what we can do

120,000 dead with the numbers still rising. it's incomprehensible.

i'm working on a longer note, newsletter, photos and website update to tell more about roshini and caleb -- great people i got to know at litt-world in the philippines. they both live in sri lanka, in separate cities. here is a glimpse of notes on their welfare:

FROM ROSHINI
"I and my family are ok, but there is so much death and destruction around us in the coastal areas. My home town was not affected, but water rose outside our office, but did not come in to the building. I was there with two colleagues, rescuing important documents etc.. and we had to run....

The sheer magnitude of the disaster and human suffering are beyond words.... My office is involved in relief operations and we are working round the clock. Please pray for us and the many thousands of victims."

FROM CALEB:
"We collect things and helps and given to those people. Even today I am going to the north with some people taking things to distribute to them. In north at one church when they were having worship service on sunday with 48 people, all were washed out with the water and all died. And one of the pastor's family, there were 10 members died. Like this there are so many stories. Please pray."


FROM National Christian Evangelical Alliance of Sri Lanka (Roshini works here)
Everyday, we receive desperate requests for help and assistance; the needs are overwhelming. We are in need of US$300,000 for initial relief efforts.

Due to the severity and the urgency of the need, we appeal that you respond within 24 hours.

Contact details for pledges or queries -
Phone – 94 -11-5511381 / 2 , 94-11-5511358 / 9
Mobile phone – 94 - 777-302699 or 94 -777-255469

E-mail – easl@systec.lk or efa@stmail.lk

Fax – 94-11-271823

Mailing address – NCEASL, No. 24, Ebenezer Place, Dehiwela, Sri Lanka.

Cindy here again.
it takes a bit longer to mail money, but take the time please! consider doing a quick online donation to a larger organization and also to the one above.

other places to donate. it's something we can do, doesn't feel enough i know, but something.

www.worldvision.org
www.worldrelief.org
www.unicef.com
www.savethechildren.com
www.doctorswithoutborders.com
http://www.donate.ifrc.org/ (red cross)
http://www.cnn.com/2004/WORLD/asiapcf/12/28/tsunami.aidsites/ (CNN website with lots of places to donate to)

hello, hello

gee, it's been over a month. thank you to those who checked in, or who emailed asking where i'd gone. that meant a lot.

there seems times you turn a corner in life. whether willingly or not. i've been feeling at the end of some things both inner and outwardly for a while. and suddenly, the end is ending and i'm turning toward new things.

i'm being vague in some ways. but maybe you understand. maybe you experience it too. i think we all do if we stop and recognize the patterns. like seasons and the passages of time.

in writing -- i've been exploring different things and making progress on those works in progress, but also time and holidays demand so much more. as with many writers, what always gets cheated is the writing time. please, you writers out there, catch me up. and if you aren't a writer, catch me up too.

many reasons for this last month's disappearance. usually when i ride a roller coaster, i like to put my hands up and scream with joy. but some roller coasters just don't let you do it -- you have to hold on cause there's no trusting that you'll make it to the end. life's been a bit like for a while -- sometimes the hands are up and other times they're clinging for survival.

another part, well, i didn't want to write and be a downer to anyone with holiday spirit. so stop reading if you're really happy about christmas. but for those of you who aren't, though i've tried for a month, i'm not in the christmas spirit. i'm going shopping tomorrow, don't want to, even resent it, sorry to say. i asked myself, what kind of person doesn't like christmas? that person seems to be me this year. once i was that person who baked and decorated with great joy -- i seem to recall her in my past. christmas was once the favorite holiday, now thanksgiving and my birthday win that race (yes, my birthday actually IS a holiday -- lincoln's birthday so there!).

now, i've had great christmas "moments" during different parties, time with the kids, school productions and such. but nothing of the true "spirit." will attend midnight mass for the second year, a new something for me even though i'm not catholic. something about it was beautiful to me. all those people gathered together, the singing and oneness of spirit -- usually i'm alone in the house stuffing stockings to help out santa clause. he does need some help you know. we might read the story of christ's birth on christmas and do christian-y things during the month (okay, not so much this year). but mass was so different and inviting to me. the idea that all over the world, it's happening, at midnight in the different time zones, thousands and thousands of people gather together in expectation. maybe that's what i'm missing in my christmas spirit, the expectation, the wonder, the worship. i'm just irriated at the lines, the several gifts i forgot to buy, the cost of it all, the weariness it brings, the pressure, the lost writing time (i will again admit), and the truth that so much of it IS the gifts -- maybe too hearing about christmas around the world from my litt-world friends where it's MUCH less commercial.

