Category Archives: Fiction is Truth

Addiction, Character, co-dependence, Emotional Health, Fiction is Truth, Goals and Dreams, Health and Long Life, Spiritual Well Being, The Rules, Uncategorized

Writing Women’s Fiction

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If I am perfectly groomed; then you will love me.

If I do everything you ask; then you will love me.

If I am a nice enough person; then you will love me.

If I provide for you, because of all I’ve done for you; then you will love me.

If I take care of you, meet your every need; then you will love me.

If I sacrifice for you, lay aside my dreams and desires to help you meet your dreams; then you will love me.

If I do my job and your job too; then you will love me.

I love happily ever after endings.  A happy ending gives me hope. I too, might someday experience fulfillment.  But, the way to achieve that happy ending is not through living women’s fiction.  Living the women’s fictions written above will make you crazy.  That kind of fiction ends on the counselor’s couch, working through resentment, despair and depression.

Books and other Soul Food, Fiction is Truth, Spiritual Well Being, Uncategorized

Ah, It’s a Book!

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When my younger two children were growing up, our entire family loved books.  We waited in anticipation at birthdays and holidays for the packages that arrived from my brother and sister-in-law; Phd Book-lovers who frequented the best bookstores. Whether delivered by UPS or US Mail, we sighed in contentment when the box was opened and we could tell by the unmistakable shape of the package inside, “Ah, it’s a book!”

 You will understand my delight last fall, when a representative of WaterBrook Press contacted me via facebook.  In return for my mailing address, she promised to send me a book. I was happy to make the trade.  I trust Waterbrook. I know the propensity of publishers to move out overstock of good, but less popular, authors via giving promo books away.

When the book arrived at my Colorado home of record, I was in transition to the Northwest, living in one room at my cousin’s home in Shoreline, WA.  Having in my possession only such essentials as I could fit into a 1994 Subaru Legacy, my daily pilgrimage became the Richmond Beach Library two blocks away. There I conducted my internet errands and became a regular on the waiting lists for the best books.

 My mother dutifully contacted me when she received the package from WaterBrook Press.  Since I am an aspiring writer, she treats packets from publishers as priorities.  “Open it,” I directed, “I think it is a book that I won.  If so, go ahead and read it and keep it there in storage.  I’ll pick it up later with the rest of my belongings.”

 Ah, it was a book! It would have to wait until I retrieved my belongings from storage.

 Life is short: re-read only the best books

 The best books are books you re-read over and over again.  I adopted this description of a good book from Sheldon Vanauken, acquaintance of C.S. Lewis, after reading his book, A Severe Mercy.

 I have a handful of books that I re-read often, for various reasons:

1) Laughter, entertainment, a well-turned phrase

2) Daily recreation and restoration, encouragement

3) Knowledge and instruction, clarity

4) Insight into human nature, understanding

5) Vicarious adventure, travel, history

One box of such books came with me in the over laden Subaru.  The box was marked, “Essentials,” and it included all my books by C.S. Lewis, George MacDonald, Tolkien; Jane Austen’s Pride and Prejudice; Blue Like Jazz; The Shack,  and five DVDs that have marked my life (also for the reasons listed above). The book I return to over and over again for comfort and clarity is George MacDonald’s, The Marquis’ Secret.  In it I find a portrait of courage, confidence and assurance of destiny, which I aim to emulate.

I have a relationship with a book

Susan Meissner’s latest book, “Lady in Waiting,” moved to my essential, must re-read, list at precisely page 96. That was the page at which I reached for a pen to underline a descriptive phrase and remembered just in time that my book belonged to the library. I didn’t want to return the book.  I wanted to have a relationship with that book.  Although I am a fast reader and the book is a page turner, I kept it for the full three weeks; re-reading chapters every night. My need was so great, it never occurred to me to return it quickly for the benefit of those other readers on the waiting list (I waited three months for my turn).

I deposited Lady in Waiting in the library drop box while in route to my new apartment with my first load of belongings. Since I commute to a full time job five days a week, it took several days for me to settle in.  As my second weekend approached, I began to long for a reliably good book.  Several times I headed to my computer to place an online order; an order for a book I could read and underline and have a relationship with.   Repeatedly, I was distracted by some other detail to attend to in preparation for my parents’ short notice arrival that weekend. 

After a weekend full of relatives, when my parents had gone to their lodging for the night on Sunday, I was in need of re-centering and refreshment for the upcoming week. I once again cast about for just the right thing to read, regretting that I had not visited a bookstore or carried through with my online ordering.

