Bittersweet - October Flash Fiction #1

It’s the way of this life in its present state that every moment of bliss is infected with the reality of transience.

A mother held her two-year-old. She breathed in his freshly bathed scent. She stared at every line of his features, the softness of his skin that was quickly fading away the taller he grew. She marveled that once he had been so small, so helpless. Now he filled her lap and his long legs dangled at her side.

These moments didn’t come often.  She knew she should revel in it. She knew she should hold him tight while he was willing and savor every last moment of the time they had left as mama and baby.  She stared at the mound of laundry that waited for her attention. She thought of the tower of dishes. Not to mention the floors that must be swept and the grimy windows.

It wasn’t that she wanted to do those things more. She didn’t exactly relish accomplishing those things when she knew they would just as quickly be undone in the remaining hours of the day.

She supposed the truth was that the longer she sat there with him, the longer she felt his little frame within her arms and smiled at his lisp as he spoke quietly to her – the more it would hurt when his body decided it must move and he pulled himself away.

It made her throat thick to think of him growing up. Not needing her in this way anymore. But there simply was not an option to pause his life so that she might grow used to the idea of his childhood slipping through her fingers.

Oh, for the day when this little bit of bliss was eternal. When every beautiful moment she had ever known would be captured forever, and time would no longer be her demanding enemy.

He pulled away. Ran down the hall shouting gleefully with the carefree nature of youth.  She watched him go with a lingering pain in her being. But she was also thankful. For his life. For his health, his growth, and his changing mind and being. As much as it hurt to say goodbye to the sweet moments of her baby’s life, she knew sweet moments – different moments – would follow in the days to come.

For it was the way of this life.

Laura's Home

"Then pa looked straight at Laura and said, 'You girls keep away from the camp. When you go walking, don't go near where the men are working, and you be sure you're back here before they come in for the night. There's all kinds of rough men working on the grade and using rough language, and the less you see and hear of them the better. Now remember, Laura. And you too, Carrie. 'Pa's face was very serious.

'Yes, Pa' Laura promised, and Carrie almost whispered, 'Yes, Pa.' Carries eyes were large and frightened. She did not want to hear rough language,whatever rough language might be. Laura would have liked to hear some, just once, but of course she must obey Pa."

- Laura Ingalls Wilder (By the Shores of Silver Lake)

I spent my early years reading Laura's collection of memories in the "Little House" series over and over and over. I would say that she was probably one of the most significant influences on my thinking as a child, probably because I had quite a bit in common with her.

Recently on our family vacation, we were able to tour Laura's home in Missouri. This was her home until the day she died, the place she lived with her husband Almanzo and her daughter Rose; this was the place that she sat and wrote by hand all of her memories as a story for children at the insistence of Rose, who had already become a prominent author by that time.

There is something about Laura that speaks to us all. If we didn't grow up with her voice in our head as we read, then we saw the television series based on the books (very loosely based on the books) or we at least knew something basic about the little woman who grew up as a pioneer. But I thought of Laura as a dear friend. I think that was her intention when she sat down to write her stories.

So my daughter Spirit and I were elated to explore her home and the museum that housed the collection of her belongings, many straight from the pages of her books. We were captivated by the sight of Pa's fiddle, the "Give us this day our daily bread" plate that was saved from the fire that destroyed their home, the many pictures of their family and other mementos that meant something to anyone who was touched by her delightfully descriptive words in her books.

If you are ever in Mansfield, Missouri you must take some time out to see Laura's home and memories. Here are a few pictures for those who are unable to see it themselves.

"We'd never get anything fixed to suit us if we waited for things to suit us before we started."  -Laura Ingalls Wilder 

Laura Ingalls Wilder Home website

Possibilities

For a fairly optimistic person, it's not too surprising that I admit I am excited about the possibilities.

But I am. I feel something rising. I see a big hill coming and though I know it means some hard climbing, I'm feeling the rush of what the ride down will be like.