anyway, i wanted to say hello, hello. and though i'm turning some corners or mixing metaphors with roller coasters, i do so wish each of you god's grace and peace this week. especially on christmas.

my love to each of you.

in between

it's been nearly a week home and my body still believes itself in the philippines. i'm wide awake in the night and sluggish most of the day. it's not the only way i'm struggling, just the most physical. it's like i arrived home with a plane load of souvenirs and yet, where do they fit here? how much was for the week there and for us alone, and then how much should come back and extend outward? such questions to consider and already many wider visions to step toward.

but on the threshold of the end of something and possibilities of other things, there's always that pause. a little melancholy, a touch bittersweet, some wandering around the house while everyone sleeps, looking, seeking, thanking, smiling, a tear or two or three, and taking a deep full breath of life, pure grace-filled life. a pause is all. but you need it at times.

can't say enough how i loved the surprising peace and joy there (was thinking it was the prayers alone but nieldon said it's also being in the philippines -- guess where he lives?), loved the people who attended litt-world (their faces are before me now), and the places i saw. there are places in europe that have become such a part of me, maybe a new curve in a fingerprint and now the philippines are too. i never expected it, not to such an extent.

it's fully autumn here, a great welcome home gift. my favorite season and i truly don't think i've seen a more beautiful cottonwood autumn. home. it's good to miss and be missed. yet, there are pieces left across a great wide ocean. i wonder, if you leave pieces of yourself all over, do you become less of yourself or are they instead replaced with something new and thus more of who you might be. regardless, i have exceeding gratitude for this journey. and i think someone might save those lost pieces for me even as they're replaced.

more to say, much more, but i'm a little dreamy about it all still. here and there, or standing in between, a satchel full of images, the never-ceasing wonder of love, all of it...truly tiny glimpses of eternity.

thursday here, wednesday there

last night, our litt-world group send the sun down your way. we stood on the store of the south china sea and watched the huge orange ball fall into the water, a dramatic display, everyone gathered on the beach, cameras clicking away, mork from kenya trying to get a photo that looked like he held the sun in his hands and all of us trying to get photos of them getting the photo. very fun. we applauded the dramatic display and i said goodbye to the sun and asked it to carry my greetings to you in the west.

it was fun day at batanga bay. a group of seven of us took an hour boat ride along the coast in a narrow wooden boat (sat two by two with pratibha my new friend from nepal getting the bow) with bamboo pontoons (something primitive looking but quite workable). it was relaxing and fun, and cost $7 for all of us (no, not each). the food was great or interesting, all locale cuisines (i keep trying things, and mostly like them, but at least i try). learned a filipino game and laughed hysterically watching my fellow conferees play as children. after a beautiful dinner and cultural dance program, it was more game time for the group. we've all laughed so much and definitely become more like children as the days have progressed.

today is our last day together. we have another full schedule with a celebration dinner today. in the morning it will be goodbye and then some of us depart, others (like me) will tour OMF publishers and then shopping in manila. that group will stay overnight in manila, then we have different tours on saturday. i'm taking the city tour before flying home late saturday night. so our paths are parting soon. it will be a sad farewell as it's incredible the instant love and friendship we've developed. but then of course, home calls so strongly, i miss it dearly and hope somehow to carry back all that's been given to me by these amazing people.

in the days ahead i'll be profiling different people that i've met. so in that way you'll meet them too. for now, think of them you do not yet know, pray for them too. and pray for all our safe journeys to our homes, our little dots on the map of the world.

off to my final day of workshops.
mabuhay!

litt-world day 3

so where to begin? i'm too exhausted to say much really, and so full of stories i'm afraid to start for they'll come bursting out all over the place.

feels later than 10PM, but the day begins early (i keep waking at 4AM). my pacific time family and friends might be awakening right now at 6AM. good morning to you as we're in the same day for some hours.

