Merry Christmas!
I hope this has been a blessed year for you, despite the financial climate.
Our kids are doing well. Pam enjoys being a stay-at-home mom with her three kids. Kim still teaches music. Her son, Austin, got his driver’s license this year. Chip likes his teaching job in Italy, and Sherri is happy as an agent in D.C. Kelly made a career change. She now attends the Aveda beauty school in NYC. She loves cutting hair and graduates in January. Now I have my own beautician!
To say this has been an eventful year for Frank and I would be an understatement. Frank’s appointment by the governor as State Police Commissioner last January put a new spin on our lives. Then his statement about the Sandusky case, and the moral responsibility to report abuse whirled like a tornado as his words went national. He did a few interviews, but declined dozens more. Even so, the words he spoke at the press conference were repeated in articles, blogs, on TV, and even in Sports Illustrated. No one was more surprised than Frank. He never suspected that speaking about moral responsibility would hit a nerve with the nation.
There has been some criticism, but for the most part, he has received overwhelming support. The most striking example of how his words have affected others happened last week. A mother of ten drove fourteen hours from Michigan to Harrisburg to shake Frank’s hand. She had reported a crime and been criticized for it. She wanted to thank him, because his words gave her confidence that she had done the right thing.
I pray this Christmas season that we may we all speak life-giving words, as we reflect on the One who spoke everything into existence.
“For unto us a child is born, unto us a son is given:
And the government shall be upon his shoulder:
And his name shall be called Wonderful, Counselor,
The Mighty God, the Everlasting Father, the Prince of Peace
Isaiah 9: 6
Tuesday, December 13, 2011
Friday, November 25, 2011
Turkey Trauma
I can’t remember how many Thanksgiving dinners I have cooked in my lifetime, but it’s close to forty out of the forty-three years Frank and I have been married. I’ve got it down to a science. I cooked my first turkey less than two weeks after we were married. We had just moved from Pennsylvania to the army base in Lawton, Oklahoma, and were far away from any family. I roasted a twelve pound turkey, and learned that my new husband could gobble leftover turkey six days in a row and love every bite.
Frank spent three months learning how to call in artillery fire before leaving for Viet Nam. The next year I spent the holiday with my parents while Frank fought in the war. We have spent Thanksgiving together ever since.
We raised our five kids quite a distance from grandparents, aunts and uncles, and so we often celebrated without benefit of extended family. Now we have lots of grandkids, and I’m happy to say, we get to spend Thanksgiving with our own extended family. When I’m feeling stressed about shopping, cooking and the holiday rush that begins in November, I try to remember that it’s not about turkey. It’s about family.
Frank spent three months learning how to call in artillery fire before leaving for Viet Nam. The next year I spent the holiday with my parents while Frank fought in the war. We have spent Thanksgiving together ever since.
We raised our five kids quite a distance from grandparents, aunts and uncles, and so we often celebrated without benefit of extended family. Now we have lots of grandkids, and I’m happy to say, we get to spend Thanksgiving with our own extended family. When I’m feeling stressed about shopping, cooking and the holiday rush that begins in November, I try to remember that it’s not about turkey. It’s about family.
Sunday, November 13, 2011
Penn State Tragedy: A Week Like No Other
My husband, Frank, who is the Pennsylvania Police Commissioner, stepped out of his room at the Nittany Lion Inn on Friday morning when a surreal sight stopped him. At each doorway lay a complimentary copy of USA Today. As he walked down the hall, the headline, “Victim One,” repeated over and over like a silent cry.
Frank spent Thursday night in State College because rioting broke out on the campus the night before. By the next day, sentiment changed from anger over Joe Paterno’s firing, to compassion for the victims. A candlelight vigil demonstrated that.
To say that this week has been shocking, sad, and horrific would be an understatement. Our prayers go out to the victims, the students of Penn State, and those involved in the scandal.
No one was more surprised than Frank to see his remarks about the moral obligation to report child abuse race across the nation like a giant tsunami. Those words echoed the sentiments of a grieving public.
But in every tragedy, God provides the opportunity for healing. I believe people will be more willing to report abuse, and legislators will propose new laws. Penn State can be reborn as a better university with higher standards. Already, the Penn State community has shown that compassion for the victims rises higher than football.
But this story will not go away. “Victim One” will cry in the halls of justice until justice is done.
Frank spent Thursday night in State College because rioting broke out on the campus the night before. By the next day, sentiment changed from anger over Joe Paterno’s firing, to compassion for the victims. A candlelight vigil demonstrated that.
To say that this week has been shocking, sad, and horrific would be an understatement. Our prayers go out to the victims, the students of Penn State, and those involved in the scandal.
