucking it all and trying for a less stressful career such as... a bomb squad technician or hostage negotiator?

Yes. Oh, yes. Often. The Cat Lady's Secret has given me fits for two years now, and it still isn't agent-ready. And promoting and marketing Give the Lady a Ride has turned out to be quite a challenge.

Writing isn't just an artistic endeavor—it's a business. And sometimes the business end of it makes me want to toss my computer into the pond (though if the pond keeps losing water, that may not do any more than shake a few keys loose).

If a giant asteroid were about to hit earth and you could only write one more book, what story would you tell?

The one that's been haunting me for quite awhile is Corporate Ladder, about a woman's insatiable pursuit of fortune.

Back in college, I read a classic British short story about a man who engaged in sinful behavior. The more he practiced sin, the more violent he became, because it was never enough. His appetite demanded more depraved activity to satisfy that thirst for thrill.

That story has always been in the back of my mind, and I want to illustrate how sin can capture you in its snare and pull you under before you realize it. I tried Corporate Ladder once before, but I just wasn't experienced enough to write it. Maybe I am now. Maybe it's time to try again.

What are your current projects?

The first draft of The Cat Lady's Secret is complete, and I have a couple of trusted ladies who are going over it for me to help me with its weaknesses—and it does have a couple. Once it's finished, though, I know readers are going to love it. No one's ever met anyone like Millie!

I'm also co-authoring a thriller with a friend from ACFW called The Simulacrum, which I'll probably publish under a pseudonym. Intended to be similar to The DaVinci Code, the book explores the possibility that scientists tamper with "evidence" to support the theory of evolution. We present the Creationist argument while exposing the historical gaffs and outright lies of the evolutionists. My co-author believes we may have a hit on our hands, and I can't disagree.

For my readers who loved Give the Lady a Ride, I'm researching my next western romance, Southern Challenge, as I said earlier. The novel will feature the work and world of cutting horses. Cutting competitions are called "Futurities" or "Challenges," depending on the age group of the animal. So that explains the "Challenge" part of the title. The main character is from Georgia, and comes complete with all the southern-belle charm of the region. The idea for her came from the nonfiction book What Southern Women Know About Flirting. I read that and just knew I had to explore the character!

Last, but not least, is another stab at Corporate Ladder.The novel is a tricky one to write, and I still may not be ready. But I won't know if I don't try.

Wonderful, challenging questions, Lorna! Thanks for giving me this opportunity and introducing me to your readers.

And thank you, Linda, for joining me today. I loved Give the Lady a Ride, and I'm looking forward to seeing more of your work.

You can visit Linda's website 777 Peppermint Place. She is also a contributor on Author Culture.

Guest Blogger Sylvia Stewart

2011-09-23T11:11:00.014-05:00

Today, I'm featuring guest blogger, Sylvia Stewart. She's here to talk about her newly released pre-teen book, Kondi's Quest. Leave a comment to enter the drawing for your choice of a free book or ebook.

Welcome, Sylvia.

Hello. I'm happy to be with you today. Do you have your coffee or tea cup handy?

My name is Sylvia Stewart. I've served as a missionary in Africa for almost 32 years. We loved the 21 years we spent in Malawi, East Africa. Malawians became dear to our hearts, and Malawian children are as kids from any other country. They had a special place in my heart.

Long before I left Africa to retire, I wanted to leave a written legacy for Africa's children. Later, my grandchildren came into the picture, and my book is dedicated to them and the children of Africa.

My pre-teen' novel, Kondi's Quest has just released. The main character
is a composite of many girls I knew in Malawi. Kondi's Quest will introduce you to Malawi, the Warm Heart of Africa. It will also give you a glimpse into an African culture as well as provide a fascinating story of Kondi's quest to find her father's love.

Kondi's Quest is my first book, although I've been a published writer for some years. A sequel is in the works, as well as a pre-teens' novel set in Ethiopia. I'm also developing two adult novels and a book of devotionals for women in ministry.

My reason for writing is to share God's love with my readers. Many people know about God and Jesus' saying grace, but not everyone knows Him as a personal Savior and friend. In her story, Kondi becomes better acquainted with both her father and her Heavenly Father.

Kondi's Quest gives you a peek into a very special girl's daily life, her joys and her sorrow. It portrays the Malawian way of life as heart-warmingly as I found it when I lived there. Ncheneka is a real village. I lived there. However, I've taken a few liberties for the purpose of the novel. None of the characters are real—but they are composites of many of my Malawian friend and associates in ministry. I tried to stay true to the culture as I knew how. I know a lot has changed in the 20 years since I lived there. I hope my readers will close the book when they're finished reading it, with a sigh of regret at having to leave the cozy aura of Kondi's Quest, and a longing to "go back to Malawi" in another story. I also hope it will give hope to children of every culture, who live in unhappy situations, and give them a longing to know their Heavenly Father, who loves them deeply.

My favorite character in the story is Kondi herself. She's artistic and smart. She recognizes beauty and love when she finds it. She loves her family and has learned to accept changes in her life, even though they are different from what she expected or wanted.

My favorite scene is the funny pinching ant scene. I've experienced the squealing and jumping around just the way Kondi did. The view of the valley, like a giant sleeping under a patchwork quilt, is one I saw from my living room. The cloud on top of Dedza Mountain came nearly every day.

Since I was involved in ministry in Malawi, Writing Kondi's Quest had to take an as-time-permits slot. Kondi has been a constant companion for the 24 years it took for her story to reach publication. She still is on my heart as her sequel develops. (The working title is Kondi's Secret.)

I'd be happy if you'd look me up at my website.

Also, you can follow my blog where you can find out more about my books as they develop. I'm set up with PayPal, so you can purchase signed copies with a bit of a price break.

Thank you for taking time with me today. I hope you enjoyed hearing more about Kondi's Quest and Malawi.

Thank you, Sylvia, for being my guest today. Many congratulations on the publication of Kondi's Quest, and I wish you much success. God bless.

Don't forget to leave a comment to enter the drawing for your choice of a free book or ebook.

Ashton

2011-09-09T11:11:00.063-05:00

When I lived in Stockton, Missouri in 1986, a woman was giving away free kittens in the parking lot where I worked. I fell in love with a little tortoise shell who had an orange stripe down her nose.

I took her home and named her Ashton.

Little Ashton had a unique personality—she loved the TV show, Knots Landing. Where ever she was in the house, when the theme music began to play, she raced into the living room, jumped into the chair beside me, and watched her show.

She disliked the character Greg Sumner though, (he was a bad guy and she knew it) and when he appeared on the screen, she jumped off the chair, ran to the TV, and smacked his face with her paw. If the camera panned to another character, she was smart enough to know he was still in that scene, and she waited beside the TV until he reappeared, then she smacked his face again. When the scene changed and Greg was no longer in it, she returned to the chair and sat beside me.

She had been an outside cat, but I'd begun training her to be an inside kitty and use the litter box. One night however, she wanted outside and refused to take "no" for an answer. When I ignored her pitiful cries at the door, she hurled herself against it. She stepped back as far as the room would allow, sprinted to the door and slammed her body at it again. And again.

I lost my temper, and let her outside. My final words to her that night, "All right, fine! You want out? Then go!"

The next morning, she didn't come when I called. After looking everywhere, I finally found her body on the street where she had been hit by a car.

In a second of anger, I lost my unique and charming little girl. I lost my TV viewing companion. And never again could I watch Knots Landing without thinking of her.

Guilt still pierces my heart. I shouldn't have let her outside. I should have taken her to the litter box and reminded her where it was. I shouldn't have lost my temper.

Outside kitties don't live as long as inside kitties, and while it is unlikely I'd still have her today, 25 years later, if I hadn't let her out that night, at least I would have had the pleasure of her company for many years.

And she could have smacked Greg Sumner as much as she wanted to.

Faith: The Light That Sees Through the Fog

2011-09-02T11:11:00.033-05:00

"Now faith is confidence in what we hope for and assurance about what we do not see." Hebrews 11:1

Reading Streams in the Desert on August 31 brought that verse to mind when I read: [Abraham had to] "take God for the whole work; and when he looked away from himself, and trusted God alone, then he became fully persuaded that what He had promised, He was able to perform. That is what God is teaching us, and He has to keep away encouraging results until we learn to trust without them, and then He loves to make His Word real in fact as well as faith."

Faith in God is not always easy, is it? When we don't see the results we expect right away, doubt creeps in and smothers our faith. Yet "...without faith it is impossible to please God." Hebrews 11:6.

Prayer alone is not enough. You have to have faith. When you can't see the road ahead, trust Him, because His vision isn't impaired, and He knows where He's taking you.

Even during the violent storm when thunder roars, and lightning pierces the sky, we know the sun will shine again. It is true in our own life as well. If you are going through a storm, hold on and know help is on the way. Have faith in the rescue and don't let go. Help won't come tomorrow if you give up today.

"Have faith in God," (Mark 11:22) and "...trust also in Him, and He shall bring it to pass." Psalm 37:5.

Are you trusting in God today or in your own power to solve your problem? Which one do you think you should do? Which one will get results?

All Creatures Great and Small

2011-08-12T11:11:00.063-05:00

The shelter named this kitten Luna, and now she's dead because no one adopted her in time to save her life. We live in a society where kittens and puppies are barely born before they die—before they have a chance to know what it meas to be loved, wanted and cherished.

With no more regard than someone might consider a broken chair, animals are abandoned when their family moves or when a new baby comes into the world. When "mom" passes away and the surviving family doesn't want the cat, she's either dumped or hauled off to the shelter where she may get so depressed she dies of her grief.

We pollute our oceans, streams and rivers. Some states shoot wolves from helicopters as they run for their lives—just because they are "in the way." Canned hunting is the rage of the Internet, where you can actually shoot an animal from your home computer. (*Note: I'm not against hunting to put food on the table.)

People have done a lousy job being good stewards of the earth, and it must make God sad to see how we've treated His creation. All creatures, from those that swim in the ocean, to those that roam the prairie or the Savannah—even the alley cat that has no home—we all share this planet. It's time humans stop destroying everything and become the caretakers God intended us to be, in the same way as a house sitter would care for the house he's left in charge of.

What do you think?

A Leap of Faith

2011-08-05T11:11:00.113-05:00

I didn't grow up in a tithing family. My dad threw five dollars into the plate and called it good, so I never had a firm grip on it—what it meant or why I should do it.

Moving out on my own and attending a different church, I followed my parent's example and tossed in a few dollars. Though I always felt lead to give more, I rarely did. But the funny thing is, when I trusted God, and gave 10%, it was during those times that all my needs were met—and a few of my wants—not all of my wants, but a few.

These last few years, I've been struggling. I'm in debt. I have no savings. After the mortgage and utility bills are paid, pantry and freezer stocked, and money set aside to buy enough gasoline to get me to work until the next paycheck, there is no money left. Zero. So I haven't tithed at all.

God will understand, right? Once I get back on my feet, once I get a better job, then I'll tithe. How can I tithe when there is nothing left to give?

But my way didn't work. By keeping God's share, my situation never improved, in fact, it just got worse. God reminded me of the times I trusted Him with money and how He provided. I asked Him what I should do. His answer was to help me find a website about the benefits of tithing. I read the testimonies where God supplied the people's needs and then some, because of their faith in giving Him His portion. One of the articles declared how God blesses those who are faithful to Him.

Still, I was reluctant. One look at my bank balance, and I thought it it couldn't be done—it is mathematically impossible to subtract from zero and come out on the positive. Then I found a line that said, "Trust in God, not in your circumstances, not in your bank account."

Wow. You think He may have been trying to tell me something?

Then He reminded me of Proverbs 3:9-10: "Honor the LORD with your wealth, with the firstfruits of all your crops, then your barns will be overflowing, and your vats will brim over with new wine." And Malachi 3:8-10: "Will a man rob God? Yet you rob me. But you ask, 'How do we rob you?' In tithes and offerings. You are under a curse, the whole nation of you because you are robbing me. Bring the whole tithe to the storehouse, that there may be food in my house. Test me in this, says the LORD Almighty, and see if I will not throw open the floodgates of heaven and pour out so much blessing that you will not have room enough for it."

Since my way failed, I'm trying it God's way. In June, I took a huge leap of faith, and decided I would start tithing 10% of my monthly income. The money still doesn't exist, but God's math is different than my math. So far, I haven't been overdrawn, all the checks have cleared, and the bank tells me funds are in my account. I don't see how, but it's happening.

It's a huge step, leaping into the unknown. But I know this: when I step out on faith, it won't be into thin air, but on solid ground.

