novel

Eleora: Upcoming Release and Other News

Map Designed by Misty McKeithen

I did it. 

After nearly four years and seven drafts, I turned in my manuscript to the typesetter/cover designer. Not that I'm finished or that it couldn't be better; but it's time to stop. 

My debut novel, Eleora, will release on Tuesday, May 2!

Printed copies will be available online at Amazon and Barnes & Noble. The e-book will be available through Kindle. Independent bookstores may order the book through Ingram Spark. I hope to have an audiobook available in the fall. (More details coming soon.)

Genre: New Adult Fantasy*

*I originally wrote Mara, my main character, to be 18 years old when the story begins, which would have classified the book as "Young Adult." While the sexual content of my novel is considered suitable for young adults, I hesitated to market the story to that age group due to certain thematic elements in the story (i.e. sex trafficking). I raised Mara's age to 20-21, thus classifying the novel as "New Adult." Parents, I encourage you to read the book and decide whether or not your teen reader is ready for it.

Note: Sex trafficking is something all teens need to be made aware of. Traffickers don't discriminate based on gender, race, or socio-economic status. Please research this topic, if you haven't already done so, and discuss it with your pre-teen/teen.

The Blurb

I don't yet have a book cover, but as I'm unable to contain my excitement any longer, I present to you the blurb (a.k.a. the hardest 200 words I've ever written):

Three seek the stone of power:
One to win her freedom.
One to exact revenge.
And one to seize control of the kingdom.

Orphaned in childhood, Mara has always done what is necessary to survive—even pledged herself to a sinister spirit named Rivka. When Mara’s sister is struck by a mysterious illness, Rivka offers Mara a choice—watch her sister die, or become a slave in exchange for the medicine needed to save her.

Mara sells herself to Zev, an old friend who shares her sordid history with Rivka. Motivated by revenge and a lust for power, Zev coerces Mara into a life of prostitution and espionage in order to find Eleora, the magical gemstone necklace guarded by the Council of Ambassadors. Trapped in a tangled web of Zev and Rivka’s schemes, Mara’s life becomes a never-ending spiral of seduction and treachery until a kind young healer on the Council unexpectedly offers her freedom. In her new life, Mara finds healing, friendship, and even love but knows she must rid herself of Rivka to be truly free.

Now Mara must choose whether to fulfill her oath and betray her new friends or double-cross Rivka and risk losing her sister forever.

Those who think blurb writing is easy should audition to write my next one.

The Story

I plan to write a post on how the story came about when I'm closer to the launch date. For now, it suffices to say that in many ways, it's my story. I wrote Eleora while I was sick. Many of the questions the story asks were my questions, and back then, my questions rendered from the blood, sweat, and tears of my journey with mast cell activation syndrome. 

Mara's struggle to receive love was (arguably, is) mine. Many of the scenes, characters, and quotes are inspired by real events, people, and things I've thought or said. Honestly, it's a little scary to put that out there for people to do with what they please. Because let's face it--people can be mean.

That being said, I think I've produced a rip-roaring fantasy adventure that some people will really love--questions, themes, and other deep stuff aside. Also, my words sound pretty. 

My Map

I'm still fangirling over the awesome map Misty McKeithen made for me. She exceeded my expectations when she took my lame sketch and designed what you see above. Check out her work on her website: http://mmck.weebly.com/

More on Misty in an upcoming post. 

 

Mast Cell Activation Syndrome Case Study

Many of you continue to visit this website because of my history with mast cell activation syndrome. About a year ago, my mother, Melanie Chapman, a clinical laboratory scientist who currently serves on faculty at the University of Louisiana at Monroe in the medical laboratory science department, wrote an article about mast cell activation syndrome and my case study. The article was never published due to funding problems with the publication, but she later developed the information into a presentation, which she has presented in Monroe and Baton Rouge, Louisiana. 

I had the privilege of hearing her present the study last week at the American Society for Clinical Laboratory Science/Louisiana and Mississippi Joint Annual Meeting in Baton Rouge. The information is very scientific and nerdy but also interesting and moving due to the human interest aspect.

I'm extremely proud of my mom and her work. If you would like to know more about the immunology of mast cell activation disease, you may view her presentation online here.

Stay tuned for the latest information on the release of Eleora!

An Overdue Update

I'm stunned and a bit embarrassed by the fact it's been THREE MONTHS since my last post. I have nothing to say for myself.

It isn't that I don't have things to write about. Life is busy, rich, and full. I could post every day. I just haven't figured out how to manage everything. Exercise and blogging are particularly difficult to fit into my daily schedule. But that has to change. Soon. The blogging part, anyway.

It's platform building time.

But first, let's catch you up.

THE PHANTOM NOVEL

Back in December, my daughter came down with mono. Poor girl had a go of it, and I clocked lots of hours in the recliner holding her. Needing an occupation, I pulled out the manuscript of my novel, which I hadn't touched since September 2015.

The novel you either forgot about or gave up on because I haven't mentioned it in forever.

As with this blog, I hadn't meant for so much time to pass before picking it up again. But between an attempt to make the one novel into two (per the recommendation of three readers) and the inherent life changes which come with being miraculously healed of an incurable disease, it slept sad and alone in the files of my laptop for over a year.

I fiddled with a revised plot outline for the "first" novel two or three days before I realized I had no heart for that story. None. I couldn't make myself care.

I remember God saying, "Well if you don't care about it, no one else will."

Touche.

So I abandoned the 80k word NaNoWriMo draft I crafted a year prior and began the task of making my original novel work as one cohesive story. On January 6th of this year, I submitted my manuscript to an editor. She returned it last weekend. I'm now ready to make one last round of revisions before I'm done. And that, my friends, will be the easiest part of what's left of the process before my book is in your hands.

AAAAALL THE DECISIONS

Like most authors, I prefer to write my stories and leave the business side of self-publishing to someone else. Unfortunately, that isn't the way it works. When you self-publish, you ARE the business. For better or for worse, you make all the decisions.

Book title. Artwork. Blurbs. Biographies. Dedications. Cover design. Internal formatting. ISBNs. Publishing company title. Logo design. Budgeting. Marketing. Platform. Web site design. Core value statement. Wordpress themes. Photography.

Oh, and apparently I have expensive taste. Yikes.

Once upon a time, I needed to breathe into a paper bag when contemplating these things. Now I remind myself God's got this and it will all fall into place in due time.

HOW YOU CAN HELP

The next step is clear. I need my own online domain.

Very soon, my blog will undergo a change of address. I would LOVE for you guys to make the move with me. I need to build a following on the new website so I will have an audience waiting when I release my novel this spring. Everyone who signs up for my newsletter will receive a FREE unpublished short story. So that's fun.

MISCELLANY

Book stuff doesn't monopolize all of my mental real estate, believe it or not.

Superman and I are looking into starting another business this year. In addition to our day jobs. Don't worry, I fully realize the insanity of starting two businesses the same year, but we aren't getting any younger. If not us, who? If not now, when?

God has laid out a fresh vision for local ministry over the past few weeks. I'm stepping into more of a leadership role in our Personal Prayer Ministry in Ruston. There's also a new sister ministry in the inception stage. My future role in the new ministry is hard to guess at this time, but I suspect it will eventually be a significant part of my life.

I continue to enjoy my work at Geneva Academy, where my children attend school. The longer I'm there, the more I love the heart, the vision, and the people. My friend Jarrod Richey would like me to return next year as a part-time music teacher, particularly if I'm able to attend a Kodály methodology training this summer in Moscow, Idaho. I haven't yet decided what I'll do.

After I release my novel, I will write my autobiography, which will focus on my illness and healing. God says it's time to tell the whole story--a story most people haven't heard. I plan to finish the book this summer and release it in the fall. There's a possible children's book in the works as well.

Next month, my family and I will travel to Austin, Texas to spend some extended time with my best friend and her family and to share my story with their church community group. I look forward to our time there.

IN CLOSING

Feel caught up now? You're not. Not even a little bit.

I could tell you story after story about how God is working in my life, the lives of family members, the lives of friends and the various communities I'm a part of. The first church experience is my new normal. I see people healed, delivered, saved, and encouraged on a regular basis.

Over the past 14 months, it has been my delight to discover that God still works today as He did in the book of Acts. The very same way. I'm not a special case. God is actually as generous with healing now as He was in Jesus' day, if not more so. Nothing has changed except our expectations.

But even sweeter than the miracles I've seen is God's abiding presence in my life. He is everything, and without Him, miracles would be meaningless.

Today, I enjoy the intimacy with God I dreamed about as a young teen. On one hand, I'm satisfied. I don't need a thing this world offers. If on the off-chance I become rich and famous, okay. Great. If I don't, who cares? On the other hand, I know there's more of God to be had so I have to have more. And more and more and more and more. Like any good addict. I love that I serve an infinite God. Anything less would fail to satisfy.

Whatever happens over the next few months, sink or swim, He is all I need. It was true when I was sick. It's true now that I'm healed. That's the joy of serving a God who doesn't change in a world that never stays the same.

Adjustments

Alone
Original image via Flickr Creative Commons courtesy of Vincent van der Pas

My parents' friend Gary Bulloch says this true thing--"Life is a series of adjustments."

We adjust from childhood to puberty, from young adulthood to marriage, from marriage to parenthood, from parenthood to empty nesting, and from empty nesting to the winter years of life with lots of adjusting in between. It seems like the moment we find our groove, the music changes and we have to adjust again. 

I hesitate to say I'd become comfortable with illness. (It's difficult to become comfortable with a disease which tries to kill you on a regular basis.) But being sick was my normal. 

A few weeks ago when I began to heal, Tim, a new friend of mine told me I wouldn't heal all at once because everyone around me had to adjust to the fact that their wife/daughter/mother/friend was getting better. And he's right. But they're not the only ones.

I'm adjusting, too.

It's kind of surreal that three months ago I was a shut in and now I'm going to events. 





Note: Project 41's White As Snow gala went very well, the most successful gala to date. We learned a lot, raised support for the ministry, and yes--I ate the food (!!!!!) Side effects were extremely mild. The night was a personal celebration for my family and me. 

