I haven't thought about Gloria for a very long time. That memory is locked away in the heart of a woman who used to be a twelve-year- old girl. I found myself talking about her to my 6th & 7th graders the other day, and she will not leave my thoughts. One of the things that the Ragged Edge authors talked about was to "bleed on the page." To put our emotions in word form. To scream through our words.
I was eleven and Gloria was my first babysitting assignment. Her family had moved in to a house near ours and I had befriended her older brother Donald. He was a fun kid to hang out with- for a three year old! When I met his mother, she was almost embarrassed to introduce me to her infant daughter. Gloria was very mentally and physically handicapped. Her head seemed too big for her tiny twisted body. When she cried, it sounded like the mew of a kitten. Her eyes could not focus on anything and she was very floppy.
Gloria's mother, Pat, taught me how to change her diaper, how to hold her and how to feed her. After awhile I didn't see the handicaps she had, I just saw her. Pat started by leaving me with Gloria for a few minutes while she went to the store. I remember being so proud that I had been the one in charge of watching out for this precious life. I felt I was well on my way to becoming a very responsible babysitter.
Eventually Pat was able to leave for an hour or take Donald to the doctor while I stayed with Gloria. I recall dressing her in a tiny pink dress and carrying her out to the trees near our house and while I held her in my arms, I sang to her. She was about nine months old that day and for the first time, her eyes focused on mine as I sang song after song to her.
As the months went by Gloria was able to turn her head slightly when she heard my voice. When she was a year old, she weighed eleven pounds and was working so hard to hold her head up! I knew that she was not progressing like other babies, but she had come so far and I was so proud of her!
I turned twelve that November and it was at that time that the doctor discovered that I had scoliosis, a curvature of the spine- and it was severe. (over 30 degrees curvature) I would have to wear a back brace 23 out of 24 hours a day. It looked more like a torture device that a tool to realign my back and I remember crying all night long the day after Christmas when I wore it to bed for the first time. I felt out of place and knew I looked like a freak. Sixth grade is not where you want to appear different, and this contraption with a metal neck ring, one metal rod down the front, and two down the back, made me look very different.
I knew one other person might understand being different. After my first day back at school in January, I found myself at Pat's house, crying into Gloria's neck. She softly cooed at me and I remember laughing at her. I felt that I could do this brace thing as long as I had Gloria to talk to.
That weekend, Pat and the rest of the family were sick and they had Gloria put in a respite care home so that she would be taken care of. I couldn't wait to see her the following week.
I did see her the next week, but it was in a very small coffin in a funeral home.
For reasons unknown to the family, Gloria had died in her sleep Sunday at the respite care home.
I never got to tell her goodbye.
I never got to tell her what she meant to me.
I don't remember the days between that Sunday and the day of her funeral. I do know that my Mom took me out of school so that I could go to the funeral. I have sharp images of that sweet baby in a frilly pink dress lying in the white coffin surrounded by pink flowers and a ribbon that said,"Our Darling Daughter".
My twelve year old brain could not process what was going on. I heard some of the adults talking about the fact that Pat and Donny (her husband) were first cousins and that's why Gloria was the way she was. I heard many say that it was for the best that she was in heaven with Jesus.
I didn't want her with Jesus! I needed her here with me! What kind of God takes a tiny baby away just because she was different? What kind of God does that?
Unfortunately, no one attempted to explain it to me. No one asked me if I was okay.
As I stood in the cemetery that January day, with the snow under my feet and the sun shining, the day wasn't the only thing that was cold.
My heart had frozen. My twelve year old heart was breaking and I didn't know how to handle it.
I could not tell her goodbye.
So I turned my back as they lowered the casket in the ground and vowed that I would never again love someone like I had Gloria. Never again would I allow my heart to feel anything like that.
When Pat and her family moved back to Arkansas in the spring, I didn't cry. Not once.
When I endured the teasing from being different in school, I didn't cry too much.
I was hardening my heart and it served me well. It got me through Jr. High. And when I entered High School without wearing a back brace- it served me then. I was more popular and had boyfriends. I had friends but I did not value them too much. I didn't want to let anyone know the pain I had inside. The grief that I refused to deal with. The baby I had allowed myself to love, but never told goodbye.
I won't go into detail of how messed up I became during those years, but suffice it to say that I was a mess. In college I did meet a boy who I did tell about Gloria. He said he was a Christian and believed in God. I was very skeptical of him.
One day in January, he told me we were going on a road trip. When we ended up in the cemetery in Mitchell, I knew why we were there. I told him I did not remember where she was buried, so we scattered the snow off dozens of headstones with our gloved hands.
I was the one who found Gloria's stone. It had her name on it and her birth and death. I knelt down in the snow beside it and left my gloved hand on her name. In that moment, I cried.
