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People Who Sing Jesus

April 4, 2012 by

I will preface this book review by telling you that I am unashamedly biased toward the author. Sean is my cousin and I’ve always thought he was the Bee’s Knees. When we were younger, I was fairly certain that Sean hung the moon in the sky. He was quiet and kind and you should have seen him play Frogger on the Atari.

It was nothing short of awe inspiring.

So yes, I’m biased, but here’s the deal. If I didn’t genuinely find this book to be amazing and fascinating and thought provoking, I wouldn’t review it. So while I have an obvious bias to Sean himself, I certainly didn’t have any thoughts on the book until I read it.

And then I had to read it again and, honestly, I think I need to read it a third time.

This is coming from a girl who doesn’t like to read non-fiction.

People Who Sing Jesus has given me pause for thought these last few weeks. It’s no secret that this move has been a difficult one for our family. In nearly twelve years of marriage, Lee and I have rarely struggled, but this move has made us work harder in a lot of areas.

We’ve had to work harder as husband and wife.

We’ve had to work harder at parenting.

We’ve had to work harder at seeking Jesus.

I started praying the scary prayer not long after we came down here. “Lord, don’t let me know you for who I think you are. Help me know you for who you really are.” Each time I pray that prayer I try not to grimace and I force myself not to put several hundred caveat’s on the request.

Lord let me know you for who you truly are, but…

Don’t take away the people or things I love,

Don’t make the refining fire too hot,

Don’t let my vision shift be too painful.

I’ve had to learn again to sing Jesus and to understand WHY I sing His Name. And in the process I’ve been so deeply humbled that I’ve had a bit of vertigo.

This week, as the kids and I prepare for the sacred remembrance of Good Friday, we’ve been reading the story of Jesus’ walk to Calvary and it’s given me so much pause as I soak in His sacrifice wholly and fully. Why do I sing Jesus? Why do I stand in awe of Him?

Sean opens the first chapter with this paragraph: “You may find this hard to believe, but your life is significantly attached to the original score of music. The most ancient expression of creativity began not in notes and scales but in the formation of life. As the Creator set the cosmos in motion, the framework for melodies originated, and those early formations are linked to your story. God’s creative work binds together your life with your purpose to sing new songs that connect to the Creator’s original score. Your life continues adding notes to the original melody.”

The first time I read these words I went over them twice, tears pricking the corners of my eyes. To know that the Creator of the Universe, the One I so desire to know for who He truly is, created me with a purpose that links to His original score of Creation sets my heart trembling. And the resulting action toward which I feel compelled is to sing.

Creation already sings His praises. The thunder is His bass and the oceans provide the rhythm. The mountains are the strings that echo the harmonious chorus of the animals that grace their paths. The wind blows and whispers his name while the lightening provides the clanging symbol of His glory.

And inside that melodious track, we have been given the gift of words to put His Name to music, singing along with all of Creation. We, you and I, are all a part of the song and, as Sean explains, we have been since the very beginning of time when He set the melody in place. Knowing and understanding this not only gives cause for more praise, but also turns us more toward the One who released the first chord. The Conductor.

People Who Sing Jesus is theology wrapped in grace-filled prose. It’s a book that will cause you to stop and question – Who is God and who are we?

There is so much more I want to tell you, and so many more quotes I want to pull from the book and share. But it would be better if you read the book yourself. Because in 800 words or less, I simply cannot do justice to the power of this beautiful book. All I know is when I finished it, I wanted to sing.

“God’s truth is revealed in every aspect of life: science, technology, health, economics, creation, politics, and all human interactivity. What you see and know is only a fraction of the picture. The Creator has much more in store for you than you can possibly imagine.” Sean Cooper, People Who Sing Jesus

You can purchase People Who Sing Jesus here.

Filed Under: faith, Family, Grace, Product Reviews, writing Tagged With: , , , ,

Confessions of a chronic overachiever

April 2, 2012 by

Photo taken my my amazingly talented friend, Sarah, when she was here on Spring Break.

I have a confession to make. It’s not nearly as scandalous as my last confession, so please don’t be worried, but this confession is going to force me to make some changes, some of which might affect this little space I’ve created on the web.