I'm taking some steps of faith that have been eight years in the making. There's an amazing wonder that comes right alongside of finding out whom you were always meant to be. Or at least taking another step toward the top.

My stomach is in knots. My heart is beating fast. But when I think of not taking the chance, not setting my sail to catch the wind... I know I have to. I would rather fail than wonder one day what might have been if I had only tried.

And so I try. And I can't say "here goes nothing." It wouldn't be true. Rather I tell you with all the conviction of my soul "here goes everything I have been through, every rabbit trail I was sidetracked on, all that has come into focus to be me in order that I might come to this inevitable conclusion."

Finding Balance

I'm going through an adolescent phase in my writing. Literally and figuratively.

I've just written this book. The other six books I have written were easier. They were the type of writing I'm most familiar with and very comfortable with. They fall safely in the Christian Fic genre.

Not so with my new baby. Earlier this year my mind got a hold of this idea and wouldn't let it go. Believe me, I argued about this with God. I said he was going to need to get this idea out of my head or I'd end up writing it. I said that I'd have to be true to the story and make it the kind of epic I love to read, and I said to do that I might have to put things in it that some people in my circles find objectionable. But the idea didn't go away, it just kept evolving. So I decided that I should try to write the kind of story that I love the most.

There was plenty of inspiration. I played off of a few of my favorites. Hunger Games, Harry Potter, Fringe, Firefly. I took general aspects of each that I loved and weaved them into a story. A story based loosely on a Bible story, but not a story that would fall neatly into the category of Christian fiction.

Science Fiction. Young adult science fiction with a healthy smattering of historical.

I know that if you just happened on this blog and don't know me from Adam... or Eve... you'd probably wonder why I'm making such a big deal about writing a science fiction book. But if you grew up with me, you might be nodding in understanding, or possibly judgment.

There's this weird unwritten rule that says that Christians should only read safe, holy Christian books. Even though the Bible is full of stories of people doing awful things. Still, Christians got this idea that they shouldn't ever consider evil.

This was the atmosphere I grew up in. It wasn't my parents, who are fairly free-thinkers for their generation and who enjoy the same sort of stories I do. I can't really say it was even a specific group of people - it was just this attitude that we all needed to put on our very best face, never admit to sin, and stay away from sinners and sinful entertainment and places. And the "sin" part was highly subjective. Quite a few rules made their way into my mind that I've yet to find a biblical basis for. So when you grow up like that, and you manage to look past it and know it's not truth, you find yourself on this swinging pendulum. You feel like you swing wildly either way and never find that balance in the middle between legalism and true wrong.

And so I find myself with the best story I've ever written. Doesn't mean it's ready, I have a lot of work to do now that I've written "The End." But is the thought of the editing what keeps me from sending out that query letter to the first ten agents on my list? Nope. It's the thought of people that I love reading it and thinking that I must not really be a Christian for writing such trash. I know there will inevitably be people that will think it's trash and say so, because they've already said it about a lot of the inspiration I used to write it.

I didn't write trash. I promise. But I let my characters be themselves. I let them do things that I wouldn't necessarily do if it furthered the story. And I threw a few things in there that Christians generally accept as sinful that I don't see in the Bible. My thinking was that if I could meet young adults where they are - try to capture their thinking and put it down on paper - maybe that would give them a place to wander back into the truth, if they aren't sure what the truth is. Maybe I could quietly and honestly give them a way to think about spiritual things without throwing a bunch of confusing and questionable rules in their faces.

I don't know if I've managed any of these things. Like I said, I need to get to work. But finding that balance is one of the struggles of people that have grown up in a pseudo-legalistic environment. The little voice in the back of your head that helps you know right from wrong isn't always God's voice. And the trick is learning to tell the difference.

