Many of you already know my sense of humor. If so, you can stop reading here. :) Anyway, this joke came to mind after watching my very second Dr. Who episode (are they all so creepy?). The first one featured manikins coming to life and the second one was about very scary weeping angel statues.
Angie is a great author and friend with a fantastic new novel. Not only does it have a DRAGON in it, but it’s a cool new world to hang out in. And there’s some romance too–just enough to keep things interesting. The book cover does a great job of capturing the tone of the book and its subject is appropriate to this day and age where our Christian brothers and sisters are facing persecution. The great thing is, in both instances, there is hope. :)
Anyway, help me welcome Angie as she tells us about her writing. And stay tuned to the end for a chance to win an e-copy of the book.
Hi Angie! Thanks for joining us today. The first question I always ask is this: do you consider yourself a Christian author or author of Christian fiction? What do you think the difference is?
AB: I consider myself a Christian author, because above all things, I am a Christian. As to the difference, I believe anyone can write Christian fiction for various purposes, such as targeting a certain audience for sales or even to present Christianity as a fantasy.
What was your inspiration for writing Of the Persecuted? Did you start with a setting, or a character, or a theme?
AB: My inspiration for Of the Persecuted was three-fold. First, as a child, a reading of The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe by C.S. Lewis opened my eyes to God, and inspired a desire to write. But I chose not to follow that path for too many reasons to explain in one interview.
Second, in January 2012, my assistant and I exchanged late Christmas gifts. During the exchange, we discussed the various challenges of our jobs and the “what ifs” of other possible employment endeavors. Cue the violin, right? I mean, a lot of people face stressful situations in the workplace on a daily basis. As we talked, my assistant said, “The longer I work with you, the more I imagine you as an author.” My jaw dropped, for I’d NEVER shared my deepest dream with her, or anyone else for that matter. I squeezed the lovely gift in my hands. She smiled and glanced at the journal. “Whenever you’re ready,” she said as she walked out of my office. For the next three months, I prayed.
Third, an image of a teenage girl awaiting death by hanging surfaced repeatedly as I sought God’s guidance. A torrent of fright, insecurity, anger, and determination filled her eyes. And Laila Pennedy was born. So, a character was the final component of my inspiration. Once I understood her, the setting and theme fell in place.
Sounds like you were meant to be a writer. :) One of the things I liked best about your book was the story world you created. How long did it take you to put it together? How much did you have before you started writing and how much came to you as you went along?
AB: Well, I’m a pantser not a plotter. As I wrote Laila’s story, which took seven months of late night writing, the world fell in place around her. From one scene to the next, her emotions—insecurity, fear, anger, curiosity, disbelief—compelled me to imagine the world from her perspective. Though, as I wrote, I did keep story world notes to ensure consistency from beginning to end.
When I first read your book, it had a different title and cover. I like both the title and cover much better now. Especially the cover, because it is very compelling. Tell us about the process of designing the new cover. How much say did you have into the concept and final product?
AB: Thanks Lisa. At the last minute, I chose to make many changes to the release of my debut novel, including a transition from a traditional to an indie publishing route—all prayer led, of course. I was never crazy about the original title, Never Let Go, but also couldn’t think of a better alternative. The original cover belonged to the traditional publisher. When I made the switch to indie publishing, the new title, Of the Persecuted, pretty much just slapped me in the face one evening, and then I stumbled upon—okay, God led me to—an amazing cover designer, Christa Holland at Paper & Sage Design. And by amazing, I mean AMAZING. I told her I imagined a close-up of a girl (not a full face) with a noose around her neck. She imagined something more abstract, a design that allowed readers to look at the scene with the main character rather than readers just looking at her. She read selected portions of the story and created the cover. As soon as I saw the design, I fell in love with it.
It is a fantastic design. Now, can you tell us something about Of the Persecuted that you know but isn’t in the book? Perhaps something about the dragons?
AB: Oh, yes. I love to drop hints about upcoming storylines. In Of the Persecuted, Gus is thought to be the only living dragon, or at least the only dragon seen in many years, and the only dragon to ever work on behalf of the Maker. In Legends of the Woodlands: Book Two, Of the Coldblooded, an army of dragons exists. Whether they fight for the Faithful or the Clan, well, I’ll keep that to myself for now.
What are you working on now?
AB: I’m working on Of the Coldblooded, and am halfway finished with the first draft. The story picks up with a blissful, over-confident Laila. But circumstances force her to embrace darkness. I expect to release the novel at beginning to mid-2015.
And before you go, what is one thing you’d like your readers to know?
AB: I’m a work in progress, but aren’t we all?
Yes, yes we are. :D
And now, an excerpt.
Laila Pennedy’s heart pounded.
The noose pinched her neck. She struggled for breath. Muffled voices drifted from the crowd up to the gallows. To her left, a long line of captives trembled. And right, past her brother, more than fifty Faithfuls hung limp, swaying above the platform. She stood on a large wooden barrel in the middle of the line. Too many would die today.
Beyond the mass of enemies, archers congregated amidst scattered stone cottages and log homes in the quaint village. Dilapidated, individual gallows dotted the hillside. Farther in the distance, the morning sun shone on the peaks of the Willow Mountains, her refuge since Faithfuls lost the War of Submission. Oh, what she wouldn’t give to be in the coolness of the upper forest, in exile with other Faithfuls. Safe from the enemy.