 My eyes fell on the basket of collected miscellaneous mail Mom brought with her.  Tucked between the junk mail and magazines that I had not asked for was a padded envelope from WaterBrook Press. “It’s a book,” I thought with joy.

Imagine my, more wonderful than fiction, amazement and gratitude when the book that slid from the packet was Susan Meissner’s Lady in Waiting.

Thank you, Susan; and thank you, WaterBrook; for facilitating this reminder that God cares about the very little details of my life; that we always have choices; that God gives the desire of our hearts.

Addiction, Character, co-dependence, Emotional Health, Family, Fiction is Truth, Health and Long Life, Spiritual Well Being

A Parable about major surgery and marriage

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A dearly loved one was in a coma, and had lain that way for months, unresponsive to medical intervention and ministrations of close family members. After much consultation, the doctors said it appeared the immediate family had a choice to make: Leave the beloved on all invasive support systems, in which case death was inevitable, but might take an indefinite amount of time, maybe years. Or, detach life support systems and stand by and comfort as the loved one passed through the valley of the shadow. Both doctors called in for consultation freely attested they had seen occasional patients rally and live full lives after removal of life support. The next of kin saw a ray of hope in this possibility of miraculous recovery.

The next of kin nodded tearfully and said, “I see the plug has to be pulled.  I will stand by and comfort if this is the end, or I will stand firm and cheer while the beloved gains strength if this is a rally.” 

Then began other family members to bicker and to say, “What do you think you are doing?  This never works. Put the plug back in, the doctors do not know what they are talking about.”

The compassionate doctors, finding that another family member continued to slip in during the night and tamper with the equipment; and seeing that the next of kin did not have the strength to withstand the clamor of the ignorant; consulted once more with the immediate family.

“We are agreed,” the physicians said, “that the best and least invasive course of action is to pull the plug and to nurture the patient toward strength if that becomes possible.  We are also agreed that to simply leave the patient on complete support is sure death. We recommend, that you move the patient from ICU to a convalescent center. There is one other medical option, quite aggressive and the odds are 50-50. It involves major surgery.”

What think you that the next of kin will decide?  And if the next of kin opts for 50-50 surgery in the hope of saving the beloved and the beloved dies, what then will the other family members say? Will they not blame the next of kin for killing the beloved? And will not the next of kin be assaulted from time to time with deep depression and doubt?

And can the acceptance of blame or all the guilt in the world bring back the dead?

Hear me now; the beloved is my marriage. I am the next of kin who took responsibility to sign for major surgery. My marriage is dead. All the blame and guilt and acceptance of responsibility in the world cannot bring it back. Will I forgive and grieve and move forward into full health, or will I hold on to my shame and insist there is no solace, forever?

Family, Fiction is Truth, Poetry and Prose, Uncategorized

Children’s Fiction for Autumn Reading

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Autumn is here.  Leaves are beginning to change color and fall.  It’s that kind  of weather again.  Time for baking cookies, for lighting the fireplace.  Time to curl up with a mug of apple cider or hot chocolate and a good book.  Do you read good books to your children?  Do your children like to read chapter books for themselves?  Now is the time to order The Pancake Cat for your cozy times. The Pancake Cat is available online, or by special order from your favorite local bookstore.  In honor of the changing of the season, here is my favorite chapter for free.  You can also read chapter one at Xlibris.

Chapter 18

Showdown

Jim Deckert’s dog was loose. How he got out was a mystery. The Deckerts had installed a five foot chain link fence two years ago when they moved in. Chain link was a little unusual in a neighborhood where everyone seemed to prefer the appearance of six foot wood slats. The best thing about chain link was that Andrea could see right through the Deckert’s yard into Mrs. Garcia’s yard.  This morning there was no need to see into other yards. Frank, the dog, was free. Did some sixth sense whisper to him that cranky Mr. Hinkman was in Houston visiting his daughter? Never mind how he had won his independence; Frank was now trotting up the alley, making detours into   every yard with an open driveway gate.  Andrea and Philip were eating oatmeal, so it wasn’t Saturday. Gracie was on the patio happily consuming a pancake, leftover from a few days before.

“Frank’s playing in the alley,” chortled Philip.

“Maybe he doesn’t have school today,” said Daddy as he came into the room and grabbed the car keys.  A burst of laughter came from the table.

“Hurry Andrea or you’ll be late for school,” called Mom from the other room.

“Frank doesn’t have school today,” choked Andrea.