"I love the recklessness of faith. first you leap, and then you grow wings."~~William Sloane Coffin.

The Russian Meeting

2011-07-08T11:11:00.000-05:00

When I was in Jr. High, I attended a weekly meeting of Youth For Christ. All these many years later (many, many years) one particular meeting sticks out in my head. We called it The Russian Meeting.

That was 1979, and we were still a long way from the end of the Cold War. We feared Russian invasion and take-over. We feared losing our rights as Christians, no longer allowed to meet and worship God in our homes or churches. We feared having to take our meetings in secret, and the risk one would take to attend them.

Our group leader wanted to help us understand what Christians in Communist controlled countries endure. So, one night after sundown, the YFC members dressed in black and snuck into the building through a window. We spoke in low voices and had our gathering with only candles lighting the room. After closing prayer, we left the building the same way we had entered.

That was a long time ago and the Cold War is over, but regardless, as Christians, we are losing our rights every day. Prayer before football games or at graduation ceremonies is no longer allowed because we might offend someone of another religion—or no religion at all. Nativity scenes and the Ten Commandments are banned from public places. Department stores can no longer say Merry Christmas, but must say Happy Holidays to avoid offending the above-mentioned bunch.

How much longer before we lose the right to worship as we please? How much longer before we have to meet in secret, wearing black and sneaking into windows with the darkness to conceal us?

The only difference is: when it happens, it won't be the Russians we have to worry about. What do you think?

My Writing Space

2011-07-07T11:07:00.000-05:00

A few weeks ago, I played musical rooms at my house, and moved my writing office in order to have a better view. My old office had my desk against a wall, facing flowered wallpaper. Outside, there was lots of traffic and neighborhood ruckus to distract me. The image in the picture is what I see out my new office window, and it's much quieter on that side of the house.

I had hoped the new view would provide more inspiration, and the first time I sat down with my WIP, I whipped out 1,200 words. It must have worked.

I rescued a leather couch from Goodwill, shoved it into my office as well, and that's where I read. My writing space is where I go to think, for daily devotions, or just some much needed quiet time.

What's your writing space like?

To Be Ugly

2011-06-10T11:11:00.006-05:00

This week, I'm sharing a post about a Tom cat named Ugly, who was beautiful on the inside. This story has been running around the Internet for years. I don't know the author's name, so I cannot give credit, but it is a story we all need to read, and a behavior we all need to strive for. Are you "Ugly?"

Ugly The Tomcat

Everyone in the apartment complex I lived in knew who Ugly was. Ugly was the resident tomcat. Ugly loved three things in this world. fighting, eating garbage, and shall we say, love. The combination of these things combined with a life spent outside had their effect on Ugly. To start with, he had only one eye, and where the other should have been was a gaping hole. He was also missing his ear on the same side, his left foot appeared to have been badly broken at one time, and had healed at an unnatural angle, making him look like he was always turning the corner. His tail has long since been lost, leaving only the smallest stub, which would constantly jerk and twitch. Ugly would have been a dark gray tabby striped-type, except for the sores covering his head, neck, even his shoulders with thick, yellowing scabs.

Every time someone saw Ugly there was the same reaction. “That’s one ugly cat!” All the children were warned not to touch him, the adults threw rocks at him, hosed him down, squirted him when he tried to come in their homes, or shut his paws in the door when he would not leave. Ugly always had the same reaction. If you turned the hose on him, he would stand there, getting soaked until you gave up and quit. If you threw thing at him, he would curl his lanky body around your feet in forgiveness. Whenever he spied children, he would come running, meowing frantically and bump his head against their hands, begging for their love. If you ever picked him up he would immediately begin suckling on your shirt, earrings, whatever he could find.

One day Ugly shared his love with the neighbor’s huskies. They did not respond kindly, and Ugly was badly mauled. From my apartment I could hear his screams, and Ugly’s sad life was almost at an end. Ugly lay in a wet circle, his back legs and lower back twisted grossly out of shape, a gaping tear in the white strip of fur that ran down his front.

As I picked him up and tried to carry him home I could hear him wheezing and gasping, and could feel him struggling. I must be hurting him terribly, I thought. Then I felt a familiar tugging, sucking sensation on my ear. Ugly, in so much pain, suffering and obviously dying was trying to suckle my ear. I pulled him closer to me, and he bumped the palm of my hand with his head, then he turned his one golden eye towards me, and I could hear the distinct sound of purring. Even in the greatest pain, that ugly battled-scarred cat was asking only for a little affection, perhaps some compassion. At that moment I thought Ugly was the most beautiful, loving creature I had ever seen. Never once did he try to bite or scratch me, or even try to get away from me, or struggle in any way. Ugly just looked up at me completely trusting in me to relieve his pain.

Ugly died in my arms before I could get inside, but I sat and held him for a long time afterword, thinking about how one scarred, deformed little stray could so alter my opinion about what it means to have true pureness of spirit, to love so totally and truly. Ugly taught me more about giving and compassion than a thousand books and lectures, or talk show specials ever could, and for that I will always be thankful. He had been scarred on the outside, but I was scarred on the inside, and it was time for me to move on and learn to love truly and deeply. To give my total to those I cared for.

Many people want to be richer, more successful, well liked or beautiful, but for me, I will always try to be “Ugly”.

Proper Gratitude

2011-05-27T11:11:00.040-05:00

I'm ungrateful. There. I admitted it. I whine about what I don't have instead of being thankful for what I do have.

I don't make a lot of money, but my bills are paid, and many people can't say that. I may not have KC Strip steaks or lamb chops in my freezer, and rare is the occasion I have the funds to eat in a restaurant, but I never go to bed hungry. Many people do.

My van is on its last legs. I can't afford to fix it and I can't afford to replace it, but at least it runs and it gets me where I need to go. My house is mortgaged and the repairs are beyond my budget. Yet, it's better than living in a homeless shelter or under a bridge.

I hate my job. The stress is high and the pay is low. I'm constantly kept out of the loop, yet still expected to know what's going on. Boss #1 has told me, "I don't care if you starve to death" and "you're not important around here, you're nothing!" I've been called "selfish and disrespectful" for clocking in 10 minutes early. But I have a job, and millions of Americans don't. Most of the unemployed would give their right arm to take my place.

The tornado that ripped Joplin in half last Sunday taught me to be more appreciative. In mere seconds, thousands of people lost their homes and over a hundred lost their lives. Fifteen hundred people are still missing. Businesses were diminished to rubble, and the people who worked there are now without a paycheck. With the economy in the shape its in, they may not find other employment.

Things could always be worse, and thankfully, God hasn't taught me a harder lesson about gratitude. Should He decide to bless me with gifts beyond what I deserve, those will always be welcome. Until the blessings come, or even if they don't, I need to remember to thank Him for what He has already given me. And stop whining.

A Cat Named George

2011-05-13T16:15:00.001-05:00

His name was George, and he came to me as an 8-year-old foster cat in 2000 when his person had to go to the nursing home. It left George and a 12-year-old tabby named Molly without a home.

A year prior, their person had adopted Molly from HELP Humane Society to provide a companion for George who she'd had since he was a kitten. Before she went to the nursing home, HELP took Molly back into their facility and agreed to take George as well even though he wasn't a former HELP cat.

Molly went to live in another foster home and was adopted right away. George stayed with me. He liked to "talk" to me. "Meow," he'd say, and I'd answer, "how's George?" "Meow" and, "that's good" or something along those lines. He liked to reach out to me with one paw, or bump the top of his head against my face.

At 17, he began to show his age. The once white of his fur dulled to an off-white and the once bright orange dulled to a rusty yellow. He moved more cautiously and slept more often.

Last week, I found out George had the silent killer, cancer. Since cats are masters at hiding their illnesses, by the time George let me know he was sick, he was hurting. I had to make the decision to let his body rest. After eleven years in my home, I had to say goodbye. He was 19-years-old.

I don't have a recent picture of him, so I posted this one of rolling green hills—a peaceful meadow—because I know George is at peace now and not in pain.

I miss you, George. I miss our "conversations." Goodbye for now, and God speed.

*Photo credit: Google Images.

The Picnic

2011-04-22T11:11:00.006-05:00

The Picnic (how it got its name is the subject of another blog) is an annual event in the town of my childhood: three days of carnival rides, frog jumping contests, turtle races and such things that fill small-town life. It's a time when people come home from where ever the winds have carried them, a time to reacquaint with old friends and family, and a time to remind yourself where you came from.

The Picnic was always the highlight of every kid's year, holding a place right up there with Christmas. When I look back to those times and pull the memories from my file, there is one Picnic in particular that stands out among the rest, and it is perhaps one of the fondest memories of my childhood.

I had just turned seventeen, and the first night of The Picnic one of the carnies struck a conversation with me, then slipped me about a hundred unused tickets for the carnival rides and told me to have fun. To say I was ecstatic would be an understatement. What kid doesn't dream of unlimited opportunities to ride rides until you throw up?

I found my best friend, Marty, and showed her the tickets. She grinned, cocked her head, and said, "Let's go!"

And we went.

We rode the Octopus, the Tilt-A-Whirl, and everything else that spins, dips and twists. When that got boring, we rode the carousel and all kiddie rides. And that's my favorite memory—sitting on little motorcycles and boats, knees under our chins, beeping our horns while parents and kids alike looked at us as though we'd lost our minds. But we didn't care. We were hovering on the threshold of adulthood, and we knew there would be pitifully few chances to act so silly once we stepped through the doorway. We used every one of those tickets, and we had more fun than we'd had in a long time simply because we allowed ourselves the freedom to just... be.

Marty and I walked different paths after that summer. She attended another school and we lost touch. But I remember her still, riding her teal-blue motorcycle, beeping her horn and laughing.

That Picnic was the best. And I think it always will be.

The Last Lions

2011-04-01T11:11:00.069-05:00

On March 25, I went to see the National Geographic documentary film, The Last Lions. If you're planning to see it, stop reading now, as this contains spoilers.

The movie opened with a female lion, named Ma di Tau, her mate and their three cubs. Encroaching humans forced another pride of lions into their territory, and they had to defend it. The male was injured beyond hope of recovery and soon died from his wounds. Ma di Tau escaped with a few scratches, and she and the cubs moved on.

The filmmakers followed the small family as they fought for survival. The pride of lions trail them, and Ma di Tau knew they would kill her cubs if she could not get them to safety. To protect them, they swam a swollen river full of alligators. Ma di Tau and two of the cubs made it across, but one cub, afraid of the water, hesitated too long. By the time she made up her mind to follow, an alligator notices her, and it is too late.

Later, after one successful hunt, Ma di Tau fell asleep and left her two cubs alone all night. I'll never understand why she did that, but perhaps she felt they were safe. When she returned to them the next morning, one cub was missing and one had a broken back. Cape buffaloes, she later discovered, had attacked during her absence. Ma di Tau tried carrying the cub, but the weight from the cub's useless hind legs was too much for her.

She put the cub down and walked away. Unwilling to be left behind, the cub drug herself along behind her mother. One scene I'll never forget... Ma di Tau stopped, shoulders hunched as if the weight of the world were upon them, and she sat beside the river. The cub pulled herself along, crying and crying. Ma di Tau closed her eyes and hung her head. If anyone thinks animals don't feel pain or grief or anguish, they should watch this film. She knew there was nothing she could do to help her cub. Not licking, not loving, not nudging would save a lion with a broken back. Her pain was real. She felt such despair, such remorse over what she had to do. She had lost everything. Her mate, two of her cubs, and now, at last, she had failed this cub too. The last of her mate's bloodline.

And she walked away.

The cub cried for her to wait. To come back. Please.

But she didn't.

I can feel the cub's pain too. Her sadness at watching her mother walk away and leave her. How scared she must have been. How confused. How it must have ripped at her heart that her mother abandoned her, and sensing her fate that was to come.

It made me cry.

On a happier note, the little cub that was missing was found, healthy and safe, and reunited with his mother. Ma di Tau, with all options gone, fought the dominate female of the pride for alpha rights. She won, and joined their team. Together, they hunted and brought down a cape buffalo—the one with blood on his horns—the one that injured her cub.

The movie ended with the camera on the surviving cub, and the narrator (Jeremy Irons) asking if he would grow a mane, become an adult, and continue his father's bloodline. With humans crowding lions out of their territory at an alarming rate, he may not.

Fifty years ago, 450,000 lions roamed wild in Africa. Today, that number has plummeted to 20,000. In fifty years. Five years shy of my lifetime. What will happen in another fifty years, or twenty or ten? Once these beautiful, majestic animals are gone, they're gone.

Extinct is forever.