The confession is two-pronged, because I don’t believe in doing anything small. Go big or don’t go at all, that’s how I roll.

First, I have a very nasty habit of biting off more than I can chew. I assume I can handle way more than I actually can and I convince myself that it’s fine, I don’t actually need sleep and Nutella for breakfast, lunch and dinner because I don’t have time to prepare a proper meal is perfectly acceptable.

Which, who am I kidding right? OF COURSE NUTELLA IS ACCEPTABLE AT EVERY MEAL!

Okay – so that’s the first part of the confession. I take on too much and assume I can handle it just fine.

The second part of my confession is I am terribly prone to laziness. It’s true. I am the dog from the movie UP. I can be perfectly engaged in an activity then SQUIRREL!

That’s me. It’s not ADD, though I would LOVE to blame it on that. I’m just easily distracted and I have a hard time pulling myself back.

I’ve struggled with finishing the school year strong with the kids. I imagine every teacher the world over feels this spring time tug when the rigors of a daily schedule must wage battle against the pull of a warm breeze and the call of the outdoors. The fact is, I’m tired. I want to be done and so do the kids. But we can’t, because learning should never end.

I read this post by Ann Voskamp the other day and it reignited my desire to do this home schooling thing well. Whether this ends up being the only year we teach our children at home or we decide to do it again next year, I want it to count. This requires that I fight the laziness that threatens to invade and dig my heels in.

I’ve lost momentum on my book. It’s a lot, this business of home schooling, maintaining a blog, writing a book, trying to keep a household running smoothly, editing a new manuscript and getting into shape.

SQUIRELL!

I need to finish the book and finish it well. Do you see a theme here?

So first order of business – GET MORE SLEEP!

Do you know how fascinating squirells are when you’re tired? Stunning little creatures…

My goal is to be in bed no later than 10:00 every week night most week nights because the whole stay-up-till-midnight-pretending-to-be-working-but-really-reading-blogs-and-surfing-facebook thing isn’t working for me. I’m tired. I need to sleep. I’m not a night owl and never have been. I’m accepting that and moving forward.

This means I need to be diligent with my time and get my butt out of bed early. In fact, I set up my alarm on my phone so that when it goes off, my screen lights up with the phrase “Get your butt out of bed you lazy A…!”

I firmly believe in tough love.

I am going to be kickin’ it on my book this month and I actually do have a book manuscript to finish editing. I will be here, too, but maybe not every day. And I’m going to add a third confession – that’s scary.

Shaun wrote about it last week. It’s sometimes difficult as a blogger to not blog because we fear the audience we’ve worked to build will go away. And honestly, I can’t afford to lose my audience right now. I’m counting on you guys to help me get the word out about Compassion International’s awesome work when I go to Tanzania next month. I want you right there with me!

So I won’t be far away this month, but I may not be here every day. Because I’ll be a little busier than normal trying to keep my head above —

SQUIRELL!

Filed Under: Blogging, Compassion International, Homeschool, Life, Novel, writing Tagged With: , , , ,

I haven’t read Hunger Games. *Gasp!*

March 26, 2012 by

Once again I’ve rocked your world with a title that screams creativity, yo.

So I haven’t read the Hunger Games trilogy yet. And to answer your obvious question, I don’t really know why. It’s a combination of reasons, really.

  • I’m busy.
  • I’m not interested.
  • I have a million and four other pressing matters that need my attention.
  • I have four unfinished books sitting by my bed and I can hear them weep at night because I’m not reading them.

You know…stuff like that.

To be honest, I’ve never understood the whole read the book, see the movies craze. I find it baffling. I loved the Twilight series, but haven’t seen a single one of the movies (though I did watch part of the first one on TV the other night…meh). I think Harry Potter is hands down the best series of books I have ever read, but I haven’t seen the last three or four movies.

Because the books are so amazing.

Seriously. There are very few films that have really done a great book justice. I hear the Hunger Games movie did a pretty good job, but most people agree, the book is better.