No one was more surprised than Frank to see his remarks about the moral obligation to report child abuse race across the nation like a giant tsunami. Those words echoed the sentiments of a grieving public.
But in every tragedy, God provides the opportunity for healing. I believe people will be more willing to report abuse, and legislators will propose new laws. Penn State can be reborn as a better university with higher standards. Already, the Penn State community has shown that compassion for the victims rises higher than football.
But this story will not go away. “Victim One” will cry in the halls of justice until justice is done.
Sunday, September 25, 2011
Who Knew?
Our pastor preached a message today about how life doesn't get easy just because we say yes to God and follow Him. On the contrary, when we follow his path we are usually in a fog, and are never sure of the next step. It seems that just as we think we know where we are going, He switches things up.
Take my writing journey, for example. I spent fifteen years writing and perfecting an urban fantasy. I never dreamed I would put down something I was sure God wanted me to write, and start a different project, but I did. From what I understand, this is the normal path for writers. My apologies to my former students who wanted to see that book in print, and heard me read it many times. Truthfully, my currant project is much better.
I have written 10,000 words and have 20,000 more to write before it is finished. However, an agent I met at a conference is already interested in it. I couldn't get an agent interested in my last book when it was completed.
Will this book get published? I don't know. But I do know that I am a better writer for not giving up and persisting to improve.I don't know what the next step is, but I will persevere at this one until God shows me the next one.
Take my writing journey, for example. I spent fifteen years writing and perfecting an urban fantasy. I never dreamed I would put down something I was sure God wanted me to write, and start a different project, but I did. From what I understand, this is the normal path for writers. My apologies to my former students who wanted to see that book in print, and heard me read it many times. Truthfully, my currant project is much better.
I have written 10,000 words and have 20,000 more to write before it is finished. However, an agent I met at a conference is already interested in it. I couldn't get an agent interested in my last book when it was completed.
Will this book get published? I don't know. But I do know that I am a better writer for not giving up and persisting to improve.I don't know what the next step is, but I will persevere at this one until God shows me the next one.
Tuesday, September 13, 2011
The Power of Water
I have learned a few things about grist mills since I've researched the Underground Railroad for my novel-in-progress. Grist mills dotted the rivers of our nation in the first two centuries. Families often gathered at the mill to socialize while they waited for harvested grain to be ground. The mill provided the processing needed to grind flour and corn meal, which could then be baked into bread, a staple of the early American diet.
The mill's grindstone operated through a system of cogs and machinery powered by a large wheel partially submerged in a river. The power of flowing water was harnessed for a common good.
Unfortunately, we in northeastern Pennsylvania have seen the waters of the Susquehanna River and local creeks unleash their power in a devastating way. Flooded homes, and washed out bridges and roads only hint at the underlying stories of human suffering and grief that will continue long after the waters have returned to their banks.
It is chilling to think that water, just like electrical and nuclear power, can be destructive.
God's silver lining in all this is the "love thy neighbor" principle we see as people put their lives back together. I saw many individuals on Facebook offer to provide shelter during the evacuation. Now neighbors are helping neighbors clean up the mess. It seems that disaster can bring people together even more than festivity.
If you have a story of hope in the midst of this tragedy, I would love to hear it.
The mill's grindstone operated through a system of cogs and machinery powered by a large wheel partially submerged in a river. The power of flowing water was harnessed for a common good.
Unfortunately, we in northeastern Pennsylvania have seen the waters of the Susquehanna River and local creeks unleash their power in a devastating way. Flooded homes, and washed out bridges and roads only hint at the underlying stories of human suffering and grief that will continue long after the waters have returned to their banks.
It is chilling to think that water, just like electrical and nuclear power, can be destructive.
God's silver lining in all this is the "love thy neighbor" principle we see as people put their lives back together. I saw many individuals on Facebook offer to provide shelter during the evacuation. Now neighbors are helping neighbors clean up the mess. It seems that disaster can bring people together even more than festivity.
If you have a story of hope in the midst of this tragedy, I would love to hear it.
Saturday, September 3, 2011
Celebrating Heroes
My husband, Frank, is the Pennsylvania State Police Commissioner. Last February he set in motion plans for a tenth anniversary 9/11 memorial honoring living and fallen soldiers since 9/11 who serve, or have served in the PA State Police. He obtained a state trooper honor guard, the National Guard Band of the Mid-Atlantic, the Eighth and I Marine Corps Color Guard, and the following speakers: Adjutant General of the Pa National Guard, Wes Craig; Governor Tom Corbett; and Lt. Col. Oliver North. Frank planned a short speech, as well.