"We no longer have the luxury of time when it comes to big cats," says filmmaker Derek Joubert. "They are in such a downward spiral that if we hesitate now, we will be responsible for extinction across the globe. If there was ever a time to take action, it is now."

God made the lions too, but humans are the ones destroying the earth. Shouldn't we share it? Isn't that the way He planned it In The Beginning?

"Woe to you who add house to house and join field to field until no space is left and you live alone in the land." Isaiah 5:8.

*Ma di Tau means "The Mother of Lions."
*Photo is of the surviving male cub, taken from the National Geographic website.

Naming Characters

2011-03-25T11:11:00.013-05:00

Naming characters can be fun, but also frustrating, aggravating and challenging. I always try to avoid naming two characters with the same first initial—it's less confusing for the reader—but in my Work In Progress, I have a male and a female who insisted their names were Joe and Jenny.

Since Joe and Jenny would appear together in several scenes, one name had to go.

When I approached the subject, both of them pitched a fit that would surpass the tantrums of the kids at your local Wal-Mart. Joe said he shouldn't be the one who has to compromise, and Jenny said the same.

Joe's full name is Joseph David Ryan Collins, so I asked if he would consider going by one of his middle names. He crossed his arms over his chest, narrowed his eyes and jutted his chin. "Everyone calls me Joe."

When I offered suggestions to Jenny she crinkled her nose then came back with suggestions of her own... but they all started with the letter "J."

She laughed. I didn't.

Just as I was about to bang their heads together and tell them one or the other was going to get a name change—and if they didn't stop arguing right this instant, I would pick the name and if they didn't like my choice, then that was too bad—Jenny caved. She said her full name is Jennifer Rebecca Larson, and it would be okay to call her Rebecca.

It would have been so much simpler had she just told me that in the beginning. After all, I'm running this show... not them. (Yeah, right. Writers, you can stop laughing now.)

So, what do you do when your character insists on a name you know won't work, or refuses to tell you his/her name in the first place?

The Road Map

2011-02-23T11:11:00.052-06:00

To date, I have completed four novels. The first three, I wrote Seat-Of-The-Pants style. Now that I look back, that's like taking a trip without a road map, not packing any bags, taking no money with you for gasoline, food or to pay for emergencies. With this method, somewhere along the line the traveler is either left stranded beside the road because he ran out of gas, or he's lost completely without the map. That's when I discovered Pantser style wasn't for me.

I read about another method called Outlining. These "travelers" research the place they are going to and study a map that will get them there. They pack a compass, enough food, clothes and money to last to their destination and they mark "rest stops" along their journey they may want to visit.

I thought Outlining was too restricting, something that would force me to take a designated route, when along the way I might discover an alternate road that would have prettier scenery. What did it matter as long as I got to where I was going, right? So, somewhere between Pantser and Outlining, I became a Hybrid writer—a blend of the two..

Halfway through novel number five, I found out Hybrid doesn't work very well either. While I had a general idea where I was going, I still got lost. I had to backtrack a few times to a "rest stop" and start again. I lost my focus and my passion. The trip was no longer fun.

Last August, I went away for the weekend. Before my trip, I found the Inn where I'd be staying Online. I read about the Inn, researched the area and printed out a map of the grounds so I knew in advance, where my room would be. After finding the Inn on Google Maps, I knew exactly how to get there, how long it would take me to drive, and approximate gas usage. Before I packed, I made a list of everything I needed, and checked it off the list as I added it to my bag. After I packed my car, I went back inside the house to make certain I had left nothing behind. It was only then, that I was prepared to leave.

If I take such precautions for a weekend trip, why shouldn't I do the same when planning a novel? Outlining doesn't mean you can't change your mind once you find something you like better, it doesn't mean you can't stop at destinations that are not on your list, but it is simply a travel planner so nothing is left to chance.

For those of you who think Outlining is not your thing, it's okay. Author K.M. Weiland assures me there are cookies on the dark side.

Changes

2011-02-18T11:11:00.076-06:00

Some changes are good, such as starting a new job, a better income, moving into a different house, or welcoming a new family member. Other changes are disrupting—even scary.

For years my mom's health has spiraled downward, her memory is failing and she's easily confused. I always knew that one day I'd have to face putting her into a nursing home. Last Christmas she brought the subject to my attention, saying how she'd like to go ahead and live in a nursing home, but she wasn't sure how she could afford it. Even then, it seemed like something that might happen a year from now, even several years from now. Just not today.

On February 7, she had hip replacement surgery, and instead of going home as the doctor said she'd be able to do, she's recovering in a nursing home. The head nurse said she would be there at least a month, perhaps longer. She is not doing as well as they had hoped.

Now, with the possibility that she will be a permanent resident hovering over my head, I'm making phone calls, checking on an assistance program (to pay for her stay after Medicare stops) and trying to figure out a way to explain it so she can understand her options.

Selling her house, dividing up her things between us three kids and auctioning off the rest is troubling. I recall when my grandmother went through that stage of her life, and how she cried to see her things carried off by strangers.

One does not slip into old age gracefully. I try to imagine what it would be like when someone can no longer care for themselves, when their mind and/or body betrays them. When they have to take a houseful of things and a lifetime of memories, and whittle them away as they decide what to keep and what can fit into half of a room at a long-term care facility. Letters and photographs, things that have belonged in the family for a generation or two: what to do with it all? I've tried to put myself in that place. How will I react when my turn comes? What will I keep? What will I toss? What, if any of it, will still matter?

Ghosts of the past, images of times spent with my mom flood my mind. Of her waiting for me in the car outside the Kindergarten building, of her reading Old Yeller, Charlotte's Web and Runaway Ralph at bedtime when I was small. Of her singing "Heartaches by the Number", my frequent request.

As I grew older, our relationship suffered, and those memories aren't as pleasant. But whether your relationship with your parents is good or bad, they are still your parents, and when they age, you find yourself in a different position: the caregiver, instead of the one receiving care.

Her wish is to join my dad who left this life last April. But until she can do that, my half-brothers and I face the changes each day brings. Changes for her... and for all of us.

*Photo credit: Google Images

Missing: My Inspiration

2011-02-11T11:11:00.035-06:00

In May 2009, I started writing what would be my fifth novel and titled it Wounded Hearts. Almost two years later, my word count is a pitiful 38,000, and I have serious doubts about my abilities.

Did God really call me to be a writer, or did I misunderstand Him? Am I wasting my time? Do I have what it takes?

I lost my passion to write. A dried up well replaced inspiration and I found myself forcing words onto the page. The "use a bigger hammer" approach didn't work, and I only grew more frustrated. I prayed for God to lead me and tell me what direction to take. I asked Him to give me a passion for what He wants me to do, whether it be writing or something else.

I'm still unsure if God wants me to write, but I have an idea for another book, and the passion to write it. For now, Wounded Hearts is simmering on the back burner. I don't plan to leave it unfinished, I'll get back to it one day, but I think I need a break from it as much as my characters need a break from me.They're fed up with me invading their lives and constantly asking them, "How do you feel about that?" or "What do you think is the proper response to what just happened?" (Maybe I should be a shrink.)

A friend told me I'm too critical of my own work. Probably. Most writers are, I think. But I know when something isn't working, and Wounded isn't working. A few writers have told me if they lose inspiration, they start writing something else to get the creative juices flowing once again.

It worked for them. Maybe it will work for me too.

What is the longest stretch of time you lost your passion for writing? How did you find it again?

The Storm of the Season

2011-02-04T09:00:00.034-06:00

Meteorologists called it "The Storm of the Season." During the early morning hours of February 1, 2011, snow plummeted from the sky. For my area of the USA, the weather geeks proclaimed a blizzard warning.

The storm affected 30 states, 100 million people, and covered over 2,100 miles. It began in Oklahoma City producing snow, freezing rain, frigid windchill, blowing wind and whiteouts that reduced visibility.

The governors of several states issued a State of Emergency and had the National Guard on standby. In Missouri, the storm was so bad at times that MO DOT in KC was ordered to cease their road clearing efforts.

Parts of St. Louis lost power as an inch of ice broke tree limbs and power lines. Semi trucks in Springfield, MO pulled off the highway and took refuge in motel rooms.

Tulsa got over a foot of snow, with waist high drifts. Emergency vehicles and snowplows got stuck. Tulsa isn't used to dealing with that kind of weather. Since the founding of the city, this was their second blizzard.

In addition to many other routes across the country, highway I-70 shut down from Kansas City to St. Louis. For those who don't know, that is one side of the state to the other.

Businesses closed early. Airlines canceled flights, or airports just shut down altogether. While several commuters tried to make it home, others stayed in motels. But these establishments filled up fast and many people were still left without a place to stay.

Warrensburg was the hardest hit in Missouri, reporting 23" of snow and 10 foot drifts.

Chicago got snow at a rate of 2" per hour with 60 mph wind gusts. Emergency personnel helped pedestrians across the street, so they wouldn't get blown down.

I stayed home from work. Out the window of my computer room, I couldn't see City Hall, and it's only 1/4 mile away. When the storm finally moved east, it left behind 16" in my yard with knee deep drifts.

It may have been the worst storm in 50 years as the news stations declared, and some people were happy they were alive to see it first-hand. As for me, I would rather the forecasters had been wrong.

What was predicted to be a "mild winter" has turned out to be anything but that. Average snowfall in my area is 20" for the entire season. We've had less events—"the storm of the season" being only #3—but total snowfall has measured up to 30+".

I think I need to move to a beach somewhere. Shoveling is harder on my body than it was 20 years ago. But if I have to stay here, a snow blower would be nice. Anyone want to buy me one for my birthday?

After the Storm

2011-01-28T09:00:00.055-06:00

Have you ever noticed the sky after a storm? It's gorgeous. I think it's God's way of reminding us that even when the storms come and the flood waters rise, there is hope for something better—the sun will come out again.

That's true not just of the storms involving weather, but the ones in our life, too. God often takes us through tough times to make us stronger and draw us closer to Him—to refine us, like gold in the fire. (1 Peter 1:7) These trials are necessary, so wait on Him. Don't give up. A brighter day is coming.

Charles Spurgeon once said, "The longer the wait (on God), the greater the blessing." He also said, "We are in a hurry, but God is not." God's timing is perfect. He is never late, He is never early, but He is always exactly on time. We may think we need it now, but God says, "Wait. I have something better in mind."

I've been in the midst of a storm lately, so I write this post for my own benefit as much as for anyone else who may be in a similar situation. I don't know God's reason for this particular trial. Maybe it is so that one day I can help someone who is struggling, or maybe it's to test my dependence on Him. Whatever it is, He is in control.

Jeremiah 29:11 promises: For I know the plans I have for you, declares the Lord. Plans to prosper you and not harm you, plans to give you hope and a future. With that in mind, I am assured the sun will come out again.

Psalm 50:15 says: call upon Me in the day of trouble. I will deliver you... Call upon Him, and He will deliver you. Isn't that a great promise? Trust God's Word more than your circumstances, and He will deliver you. Man may break his word, but God does not. He cannot lie.

When the storm rages and all hope seems gone, call upon Him and He will deliver you. It's in His Word. It's His promise.

Are you facing a "storm" right now? How are you handling it?

*Photo Credit: Lorna G. Poston

Happy 1st Birthday

2011-01-21T09:00:00.013-06:00

Today is the first birthday of my blog. I want to thank my followers, faithful readers and everyone who left comments. I appreciate all of you, and I hope you stick with me through year number two.

The Path Not Taken

2011-01-14T10:11:00.000-06:00

When I graduated high school in 1984, I had a free ticket to college. Because I'd had scoliosis when I was 14 and I live with a metal rod hugging my spine, a program called Vocational Rehabilitation would have sent me to school. Books, tuition, and housing would have all been paid for.

But I was stupid. I was so eager to get out of school and never take another test, that I blew it off. I missed my chance. Now, I wonder what my life would have been like had I taken that path. Where would I be living? What career choice would I have made, and where would it have taken me?

You can never go back and make right the choices you made wrong. Sometimes, I wish that were possible. Yet, I have to remember... if I had grabbed that brass ring, would I be the person I am now? Would I have the same friends? Would God have still called me to be a writer?

Because of the choices I made, I am the person I have become. For better or worse, this is me. And I like my friends, so I wouldn't want to imagine my life without them. I like my cats, and I like my house. Most of the time, I'm glad my life turned out the way it did.

I finally went to college, but I was well into my 20's, and that brought me to an altered destination. I don't know where I'd be working had I not gone back to school, because I'm employed at my day-job as a result of that decision. The career choice I made when I was 26 is not the one it would have been when I was 18.