If only…. Instead, rivulets of sweat trickled down her thighs inside wool leggings, into knee-high leather boots. Her sleeveless, broadcloth dress clung to her skin, the once beautiful cloth ragged and cinched at her waist by a dingy belt. Her long, matted blonde hair stuck to her face and neck. So much for the gorgeous locks her mother once adored.
“Laila,” her older brother said, his raspy voice tugging at her heart as he too awaited death.
She forced herself to look into Niles’s tear-filled, deep green eyes and shuddered at the noose around his neck. If only she could reach out to him one last time, but her arms were bound behind her back. Soreness strained her shoulders. Her raw wrists stung under the taut rope, which had ripped open her skin.
“I’m sorry, Sissy,” Niles mouthed.
Sorry? She shook her head. No, this was her fault.
I bet you can’t wait to read what happens next. I know but I’m not telling. :p
SO TELL US, HAS SOMEONE EVER TOLD YOU THAT THEY COULD SEE YOU IN A DIFFERENT TYPE OF JOB? IF SO, WHAT?
GIVEAWAY: COMMENT BELOW AND TELL US YOU’D LIKE TO BE ENTERED IN THE DRAWING. Winners announced August 25. Must be 18 or older. No purchase necessary.
I’m blogging at the American Christian Fiction Writers blog today. Here’s a sample:
We’re writers. At some point in our careers, we entered a writing contest.
Some of us found encouragement there. Maybe we received kind remarks from a judge that gave us courage to continue. Maybe we semi-finaled, finaled, or won. Maybe an agent contacted us because they were impressed with our entry.
Some of us came away discouraged. Maybe a judge was particularly harsh. Maybe our scores were low. Maybe we weren’t ready to receive criticism. Maybe we decided to give up on writing…or on contests.
But I think we all share one thing in common-confusion over what to make of our scores…
Read more at the ACFW Blog: http://www.acfw.com/blog/demystifying-contest-scores/
Every book is a story, but there are often stories behind the book that we never hear about. This is one of those times. I love seeing God work in the lives of others in unexpected ways. I’ve invited Nancy Kimball here today to talk about her new release, Chasing the Lion and to share a couple of behind-the-scenes God stories. Chasing the Lion is not speculative fiction, but it is epic with lots of swords and fighting so I think it would appeal to readers of spec fic. More than that, I think it would appeal to any reader who loves a good story with great writing.
Help me welcome Nancy to the blog. And read through to the end for an exciting giveaway!
Hi, Nancy! The first question I always ask authors is this: do you consider yourself a Christian author or author of Christian fiction? What do you think the difference is?
NK: I’m an author of Christian fiction. I believe the difference is the clear presence of Biblical truths and/or a faith journey in the finished work. I know and admire several Christian authors that don’t write Christian fiction, but as a personal choice I do.
God’s hand is often behind the scenes making things happen and reaching people’s hearts for him. Would you share with us a way that God used your story to touch lives on its way to publication?
NK: The first was my own. At the time I wrote Chasing the Lion, my life looked like the stories of Job and the Prodigal Son in one. But God used the writing of this book, together with the people it brought to my life to heal, restore, and draw me closer to Him. As I took the pain in my past and infused it with God’s word to help shape this story, it shaped me also. This book became an altar built from suffering as a testament to God’s mercy and unfailing love.
Then during beta reading (where hand-picked early readers give feedback on the almost finished novel) a few of those readers were really touched by the story. One shared with me that several times she had to stop and pray, convicted by a scene or moment in the story. Another shared that after finishing reading Lion, she started going to her local church again. And yet another was in tears across the table with Mexican food between us as she shared all the pages she’d flagged to talk about and how this story had ministered to her. I ended up crying with her, again humbled and grateful that my story was being used by the Lord like this for others also. It not only reaffirmed why I choose to write Christian fiction, but also how sovereign and actively the Lord is working through us, when we’re obedient and paying attention.
The most recent was my narrator. This is the short version, shared with his permission, because giving the Lord the glory and praise is as important to Joseph as it is to me. The day after Lion released I posted it to ACX (Audiobook Creation Exchange). I felt it might be premature, but reached out to a particular narrator and asked my writing partner to pray for God’s will. About that same time I would learn later, Joseph was prayerfully seeking his first project on ACX. He wanted a project that would be a memorial to his work as a storyteller, that would please the Lord, and that he could look back on with thanksgiving. He’d chosen two but encountered technical difficulties and creative interference that kept him from completing the auditions.
A week later, I had zero auditions and no response from my requested narrator. I told God if the audiobook wasn’t to be, I would accept that and trust His plan. Again at about this same time, Joseph was again praying for God to lead him to the right project. He found my book almost immediately, recorded, produced, prayed, and hit send. When I saw the audition in my inbox, only hours after my prayer of yielded obedience, I knew God had done something. I played the audition and the performance blew me away. Not only that but I sensed this narrator truly understood my hero and the heart of my novel.
As Joseph and I worked together to complete the audiobook, parts of Chasing the Lion were resonating deeply with Joseph. He would sometimes share when that happened, but I could also hear it in the recordings. Masterful performances layered with authentic emotion and saturated with the Lord’s favor. Trust me when I say while I really like the excerpt we chose it doesn’t come close to those deep scenes that have to be heard in context to be appreciated. Witnessing how God was using this story to touch another’s life that deeply humbled me beyond words. Now we get to share the finished audiobook in praise to our God but also with a prayer that God continues to use it for His glory in the lives of those it reaches.