I cried for all the years I hadn't been able to.
I cried for the loneliness I had felt.
I cried for the emptiness I had felt.
I cried for the memory of how much I had loved her.
As the tears froze on my face that day, a miracle was happening in my hard heart.
It was softening.
It did not happen right away, but it was a long process for me. It was a long road back to God. But Gloria was the tiny child that paved the way for me.
Even all these years later, I am so thankful for Gloria.
As tears run down my face now- I give thanks for God for giving us Gloria for even a little over a year.
It was time to tell her story......
I love you Gloria Kay Heath. You will live in my heart forever.
Saturday, August 27, 2011
Thursday, August 25, 2011
Doing the Work
It's been almost two weeks since my trip to Nashville and the Ragged Edge Writer's conference I went to. When I got home, I hit the ground running- with a Teacher's meeting on Monday and parent night on Tuesday. Don't get me wrong....I love my teaching job, but all I wanted to do was write. So when I finally sat down to write...
Nothing.
I had no bright idea, no inspiration, no direction of my story.
Nothing.
I was bummed. I had just gone to this life changing workshop and I could not type a word. I knew where my story was going, but I was stuck. I had made the decision to put my story in third person instead of first and it put the brakes on everything.
My decision was not one I came to suddenly. I have been thinking about it for awhile, but after listening to Ted and my fellow writers, I knew it had to be done. But I didn't want to. I avoided my writing corner, coming up with other things to do. I did write- but it was the mythology and I didn't have to change that.
Finally, this week I decided to battle the dragon, so to speak. I took part of my manuscript and put it from first into third. I was not inspired and I complained alot.
It. Was. Not. Fun.
At. All.
But after I had fixed a few pages and read it to my husband, it didn't sound as disjointed as it had felt while I was replacing the "I's" with "She and her."
It dawned on me that it will be much easier to tell the WHOLE story and not just Afton's part. I had just been avoiding it like the plague. Why?
Because I was dreading the change. I was dreading the work. I was living proof of Stephan King's quotes on writing gone astray. My butt was not in the seat. I was not shoveling "manure" from an upright position. I was not doing anything.
The last few days have been easier. Oh, I still have a TON of re-writes to do to get this manuscript where I want it, but I'm not afraid any more.
What's the difference?
Blue Monkeys.
Ok- I'm not totally crazy, but blue monkeys are what those of us that attended the Ragged Edge call each other. We are writers and we are supporting each other in this journey. The last almost two weeks I have read their posts and examples of their writing and it gave me the courage to go and "do the work".
Tomorrow I have one of my "Writing Days". I am no longer dreading it. I am excited because I know that I am a Writer and I am doing what God created me to do.
I am a Writer.
I am doing the work.
Nothing.
I had no bright idea, no inspiration, no direction of my story.
Nothing.
I was bummed. I had just gone to this life changing workshop and I could not type a word. I knew where my story was going, but I was stuck. I had made the decision to put my story in third person instead of first and it put the brakes on everything.
My decision was not one I came to suddenly. I have been thinking about it for awhile, but after listening to Ted and my fellow writers, I knew it had to be done. But I didn't want to. I avoided my writing corner, coming up with other things to do. I did write- but it was the mythology and I didn't have to change that.
Finally, this week I decided to battle the dragon, so to speak. I took part of my manuscript and put it from first into third. I was not inspired and I complained alot.
It. Was. Not. Fun.
At. All.
But after I had fixed a few pages and read it to my husband, it didn't sound as disjointed as it had felt while I was replacing the "I's" with "She and her."
It dawned on me that it will be much easier to tell the WHOLE story and not just Afton's part. I had just been avoiding it like the plague. Why?
Because I was dreading the change. I was dreading the work. I was living proof of Stephan King's quotes on writing gone astray. My butt was not in the seat. I was not shoveling "manure" from an upright position. I was not doing anything.
The last few days have been easier. Oh, I still have a TON of re-writes to do to get this manuscript where I want it, but I'm not afraid any more.
What's the difference?
Blue Monkeys.
Ok- I'm not totally crazy, but blue monkeys are what those of us that attended the Ragged Edge call each other. We are writers and we are supporting each other in this journey. The last almost two weeks I have read their posts and examples of their writing and it gave me the courage to go and "do the work".
Tomorrow I have one of my "Writing Days". I am no longer dreading it. I am excited because I know that I am a Writer and I am doing what God created me to do.
I am a Writer.
I am doing the work.
Thursday, August 18, 2011
When Words Fail.....
I've been back in the real world for a few days and I am still struggling with the words to explain exactly what this past weekend at The Ragged Edge meant to me. Usually the words come so easily; but today they aren't. There are just pieces of what Ted and the others shared that are impossible for me to put into words and sentences.