I’m the type of person that really loses herself in a book. I get immersed in the story so deeply that pulling myself back to reality can sometimes feel like a chore. When the story ends and I close the book, if it’s been a good book, sometimes I’ll sit and let myself wander through the world I just read about. I become a part of it. If a book is good enough, I will often feel a sense of loss when the story ends.

I felt that way for a week after I finished reading Harry Potter.

I don’t feel the same way about movies. They don’t incite my imagination the way a real, live book does. I need to feel the weight of the story in my hands. I need the fatigue of a late night reading to push my imagination just a step further. I need to read every word – every detail – to understand and appreciate the characters.

Movies are good, yes. But books are better.

I am trying to teach my kids that lesson. If there is a movie version of a particular book, I’m trying to read them the book first. We are currently reading The Wonderful Wizard of Oz, then I plan on showing them the movie. Sometimes, of course, this backfires. We read Dr. Doolittle earlier this year, then I showed them the Dr. Doolittle movie.

It sucked.

Movies can ruin books sometimes, too.

Another reason I’ve hesitated to read the Hunger Games is I’ve heard through the grapevine Twitter that it’s just a really poorly written book. One woman even posted a picture of a paragraph on page three of the first book and urged everyone to grab their red pens and have fun.

It was pretty bad.

I’m not a book snob by any stretch of the imagination. I don’t proclaim to be the goddess of grammar. Obviously. I’m pretty sure every single one of my blog posts boasts a glaring grammatical error. But I measure books by entirely different standards. I like to think that gives me a little depth as a person, you know?

No? Not really?

Whatever. Young adult fiction or not, a book still needs basic sentence structure. I trust that the story and plot of Hunger Games are so good that I could eventually overlook the poor writing, but I don’t know. It makes me a little nervous so I am avoiding altogether.

The issue of time is the biggest reason I’ve shied away from the trilogy, though. I can’t afford to not sleep over the next few weeks so I’m sticking to light, brainless nighttime reading – like PEOPLE magazine. Now there’s some reading to be proud of, folks.

So what about you? Have you read the Hunger Games books? Did you love them? Did you go to the movies this weekend dressed as a child warrior? It’s okay if you did – I won’t judge…much.

*wink, wink*

Image credit

Filed Under: Random, writing Tagged With: , ,

Sneak Peek #3

February 28, 2012 by

As promised, today I give you another sneak peek into the book that consumes my thoughts. Of all the characters in the book, this one is the most difficult to write emotionally. I don’t like tapping into his head. It’s ugly there.

This is a young man named Frederick Herrmann. He is a German. He is a Nazi soldier and his deepest desire is simply to be seen as a man by his father, who also happens to be one of Hitler’s confidants. Frederick’s story is sad. It is an inside look at the making of a monster and I have to force my imagination to go to places that are unnatural and dark. It is this character that I fear writing the most.

And so I give you a small snippet of my Antagonist – Frederick Herrmann.

As a boy, I often listened to my father speak with his fellow soldiers about the growing need to create a pure Aryan race. My earliest memories reside in the dusty garden of our home, my mother moving in and out of the house at the bidding of the powerful men. I moved the dirt in circles not because I enjoyed it, but because it gave the appearance of youthful ignorance. My play made me invisible to the men of stature and allowed me to listen and glean.

As I dragged my fingers through Munich’s hallowed Earth, I learned the ways of manhood. I listened closely as my father and the others spoke, their eyes steely blue. Thin lips organizing the mobilization of the masses. As a boy of only four, I knew of the shameful death at Feldherrenhalle that left true German Nationalists martyred at the hands of a misguided Bavarian government. I learned of a man who was to be greater than all others. I heard of his bravery, of the Putsch he ignited against the Beer Hall.

The night after I listened to my father retell the story, my mother forced me to wash the mud, my cloak of invisibility, off of my hands an feet. After the forced cleansing,  I stood before the mirror in my small bedroom imagining what this man they called Hitler must look like. Grabbing the stick I’d brought in from the garden, I marched back and forth, steps of power masked in the body of a child. I was the great, brave Hitler…until my mother came in and ordered me into my bed.

“You must never pretend to be that man again,” my mother hissed, tucking the covers around me so tightly that my chest constricted with each breath. “This game your father is playing is dangerous,” she said, her breath hot on my cheek. “Don’t become like him.”