Remember this poem I wrote a year ago?:

Some diseases are a death sentence.
Some are a life sentence.
Which is easier to bear?
A small cell or the chair?
A cage or a casket?
No one knows
and both are hard
on the sick one and the watchers.
Some of us die in here,
but I believe
there is a key
for me,
an early release.
Or so I've been told
by the Prison Ward
who is kind and good and wise and hard.
The door will open
when the cell has done its work
and the bars have made me free.
Or so I believe.
But all I see
are steel and concrete.
Spare walls and a lonely lock
mock my faith.
I smell sky and pine.
Sun shafts through the window.
Voices chuckle and cluck,
a murmur through stone,
a reminder of what I'm missing,
a promise of what's to come.
But the Warden visits me--
and this place has be-come
Home.
"For a while," He corrects.
So I believe.  


Well, the cell has done its work, apparently. The bars have made me free. The Warden has thrown open the prison gates, and while He hasn't exactly tossed me out, it's very clear He doesn't expect me to stay inside. Nor do I want to. I'm ready to bust outta here, yo!

But there's this very real rehabilitation period to contend with. 

I'm learning to live in the world again. (There are people out here!) I'm asking big questions. (i.e. "What now?") I'm doing things. Going places. It's weird.

And my body hasn't quite caught up with my to-do list. 

  Lazy monkey
Original image via Flickr Creative Commons courtesy of Alan Bloom

These days I'm either enjoying my freedom or recovering from it.


Chronic fatigue, pain, and food sensitivities are still things as I pick up Micah from school, take Sara to her dance lesson, undertake my own housework, shop, go to church, visit with friends I haven't seen in forever, attend prayer meetings and events, and accept ministry opportunities. All in addition to what I was already doing.

Except I don't have much time to write. Not fiction anyway. My journal, however, sees lots of action. 

 I filled up this guy in two months!

Thus, my writing goals for the year may not be possible. 

I'm not complaining. I'm adjusting. 


It's difficult transitioning from a slow waltz (not that I've ever been that graceful) to a cha-cha. Even if the change is a blast. 

Moms, you know what I'm talking about. How great is it when your youngest transitions from two naps to one? But that free hour you had in the morning to drink coffee while it was still warm? Gone. Vamoose.

Or that moment you're done with diapers, but then you have to ask the kid whether or not she needs to pee every 15 minutes and haul her to the bathroom umpteen times a day whereas before you could change a diaper every three to four hours and you were good. (Yeah, I cried, too.)

C'est la vie. 

I LOVE the season I'm in, but it isn't easy. 

 

What do people expect of me now that I'm out and about? What does Brandon expect? What do the kids expect? What do I expect?

Does a writing career still fit into my life? I hope so. I want it to. But for now I feel that living real life is more important than writing made up life, and I don't have energy to do both. 

Most importantly, what does God expect of me? 

The Lord hasn't given me a copy of A Former Shut-In's Guide to Engaged Living in 5 Easy Steps. For now, I have only three hints to go on, and none of them are cut and dried:

1) "And she served them" (Mark 1:31). When Jesus healed Peter's mother-in-law, she didn't stay in bed. She got up and served Him. 

This is the word the Lord gave me in 2012 not long after my illness began to really present itself. This last chapter of my story was always going to end with my healing. I was given my marching orders three years before it happened. Service, not ease, is God's expectation of me. Of course, service can wear many hats. 

My family is the most important recipient. It's time to seize the things sickness stole from me. It's time to show up, take some of the enormous burden Superman has carried on his shoulders these long years, and clean my own bathrooms for goodness' sake. (God bless my mother in law for keeping my house from falling to chaos. Debbie Keaster, you are THE BEST.)

2) Limits. Everybody loves boundaries. Even kids. We think we don't, but we do. Limits make us feel safe. 

God has flung open the doors of my cage, and I'm so thankful. There's also a part of me that's glad I still have to count spoons. Because it reminds me--"I can do anything, but not everything."

When I was a prisoner, I talked about all the things I wanted to do when I was free. I wanted to sing in a choir again. I wanted to join that Flannery O'Conner short story class at Auburn Avenue. I wanted to be involved with this ministry and that ministry. Oh! And that one! I wanted to take Brazilian Jiu-Jitsu with Micah. I wanted to teach music lessons, offer cooking classes, and write novels. 

Yeah, right. 

I'm pretty sure the limits of 24 hours in a day and I don't know...SLEEP may disallow all that nonsense. Not that any of those things would be a bad way to spend time...unless I tried to do it all. 

Most days, I manage the things I was doing before I was better (child-rearing, cooking, dishes, laundry, homework, baths, bedtime routine, etc.), a little exercise, and maybe one outing before I'm ready to crash. 

Mondays are my rest days. On Monday, I. just. can't. (See monkey picture above.) I'm done. Stick a fork in me, and whatever you do, don't ask me to do anything extra.

3) A magic thread. In George MacDonald's fantasy for children, The Princess and the Goblin, Princess Irene is given a ring by her fairy godmother. Attached is a magic thread which is promised to always lead her safely back to her fairy godmother. 

One night, goblins enter little Irene's bedroom. She puts on the ring and follows the thread outside into the mountain wilderness, trusting it to guide her into the arms of her godmother. When it leads her into the dark caves, which are home to the goblins, she doubts and tries to feel her way backward. But behind her, the thread disappears. She can only go forward.

So onward she goes--through darkness, danger, and even a wall of rock--until she finds her friend Curdie who is held prisoner by the goblins. Irene rescues Curdie, and leads him out of the caves. At the end of her thread, she finds her godmother, as promised. 

God has given a magic thread to every believer. His name is the Holy Spirit.

The Spirit knows the mind of the Father, who has written my story. He leads me where I should go. Many times, I don't understand where He leads, but if I will hang on and press on, I'll find my way. And maybe, just maybe, I'll be able to lead a Curdie or two to the safety of God's arms along the way.

I appreciate your prayers as I adjust. 


I'm so happy right now. It may seem I don't need prayer. That assumption is incorrect.

I have so many questions. I don't know where the thread is taking me, and my feet are dragging half the time. I long to write, but can't manage it, which is kind of frustrating. As I'm able to focus less on myself, my eyes open to the devastation around me. While the miracle does my family good, the last four years have also left a mark. We're all kind of damaged, and now it's time to pick up the pieces and rebuild. Reconstruction is hard work.

So yeah...keep praying! And thank you for all the prayers that have come before. I hope you, too, are reveling in the miracle God has performed. You're part of it, after all. I hope it reveals an attribute of God you never noticed before, and leads you to marvel before His throne.

As I said to a friend this morning, prayer is never wasted time. And it's the perfect answer to every adjustment life throws at us.









Why I Journal: 21 Reasons


Journaling is often described as a lost or dying art. Maybe it is. I lack necessary statistics to prove or disprove that hypothesis, but I don't know many people who do it. My mom. My mentor. A couple of my friends.

The reason for this, I think, is that journaling is a discipline before it's an art, and discipline is dying.

It's understandable, if you think about it. There are countless demands on our time and energy. It's kind of a miracle you're even reading this post right now. The mere act of reading demands your time and mental real estate, and what you're reading is about yet another discipline in addition to the ones already on your plate. Not to mention, this particular discipline reeks with the odor of your middle school classroom and all its unpleasantness.

I mean, what adult wants to assign themselves homework, right? (Besides me.) Who has time to doodle in a notebook for 20 minutes several days a week--or ever--when they're already trying to exercise, eat healthy, pray, read more books, and organize their homes while working, parenting, and sleeping enough to stay alive? Not to mention keeping up with The Voice and scrolling the Facebook newsfeed...

Adulting is hard. 

But you know what I've learned about myself? I have time to do the things I want to do. I always have. When I was a full time music student, a part time piano and voice teacher, a children's minister, and had a 30 minute commute (minimum) everywhere I had to go. When I was a working mom. When I was so sick I could barely pick up a pen.

I want to journal, so I do.

But WHY do it?

 

Throughout the centuries, people have journaled for many reasons. To preserve history, for one. For entertainment. For posterity. The written word is longer-lasting than the human body, so people write what they want to be remembered.

Today, psychologists tell us that journaling is good for our health. It relieves stress and depression, and strengthens immune cells. Some research indicates journaling actually relieves the symptoms of asthma and rheumatoid arthritis.

But I don't journal for those reasons. As a believer in Christ, I don't feel pressure to be remembered. And I don't write as a perk to my health.

I write because I must. I need to write like I need to eat. Well...almost.

(I realize I am not the norm.)

That being said, I do have reasons to journal in addition to blogging, Facebooking, tweeting, texting, emailing, and novel...ing.

My Journaling History

 

I began to write poems, short vignettes, and various tidbits as soon as I could write. My parents kept some of them.

I began a formal journal in the 5th grade. Mrs. Pilgreen assigned a writing prompt each day, and required us to write a three to five sentence paragraph in our speckled notebooks. (To this day, I still love speckled notebooks.) Overachiever that I was, I often filled the page.

Mostly, I wrote lies I wished were true fiction, but my 5th grade classroom is where I learned the basics of journaling. Which is to record important events, thoughts, and feelings.

Since then, I've tried various forms of journaling--scrapbooking, blogging, Facebook, even food journaling. Art journaling was a FAIL. For obvious reasons.


But I always come home to the old school long-hand journal.

When I Write

 

I write when I have something to write about. But not always.

I could write every day. Inspiration is everywhere. In God. In Superman. In my little gingers. In nature. In the things I read. In what people say. In how people are. I'm always watching, observing. It's what writers do.

Just kidding. Sort of.

However, I don't hold myself down to a schedule. I don't journal every day. Unless I want to. Which sometimes I do. But other times, I go weeks or even months between journal entries. 

What I Write

 

There are all kinds of things in my journal. A record of events and how I feel about them. Random thoughts. Quotes. Bible verses. Meditations. Prayers. Dreams. Visions. Prayer lists. Gratitude lists. Cute things my kids say. Goals. Proudest moments. Darkest secrets.






My journal is my confessional and my trophy room.

Which brings me to...

Why I Write

 

I'm a pretty open book. Chances are, if you ask me something point blank, I'll tell you the truth and probably more of it than you want to know

BUT any time I present a part of myself to the public, whether that public consists of one person or a thousand, I edit. At least a little. (You do it, too, even if you're unaware of the fact.)

You'll find the fluffiest, most cuddly version of Melissa Keaster on Facebook and Twitter. Or in a scrapbook. You'll get a peek beneath my skin on my blog and in my fiction. But my journal? That's where you'll see the good, the bad, and the ugly of my soul. Which is why some of my journals have warnings in the front (i.e. "Do not read without my permission unless I am dead"). I do the least amount of editing there, which makes for interesting (and sometimes entertaining) material.