Anyway, my ramblings for today. If anyone stuck with it this far, thanks. :)

Five Reasons to Keep Going

Being a writer is hard. Being a writer and trying to keep all the other balls in the air is even harder. That's why it's been advised that you shouldn't write unless you can't help it. Unless you would accidentally still spill words all over the page even if it were outlawed.

I'm in that group. And so it's been my journey to discover how to write without going insane. For example - to write you need hours of your day to be absolutely alone. Being a homeschooling mother of four kids under the age of eight definitely makes that a challenge. 

I'm also discovering how you manage writing in such a way that makes all the time you sacrifice worth it in the end. There are many definitions of the worth of writing, but my personal goal is to get to the place where my writing can enrich and entertain others. 

Here are five reasons to keep going if you find yourself in a similar place:

1. IT GETS EASIER.

It becomes more natural to get the words on the page the longer you've been at it. This is provided you are also devoting time to reading the type of books you want to write, and reading books about the writing craft by successful authors. (I highly recommend any by James Scott Bell.) But the more effort you put into learning, the more professional your writing begins to seem.

2. THERE ARE OTHERS OUT THERE LIKE YOU.

It's very easy for me to believe that I'm all alone. Especially since I spend a great deal of time alone, other than to care for my family. But when I read the author blogs or the see the Twitter and Facebook posts, I realize that there are other people out there that are similar to me. 

As a writer, the more you try to be your actual self, the more you realize that your thinking is just a little bit out there. But that's what makes a creative, curious personality able to accomplish the art of crafting stories with words that challenge and entertain. So embrace it, even if you get a few weird looks.

3. IT BECOMES MORE ENJOYABLE.

There are still days when writing is a chore. My creative ability waxes and wanes with how much sleep I've had and my present hormonal state. It's a fact of life, especially for women. So take advantage of the times when the story is exciting and real and seems to write itself through your fingertips. And push through when it doesn't. Write anyway, no matter what else is going on.

4. BIG DREAMS JUST TAKE MORE WORK.

My daughter likes to say "I can't" whenever I ask her to do something that takes effort to get done. This is an unacceptable phrase in our household. Because it isn't true. In fact, usually the more work something requires  the more worth doing it really is. Whatever your hands find to do, do it to the absolute extreme of your ability.

5. YOU ARE ACCOMPLISHING MORE THAN JUST WRITING SKILLS.

I don't know about others, but this comforts me. I've reached the point where my writing has become like a full time job. I spend time writing, researching, studying the craft at least six hours a day, usually more like eight. And it scares me a little when I think of how much time I could be wasting if I'm not in fact heading toward publication (aka validation!) 

But truthfully, there are no regrets. Learning to use my writing ability has been a valid pursuit, even if I never walk into a bookstore or a library and see my book sitting on the shelf. It has taught me perseverance, faith, self-discipline, and humility. I'm teaching my children that I am also responsible to work hard to achieve my dreams, just as I expect of them. 

So, no regrets. If you're a writer at heart and you have things to say, put in the effort and learn how to communicate them so someone will listen and benefit from them.

Hitting Those Walls

I'm a fairly easy-going person. I think that everyone who knows me well will add that I have moments when I'm definitely not so easygoing.

This is something I try to hide. I think it may be a combination of oldest child/pastor's kid/Regular Baptist syndromes, but somehow I got the idea that I should present to the world a "got it all together" vibe.

I had no idea 8 years ago when I first felt God whispering to me about being an author that it would be such a hard road. I have always enjoyed writing immensely. So I had a flowery picture of me happily typing out a novel and skipping off to the publisher who would gush and throw money at me. God neglected to mention that it would be hours and hours of learning the craft. He didn't mention that I would be here, six completed novels later, still not ready to seriously try to sell anything I've written. Talent with words does not mean you are ready to wow the world by any stretch of the imagination. And so you see by the picture that eight years later I am still learning constantly what it means to write a story.