The last words were a vapor. They wafted from her lips to my ears and locked inside my memory.

That was the night I began to hate my mother.

Two days later, I would see him for the first time. When Hitler entered the room I stopped short. We were inside the house, which left me without the protection of the dusty Earth. The floorboards creaked and the hollow walls reverberated my heartbeat like a warrior’s drum.

After greeting my father formally, Hitler turned and locked eyes with me. I could not hide and so I stood still, awed by his presence. He was not a tall man. My father, in his great stature, dwarfed the mighty Hitler. But the confidence that the future Fuhrer possessed made him a giant to me.

“Hello, boy,” he said. His voice was stiff. It wasn’t warm or friendly. I made him uncomfortable. I knew it and so did my father.

“Leave us, Fredrick,” my father barked and I immediately obeyed. I learned quickly to never disobey my fathers’ command. As I hurried from the room, I heard him speak again. “Train him right, Tomas,” Hitler said evenly. “Train him right and someday he will be a part of history.”

He was right.

It never occurred to me that I might do anything else with my life. I am the son of a German Commander. My father stood in the presence of the Great Furher. Would I be anything but a soldier? Could I be anything else?

©Kelli Stuart, 2012

Filed Under: Novel, writing Tagged With: , ,

Like a marathon, only better

February 27, 2012 by

About once a month I like to convince myself that I could run a marathon. I read all manner of inspiring stories and for a brief moment of insanity I believe that I too could join the ranks of those who run 26.2 miles.

Then I go out for a run and a quarter mile into the jaunt my body starts hurling four letters words at my ambition.

This usually leads to phase two of my insanity, wherein I lower my expectations and convince myself that I could run a half marathon.

Then I go for a run and a quarter mile into the jaunt my body starts hurling four letter words at my ambition.

At this point I decide to accept my limitations as a runner, which usually lasts me a couple of weeks until I read the inspiring story of someone who’s muscles use to curse at her and she overcame and became an avid marathoner who wakes up every morning and without even thinking she accidentally runs eighteen miles and I think, “Huh. I could do that.”

And thus, the cycle begins again.

So listen, I’m not a runner. Clearly. Somewhere deep down I think I know that, but there’s always the hope of a miracle.

I also hope to meet a unicorn someday…

But there are other goals that loom before me and call to me every single day. Like the ever elusive marathon, though, these goals often feel so…hard.

Writing a book is my own marathon. It is the song that calls me from my bed early in the morning and taunts me in the late hours of the night. This weekend the Blissdom conference brought a bit of a revelation to me as I sat in Jeff Goins‘ session on falling back in love with the craft of writing.

See the thing is, I will probably never run a marathon because I don’t love running. I just don’t. I don’t even like running. I think it’s stupid.

And it hurts.

And it’s stupid.

But writing…I love it. I love writing. I love the sound of the keys tapping a rhythm. I love the hum of the pen moving in fluid loops across a blank page. The sound of a typewriter is so romantic it makes my eyes water. I simply and deeply love writing.

I’ve told you I’m writing a book. I even let you see a little sneak peek. Twice. This book that I’m writing is my race. It is the marathon that I simply must run. It’s the story I must tell. But it’s so very, very hard.

For the last few months, as I’ve tried to work on my book only to be met by a wall of resistance, fear and doubt, I’ve wondered why on Earth I chose such a difficult subject to write about. Like a marathoner in her 19th mile, I’ve begun to wonder…can I really do this?

But the revelation that hit me this weekend was this: I didn’t choose this book. It chose me.

It chose me when I was fifteen and I stood on top of the hill at Babi Yar listening to the story of survival that changed my life and forever altered how I view the world as a whole. In that very moment, more than half my lifetime ago, I knew that I would write this book. I didn’t understand the scope of what it would become or the enormity of the task that loomed before me.

I just knew it was mine to write.

And it scares me. It scares the crap out of me. It’s like running a marathon straight up the slope of a mountain knowing that failure isn’t an option because by God, I trained for this.

Jeff challenged us all to write something dangerous this week and to publish it. So here it is: I am going to finish this book by June 1st.