Journaling is where I get to be as honest as I know how to be, but that's only the foundational reason I do it. Here's an arbitrary list of other reasons off the top of my head:

  1. To process life with integrity
  2. To remember God's faithfulness
  3. To help others remember God's faithfulness
  4. To record prayers and answers
  5. To record prophecies and their fulfillment
  6. To record goals and progress
  7. To collect favorite quotes
  8. To capture my wrestling matches with God
  9. To find out what I think about things; sometimes I don't know until I write
  10. To contemplate Scripture
  11. To get my words out (I have a lot of them.)
  12. To have a safe place for my wildest, weirdest thoughts
  13. To write the things people may not have time, interest, or patience to hear
  14. To tattle on people to God (Yes, really...though you should know--any time you tattle to God, he always turns it around on you.)
  15. To remember cute things my kids say
  16. Blog fodder
  17. Novel fodder
  18. Because sometimes people can't handle my joy, sorrow, grief, or passion, but God and blank pages can (Tip: Keep a tissue or handkerchief handy; you don't want to blot the pages with tears.)
  19. To leave something of myself for my kids and grandkids to enjoy
  20. To show my descendants how God loves us from birth to old age and beyond
So yeah...I've got reasons. And maybe among my reasons, you'll find reasons of your own.


What about you? Do you journal? What are your reasons? If you don't, do ya wanna start? Need tips? Encouragement? Accountability? I'll be happy to help you along.

I love, love, love comments, so feel free to drop me a line and ask for my help. I'm supposed to teach a journaling class soon, and it would be great to get in some practice beforehand!







Why I'm Doing NaNoWriMo When I "Should" Be Editing

 Here we go again...5 years later:


Other appropriate titles for this post could be "How My Literary Aspirations Derailed" or "How Melissa Lost Her Mind" or even "The Cliffs of Insanity." But that last one might be a copyright infringement.



Why would a writer decide to begin a brand new project when she was ready to publish two weeks ago? Minus the cash and a couple more drafts, of course.

Well, you see, it's like this...

Two weeks ago, the only beta readers who'd completed the novel and offered feedback were family members.

Family members are cheerleaders. Newbie writers need cheerleaders so our insecurities don't smear us over toast for second breakfast. But while cheerleaders are necessary and awesome, they're biased. They root for the home team even when the home team sucks. (I'd post a pic of the Dallas Cowboys' cheerleaders here, but they don't wear enough clothes.)

Not that my book sucks. It doesn't. Everyone likes it. Or at least, they say they do.

Here's what bothered me--no one loved it. Call me vain, but it's kind of important to me that some people love it.

I didn't understand the reason until objective feedback began rolling in. Which, of course, isn't nearly as much fun as cheerleader feedback. But it's absolutely vital if you want to produce a good story.

Beta Reader 1: "Enjoyed Eleora very much." Felt it was almost ready for publication, but wanted more context for the villain and the lore. 
Beta Reader 2: Liked it. Said it was "intense."
Beta Reader 3: Liked it. Wanted more history of the characters and lore. Felt the pacing was too fast and a bit choppy in places she wanted to linger. Felt the world needed to be fleshed out more. Thought it was an earlier draft than it actually was.
Beta Reader 4: Thought it was great, but the pacing was rushed. She wanted more background about two main characters' relationship, and felt all the characters could be developed, especially the main characters. Here's the real kicker--it seemed to her I had written two books instead of one.

My initial response to Beta Reader 4: *blink, blink*

I wasn't immediately sure Beta Reader 4 was right, but I took the note. She has a great handle on what makes a good book, and I had prayed for fruitful feedback from this particular reader. I couldn't afford to dismiss anything she said without further thought and prayer. I outlined a prequel novella to Eleora, secretly hoping that would be enough so I wouldn't have to rewrite the thing. AGAIN.


BUT. I'd rather take my time and write a great book than rush to produce a good one.

Or a bad one, which Eleora, as is, may very well be.

Fortunately, God is pretty gentle with me. I was going full speed ahead--HUZZAH!!--then between beta readers 2 and 3, I felt a familiar Spirit signal--Slow down. Relax. Wait.

At first, I thought the message had to do with money. It costs a minimum of $2,000 to self-publish well, and we don't have $2,000 lying around at the moment. But it quickly became apparent the flashing yellow light had to do with the writing, not the cash.

"Wait" is a hard message to receive, especially when the problem lies with me, but it better prepared me to receive Beta Reader 3's perspective that Eleora was still in an early draft. (Though it was the fourth!) Beta Reader 3's perspective helped me better receive Beta Reader 4's. And Beta Reader 4 prepared me to be edited by author/blogger/editor Kristen Lamb.

Back in August, I signed up for Kristen's "First Five Pages" writing class, and bought the platinum package to receive 40 pages of edits. Who better to speak into my work than a writing professional/stranger/give-it-to-you-straight-burn-and-all kind of gal?

Kristen Lamb's editing has been fondly dubbed "The Death Star Treatment" by someone far wittier than me. It's an apt description. My favorite phrases from Kristen's edit are "The uncle is a mustache-twirler. He's so evil, I don't buy it. I'd put the book down," "Ew. Gross imagery," and "This character is too dumb to live."



I'm happy to say I survived "The Death Star Treatment"--without tears!--which is more than I can say for the planet Alderaan. In Alderaan's defense, I've had lots of practice.


Kristen knows what she's talking about. The problems are there. I just didn't see them until she pointed them out. So tactfully. With maple syrup, whipped cream, and a cherry on top.

In all seriousness, Kristen's heart is to help writers produce the best product possible so the trolls don't eat us alive (aaaaaaand to prepare us for when they do anyway.)

And she didn't leave me without encouragement. She said I totally hooked her in some places. There were times she had to put the book down to tend to something and didn't want to. That my prose is (mostly) pretty. That I have real talent. That I can, in fact, write. So she left me in a good place, ready to fix my problems.

To prepare for the following plot consult, I prayed. Odd way to prepare, you may think, but everything I've asked of the Lord concerning this book, He's done. Why stop?

This time, I asked for three things:

1) That Kristen would be God's mouthpiece to me concerning my story.
2) That Kristen and I would connect and like each other. (Writers gotta have writer friends.)
3) That God would use Kristen to let me know whether or not to participate in NaNoWriMo, which I had been considering since meeting with Beta Reader 4.

Within the first 15 minutes of the consult, Kristen diagnosed my problem--I have five or six stories crammed into 400 pages. Just as Beta Reader 4 suggested. So we took the first 40 pages, which was the section she read, and plotted it out into a full-length novel.

Oh, yeah. (Check out my premise here.)


So I said, "I'm guessing, I should shelf the bulk of my book for now and focus on this."

Kristen: "Uh, yeah! This should be your NaNo Novel. It's a great story. If you don't write it, I will."

After this, she took time to get to know me. We have a lot in common--a shared faith in Jesus, health issues, a clean-eating lifestyle, a book crush on Mr. Darcy. At one point she laughed and said, "By the end of this, we'll be telling each other our deepest, darkest secrets and braiding each other's hair."

I love her. Sarcasm, bluntness, and all.

And I love the Lord. He's so incredibly good. So faithful.

And that's why I'm participating in NaNoWriMo when I "should" be editing my novel.

Beta Reader 3 sent this text after I told her my plans:

This process is fascinating to me. Grueling, and maybe even sanctifying, for you, but fascinating as a 3rd party participant.

True, dat. The grueling, sanctifying part, anyway.

I don't love that I need to write another book and do a major rewrite on Eleora before I can, in good conscience, place it in your hands. Waiting, working (and reworking and reworking and reworking)--it's hard. But it's life.

(Which brings me to a small tangent: Writers aren't the only ones who need beta readers. We all need someone to edit our lives. I encourage you to give someone, maybe a handful of people, permission to offer insight into your story because we just don't possess the objectivity to see ourselves as we are.)

All in all, this ripping apart of my soul manuscript isn't such a bad thing. Creating something new is WAY more fun than editing.

Why do this...


when I could do this...


EVEN if I end up like this?


Speaking of not being alone, if you have a novel burning inside of you, why don't you join me and the 300k+ other writers who will be writing themselves into a frenzy next month? Sign up here. If you're 17 or younger, sign up for the Young Writers Program here. Make me your writing buddy, and we'll encourage each other all month long!

Do you have an idea for a novel? Have you ever participated or considered participating in NaNoWriMo? Have you ever won NaNoWriMo? Do you need a few tips to get going or have writing tips to pass along? Share your thoughts, questions, and experience in the comments below!

They Tried to Make Me Go to Rehab

Back in January, I deactivated from Facebook. I needed a break. A breather. A social media detox, if you will.

I had become addicted. And let's face it. I'm not the only one.

Have you seen the haunting photographs from Eric Pickersgill's project Removed? Oh my word, what an indictment!

It's a sad deal when we take something good and make it ultimate. Social media is purposed to bring us together, but when we look to it for validation and use it as an emotional numbing agent, it divides us.

That's what happened to me. So to break my habit, God put me in social media rehab for eight months. Here's an overview of how that went:

Facebook Rehabilitation Diary:


Day 1: Good day. Withdrawal set in this evening, manifesting in agitation and a pounding headache. Apparently, Facebook withdrawal is a real thing. Who knew?

Day 2: Devastating news for our family. Glad I'm not on Facebook.

Days 3-10: Undulating between rage and depression with almost no in between. Trying very hard to be a supportive wife and mother. Wrestling with God over the first few chapters of Job again. I was one chapter from the end of the book, but my heart is in chapters 1-3. So thither I return.

Week 1: Rediscovered Pinterest. In my defense, I'm using it to learn how to write a better book. Mostly. Also, I discovered cat memes.
 

Week 2: Lonely. Had things to say and no one to say them to. I texted instead. That helped. Can't go outside or stand near the door because of the cold.  So depressed all I want to do is eat and sleep. Since I don't have FB, I spend free time doing novel research.


Week 4: Not as angry now. Seeing good come from the bad. Stronger relationships with B and the kids. Spiritual growth in B. Began Draft 2 of my novel.

 

Month 2:  Beginning to crawl out of The Pit of Despair. Family vacation. Hit my writing stride.

 

Month 3: Look how much I can accomplish without FB! Look at all these inflammatory events I'm missing! All the stress I'm avoiding! What is this new, fabulous world?