The path not taken. We all have one. What is yours?

Happy New Year!

2010-12-31T08:00:00.014-06:00

Goodness. Where does the time go? It seems like just a few months ago, we were welcoming 2010, and now, we are saying goodbye.

Another year has come and gone, and with it, a few ups and downs. I buried my father. My mom facing hip replacement surgery. Many challenges have overwhelmed and burdened me. But on the upside, I've made new friends, strengthened relationships with others, discovered something new about myself and grown closer to God.

2010 had more good than bad, and I hate to see it leave. Perhaps 2011 will be better and even more amazing than I could hope for. Happy New Year everyone. May it be the best one yet.

What are your hopes for 2011? Have you made any resolutions?

*Image credit: Google Images

Christmas Gifts

2010-12-24T09:00:00.034-06:00

This is a picture of one of my favorite toys. The company that manufactured him named him Patootie, but I rejected that idea and named him Hokie. Much better, don't you think? :-)

Like the picture on the right, my doll no longer has his original clothes, or his sad mask, and he has burn holes in his back from where I laid him on a hot stove.

Hokie came to live with me when I was three years old. I got him for Christmas along with a red toy box that my great-uncle Jess made.

Hokie was my companion for many years and now lives on a shelf in my closet. I still have the red toy box, which holds all my board games.

What is your favorite Christmas toy? Do you still have it?

*Picture credit: Google Images

When The Sponge is Full

2010-12-17T20:00:00.041-06:00

Overwhelmed. That's me on any given day. Personal issues, job stress, commuting, finances... it's a long list.

I'm praying for relief, for a hand to pull me out of this quicksand, because I can't get out on my own. I'm sinking. I need a lifeline. But so far, God is silent.

I'm like a sponge. I've absorbed all I can. There isn't room for more.

Yet more comes. Every day it comes.

I cling to Jeremiah 29:11~"For I know the plans I have for you, declares the LORD, plans to prosper you and not harm you, plans to give you hope and a future."

I cling to that verse, because that's all I can do—trust in God's promises and pray.

Because the "sponge" is full.

And I can't absorb any more.

To Vote Or Not To Vote

2010-12-10T08:00:00.071-06:00

I stopped voting for politicians, but I still vote on issues. This past election, one issue that got a YES vote was Proposition B.

Prop B was the Puppy Mill Cruelty Prevention Act. Missouri voters approved a measure that requires large-scale dog breeders to provide each dog with such basics as sufficient food, clean water, adequate housing and veterinary care. It would prevent breeders from cramming dogs into too-small cages (like in the photo) where they remain their entire lives, birthing one litter after another.

Prop B passed, but now, just weeks after the election, lawmakers are seeking to overturn it.

A similar thing happened (though with a different issue) earlier this year in California, where one disgruntled judge overturned the vote of millions.

So, why vote? Why stand in line and fill out that form only to have our voices silenced by the very people elected to uphold the laws and protect our vote in the first place? This country is still a Democracy—though it is on a terrifying spiral toward Communism—and our vote should matter.

Our Government is too big and too powerful.

I vote we get them all out.

*Photo credit: Google Images of Missouri puppy mills

Thanksgiving Day of Long Ago

2010-11-25T07:00:00.046-06:00

From my earliest memories, My mom cooked Thanksgiving dinner. Her homemade egg noodles are to die for, plus she always made enough food to supply a small town of about 5000 people and still have left-overs for a week.

On the day of the feast, my two half brothers arrived with their families, and after saying Grace, we ate. As soon as lunch was finished, the adults lingered over coffee and that second slice of pumpkin pie while us kids played games.

But things changed, as they always do, and one half brother stopped coming in the mid 80's. The nieces and nephews grew up and moved on with their lives.

This year Mom doesn't feel like cooking a meal, and I'm feeling nostalgic. I'll miss the food, I'll miss the noodles, but most of all, I will always miss the Thanksgiving days of my childhood—when, for one day at least, we pretended that we were a family.

Time goes by and the years slip away much faster than I'd like them to, but I'll forever cherish Thanksgiving Day from long ago. If anyone ever builds a time machine, I want to revisit those days... when all of us were together. And I was young.

*Photo credit: MorgueFile
*Photo credit: Flikr

Give Thanks

2010-11-19T07:00:00.054-06:00

Thanksgiving. A time to remember that for which we are thankful.

The first summer the Pilgrims were in America, they reaped a bountiful harvest. Grateful, they had a three-day feast the following December to give thanks to God and celebrate with their Native-American friends.

Pilgrim Edward Winslow said, "By the goodness of God, we are far from want."

We could take a lesson from the Pilgrims. Even though half of their 102 passengers died before that first spring, they were thankful for what God had given them. Too often, we Americans get the "I wants." We want a new car, a flat-screen TV, a laptop computer, or some such thing. While those are nice and often make our lives easier, this Thanksgiving, take a moment to be thankful for something in your life that doesn't cost you a cent.

I'll start. I'm thankful for cats who are always glad I came home.
I'm thankful I added at least one, but maybe two new beta readers for my WIP.

Your turn. What are you thankful for?

*Photo credit:
Fruits and vegetables: Google Images
Bread: Morguefile.com

Born To Die

2010-11-12T07:00:00.082-06:00

A few years ago, I attended a shelter-wide pet adoption event. Several rescue groups and shelters were in attendance—some no-kill, most not.

For the majority of the animals up for adoption, it was their last day to see the sun.

One senior kitty lay in his cage, face to the sunshine, the wind blowing his long, gray fur. Eyes closed and chin raised, the look on his face was as though he'd just discovered paradise.

That image haunts me to this day, for how I wish I had taken him home.

The next morning, his fate was sealed with pink fluid in a syringe. His name was Hobbes.

Every year, six million dogs and cats die in the United States alone. That averages out to ten animals every sixty seconds. Their only crime: not enough homes for them all. (1)

How can this happen? To answer that question, let's do the math. Two cats get together for a rendezvous. They have kittens, and if those kittens are left unaltered, they have kittens and those kittens have kittens. In seven short years, 400,000 kittens can be born from the original two parents. Are there enough homes for all of them?

No.

Some of them may find a good home, but most will end up like Hobbes.

Kittens are cute, and many people love them. But until this cycle is slowed down—or better yet, stopped altogether—is it worth it for them to be born only to die? Is that how God wanted us to care for his creatures... the very creatures He created before He created us?

I don't think so.

Related Post: The Miracle of Life

*Photo credit: Google Images
(1)Information gathered from the Doris Day Foundation

Small Town Life

2010-11-08T10:20:00.001-06:00

Small towns. Most people assume the folks are friendly, waving to cars from front porch swings, warm greetings to visitors and new residents—neighbors having ice cream socials and barbecues.

It happens in movies, right? Well, I'm here to tell you Hollywood has it wrong.

Five years ago, I wanted to move out of my house in the suburbs. The neighborhood was newer, and the houses were so close together, I was getting claustrophobic. I started looking for a home with at least 10 acres, but the housing market hadn't tanked yet, and prices were out of my budget.

I looked for several months, then I found IT. A 2,000 square foot house with log siding, a huge yard that backs up to a forest, and plenty of space between me and the neighbors. I fell in love at first sight.

It wasn't what I had hoped for, but it was as close as I could find. Most important, I could afford it, so I bought it.

According to the last census, the population of the town is 499. During the half-decade I've lived there, I've had packages (delivered by UPS) stolen off my porch. Someone vandalized my property. The neighbor children admit to peeking in my windows.

While I can count on one hand the people who actually talk to me, several people have said, "I saw you out walking," or "I saw you taking brush to the dump," or "I saw you mowing your lawn," and "Didn't you have company on Sunday?"

Great. Glad my life is so interesting.

One woman who wanted me to take her cat said, "Yeah, my neighbors and I talk about you all the time. Don't you work in Overland Park?"

No. I don't.

The churches don't welcome visitors.

One night, the gas station nearly refused to accept money for gas I'd already pumped.

I love my house, but I hate the town. Someday, when my rich uncle dies and leaves his money to me, I'm moving out and getting the house in the country I wanted in the first place.

I just need to find a rich uncle.

*Photo credit: Google images.

Is It Worth the Thrill?

2010-10-22T05:00:00.007-05:00

Last Sunday morning, I read in the paper about a motorcycle accident that resulted in the death of the rider.

A few weeks ago, another man, going too fast on the highway, wore the helmet he thought would save his life. It didn't, and his head was severed at the neck.

Nearly every week, I read or hear about another motorcycle rider losing control and crashing his vehicle. Yet, nearly every day on my commute to work, some man on a sporty-type bike will zoom by me, weaving in and out of traffic, passing cars on the shoulder or center line as if they were no more than orange cones on a driving range.

Tragic and sad, motorcycle accidents usually involve young men under 30 years old who think nothing will ever happen to them... that their life will go on forever.

A question for you motorcycle riders: what fascination does the danger of death hold? Do you truly believe the risk is worth the thrill? Or am I just old and don't "get it"? Never mind. Don't answer that last question.

*Photo credit: Flickr

Conquering Writer's Block with Author K.M. Weiland

2010-10-15T05:00:00.020-05:00

Today, I am pleased to welcome guest blogger, author K.M. Weiland. She is here to talk about her newly released CD Conquering Writer's Block and Summoning Inspiration. Welcome, K.M.

Tell us about your new CD.

Click here to order!

Over the last several years, I've been sharing writing tips and essays about the writing life on my blog Wordplay: Helping Writers Become Authors Posts on inspiration and fighting writer's bock have always been some of my most popular posts. It's ironic, really: Here we are, a bunch of people who discovered this whole writing business because one day we woke up inspired with an idea for a story—and yet consistent inspiration is something most of us struggle with on almost a daily basis. I wanted to put together a presentation that shared some of my won tricks for encouraging inspiration. Thanks to the Wordplay podcast, I've already had some experience with audio production and thought it would be an interesting adventure to create a CD that would be accessible and helpful to others.

Besides tips and tricks, what is the best advice you would offer a new writer?
Approach writing as a labor of love. There are hundreds of easier ways to make money, gain prestige, and become successful. It's possible writing may lead a few of us to that end, but it's never a sure bet (it's not even a good bet). If we're not writing because we love it—because we have an inner itch we can't scratch any other way—the difficulties of the writing life just won't be worth the benefits. But it you're writing from a place of abundance, rather than lack, it's one of the most marvelous ways to live that I can imagine.

You started writing when you were twelve. Describe your writing journey.
Storytelling has always been the language of my soul. I told myself stories throughout my childhood, so progressing to writing them down was a natural step. For five years, from the time I was twelve years old through high school, I produced a small newsletter called Horse Tails, then moved on to writing books. My first novel, the historical western A Man Called Outlaw, was published in 2006.

You have two books in print and two more you are working on. Would you like to talk about them?
Of course! Other than A Man Called Outlaw, I've also written the medieval epic Behold the Dawn, about a condemned knight who journeys to the Third Crusade to escape his past. Dreamers, my first foray into fantasy, tells the story of a man who discovers his dreams are really memories of a world he lives in while he sleeps and which he will, reluctantly, have to fight to save from destruction. Lord willing, it will come out in 2012. I'm also currently writing another historical, set in Kenya after World War I.

Have you ever felt like giving up, just chucking it all and trying for a less stressful career such as ... a bomb squad technician?
I did... once. During my early days of writing Behold the Dawn, I wondered for awhile if writing was really something the Lord wanted me to pursue. I prayed about it long and hard, and I actually did stop writing for a bit, before the Lord shoved me back to my desk. I've never looked back since.

If writing had never grabbed your heart, what would you want to do instead?
When I was young, I wanted to be a horse trainer. Nowadays... well, being a firefighter pilot sounds like fun!

Who/what inspires you?
As discussed in the CD, inspiration is everywhere. All we have to do is learn how to channel it. In my opinion, one of the biggest factors in overcoming writer's block is learning how to be continually open to inspiration. So, I'm inspired by many things: books, movies, music, paintings, nature, my cats... you name it!

Who/what challenges you?
You mean other than life? I'm constantly challenged and inspired by the writing community, particularly my circle of critique partners and the slightly larger circle of folks over at the ChristianWriters forum. It was a very good day when my search engine lead me to that corner of the Web.

Who are your cheerleaders?
I'm blessed that my family and friends are extraordinarily supportive of my work—even when they don't completely understand all my writerly craziness!

What discouraging times have you gone through, and what pushed you to continue?
Discouragement ebbs and flows in the creative life. Usually my low point seems to coincide with the difficult parts of the manuscript. (which, for me, inevitably means the first fifty pages). I definitely go through days when I feel like an utter phony. But the fact that I've written seven novels and published two gives me a foundation of confidence that I've done this before and I can do it again. That's why I keep telling new writers it's important they finish stories. Get into the habit of sticking it out, and sticking it out will become easier with every story you write.