what is happening in the world. i could tell you a hundred stories just from this gathering at littworld. 31 countries are represented -- some have thriving lives and christian publishing houses. others endure incredible persecution, they will return not to the image of america and freedom, they leave this safe conference center for a home surrounded in violence, unrest, persecution, insecurities. and don't you know it, they're the ones with the most peace in their eyes. i'll write about some of the individuals in the days ahead.

philip yancey spoke something great last night, but okay sorry now, my brain is in lockdown. i didn't think i'd actually meet him. there are about 140 of us here, but he always had people around. then after our group photo, i turned around and there he was. amazing to talk to someone who wrote something that might have saved your faith. how do you even say that after smiling for a camera shot? more on his great talk from last night when the brain comes back.

we're going to a beach resort tomorrow, hanging out and spending time together (after teaching 2 workshops and holding 2 consultation times, and the above hint, i think some resorting will be mighty fine). but can't tell you how i marvel constantly at the mix of us. new friends in nepal, kenya, albania, cameroon, among many others. constant surrealism. how quickly we love one another. earlier i returned to my room for a 5 minute break, fell on my bed, and thought, "what a great gift that john maust gave me by inviting me here. not just inspiring, even life-changing doesn't feel enough." already things are happening beyond. an idea -- my writers group connecting with one in kenya, maybe the one in ghana, maybe more and more, a network or something. such little things, a tiny seed here, it will grow.

also, i must mention, the filipino people are such wonderful, intelligent people, i've so enjoyed getting to know many. my small view on the taxi ride in was not the better part of the country, it'll be good to see more in the coming days. also never had such kindness among a staff either. they greet, "hello, ms. cindy." "good morning, ms. cindy." i was called a "delegate" when arriving -- made me laugh.

some months ago, i expressed my somewhat bitter struggle with christian "products" in the states after cba. these few days have restored something, a greater vision perhaps. a hope when i didn't know such hope was lacking. a strength though i did know of my weakness.

be of good cheer out there. the world is filled with dots of light, they are sometimes competely surrounded by darkness, and yet they shine and shine on. may we also.
love to you who i know and do not know. and to you. and especially to you.

from tagaytay city

it's sunday morning in the philippines, saturday evening in california.

i'm here! survived the flights (weren't nearly as bad as a 17 hour flight sounds) and was thrilled to find that person holding the sign with my name after customs and immigration and traveling more than 20 hours. then found a tyndale editor i know (it just so "happened" he came in on the LA flight that arrived at the same time), so we shared the taxi up from manila to tagaytay city. what a relief that was, and what an experience driving on up. i love driving, like a bit of a thrill, but i'd never ever drive here. i don't believe drivers or pedestrians follow any rules. at stoplights, vendors wander through the traffic with things for sale, also children come and tap at the windows asking for money (that was heartbreaking, a boy about nine stayed at my window saying, "Mama, please Mama." The taxi driver said sternly, "Never open the windows" but it was hard not to, very hard.) we were in the midst of mass traffic, horns honking, these chrome covered vehicles (a cross between a jeep and VW bus perhaps) that are a form of public transportation (i wanna ride in one), you can see the people from the open door in back. the drivers take great pride in decorating the entire thing -- called a jeepney (sp?).

the filippino people have been extremely friendly and kind. a couple on the plane wanted to adopt me, i think. the elderly woman kept telling me how to carry my purse, that i should carry my money in my bra and such. she's say, "come now, follow me." later when she found out how old i was, she chuckled and said she thought i was young and single. i loved her all the more.

it's a different world here, fascinating really, but completely different. more on that later. it's a tropical climate and landscape even up here at the top of this mountain. it smells of rich soil, flowers, a musty kind of mix between salt and mold perhaps, i guess "rich" would be the word. i hear tropical birds, motorcycles and rumbling car engines from the road outside the conference center, dogs barking, laughter, and from inside the internet cafe here, american music (oldies to current hits - maroon 5 is playing right now).

a few stories so far, and the conference only officially starts today.
--met a woman from cameroon who is a high school and college professor who writes nonfiction for families.

--russian man told about the struggle out of communism. many interesting stories.