Month 4: Turns out...to be accepted by an agent and sell actual, real-live books, I must have an author platform, which includes FB, Twitter, and an active blog. Bubble busted.


Month 5: Draft 3 of my novel complete. It's probably time to return to Facebook. Resistance. Anxiety. Avoidance.


Month 6: Suddenly realized I'm lonely. Returning to FB now would be like a recovering alcoholic strolling the liquor aisle after his dog died.



Month 7: Working on face-to-face relationships. Draft 4 in progress. Facebook return imminent.


End of Month 7: Submit manuscript to beta readers. Deep breath.

(Dog memes are also fun.)

Almost month 8: Logged back in.

What I Learned:

 

1) Facebook is legitimate community.

While nothing can replace the people in front of me, there's something truly grand about the ability to connect with human beings all over the globe. My best friends live out of state. I've met some incredible people who live in other countries. I missed them while I was away. 

2) Facebook is its own kind of social assistance.

We don't have time to keep up with every person we care about. In our fast-paced culture, everyone is swamped. During the eight months I was away, I talked to my best friends maybe 2-3 times each and saw almost no one outside of immediate family. Every now and then I would get a text or hear from mom that someone missed me or wanted to know how I was. People didn't stop caring just because I was away. Neither did I! But without Facebook, we no longer had a convenient way to check in.

3) Facebook hiatus was good for my health.

Facebook stresses me out. It's not just the drama over politics, current events, and what Christian women consider acceptable entertainment (read into that what you will), though that's plenty bad for sensitive folk like me.

The main reason Facebook stresses me out is because I walk through life with this strange, genetically-rooted complex which makes me believe every vague or negative status and delayed private message response is my fault and that I somehow offended this person and I must do something to make it right.

Slowly but surely, I'm learning I'm not the center of the universe and not everyone is thinking of me when they type in their various vague/negative statuses and that I should calm the heck down and give people the benefit of the doubt. *breathes into paper bag*


Stress is mast cell trigger. I don't think it's a coincidence that I enjoyed the healthiest few months I've had in a while during my FB absence.

4) Facebook hiatus doesn't automatically strengthen face-to-face relationships.

It's far easier to swap addictions than it is to learn new habits. I struggled with this throughout my hiatus. If it wasn't FB, it was Pinterest. Or music. Or Netflix. Or my novel. I had to work to connect.

Though my health is stable now, life is still hard. Painful, even. It's easier to self-medicate with technology (since I can't do it with food, liquor, or medication) than it is to acknowledge the pain, process it, and relate to others.

5) The world keeps spinning with or without me. 

For eight months I was invisible to nearly everyone except the people under my roof. And the world didn't end. Everyone was fiiiine. (I know. I can't believe it either.) I find this both humbling and comforting.

6) Now that I'm clean, I enjoy Facebook more. I'm free to enjoy the gift without the gift possessing me. Which is way more fun.

All in all, I loved being away and I love being back. The thing that was poison to me in January is a treat to me now. And that's a good place to be.



What do you think? What pros and cons does Facebook hold for you? Is its cultural impact mostly positive or negative? Does it connect us or divide us? I'd love to hear your thoughts!











Waking Up

For the better part of this year, I've lived in isolation.

A large part of that is necessary for my health. If I leave my house, I can bank on returning at least a little bit sick.

By "a little bit sick," I mean I have to crawl into bed for a while, my energy is zapped, and I experience a variety of discomforts, which may include swelling, asthma, severe headache, joint and tissue pain, dizziness, loss of balance, blood pressure drops, fainting, insomnia, and/or fever.

And then, there's always the risk of returning home "very sick," which means death and I brushed shoulders along the way. I'm happy to report that hasn't happened in a while, but there's always the risk.

You see why I don't get out much.

Another part of my isolation was self-imposed. I withdrew from social media because I felt doing so was in the interests of myself and my family.



I was right.

January, February, and March leeched the life out of me. It was a difficult time for all of us, and the scant energy I had needed to go to Brandon and my kids.

My memory blocks seasons of extreme difficulty. All I remember from that time is anger, hollowness, and a weariness so deep death sounded good.

Also, God. The grappling, the crying, the fight for grateful living. Exhilarating answers to prayer. Growth. Painful, excruciating growth.


Oh! And Gilmore Girls. God bless Gilmore Girls.


The final part of the isolation was inevitable. God gave me a book to write, and guess what--you have to write in isolation. There's no other way. Without going bonkers, anyway.


Those lonely months with nothing but God, my family, my characters and their story restored my strength. Solitude was just what I needed. Funny, isn't it, how the Great Physician never gets the prescription wrong?



On July 15, I completed a typed draft of my novel. Woohoo!



I frolicked about in post-writing afterglow for a week or two. I traveled to Baton Rouge to see my friend/mentor. I watched television. I read Blake Snyder's Save the Cat!, grinning like a Cheshire cat each time I realized I had followed pro-writer advice without even knowing it. Cha-ching! I basked in having written something Mom and Brandon really liked. I took naps. 

And then I woke up. 

If you ever have the misfortune of running out of water in the middle of the desert, you will begin to feel sleepy after a time. You will sleep, and for the length of that sleep, you will feel nothing as you edge closer and closer to death. 

But when you wake, you'll experience a thirst unlike anything you can imagine. You'll be mad with it. You'll drink anything--urine, antifreeze, bleach.

Waking up to isolation was a bit like that. A bit.

For months, I slept through the pain of loneliness. To heal. To write. It was good and it was necessary and I don't regret it. 

But now...

Facebook would've been an easy fix, but I know enough of myself to realize that going to Facebook with a need like that would've been the soul equivalent to drinking antifreeze. So I waited...

In the meantime, what was I supposed to do with this desire and no clear way to quench it?

The purpose of desire, I believe, is to keep us alive and point us to God. Granted, we can warp desires into bad things when we fashion them into idols, but for the most part, God gives us desires to meet them. He's good like that, yo.

C. S. Lewis puts it like this: 

A man's physical hunger does not prove that that man will get any bread; he may die of starvation on a raft in the Atlantic. But surely a man's hunger does prove that he comes of a race which repairs its body by eating and inhabits a world where eatable substances exist. In the same way, though I do not believe (I wish I did) that my desire for Paradise proves that I shall enjoy it, I think it a pretty good indication that such a thing exists and that some men will. A man may love a woman and not win her; but it would be very odd if the phenomenon called "falling in love" occurred in a sexless world.

Thus, I conclude that if I desire community, community exists. Even for shut-ins. Even for me. And based on what I know of God and the Bible, community is good and necessary. We are built to need each other. So I don't have to worry about whether or not the desire is right.

But what does community look like for someone like me?

I don't believe God would awaken me to thirst just to let me die. I'm thirsty so I'll drink.

So the question isn't "Can I attain community?" but "How will I attain community?"

Which is something I'm figuring out as I go.













Back to the Music

After nine months of needful rest, I'm baa-aaaaaack! And I thought, "Hey. A life update might be in order."

The Highlights:

  • I'm officially Facebook sober and in a much better place than I was in January. I really enjoyed my time away. So much so that I considered NEVER going back. There are things I am so. glad. I. missed. (Someone's saying "amen" somewhere.) And yet, it's time. It's as needful for me to return as it was for me to leave. So, hey y'all! *waves* (You can also follow me on Twitter.)
  • My marriage is the healthiest it's ever been. We've had some hard knocks this year, but the Lord has used them to bond us in incredible ways. Brandon has really grown in the Lord. It's thrilling to watch. I am humbled and grateful for the bad that has worked for good.
  • I had a GREAT summer. I felt almost good. Seriously. The best I've felt in more than four years. I ate tomatoes and watermelon. No insect stings of any kind. No emergencies. I even took a weekend trip to Baton Rouge to see my mentor Dixie Perry. I did exceptionally well. 
  • I gave the kids a few piano lessons this summer. I also taught Micah to read. Without losing my will to live. 
  • My annual end-of-summer health nosedive happened a bit early, but the plummet was less harrowing this time because A) I expected it and B) It wasn't as bad. The most annoying thing is I've begun reacting to sweet potatoes, and pardon my French, but that just sucks. 
  • I've been to church six times since June. I've only left sick twice (the last two times, actually), and each time I was only down for the rest of the day. Miraculous.
  • I sent out my novel to beta readers yesterday. All 17 of them. (What was I thinking?) Mom and Brandon read it. They loved it. But you know, they're partial, so we'll see what the others say. (You can read about my "writing a novel" experience here.) My current plan is to self-publish, which means I should have it out next spring or summer. It'll be a $2,000-$3,000 investment, so I will need you to buy a copy and tell your friends. Just putting that out there. 

 Recent Events:

  • Sara broke her arm last Wednesday. We have two fractures. Good times. We're just happy she gets to resume dance lessons next week...


    ...oh, and that the cast is pink.  

  • Micah is back to school and doing well. The dude has memorized two Robert Louis Stevenson poems, partitions like a whiz, and writes better than I do. We have to get him over this whole perfectionist thing though, or we will all lose our minds. Starting with me. (Prayers appreciated.)
 

A Journey Back into Community: 


About a month ago, I woke to a keen sense of loneliness. It had been lurking in the grass for some time, and then pounced all at once.

I spoke with Mom about it. She smiled and said, "Well, you've been in isolation--writing your book--for months. Now that you're done, the novel is gone, and you're left with the isolation."

"So, what do I do?" I asked.

"Tell people what you want. Invite them back in."

Even before this, God was speaking to me about community. He hit me with the topic in conversations, blog posts, writing advice, and Bible study.

But I wasn't sure what He meant for me to do. I mean...I'm a shut in. I risk anaphylaxsis every time I walk out of the house. I often return home sick.

What do you mean, God?

While He hasn't handed me "The Shut-In's Five Step Guide To Community," He's dropping a trail of breadcrumbs, and I'm doing my best to follow.

My next few posts will be a series about what I'm learning and what I'm doing with what I'm learning and my questions as I go.


On Writing a Novel

I'll warn you right away. This will be a...different blog post. I'm sleep deprived and descending from a manic high. My brain is fried to extra crispy, and I am all. out. of. words. So no 3,000 word blog beast today. Lucky you.

The reason? It is finished:



The bottom left hand corner reads thus:
"Page 1 of 425" "115286 words"

You might think I'm proud of that word count. I'm not. I really wanted my novel to be 90,000 words, which is a good word count for a first time novelist. 90k words is marketable. My novel wanted to be 115,000 words. We are still in a fight.