What a neat story of answered prayer. What are you working on now?
NK: The sequel, Charging the Darkness. That and trying not to kill my new aloe Vera plant.
And before you go, what is one thing you’d like your readers to know?
NK: That their enthusiasm for the sequel means so much to me, but that I also just can’t “write faster.” I’m writing for my own transformation and as a means to knowing God, as novelist Ted Dekker encourages. That takes time, and lots of “chiseling” as my narrator says. But I hope and pray when Charging the Darkness is ready, you find it worth the wait as Chasing the Lion was.
LET US HEAR FROM YOU! COMMENT ON HOW GOD USED A BIBLE OR FICTION STORY IN YOUR OWN LIFE FOR A CHANCE TO WIN AN AUDIOBOOK COPY OF CHASING THE LION.
Entrants must be at least 18. Winner announced on August 18th. No purchase necessary.
When I read for me, I read either Sci-Fi/Fantasy or YA. I promote books that I enjoy and think you will too. The reason I’ve asked Laura Kurk here today is because her books touched me. (You might remember me writing about Glass Girl in a previous blog post.) And because I like Christian fiction that doesn’t skate around tough issues.
Please welcome Laura to the blog and stay tuned at the end for a book giveaway.
Hi, Laua! The first question I always ask is this: do you consider yourself a Christian author or author of Christian fiction? What do you think the difference is?
LAK: I’m an author who happens to be a Christian. I’ve been a bit outspoken lately about this topic. I worry that the category of “Christian fiction” has actually contributed to the demise of literature of belief in mainstream fiction. (see http://www.christianchronicle.org/article/christian-fiction-may-contribute-to-demise-of-mainstream-voices-of-faith-in-literature .) I think that when Christian publishing separated out of mainstream and called this thing “ours” that we ceded ground and are now finding it difficult to regain territory. I believe my place is in representing belief in my fiction without alienating mainstream readers. I could argue that the theme of both of my books is something like “find one lost sheep and the angels rejoice,” but that theme is woven through pretty quietly.
I’d like to see a resurgence of literature of belief that follows in a long, rich tradition in mainstream works.
Me too. :)
Glass Girl deals with some pretty hard-hitting issues: survivor’s guilt over a school shooting and a parent with an emotional imbalance. Why these issues? Where did you come up with the idea for this story?
LAK: In 2010, when I first began working on Glass Girl, our country was seeing a rash of school shootings—in middle schools, high schools, and on college campuses. The questions that occupied a lot of my thinking at the time were – What did the siblings of school shooting victims feel like as the surviving child? What did this kind of loss do to their place in the family and the formation of their personhood?
I read an interview of Craig Scott years ago that stuck with me. Craig’s sister, Rachel, was the first victim in the Columbine shooting. I worried about Craig, although the Scott family is tremendous and he had plenty of support. It did make me wonder about survivor guilt in this new, horrible phenomenon of school violence. This was, to some degree, an unprecedented psychological turn that this country faced. Children were dealing with the violent deaths of their friends and siblings in the halls of the places they had felt most safe. Children faced their own post-traumatic stress disorders because they’d had to cower under desks and in bathroom stalls to survive. These were issues faced by families in war torn countries, not here.
I wrote about the anguish of intractable depression and anxiety in Meg’s mom because it’s a very real part of so many teens’ lives. I’m encouraged to see that our country is beginning to try to remove the stigma of mental illness. School shootings and the discussion of mental health go hand in hand and these topics allowed me to step back and forth between affected characters. We have many, many miles left to go on this issue, but I fervently believe that if we, as writers, depict the realities of mental illness in a way that shows readers they aren’t alone and there is help available, we will provide a little light to those who struggle. This is important, though—we can’t drop in characters with psychological diagnoses like we’re ticking off the boxes of diversity in our character lists. We must work hard to speak authentically and respectfully about a disease that hurts so much and kills so many.
In Perfect Glass, we learn more about the hero of the first book, Henry Whitmire. In Glass Girl, he seems like the perfect guy. In Perfect Glass, we learn he has real life struggles just like anyone. What can we learn about relationships and dating from studying Henry’s life?
LAK: In the sequel, Perfect Glass, I had some clear questions in mind – What happens to “perfect” all-American kids when they suddenly face adversity in an international setting? What happens when we are stripped of all the crutches we’d leaned on? How does calamity sharpen and focus us more than anything else? What does loving the “unlovable” look like? In Glass Girl, Henry is seen through Meg’s eyes and she’s love-struck, for sure. He does seem awfully good in that book.
Moving Henry to an orphanage in Nicaragua happened when I heard the very true and heartbreaking story of Programa Amor. This government closure of privately run orphanages really happened, and it affected some dear friends of mine who were directors of a home for children there. They watched as their children were taken from them and then they spent months trying to locate them again. I felt like this was a story that needed telling, and that Henry’s character needed to taste a bit hardship so we could see what he was made of. Turns out, Henry struggles like the rest of us to overcome failings, but what makes him great is that he sees things through and is loyal to the end. Things didn’t work out like he wanted them to, but he surprised himself with his acceptance of that.
What can we learn from dating from studying Henry’s life? That commitment and promises are important no matter how naïve you were when you made them. That living according to one’s principles deepens relationships and reflects character. That, when looking for the person you want to date / marry, you should watch how he or she treats those who society calls unlovable. Watch how they treat a hungry child or a fussy brother-in-law or a gang member turned orphan.
What are you working on now?