==heard about bible smuggling into china, and the christians battle in the middle east.

that's just a small start. i've met people from indonesia, cambodia, india, greece, portugal, costa rica, russia, ghana, england, thailand, vietnam, and some places i'd never heard of before.

we have no idea in the states, none. it's pretty sobering and brings renewed gratitude for the simplest of freedoms.

okay, my morning funny:
roosters -- whichever local rooster spots the first drop of light in the morning sky gets to start the competition. i'm telling you, there must be hundreds who follow that first voice and it's serious business crowing the sun on up. i was already awake with the time change adjustment, and had to laugh at this. in the background it becomes a soft hum of poultry cries, then you hear the more distinct ones. dogs start joining in, then some early basketball players started out to the court. it was nice to hear their laughter and voices though of course i cannot understand them. but then again, you sort of can.

and hair -- it's curly here. my hair is like, oh yeah, we like this humidity. i don't hardly recognize it.

okay, i'm raking up the minutes here. it's 30 pesos every half hour, and as of yet, i have no idea what that means. it's under a dollar though.

thanks for those who've been praying. i've felt extraordinary peace and joy since stepping off the plane. i miss home, appreciate home more than ever, and hope that a little of what i pass on to the conferees here will help as they return to their various locales and work on christian writing and publishing for their cultures. they've already given me more than I can return however.

my love to each of you still in yesterday, i'm in your tomorrow.

leaving on a plane, no train, and an automobile

i leave tomorrow afternoon.

where i'm going: tagaytay city, philippines

what doing: on faculty with Litt-World 2004

painful travel itinerary: fly redding to san fran to honolulu to manila (16 hours air time not counting hours of layovers)then customs, luggage and hopefully a ride to tagaytay city. traveling alone, sort of know a few people once i arrive, so any extra prayers, send on this way. leap of faith. hope to be helpful, yet i mainly want to really hear and gain from those i meet -- i know their stories will change me. okay funny too, couldn't help laugh at the impressive international faculty and then, well, me. some of my very favorite writers will be there, like two of the most influential in my life al janssen (who spoke at a writer's conference about the writer's call -- words that have never left me) and philip yancey!

writers support group: keep writing and put down your goals. mine: edit a novel (or most of it) that i finished two years ago, finish a few books i'm reading, and continue work on current project.

one of my favorite prayers from the book of common prayer:
to you,
"almighty god, i entrust all who are dear to me to your never-failing care and love, for this life and the life to come, knowing that you are doing for them better things that we can desire or pray for, through jesus christ our lord, amen."

hope to blog in from southeast asia next week.

away and writing away

i'm in autumn world here in corvallis, oregon. visiting the ower family. can't wait to watch "motorcycle diaries" at the funky avalon theater tonight (home doesn't have funky theaters that show artsy movies, and this one is supposed to be grand). this morning, the corvallis book babes bookclub had me visit after they read "the salt garden." great time together, thanks gals!

a word about writing and keeping at it, if anyone is at all inclined toward accountability, post your word count here for the previous week. also of possible interest, blogger has made november a novel writing month. you can blog your novel and attempt to finish. it's not for me, but perhaps for you. go to www.blogger.com to get started.

last week for me, nothing to jump up and down, but progress. 4500 words which reached me to a point of printing out all 34,000 words so i can start rearranging things (things as in partial dialogues, bits of scenes, pages of sort of scenes, a one true sentence here and there.... i think i might actually find a book out of this writing experiment which can make me wonder what to do with it then (can't think of that however, no, no, just keep writing -- i will be strong against the fears that are odd and constant companions). so it's printed and with me, though no one knows or would be allowed to look.

i leave for the philippines thursday. will write more about that next week.

well, since i hear people in the other room, off to visit friends. as someone keeps telling me "keep writing" you writers out there. all the rest of you, greetings and go find some autumn somewhere. the perfect season.

writer essential qualities -- can be developed

so, my word count basically stinks this week. i have very valid excuses and would say that I need to be kicked, but I feel a little beaten down. a family friend passed away monday, so that's part of it. must get some words down today. had a great evening with THE laura jensen walker and husband michael last night. and okay, i'm not any sort of homemaker example, so it felt mighty good to hear laura say, "i had no idea you were such a fabulous cook!" golly, gee, shucks. pasta, german wine, fire in the fireplace, writing talk -- a great night.