You know what I'm proud of? FINISHING. And the fact that it's nothing like the first draft.

Oh, lawd, that first draft.

 

Draft two (three?) is a very distant cousin of draft one. Like of the fifth or sixth variety. They could marry, but shouldn't because that first draft is good for one thing. Bonfire kindling. That's right, folks. Draft one is scheduled to burn at the stake this fall.

And no, you can't talk me out of it. My greatest fear right now is that draft one will outlive me.
 
So...what is writing a novel like? Rainbows? Unicorns? Sometimes. Not really.


Flannery O'Conner describes it best:
 


It's also six speckled notebooks falling off the hope chest at the foot of the bed, scaring the crap out of you, every night. (Right, B?) It's also sleep deprivation and evolved self-flagellation. It's lonely and frustrating and terrifying and hard and one of the most exhilarating things I've ever done in my life. As in "Oh my gosh, I'm addicted, can I PLEASE subject myself to this sweet torture as long as I live because I will never be able to stop and I don't want to and I don't think I should" exhilarating.




It's also a lot like walking with Jesus. Some days, the sun is shining, the birds are singing, the flowers sweeten the air. Other days, a tornado rips through and you face the fragility of what you built. But most days are slow, steady work.

You show up at the appointed time and you write. Or try very hard to write. And you learn to be satisfied whether you wrote 500 words or 1,500 words, all the while realizing those words may or may not serve your story and you might have to light them on fire before you're through.




My favorite part of this experience is how it has enriched my walk with God. He inspired the story during August 2013 while I was reading an entry from Sarah Young's Jesus Calling. An image came to mind, and two years later it's just as clear.

(Stephen King doesn't know where his ideas come from. I do. Mine, anyway.)

At the time, I wasn't well enough to jump in, so I filled a notebook with maps, character names, and plot ideas until I was well enough to write. I began June 16 a year ago. Today, I'm two (three?) drafts down with a minimum of two more to go.

Beyond inspiration, the Lord supplied me with incredible sustaining grace to see me through the process. Being the kind of sick I am, it's a big deal for me to give up my rest time while the kids nap. But I did. And it was hard, but not impossible. The Lord held me up because He's been in it since before it began.

And here's the best part. I began going to Him in prayer with my story problems. I would hit a plot hole or a weak character motivation and just couldn't figure out a solution. During my prayer time, I took the problems to the Lord, and more often than not, He would have it solved before it was time to write that afternoon.

The most noteworthy instance happened about three or so weeks ago. I was a few thousand words shy of the ending and totally stumped. My confidence had plummeted because so many problems had arisen. My entire manuscript suffered an ailment I couldn't diagnose and had no idea how to fix. So I told it to Jesus.

Two days later, while I was in the tub (where I talk to Him), clouds parted and angels sang. (Not really. Well, maybe if I was a cartoon.) The Lord presented a solution that not only filled my plot holes and helped me write my ending, but also added intrigue to the story and put the plot points just where they needed to be.

(Well-timed plot points are part of story structure, which is the science behind the craft. You can't write a good book without it.)

Wonderful, right? YES and ugh. Because I had to go all the way back to the beginning and make changes. (Hence the reason the draft I just completed may really be draft three and not draft two.) Some changes were small. Some were HUGE. Like I had to rewrite sections, obliterate others, and create brand new scenes. A new character came into being. I love him. And I now have room for a trilogy, an option I just may take if not right away.

And my story grew about 15,000 words.

Siiiiiiiigh....

But it's so much better, so much closer to the story I'm trying to tell. I'm really proud of it, and that's a big statement for a self-deprecating perfectionist like me.

What's next?


For now, I'm on vacation. While Brandon and mom alpha read, I'll catch up on Call the Midwife, Mr. Selfridge, Wolf Hall, and SYTYCD on the DVR, watch a few movies I've been wanting to see, read someone else's writing. I'll nap.

And after they get back to me with their critiques, I'll begin work on draft three (four?), which will go out to beta readers sometime in September. I hope.

While the beta readers work, I'll plot out my next novel! Woohoo!!!!

I'll revise again based on what the beta readers tell me, and then begin agent hunting. Seems like a good autumn activity, don't you think?

Okay, that's enough words from the wordless wonder. Tired now.

And very, very happy to be DONE.



Mixed Bag--An Update

I've been home from my mountain-top experience at Mayo for a little over a month. Things have not gone exactly as I had hoped. The last few weeks have been hard and good, beautiful and heartrending.
  • I turned 30.
I had always imagined turning thirty would be a difficult thing. To my surprise, it was no big deal. It was pleasant even. I had both a good birthday and a lovely birthday party. On June 3, I posted this story to Facebook:

When I opened my eyes this morning, I asked the Lord to be present in every moment of the day. That would be gift enough. I did not expect a literal gift from Him--

I went outside to hang Sara's diapers to dry in the sun. Brandon's trailer seemed like a good spot. Out flew an angry wasp feeling threatened by my close proximity to his home hidden below the wheel. My peripheral vision caught him coming in for the sting, but suddenly he deflected away from me, as if he had bounced off a surface I couldn't see. I think it was my "blue shield" I dreamed about almost 3 years ago. "Happy birthday to me, from God," I thought.

I shared the story with Mom who reminded me of Psalm 91. I have lived the truth of these verses for years, but it was the promise God makes to the psalmist at the end which brought me to tears--

“Because he has set his love upon Me, therefore I will deliver him;
I will set him on high, because he has known My name.
He shall call upon Me, and I will answer him;
I will be with him in trouble;
I will deliver him and honor him.
With long life I will satisfy him,
And show him My salvation.”

And almost a whisper in my ear, "Happy birthday to you, from Me."

See? Good.

A week later, I hosted an (herbal) tea party in my own honor. You get to do that when you turn thirty, are too sick to go out, and are kind of eccentric.



 Kids' table

 The menu included three herbal teas-- Rhubarb and Strawberry Hibiscus Iced Tea,
Peppermint and Raspberry Leaf, and Nettle and Rosehip--
gluten free zucchini cake, and Melissa-friendly Paleo treats.

 Most of the guests.

 Morgan and I reunited after our respective adventures, which the Lord saw us through. It was a kind of celebration of His generosity to us. Please continue to pray for Morgan. 
She is still suffering from surgery complications.

 My beautiful Mom.

 The smallest guests. Love them!

  • I have settled back into my routine.
The Mayo experience was more of a spiritual retreat than a medical trip for my mom and me. It was glorious to be home, but it took a few days and lots of grace to find my legs again.
  •  I have finally begun the first draft of my novel.
Until a couple of weeks ago, it had been a long time since I had accomplished any serious work with my novel. I lost my drive in the midst of health struggles, grief, and preparations for Mayo. I also lost interest in writing back story. I was yearning to write the real story, and that is just what I have been doing. I am writing it longhand, which I find to be extremely satisfying. Something about it summons the muse, and it definitely reduces distractions. When I am writing longhand, that is all I'm doing. No peeks at Facebook or Pinterest. Just writing. And it feels like a real craft.
  • I began my prescribed medications. Kind of. 
Upon returning home, Brandon and I discovered pretty quickly that I could not take the Zantac, Zyrtec, and Singulair in their marketed forms. They contain too many fillers. That's right. I'm allergic to antihistamines. But honestly, this is not uncommon for people with MCAD. Brandon checked into using a compounding pharmacy to obtain pure forms of the drugs, but this route proved to be cost prohibitive. In the end, we asked Dr. Carolyne Yakaboski to create a homeopathic form of the drugs. These are not as potent as the actual drugs, but I have found that a little goes a long way with just about anything. I do notice some relief when I remember all of my doses, which is good.

I began Gastrocrom two weeks ago. This drug only contains cromolyn sodium and water. I have had no adverse reactions thus far. Praise God! If it works for me, my GI pain and swelling will begin to resolve in about a week or so.

  • I am failing my dietary protocol. Which I still need to blog about.
I cannot stay out of the tomatoes. I try. I really try. Yet I fail. They make me sick. They make me hurt. They cause me misery. And still I am lured in by their beauty and promise of palatable rapture. Le sigh.

  • I'm getting "grounded." Explanation here.
An earthing kit has been on my wish list for quite some time. Brandon bought me one for my birthday. We began using the sheet right after I returned home, and it immediately improved my quality of sleep.
  • I have added castor oil packs to my health routine. Explanation here. 
These. are. awesome. I began about two weeks ago. They bring on the sleepies, and reduce the ill effects of my tomato lust. I feel a certain amount of histamine relief after doing them, which calms the flushing and "tired and wired" feeling enough to induce sleep. I put it on every night for about an hour and a half--just long enough for Brandon and I to watch two episodes of BBC Robin Hood on Netflix. Then I go to sleep. Like it's no big deal. Like falling asleep wasn't the hardest thing ever just a couple of months ago. Praise God for earthing sheets and castor oil and heating pads! Praise God for sleep!
  •  I've been using my unique skill set to serve my sister.
Since becoming pregnant, my sister has experienced serious health problems similar to my own. We think the shift in hormones has upset her system, and she has been having allergic reactions to foods, animals, and bug bites. I have been able to direct her to safe, nutritious foods, treat her reactions with TBM and BioSet, and offer her gentle, pregnancy-safe home remedies like poultices, herbs, and essential oils. I am loathed to see my sister suffer, but thankful I can help.

  • Grief continues to rock my boat.
In many ways, I feel Jenny's loss more profoundly today than I did when it was fresh. There is so much I want to tell her. I want to hear her laugh. I want her unique perspective and the artful way she crafts her sentences. I want the light in her blue eyes and her hearty "hallelujahs" in response to every good God has sent. A memory sparked by a conversation or activity will initiate a tiny, seismic shift, sending an unexpected tidal wave to my shore. In these moments, I am thankful for the "hope we have as an anchor of the soul" (Hebrews 6:19). Without it, I would be reduced to rubble every time.

  • There have been two episodes of anaphylaxsis, one of which resulted in shock.
Until about three weeks ago, I had not had an anaphylactic reaction in a record length of time. Since then, there have been two episodes. The first occurred following my tea party, after which I felt uncommonly unwell. I thought my body was rebuking me for the almond flour treats I had eaten. But I really hadn't eaten that much, so I was confused. The next night, my mother-in-law and I shared a warmed cup of left over peppermint and raspberry leaf tea.