I have 94 days.

And along the way, I may give you all a few more sneak peeks here and there. Because you guys, you’re a part of this journey with me. You are the cheerleaders on the sideline telling me I can do this and throwing me a beer now and again.

Just kidding. I don’t like beer. Wine would be great though.

Come back tomorrow for the next sneak peek at the novel that chose me. I am going to introduce you to the character that depletes me emotionally each time I sit down to write. I loathe him. And I feel sympathy for him. I’d love for you all to meet him. Tomorrow.

For now, though, I’m going to head out for a run.

Just kidding. I’m going to go pet my unicorn…

Image Credit

Filed Under: Blogging, Novel, writing Tagged With: , , , ,

The Pen Hovers

January 3, 2012 by

My first diary was a soft, red-bound book with tiny bears covering the front and back in orderly rows. It was a thrilling gift for a nine-year-old with serious secrets to keep.

Dear Diary,

Shhhh…don’t tell anyone but I like Brandon D. I think he’s really cute and funny but I don’t want anyone to know. Thanks for keeping my secret safe.

That was the first thing I wrote in my beloved book. I remember penning those words as if the moment had just slipped past. I was serious about liking Brandon D. and I seriously didn’t want anyone to know.

Through the years, that little red book ceased to be merely a Diary for my angsty gossip and soon became the book of my heart felt anguish. In those pages I recorded my struggles with body image and insecurity. My pen hovered gently over each page as I searched for the perfect words to capture my emotions. I remember writing things like, How do I quench the thirst in my soul? and The little leaf flutters to the ground in a dance just as my heartache flutters in haphazard turns and twists.

Clearly I was a bit of a dramatic, yes?

But writing in those pages became a source of comfort for me. It was there that I felt free to shout, to cry, to dance and to sing, all through the flowing rythmn of pen on paper. Writing in that journal was my worship.

Sometime in high school, that little journal was lost, most likely dropped off at a local Goodwill in a mix of discarded books. Perhaps someone picked it up and chuckled at my girlishness and the dramatic ponderings of my youthful heart. Perhaps it was simply tossed into the trash bin. I don’t know what happened to those treasured words, but I do know that a passion ignited inside of me and writing became more than a hobby.

It became my anthem of praise.

I filled the pages of many, many journals as the years progressed. Late nights and early mornings were spent writing the story of me. I penned poetry and songs. I wrote luxurious prose in the times when my soul danced and ravaged, fragmented sentences when the storms rolled in. There were ups and downs and every day, as my pen hovered over the pages, I felt a surge of energy knowing that these words would only be read by One Other.

Somewhere along the way, though, something happened. I think it occurred sometime around the birth of my second child when life got chaotic and crazy and suddenly the pen didn’t hover so freely any more. There were other, more pressing, matters to tend to and the pages of my journal remained blank and untouched.

And I forgot how to praise.

When I began blogging four years ago, I tried to treat this space as a journal of sorts but the truth is, it can’t be that. For one thing, no one would read it because it would be a jumbled mess. Who could possibly read a blogger that said such things as, The quivering ache for freedom doth shake me deeply. *eyeroll*

(Incidentally, as a young girl, I really loved to write a lot of Thee’s and Thou’s in my journal. It made me feel all Jane Eyre…)

But beyond the inner romantic that seeps out of my pen, the simple fact remains that I cannot tap into that worship and praise through my keyboard. To a degree I can, but not the way I used to. I can’t really let loose when I know that other people are reading. I worry too much about what the readers might be thinking. It’s time for that to change. It’s time for me to sit still  over a blank sheet of paper and watch for what might flow forth.

It’s time for me to pick up the pen, open the book and make the words dance.

This is my 2012 goal. What are your goals for this fresh new year?

Filed Under: Blogging, Life, Random, writing Tagged With: , ,

Read with Kleenex

December 12, 2011 by

Today I want to give you a few links to some of the most powerful words I’ve read on the internet these last few months.  These writers are real, honest and have an incredible knack for weaving word pictures in such a way that makes you stop cold and think deep.

Refreshing.