loved the comments about writer's abstract tools and thought i'd add something new to the mix, some qualities needed to keep on in this wild writing life.

here we go...COURAGE and PERSERVERANCE and EGO (yep, you read it right)

COURAGE -- someone said and this is all misquoted, but something like, "courage isn't a lack of fear, it's having fear but doing what needs to be done anyway." how many of us hear writer's say how fearful and doubtful and insecure they often feel as the blood, oh I mean, words are translated from body to page? and yet, they keep doing it.

how many amazing talents do we know who stay buried or lost because of lack of courage and perserverance?

PERSEVERANCE -- i'm not a patient person. and i'm not one of those people who would survive hypothermia, frostbite, and dehydration. once in a fishing boat on the ocean, i begged by husband to throw me overboard because i was so terribly seasick. i just wanted to sink into cool water and be done with it. and yet in writing, when my face is in the gravel with my hands and legs sprawled out on the ground, i do somehow get up again. and part of the writer's badge of courage is to be patient...it is a life of waiting for things. but, hey, it's not like you have to gut fish for a living, or wear business clothes or a hair net to work....

EGO -- the book, THE FOUNTAINHEAD, gave me a different perspective on egotism. i think we discredit ourselves and our god by false humility, by self-loathing, by continued insecurity. if we have a gift or a calling, this is what we need to do.

here's a thought about publishing. doesn't it seem that a writer pursuing publication is a little egotistical? i mean, you must want acknowledgment, fame, praise and all those ingredients of pride. and yet, wouldn't someone creating a gourmet meal desire someone to eat that meal? wouldn't an architect or a builder desire people to live inside their creation, or as in our local sundial bridge, certainly santiago calatrava desires people to walk across his design and admire the beauty of it?

it is ego. and it should be.

i mentioned this thought to laura and she referred to a madeleine l'engle book that a writer's project is not complete without the reader. the dwellers within the dwelling, i suppose.

maybe part of our creative instinct to know, "and it is good."

there are other writer's qualities surely, but i found these of most interest today. maybe because i need them to get off blogging and back to my work-in-possible-progress.

anyway, are you lacking courage, the strength to keep on keeping on, or an ego otherwise called confidence? they are attainable. seek them. get back up. keep going. have faith. sometimes you pretend a while and then it happens naturally.

writer's abstract tools

"Fiction is about everything human and we are made out of dust, and if you scorn getting yourself dusty, then you shouldn't try to write fiction." Flannery O'Connor, "The Nature and Aim of Fiction"

yesterday i may have been somewhat delusional. but did think more on the writing thoughts. mentioned trust and truth, but then more came along.

yesterday:
TRUST - believe in the story and go along for the journey. like any trust issues, the more you write and understand story, the more you can trust the darkened pathways. you'll have more faith to go down them even when you feel fairly blind.

TRUTH -- the strength to tell the story in all it's complexities.

and the new thought:
DISCERNMENT -- when faced with truth, you must go back over it with a discerning eye. we all withhold truths at times. we should, we must.

would you tell the elderly neighbor who brings you cookies that her cookies taste like dog snacks (and yes, i might know what dog snacks taste like)?

we can all think of a dozen examples where discernment calmed a truth.

in writing, too much truth can drown a reader without discernment. i've read stories like this, and i felt demolished by the end. the story disappeared beneath the terrible events or the character's nature. story should never disappear! i've also read novels where the writer chickened out and didn't stay true to the characters or the story itself. story should never be diluted!

trying to learn discernment is basically impossible. it's all fairly abstract. maybe i need to also add INSTINCT to the mix. instinct helps with each of these and a stronger instinct is attained by reading and reading and more reading, not trash, by reading great fiction.

GRAHAM GREENE is an author who comes to mind with a great balance of truth and discernment in his writing. THE END OF THE AFFAIR and THE POWER AND THE GLORY are two of his fabulous classics that i've read. THE COMEDIANS is waiting.

would love thoughts on this.

october 17

a year ago, there was a plan made for this date that is now today. when that plan became beyond attaining, new plan was evoked. instead it’s just another day on the surface, though finally cool and october-like. cloudy with wind, some rain in the air ready to meet a thirsty earth and a crazy silver lake.

