There are thousands of thoughts lying within a man that he does not know till he takes up the pen and writes.    ~William Makepeace Thackeray

Don’t you love Thackeray’s middle name? Of course, I would edit this quote—We discover a myriad of inner thoughts when we take up our pens and write.

August 15, 2013.  A faithful friend e-mailed me with a TA DA this morning. And why? Today, Catching Up With Daylight releases in e-book—in three months, we’ll have the print version, but some folks have already downloaded the manuscript to their Kindles.

Recently someone shared a theory about the struggle within a cocoon. The imaginal cell, destined to emerge as a butterfly, comes into its own through tremendous opposition. This cell sits in the cocoon’s soup, where all other cells attempt to kill it—it’s as if the caterpillar resists transformation into a beautiful winged creature.

But the imaginal cell multiplies, to eventually overcome and dart over the countryside.

Every published work has a history, from conception to release. The origin lies in ideas—the imaginal cells that flood our minds. Why do we receive them? And how? That’s a topic for debate, but what we do with them is what matters.

Catching Up With Daylight began with a few essays in 2004 when my husband and I moved into our present home. The manuscript endured its share of bumps on an uphill road replete with wonderings, doubts, and fears. But like a human being, it now enters the world.

The editors saw something worthy here. And my neighbor, an avid reader, writes:

Not one word of your book is intended to give pain. It is a release and a        statement of hope and moving forward. You bloom when you sit at the typewriter. The rest is in God’s hands. You wrote for a positive reason and God is smiling.

I need to focus on that smile. But it’s good to be reminded of what I did with what came into my thoughts. We each hold responsibility for that.

My motivation is to encourage readers on their journeys. And I’ve found that transparency concerning one’s own path provides the most solid support for others.

So here it is. Here we go. And as my neighbor said, the rest is in God’s hands. Another quote enlightened me today, from Myrlie Evers, Medgar Evers’ wife. I want to adopt her attitude.

         I have reached a point in my life where I understand the pain and the challenges; and my attitude is one of standing up with open arms to meet them all.

Along the way, friends have nurtured, believed in, and blessed me. Others have challenged, broadened, and helped to hone my perspective. I could pen quite a list. But I won’t—you know who you are, and I’m filled with gratitude.

If Catching Up With Daylight brings you pleasure, encouragement, or motivation, I’d love to hear from you.

Happy reading!

Book is available at www.whitefire–publishing.com/‎ and

Amazon: http://www.amazon.com/Catching-Up-Daylight-Wholeness-ebook/dp/B00EJPZHPK/ref=sr_1_1?s=digital-text&ie=UTF8&qid=1376600197&sr=1-1&keywords=catching+up+with+daylight

B&N: http://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/books/1116460147?ean=2940148394945

On daring our characters to bloom

It is often laziness and timidity that keep us within our duty while virtue gets all the credit.” 

–François de la Rochefoucauld, French writer

This concept struck me as worth exploring from a writer’s perspective. If it’s true, our characters may hide facets we haven’t considered. What if Loyal Lambert, the tenacious teacher of many a yearning youth, left behind his own dream of succeeding in the world of sculpture . . . or watercolor painting . . . or writing, because he was too timid to try?

What if he actually hates teaching, yet plasters on a pensive brow each morning, ready for whatever inquiries his students aim his way? What if his heart’s deep desire is to let his thoughts, emotions, and longings flow onto the page/canvas, or through the clay? But he’s too chicken.

What if courage, for Loyal, would be chucking it all and entering the fiercely competitive artistic “real” world? What if the world he’s chosen isn’t the one he was created to inhabit? And when he locks his classroom door each night and slinks homeward, he knows it—oh, he’s shoved the knowledge way, way, down, but it pops up like a prairie dog every once in a while.

Nobody knows how much courage such a move requires. You sit (or stand) daily with your teeming ambition, creating, creating, creating . . . with no guarantee of publication, a showing, or whatever form success takes in your chosen field.

