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.
Sunday, September 25, 2011
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.
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