10/17. i’ve been in Europe on this date on three occasions: 1998, 2000, 2003 (i didn't even plan for it, it just turned out that way). wonder if the north east autumns are like the autumns in the austrian lake district of salzkammergut. the alps appear on fire with yellows and reds. i buried something in the mountains there, somewhere beneath the earth of a cliff-side village called hallstatt. (everyone owes it to themselves to visit hallstatt at least once). i wonder how my buried "treasure" is, if it’s survived a winter and the seasons gone round. will it survive the years until someone, perhaps myself, digs it back up and peers inside?

this past week, i wrote 7,000 words on my “writing experiment” called "clockworks." thank you nagging friend and quote on desk. i started "clockworks" over a year and a half ago. never ceases to amaze me how a story will take you on its own journey, develop and change right before you eyes. an inkling, a little glimmer of story, if followed like a dark path in the forest will bring about the most amazing adventures.

trust is first in writing i think. you must trust the story and go along down those paths even if you eventually change course, even if it looks like a dead end.

and then truth. this i struggle with. some truths are hard to tell. you worry about responsibility, reactions, misunderstanding. i'll follow truth for now, then step back and see how honest to be. i mean, don't we do that all the time in life. we have a truth inside but must determine how much of it to expose. truth can be the deadliest weapon.

even with 7,000 words, i wish i’d written more. getting sick pretty much kept me in bed all weekend, and i have very little patience for physical weakness in myself. i should’ve gone to the doctor, still should, but i like home on a cloudy day with the water wild. i have a good book besides, and direct tv has been quite entertaining.

yet a new week begins, i have to keep writing this story. even if it's for my own expression, never shared with someone else. sometimes you have to do that, you know. write or do something because it won't leave you alone, even if you don't know what in the world to do with the result.

and why, i can't say, was i thinking of prozac, cialis, lipitor, viagra, fior...
synthetics to make singular worlds go round. amazing to think all people need today. not that i'm condoning or condemning, just stating my amazement over it. some people need drugs to survive the pain of living. some need secret lives. some need a sense of power or importance or purpose. some need to write or sketch or sing or act. some need a clean house, a secure savings, a dependable car, a bridge to sleep beneath for the night. needs we think essential. and most often what we really need is sufficiently ignored.

i'm tossing things out, left and right. think i need to go back to bed. a blog at your fingertips can be more dangerous than even truth perhaps. or not. all i know is it's october 17. did my plans fail, or where they wrong to be planned. god knows. and it's good to be here today. it's not autumn in the alps. but 10/17 did give me marvelous wind and clouds and rain in the air.

"kick me"

often, some of us need a good kick in a butt.

this weekend, a friend, who shall remain nameless, mocked and nagged and teased for days about my slow writing schedule of late (okay, it's been slow since last april). we laughed about it, i tried to give my excuses (all very valid, truly), but he was relentless.

"planning to write is not writing. outlining a book is not writing. researching is not writing. talking to people about what you’re doing, none of that is writing. writing is writing." e.l. doctorow

nameless friend left quote behind.

so what are things you want in life? if that desire of want is a deep compelling, then you should pursue it. usually, i'd say you MUST pursue it. but so few people do, so the "must" is rather irrelevant.

i ask this of myself and of you, do you want to be an actor simply playing a role all your life? or do you want to live? do you really want to be who you are? do you know who that is? as a great album is titled, are you "more than you think you are." it's very hard to do, you know, following what you should be. very hard at times. the world tries to take it away. but what's the point otherwise.

there are many other essential things in my world and yours. yet, i can make the time to do what i should...for me, that is to write. i can do it. just know that i do wear a sign on my back, "kick me" it says. sometimes, often, i need it. i did write 1500 words sunday. then watched my new direct TV and cleaned house on monday. leaving the blogging world now, i'm kicking myself today. kicking blue.

the writers are coming

i'm excited, excited.
tricia goyer and family arrived sunday.
travis thrasher arrives tomorrow at the little redding airport.
then more writers arrive for the conference this weekend -- aspiring writers, pros, old friends, new friends, my writers group.