From the time you get out of bed until you fall into it again that night, describe your daily routine.
Read Bible, exercise, eat breakfast, shower, check email, go to work at my part-time job for a local ministry, eat lunch, check email again, work on odds and ends (usually marketing or editing), write for two hours, eat supper, lollygag through the evening, read for a couple hours, hit the sack. I'm a very boring person, really—but someone once told me I was the most interesting boring person they knew!

Now, for a few personal questions, because your fans want to know:
What are your hobbies?
Does eating and sleeping count? Seriously, I'm a pretty one-track minded person, even if I had time for hobbies.

What are your likes?
Chocolate, cuddly critters, summer, symphonic metal, justice, and war movies.

What are your dislikes?
Peaches, miller moths, cold weather, sappy love songs, naiveté, and whodunits.

Who is your favorite author?
Probably Patrick O'Brian. I'm in awe of his historical Aubrey/Maturin series. His voice is incredible. I've given up trying to figure out just how he manages to be so brilliant.

What is the title of your favorite novel?
The Long Roll by Mary Johnson, a novel of the American Civil War.

What is your favorite meal?
Macaroni and cheese. My comfort foods are always warm and squishy.

You have members of your family that are furry and walk on four legs. Tell us about them.
Right now, I have a black Lab named Happy Crazy Bob and four lovely domestic cats: Magnum, Sissy, Yoda, Toothless and George (who's a girl—don't ask!).

Thank you, K.M. for submitting to this interrogation ... um, interview! I really meant interview. Is there anything else you would like to add?
My pleasure. Thanks for hosting me today, Lorna! I would add that along with the CD (which is available, this month only, in a great special offer), I'm excited to announce the launch of my newly designed website this month. Other than the spiffy new look, it also features lots of goodies for helping writers along the road to publication and fulfillment in their writing. Probably the most exciting additions are the Helping Writers Become Authors Network, which offers an excellent package deal on some of my best writing programs and products, and the First Chapter Story Consultation service. You can also find links to my blogs, podcast, monthly e-letter, and my free e-book Crafting Unforgettable Characters.

K.M Weiland writes historical and speculative fiction from her home in the western sandhills of western Nebraska. She enjoys mentoring other authors through her writing tips, editing services, workshops, and her recently released instructional CD, Conquering Writer's Block and Summoning Inspiration.

Fall is here

2010-10-08T05:00:00.010-05:00

Fall is here. At last.

Summer over-stayed its welcome, forcing its way into late September. This year was one of the hottest on record, with many days soaring above 100°. Mix that with the drenching humidity of the Midwest, and it was downright awful.

So I say, good riddance to summer, welcome to fall.

The air has turned crisp and leaves will soon change color. Take a walk; enjoy the beauty. Have some hot apple cider. Go to a fall festival or on a hayride. Bake some cookies and pumpkin pie. Fall is here. Celebrate the season.

*Image: Morgefile.com by Anita Patterson

Where We've Been

2010-10-01T08:15:00.000-05:00

While I was visiting Silver Dollar City last week, I rode Thunderation—a roller coaster that has seats facing backwards so you can see where you've been instead of where you're going.

The first thing I learned: I'm too old for roller coasters.

After I got off the ride, I learned something else, too: I learned if we look at where we've been and where God has taken us, then there's no reason to believe He won't be there for us in the future.

When I was riding backwards, I had to trust the track would be there, even though I couldn't see it. And even though we can't see the future with our human eyes, God can. When the future looks dark and an answer isn't in sight, that's when we need to trust Him.

We need to trust that the track will always be there.

Later that same day, I saw this on a plaque: "Now faith is being sure of what we hope for and certain of what we do not see." Hebrews 11:1.

When we are dealing with a difficult situation, and our human eyes can't see the track ahead, maybe what we need to do is get in the other seat and ride backwards.

Where the Children Roamed

2010-09-17T09:00:00.003-05:00

I wrote this poem about 20 years ago.

My half-brother was 18 years old when I was born, so I grew up playing with his children, Teresa and David. They are the children in the poem.

Where the Children Roamed

I went back yesterday,
to the place once called home,
and roamed all the places
that the children roamed.

I could see them there,
just as plain as could be,
Teresa and David
playing with me.

Just yesterday,
we ran in the yard,
played "chase the stick,"
played "War" with cards.

We played "jump in the blanket,"
climbed all the trees,
Teresa and David
playing with me.

Then the image was gone,
and I stood there alone,
in the yard
where the children roamed.

I looked around,
and I started to cry,
as I realized how quickly
the years have gone by.

Not kids anymore,
all of us grown,
and left with the memories
of a place once called home.

I can still hear the laughter,
the screams and the tears,
that will echo
throughout the rest of my years.

And, yes, I do miss them,
those dear little three,
the children of yesterday
Teresa, David and me.

Where Were You?

2010-09-10T09:00:00.057-05:00

Tomorrow is the 9th anniversary of September 11th. It was a Tuesday. I was at the day job and had just taken a sales order down to the shipping department. The shipper was on her cell and laughing. "Yeah, I know. I just heard it on the radio. Isn't that wild?" she said to the person on the other end.

I had yet to hear the news, so didn't know what she was talking about, but I decided to find out. Since she had been laughing, I was expecting a funny story. Back in my office, I turned on the radio.

By then, the second plane had already hit. America was under attack.

The Internet was slow but it was all we had at the office, so for the rest of the day, my co-workers and I watched our monitors and listened to the radio (my work computer doesn't have a sound card.) We reported to each other with anything new. Phone lines were jammed. All outgoing calls were greeted with the "all circuits are busy now" message.

On the way home, people drove with their headlights on as they do for a funeral. Because that's what it was. After I got to my house, I turned on the TV and watched the news flash images and repeat stories until I could no longer stay awake.

The next morning, I opened my eyes and prayed it had been a bad dream.

I still remember.

I haven't forgotten.

What were you doing when you heard the news? What are your memories of that day?

Making the Most of Minor Characters

2010-08-18T15:50:00.003-05:00

As a potter takes a lump of clay and makes something beautiful, a writer takes an idea for a character and creates a "person." In order to make them real, we give the them thoughts and emotions. They become more than just a lump of clay.

While writing a scene this week, I created a character named Connor. One of my main characters met him while she was at the veterinary's office. I threw him into the scene so Lonnie would have someone to talk to while she waited to see the doctor.

Instead of having Connor just sit there with his kitten while Lonnie read a magazine, I gave him a voice. I also made him compassionate for an old man who is losing his dog to cancer. With those two things, I made him "human," and he does more than just take up space in the scene.

Even minor or walk-on characters need something to do. Make them leap off the page, and your scene will be better because of it.

I never expected to see Connor again. However, on my commute to the day-job this morning, he insisted his role is not finished, and he told me how he expects to fit into the rest of my novel. When I agreed, it made him smile.

I love writing.

Don't Waste Your Money on Bug Spray

2010-08-13T09:00:00.045-05:00

Dawn dishwashing liquid is not only great for degreasing, but it kills bugs as well. To make a non-toxic bug killer, use an empty spray bottle, such as an old (clean) Windex bottle.

Add two generous squirts of Dawn—about 2 Tablespoons—then fill the bottle with water. Shake well before each use and spray the bug.

I have found it to kill flies, wasps, mud daubers, carpenter bees, fleas, ants, spiders, fake lady bugs and an unfortunate bumble bee that invaded my home.

The downside: 1) You have to get the spray directly on the bug.

The upside: 1) It is safe around children and pets. 2) Regular bug spray has toxic fumes. This smells good. 3) You save $$$.

Manic Monday—Guest Blog

2010-08-09T09:00:00.015-05:00

Today, I'm taking a break from the usual Manic Monday. Liberty Speidel asked me to guest blog over at Word Wanderings, so I hope you'll stop by and read my post: Finding Time to Write.

Blessings In Disguise

2010-08-06T09:00:00.112-05:00

Twenty years ago, cell phones were huge, like the one in the picture. That phone can't make calls, though. All it can do is beep, bop, boop and zing. It is a toy.

My half-brother gave it to me as a joke, yet one night, it made a call that probably saved my life.

I was about twenty-five years old and coming home from a day in Springfield. Highway 13 has 4-lanes of traffic, and for several miles the northbound lanes split away from the southbound lanes. That particular stretch is almost deserted.

It was late, I was alone and the only traffic headed north was an 18-wheeler and me.

The driver of truck decided to play a game. He passed my car, cut in front of me and slowed down to 20 mph. I passed him and pulled back into the lane. After riding my bumper for a couple of minutes, he passed me again, cut back into the lane and slowed to 20 mph.

There were no houses in sight. The gas station on my right had long since closed. Is there never a cop around when you need one?

I passed him again and grabbed my fake phone. I held it up so he could see me "dial" it, then I pretended to talk into it.

Assuming I was calling for help, he backed off and I never saw him again.

I still keep the toy as a reminder that things could have turned out a lot differently that night. His intent may have only been to scare me, but he could have also been planning to raped me, kill me or both. What my half-brother did as a gag turned out to be a blessing.

Sometimes the best blessings aren't what we expect when we first see them.

(Note: Highway 13 is currently under construction so that the lanes will run side-by-side.)

Manic Monday—Sick Kitty

2010-08-02T09:00:00.003-05:00

The first—and last—time I rode Wildfire at Silver Dollar City, this is how I felt.

This Writer's Journey

2010-07-30T09:00:00.115-05:00

November 3, 2007, God told me I should write a novel. I named it Stand in the Sun and in only four months, I had a completed manuscript. I thought, "Wow! This is easy." After sending out queries to agents, I began working on novel number two and called it The Other Side of Wednesday.

March of 2008, I found Christianwriters.com and submitted the first few chapters of Sun for critiquing. I thought everyone would be impressed with my marvelous work and rave about how it would be the next New York Times best seller. Imagine my surprise when crits came back more negative than positive. Everyone tried to tell me in a nice way that my manuscript stunk. Poor sentence structure, flat characters, don't do this and don't do that, were among the comments.

I had no idea so many rules were involved. Wasn't writing just telling your character's story and getting it on paper? (Okay, other writers can stop laughing now.)

One CW member took pity on me and offered to be a private critiquer, or critter as writers affectionately call them.

I nearly drove the poor woman mad. If she has a stand of red hair left, I'd be surprised. I'm sure, on a clear night, had I turned my ear toward Texas, I could have heard her scream.

She tried to teach me the craft, telling me how to best improve my work. Instead of heeding her advice though, I whipped out a new version of the same scene and emailed it back—completely rewritten, but with the same mistakes.

When her schedule got too busy, she had to cut me loose, so I bought books on writing and studied them. I begged the private help of another CW member. She has taught me a lot, and while Nebraska is closer than Texas, I haven't heard her scream. Yet.

I still have much to learn—all writers keep learning—but I can now look back at Sun and Wednesday and see my mistakes. I know why people told me my writing stunk.

As of this blog, I'm at work on my third novel, Wounded Hearts. Even though I began it in March of 2009, I'm only 17,000 words in. I've done a gazillion rewrites because while one POV character is eager to tell me everything about herself, the other is reserved and only reveals a little bit at a time. I'm slowly getting to know her; I wish she'd trust me more. The plans I had made for what Wounded would become, shattered when my characters insisted it take a different path. I decided to trust them, murdered my darlings, and started again. Maybe I'll finish it by the time I'm eighty.

Writing is harder than I thought it would be, but it's still fun and it's what I want to do. My first critter recently told me, "Your writing has matured so much." That means a lot.

And it's enough to keep me pecking away on the keys.

Manic Monday—OCD

2010-07-26T09:00:00.004-05:00

For all my OCD friends out there.

Doing What You Love

2010-07-23T09:00:00.102-05:00

Doing what you love—and getting paid to do it—that's everyone's dream, isn't it? If only we were all that blessed.

Since I was twelve, writing has been my passion. I've written several short stories and published one of them. I've won two writing contests.

Then last Christmas, I bought my first digital camera, and the photography bug bit me.

Two loves, two longings that could take me away from the dreaded day job and plop me into a career that gives me a paycheck just to do what already fills my soul.

Therein, the problem. I'm a long way from completing my novel, and finding a home for my photographs has slammed me into a stone wall or two.

