The Gift

“Jordan, please don’t kick the box.” I stifled a sigh of exasperation as I said the words, irritated at having to remind the little boy yet again that the noise was a distraction.

It was the last rehearsal before the annual Christmas play, put on by the children of our church for as many years as I could remember. This year, I’d volunteered to direct the presentation. I’d done it in Christmas’ past, but enough time had gone by to allow my memory to lapse and make me forget what a trial it could be working with small children. Still, I was beginning to feel the pressure of corralling twenty kids and make them appear as little angels for their parents.

“Can someone sit by Jordan and make sure he behaves?” I tried not to let the words appear harsh, but with only fifteen minutes to go before the presentation, I was more than a little stressed.

“I’ll do it,” a volunteer said.

Breathing a sigh of relief, I turned my attention to the soloists. Forty-five minutes later, the production over and the applause given, I felt a tug on my bright red Christmas sweater.

“Miss Lisa—”

“I’m sorry, Jordan. Can you hang on for just one minute? I’ve got to give the invitation cards to Pastor. I’ll be right back, okay sweetie?” I rushed to catch up with our Pastor who was headed toward his office.

“It went well, Lisa. Thanks for all your hard work,” Pastor said.

We chatted for a moment, excited over the positive response the musical received. Afterward, several people caught me in the hall, and parents stopped to exclaim over how much they enjoyed the play. Several held up camcorders and promised to make me copies. In the excitement, I forgot all about Jordan. That is, until the volunteer who kindly sat beside Jordan to keep him from kicking the box he sat on walked up. With a kind look, she held out a ragged red bag that had probably seen several Christmas seasons.

“Here you go,” she said. “It’s from Jordan. His grandmother had to pick him early, so he couldn’t stay for the party. She said to tell you thank you.”

I took the bag, fingers trembling at my thoughtlessness. Jordan didn’t have parents, at least none that I knew of. He lived with a grandmother and a handful of cousins in a tiny little house on the outskirts of town. How could this sweet woman possibly have afforded a Christmas present?

But the gift wasn’t from Jordan’s grandmother. It was from Jordan. Inside was candle, half burned, with a crack on the side. Next to it was a card, written in Jordan’s childish script.

“Miss Lisa, thank you for doing our play. I like to hear you sing.”

Tears flooded my eyes. In all of the uproar, Jordan alone actually stopped to hear the music.

Now as you’ve probably guessed, Jordan is not his real name. I’ve changed it protect his identity. But the thoughtfulness of this one small child is real, and so is the change that his precious gift wrought upon my heart. Jordan’s candle sits on my desk, serving as a symbol of how much I have to be thankful for, but also to remind me that my Heavenly Father’s gift is something to be shared not only at Christmas, but all the year through.

Thank you, Jordan. I will always treasure your gift.

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Plotting Through the Holidays

It all started innocently enough…our music director asked if I could direct the children’s Christmas play.

“Sure,” I said. “No problem.”

After all, it wasn’t like I had a million things to do this year. I’d learned to say no over the past twelve months, turning down committees and paring down my responsibilities until I felt confident that Christmas, 2006 would be an entirely different experience from years past.

Until…

Suddenly, obligations started flying out of the woodwork. A teacher who’d asked me to sub for him when needed suddenly…needed. A lot. The adult choir decided to put on a Christmas spectacular and I was given a solo. A dear friend thought it might be nice to have a holiday concert complete with musical acts and quartets and she asked me to open. Not to mention the parties—one at work; two, no, three, at church; my husband’s company Christmas…the list goes on.

Like a novel unfolding, the conflict rose. What happened to all that writing time I thought for sure I’d be enjoying? Where did all those extra hours I’d counted on having in order to meet my personal deadlines go? And WHERE does one go about finding a low priced IPod for their child??

Needless to say, I needed to get organized, quick. So I started plotting…er…scheduling each day, giving myself just enough time to do those last minute edits and still get some writing of my own done. Rather than let my writing time fall to the bottom of my to-do list, I moved it near the top and cut out a few of the extras, like canceling that Christmas special I’d planned to watch and stringing a few less lights on the eaves of my house. We’ll probably order pizza more often this month, but I figure the time I save staying out of the kitchen will be well worth it come January when I’ve added several chapters to my wip. Thankfully, I have an understanding husband and kids who love pizza. And we can all be a little merrier, knowing I won’t be playing catch-up over the holidays.