The rawness of what the five authors shared with us is like nothing I have ever heard of. On that first day, Ted shared his bio with us. Listening to him talk about all of his books and successes was daunting for me. I began to wonder why in the world I was there. Then Ted did an amazing thing. He stopped and then said something that made me a bigger fan than before. He told us that he was going to tell us the real story...not just a nice tidy bio.
And he did. He shared his struggles and triumphs. I remember thinking that if he could do it, I could too. Maybe this writing thing was for me. Each author shared their writing journeys and I kept thinking more and more that I related to these people- these writers. When I began talking to other attendees I found I could relate to their stories too. No matter what the age or gender. We all had a common thread. We were writers. We were blue monkeys. We were freaks.
My paradigm has shifted. My DNA has been altered forever. How do you put that into a paragraph? How do you sum that up? How do you assign words and phrases to that?
You don't.
I found that I now get the phrase in the Bible about Mary pondering all the wonderful miracles that happened when Jesus was a baby and pondering them in her heart. I'll bet that she didn't have the words either.
I did come across a note that a friend and co-worker from Nebraska had written me five or six years ago. At the time I was struggling with my identity (I hadn't started writing yet...) and she gave me a card with a tabby cat on the front. The card says, "The Tabby knows where to grow its stripes". Inside, this dear woman wrote "Know why that tabby knows where to grow his stripes? I believe it's because God has it all figured out and planned for him- it's just a natural occurrence as to how those stripes will grow. Your stripes come into being just as natural as the stripes on a tabby cat. God has his plan for you too, Colette. Just let it happen..."
She went on to say some wonderful things and how God would be faithful to show me who I am and use the gifts he given me for His glory. Did this woman know what God would be up to six years later? Did she know that God would restore the gift of writing to me? Did she know I would be in up to my eyeballs in a classic fantasy story?
No. She just told me that my "stripes" were there and God had it all planned and under control. Much like Ted shared about the blue monkey. I am blue- even if I try to fit in with the brown ones. He made me blue. I am different and I need to embrace that. My stripes have been there all along- I have been blue all this time- the difference is that now I acknowledge that.
When we met the authors face to face and had them sign our books, I enjoyed chatting with all of them, but with Ted I didn't say too much. I told him how much the fountain scene in "Immanuel's Veins" meant to me and how beautiful it was to me. He just stared at me and all I could do was stare back. I could not say one more thing other than "Thank you." Again- it was too much for words. The other time I talked to him at the end of the conference I barely said anything either. My heart was bleeding- my emotions were too raw. I simply thanked him for talking to his daughter and that my dad and I had the same type of conversation a few days before he died. That he was worried for me to be a writer, but he gave me his blessing. My dad actually made me promise him I would write at least one novel. How could I look into those blue eyes that were ravaged by the pain of his cancer and not promise him just that one thing? So I made the promise....again just able to get the words out. The eye contact was far more meaningful than the words.
Back to Ted....the words failed me...I just said thank you.....but the eye contact was stunning. I knew he knew what I was trying so hard to say but could not find the correct word to match the emotion.
He knew. He knew even without the words....
I have been thinking about a song that sums any of this up and I have to go with Dream Theater's song "Wither". To me it has always spoken of creating something that is very personal- like my writing.
"I wither and render myself helpless
I give in and everything is clear
I break down and let the story guide me
I wither and give myself away."
You can't be a writer and not share who you are. It's very personal. For me- once I let the story guide me- it changed my writing.
Now to only find the words.....
************
Here is Dream Theater's song "Wither".
The rawness of what the five authors shared with us is like nothing I have ever heard of. On that first day, Ted shared his bio with us. Listening to him talk about all of his books and successes was daunting for me. I began to wonder why in the world I was there. Then Ted did an amazing thing. He stopped and then said something that made me a bigger fan than before. He told us that he was going to tell us the real story...not just a nice tidy bio.
And he did. He shared his struggles and triumphs. I remember thinking that if he could do it, I could too. Maybe this writing thing was for me. Each author shared their writing journeys and I kept thinking more and more that I related to these people- these writers. When I began talking to other attendees I found I could relate to their stories too. No matter what the age or gender. We all had a common thread. We were writers. We were blue monkeys. We were freaks.
My paradigm has shifted. My DNA has been altered forever. How do you put that into a paragraph? How do you sum that up? How do you assign words and phrases to that?
You don't.
I found that I now get the phrase in the Bible about Mary pondering all the wonderful miracles that happened when Jesus was a baby and pondering them in her heart. I'll bet that she didn't have the words either.
I did come across a note that a friend and co-worker from Nebraska had written me five or six years ago. At the time I was struggling with my identity (I hadn't started writing yet...) and she gave me a card with a tabby cat on the front. The card says, "The Tabby knows where to grow its stripes". Inside, this dear woman wrote "Know why that tabby knows where to grow his stripes? I believe it's because God has it all figured out and planned for him- it's just a natural occurrence as to how those stripes will grow. Your stripes come into being just as natural as the stripes on a tabby cat. God has his plan for you too, Colette. Just let it happen..."