So, I'm stuck in neutral, unable to find the gear to move beyond the place where I am. While I wait to capture the brass ring, I grow frustrated and discouraged. Nearly three years ago, before I started writing again, I asked God what He wanted me to do with my life. He gave me an answer: write a novel. Since then, I've completed two (they're horrible), and am working on number three. I also believe He has given me an eye for viewing the world through the lens of a camera.

Why then the battle? If I'm inside God's will, doing what He wants, shouldn't doors open ahead of me instead of shutting in my face? Or shouldn't the previously mentioned stone wall at least have some padding? I'm getting bruises.

Perhaps I need more faith.

Faith is something I struggle with. If I don't get an answer to a prayer right away, I tend to lose hope.

"True faith does not contradict its words by its conduct." ~~Unknown. "Now faith is the substance of things hoped for, the evidence of things not seen."~~Acts 17:11 (KJV)

While those quotes are true, it's hard to wait. When the cash jar is low, yet the need is high, it's hard to wait. When I want to do something more with my life, something real, something that matters, it's hard to wait.

Sorry this post sounds like a whine fest. I know God has a plan, and I know He'll reveal that plan when He's ready. Until then, I'll take more pictures and work on my novel.

I'll knock on doors. When one finally opens, I want to be ready.

*All pictures taken by Lorna G. Poston. They are my property, and cannot be used or distributed without my permission.

Manic Monday—Duck Crossing

2010-07-19T09:00:00.003-05:00

"Be thou diligent to know the state of thy flocks, and look well to thy herds." Proverbs 27:23

The Reunion

2010-07-16T09:00:00.064-05:00

In 1888, The Great Encampment of Civil War Veterans met at what is now the city park in Urich, MO, to promote healing between the Blue and the Gray.

Then in 1894, 2,000 soldiers gathered for four days to tell war stories.

At some time in history, the annual get-together was named The Reunion—or "Re-Union"—with the hope of "re-uniting" all branches of our armed forces.

Sadly, the purpose lost its way over the years. Military people aren't there, at least not for the reason intended. The event is now a cheap three-day carnival full of cheesy rides and games.

In the park, the same site as the original meeting of 1888, carnies set up shop. The Lion's Club opens their concession stand and another group offers Bingo. Bright, flashing lights pulse against the sky. Loud music and barkers shouting, "Hey! Can you win?" barge in on the normally quiet town.

It's too bad. What began as a nice idea has turned into a commercialized moneymaker.

I wonder what the original soldiers would have thought of such a thing.

Manic Monday—Dog Attack

2010-07-12T09:00:00.002-05:00

That silly duck! Hasn't he heard of Aflack?

Manic Monday—Help!

2010-07-05T09:00:00.003-05:00

Time Flies

2010-07-02T09:00:00.036-05:00

Time is sneaky. It slips away unnoticed when we aren't paying attention.

Earlier this week, I was shocked to learn it has been a year since Farrah Fawcett and Michael Jackson died. Weren't my co-workers and I just discussing it a few months ago?

Other events are easy to place on a time-line. Last July, I was handing out bookmarks to help a friend promote her new book. Two years ago, I replaced the transmission on my van. Ten years ago, I was on vacation in California.

But as for the deaths of Michael and Farrah, how is it possible that a year has gone by? Time is beating its wings at such a rate that it's getting quite windy—hurricane velocity windy.

Am I just getting old?

Never mind. Don't answer that.

The Passage of Time

Manic Monday—Eskimo Baptism

2010-06-28T09:00:00.000-05:00

Here's today's Manic Monday funny. Hope it makes you laugh.

It's Not the Heat, It's the Humidity

2010-06-25T09:00:00.026-05:00

Some people say, "It's not the heat, it's the humidity."

Either way, it's still hot.

We're only into June, but we've been under a heat advisory a few days this week. A heat advisory occurs when the heat index reaches at least 105°. (For those of you unfamiliar with the term "heat index," that's what the temperature feels like compared to what it actually is.) People are advised to stay inside, drink plenty of fluids and limit physical activity.

Here in the Midwest, in addition to the heat we have humidity so thick one could practically cut it with a knife. As of this writing, the dew point is 70°. When the outside air reaches that temperature, water vapor becomes saturated and condensation begins. That's when your shirt glues itself to your back in about ten minutes.

If it's this unbearable now, what will July and August be like?

I want to move to a drier climate—to a place where summer and winter temperatures aren't so extreme. My cousin tells me Laguna Beach, CA, has a year-round temperature of 70°. The downside to that is: I'm allergic to earthquakes.

Anyone have other suggestions?

Oh, and I need a job when I get there.

Manic Monday—Sliding Kittens VIdeo

2010-06-21T09:00:00.003-05:00

Check this video for today's Manic Monday funny.

The Drive-In

2010-06-18T09:00:00.040-05:00

I grew up in a small town of 3,898 people. Our only source of entertainment was a drive-in movie. It showed one picture that arrived three months after its release date.

Since it was the only "theater" within 25 miles, people went to the movie to see the movie—not to do what Hollywood depicts drive-in movie-goers doing.

Although it had a concession stand, most people took their own food and beverage. Admission was $3 per person. Parking next to a friend's car and sharing the movie together was always fun.

Drive-in movies, along with many good things, have faded into the past. There are still a few here and there, but for the most part, they've disappeared off the American landscape. In the town where I grew up, the drive-in is now a used car lot, and that makes me sad. It's a piece of my teen years that I'll always treasure.

Good times there.

A lot of good times.

View similar post: The Picture Show

Manic Monday—Seeing Eye Cat

2010-06-14T09:00:00.002-05:00

To make you go Awww. :-)

The Picture Show

2010-06-11T09:30:00.002-05:00

I can't remember the last movie I watched in the theater, but I think it was about 10 years ago. Movies aren't as good as they used to be. I leave the theater disappointed and thinking of the ways I could have better utilized the cash.

Other downsides:

1) I'm a tad anti-social, so sharing a room with a bunch of strangers makes me claustrophobic.

2) The concessions are too expensive.

3) For those of you over 40, do you remember the cartoon before the film—The Blue Racer and The Pink Panther? Today, movie-goers are bombarded with trailers for other productions at eardrum shattering decibels.

Maybe I'm getting old.

Probably.

Definitely. Getting old.

What movies do you like to see?

Do you watch them in the theater or wait to rent/buy the DVD?

Manic Monday—The Perfect Crime

2010-06-07T09:00:00.002-05:00

Watch this video for today's Manic Monday funny.

Don't Waste Your Money on Sports Drinks

2010-06-04T09:00:00.011-05:00

How many of you use those drinks similar to the ones in the picture to rehydrate after a workout, mowing the lawn or other activity? Have you ever calculated the cost of those bottles, especially if you drink them a lot?

On the Webmd website, I found a recipe to make my own. It has the same ingredients, but it's a lot cheaper.

If you make this, it's important to use exactly the amount listed.

Using a 2 quart pitcher, add:
2 quarts of water
1 teaspoon baking soda (for the bicarbonate)
1 teaspoon sea salt
1/2 teaspoon Morton Lite salt (or any salt substitute that contains Potassium Chloride)
4 Tablespoons sugar

Mix and that's it. I add a packet of Kool-Aid for both color and added flavor. If you decide to use the Kool-Aid, do not add more sugar per the packet instructions. Just use the amount of sugar listed above.

This drink helps restore lost electrolytes, and maintaining the proper balance is important to your health.

Manic Monday—What Pets Write in Their Diaries

2010-05-31T09:00:00.000-05:00

Excerpts from a Dog’s Diary:
8:00 am – Dog food! My favorite thing!
9:30 am – A car ride! My favorite thing!
9:40 am – A walk in the park! My favorite thing!
10:30 am – Got rubbed and petted! My favorite thing!
12:00 pm – Lunch! My favorite thing!
1:00 pm – Played in the yard! My favorite thing!
3:00 pm – Wagged my tail! My favorite thing!
5:00 pm – Milk Bones! My favorite thing!
7:00 pm – Got to play ball! My favorite thing!
8:00 pm – Wow! Watched TV with the people! My favorite thing!
11:00 pm – Sleeping on the bed! My favorite thing!
Excerpts from a Cat’s Daily Diary:
Day 983 of my captivity…

My captors continue to taunt me with bizarre little dangling objects. They dine lavishly on fresh meat, while the other inmates and I are fed hash or some sort of dry nuggets. Although I make my contempt for the rations perfectly clear, I nevertheless must eat something in order to keep up my strength.

The only thing that keeps me going is my dream of escape. In an attempt to disgust them, I once again vomit on the carpet.

Today I decapitated a mouse and dropped its headless body at their feet. I had hoped this would strike fear into their hearts, since it clearly demonstrates what I am capable of. However, they merely made condescending comments about what a ‘good little hunter’ I am. Idiots.

There was some sort of assembly of their accomplices tonight. I was placed in solitary confinement for the duration of the event. However, I could hear the noises and smell the food. I overheard that my confinement was due to the power of ‘allergies.’ I must learn what this means and how to use it to my advantage.

Today I was almost successful in an attempt to assassinate one of my tormentors by weaving around his feet as he was walking. I must try this again tomorrow — but at the top of the stairs.

I am convinced that the other prisoners here are flunkies and snitches. The dog receives special privileges. He is regularly released – and seems to be more than willing to return. He is obviously retarded.

The bird has got to be an informant. I observe him communicating with the guards regularly. I am certain that he reports my every move. My captors have arranged protective custody for him in an elevated cell,
so he is safe.

For now…

Running Away

2010-05-28T09:00:00.054-05:00

Did you ever run away from home? I did. When I was nine, I was painting my wagon with red paint and spilled some on my yellow windbreaker.

I was scared I'd be in trouble for ruining the jacket, so I dumped my bank and left 50 cents on the kitchen table to pay for it along with a note saying I was running away.

My dog, Sandy, followed me and we went to my favorite hideout, a building that stored old tires—a block away from home.

Since I was new at this running away thing, I didn't know what I was supposed to do, so I just sat there. Sandy watched me and waited for me to make a decision. I hadn't brought money, clothes, food or water. Where was I going to go? I could hitchhike, but to where? And what would I do when I got there?

After two hours of sorting and planning, I decided to go home.

My dad was upset because he thought he'd never see me again. My mom knew I'd be back, she'd raised two boys and had already been down that road. She explained the paint was a "special kind" and would wash out of the jacket, so I didn't need to worry about it.

Had she told me that in the beginning, I wouldn't have needed to run away.

But then, I wouldn't have a blog topic either.

Related post: Shattered Dreams

Manic Monday—Why spelling is important

2010-05-24T09:00:00.004-05:00

Shows improvement? Really?

The Blue Beast

2010-05-21T09:00:00.055-05:00

I call it The Blue Beast, but that name is unfair. It's done it's best to perform well, and all in all, it hasn't been a bad van. As of this writing, there are just over 252,000 miles on the odometer.

When I bought Blue in 2002, it was 2 years old. I was helping the humane society transport feral cats for their Trap/Neuter/Return (TNR) program to a place that spays/neuters and vaccinates them at a special rate. I needed the extra cargo room, so I bought the mammoth gas-guzzler.

About two years ago, the transmission failed while I was on my way home from work. Last year, the AC went out. This year, it's the struts and shocks on the front and back. Bad shocks and struts cause uneven wear on the tires, so those need replacing too. My mechanic told me, "Don't put that kind of money into this. It would cost as much as the van is worth." I'm glad he's honest.

Last week, the fuel pump quit.

Sooner rather than later, I'll have to get a different car. I've been looking, but nothing fits my budget. If I can afford it, the vehicle is old with high mileage and in a few months, I'll be right back to where I am now. I've asked God to provide, but so far, He has remained silent.

I once knew a woman named Cathy who was in love with a man, but he only liked her as a friend. She refused to accept that answer and pursued him ... um, stalked him is more accurate. She showed up in places that she knew he would be, called him on the phone several times a day and made surprise visits to his home. Since she wouldn't go away, he gave her a chance. They are now married with 5 children.

Luke 18: 1-8 tells of the persistent widow. She was obdurate in her request to "Grant me justice against my adversary." At first, the judge refused her, but because she would not give up, he said, "I will see that she gets justice, so that she won't eventually wear me out with her coming."

Verse 7 of the same parable says: " And will not God bring about justice for His Chosen ones, who cry out to Him day and night? Will He keep putting them off?" Verse 8: "I tell you, He will see that they get justice, and quickly."

The Blue Beast has given all it can give and it's tired. Replacing it has become something I need to do—a necessity rather than a desire. Philippians 4:19 assures me: "And my God will meet all your needs according to His glorious riches in Christ Jesus."

With these things in mind, I'm going to keep asking. And asking—until He's so sick of hearing me, He says, "yes."