BAM! I was struggling for air. I knew it wasn't the raspberry leaf, which exposed the peppermint as the culprit. I had drunk so. much. of this particular blend the day before it is no wonder I was so ill after the party. Bummer. It was a good blend.

And then there was the freak peanut exposure this past Sunday night. Brandon and the kids wanted an Eskimoe's treat after completing a little errand in town. We went through the drive-thru. The window was on Brandon's side of the car. I detected a shift in my body during the transaction, but I had to do the whole self denial routine.

"You're not sick," I told myself. "That would be crazy. You are fine. You are fine. The swelling will subside. You are fine." I continued like this for the 15 minute ride home. I eventually believed myself, so I didn't understand when my blood pressure went on the fritz upon getting out of the car.

When things got bad, Brandon was outside talking to my parents. I was inside with the kids. I was able to take my rescue homeopathics and get a text to him before I was useless. By the time he began performing our tried and true rescue treatment, I was exiting reality--a cold place where it was painful and difficult to breathe, think, move, and obey--and entering the floaty space where it's warm and pleasant and everything is peaceful.

Shock is a siren song. Unless someone tethers you to the ship, you will bail. You cannot help yourself. B wasn't having it though. He says he yelled at me. I was vaguely aware of it, but it came to my consciousness rather muffled, as if I was hearing him from underwater. He demanded I come back, so I did. I am thankful the Lord spared me once again. I must have more to do! Praise God!
Brandon and I have agreed--
In some ways, I am better than I was last summer.
In some ways, I am sicker than I was last summer.

Last summer was nothing short of miraculous. I was knocking on death's door, and then God just turned it around. I went from eating nothing to eating baby food to eating anything I wanted. Eggs? Every day. Tomatoes? No problem. Watermelon? For the first time in years. I could eat any food, any time as long as it came from our garden.

And the garden itself was a miracle. Dad and Brandon were first time gardeners. They only kinda sorta knew what they were doing. Everything planted thrived. Rain came at just the right times. June and July were just mild enough. The bugs were a minor nuisance, and were well-controlled without the use of any substance, organic or otherwise.

This year? Squash bugs destroyed our crop. Tomato worms are having a hey day. We even have bugs in our kale, which is weird. Dad is using an organic, essential oil-based spray to repel them, but it doesn't seem to be working. And with the exception of kale and the now gone broccoli, cauliflower, zucchini, and yellow squash, I am not tolerating anything very well.

I do not understand why the foods God used to bring me back to life last summer are now my enemies. I do not understand the complexities of why one crop is blessed and another is not blessed in the same way. I am not wise enough to guess the purpose of all this waiting, circling, cycling, and disappointment.

Why have I not been healed? I am doing everything right. With the exception of my tomato addiction, I eat perfectly. Well, except when I eat a bit of dark chocolate or have an almond flour treat for my birthday, but still! I detox, rest, sleep, exercise, get sunshine, manage my stress, and avoid triggers. I seek the Lord with all my heart. I pray, meditate, memorize scripture, and make my mind to dwell on things above. I want to be healed. I expect to be healed.

I am doing everything right, and I am still not well. Not even close.

Dear friend, this is life. We can do all the right things, and still not achieve the desired outcome. That is why we must desire a Person more than a circumstance. Someone who cannot change. An anchor for the soul.

Because here's the truth--
You can parent perfectly and your adult child may self-destruct.
You can make good health choices and your body may malfunction.
You can study hard and fail the class.
You can work hard and not land the job.
You can pray hard and not receive the desired answer.
You can do aaaaaaaall the things and miss the Whole Thing.

Now this doesn't mean we throw up our hands and refuse to invest. All things of worth require faithfulness. Laziness is not allowed. We have many seeds to sow. Marriage, motherhood, friendships, nourishment, health, career, craft, and our walks with the Lord all demand that we show up, game on, every day.

This week, Micah and I sat on the back porch and watched an afternoon storm roll in while Sara napped late.

"God brings the rain and makes it stop and makes the garden grow," he observed sagely as we listened to heavy drops pound the tin roof like a drum.

"That's right," I affirmed. "He brings rain and sunshine and gives growth to the seeds we plant. He makes all gardens grow, even the ones hidden inside of us." I touched the center of his chest.

"What kind of garden is inside of me?" he asked, eyes wide. "Will I grow vegetables?"

"No," I laughed. "You will grow fruit. Mommy plants the seed of the gospel of Jesus and the cross in your heart. Then God sends rain and sunshine and gives increase just like our garden out there." I pointed. "And after time, you will bear fruit--love, joy, peace, goodness, and faithfulness to name a few."

But it does not always work this way.

We are not as in control as we would like to think we are. We do not command life or death or cancer or disintegrating mast cells or squash bugs or people or rogue peanut particles. This is okay. Because the One who is in control is eternally, irreversibly good. He has our good at heart. He even takes the evil things of this world, and alchemizes them into good. It's a mystery, but it's true. 

We must stop serving the god we want, and start loving the God Who Is. We must surrender our idea of  good to His definition of good--the Church "conformed to the image of His [suffering] Son" (Romans 8:29).

For me, this means I show up. I do all the things God has tasked me with. I invest my heart, knowing that--yes--it may be broken. It is broken.

A friend told me this week she is hesitant to try gardening while she is already so busy and tired with little ones because she is afraid she would put in a ton of work only for the crop to fail. Oh, goodness--how her trepidation hits close to home. The threat is very real.

Disappointment is a bitter fruit. It's the risk we all take any time we do or love or work for anything. Christian or not, no one is exempt from the risk, but if you are a Christian, you can take comfort in knowing Christ drinks the wine of disappointment right along with you. If you are a Christian, you can rest your head on the pillow of promise--God is weaving your disappointment into an epic tapestry which will at its finish be a glorious work of art. You will one day gaze upon it in wonder, and you will agree--your suffering was not worthy to be compared to the joy you now know.

Life is a mixed bag of happinesses and disappointments, successes and failures, patterns and adjustments. It's devastating and magnificent and ridiculous and wonderful. I could never survive it without Jesus. And having tasted the exquisite joy of His presence especially in the midst of sorrow, I can tell you--I don't want to.

He is our Living Hope. He is our assurance that one day the disappointments will be no more, that all sad things will come untrue. Praise God this mixed bag is not all there is!

A Year of Wait, A Year of Peace

 "When Heaven is going to give a great responsibility to someone, it first makes his mind endure suffering. It makes his sinews and bones experience toil, and his body suffer hunger. It inflicts him with poverty and knocks down everything he tries to build. In this way Heaven stimulates his mind, stabilizes his temper, and develops his weak points." 
 --The Book of Mencius (Chinese, 300 BC)
quoted in Timothy Keller's Walking with God through Pain and Suffering

January is always hard for me. I've tried to like this lackluster, step cousin of a month all my life, and just can't quite manage it. I think I shall give up the endeavor entirely, and attempt to peacefully coexist with the grey, cold, hard month of January, accepting her just as she is because she has much to teach me.

As the first month of the year, January offers an opportunity to reflect upon the year now gone and the new one to come. For the last three years, I have kept a regular journal which I like to review as a part of my new year contemplations. Upon the pages recorded in 2013, I find assurance of God's faithfulness, a reminder that January passes and clear evidence of quiet, mysterious growth over time. I rediscover surprises--both good and bad--and find how wrong my guesses concerning the future often are. The latter discovery has so humbled me, in fact, that I have resolved to make no resolutions this year, for a staggering amount of my good intentions and serious efforts crumble to dust. No worries though--dust has its place. And I do not have to dig deep to discover treasures hidden in the rubble.


1) Mom's jubilee birthday celebration. Though jubilee often manifested itself in perplexing ways, I don't think a one of us would fail to recognize its presence in 2013.


2) Brandon's personal and spiritual growth. A stronger marriage for the struggle. I so respect and admire this man.



3) God planted in my heart a desire to adopt. I expect a significant passage of time before this desire comes to fruition, but I am excited and expectant.

4) My Papaw, Jenny and myself looked death in the eye (almost simultaneously), and were granted more time.

5) Jubilee's first summer garden. I consider that first garden to be the miracle prayed for on my behalf on the 8th of June.
 

6) New friends. Meetings and reconnections with old friends.

7) The time spent in my parents' home this summer. A renewed closeness with each of my parents.

8) The inception of the novel I am writing.
 
 9) Jenny's wedding.


10) Richard Morrison becoming a part of our lives through his marriage to Hannah. This man is a blessing to us all. We are thrilled to have him in the family. P.S. The wedding was beautiful, and I was able to attend.








All wedding photos taken by Jolly Tucker Photography.

11) Growth in the children: Micah has overcome fear and awkwardness. Therapy has helped him become who he really is--outgoing, friendly, hilarious and unafraid. He is learning with every question he asks, and like any four year old, he asks a ton! Best of all, I see the seeds of the gospel taking root in his little soul, and it thrills this mama to no end.
 

Sara has responded well to changes in her diet. Her cognitive development and emotional control have improved tremendously. I thought she might be a slower learner than Micah, but it turns out that I was wrong. Now that the allergy-induced brain fog has cleared, she is incredibly observant, soaks in information like a sponge and makes impressive connections between concepts, events and persons.
 

It comforts my sore heart to know they are blossoming in spite of the limitations my illness creates. (Thanks to the family members who help me water my little flowers.)
 

12) My own growth. I don't say this with any pride in myself for I know the achievement belongs to the Lord alone, but I am a better person for living through 2013--January and all. I know and love my Jesus better, and that one fact makes me better in every way a person can be better. There are many "miles to go before I sleep," but growth is the thing.

The lesson of 2013 was "wait." I asked the Lord to show me what it means to wait upon Him years ago, and He answered. Not as gently as I had in mind, but He answered. Though I am still very much in a waiting period and still learning to wait well, God has revealed that 2014 has a new theme--"peace." Peace in knowing what is wrong with me and understanding my prognosis, peace in not knowing the future. Peace in fear, peace in loss, peace in heartbreak, peace in grief. Peace, peace, peace. Pure, perfect peace transcending all we comprehend of life and death.

While I have resolved not to make resolutions (as it seems I am powerless to make anything happen regardless of the strength of my will), I have in mind a collection of challenges for myself. Some matter more than others. God is my peace in success or failure.