You can’t be lazy, because you pour all you’ve got into your life’s work. The satisfaction that comes with writing that exquisite paragraph, exactly what your characters would do or say if they peopled your living room, is all the payment you get right now—and maybe ever. But you can’t stop, because those characters live and breathe. So does their story.

It took you so long to get to this point, where you’re willing to take the risk, putting your creation out there before an editor, art judge, whatever. And you’ve learned to take rejection in stride—you’ve certainly received plenty. But it’s a nebulous world you’ve entered. They say the perfect connoisseur waits out there somewhere for your masterpiece, the exact editor your manuscript cries for . . . you must keep on trusting, though your larder runs low.

You’re tempted to go rogue—self publish or stage your own show somewhere, somehow. How long must you wait for that golden moment when your creation becomes a conduit for truth to just the right audience? Did you hear wrong when that truth tiptoed into your heart?

Self-doubt stalks you. You do feel timid, but it’s more than that. You’re downright scared that all this effort, all your trials and tears, all your hopes and dreams, will come to nothing. It’s a scary feeling, a limbo-like place to dwell. But you pick yourself up from the dew of despond and soldier on.

And then you think, “Ahhh . . . this is why my character, Loyal Lambert, stays in his stultifying job. Not because it’s a virtuous vocation, although for many called to be teachers, it is.”

Loyal hears rumors of his virtue from parents, fellow instructors, maybe even his principal. They praise his perseverance, his never-ending patience. But he knows better. It’s not virtue that drives him on, day after day after day in an endless cycle. It’s timidity. It’s laziness. And he hates himself for shutting down his creativity, for the mockery that has become his daily reality.

Now, if you can get this cautious character, Loyal, to somehow hear his soul’s suppressed supplications and make the impossible decision to “do” his art, you’ve got a story! If you can revolve the facets of that common word, courage, to show that what seems like courage isn’t necessarily so, and what seems foolhardy and/or selfish may indeed be courageous, you’re on your way. Ole!

Have any of your characters needed a little push to connect them with their creativity or move them into their creative rhythm?

If so, how did you accomplish that feat?

June fifth, another cloudy day in Iowa. Our state is failing us . . . you can see it in people’s eyes at the grocery store. Some farmers haven’t even had the chance to get their crops planted, when perky rows of corn and soybeans ought to be lining the fields.

Everyone’s grateful for no ravaging tornadoes, yet the gloom that we expected to leave in April . . . then in May, still hangs on. Of course, we keep planting flowers around the yard. 

But this parade of weepy days gets to folks after a while. This morning, it got to me as I considered one of my plantings.

This is supposed to be a daisy. It IS a daisy . . . you can see the little greyish circles? Well, those are daisies poised to bloom. The trouble is, they’ve been poised to bloom for over a week. They just need a little sunshine. (Heaven knows, they’ve had plenty of rain!)

So I bumbled around this morning, trying not to let discouragement  seep into my spirit, but when you’ve been poised for something for a long, long time, it’s tough not to feel just a little down in the dumps.

See, there’s another pot w/a daisy in glorious full bloom–has been for over a week. The two plants, purchased the same day, are supposed to be matching drops of yellow in our front yard. I’m not exactly comparing them, but . . .

Anyway, all this reminded me of how it is when we’re poised for publication. Over the past few years, I’ve met so many in that position, poised, ready for “the call,” and just as many on the other side.

Whatever their stories, it’s encouraging to hear them. They cheer us on, tell us not to give up, remind us to keep on keepin’ on.

If flowers could talk, I wonder what my yellow daisies are saying to the poised ones just down the way this morning?

And you? Any thoughts to share on your journey into full bloom?

I haven’t always appreciated my husband’s sense of humor, but yesterday when he left for church, he said, “Hope you feel les miserables.” His play on words evoked the slimmest of grins.

A die-hard morning person, I never go back to bed, but this time, I did—twice. Like a longsuffering parent hearing one too many shrieks from the back seat on a long trip, after five days of toying with a sore throat and aching muscles, my body put on the brakes.

I spend most of the day horizontal. At eleven, I summoned the energy to take a hot Epsom salts bath—they say it helps remove toxins. That wiped me out for another couple of hours, but when I got up to heat a headache pack in the microwave, I noticed tiny, moving dots along the windowsill.