Sometimes, I can't stop writing and learning. Sometimes the words flow and I experience a kind of joy it would be difficult to describe, something I assume will be standard issue happiness in eternity. It is easy for me to fall in love with fictional places and people. It is pleasure to craft their stories. And in these moments I have faith that God will complete the work in me and do what He intended to do when the timing is perfect.

But sometimes, like today, I wonder. Have I wasted all the countless hours of my life, pursuing something that is not realistically ever going to matter? There are moments when people respond to the things I write, but most of the time, I feel alone in this venture. I don't see where all these people that are going to be changed by my writing are going to come from. Is it just foolishness? Silly dreams by someone with a small life and an overactive imagination?

When I read books intended for authors, true authors, they resound with me. It's easy to know that I have the heart of a writer. But there are so many other people writing. Will anything I put to paper ever really matter to anyone but me?

This is my deepest truth: I don't really care about fame and fortune. If I were to receive a windfall from a book deal, I honestly wouldn't want anything except to travel more often and to help those in need. For me, the desire to write has to do mostly with just wanting to enrich someone else's life by crafting an enjoyable story. By encouraging and lifting up the spirit of a reader. My heart is to show love to others through words.

This is my deepest enemy: My own doubts and embarrassment about not being perfect. It's hard to spend months writing something, and be really excited about it, then to finish it and put it away and come back to find that it just wasn't that special.  It's easy to come to the conclusion that I'm never going to feel strongly enough about any of my stories to go to the lengths it takes to get published in today's market. It's not uncommon for writers to send queries or proposals to 60 agents or editors and still be rejected 60 times. Being a writer takes a thick skin, hard work, and above all perseverance.

I'm praying for faith and direction. I have to believe all this will make sense in the end.

That's my truth for today.

My Favorite Moms

It's Mother's Day. My mom is off watching birds and my grandmas are busy hanging out with Jesus, but I felt like putting up a few pics of the moms who have meant the most to me. These are the women that showed me how it's done. 

Above is my mom. Reader of stories, leader of adventures, and the one that always tried to see what I was pointing at even if no one else in the world understood. She still does that. She was great at the art of mothering. She held on tight enough that we knew she was always there and that she cared more than anyone. But she let go just enough to allow us to figure out who we were and what God had for us. I pray I can find that fine line as gracefully as she did, and still does. 

My Grandma. She has always been one of my heroes. Not because she was perfect, but because she was real. She admitted it when she didn't know what she was doing. She said so when she was mad or unsure or worried or sad. And most of all, she loved like crazy. Everything we did or said was precious to her. I don't know if I've ever known a hug as tight as Grandma's. She was responsible for some of the most outrageous, fun moments of my life. I feel like everyone who didn't know Nellie Mae Hubble is missing out. Someday I'm going to get her story right, and then everyone else will be able to see her as I do.

Eileen. This list wouldn't be complete if I didn't introduce Grandma Eileen. She wasn't really related to me, but she took on the job of Grandma with all the gusto of the best grandmas in the world. She and her husband Joe were members of my dad's church in Illinois, and they became like family to our family for the first ten years of my life before they moved far away to Texas to be close to their own family. Eileen was tough. She was a school principal and you didn't mess around with her. But she was also sweet, and fun, and full of good advice. I am forever thankful for the woman who was one of my earliest best friends. I still miss her, and she's been living in Texas for 25 years now.

 My Grammy. Grammy was already in her 70's when I was born. I didn't go on any wild adventures with her and most of the time I spent with her she was sitting in her chair crocheting. But I was like my Grammy in many ways. I had inherited the ability to play music by ear, and she liked to listen to me play hymns and sing. She tried to teach me to crochet. We liked the same programs on television. She was a peaceful spirit who loved deeply. She took care of her invalid daughter every day, every night, never complaining about it or showing any impatience at all, until she was in her 90's. She taught by example more than by words. I'm thankful for her influence.

The day I became a mother I realized just how special each of these women were. I hope that I can follow their godly examples for the rest of my life.