On September first, I listened to him give what one person said was the best speech they ever heard. He recounted how his father, a decorated WWII veteran and POW, who never talked about his imprisonment, often mentioned how he was honored by others when he returned home. Everywhere he went, people bought him drinks and meals. When my husband returned from Viet Nam, he and his fellow vets received no such treatment. They were ignored. Frank didn’t let that bother him. Years later our grandson, Austin, invited him to his middle school celebration honoring veterans. When they gave the Viet Nam veterans a standing ovation, he experienced the public gratitude he had never gotten. It was a defining moment. He told these trooper-veterans that he wanted them to have a defining moment, too. As the saying goes, there wasn’t a dry eye in the house.
That memorial service was a defining moment for me as well. Living without my husband for the ten months he was in Viet Nam, not knowing whether he would live or die, and bearing our first child without him, were difficult moments in my life. But this commemorative event helped Frank and I connect our past to our present, and in some respects, helped define our future. We can see God orchestrating all the events in our lives, and turning difficult situations into something good.
Frank showed his emotional investment in these troopers when he spoke at this memorial. At that moment he was no longer their boss, he was one of them. He had walked where they walked.
As a fiction writer, I must make the same kind of emotional investment. My readers must make a powerful connection with my characters to be drawn into the story. For them to make that connection, I must be drawn into the story as well. Maybe that’s why fiction writers feel like their characters are real.
On September first, I listened to him give what one person said was the best speech they ever heard. He recounted how his father, a decorated WWII veteran and POW, who never talked about his imprisonment, often mentioned how he was honored by others when he returned home. Everywhere he went, people bought him drinks and meals. When my husband returned from Viet Nam, he and his fellow vets received no such treatment. They were ignored. Frank didn’t let that bother him. Years later our grandson, Austin, invited him to his middle school celebration honoring veterans. When they gave the Viet Nam veterans a standing ovation, he experienced the public gratitude he had never gotten. It was a defining moment. He told these trooper-veterans that he wanted them to have a defining moment, too. As the saying goes, there wasn’t a dry eye in the house.
That memorial service was a defining moment for me as well. Living without my husband for the ten months he was in Viet Nam, not knowing whether he would live or die, and bearing our first child without him, were difficult moments in my life. But this commemorative event helped Frank and I connect our past to our present, and in some respects, helped define our future. We can see God orchestrating all the events in our lives, and turning difficult situations into something good.
Frank showed his emotional investment in these troopers when he spoke at this memorial. At that moment he was no longer their boss, he was one of them. He had walked where they walked.
As a fiction writer, I must make the same kind of emotional investment. My readers must make a powerful connection with my characters to be drawn into the story. For them to make that connection, I must be drawn into the story as well. Maybe that’s why fiction writers feel like their characters are real.
Monday, August 29, 2011
Rafting on the River
No, I'm not planning on river rafting on the Delaware while it overflows its banks after Hurricane Irene.(Thankfully, all of my family and friends are safe.) I did, however, accompany Huck Finn on his trip down the Mississippi this week while we waited out the storm.
This read has been wonderful research for my middle grade Underground Railroad novel, When It's Dark Enough, You Can See the Stars..I learned that mattresses were called ticks, and could be stuffed with straw, and well-to-do folks topped it with a feather tick. Poor folks used corn husks, which could be uncomfortable with the occasional corn cob stabbing you in the back.
Reading a book published in the nineteenth century gave me a surprising perspective. Huck wrestles with his desire to set Jim, a slave, free. Jim belongs to someone else, and is stolen property. Whereas we would see this as a noble endeavor, Huck viewed it the way many people in his time did: he was stealing goods and sinning against God and Jim's owner. Huck assuages his guilt by writing a letter to Jim's mistress, Miss Watson, but never sends it. He says,"All right, then, I'll go to hell", and tears it up. Huck didn't realize he was making a choice of which God would approve.
The face of slavery has changed, but it is still out there. What do you think slavery looks like now? Let me know.
This read has been wonderful research for my middle grade Underground Railroad novel, When It's Dark Enough, You Can See the Stars..I learned that mattresses were called ticks, and could be stuffed with straw, and well-to-do folks topped it with a feather tick. Poor folks used corn husks, which could be uncomfortable with the occasional corn cob stabbing you in the back.
Reading a book published in the nineteenth century gave me a surprising perspective. Huck wrestles with his desire to set Jim, a slave, free. Jim belongs to someone else, and is stolen property. Whereas we would see this as a noble endeavor, Huck viewed it the way many people in his time did: he was stealing goods and sinning against God and Jim's owner. Huck assuages his guilt by writing a letter to Jim's mistress, Miss Watson, but never sends it. He says,"All right, then, I'll go to hell", and tears it up. Huck didn't realize he was making a choice of which God would approve.