At first I thought I must be seeing things, but on closer inspection, you guessed it—ants. The last I knew, the ant poison sat on the highest shelf in our basement cupboard. No way.

When my knight came home, I mentioned the plague in our kitchen, and heard him descend into the abyss.

“I couldn’t find any poison,” he told me after a while.

“So what did you do?”

“Sprayed ‘em with WD-40.”

“Seriously?”

“It smells bad enough, maybe it’ll kill them.”

When I had an energy surge strong enough to carry me to the kitchen, there sat the telltale blue and yellow can—he hadn’t been joking this time. He had sprayed the stuff, and it did smell lethal.

Epilogue: A couple days later, I’m happy to report that I’m upright. Also, most of the ants have fled. And what does this have to do with writing? It’s all about creativity. We do the best we can, and sometimes we “make do.” My critique partner and I co-wrote a flash fiction piece this week, and it was fun letting the creativity rip.

One of the characters revealed his bad guy skills, and at the last minute, a power woman showed up to show him up. Actually, the denouement turned into a murder, complete with theological overtones.

Ahhhh . . . creativity!

They’re the people who take time to help you learn new things—you have the desire, and maybe even a general idea, but they stick with you until you really “get it.” Maybe you must tackle a task so foreign that your confidence is nil—no matter. These folks aren’t going to leave until “the end.”

“That which is always within our reach is always the last thing we take; and the chances are, that what we can do every day, we never do at all.” This statement by L.E. Landon, British writer and poet, says it well. The issue isn’t laziness, though. It’s about believing we can.

A true friend sits with you until you do what you can, and you feel good about it.Someone else might say, “google it—there are instructions online for everything.” But those instructions read like an unknown language, and you cave before you even begin.

It just struck me that this is what I do in teaching English to second language learners—they want to learn, they try, but sometimes, their affective filter gets in the way. But does that make me give up? Hardly—it only motivates me to spend even more time and effort on that student’s behalf.

Today, a friend guided me through the ins and outs of editing my new website—definitely not my area of expertise. But he saw me through to success, and I’m full of gratitude. Hopefully, I can pay his favor forward—isn’t that why we’re all here—to help each other and to learn?

“Blooming is risky business-just ask any flower.” Anonymous

When the temperature crawled to two degrees, I happened upon a blossoming Kalanchoe brought in the night before October’s first hard frost. The plant bloomed faithfully all summer. My best hope was for her to survive the winter inside the house and reinvent herself next season.
But a golden yellow blossom caught my eye—in March, she’s blooming away like nobody’s business. I couldn’t find the source of the risky business quote, but whoever said it shared succinct wisdom. Putting ourselves out there is risky business at any age, but re-inventing ourselves in a second or third stab at using our gifts can be daunting.
Blooming takes energy—common knowledge among gardeners. That’s why we nip off flowers when we transplant, to allow the roots more chance to thrive. And roots are the foundation of everything good that comes from growing things.
My Grandma’s rosebush, delicate pink, thrived well into old age, though I doubt she took much time to nurture it. But I heard lately that burying fat in whatever form—bacon grease, throw-aways from a cut of beef—near a rose helps it flourish. Maybe the leavings of Grandma’s frying pan reached that bush. But I digress.
Late blooming—seemingly out of season—can be so meaningful. Those Kalanchoe flowers, hidden away in a neglected corner, brought me hope for spring. Some of us tucked away our deepest passion years ago—we thought we didn’t have what it took to carry through with our dreams, thought no one would read what we wrote, or listened to naysayers who shortchanged our art.
That’s not everyone’s story, but it is mine, and I’m finding that everything in my background has led me to this moment. Now I know what I felt deep-down all along. We’re born to tell our stories, no matter what anyone says, and everyone deserves a hearing.
Recently I read another fitting quotation: “This Is Your Time.” Four simple, straightforward words, but they stood out to me. For late bloomers, they’re zapped with empowerment. We may have thought our blossoming time was past, but we were wrong.
Something inside my wintering kalanchoe plant must have whispered, as March blizzards beat against a nearby window, “It’s still your time, old girl.” And so she bloomed, which is my intention for my writing, too.