LAK: My next project will be a standalone YA contemporary. I can’t say too much because I’m always afraid I’ll jinx my own creative processes, but it deals with a subculture that hasn’t seen a great deal of discussion in recent years. The tagline is something like – A daughter who believes she’s finer than her origins learns that living on the surface is impossible when the boy who holds her heart is underground. I’m asking myself this—Do “place” and “belonging” shape identity, and who are we if we hate the place and never belonged?
And before you go, what is one thing you’d like your readers to know?
LAK: That I’m a complete dork. And I’d love to hear from them.
Laura has kindly left us with an excerpt from her first book:
Wyatt told me once that if tenderness were a disease, I’d be terminal.
“You’re just a little glass girl,” he’d murmur every time I blushed or cried or stared too long at someone.
I didn’t mind it so much. The point was he knew that one day I’d break—not my heart, but all of me. I suppose he was right. I feel physical pain when I see a stranger hurting. When it’s someone I care for, I come undone.
Robin, my counselor, had been trying to fill the fissures that opened on the day Wyatt died. Her voice no more than background noise, she tried to coax me into talking. I did my best to block her, but something she said at the beginning of this session slipped in, called to mind a memory as sharp as razor wire, and suddenly I was there again—in a happier time and place. I was little, and Wyatt sat next to me, all warm and alive.
“Meggie, you’re drooling on me! You’ve gotta wake up. Meg, we’re here.” His whispered words smelled like the waffles he’d had for breakfast.
I couldn’t have been more than seven on this vacation because I’d just finished the first grade. Wyatt was ten and tall for his age. People treated him like he was much older, and he usually rose to the occasion.
Dad got a wild hair and decided his East Coast family needed to see the South. So we’d driven a rented black Suburban from Pittsburgh to Nashville, Tennessee. Mom insisted that if he planned to torture us like that we had to at least stay somewhere decent. We ended up at the Tennessean Hotel, a garish testament to the fact that Nashville considered itself the Hollywood of the South.
Every hotel employee patted my head and told me I would be blown away by the laser light show. I started believing them. The first night, after my bath, I begged Mom and Dad to let me stand outside our door to watch the show to beat all shows.
Even at seven, I knew it was overplayed. Locals crowded into the atrium waiting for it to start. Then the lights went low, the fountain started dancing, and a few lasers changed the color of the water in a predictable pattern. Somebody banged out a patriotic song on a white baby grand.
Misplaced histrionics—that’s the only way to describe the crowd’s reaction.
“Mom, haven’t they been to Niagara Falls?” I clearly remember asking.
“It’s human nature to make a big deal out of something if you’re told it’s a big deal,” she’d whispered. “You just remember to let your own mind form your opinions.”
I’ll never forget the look in her eyes as she pressed her finger to my temple.
I didn’t ask to see the show after that night.
That memory wasn’t the one eating at my heart. On our second day in Nashville, Dad insisted we go to the local theme park. Wyatt and I thought it had potential—he was into roller coasters and I was into cotton candy.
We pulled into the parking lot that morning, ready to hit the gate as soon as it opened. It was July, and every paved surface in Nashville steams in July. I could already smell the asphalt around us heating up as Wyatt handed me the sun-block and bug spray. I copied the way he put them on himself.
Loaded down with maps, cameras, and illegal water bottles, we piled out of the car and started the mile-and-a-half walk to the park gate. Ahead of us, I could see a crowd gathered around an older red pickup truck. I worried that they were looking at a dog that had been left in the truck in this heat. The spectators jeered at whatever was in the truck’s bed.
Wyatt told me to put my hands over my ears, and I did, but I left slits on each side between my fingers. I never wanted to miss anything important.
Male voices whined in the heat.
“Hey, big girl, did they drive you to town and forget about you?”
“What’s your dress made out of? A hot air balloon?”
“There’s a weight limit on this axle, lady.”
Three men were speaking—three men who looked and sounded alike to me. They were thin and sunken-chested, and they had the twitchy look of dogs with fleas. Mom and Dad crossed us quickly to the other side of the row of cars, and Wyatt watched my face intently to make sure I couldn’t hear them.
Did Wyatt know what was in the truck? I couldn’t see it yet, because I was too short. And then, just as we were directly behind the truck, the crowd walked away laughing, and I saw her.
She was gigantic. She must have weighed five hundred pounds. Her body filled the entire bed of the truck. In fact, parts of her bulged over the sides, and I think that must have been painful.
Her short black hair had probably been cut with dull kitchen shears, because it stuck out in greasy, spiky strands. She wore what looked like a blue bed sheet sewn together, with holes cut for her arms. More tragic still, it was too short, or maybe it had been pulled up when she slid into the truck. No one would have been able to settle it down around her knees if she was sitting on it. It fell awkwardly just to the very top of her thighs.
She fiddled with a bag of malted milk balls—my favorite candy—and when she finally opened the bag, it exploded. The chocolate balls flew into the air in a thousand directions and fell. They made no sound, falling on her soft body or on the hot asphalt.
Her eyes have haunted me. I only caught them for a second as she glanced our way, wondering what we had to say to her.
“Don’t stare, Meg, it’s rude,” Wyatt said through his teeth, taking my hand in his and tugging me along gently.
But I wasn’t staring to be rude. I was intensely curious about the emptiness I saw there. I caught no hint of interest, no flicker of emotion. I looked back over my shoulder to make sure she was breathing.