She went on to say some wonderful things and how God would be faithful to show me who I am and use the gifts he given me for His glory. Did this woman know what God would be up to six years later? Did she know that God would restore the gift of writing to me? Did she know I would be in up to my eyeballs in a classic fantasy story?
No. She just told me that my "stripes" were there and God had it all planned and under control. Much like Ted shared about the blue monkey. I am blue- even if I try to fit in with the brown ones. He made me blue. I am different and I need to embrace that. My stripes have been there all along- I have been blue all this time- the difference is that now I acknowledge that.
When we met the authors face to face and had them sign our books, I enjoyed chatting with all of them, but with Ted I didn't say too much. I told him how much the fountain scene in "Immanuel's Veins" meant to me and how beautiful it was to me. He just stared at me and all I could do was stare back. I could not say one more thing other than "Thank you." Again- it was too much for words. The other time I talked to him at the end of the conference I barely said anything either. My heart was bleeding- my emotions were too raw. I simply thanked him for talking to his daughter and that my dad and I had the same type of conversation a few days before he died. That he was worried for me to be a writer, but he gave me his blessing. My dad actually made me promise him I would write at least one novel. How could I look into those blue eyes that were ravaged by the pain of his cancer and not promise him just that one thing? So I made the promise....again just able to get the words out. The eye contact was far more meaningful than the words.
Back to Ted....the words failed me...I just said thank you.....but the eye contact was stunning. I knew he knew what I was trying so hard to say but could not find the correct word to match the emotion.
He knew. He knew even without the words....
I have been thinking about a song that sums any of this up and I have to go with Dream Theater's song "Wither". To me it has always spoken of creating something that is very personal- like my writing.
"I wither and render myself helpless
I give in and everything is clear
I break down and let the story guide me
I wither and give myself away."
You can't be a writer and not share who you are. It's very personal. For me- once I let the story guide me- it changed my writing.
Now to only find the words.....
************
Here is Dream Theater's song "Wither".
Sunday, August 14, 2011
Will the Real Writer Please Stand Up?
I am going to attempt as best as I can to explain what happened to me at The Ragged Edge conference this weekend. First of all, you must understand that this was like no other writer's conference I have ever heard of. They promised a raw, uncensored look at writing by published Christian authors. The schedule was vague- 10-12 Ragged Edge Morning Session 12-1 Lunch 1-5 Ragged Edge Afternoon Session. No tracks, no detailed syllabus, no specifics.
Then there was Ted Dekker. I have learned that you either love him or hate him. He is not a middle of the road kind of guy. I know his writing. "Black" was the first novel of his that I ever read and it changed the way I looked at the world. I thought "This guy I totally get. He sees God in everything and he is not afraid to look at the things that many Christians just don't want to look at." I thought I knew how Ted would be.
I was wrong.
Ted is an intense individual- that I expected. What I did not expect was to see the passion, the creative genius, the humor, the unedited comments, or the love that comes out of this man in waves. He promised that the Ragged Edge would not be like any other writer's conference- and he delivered.
The stage was not set with folding chairs and a podium- it had a couch, coffee table, two chairs to the left of the couch and one to the right. There were candles lit and the two huge background screens had fantastic modern art on it. Ted called it his dungeon- like the one he writes in at home. It gave a comfortable feel to the tone of the workshop.
I only have one page of notes of the Friday for a reason....Ted wanted to share the emotional side to writing. He and the other authors shared their joys and struggles with the writing profession. The more they shared about who they were and what makes a writer, the more I began to relax and my heart soared.
They were all freaks like me... I was not alone! Ted calls himself, "A blue monkey in a brown monkey world." I can identify with that. As he and Tosca, Eric, Bob, and Steven began to share their stories and the traits that make up a writer...there was a part of me that was validated. Some of the things I do are not flaws- they are characteristics of a writer.
One of the authors said that when he takes his wife out to dinner, he chooses a table where he can look at the wall. That way he is not tempted to observe the other people around him. I can totally relate to that! Observation is a powerful trait of a writer. We watch others around us. Where others would not notice subtle things- we do. For example last night at PF Changs I noticed the female servers that were gathered around an attractive dark headed male server. All of the girls were vying for his attention and one girl looked at the others and flipped her blond hair. The guy's eyes were immediately on her. It was fascinating to me! I'm sure no one else noticed but I did because I am a writer and I observe.