it'll be a few days all about writing and words and laughing and learning. sometimes, even while you love your family, you need to be around your own species.

incinerate them?

there's a strange monday silence here in the office. my brick red walls, the morning sun comes in from behind, if i turn to the right i can see the brillant blue of the calm lake. i see books all around like little doorways waiting to be opened. and open computer files of several stories i wish to work on today. i'd like to give my excuses to both the books and the files, "i don't have time for all of you, don't have time to explore the worlds inside." but how do you excuse such opportunity. a mountain of gold you don't have time to spend.

don't you think one of the best things about heaven will be its timelessness?

oh, a friend called during my blogging thoughts. she is getting her first book contract!!! whooohooooo for CATHY!!!!!!! years of hard work and continued pursuit, and now she's just beginning on the crazy and wonderful and okay, neurotic journey toward seeing her name on a book cover.

earlier today i wondered, if i wasn't a writer, what would i be?

a prodigal wandering around the world, a professional gambler who's lost it all and dealing cards in vegas, a shady private investigator, a chain smoking alcoholic working at a something job i'd hate thus the chain smoking and the drinking?

is it writing that keeps me in line? okay, this is probably ALL a lie. this would be the dark cindy, the one without god, the person that my many weaknesses gravitates toward being.

maybe instead (hopefully), a more involved community member and kid's baseball coach, a photographer for a travel magazine, a director in a small theater, a sailing family going around the world, someone doing more to make the world a better place like helping stop the sex slave industry in southeast asia, etc....

it's always strange considering the alternate lives we might have lived. the places we might be living in, the people we've missed meeting by meeting the ones we have. but then also those we would've never known if not for the corners we'd turned.

watched a pretty dark and graphic movie this weekend. 21 grams. incredibly filmed and very moving though i recommend it only for those who indie-type R-rated flicks that are both disturbing and thought-provoking. a poem in the movie said something like, "the world revolved on the outside and something in each of us revolved for us to find one another" or something much better yet similar.

sometimes i wish to live many lives, but living also has it's share of wounds and scars. hemingway wrote once, "me i like life very much. so much it will be a big disgust when have to shoot myself...." such tragic to see someone who loves life deeply, lives life fully (even if waywardly in the quest of that living), and ends life so horribly.

i also consider the millions of people giving forty years to jobs they dislike (yet choose this), living lives they wish to be out of, or not living at all because it's just too painful, disillusioning, unsafe. christians who build their own walls even as christ tries kicking them outside a bit.

a proverb in the message bible,
"a life frittered away disgusts god."

then this cracked me up:

"when the samaritans learned that his (jesus) destination was jerusalem, they refused hospitality. when the disciples james and john learned of it, they said, 'master, do you want us to call a bolt of lightning down out of the sky and incinerate them?'

even walking along with THE LIGHT, his buddies ask him, "hey, should be incinerate these people for not letting us stay overnight?"

funny, yet terrible, where our godly intentions sometimes go.

my random thoughts have certainly been random lately. and yet, there's the connected thru-line always. i've got books with worlds waiting to be discovered. my own words and stories that i grasp from the air and tap into a computer file. lives to live, to observe, and to wonder at the missed and the experienced. shoes of my own and of others to take a stroll in. celebrations to be had (yeah CATH!). anger to relinquish, people to find ourselves revolved toward.

it's all in the living.

time, don't take it all too quickly please. god, help us capture today and tomorrow or any tomorrow we have and savor it, use it, create something beautiful within it. or whatever you have in mind.

and just think, this is just a glimpse of the eternal.

bummy ouches

another week bites the dust.

i found out via lisa samson's blogspot on the death clock that my life expectancy is april 25, 2054. if so, i might actually finish several of these writing goals.

my hair is blonder than anticipated after a morning at the salon this week. now the head has brown lowlights instead of blond highlights.

me bum hurts from driving in the car too much. it needs a vacation.

extended family mayhem, missing uncle found but still lost.

watched one of the worst movies ever...vanity fair. what a disappointment.

my oldest son is just hilarious. having to drive him 20 miles every morning to high school has been great for us.

heard from two sources that my new book, the salt garden, is in england. whoohoo, or would that be cheerio?