She turned and tilted her head as she watched me and then, most amazingly, she smiled. And it wasn’t a malicious smile meant to scare me into not staring. Hers was a smile with sweetness in it. She liked children—she must have children, grandchildren—and she liked me.
Her eyes softened when I smiled back and waved, and she held her hand up to wave.
And because I was there, she was happy.
I repeated this story to Robin when she asked me, again, why I would feel guilty about Wyatt’s death. I couldn’t explain away my guilt; I just knew that I’d played a role. I’d touched the stage before the actors had entered and my touch had screwed something up. Wyatt died and I lived.
I pleaded with Robin to understand.
“My mother would be able to function if Wyatt were here instead of me,” I said.
Robin shook her head and put her pen to her lips. “That’s not true.”
“Wyatt’s death is connected to everything ugly in the world,” I added. “How can you not see that?”
The fan, buzzing away in the corner, oscillated my way, blowing long strands of my hair across my face. I left them there as an excuse to close my eyes.
“Why is your brother’s death part of a worldwide tragedy, Meg?”
Through my hair, my gaze met hers in a look that I hope conveyed serious disdain. “Nope. Not what I said. You’re doing that thing where you turn my words around and try to feed them back to me.” Every adult in my life did that and I hated it.
“Then tell me what you meant when you said—” She stopped to read from her leather-bound notebook. “—‘Wyatt’s death is connected to everything ugly in the world.’”
I chose to be long-suffering to speed this session up. “I meant that the hatred of that July day in Nashville was alive and well on that horrible day in Pittsburgh. People hate others so they strike like snakes. It’s all connected—we’re all connected, bumping around into each other, some of us good, some bad, most a mixture. Every thought acted upon has consequences. Every one.”
I cleared my throat, surprised that I’d put into words what I’d concluded on the day Wyatt died. I’m sure my surprise registered on my face because Robin studied me for a moment. Then she adjusted the throw that she had over her crossed legs—she used these visual cues to relax me—and looked at me calmly.
“Meg, you’re feeling pain, and it’s palpable; you’re feeling guilt, and it’s normal. But these feelings don’t define you. They are false constructs that your mind has created to make sense of your loss.”
She clicked her pen several times and took a long time considering what to say next, what I would actually hear.
“This assumption you developed when you were little—that you are somehow responsible for the happiness, or even the safety, of others in your life, whose paths you cross, that woman in the truck in Nashville—is wrong, and it’s dangerous for you. That’s something you need to come to terms with.”
She turned back to her notebook, thumbed to a page in the middle, and read quietly for a minute. Maybe she was waiting for me to say something. I cracked my knuckles, trying to stop myself from filling the dead air with more words. Words don’t change anything.
A smile flickered at the corner of her mouth and her eyes softened. I flipped my hair out of my face so I could see her better.
“When we first met,” she said, “I asked you to tell me about the Meg before Wyatt’s death.”
“You told me about how she wore her skin inside out. I found it interesting that the people in your life have always treated you like you’re breakable. What was it Wyatt called you? A glass girl?”
The familiar protective impulse snagged the threads of my mind. Wyatt hadn’t meant any harm. He hadn’t known how sharp I’d be when I broke¼how I’d cut someone if they got too close. My eyes burned with the effort of staying dry.
In an unprecedented move, Robin stood, letting her throw fall to the ground with a soft whisper of cotton and fringe and air. She knelt next to my chair and touched my arm like she meant it.
“Meg…you have to let that go. You’re tougher than you think. For goodness’ sake, you are not responsible for Wyatt’s death. Your mother doesn’t wish it had been you. And the woman in the truck? She was trying to make you comfortable, not the other way around. You were the child, Meg…she was the adult.”
I shifted away from the invasion. It was uncalled for, really, so I studied the black-and-white print on her wall, a picture meant to inspire her clients. The girl in the print had just reached the top of a mountain. She stood peacefully and looked at the sky. It said, “Gratitude” under it.
Robin followed my gaze, sighed, and backed into her chair again, like a film editor had suddenly rewound her.
“We all have a gap after we lose someone,” she said. “We think that we will always have this hole that’s obvious to everyone around us. We won’t. The hole will be filled with life. It will be something entirely different, but at least it won’t let the wind in anymore.”
“You say all this like you think I should move on.” I leaned over, curling into myself. “So I’m failing therapy now, too?”
Robin stood again and paced. She seemed at loose ends today. “Here’s what I’m saying. Your whole life is a much bigger story than this terrible thing that’s happened.” She stretched her arms out wide in illustration. “Yes, your story will be shaped by that moment, but you were already well on your way to living a profoundly meaningful life. Wyatt’s death gave you even more perspective. You get to see the world more clearly than the rest of us.” She stopped and mumbled something to herself that I didn’t catch.
“What?” I said. Her burst of passion intrigued me. In my recently extensive experience with therapists, they preferred equilibrium to passion.
“I said I think you’ve always seen the world more clearly.” Hands on her hips, she stared at me for a minute, lost in thought.
I could tell, then, that she believed there was hope for me. I sat up a little straighter.
Robin nodded. “It’s just like when you chose to tell me the story about being in Nashville on vacation. That story had nothing to do with Wyatt’s death. But in choosing to tell me, you showed your hand.”
“What hand?” I squirmed under her scrutiny.
“The hand you have to play,” she said. “You see things that others miss. That is who you are and it’s what consumes your time and energy. It’s not a bad thing but it’s a tool that you’ll have to figure out how to use. Your story is bigger than a mentally ill kid with a gun.”