Another trait of writers (especially fiction) is our intense feelings for everything. I know I have been called moody or told that I wear my heart on my sleeve. And I do. Whatever is going on with me I feel it intensely. It sucks for the people around me sometimes- but it is invaluable for my writing. I need to know the devastation My main character, Afton, feels when she loses her friend, the elation she feels when she falls in love, the utter desperation when she feels she has failed her quest. If I don't feel it- the reader won't either.
Ted told us that we have to bleed on the page. That we have to scream at it to even get our readers to hear a whisper. That we needed to give our stories all the emotion we had. We can dip into the well of our own experiences as well in order to relate to things that are in our stories. I know that I can remember how lost I felt when my dad died. How elated I felt the first time I held Kendall and Ian in my arms. How scared to death I felt when Rich was on a deck that collapsed and I thought I was going to be a widow.
Imagination is also a powerful trait for a writer. Now, any of you that know me, know that I have a well developed imagination. I can picture dragons flying in the sky and armies of skeletons ready for battle. I can imagine being someone else and write their POV (point of view) in a very realistic way. Tosca Lee called it "The access to the world beyond." and "Our window into God's heart."
I love that! I love that something that makes me unique and quirky is a window into my King's heart! Wow.
It's also a safe way to deal with things that I would not do in real life. I am able to shatter people's lives, take things away that are dear to them, and to kill people. I am able to wage war and have dragons let loose their fire on unsuspecting victims. I am the creator of my world and I take that very seriously. These people that I have created are precious to me. I am very protective of my world and the story that is created about it. I could do none of this without my imagination.
What it boils down to is this. I am a writer.
What I thought were weaknesses are really strengths.
I am a writer.
*************
I know I have posted this song before...but I realized this morning how Coldplay's "Every Teardrop is a Waterfall" sums up my writing. The video has bright colors all mixing together in a location that is gray and rundown. I think as writers- we bring those colors and intensity to those that have forgotten. The references to my favorite song- music is a powerful tool that I use in my writing. Every teardrop is a waterfall is a shout out to the fact that every tear we see as writers- we see everything and feel everything behind that tear.
"You can hurt me bad....but still I'll raise the flag." Writing and attempting to get published can be a painful experience..but I am committed to persevere. I will raise the flag.
The way the front man raises his arms in the "flag" lines.....it's surrendering to a Power bigger than ourselves. without Him there would be no words, no imagination, no observation.
So here is the video. If you haven't watched it...I highly recommend it. If you have seen it...watch it again.
I will blog more about the Ragged Edge later. This writer is tired!
Then there was Ted Dekker. I have learned that you either love him or hate him. He is not a middle of the road kind of guy. I know his writing. "Black" was the first novel of his that I ever read and it changed the way I looked at the world. I thought "This guy I totally get. He sees God in everything and he is not afraid to look at the things that many Christians just don't want to look at." I thought I knew how Ted would be.
I was wrong.
Ted is an intense individual- that I expected. What I did not expect was to see the passion, the creative genius, the humor, the unedited comments, or the love that comes out of this man in waves. He promised that the Ragged Edge would not be like any other writer's conference- and he delivered.
The stage was not set with folding chairs and a podium- it had a couch, coffee table, two chairs to the left of the couch and one to the right. There were candles lit and the two huge background screens had fantastic modern art on it. Ted called it his dungeon- like the one he writes in at home. It gave a comfortable feel to the tone of the workshop.
I only have one page of notes of the Friday for a reason....Ted wanted to share the emotional side to writing. He and the other authors shared their joys and struggles with the writing profession. The more they shared about who they were and what makes a writer, the more I began to relax and my heart soared.
They were all freaks like me... I was not alone! Ted calls himself, "A blue monkey in a brown monkey world." I can identify with that. As he and Tosca, Eric, Bob, and Steven began to share their stories and the traits that make up a writer...there was a part of me that was validated. Some of the things I do are not flaws- they are characteristics of a writer.
One of the authors said that when he takes his wife out to dinner, he chooses a table where he can look at the wall. That way he is not tempted to observe the other people around him. I can totally relate to that! Observation is a powerful trait of a writer. We watch others around us. Where others would not notice subtle things- we do. For example last night at PF Changs I noticed the female servers that were gathered around an attractive dark headed male server. All of the girls were vying for his attention and one girl looked at the others and flipped her blond hair. The guy's eyes were immediately on her. It was fascinating to me! I'm sure no one else noticed but I did because I am a writer and I observe.
Another trait of writers (especially fiction) is our intense feelings for everything. I know I have been called moody or told that I wear my heart on my sleeve. And I do. Whatever is going on with me I feel it intensely. It sucks for the people around me sometimes- but it is invaluable for my writing. I need to know the devastation My main character, Afton, feels when she loses her friend, the elation she feels when she falls in love, the utter desperation when she feels she has failed her quest. If I don't feel it- the reader won't either.