The pastor of the church we have been visiting preached a sermon this morning titled Come Before Winter.  Apparently it is an annual tradition for him to preach this message and I really wish someone would have warned me ahead of time how emotional this message would be.  Although, it’s probably best I didn’t know, because I may have been tempted to skip it altogether.

The theme was centered around Paul’s final letter to Timothy when he urged him to come back to Rome quickly, before winter set in and travel across the Mediteranean would be impossible.  Paul knew he had little time left and there were still words he wanted to say to his beloved Timothy.

The message?  Life is short and goes by in an instant.  What are we doing to seize every opportunity while we are here on this Earth to glorify and honor God with our relationships, our gifts and talents and the tasks set before us?  He finished his message by reading something he wrote about his youngest child, who will graduate from high school this spring.  This was written days before he would watch his son play his final football game.

Get your Kleenex handy.

He was born on an October weekend 18 autumns ago. I was proud then. I am proud now. He has graced my life and blessed me in immeasurable ways.  And now it’s his senior year. It’s the last week, the last game. It was bound to happen. Where did the time go?

Read the entire story here.

Folks, there were grown men throughout the sanctuary blubbering like small children, most of them crowned with silver hair.  It was the kind of morning where you walk around with a burning lump lodged in your throat and you laugh inappropriately just to keep from crying.

Or maybe that was just me…

The next two ladies are hands down two of the most amazing bloggers to grace the internet and I’m not just saying that because I happen to know and love each one of them dearly.

Okay maybe I’m a tiny bit biased.

Becke’ not only has an amazing, God-given gift for photography, but she also has a deep and profound love of scripture and understanding of grace.  Oh, and she just so happens to be my sister-in-law.  If you’re not reading her blog, I really encourage you to do so.  You will be blessed.  And you might be slightly jealous of her pictures….

God wants light in His house so we could see.  The seeing would enable generations to hope for the one Good Olive, the one who would be beaten in that Garden of Gethsamene (garden of oil press), in order to bring true light.

Read the full post here.  And then look at the rest of her posts.  Just be prepared to go deep because Becke’ takes you to church when she writes.  You can also go ooh and aah over her pictures here.

And then there’s Wendy.  I’ve mentioned her a time or two…because she’s awesome.  And she may write one of the most refreshingly honest blogs on all the interwebs.  She’s sincere and real and bold and she writes with a humility that is like a breath of fresh air.  Wendy is an actress and a writer and she oozes creativity.  But more than that, she is a wife and a mom and she embraces those roles fully and completely.

Joy is not dependent upon our circumstances, the health of those we love, or how physically well-rested we are; JOY comes from abiding in Him, ever thankful that He abides in us.

Read the rest of this post here and then go read some more of her posts.  I actually had a difficult time choosing which post to highlight.

Speaking of life moving quickly - this kid is going to be FOUR this week!

There are a lot of places where you could spend your time online.  But I hope that by reading the words of these bloggers you find yourself encouraged as you see their genuine authenticity.  And I pray that as you head into your week, you find yourself feeling blessed and renewed.

I pray the same for myself.  A word to the wise – don’t drink caffinated tea at night.  You could just find yourself up and kickin’ at 2:00 am.  Not that I would know anything about that…

Blessings, friends.

Filed Under: Blogging, Random, writing Tagged With: , , , ,

Why writing a book is a lot like life

November 17, 2011 by

I don’t know if I’ve told you, but I’m writing a book.  I might have mentioned it once or twice…or a hundred times.

*cough*self-promoter*cough*

The thing is, I really believe in this book.  I’ve been working on it a long time…and by long time I mean more than a decade.  Oy. I have started and stopped, re-written and tossed.  I have had two characters remain at the core of the novel this entire time.  They are my friends…at least I think they are.  They may hate me since I’ve taken so long to tell their story.

How’s that for deflection?  I’ll blame my ficticious characters for my unfinished novel.

This latest draft, however, is The One.  You know how people always say you’ll “just know” when you meet the person you’re going to marry?  Well, I just knew the second I wrote the first sentence of this version that I had finally tapped into the core of who my characters are.

I found them.