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Learning to Research

I read an interesting article the other day. The author sprinkled in bits of humor that made it fun to read. Except…they cited a stretch of highway on IH10 from Port Charles, Louisiana to Beaumont, Texas.

Um…Port Charles is the fictional town from General Hospital.

Living fairly close to the area the author described, I knew the name of the city is actually Lake Charles. While it didn’t make me dislike the author, it did pull me from an otherwise captivating story.

Another example: I read a wonderful book last month. The characters were funny, the setting vivid. Except…the heroine drove a silver Beamer. Now, BMW aficionados will quickly inform you that the correct spelling is Bimmer and the pronunciation is German.

I know, I know. These are petty examples, and yet…the editor in me was a little irritated that two such easily verified facts were overlooked. Suddenly, the author’s credibility was questionable. What else wasn’t right?

New authors, especially, make the mistake of thinking that only writers of historical fiction need to research what they write. Nothing could be further from the truth. Readers are smart. They want to believe you know what you’re talking about, and they trust that you do—until you don’t. After that, it’s very difficult to win that reader back, which makes getting it right the first time doubly important.

There are different means to accomplishing this. Some writers stop what they’re doing and conduct the research immediately. I like to highlight the information I’m questionable about. That way I’m sure to catch it later, but I can still continue writing without interruption. Either way you can be certain of one thing. Readers want truth and accuracy, even if it is all fiction.

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Giving Thanks

I heard several messages on giving thanks this holiday season. One phrase in particular stuck out in my mind.

“Practice Thanks-living,” our preacher said, and followed it with the story of a ten lepers whom Jesus cleansed. Only one came back to say thanks.

It would be so easy to think of all the things that didn’t happen in 2006. I didn’t get to spend Mother’s Day with my husband’s mom who died three years ago of cancer. I didn’t get a fancy dinner for my 19th wedding anniversary because my husband and I went to a basketball game to watch my son play at home in our school’s brand new gym. Thanksgiving, we stayed home because all of our family still lives in Michigan and we live in Texas.

But that’s not what I want to focus on. I want to focus on the good things of 2006. I want to be like that one leper who realized what a precious gift Jesus gave him, and was moved to seek out the One who healed him.

I will always remember 2006 as the year I received my first contract, but really, it was so much more. Our first born son became a senior in high school, and our baby girl became a freshman. Thanksgiving with just the four of us became almost bittersweet as we realized that, perhaps for the last time, we were all together. Instead of mourning my mother-in-law’s passing on Mother’s Day, I celebrated my happy memories of her. And on my anniversary, I gave thanks that my husband sat beside me, loving me, holding my hand as we watched our son play.

I have so much to be thankful for. Whether or not I actually give thanks depends on my perspective, I suppose, and whether or not I’m like the one. . .or the nine.

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Marketing 101

I didn’t know when I set out to be a writer, how many other things I would be called upon to do.

Since the sale of my first book, I’ve had to learn how to set up my own website. MY OWN WEBSITE! If I’d been told a year ago that I would know how to do that, I would have laughed. This techie geek wannabe has lofty ambitions but very little talent (g). Still, I knew I’d have to tackle that obstacle if I wanted to market my books effectively. But money was a problem. While I would have loved to just pay someone to build me a website, waiting for that would have meant delaying several years. So, with the help of a crit partner who pointed me in the right direction, I set off to do the impossible. Now, making changes to my site has become second nature. Even…gulp…easy. Never would I have dreamed I’d say that.

Once I’d conquered that beast, I thought I’d take another step and start an online web log…a blog if you will. More to learn. More to study.

I’m not as comfortable writing my own html mind you, but I’m learning. Even my kids are proud. When I showed the new blog to my son, he laughed and said, “Mom, one of these days you’re going to call me over and say, ‘Look, son. I’ve broken into the White House computer.’”

LOL!

While that may be a while off, it was still fun to hear. It made me feel like I really was part of the computer savvy generation. But having said that, is it really all that important for a first time author?

I think so. Never let anyone tell you that the work is over once you’ve sold a book. Much as we’d all like to think so, no one will market that book for you. It falls to each of us to get our names out to the public, to “sell” ourselves so to speak.