“Well, middle school isn’t always in session on the same days as your school. Maybe Frank’s school is having a teacher work day,” reasoned Dad.

Andrea and Philip laughed helplessly.

“Middle school is in session today, Daddy,” said Andrea, “Tex left 30 minutes ago.”

“Tex? Is that the name of the Furwakawa boy? Where did he get a name like Tex? Frank sounds like a nice name for a neighbor boy.”

“Frank is a dog,” said Philip. “Here he comes.”

Frank trotted in the gate and up the cement drive without breaking pace. He trotted straight toward Gracie. Gracie was so intent on the last half of pancake he did not notice Frank’s approach until it was too late.

Frank barked. Gracie startled and ran. Frank chased him across the yard and up the nearest tree. Losing interest, the dog returned to polish off the pancake. Apparently Gracie never forgot who it was that cost him the pancake. He stayed hidden the remainder of the day, biding his time. Next day, and the next, Frank was safely behind locked gates. On the third day Gracie made his move. He circled Frank’s yard. He came close to the fence. Staying about six inches from the chain link, he meowed. Frank bounded to the fence barking. Gracie ran the length of the yard with Frank in pursuit on the other side of the fence. He turned at the corner and ran back. Finding Frank could not get to him, he added a grand finale.

Leaping high up on the fence, he clung there, spread eagle, three inches out of Frank’s reach. Gracie hissed and meowed, taunting Frank. Frank barked and yelped and circled the yard in a frenzy. Finally Jim Deckert came out and called his dog inside. Gracie hung a few moments longer, then dropped gracefully to the ground and sauntered off, satisfied.

Addiction, Character, co-dependence, Emotional Health, Fiction is Truth, Spiritual Well Being, Uncategorized

A tale of coveting

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It was a most subtle kind of covetousness, because it did not have to do with houses or lands or someone’s wife, but, rather with someone’s station in life.  It had to do with the God-given gifts of others; their Jacob have I loved and Esau have I hated.

Writing truthful fictions

“But I am Jacob,”  they cried, “I am God’s chosen one.  These others who prosper, they are Esau; therefore there must be some sin in their accomplishments, some error of ways.  Why would God have given them something and not given it to me?  They must have stolen it.  Let us ruthlessly analyze their lives and investigate their sin to draw our attention away from our craving of their successes and possessions.”  

The sin and shortcomings of others they could plainly see. Yet, they did not understand that it was their own reflection. They would never be guilty of coveting possessions of another.

 In the wilderness of this sin they wandered and moaned, “My needs have not been met, I cannot move forward.”  The perceived void became such a wound that they took to their beds, unable to care for others; yet ready always to receive the care of others like a dry thirsty sponge; never full enough to be squeezed out to slack the thirst of another. 

“Ah,” she said, “you are very subtle in your covetousness, for you are an opportunist. Not knowing how to create your own opportunities, you await the downfall of your lords and superiors, thinking their demise to be God’s provision for you. 

You see their errors, sometimes their out and out deceitfulness, and you watch their downward spiral with sheepish anticipation, knowing the position, title, and yes, money will fall to you. It creates a tension within you, for you are merciful and sensitive. You mourn and agonize over the Achilles heal, the mote in the eye of your fellows, you feel their pain as they fall and you are mortified by the guilty joy that too soon overtakes you as you see what good will come of it for you.”

Character, co-dependence, Emotional Health, Fiction is Truth, Goals and Dreams, Health and Long Life, Religion, Spiritual Well Being, The Petty Pace, The Rules

A Parable

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I am resolved not to haul anyone else up the mountain. Not to carry them, not to drag them, just to go up the mountain myself; baggage free. “What do you mean, you will not carry anyone up the mountain?” asked my pastor. “Let me tell you a parable,” I replied.

When I was young I saw a beautiful mountain in the distance. I could tell by the way it was shaped, where its craggy rocks were and where the purples met the greens, that this was my mountain.  This was the mountain I was meant to climb in life. When I was still in the single digits I began to prepare to climb that mountain. My parents chose the proper instructors. I trained diligently.  I received accolades for my progress and criticism to address my weaknesses.  By and by I set out on my journey toward the base of the mountain. When I had gone some distance and was becoming stronger and quite adept at orienteering, I met a tall stranger wandering in a high mountain meadow. I did not know at the time that he was wandering.  It was a busy meadow, profuse with wild flowers and the buzzing of bees. Several trails converged, crossed and separated in the meadow. The stranger was pleased to walk with me for awhile. When we came to the final fork in the road, I bid the young man adieu and headed confidently up my chosen path. “Wait a minute!” called the stranger, “I am coming with you!”