GEEZER GUYS AND GALS: What Is Your Legacy?

Christmas Blog Hop – December 10, 2012

Greetings, one and all. My mind hangs out in the 40’s a lot because of what I’m writing, so it went there again today.

Christmas must have taken a back seat in 1941 with Pearl Harbor so fresh, and so many families missing loved ones. Two of my mom’s three brothers joined the infantry to fight in Europe.
I doubt they had been exposed to George MacDonald’s Uncle Peter, but this enigmatic character captured my imagination the first time I read his story to our children (The Christmas Stories of George MacDonald/David C. Cook, 1981). The author brings to life a man not everyone would find delightful. Born on Christmas Day, Uncle Peter set out to make every Christmas special, regardless of his financial capacity.
Like Uncle Billy in It’s A Wonderful Life, someone could easily take advantage of him. But Uncle Peter lived above the fray. He paid particular attention to children, especially the disadvantaged who roamed the streets.
Generous to a fault, this bachelor surprised his kin with trips to toy and candy stores, going overboard in his gift giving. He also made sure no house on his street with little children was forgotten, employing his nephew in delivering munificent Yuletide packages.
Maybe you recall such a family member who took time to dress in a Santa suit just for the joy of it, or created look-alike cousin outfits. Mom’s brother became Santa for us one Christmas, and on a summer weekend, he brought a box kite for us to fly. With every visit, he made it clear we mattered to him.
George McDonald thought the world of Uncle Peter, but Peter didn’t necessarily think much of himself. One Christmas day, he wandered about dispensing three-penny pieces to needy London children, feeling of little good to anyone.
A particularly ragged child caught his eye. He gave her a double portion and discovered her name—Little Christmas. She stole his heart, so he gave her a shilling. Still, he felt he must do more, especially upon discovering her “aunt” sent her out to make money each day but whipped her for meager earnings. Uncle Peter took her in and provided for her from then on.
The story continues . . . I hope you’re intrigued. Uncle Peter’s connection with Christmas meant everything—it changed his life.
He even wished to die on Christmas Day. MacDonald leaves that detail to our imaginations, but provides us with one powerful concept: “ . . . Christmas Day makes all the days of the year as sacred as itself.”
Taking an hour out of our busy schedules to let Uncle Peter ignite the best in us might not be a bad idea. Then I’ll bake a batch of my husband’s favorite treat—Mexican wedding cookies. They put a light in our grandchildren’s eyes, too—isn’t that what Christmas is all about?

Such an easy recipe–Mix 1 c of each: butter, flour, powdered sugar, chopped pecans. Add 1 teaspoon vanilla and refrigerate for an hour or so. Roll into balls or shape crescents. Bake on ungreased sheet for 15 mins/350 degrees. Remove to newspaper for 5 mins. Roll in powdered sugar–enjoy.

Be sure to visit these blogs for more inspiration and some Christmas cheer:

Linda Maran – 11th http://lindamaran.blogspot.com
Karen Wingate-14th – www.graceonparade.com/blog
Karla Akins-15th http://envisionpublishing.tumblr.com
Patty Wysong — 18th www.pattywysong.com
Davalynn Spencer – 19th www.davalynnspencer.blogspot.com
Tamara Kraft – 20th http://tameralynnkraft.com

A lot of summer and fall lies between now and my first post. With an icy northwest wind, we stoked up our corn stove for the first time last night, but good news has warmed my heart the past couple of days.

On December 10, 2012, OakTara Publishing is releasing an anthology of courtship stories called I Choose You, and my short story (A Star Spangled Courtship) will be included. Pretty excited here.

The anthology will be sold in paperback at www.oaktara.com store, www.facebook.com/oaktara store (you may link to it from your own FB account), and other distributors, including amazon.com, barnesand noble.com, and christianbook.com. It will also be available in ebook.

A happy Monday to one and all.

And stay warm!!