On top of my website and blog, I’ve also learned how to make book marks and business cards. I’ll post the instructions on the Writer’s Resources of my website if you’re interested. I also bought a high quality color printer so I can print postcards when my book cover comes out, and I’m leaning toward creating a monthly newsletter. Sound like a lot of work? It is…but so is the life a writer. Deciding if it’s what you want is up to you.

Oh, and btw, I have no ambitions of breaking into the White House computer. . .

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The Phone Call by Sandra Robbins

Every writer who’s ever submitted a proposal to an editor knows the feeling of elation you experience once your masterpiece leaves you and makes its way into the world. Often, though, the initial thrill at having crafted what you believe to be the story of the century turns to distress as days turn into weeks without any response. Finally resignation takes hold as you envision your carefully crafted work of art sitting in a slush pile, its pages beginning to crack with age.

So it was with me on a day in April, 2006. At the time I was principal of an elementary school in Tennessee. The last thing on my mind that morning was my proposal that had been in to Barbour for two months. Discipline problems, teacher evaluations, and a phone system that wasn’t working properly topped my list of priorities for the day.

With all the problems of the morning, I hadn’t even had time to check e mail. Annoyed with the phone situation, I took my cell phone, which always stayed turned off at work, from my purse and placed it on my desk just in case I needed to make a call.

Right before lunch it rang. I checked the caller ID. An area code I didn’t recognize flashed on the screen. When I answered, I nearly jumped from my chair as the caller identified herself as Susan Downs of Barbour Publishing.

It was THE CALL I’d been waiting for, and all I could do was squeal with happiness as she told me she wanted my novel Pedigreed Bloodlines for the new Barbour mystery line. Although my agent later told me he didn’t hear my scream, I’m sure it echoed all across the country.

I’ve thought about that day a lot in the months since. No matter how many books I sell, that one call will always stand out as the most exciting of my writing career. Finally someone believed in me and offered me a chance to move into the next stage of publication.

After I hung up, I thanked God for the opportunity I’d been given. Then another thought struck me – one which caused me to stand in awe of God’s great love. Even when we don’t realize it, He’s walking beside us, taking care of problems of which we’re unaware.

When I checked my e mail, Susan had sent a message saying, “Do you have time to chat with me? Call me.” She’d listed her phone number, but I hadn’t seen it.

She didn’t have my office phone and couldn’t have reached me on it because it was not working properly that day, so she called a crit partner of mine in Texas to get my cell phone number. I know God guided me to take that cell phone from my purse and turn it on that morning.
He already knew what was in store for me and worked out the little problems that would have delayed my news. Understanding God’s love and how he works in our lives is what keeps me writing. It is my prayer that His words will fill the pages of my stories as I try to tell others of that great love He offers to all people.

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One, Two, I'll Crit for You

I heard an interesting bit of information at the writer’s conference I attended this year—stories of authors who received upwards of twenty pages of edits from their publisher. Single spaced edits. Sometimes with major revisions requested.

Now, mind you, these are multi-published authors, with years of writing experience behind them.

(Shudder) All of sudden, I was very grateful for my critique partners. I belong to two groups, both of them very helpful to me in picking out errors I have overlooked, but also in pinpointing areas of weakness, sections of story that require strengthening, or reworking. See, as authors, we get very close to our work.

“It’s like my baby,” I’ve heard it said, and I know exactly what the person meant.

Our characters become real people. We breathe life into them through our writing, fashioning and shaping their destinies with one stroke of the finger. While this is what we strive for, it also makes it very difficult for us to be objective judges of our own work. Crit partners are invaluable tools, cutting and strengthening without regard for the hours spent molding a scene, simply because in their objective wisdom, they see what needs to be done.

I haven’t got my first edits back from my editor yet, but I know they’re coming. I’m hoping for fewer than twenty pages—not because I’m afraid of the work, but because I hope that I’ve been diligent in presenting a clean manuscript. You see, it is NOT my editor’s responsibility to polish my manuscript for me—that’s my job, which hopefully I’ve accomplished with the help of my crit partners. Does that mean I haven’t done my part if my edits come back and there ARE twenty pages of suggested revisions? I don’t think so. But it does mean I’ve got something to shoot for, something more to learn.

I’m hoping that one day, I’ll get a manuscript back and my editor will say, “There wasn’t one thing I thought you should change. It was perfect, just the way it is.”

Hey, a girl can dream.

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