Ted told us that we have to bleed on the page. That we have to scream at it to even get our readers to hear a whisper. That we needed to give our stories all the emotion we had. We can dip into the well of our own experiences as well in order to relate to things that are in our stories. I know that I can remember how lost I felt when my dad died. How elated I felt the first time I held Kendall and Ian in my arms. How scared to death I felt when Rich was on a deck that collapsed and I thought I was going to be a widow.
Imagination is also a powerful trait for a writer. Now, any of you that know me, know that I have a well developed imagination. I can picture dragons flying in the sky and armies of skeletons ready for battle. I can imagine being someone else and write their POV (point of view) in a very realistic way. Tosca Lee called it "The access to the world beyond." and "Our window into God's heart."
I love that! I love that something that makes me unique and quirky is a window into my King's heart! Wow.
It's also a safe way to deal with things that I would not do in real life. I am able to shatter people's lives, take things away that are dear to them, and to kill people. I am able to wage war and have dragons let loose their fire on unsuspecting victims. I am the creator of my world and I take that very seriously. These people that I have created are precious to me. I am very protective of my world and the story that is created about it. I could do none of this without my imagination.
What it boils down to is this. I am a writer.
What I thought were weaknesses are really strengths.
I am a writer.
*************
I know I have posted this song before...but I realized this morning how Coldplay's "Every Teardrop is a Waterfall" sums up my writing. The video has bright colors all mixing together in a location that is gray and rundown. I think as writers- we bring those colors and intensity to those that have forgotten. The references to my favorite song- music is a powerful tool that I use in my writing. Every teardrop is a waterfall is a shout out to the fact that every tear we see as writers- we see everything and feel everything behind that tear.
"You can hurt me bad....but still I'll raise the flag." Writing and attempting to get published can be a painful experience..but I am committed to persevere. I will raise the flag.
The way the front man raises his arms in the "flag" lines.....it's surrendering to a Power bigger than ourselves. without Him there would be no words, no imagination, no observation.
So here is the video. If you haven't watched it...I highly recommend it. If you have seen it...watch it again.
I will blog more about the Ragged Edge later. This writer is tired!
Thursday, August 11, 2011
Standing on the Edge.....
Tomorrow I will be on the road to Nashville to attend The Ragged Edge, a very unconventional writer's workshop. Until a week ago I had made my peace with not going to this...but one email changed all of that. Turns out I was the runner up in author Tosca Lee's essay contest. I had to write in 200 words or less why I wanted to go to the conference.
So I wrote about the sound of dragon wings, and how my dad heard them long before I did. When my dad made me promise to him two days before he died that I would write a book I had no idea it would be 11 years before I started. I explained how an idea of a ordinary girl who learned to sword fight turned into an epic tale of good vs. evil and had a cast of characters including skeletons, giants, dragons, and kings. It is a story that has grabbed my heart and I can't stop working on it if I tried.
The winner of Tosca's contest could not make it and she asked me if I wanted it. Of course I said YES! I am so honored to have won this $650 ticket! With Rich out of work there is no way I could have gone otherwise. Tomorrow I will sit at the feet of some of the most unconventional christian authors and hear their hearts.
As I get ready today....I wanted to blog and while I am typing this...RED is playing on Youtube. Without this band I would not have the inspiration for some of my most important scenes in my story. It all started with "Let Go" when I first pictured a scene in my head with such clarity- it freaked me out a little. I had no idea when I started Afton's story two years ago just what would develop in the novel, but in my heart.
This story of a girl with a sword has left it's mark on my heart already. I have been challenged to look at my relationships with my family, friends, and enemies and they have been left on the pages of this epic story. I have learned how to be a better observer of what is around me. I have learned about the Celtic way of life and I have learned about symbolism and the power of love.
I feel as if I am standing on the edge of the next part of this journey...and it's not a mistake that this workshop is called The Ragged Edge. When I blog about this adventure next week I am sure that I will changed. I hope to be able to put into words the impact this weekend had on me.
I also have to give a big shout out to those of you that read my blog and encourage me in this project. I know there are many days that you have given me the strength and courage to keep going! I hope and pray that you continue to hang with me as I keep plowing ahead with this story.
I am excited and nervous about tomorrow because of the unknown. I have wanted to do something like this for so long, that I am trying to have no expectations about it. I do know that the authors that will be speaking are very out of the box and will challenge me. I am so up for that!
Please keep me in your thoughts and prayers this weekend as I stand on the edge of something new (and old). I wanted to post one RED song and found that I cannot make a decision between them...so I am posting both.
Let Go was the first song I ever "saw" a scene to, and Ordinary World- the video (esp. the last 10 seconds or so) slapped me upside the head one day and got me back on track.
Here's to a new adventure.........