2014 Challenges:

1) Know Christ more fully.
2) Seek diagnosis and greater understanding of my disease at Mayo Clinic in May.
3) Potty train my girl.
4) Send my boy to school. Those of you who know me know I wanted to homeschool my children before I had children. However, I believe that for homeschool to be successful, a mother must be able to get her children out of the home regularly for cooperative learning and socialization experiences. I am unable to do that, so I believe it is in Micah's best interests to attend school. Thankfully, we have found a school which matches our educational philosophy and goals.
5) Love my family and friends in creative and meaningful ways; freely accept the love they are able to give; forgive disbelief and misunderstanding.
6) Be "joyful in hope, patient under trial and faithful in prayer."
7) Work on the novel.
8) Read more; Facebook less.
9) Stop trying to predict or control the future.
10) Dance during hard moments. Literally--dance.
11) Laugh upon every opportunity.
12) Stop waiting to feel better to live. Weigh the risk and reward. Pray for wisdom. Live.

While January 2014 seems to be no different than the Januarys which have come before and though I have not had a truly "good day" yet this year, I am brimming with anticipation. My girl will be potty trained soon. No more diapers! My boy will turn 5 and go to kindergarten. I will go to Mayo and turn 30 soon after. Brandon and I will celebrate 10 years of marriage. And then there are many surprises which will come our way. Some surprises will be welcome, some will be unpleasant, but all will be for our good. I can rest in the face of the unknown because "the Dayspring from on high has visited us to give light to those who sit in darkness and the shadow of death, to guide our feet into the way of peace" (Luke 1:79).

Peace--a beautiful word.

May 2014 be a year of peace for you, too.

Necessary things, updates....

Composing a blog post wasn't my first choice for today's morning activities, but my conscience tells me that an update is overdue. And it's right. So many of you pray for me with diligence. Like me, you like to pray current, specific prayers for those God places upon your hearts. Furthermore, updates are reports of God's accomplishments and foreshadows of accomplishments to come. Updates are fodder for our souls. They serve as proof that God cares about our tiny troubles, listens to our humble words and stoops Himself to our lowly planes to bind up our wounds and heal our diseases.

Good and necessary things, updates--even when something else competes for our time, attention and passions. Besides the adorable red-heads dancing about my living room, that is.

Do not think for a moment that I am not grateful and still in need of prayer. Some days, I am certain that the prayers of others are the difference between grit and cowardice, joy and despair, even life and death. It's just that I--

Tell you what: I will let you know what I am up to at the end of the post. To business!

As I look back on the last few years, I clearly see juxtaposed intervals of time owning unique sets of weather conditions, slants of light and challenges thereof. Seasons.

Sometime during our stay with my parents, I entered into a new season. I was eating well and having fewer reactions, but I began having trouble napping. My insomnia worsened. I would wake feeling as if I had not slept at all. Fatigue was suddenly my greatest foe. I became even more sensitive to cold, and wore a sweater about the house much of the time. Brown and bumpy patches formed on my skin. I put on several pounds with incredible speed. Not long after we returned home, I noticed I became hoarse after reading to my children. I felt a constriction in my throat upon swallowing. The shape of my neck was different. These and other symptoms alarmed me to the fact that something new was amiss.

After researching and consulting with my doctor, I realized that my hypothyroidism had worsened. She told me the adrenal and thyroid glands share a symbiotic relationship. When one suffers, the other does as well. I have this horrible suspicion that the decision to use my Epi Pen the day of the ant bite is largely to blame. Epinephrine can do nasty things to the adrenal glands. My adrenals were already in a sad state, and did not need the hit they took that day.

In addition to adrenal exhaustion, I am suffering from an iodine deficiency. I no longer use iodized salt, and I did not replace the iodine as I should. So now I have a goiter. Lovely.

Hypothyroidism tends to be degenerative; therefore, I couldn't ignore the problem. I knew I was unlikely to tolerate the leading thyroid replacements on the market. Thankfully, my doctor is extremely resourceful. She found tablets and homeopathics to support both my adrenals and my thyroid, and I tolerate them! Praise the Lord! I am also adding minerals to my drinking water and taking a high dose of iodine daily. After taking my "meds" for a couple of weeks, I no longer feel like I'm getting worse every day.

Endocrine system malfunctions are not my only battle, for we have come to that time of year--the time during which my entire life becomes one big allergic reaction. I have reacted to cinnamon, goat milk and butter just in the last four days, and had an anaphylactic reaction to a balloon that found its way into my house on Saturday. I stupidly picked it up to throw it outside, and promptly broke out in hives on my palm, wrist and neck. Breathing troubles followed. You know--the norm.

I'm not the only one having problems. Sara has an allergic rash that flares any time she is exposed to an allergen. The skin under Micah's eyes has turned dark and puffy. Dad is having trouble with a few foods as well. So yeah--that time of year.

But you know what? It's just a season. This one, too, shall pass.

In the meantime, I covet your prayers. With reactions, comes pain. Pain makes fatigue more difficult. Fatigue makes food restrictions more frustrating. Food restrictions make me irritable, and I don't need to be irritable because I have two sweet babies who are in need of extra empathy as they face their own discomfort.

Yet, in all these things, I am not only more than a conqueror. I am also having the time of my life! On August 9 as I read Jesus Calling, the Lord gave me a mental image. From there, the image exploded into an idea, which gave way to a plot and characters. And just like that, I am writing a book. (!!!!!)

Not only am I writing a book, I am writing within a genre I have always enjoyed--fantasy. I never intended to write a fantasy because it always seemed too complicated and daunting. But maybe it's not a fantasy because it doesn't have elves, dwarves, dragons or wizards. Or maybe it is because it does include magic, prophecies and a make-believe land. I have even drawn a map! The story is going to be allegorical for sure. And it's a romance. And it's an adventure.

I am basically writing my favorite kind of book. As a matter of fact, I feel antsy to get it done so I can read it! The inspiration was so beautiful and cool, but what is even cooler is that God is giving me clear directives to follow as I work. Writing this book is actually drawing me closer to the Lord. Now that's cool.

Thank you for continuing in your prayers for me and my family! Please keep it up! And I would be so honored if you would pray for me as I write this story. I know God has plans for it, and will use it to build and strengthen His church. In the end, it will be His masterpiece. I'm just the lucky duck that gets to be the vessel.

Okay, okay.....let me get on with my day so I can get on with my fun!

NaNoWriMo

Wild hair. Crazy notion. Stroke of genius. The Cliffs of Insanity. NaNoWriMo.

They all fit into the same category, folks.

NaNoWriMo is National Novel Writing Month, and it's as crazy as it sounds. The assignment is to write a 50,000 word/175 page novel between the dates of November 1 and November 30. The idea is to promote quantity over quality, which is the only possibility working within this unreasonable time frame. NaNoWriMo has been going on since 1999, but I had not heard about it until last year. Last year, I thought, "What a great idea!" My next thought was, "What a great idea for people who are sleeping, who don't have an insomniac baby boy, and who haven't been awake for almost an entire year." When I was reminded of the event this year, my first thought was, "I don't have time for this." My second thought was, "I really don't have time for this." My third thought was, "I soooooo don't have time for this." The problem was that I really, really wanted to do it anyway.

Which, dear fans of my previous blog, brings me to Confession of a Potentially Crazy Person #64 :

"I'm going to try to write a novel next month."

I realize that this confession, maybe more than any other one, conceivably calls for the removal of the adverb "potentially." Anywho, check out my nifty web badge!


I'm going to anticipate the FAQs concerning this post, and answer them now:

1. Why do something so time-consuming when you have guests coming in for the week of Thanksgiving, Thanksgiving, and the release of Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows all in one month?

I got nothin'. Next question.

2. Why do this at all? It seems like a pointless exercise.

I agree. Doing NaNoWriMo for the sake of writing a novel that will, in all likelihood, turn out to be disastrous and never come to anything seems like a pointless exercise. Here's why it's not:

A) For a writer, even a novice, writing of any kind is equivalent to the hours of focused rehearsal a musician puts in to be excellent in her craft.

B) This novel has been simmering in my brain for almost 2 years. It has a decent shot at being slightly better than disastrous.

C) I have new ideas that will take me in new directions that have come to me now, just in time for NaNoWriMo. NaNoWriMo will help me get them out.

D) NaNoWriMo is a speed writing contest. I'm not good at speed writing because I absolutely cannot write without editing as I go. A 30 day time limit and a 50,000 word deadline hanging over my head should prove effective in breaking old and very bad habits. Besides, no novel was ever good in its first draft, regardless of how much editing the writer did as she went along. I must keep telling myself this.

E) Whatever happens, I will have made impressive strides in getting my novel written. No one can read the story in my head. I have to get it down on paper. NaNoWriMo will at least help me begin, kick my feathered keister out of the nest, if you will.

3. Do you plan to have a life at all outside of writing?

Absolutely. Some of you may be concerned about the amount of sleep I'll get or the laundry I'll be able to do, but I have a really good plan, which in all honesty, may or may not work. The plan is to put myself on a schedule, something my routine-oriented self really needs to do anyway. There will be time on that schedule for my time with God, housework, exercise, focused time with Micah and Brandon, my work schedule, the dinner/bath/bed routine and writing. Does that set me up for a sure and successful cross of the 50,000 word finish line? Probably not. And I'm okay with that. Really. I hereby publicly acknowledge that I have higher priorities than to write a novel inside of a month!!! But man, oh man, am I going to try!

Here's the thing--I'm crying out for a regular routine. I'm crying out for a goal, a finish line . . . even one that I may not cross. I'm crying out to get all of these jumbled ideas in my head out of my head and onto paper before the characters that are stewing around in there get angry and launch a nuclear rebellion in my brain. I'm not crazy, really. Just creative. All things born in the brain must be birthed at some point, or things get really messy in there. Can I get a witness? No?

I have nothing to prove to you. I have nothing to prove to myself, even. I just want to write, and to have a legitimate, albeit ridiculous, deadline. So, good or bad (and let's be honest--it'll be bad), win or lose, succeed or fail, I begin in 4 days.

Wish me luck!

For more information regarding NaNoWriMo or the NaNoWriMo organization, visit their website at www.nanowrimo.org.