Now, the challenge is to keep them moving and flowing forward in a cohesive manner.

Stephen King, my writing guru, says that when writing a novel you need to get it out as fast as you can.  Don’t stop to make edits, don’t get hung up on the details – just write.  You can go back later and fill in the holes.

I am finding this very difficult, Mr. King.  I see the validity of this and want to follow this advice, but the temptation to edit is powerful.  Because, you see, there are some moments in the book that are wonderful.  I love how they read and the imagery is powerful and I was obviously in the zone when writing.

There are other moments in the book, however, that are worthy of no more than kindling for a chilly night.  The rest of the book falls somewhere in between brilliant and suckalicious.

The problem with having worked on a book this long is I know exactly where I want my characters to go.  For the most part.  Some of them have already surprised me a bit.  But it’s the getting there that is slowing me down.  I’m so impatient to get to the exciting part – the part of the story that I know  – that I’m frustrated with the journey the characters are taking to get there.  I am bogged down in the details.

Life in general is full ofsimilar  ups and downs, isn’t it?  We have moments of excitement – first day of school, graduation, college, wedding day, birth of a child and so on…We live for these moments and anticipate them never really realizing the journey we take to get to those moments is every bit as important.  Those important moments are the peaks and after every peak we must descend for a bit before we reach another milestone.

But don’t we so often find ourselves impatient in the valleys and plateaus of life?  We get bored and frustrated.  We lose sight of the good of right now and only long and hope for the joy of the next big moment.  But we need the valleys and the plateaus.  They are, in fact, what builds…character.

It’s the same with writing a book.  The journey to the peak of each character’s story is so important, but in the anticipation of the big moment, I am impatient.  I’m bogged down in the details and the climb to the big moment feels endless and frustrating.

I just want to get to the good part.

But if I’m willing to relax, take a deep breath and enjoy the process of each step these characters take toward their individual peaks, I may actually learn a little something along the way.  And in the end, the story of their lives will reveal so much more beauty through the toil of their climb to the top.

And yes, as I wrote that sentence I totally started singing this song.

*sigh* I’ll bet Stephen King never busts out with Mily Cirus while he’s writing…

Filed Under: Novel, Random, writing Tagged With: , , , , , ,

Big Foot, Roman Soldiers and the Voices in my Head

September 27, 2011 by

It is quiet and I am alone.  Three children sleep in their beds, the first time all three have slept in their beds since we moved in.

A new house is scary.  There are sounds to fear.  And other things…

“Mom, I can’t sleep,” he said, coming out for the four-frillionth time.  “I’m too scared!”

“What are you scared of?” I ask…also for the four-frillionth time.

“I was just starting to close my eyes and I imagined I was a Roman soldier being killed…”

That is scary.

After assuring him that he would, indeed, not die the violent death of a Roman solider, and also reiterating once again the fact that Big Foot does not indeed exist, we headed back to his room.

“Big Foot is real!” he protested.  “I saw it on TV.”

Yet another reason we did not hook up cable.

“Honey, even if Big Foot were real, he wouldn’t live in Florida.  It’s too hot here.  And there are no mountains or tall trees for him to hide in.  Big Foot lives in Oregon…if he exists…which I don’t think he does.”

Silence.

“But you said bears live in Oregon.”  God help the poor child if he ever has to live in Oregon.  Don’t worry Oregonians (right?), I didn’t pin monsters on you.  I told the kids monsters live in Canada.

S’all good.

“Lay down, babe,” I said, brushing my hand across his silky smooth cheek.  Would that I could bottle his skin up…

“Let’s find something you can hold on to while you go to sleep so you don’t have to be scared,” I said, looking around his room.

“I can hold on to you,” he replied grabbing hold of my hand and looking up with ocean blue eyes.  And I melted…fast.  Knees buckled, a mass of goo, I slid under the covers and held his hand.  Five minutes later, he slept.  All the lights are still on in his room.  Because Big Foot doesn’t like light.  If he did, we’d have caught him and there would be no need for a TV show.

And now I sit in an empty, quiet, semi-organized room.  I believe I have found my writing zone in this new house.  I love this front room.  It’s peaceful and happy and I feel inspired here.  Last night I stayed up, much too late, writing, for the first time focused on my book.  The voices of my characters are swirling and moving again.