So I wrote about the sound of dragon wings, and how my dad heard them long before I did. When my dad made me promise to him two days before he died that I would write a book I had no idea it would be 11 years before I started. I explained how an idea of a ordinary girl who learned to sword fight turned into an epic tale of good vs. evil and had a cast of characters including skeletons, giants, dragons, and kings. It is a story that has grabbed my heart and I can't stop working on it if I tried.
The winner of Tosca's contest could not make it and she asked me if I wanted it. Of course I said YES! I am so honored to have won this $650 ticket! With Rich out of work there is no way I could have gone otherwise. Tomorrow I will sit at the feet of some of the most unconventional christian authors and hear their hearts.
As I get ready today....I wanted to blog and while I am typing this...RED is playing on Youtube. Without this band I would not have the inspiration for some of my most important scenes in my story. It all started with "Let Go" when I first pictured a scene in my head with such clarity- it freaked me out a little. I had no idea when I started Afton's story two years ago just what would develop in the novel, but in my heart.
This story of a girl with a sword has left it's mark on my heart already. I have been challenged to look at my relationships with my family, friends, and enemies and they have been left on the pages of this epic story. I have learned how to be a better observer of what is around me. I have learned about the Celtic way of life and I have learned about symbolism and the power of love.
I feel as if I am standing on the edge of the next part of this journey...and it's not a mistake that this workshop is called The Ragged Edge. When I blog about this adventure next week I am sure that I will changed. I hope to be able to put into words the impact this weekend had on me.
I also have to give a big shout out to those of you that read my blog and encourage me in this project. I know there are many days that you have given me the strength and courage to keep going! I hope and pray that you continue to hang with me as I keep plowing ahead with this story.
I am excited and nervous about tomorrow because of the unknown. I have wanted to do something like this for so long, that I am trying to have no expectations about it. I do know that the authors that will be speaking are very out of the box and will challenge me. I am so up for that!
Please keep me in your thoughts and prayers this weekend as I stand on the edge of something new (and old). I wanted to post one RED song and found that I cannot make a decision between them...so I am posting both.
Let Go was the first song I ever "saw" a scene to, and Ordinary World- the video (esp. the last 10 seconds or so) slapped me upside the head one day and got me back on track.
Here's to a new adventure.........
Wednesday, August 3, 2011
The 11th Hour
I am a fan of the underdog.
I love it when the odds are stacked against the good guys and it looks like the bad guys are going to win....and at the last second something happens and the bad guys go down.
I don't know many people that don't cheer for the side that shouldn't have won.
So- I love it when things work out for people when against all odds- it shouldn't.
Today- that person was me. I had found out a few weeks ago that there were scholarships for writers who wanted to go to "The Ragged Edge"- a rather unconventional writer's workshop led by author Ted Dekker. There was no way I could afford the $650 ticket so I entered four or five contests to win a scholarship. I thought I had a chance of winning at least one of the contests and was extremely disappointed when I did not get a scholarship. I even started a fund for next year's workshop.
I got up early this morning to do some writing. It's always quiet at 5am so that's when I get some of my best stuff written. After I had spent an hour or so writing, I checked my email and was surprised to see one from Tosca Lee- one of the authors that will be at the Ragged Edge. She explained that I was the runner up in her contest and that the winner was not able to go to the workshop and would I be interested in the ticket?
Ummmmmmm......YES!! I ran in the bedroom and woke my husband up to tell him. I thought I was still dreaming but when I showed him the email- it was still there. We figured out a very creative way to combine a brief family vacation with the workshop. So next week we will be heading to Nashville!
Do I care that I was the runner up?
Nope. Not if that means that I will get the chance to sit at the feet of some awesome and innovative authors and learn from their wisdom.
What matters is that I am seeing yet another "long-shot" in my writing journey coming through for me.
Coincidence?
Hardly.
Destiny?
Absolutely.
Is this a shift in my favor at the 11th hour?
Yes it is.
And I have a feeling that my life will never be the same.
Have you ever had an 11th Hour experience? I'd love to hear about it!
Here's to trusting God- even when it looks the darkest. You never know what will happen next.
Here is a video of Switchfoot's new single "Dark Horses". I thought it was very appropriate for my post tonight.
I love it when the odds are stacked against the good guys and it looks like the bad guys are going to win....and at the last second something happens and the bad guys go down.
I don't know many people that don't cheer for the side that shouldn't have won.
So- I love it when things work out for people when against all odds- it shouldn't.
Today- that person was me. I had found out a few weeks ago that there were scholarships for writers who wanted to go to "The Ragged Edge"- a rather unconventional writer's workshop led by author Ted Dekker. There was no way I could afford the $650 ticket so I entered four or five contests to win a scholarship. I thought I had a chance of winning at least one of the contests and was extremely disappointed when I did not get a scholarship. I even started a fund for next year's workshop.