What is your need today? Trust in God to provide. Mark 11: 22-24 says: "Have faith in God," Jesus answered. "I tell you the truth, if anyone says to this mountain, 'Go throw yourself into the sea,' and does not doubt in his heart but believes that what he says will happen, it will be done for him. Therefore I tell you, whatever you ask for in prayer, believe that you have received it and it will be yours. "

It's all right there in God's Word. And God doesn't lie.

*All scripture references are from The New International Version

Manic Monday—Free to a Good Home

2010-05-17T05:00:00.003-05:00

Decisions, decisions.

What's In A Word?

2010-05-14T09:00:00.013-05:00

While everyone makes mistakes or typos, here are some commonly misused words I see in writing:

Lightening vs Lightning

Lightning is the light show that comes with a thunderstorm. Lightening is what you do to make something lighter, like the contrast on a copy machine, or to make a load less heavy.
Clue: Michael Jackson was the only person to be struck by lightening (his skin got lighter over time).Other people get struck by lightning if they stand outside during a storm.

Affect vs Effect

This is one I struggled with until I found this helpful explanation:
Affect is usually a verb meaning to influence. Effect is usually a noun meaning result.
Clue: This drug did not affect (influence) the disease, but it had several side effects (results).
Effect can also be a verb meaning to bring about. Only the president can effect (bring about) such change.

Emigrate vs Immigrate

Emigrate means to leave one country and settle in another. Immigrate means to enter one country and reside there.
Clue: Emigrate begins with the letter E. When you emigrate, you exit a country. Immigrate begins with the letter I. When you immigrate, you go into another country.

Dessert vs Desert

A dessert is something you eat that tastes good. A desert is a dry, parched land with lots of sand and scorpions.
Clue: Dessert comes after dinner because you should eat it second. The word dessert has a second S.

I vs Me

Incorrect: This is a big opportunity for Jim and I.
Correct: This is a big opportunity for Jim and me.
Clue: Take Jim out of the sentence. You wouldn't say, This is a big opportunity for I.
Incorrect: Dennis and me are going to the store.
Correct: Dennis and I are going to the store.
Clue: Again, take Dennis out of the sentence. You wouldn't say, Me is going to the store.

Yay, Yea, Yeah and Ya

Yay is an exclamation of excitement. Yay! I finished my novel!
Yea is rarely used these days, except when voting to the affirmative, or in the Bible: Yea though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death...
Yeah is a casual version of yes. Yeah, I like cherry pie.
Ya is a casual version of you. Where ya going?

Whose vs Who's

Whose is possessive. Whose car is that?
Who's is a contraction for who has or who is. Who's been feeding the stray cat? (Who has been feeding the stray cat?) Who's going with me? (Who is going with me?)

Its vs It's

Its is possessive. The car has a mind of its own.
It's is a contraction for it has or it is. It's been brought to my attention that the plant needs water. (It has been brought to my attention that the plant needs water.) It's a matter of personal opinion, but I don't like Harry Potter. (It is a matter of personal opinion, but I don't like Harry Potter.)

Hope you find these helpful. Happy writing!

Manic Monday-Sharp As A Tack

2010-05-10T09:00:00.004-05:00

Well, at least they're on top of things. It's hard to fool the Feds.

Shattered Dreams

2010-05-07T09:00:00.066-05:00

When I was born, my mom breathed a sigh of relief. She'd already raised two rambunctious sons, and she was looking forward to a daughter who wore frilly dresses with bows in her hair. A daughter who would sit quietly in her room and play with dolls.

Her dream shattered like glass.

I was a tomboy.

I played cowboys and Indians.

I had Matchbox cars and plastic, green Army men.

I wore blue jeans.

I got muddy.

I hated dolls.

When I was eight, I climbed on top of the stacked hay bales in our barn and grabbed onto a rope that was tied to a rafter. My theory was, if I swung out like Tarzan, I would surely swing back in the same path, therefore avoiding the hulking support post in the middle of the barn.

But I was wrong. So very, very wrong. (I was eight, okay? I hadn't taken physics yet.)

On the return trip, the back of my head connected with the post like long lost lovers. Black dots zig-zagged in front of my eyes. I let go of the rope and dropped six feet to the floor.

I laid there, the smell of fresh hay mixing with dust, while my dog Sandy barked. He didn't stop barking until my mom, who was nearby feeding the chickens, came to see what the ruckus was about.

My stunt earned me a concussion and a new gray hairs for my mother.

And she thought having a daughter would be cake.

So, what does an adventurous tomboy with an exploding imagination grow up to become? Well, a writer, of course!

Similar post, Dare to Dream

Manic Monday—Our English Language

2010-05-03T09:00:00.023-05:00

Monday shouldn't start at the beginning of the week. There's something terribly wrong with that, so I'm reintroducing Manic Monday. Every week, I'll share a trivia quiz or something funny to help brighten your day. So without further ado, here it is, once again ... Manic Monday!

*Flashing sign instructing audience to applaud.*

*A friend emailed this to me.

So, you think English is easy??

1) The bandage was wound around the wound.

2) The farm was used to produce produce.

3) The dump was so full that it had to refuse more refuse.

4) We must polish the Polish furniture.

5) He could lead if he would get the lead out.

6) The soldier decided to desert his dessert in the desert.

7) Since there is no time like the present, he thought it was time to present the present.

8) A bass was painted on the head of the bass drum.

9) When shot at, the dove dove into the bushes.

10) I did not object to the object.
11) The insurance was invalid for the invalid.
12) There was a row among the oarsmen about how to row.

13) They were too close to the door to close it.

14) The buck does funny things when the does are present.

15) A seamstress and a sewer fell down into a sewer line.

16) To help with planting, the farmer taught his sow to sow.

17) The wind was too strong to wind up the sail.

18) Upon seeing the tear in the painting I shed a tear or two.

19) I had to subject the subject to a series of tests.

20) How can I intimate this to my most intimate friend?

21) He had to put his bow and arrows down in order to bow before the king.
Let's face it - English is a crazy language. There is no egg in eggplant, nor ham in hamburger; neither apple nor pine in pineapple.

Some more paradoxes: Quicksand can work slowly, boxing rings are square and a guinea pig is neither from Guinea nor is it a pig. English muffins weren't invented in England nor French fries in France .

Sweetmeats are candies, while sweetbreads, which aren't sweet, are meat.
And why is it that writers write but grocers don't groce and hammers don't ham?

If the plural of tooth is teeth, why isn't the plural of booth, beeth? One goose, two geese. so one moose, two meese? The plural of mouse is mice, but the plural of house is houses, not hice.

Doesn't it seem crazy that you can make amends but you can't make one amend? If you have a bunch of odds and ends and get rid of all but one of them, what do you call the one that's left?
If teachers taught, why didn't preachers praught? If a vegetarian eats vegetables, does a humanitarian eat humans?

Sometimes I think all English speakers should be committed to an asylum for the verbally insane. In what language do people recite at a play, and play at a recital? Or ship by truck, and send cargo by ship? And how is it that we have noses that run and feet that smell?
How can a slim chance and a fat chance be the same thing, while a wise man and a wise guy are opposites? You have to marvel at the unique lunacy of a language in which your house can burn up as it burns down, or where you fill in a form by filling it out, or where an alarm goes off by going on!
English was invented by people, not computers, and it reflects the creativity of the human race, which, of course, is not a race at all. That is why, when the stars are out, they are visible, but when the lights are out, they are invisible.
Why doesn't 'Buick' rhyme with 'quick' ?
There is a two-letter word that perhaps has more meanings than any other two-letter word, and that is the word 'UP'.

It's easy to understand UP, meaning toward the sky or at the top of the list, but when we awaken in the morning, why do we wakeUP? At a meeting, why does a topic come UP? Why do we speak UP and why are the Officers UP for election and why is it UP to the secretary to write UP a report?

We call UP our friends. And we use it to brighten UP our day. We polish UP the silver; we warm UP the leftovers and clean UP the kitchen. We lock UP the house and some guy fixes UP the old car. At other times this little word has real special meaning: People stirUP  trouble, line UP for tickets, work UP an appetite, and think UP excuses. To be dressed is one thing, but to be dressed UP is special.
A drain must be opened UP because it is stopped UP. We open UP a store in the morning but we also close it UP at night.

We seem to be pretty mixed UP about UP!  To be knowledgeable about the proper uses of UP, look the word UP in the dictionary.  In a desk-sized dictionary, it takes UP  almost one quarter of the page and can add UP to about thirty definitions. If you are UP to it, you might try buildingUP a list of the many ways UP is used. It will takeUP a lot of your time, but if you don't give UP,you may just wind UP with a hundred or more!

When it threatens to rain, we say it is clouding UP. When the sun comes out we say it is clearing  UP.

When it rains, it wets the earth and often messes things UP.

When it doesn't rain for a while, things dry UP.

One could go on and on, but I have to wrap it UP.

For now my time is UP, and so it is time to shut UP!

View similar post: You Could Care Less ... Or Couldn't You?

Vacation. It's a Beautiful Thing!

2010-04-30T09:00:00.039-05:00

Vacation days away from the stress of life is a good way to recharge one's batteries. They are a refreshing renewal of the soul, and I cannot recommend them enough.

Two weeks ago, I took such a day and went to Silver Dollar City in Branson, MO to see World Fest. Different countries from across the globe performed shows, displaying their talent. And, they have the best frozen lemonade I've ever tasted.

It wasn't so much where I went as it was the company I kept—Thanks Farnum family!—and allowing myself a day to just ... breathe.

In the words of Ferris Bueller, "Life moves pretty fast. If you don't stop and look around once in awhile, you could miss it."

Take that advice and mine: If you are stressed and your schedule's filled to overflowing, if you meet yourself going out the door as you are coming in—take a day off. Go somewhere. Go anywhere. Just go.

And don't forget to have fun.

Publish Post

You Could Care Less ... or Couldn't You?

2010-04-23T08:00:00.005-05:00

The other day, my friend said, "I could care less."

Oh, really? How much less could she care?

The original phrase was "I couldn't care less," and it arrived from Britain, in the 1950's. It's meaning was I could not possibly care less than I already do, while "I could care less," means I already care a little bit so it is possible to care just a little less.

"I could care less" is only spoken in the U.S. Its wording changed sometime around 1966 to give a sarcastic twist to its meaning, or for it to mean the opposite of its intent. Other phrases such as, "Tell me about it!" really means don't tell me about it at all, because I already know, and "I should be so lucky," which means I could never be that lucky, are based on the same idea.

If you could care less, then you actually could care less. Think of it this way: If I'm famished and there's a full plate of food in front of me, I won't say, "I could have less food," but I would say, "I couldn't have less food."

To get your intended meaning across, its a good idea to stick with the original version. That way, the British won't laugh at you and think you're just a dumb American.

*Note: If you like my new header, you can thank my friend Nina Hansen for the design. Doesn't she do amazing work?

What's in your bag?

2010-04-16T09:00:00.084-05:00

This is my bag. I carry it with me everywhere. In it, I keep a spiral notebook, pens, Roget's Thesaurus (this particular version—in dictionary form—is truly the best thesaurus out there. I wouldn't be without a copy), backup disks for my WIP, a file folder for stuff I print off the Internet, nail clippers, emery board, tape recorder, spare keys, breath mints, Tylenol and a mini-flashlight.

Two years ago, I watched my neighbor's house burn to the ground. They lost everything. It made me wonder what I'd do if there were a fire in my own home—especially if I was gone. Not only would I lose my WIP that was on the computer, but my backups as well. So, I started carrying backups with me.

Over time, I added the above listed items. Not only was my purse getting heavy, but I ran out of room to stuff everything. I saw a writer with a backpack, and thought it was a good idea, so I drug one out of the back of my closet. More room, more convenient, and it's been my companion since.

What kind of bag do you carry and what are your essentials?

Writers and Cats

2010-04-09T09:00:00.037-05:00

Many writers have at least one cat. Mark Twain did, Hemingway had several, and a lot of my modern-day writer pals have a feline or two. Is that because a writer's personality so closely resembles the cat? Here are some cat traits. I'll let you decide.

Most cats, though not all, are shy and extroverts in disguise. They run for cover when a stranger comes to the door. They'd rather eat shards of glass than meet someone new.

They hate leaving their "comfort zone."

While dogs are pack animals, cats are solitary or form loose social groups and crave their "alone time."

Cats are quiet and thoughtful.

They stare off into space for no apparent reason.

They see things that aren't really there. (Cats have a sense of humor, and I think they pretend to see something so their humans will get out of a chair to see what they are looking at. Ha! Did you see that? Fooled her again!) But writers talk to people who aren't really there, so ...