“There’s nothing on earth bigger than that.”
“Right now it seems that way, I know.” She sighed. I think she struggled with her own non sequitur.
“Think of it this way,” Robin said. “You’re different. You’ve got an advantage over others your age because you know how precious life and relationships are. But—here’s where I give you my professional opinion—you had that knowledge, that wisdom, before Wyatt died.”
“Yes,” I said. “Hence the glass girl thing we previously discussed.” I leaned back in my chair and crossed my arms. I knew what Robin was trying to say and the part that scared me was that it kind of made sense.
She shook her head. “No, the nickname is off the table. I’m not talking about that. One of these days, you’ll find that someone recognizes your strength and wisdom and loves how very big your spirit is. That person will want to be part of your story because it will be beautiful.”
Excerpt used by permission.
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Do you keep a prayer journal? If you don’t, you might consider trying it out. It’s easy.
I use a spiral notebook and fold the first few pages in half. On the left column you write the date and the prayer requests and leave the right side open for the answers. Keeping a prayer journal has some great benefits:
- You know how you tell people you’re praying for them? This way, you’ll remember to do it. And not only do it, but check back with them to see how things are going.
- It keeps you organized. One stop shopping for all your prayers of intercession.
- I recently started using #hashtags as a quick reference for what I was praying. For instance, I have a friend that has a great job opportunity but it would require him to move his entire family to another country. So he’s on the list and I’m praying for his situation, but what I’m asking God to provide him is #wisdom. I could also have put #discernment or #bigflashingneonsign, but you get the idea.
- Proof that God answers prayers.
- This particular prayer journal I started recently, so only a few things on the right column have answers. I’ve gotten out of the habit, but in our small group a couple of years ago, I would journal our prayer requests. It was amazing to go back and look at the pages of answered prayers. Spiritual encouragement. A wonderful place to go and see God’s work in your life. Pages of love, hope, and faithfulness at your fingertips.
What I noticed today as I #hashtagged the prayer requests is that over half of my list is requests for healing. It’s not surprising–when someone is sick, especially if they are very sick, we ask people to pray for them. But what about the other things in life? Paul admonishes us to
Always be joyful. Never stop praying. Be thankful in all circumstances, for this is God’s will for you who belong to Christ Jesus. ~1 Thessalonians 5:16-18
Not that you’re going to ask just anyone to pray for all the nitty-gritty sticky personal stuff going on in your life, but don’t be afraid to ask the people you trust to pray for things besides just #healing. Get personal. Get real. God answers prayers.
DO YOU KEEP A PRAYER JOURNAL? HOW DOES IT WORK FOR YOU?
Need prayer? Post below or message me and I’ll add you to my journal.
Do you ever think about spiritual warfare? I mean really think about it? Do you think the forces of good and evil are warring somewhere in another dimension where they can see and influence us but we can’t see them? Do you believe the biblical accounts of angels and demons and satan? What about Hebrews 12:1 “Do not neglect to show hospitality to strangers, for by this some have entertained angels without knowing it.” And if we can entertain angels without knowing it, might we also entertain demons without knowing it?
Is it just me, or is this a subject that none of us discuss because it makes all of us at least a little uncomfortable? How many of you have heard a sermon about this at church? If you’re from a protestant non-charismatic background (like me), how many of you have heard sermons about this at all? Except maybe in passing as something that occurred back in Old Testament times.
I’ve had the opportunity to read two books recently, both on the subject of demonology. One non-fiction, one fiction. One for class, one for fun. Both excellent.
The first is Spirit of the Rainforest: A Yanomamo Shaman’s Story by Mark Ritchie. This book is not for everyone, but I enjoyed it because it transported me back to college when I was studying for a BA in Anthropology. Why anthropology? Because I love learning about other cultures. The way we think is largely based on what we were taught and the rules of the society where we live. If you grew up in a different time or culture with different parents, friends, and experiences, would you be the same person you are today? Seems to me the answer is no. But it’s an interesting question, isn’t it?
The Yanomamo are something of a time-warp culture. They are an aboriginal group of South American Indians who had no contact with the outside world until the latter half of the twentieth century. Their culture is violent and is based on retaliation so they are always at war. And they are poor, the kind of poor where life is a struggle just to survive.
What is most remarkable about this book is the chronicle of spiritual warfare from the Yanamamö perspective. With their strong belief in the spirit world, the Yanamamö interact with spirits in a way that Western society does not. The authenticity of the shaman’s stories allows the reader to learn about Yanamamö culture and the impetus for their actions. And you don’t have to read that far into it before you realize that the impetus for their actions is demonic in origin. Fascinating stuff. And amazing when God enters the picture.
The book I just finished today, I highly recommend if you haven’t already read it. Demon: A Memoir by Tosca Lee. What a ride!
At first, the book seems simple enough. There’s this demon and he wants to tell his story. To explain his view. To explain his perspective. And you almost feel sorry for him.
Then you’ve got the main character, the person the demon is telling his story to. The one that becomes obsessed with it so that this memoir becomes the most important thing he’s doing with his life.
And then you want to know how it all ends.
And when it finally ends, then you see what the story was really about. And THAT is why this is one of the most brilliant and well-told books I’ve ever read.
I don’t want to tell much more about the story than that because I don’t want to ruin it for you if you haven’t read it. But it is multi-faceted and will change the way you think about demonic influence, much the same way that C.S. Lewis’s The Screwtape Letters does.