I’m going to finish it, friends.  It may mean I have to spend a little less time with you and a little more time with the people I want to introduce you to.  Bear with me as I find my stride.  And in the meantime, if you could all be on the lookout for Big Foot and let me know when and if you find him.

I, on the other hand, will continue to keep the air bed inflated on the floor next to my bed.

Something tells me we’re going to need it for awhile.

Image Credit

Filed Under: Family, Florida, Kids do the darndest things, Novel, Sloan, writing Tagged With: , , , ,

Who’s got time to be addicted?

September 26, 2011 by

"There's another new social networking site that I'm supposed to join?!"

So here it is, friends.  I am struggling with the rat race that has become social media and there is one reason for it:

I don’t flipping have time.

I love blogging.  This here little space of mine is where I often times work out what’s swirling around inside my head and heart.  I don’t organize and plan my posts ahead of time.  Maybe I should, but that’s not really how my brain operates.  I process my emotions through the melodic clicking of the keyboard.  It’s where my heart flows.  And you want to know what?

Sometimes I don’t share everything I write.

Sometimes the emotions are too raw…too personal.  But many times I can’t voice my heart unless I’m writing it out.  So blogging?  I totally get it.

Everything else?  Exhausts me.

Amber from Crappy Pictures wrote about why being a mom makes her suck at Twitter. Through my tears of laughter I’m pretty sure I uttered a hearty “Amen” or two as I read her post.  I can’t get into Twitter.  My posts usually go like this:  “I’m baaaaaack. How’s everyone doing to tonight? #finallybackontwitter”

No one will respond to this tweet, of course, because no one knows me on Twitter.  And because, unless I’m writing an article that needs to be promoted for someone else, I usually only tweet about once everyone two weeks.

Because that’s all I have time for.

I mean, I guess I could check my twitter stream a little more every day and try to converse, but I never really know how to converse with Twitter followers without feeling like a creepy cyber-stalker.

I like Facebook…because I get it.  I know most of the people on Facebook and they know me.  I can post something on Facebook and come back hours later and respond to any comments, whereas with Twitter it seems you need to respond right away or else you’re like the rude neighbor who walks away mid-conversation and never returns.

The frustrating part in all of this is that marketers and others who may want to hire your services in social networking or online writing often look at how wide your impact is, and part of that is your activity on Twitter.  They also look at how many Facebook friends you have, how many people are reading your blog, how many comments you get and what kind of toilet paper you use.

Hmph.

It starts to feel like a nasty competition and in the midst of all the running, I can easily lose focus on why I’m doing what I’m doing.  I’m writing because I love it. I’m writing because I’m good at it.  I’m writing because I believe it is a form of praise, an offering back of that which I have been given.

I’m writing because it’s fun.  Trying to keep up with the pack detracts from that and every once in awhile I have to tighten the reigns and remember what life is all about.  And with so much to keep up with, it helps to simply unplug every once in awhile.

Part of the online madness stems from the fact that there is just so dang much to keep up with anymore.  Now there’s Instagram, which sounds totally fun…if you have an iphone, which I don’t so I’m off the hook with that one.  No temptation!  Guh-lory!

There’s also StreamZoo and Google Plus and LinkedIn (yes, I know I have several invitations to Link up on LinkedIn, but I can’t remember my password so there’s a good chance I’m never going to accept those invitations for which I hereby sincerely apologize), and a whole host of other networking sites that are cropping up and my head just exploded.

I just want to make my kids a sandwich.

And write.

And maybe, just maybe, keep up with the constant flow of online craziness so that in a few years when my son comes prancing in the door and announces he wants to open up a ShowMyLifeToTheWorld account, I’ll know what it is and whether or not I want him partaking.

I’m trying to stay cool, folks!  I mean, aside from my rockin’ minivan, I’ve got very little left with which to garner cool points.

So here it is, social media overwhelms me. Sometimes it’s just too much.

What are your thoughts?

Filed Under: Blogging, Random, things I don't need to hear, writing Tagged With: , , ,
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