“Oh, have you trained for this mountain, too?” I asked in wonderment. “I haven’t had any specific training for this particular path,“ he replied, “I just have a feeling I should go here, and, as you can see, I am genetically fit to climb this mountain.  I want to climb this mountain.  In this case, desire is the important thing.”  We traveled together for quite some time.  He was an amiable companion   Because he was tall and muscular, he often led and blazed the trail.  Once or twice we disagreed when I took the initiative and started off in a different direction.  “Come back!” he called, “Let’s go this way!”

“The map I received in my training says this is the right way,” said I.

“What does it matter?” he argued.  “You don’t have to stick with the map. Maps are often rigid and tell you only one way.  I can make a short cut through this brush in no time and make a new path for us.”  The second time disagreement arose he just said, “Well, if you will give me the map, then I can lead us the right direction. I’ll give it back by the time you need it.”  A few days later he asked for my compass too, saying, “I’m not sure which way is north.”  I showed him how to read the map and use the compass.

At night we sat around the campfire watching the flickering flames.  “I want to be standing on top the mountain already, waving at people,” he sighed wistfully.  “I wonder if the extra weight of this compass is slowing me down?  The map seems to be taking us the long way around.”

 I woke early, but waited around for him the next morning.  Somehow it just seemed normal that we travel on together.  He was slow waking up and when he rose it was with a limp. “My knee is starting to bother me, will you lend me your walking stick?”  “Good thing I waited,” I thought, passing it over. I hadn’t used it for the past five miles anyway. He wanted to stop walking early that night and when we turned aside to a grassy place he slumped heavily to the ground and fell fast asleep.  Next morning it was hard to wake him. I shook his shoulder. “The sun’s almost up!” I said, “Time to get going.” He groaned.  “I just want to camp here for awhile and rest.”  “The season will end before we reach the top if we don’t move forward!” I said, turning toward the path. “You can’t just go off and leave me!” he cried. I hoisted him to his feet and half dragged, half carried him slowly up the path.  We advanced 200 yards that day and it was rough going because he was twice my size and he kept saying that since I wasn’t strong enough to carry him, I wasn’t really trained to climb that mountain. When it was morning again, I was unsuccessful in arousing him. I knew it was time for me to move on, alone.

That is why I am resolved to climb the mountain myself, without baggage, alone if necessary, and certainly not carrying or dragging someone else.

“But, how can you possibly finish the mountain alone?” asked my pastor. “He has the compass.”

“I will use discernment.  I have years of orienteering training in how to tell direction.  It is a gift.”  

“But, he is a man, he is strong and – he has the map.”

“He used it for toilet paper some days ago.”

“Is that love?”

“Him using my map for toilet paper?”

“No. Is it Love to say you will not stick with him and carry him up the mountain?”

“Yes.  It is love to allow anyone with two good legs to hike the mountain for himself without my doing it for him. “

“What about putting others first?”

“By putting others first, do you mean hiking their mountain for them? Carrying them up instead of hiking my own mountain? Or making sure they get to the top of the mountain ahead of me, even if I have to carry, drag or push them?”

“Well, it just sounded harsh and unloving, kind of selfish when you said you would hike your own mountain,” commented the onlooker.

“If I do not love the God of the Universe enough to obey and climb my mountain as instructed, if I neglect my mountain in the name of putting others first and hoisting them up a random mountain; where does that leave me? That is not love.  That is merely self-sacrifice.  Love, according to C.S. Lewis, is the greater virtue.”

“Yes, but often love demands self-sacrifice,” admonished the chider.

 “Who am I to decide, and control through my aiding and abetting, which mountain is someone else’s mountain to climb?  I asked.

Can I, a mere mortal, outthink God and decide what is best? Is it putting God in first place to say, ‘Oh, sorry I didn’t get done what you asked me to do, God.  Someone else wasn’t able to do their job right, so I went over to help.  That’s okay, isn’t it?  Because, I did get them up a mountain, even if I didn’t go up the one you placed in my heart.’”

The pastor shook his head, a bit perplexed and deep in thought. The chider raised her eyebrows at the passion in my voice. The onlooker rejoiced to learn what sages from other ages have written. Shakespeare penned, “To thine own self be true, and it must follow, as the night the day, Thou canst not then be false to any man.“

One greater than Shakespeare said, “Love your neighbor as yourself. “  If I do not love myself enough to climb the mountain God gave me to climb, how will I ever know what it is to truly love my neighbor?