SO, SPIRITUAL WARFARE. WHAT ARE YOUR THOUGHTS?
Well, that depends on a number of factors:
- The type of case -
- samples that contain semen take longer to process for DNA than samples that do not because there are more steps involved in the process and because the samples yield not one but two DNA profiles (a male enriched profile (from semen) and a female enriched sample)
- The number of evidence pieces submitted -
- cases with lots and lots of evidence (usually homicide cases) take longer to process that cases with few samples
- The throughput capacity of the lab -
- how many people work in the lab? how many pieces of equipment are available? how efficiently does the laboratory work? These are all factors in throughput. Labs with automated processes that batch cases together and work in a factory-line approach have more throughput and usually better quality than laboratories that that do not automate analysis and process cases one at a time.
- The case backlog -
- how many cases are waiting for analysis? Depending on the laboratory, this could be a huge number. The NIJ reported that 168 laboratories that requested grant funding to alleviate DNA backlogs combined had over 100,000 cases waiting to be processed. Doing the math, that means that on average these labs had a backlog of 595 cases per lab in 2009. And with case submissions increasing each year (everyone wants DNA testing, right?), then the backlog similarly increases. That would mean that if the capacity of the lab was 300 cases per month, then the cases would be backlogged at least two months. If the lab’s capacity were 60 cases a month, then the backlog would be 10 months.
For more information, you can check out these sites:
The Office of the Inspector General’s audit of the FBI Crime Lab ~2 year backlog as of 2010
In the lab where I worked, we went from a large backlog to none by using increased staffing, automation, and grant funding to eliminate our DNA backlog. By the time I left, our total case turnaround time (from the time a case was submitted to our agency to the time we returned a final report) was 2-4 weeks depending on the type of case. With proper management and resources, it is possible for a crime laboratory to reduce their backlog and become effective. Sadly, many laboratories don’t have the budget, foresight, or management expertise to reduce their DNA backlogs. Instead, they request less than the number of staff needed and are slow to/refuse to update their processing paradigm to handle their case submissions.
But back to our original question…if an average case were submitted (say 5 samples) and it was started as soon as it reached the laboratory and people worked on it around the clock, then the case could be done in 2-3 days.
It has been a LOOOOOONG time since I’ve featured any authors on my site, and I’ve really missed it. It’s not that I haven’t read any books worth sharing lately (because I have), but just that I got busy and side-tracked doing other things. It is my pleasure to spotlight a new author whose book I have enjoyed.
You know how sometimes you pick a book by its cover? Well, for Ma Tutt’s Donut Hut, it was the title that got me. And the description–who can resist a magical cat? And THEN I saw the cover, which is beyond cute and fits the title perfectly. Cozy Mysteries are a genre I don’t read much, but I might have to start reading more, because if you can find a Cozy Mystery with quirky characters (like this one or Linda Kozar’s Until the Fat Ladies Sing series), then you’ve found a real gem.
The book is a compilation of four long chapters/short stories that are episodic in nature. Mack, the notoriously magical cat, gets Ma Tutt into and out of trouble. Sure to make you grin like the cat’s got your tongue. LOL
Now, please hunker down with your favorite soda, and join me in welcoming Lyn Perry to my site.
Me: The first question I ask everyone is this: do you consider yourself a Christian author or author of Christian fiction? What do you think the difference is?
LGP: I’ll clarify the first option so we’re on the same page – I’m a Christian who happens to like to write. I think the term author is somewhat static and so try to avoid it. I like the term writer. That is, ‘author’ seems to focus on who the person is instead of what they do (not a difference worth quibbling about, but the distinction has been helpful for me in my writing journey).
That being said, I am a Christian (my identity is in Christ) and what I do at this point in my life is teach middle school, write when I can, and drink coffee. As for what I write, it runs the gamut. I dabble in a wide variety of genres – including humor, speculative fiction, supernatural suspense, thriller, and now lately, with my first short novel under my belt, cozy mystery.
Although I might classify some of my fiction as “Christian” (often redemptive in nature, and touching on things of eternity) I presume most would consider it spiritually thematic, a looser term granted. It’s not that I dislike the phrase Christian fiction, but how that term is used in Christian publishing circles probably doesn’t describe what I currently write.
The difference, in my mind, is that ‘Christians who write’ is the bigger category. One genre in which Christians who write might find themselves is Christian fiction (where Christ is central to the lives of the main characters and the Gospel message is fairly evident). I’ve not yet published a story with this particular emphasis, but I’m open to it.
In fact, I’m collaborating right now with a fairly popular Christian author who writes Christian fiction and we’ll be releasing a cozy mystery in a few months. It’s set in Western Kansas and ties into some of her other previously published novels. I’m very excited, but will have to keep mum for now. Maybe we can do another interview when that one gets published!
Me: Only if it has something quirky in it. ;)
Now, tell me about the cover of Ma Tutt’s, because it is so very cute and appealing. How did it come about? How much input did you have into the design?
Thanks! I thought the cover really worked as well – it matches the cozy genre quite nicely and has a cat on the front! Who can resist a cat and a bakery? As an indie writer, I’m responsible for pretty much all aspects of the publishing process. Many self-published writers farm out their covers, and that’s a good option if it’s affordable for one’s situation.