I got up early this morning to do some writing. It's always quiet at 5am so that's when I get some of my best stuff written. After I had spent an hour or so writing, I checked my email and was surprised to see one from Tosca Lee- one of the authors that will be at the Ragged Edge. She explained that I was the runner up in her contest and that the winner was not able to go to the workshop and would I be interested in the ticket?
Ummmmmmm......YES!! I ran in the bedroom and woke my husband up to tell him. I thought I was still dreaming but when I showed him the email- it was still there. We figured out a very creative way to combine a brief family vacation with the workshop. So next week we will be heading to Nashville!
Do I care that I was the runner up?
Nope. Not if that means that I will get the chance to sit at the feet of some awesome and innovative authors and learn from their wisdom.
What matters is that I am seeing yet another "long-shot" in my writing journey coming through for me.
Coincidence?
Hardly.
Destiny?
Absolutely.
Is this a shift in my favor at the 11th hour?
Yes it is.
And I have a feeling that my life will never be the same.
Have you ever had an 11th Hour experience? I'd love to hear about it!
Here's to trusting God- even when it looks the darkest. You never know what will happen next.
Here is a video of Switchfoot's new single "Dark Horses". I thought it was very appropriate for my post tonight.
Monday, August 1, 2011
No Casket Should Ever Be This Small
This morning I found myself on a beautiful green lawn with huge established trees. The birds were singing and the sky was blue and dotted with fluffy clouds. The only thing that did not fit was the tiny casket under the green awning surrounded by headstones.
I was in a cemetery at the graveside service of a baby that had never had a chance to take her first breath. Baby Mackenzie was only 22 weeks developed when she died. Her big brother had been a student of mine last year and I knew I had to attend this service for him and his family.
As I stood looking at the smallest casket I had ever seen I grabbed my husband's hand and reached out to touch my son's head and moved it to my daughter's shoulder. I listened to the pastor offer words of comfort to the grieving family, all the while fighting back his own tears. He is a father- and this service was very personal to him- and to everyone there who was a parent. He motioned to the tiny box and said "No casket should ever be this small."
The death of a child is never easy to understand. I don't think it fits into our box of easy answers and that makes it tough to explain. The pastor used a very unconventional scripture that I thought fit the occasion. He talked about the man who had been blind from birth. People asked Jesus whose fault the blindness was- the man's sin, or the man's family. "neither" Jesus said.
For me, it's not about blame or answering the "why". I think you can get stuck there trying to find answers. It's about the "Who". I know Who it is that will walk this family through their grief. I know Who it is that is with me when I don't understand- when I question- when I yell at the sky because I am in pain. I know Who it is that calms the storm. I know Who...and that has made all the difference.
Psalm 91 says- "You are my refuge and strength - you are my hiding place. You hear my voice when I call before I say anything at all. In desperate need I cry only to realize the hand that heals the sick has my name written on it."
I love the visual of my name being etched on His hand. It cannot come off...it is permanent. And somehow- His hands are large enough to hold all of those tattooed names on His skin.
I know that there was a new name added to my Savior's hand last Friday.....
Mackenzie.
*******************
Here is Psalm 91- by Sonicflood
I was in a cemetery at the graveside service of a baby that had never had a chance to take her first breath. Baby Mackenzie was only 22 weeks developed when she died. Her big brother had been a student of mine last year and I knew I had to attend this service for him and his family.
As I stood looking at the smallest casket I had ever seen I grabbed my husband's hand and reached out to touch my son's head and moved it to my daughter's shoulder. I listened to the pastor offer words of comfort to the grieving family, all the while fighting back his own tears. He is a father- and this service was very personal to him- and to everyone there who was a parent. He motioned to the tiny box and said "No casket should ever be this small."
The death of a child is never easy to understand. I don't think it fits into our box of easy answers and that makes it tough to explain. The pastor used a very unconventional scripture that I thought fit the occasion. He talked about the man who had been blind from birth. People asked Jesus whose fault the blindness was- the man's sin, or the man's family. "neither" Jesus said.
For me, it's not about blame or answering the "why". I think you can get stuck there trying to find answers. It's about the "Who". I know Who it is that will walk this family through their grief. I know Who it is that is with me when I don't understand- when I question- when I yell at the sky because I am in pain. I know Who it is that calms the storm. I know Who...and that has made all the difference.
Psalm 91 says- "You are my refuge and strength - you are my hiding place. You hear my voice when I call before I say anything at all. In desperate need I cry only to realize the hand that heals the sick has my name written on it."
I love the visual of my name being etched on His hand. It cannot come off...it is permanent. And somehow- His hands are large enough to hold all of those tattooed names on His skin.
I know that there was a new name added to my Savior's hand last Friday.....
Mackenzie.
*******************
Here is Psalm 91- by Sonicflood
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