Yep. If cats could type, they could be writers. But they lack opposable thumbs.

*Pictured is Norton, my Flame Point Himalayan. He's named after the cat in The Cat Who Went to Paris series. Someone dumped him at my house about a year ago.

Quiet Times with God

2010-04-02T09:00:00.047-05:00

Peace like a river.

In our hurried, hectic world, do you slow down enough to listen to God? Really listen? Or do you do a daily devotion, mumble a quick prayer and rush out the door?

Most often, I am guilty of the latter. I'm gone from home a minimum of 11 hours, my commute is long, and the traffic is stressful. When I get home, I have household duties waiting for me, soon it will be mowing season, and I have a second job as an editor. Somewhere in the cracks, I try to write my novel.

Those excuses aren't good enough. I need to take time to stop. And listen.

Some people spend their time with God while they are out on a walk or during the commute to work. I tried these ideas, but there was always something to distract me. Walking, I would see someone who wanted to chat, a dog barked or a noisy car rumbled by. Commuting to work, I have traffic issues, sirens, honking horns and stop lights. Not to mention, it's a good idea to focus on the road.

Quiet time with God should be ... well, quiet. Your mind should be free to concentrate only on Him. Since I'm lousy at multi-tasking, I need a place without interruptions, a place where the only sound is the music of nature, and I can clearly hear His voice.

Unfortunately, this doesn't happen often. Life gets in the way. A million other things need to be done, my cats want my attention, or the phone rings. Sometimes I start out in quiet time, then my mind wanders to other issues.

That's what Satan wants. He is a master at keeping us so busy—or our minds full of other thoughts—that we put God on hold. The enemy wants us to rush through our day, then fall asleep after forgetting to pray or open the Bible. Without a strong prayer life, we aren't strong Spiritually, and that's when Satan fires his arrows at our weak armor.

To fight the enemy, we need to find time in our daily life when we are most alert. That may be first thing in the morning, at lunch break or right before bed. Whenever it is, make sure you can give God your full attention.

Then listen. And let Him speak to your heart.

Never Give Up

2010-03-26T09:00:00.101-05:00

Poor Charlie Brown. Every year, Lucy convinces him to kick the football. She pulls it away at the last second and Charlie Brown crashes to the ground. Regardless, he doesn't give up. In the fall, he knows that this year, he'll do it, and the football will go sailing over the moon.

Writers need Charlie's attitude. Days come when the words flow from our fingers and onto the keyboard like water from a fresh mountain stream. Other days are as dry as the Sahara and we stare at the mocking, blinking cursor.

We agonize over every word. Is the dialogue believable? Would someone really say that? What's a synonym for "storm?" Does the scene make sense? Would this really happen?

We polish and polish, then turn it in to our critique partners and wait for the results. But instead of our critters telling us "It's perfect! It's brilliant," or "It's the best thing I've ever seen," they mark it up with red and send it back. So we revise it again. And again.

Why? Why not just give up and do something easy, like a hostage negotiator or bomb squad technician? Because (speaking for myself) writing whispers to my soul. Because I know all the frustrations will be worth it on the day I hold a copy of my published novel in my hands. When I see my name on the cover, and know I wrote the words inside, it will feel like I won the lottery. All the pain and agony of "child birth" will be worth it.

To all pre-published writers: Don't quit. If writing is your God given talent, then use it. Don't let anyone discourage you or change your course. You may have to take a few detours, but never, never stop until you reach your destination. The trip will be worth it when you can look back and see the road you traveled.

And it will be beautiful.

The Miracle of Life

2010-03-19T09:00:00.003-05:00

Instead of a blog post, I'm sharing a poem written by veterinarian Barry Taylor.

The Miracle of Life
Come quick, come quick", their mother said, "The time is getting near."
She feels that when the kittens come the children should be here.
She told them that a big orange Tom took "Kitty" as his wife.
"It's wonderful, a gift from God, the miracle of life."

At half a year young, "Kitty", feels too painful and too scared
to appreciate six miracles, blind-eyed and yellow haired.
But she knows these lives depend on her and nature tells her how,
and as she cleans them, children ask "Mom, can we go now?"
But now and then for six more weeks the children visit her
to play with six new magic toys made of life and fur.

The six weeks pass, the newness gone and new homes yet unfound,
Mom bundles up six “miracles” and takes them to the pound.
Where lovingly, with gentle hands and no tears left to cry,
the shelter workers kiss them once and take them off to die.
And "Momma Kitty," now she's called, mourns her loss and then
she's put outside, and of course, she's pregnant once again.

Dad says, “Kitty, STOP THIS NOW or you wont live here long!”
but deep inside of Momma Cat, this time something's wrong.
Too young, too small, too often bred now nature's gone awry,
Momma Kitty feels it too and she crawls off to die.
She too is freed from this cruel world, and from her time of strife.
How harsh the truth, how high the price this "Miracle of Life".
-By Barry Taylor, DVM

Dare To Dream

2010-03-12T09:00:00.005-06:00

When I was small, I couldn’t pass a mechanical horse without begging for a ride. Back then it only cost a dime, and my mom allowed this occasional treat.

I climbed on and she’d stick her coin in the slot, then turn the knob. When the horse stared to rock, the walls of the store morphed into an open prairie where I chased outlaws and “shot” them with my finger. “Pow! Pow!” The horse kicked up so much dust; I could taste it on my tongue. I'm certain other shoppers thought I was a bit "touched in the head," but they didn't know what they were missing.

The ride always ended too soon and I had to leave the horse behind. Maybe that’s when my imagination began to form, taking me to places outside of my world. Places where I dreamed, made up stories, and where I was always the hero.

Writing is so much a part of me because I can’t stop the dreams or the stories and I have to get them on paper. It's like breathing—it’s the other side of my soul. Writing is my outlet. I have a high-stress job, and at the end of the day, when I can enter the world of my characters, it's an automatic release. The stress rolls off me. I come alive.

I’m thankful to God for the gift of an overactive imagination, for the power of the written word and for the ability to combine the two. I only hope that when I'm a published author, my writing will bring glory and honor to Him.

The Passage of Time

2010-03-05T09:00:00.007-06:00

When I was young, time crept by with the idleness of a tortoise. I couldn’t wait for my birthday, for summer vacation, for The Picnic, (the annual carnival that came to town) for Christmas, to turn sixteen and get my own car, and to graduate high school. Reaching my twentieth birthday appealed to me more than staying nineteen, then marking the quarter century mark more so than that. Each event was like a rung on a ladder and upward I climbed.

My mom once said, “You’d better enjoy it while you can, because the older you get, the faster time flies.”

She was right. It seems as though I turned around and a middle aged woman stared back at me in the mirror.

In May, I will be forty-four. While I don’t desire to turn back the clock, I do wish I’d taken more time to “smell the roses” and enjoy the life God gifted me. I wish I would have appreciated that particular time in my life instead of thinking the grass was greener on the other side of the next hill—or up the next rung on my ladder.

I may only be mid-point on the track, but I can see the yellow tape at the finish line coming into sight faster than a cheetah after a gazelle. While I once wanted time to go fast, I now want it to slow down.

Please.

Just a little.

Time is precious, so watch the world around you. Take note of every scent, every season, every glint of the sun as it dances on the water.

It's never too late to start.

"Time is so invisible, you never see it passing." Lisa Wingate, Tending Roses.

Yes, Lisa. I agree.

Dating Your Novel

2010-02-26T09:00:00.012-06:00

Nobody wants to date their novel—to have a reader engrossed in the book, only to get yanked out of their fictional dream with the "wait a minute!" factor—the realization that what they are reading isn't possible. Even fiction has to have some resemblance of truth.

Most writers urge caution when including brand names. The Sidekick or BlackBerry might be obsolete in a few years, so it’s best to simply use cell phone instead. To see a related post, check out my friend K.M. Weiland's blog: Branding: Negotiating Consumerism in Fiction

By the same token, if you have your character staring at the TV, make her watch a rerun of Lassie rather than a current sitcom that might be off the air next month.

But what about an American landmark? Will the Saint Louis Arch always be there? Or the Pylons on top of Bartle Hall in Kansas City? Will Arrowhead always be the home of the Chiefs?

Take for example a book I wrote in the latter part of 2008 where my main character visited the sea lions at Pier 39 in San Francisco. When I wrote the book, the mammals were a main tourist attraction, but if you look back at a recent blog, you will learn they have moved on. That particular book hides in shame in the back of my closet, but had it actually made it into print, it would now be dated as Pre-2009, all because of the small detail about the sea lions.

If a book is set in NYC with the Twin Towers in the background, it was obviously written prior to September 11, 2001. Last spring, the Sears Tower in Chicago changed its name to Willis Tower. The Denver Broncos now play in Invesco Field instead of Mile High Stadium.

Writers: how do we handle this? Should we never mention landmarks or other tourist attractions at all? If not, how do we keep a sense of verisimilitude if our novels are set in cities that exist in real life?

Readers: how do you feel when you find something in a book—set in modern times—that couldn't possibly exist in 2010? Does it ruin your reading experience? Does it have you searching the front of the book for the publication date?

I'm leaving this blog as an open forum, so all comments are welcome. I'm interested in your input.

The Least of These

2010-02-19T08:30:00.008-06:00

Meet Wobble.

He was born with Feline Cerebeller Hypoplasia. That means his cerebellum was not completely formed when he was born. Symptoms include poor motor skills, tremors and jerky movements. To see a video of Charley, another cat with FCH, click the above link.

When Wobble and his sister, Weeble, were about 10 weeks old, four teenagers witnessed a person throwing them into a dumpster in the park. Because of the way Wobble walked, the teens thought he had broken legs and took him to a local vet clinic.

Since he was unable to control his head movements, the veterinarian assumed he wasn't able to eat and she considered euthanasia. But thankfully, she waited. Soon, Wobble was tipping the scales, passing the weight of his sister, so she knew he was going to be fine.

The animal clinic called HELP Humane Society in Belton, MO to see if they had a place for Weeble and Wobble. Of course, they did. HELP, a no-kill rescue, often takes animals that are hard to place or have special needs. Animals that are euthanized at other shelters, HELP gives them a chance.

Wobble finally found his new family. The pictures show him asleep in the arms of a person who loves him.

Should you be considering a new furry friend for your home, please look at your local shelter. Many are waiting. If you love animals but are unable to adopt, or want a place to volunteer, your local shelter may be just the place. Yes, they are always in need of money, but your time is valuable too. A few hours a week to help clean, do laundry, scoop litter boxes or run errands are always appreciated.

At the end of the day, you can look into the eyes of those cats and dogs and know you made a difference.

The Year of the Tiger

2010-02-12T08:00:00.001-06:00

It's the Chinese New Year and according to their calendar, I was born in the year of the Horse.

Per the description, “Horses” are trustworthy, honest and good confidants. We make good friends, but are independent, enjoying time alone. One article calls us “quick-tempered.” Yes, sometimes times I’m guilty. We are also “quick-witted,” but some days, I have my doubts about that.

“Horses” are born leaders and are said to make a good journalist or TV anchors. However, I’m not a fan of the media, so those occupations wouldn’t work out.

Other Horse characteristics include possessing the spirit of endurance, strength and perseverance. While that last part helps me some aspects—I will finish my novel—it throws roadblocks in my path in other areas—the area of friendship in particular. The people I tend to want for a friend don’t want me back. I chase them and they jump off cliffs to avoid me and wish upon me sudden illness ... or death.

I trust far too easily and give away too much of my soul.

I reason, “if only this person would see that she could trust me, she’d like me,” or “if that person would get to know me, she would see me differently.” I refuse to give up, and on it goes.

Yes, it's as pathetic as it sounds. Why do I do that to myself when life would be so much easier to stick to the “independent and alone” part? Or why not just accept the people who want me in their life and leave the rest alone?

When we flipped our calenders to January 1, 2010, I made a New Year's Resolutions to avoid people like that. While I'm getting better at it, I'm not quite there yet. One day at a time, God is showing me I shouldn't waste my efforts. The more of those people I manage to shake off, the better I feel. Life is too short. The risk is too great. I need to appreciate the friends God put along my path and stop hounding the others.

It is better to have a few good friends that will drop everything to be by your side when you need them, than to have a gazillion friends that will run when your foundation starts to crack. It is wise to have friends who accept you as you are—who don't expect more or less, but just want you—for you.

"A friend is someone who knows all about you, but loves you just the same." I don't know who said that, but it's advice I need to remember.

Signing off for now, and Happy Chinese New Year. It's the year of the Tiger.