Now I’m still on the ‘conservative’ (cheap) side, shall we say, so I find interesting artwork and photographs on iStockphoto.com and then will often, as was the case for Ma Tutt’s cover, send an image to my son-in-law along with some ideas for layout and then he’ll design the rest. He crafted a silhouette of a cat, placed all the elements, and found the right typography. I approved the cover and paid him real money (plus invited my daughter and him over for dinner!).
I plan for this to be a series (Mack the Magical Cat Mysteries), so I’ve already found other storefront bakery shots like the one I used for Ma Tutt’s Donut Hut. The other covers will be branded similarly but with different color themes and cat silhouettes. They should be very recognizable as part of the same cozy mystery series. It’s a lot of fun to see a cover come together so nicely.
Me: And what a bargain!
One of the most memorable characters in Ma Tutt’s Donut Hut is Donovan Huckly. I had a hard time telling if he was evil or just really annoying. How would you describe Donovan’s character? And what would he say to the question?
LGP: Donovan is a great character, one of my favorites. He was going to be an out and out villain, but he just never grew into that role and I ended up thinking that he’s really not a bad sort after all. Yep, he’s just annoying. He’s a nosy know-it-all with aspirations to become Mayor.
So he’ll continue to play the role of a quirky pain in the behind. He also has that bit of a cheapskate “huckster” feel to him as well, thus his last name. If asked how he feels about being thusly described, I think he’d be offended and then ask for a free doughnut.
Me: LOL. Yes, I agree that sounds like him.
Can you tell us something about Ma Tutt’s Donut Hut that you know but isn’t in the book? Maybe something about the Mayor, who we hear about often from Donovan but never get to meet?
LGP: I’m still deciding whether we’ll ever meet the Mayor or if he’ll be that “man behind the curtain” that everyone talks about but never really knows personally. I picture him in his 70s, however, and wanting to retire after his term is up next year (setting the stage for Donovan to run), but other than that, I don’t know much more about him to tell you the truth.
As for some other Sugar Pine Station tidbits (fictional mountain town Sugar Pine Station is the setting, north of real life Oakhurst, CA on the way to Yosemite), I think I can only say this. There is, like Donovan suspected, an abandoned gold mine near Ma Tutt’s Donut Hut. That basement has yet to reveal all of its mysteries.
Me: If you don’t produce the major, I’ll start thinking he doesn’t really exist and that he’s just a figment of Donovan’s overactive imagination…
What are you working on now?
LGP: Would it surprise you to learn I’m working on Ma Tutt’s Secret Spice – Book #2 in my Mack the Magical Cat Mystery series? I plan to structure it the same way as Book #1 and include five tales of baking madness, magical ingredients, and feline intuition tied together with an overarching story line that serves as the novel’s gentle mystery.
I say gentle because there are no dead bodies in either of these books and the “secret” isn’t very sophisticated. But I think the characters are winsome and their interactions are fun and lively; add in a bit of suspense and I think the whole things works really well. My goal is that the ending will leave the reader entertained and satisfied. You’ll have to tell me if I succeed!
Me: I can’t wait to read book 2! Yay!
And before you go, what is one thing you’d like your readers to know?
Well, my short bio is that I’m a middle school teacher, part-time preacher, father of two, husband of one, rent my house from two cats, and drink lots of coffee. More can be found at www.lyndonperrywriter.com as well as an occasional newsletter sign-up form. Oh, and I’m a Steelers fan.
An excerpt from the book…
Ma Tutt’s Donut Hut sat empty on a Saturday morning. An assortment of fresh and tasty glazed, cake, and specialty doughnuts were arranged attractively in the window. Ma Tutt had gone out and approved the visual invitation herself. The sweet and enticing aroma of fried dough and sugar was present and accounted for. She’d even partaken of one or two (or maybe three) of her own creations that morning and her taste buds were still happy.
The only blemish, in her estimation, was that the log cabin-like Donut Hut wanted a bit of an exterior stain job. And an interior design makeover. A gas oven with four working stove tops would be nice along with a larger walk-in cooler. Oh, and a new fryer. Okay, so she’d bought a white elephant in her retirement. But leaving the Central Valley for small town mountain living had seemed so right at the time. And she’d been a competent baker in her previous life. So when opportunity knocked….
At least the shop had come with a mature tabby, a generic gray Mackerel, who was friendly enough, if a bit demanding. Uncertain as to what to make of him that first month, she’d allowed ‘Mack’ to follow her around as she took those few weeks to set up shop. He eventually wormed his way into her heart with his guttural conversations and was now her steadfast companion and confidant.
“I’m a failure, Mack,” she murmured, as she stared across the street at the Creamy Pie franchise that was doing a booming business.
Excerpt used by permission.
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At least for now. Possibly for good.
Because I’ve lost my focus. My writing has become self-centered instead of God-centered.
I select blog posts based on what I think will attract people. People think forensics are cool? Let’s write about forensics!
I track the number of likes on my author page and obsess on how to get more. What if I post this? What if I post that? Which post gets shared most?
I spend time on the computer when I could be doing fun things with my family. Just let me get past this deadline and it will get better…
I get stressed when I haven’t posted anything new in a while. Stressed – like can’t-get-to-sleep-and-then-wake-up-early stress. Acid reflux stress. I’m going crazy stress. All self-induced because I’m worrying about reaching self-imposed goals that no one but me cares about. And really, people won’t notice if I post or not.
So, I need to refocus on God. It’s right there in the Bible: God’s solution to marketing and all your other problems:
Who wants to help keep me accountable?