The face of slavery has changed, but it is still out there. What do you think slavery looks like now? Let me know.
Tuesday, August 23, 2011
Plugging Away
Well, I've been working on my blog again.I found a funny picture, managed to load it, but couldn't crop the header to the size I want. Then I found a dynamic title: Scribbler's Travels. I published my first blog under that title, only to have a fellow writer tell me, "Hey, I found a picture of an old lady, and it's definitely not you."
Trouble is, I forgot to check Google to see how popular that name was. It seems a lot of people are scribbler travelers. Back to the drawing board. My new title is used less, so I'm hoping it comes up on the first page of a Google search.
When we were at the beach last week, I learned that the horseshoe crab has been around since before the dinosaurs roamed the earth. It's hard being a dinosaur in a techno-savvy world, but if a horshoe crab can learn to live in the modern world, so can I.
Trouble is, I forgot to check Google to see how popular that name was. It seems a lot of people are scribbler travelers. Back to the drawing board. My new title is used less, so I'm hoping it comes up on the first page of a Google search.
When we were at the beach last week, I learned that the horseshoe crab has been around since before the dinosaurs roamed the earth. It's hard being a dinosaur in a techno-savvy world, but if a horshoe crab can learn to live in the modern world, so can I.
Saturday, August 20, 2011
History Lesson
Well, here it is next week, and I’ve just come back from a class on blogging. I get the gist of it, but still feel very incompetent. They say you can’t teach an old dog new tricks, but I say it just takes an old dog longer.
Our family vacationed at Chincoteague, Virginia last week. We had perfect beach weather, and I found the perfect beach read. Nestled in the bedroom bookcase, my husband discovered Giants, a book that parallels the lives of Frederick Douglass and Abraham Lincoln. Buried treasure. Maybe I couldn’t work on my middle grade Underground Railroad novel this week, but I could do research as I soaked in the sun and watched my grandkids play in the sand. Life is good.
I learned something interesting. There were no child labor laws back then. Abraham Lincoln’s father hired him out many times before Abe was twenty-one. Guess who got all the money? Yep, his dad. This was the cultural norm in the early nineteenth century. It was also the law. Abe felt a little like an indentured servant. I had to go back and rewrite a bit of my book when I found this gem.
History gives us perspective. It’s kind of like growing old. We have a lot more wisdom when we can see where we’ve been.
Saturday, August 6, 2011
New Beginnings
Well, here I am, cracking open the "cellar door" of my blog, which hasn't seen a post in over a year.
Oops.
At the last writers' conference which I couldn't attend, one of the speakers said you must have a blog if you are a writer, and every writer needs to post at least once a week.
Oops again.
Well, the truth is, I'm on a new threshold. The cellar in my fantasy novel, Beyond the Red Door, has just been transported back in time. Joyce Magnin, my writing mentor and friend, recommended I shelve Red Door and start an historical novel about a slave boy who runs away on the Underground Railroad. When I did that, my writing went up a notch. It flowed. I knew it was the right thing to do.
I have noticed that before novelists get that first contract, most of them write one or two books that don't get published. I spent fifteen years writing and rewriting one book. For years I called it my learn-how-to-write book. Now I know the pain and freedom of letting a pet project go. It is time to move on.
Maybe I will be able to incorporate the first book into a sequel.These two books have some things in common. They both involve a cellar that was once used to hide saves on the Underground Railroad, and they have the same theme: freedom from slavery.
Will I blog next week? Will the theme of my blog change? Tune in next week to find out.
Oops.
At the last writers' conference which I couldn't attend, one of the speakers said you must have a blog if you are a writer, and every writer needs to post at least once a week.
Oops again.
Well, the truth is, I'm on a new threshold. The cellar in my fantasy novel, Beyond the Red Door, has just been transported back in time. Joyce Magnin, my writing mentor and friend, recommended I shelve Red Door and start an historical novel about a slave boy who runs away on the Underground Railroad. When I did that, my writing went up a notch. It flowed. I knew it was the right thing to do.
I have noticed that before novelists get that first contract, most of them write one or two books that don't get published. I spent fifteen years writing and rewriting one book. For years I called it my learn-how-to-write book. Now I know the pain and freedom of letting a pet project go. It is time to move on.
Maybe I will be able to incorporate the first book into a sequel.These two books have some things in common. They both involve a cellar that was once used to hide saves on the Underground Railroad, and they have the same theme: freedom from slavery.
Will I blog next week? Will the theme of my blog change? Tune in next week to find out.
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