I'm Not Dead

Well, I may be brain dead. I've been walking around like a zombie for the past few weeks. I'm getting more sleep than I had been, but the mind just isn't what it used to be. That makes me sound 80. Let me explain. I never used to forget things. If there was the slightest chance I would, it didn't matter because I at least remembered to write everything down--to-do lists, a calender of events, shopping lists, etc. I'm a listy kind of girl. If something was lost, I knew where it was. If something was important, it never was lost. No longer is this the case.I now lose my lists. My information retrieve was impressive, as was my overall intellectual prowess. A few months ago, I didn't make grammar mistakes. I just didn't. I read all the time. Now, I'm lucky to read a couple of pages a day.

This week alone I left my purse in two public locations. God is good because it should have been stolen at the first location. I failed to pack my diaper bag appropriately twice. In a letter to friends, I wrote "know" in the place of "no," and "to" in the place of "too." That is very out of character. Or it was. Brandon thinks I have early on-set Alzheimer's or dementia or a brain tumor, and he worries that I should be doing crossword puzzles and sudoku instead of spending every waking moment mothering. He called my mom the other night voicing his worries to her. She assured him that my disease is common and the only treatment is the passage of time. She also assured him that crossword puzzles wouldn't help.

Nine months ago today, my life changed. And mostly for the better. However, there are negative side effects to being a mother, especially if the mother has a lot of other responsibilities, and honestly, what mother doesn't? I am a growing follower of Jesus, a motivated, but imperfect wife, a increasingly clever cook, a launderer and maid, a voice student, a chorus member, an enthusiastic music teacher, an untalented accompanist, secretary, book keeper, a Sunday School teacher, daughter, sister, friend. And I want to be a writer too. My novel hasn't made much progress because my muse refuses to return unless the apparent void between my ears is replaced with firing synapses. I need to clear out my hat closet, but which ones to throw out? As I sigh over the uselessness of my brain, I am also sighing at the speed of Micah's growth and development. Each day, he is able to more than the day previous. Fortunately, he just became mobile and he's not very fast yet. Just wait, Brain. Your entire capacity will be spent figuring out how to keep Micah from electrocuting and pulling chairs and tables on top of himself.

Check out Micah's new feats below. It's hilarious and well worth the time.

Things I Love In No Particular Order


Being greeted by a toothless, grinning, red-headed baby boy every morning (I will miss it when any one of these adjectives change.)

The sound a hardback book makes when you open it for the first time

The smell of ink on paper (of any age--new is my favorite)

Reading and studying the Bible with no time pressures

The tingle of warm sunshine on my skin, and the way it lasts even after I go back inside

Music

The scents of Fall--spices, dank earth, hints of wood smoke in the air

The weight and feel of a book in my hands (What? I like books.)

Halloween

New school supplies

Daisy, my rat terrier

Chocolate

A strong cup of Community Coffee with a dash of Hershey's Chocolate Caramel creamer by International Delight

Holding a sleeping baby

Being able to eat a gluten-free doughnut every morning without getting fat (This will change when I stop breastfeeding.)

Writing

The rush of adrenaline during exciting books (If you have no idea what I'm talking about, check out The Hunger Games by Suzanne Collins, a book I want to help make the New York Times bestseller list. Then, read her sequel Catching Fire.)

The feel of my husband's strong, welcoming arms and firm chest after a hard day; his smell

Teaching whatever; a student's success

Alliteration

Listening to my Aunt Mary tell stories about her childhood

Performing on stage

My church

Making new friends; visiting old ones

Talking to Mom in person or over the phone

Exchanging dry humor with my dad

Finding common ground with my sister

Reminiscing good times

My friends and family

Grace, Redemption, Mercy

The Lord Jesus Christ

Growing old with the love of my life. Happy birthday, Brandon.

Thanks, Solution, and Answer

Thanks for responding, guys! Between FB, the comments here, and people talking to me in person, about 15 of you read fairly regularly. That's actually more than I thought! Yay! Okay, no more narcissism than necessary from now on. Haha!

Okay, here's what I'm thinking with the post about my students . . . I will ask their permission to put pictures on here of a performance we have coming up fairly soon, and I will blog about that. If they respond well, and don't seem too freaked out, I may request to do another post that talks about them more personally (with code names, of course) at a later date.

Finally, I talked to Brandon about posting my first chapter. Apparently, he thinks it's pretty good because he is concerned about it not being copyrighted. So, here is what I will do . . . if you don't think I have your email address, please send me something from your email address, and I will reply with the first chapter. My email is keastemom@live.com. (No "r" in "keaster.") Please allow me to trouble you with a couple of quick guidelines for the critiquing the chapter--

1) I need to know how quickly you become interested. Give me an estimation of how far in you are when that happens.

2) Do you like the main character? Try not to look at her as me. I'm not sure whether her name will stay "Melissa" or if I will change it. As this book is based largely on biographical events, the character is more easily accessible with my name for now. That may change later, and the character may take a new direction that is very NOT me.

3) Do you empathize at all with any of the characters? Which ones? How so?

4) Do you feel that clear themes are being established?

5) Is anything confusing? Does anything need further explanation?

6) When you are finished, do you care to read more?

7) Feel free to add any additional comments.

Here are some don'ts:

1) Don't spare my feelings. I really need to know the answers to the questions above.

2) Unless you see a blatant error, don't worry about correcting my grammar or spelling. This is a rough draft, and I know it. Now you know it. However, if something is completely off, feel free to tell me. I just don't need to know every single comma mistake.

3)Please don't feel like you have to keep reading if you hate it.

I'm glad that you are all so interested. I hope you enjoy it, and that you view it as time well spent. Thanks!

A Question, An Idea and A Consideration

Question--Who reads this thing anyway? Will you leave your name and location in the comment section? This thing's aimed mainly at friends and family, but I'm curious if anyone who doesn't know me is reading. I know it's narcissistic to ask, but really--everything about a blog is narcissistic.

Idea--I want to post something about my piano students in a few weeks, but I'll have to ask their permission. Then they'll want to read my blog. Then I'll have to be careful about some of the things I post. Is it worth it? They are so interesting as a group, and so unique as individuals. It would make a great post . . . I think.

Consideration--I'm considering posting the first chapter of my novel. My purpose would be to see if it interests anyone other than my family or even people who don't know me and my family (if there are even any readers who don't know me). I would like to know if it grabs you from the beginning, if you want to read more when you're done. The first chapter of a book is pretty important as it has to set the tone, interest the reader and establish some themes. If you readers think it's a good idea to post a rough draft of the chapter, let me know. If not, tell me that. If you don't think it's a good idea to post it where anyone and his or her mother can read it and steal it if they wish, give me your email address, and I'll email you. (It occurs to me that the previous sentence could possibly be a run-on. It felt like one, anyway.

Comments, please! (If you have difficulty posting to my blog, you can contact me on Facebook under the name "Melissa Chapman Keaster.")

The Waiting Place


"The Waiting Place . . . for people just waiting.
Waiting for a train to go
or a bus to come, or a plane to go
or the mail to come, or the rain to go
or the phone to ring, or the snow to snow
or waiting around for a Yes or No
or waiting for their hair to grow.
Everyone is just waiting.

Waiting for the fish to bite
or waiting for wind to fly a kite
or waiting around for Friday night
or waiting, perhaps, for their Uncle Jake
or a pot to boil, or a Better Break
or a string of pearls, or a pair of pants
or a wig with curls, or Another Chance.
Everyone is just waiting."

-Dr. Suess, Oh, The Places You'll Go

Like 80% or better of the world's population, I relate to several specific points in this passage. I wait for many things, but I do not presently feel any pressure to be impatient about most of what I wait for--a slightly larger house, a life-change for a family member, a successful career (whatever it may be). That could change tomorrow because I am human and by nature, not really very patient. However, there are two things I feel a bit antsy in my pantsies about--SLEEP and progress with my novel.

Sleep is of primary importance. After six months of not sleeping through even one entire night, I'm feeling a little worn down. I takes me at least five seconds to process and respond to simple questions such as "How old will your husband be this year?" and "What is your phone number?" and "What is your first name?" My feet are dragging, and I am late for everything regardless of when I get up. I just can't move with speed anymore. My lack of sleep has also made me delusional. Last Saturday, I was on my way to a birthday party in Ruston, when I decided I would find a shorter route to my destination by taking a road I had never even been on, much less driven. If I had been in my well-rested, right mind, I never would have attempted this because I have been known to get lost driving home. Anyway, I finally called for help when I realized I was over halfway to Homer, Louisiana. With the combined efforts of my husband, the On-Star emergency service (whom I accidentally called) and the On-Star navigation personnel, I found my way back to the interstate, and arrived an hour late for the birthday party. Lack of sleep is also making me mean. I'm really a kind, loving wife, but I've become snappy and short and a little bit contentious. Poor Brandon. Thankfully, my mom stayed last night to give me a reprieve from what I've begun referring to as "six-a-nights," which I imagine are almost as bad as "two-a-days" for football players. Micah wakes up to six times a night to have the pacifier put back in his mouth or to be comforted. The poor little guy is gassy and teething, and having a very hard time. I feel better today, and am looking forward to mom taking "six-a-night" duty next weekend, which leads to the next thing I'm waiting for.

I knew when I began writing my book a few weeks ago that it would be slow because I have a four-month-old son, but I wasn't yet anticipating the looming challenges of teething and general gassyness. As opposed to my baby two months ago, I now have a baby who needs lots of attention during the day and is too uncomfortable to sleep through the night. When I actually DO sit down to write, the creative part of my brain refuses to work. It just sits there, stagnant and pouting and feeling sorry for itself because it also has to get up six times a night and work hard throughout the day to come up with various ideas to get my son's mind off of his inflamed little gums. Moreover, my book is set in a real location that I will be visiting this weekend. I feel that I need to let this place speak to me, tell me its story before I can move on. I'm bringing reinforcements (Brandon and Grandma) to help with Micah so the place will have its chance to say all it needs to say. So this week, I'm in the Suessian Waiting Place with my novel, just waiting. And I am really hoping to get enough rest this week so the creative part of my brain will be alert enough to interpret all that it will hear this weekend. I'm not expecting the floodgates to magically open after this visit because when I leave, I will still have a beautiful baby boy who is my primary responsibility. However, I do believe that I will see the shape of the story I want to tell. Maybe with a little of this coming sleep I've been repeatedly promised by moms who have been doing this thing much longer than me, I will begin to witness that beautiful and illusive thing "they" call progress. In the meantime, I will enjoy the most beautiful thing in my life, the one I waited for almost five years.



Oh, the places you'll go, my little one. Just don't go there too fast.

Copyright 2017 Melissa Keaster ∣ Phoenix61 Publications