figured out that my philippines trip will require around 27 hours of travel before arriving in manila. talk about pains in the bum.

finally getting back to work on stone rivers. rewrote opening of until she's gone and made slight progress in clockworks.

thanksgiving is two months and a day away. the best holiday ever.

ahhhhh friday.

thursday

cool news today, a norwegian publisher is contracting to translate and publish my first three novels, the ones that are out-of-print here in the states. already they're in german and one is in dutch, and for me, it's as exciting as the first publishing contract. bookshelves in norway...imagine that.

what does it mean to be 7 years old and have had two major encounters with rattlesnakes? at age 2, my son was bit and survived. then last weekend -- here's eyewitness son's account, "it was all curled up and struck at me but i jumped out of the way." once i saved him from drowning too.
as a very little guy, this kid told me about a dream, "the birds came and took me to where the children were, but i started crying really hard and said i wanted to go back to my mom, so they took me back."
i hope they don't return for a very long time.

writing chronicles: more progress on manuscript in progress clockworks.
more rewriting progress on stone rivers.
perhaps i really can accomplish something without contracts pressing me onward. thanks to you who keep asking me, that helps too.

random, random, oh the randomness of a thursday afternoon. hey, i think i was born on a thursday afternoon. now, that was random.

seeing you

"to be impelled to prove your masculinity through flat denials of your anxieties (fraid a nothing had been your motto as a child) and bold lies about your exploits. to be forced to practice the most severe economy in your attempts to "render" your life artistically, because your capital of self-understanding was too small to permit you to be expansive and your feat of self-exposure too powerful. to make a virtue of necessity by packing troubled feelings below the surface of your stories like dynamite beneath a bridge. to be tempted by your enormous ambition into writing a novel, despite the risks inherent in amplitude...." -- excerpt from hemingway by kenneth s. lynn

ernest hemingway's mother thought him lazy, not using his potential and spiritually wayward. f. scott fitzgerald wrote that his friend had not been fully recognized for his genius. some saw him as a great swimmer, outdoorsmen, irrestably charming, a vibrant literary giant. others as arrogant, manipulative, backstabbing and cruel.

what does it take to see someone without our own glasses fogged and smudged? what conclusions we easily make when viewing one slice of a personality? it is rather hard to see someone else. probably impossible to fully see as each of us is in continual change and motion. but to see, even a little, of who we really are, would it make us better, make them better? or would it bring disillusionment complete. or greater fear?

do we want to see?
i'd answer yes, most especially to the faces that immediately come to mind, even to many beyond my circle and those who have little time for me and me for them.

and yet, sometimes viewing inside ourselves and inside of others can be quite terrifying. or...perhaps not, perhaps instead, it is the remarkable reminder of our need for more than ourselves.

would you rather

home from south lake tahoe. what a place. casinos and village shopping areas are a people-watcher's heaven. sis and i people watched a people watcher which was even more fun. great time in the sand and sun with kids, great kayak ride with the spousey, and sis and i lost money at the blackjack table though it entertained for quite some time.

and now the work (how can it be called work?) calls to me. interesting, for some time and even more time lately, i've peered closer into the rhythms in prose writing. something of sentence structure, word meter, paragraph lengths, choices, syllables, white space, sharpness...

so today, i return to a novel i finished writing nearly two years ago. people regularly ask me, "when is that novel coming out, the one set in the women's prison?" i then must reply that i haven't done a thing to it. it's waiting in clumps and odd stacks with marks all over sections while other sections have waited miserably. today, it waits no longer.

i'll be peering close, not just at the story though story is supremeo, in my opinion. but also at the feel of its structure. not only what it is, but how it will be read, what it evokes in the telling.

any comments or theories are welcome -- post away (come on, my writers, editors, readers) or email me if you would rather. would you rather? funny, i just found a great first-draft scene someone once gave me to read called "the would you rather scene." there's also a game called zobmondo brought to my attention some time ago. it's about choices, but choices like "would you rather have the CIA or the Mafia after you?" "would you rather eat your mother-in-law or your dog if you were starving to death?" the choices get exceedingly more bizarre and often disgusting.

so would you rather...okay, i can't start this right now.
off to work.

lucky shoes

i wore my lucky shoes today.

and hit road construction twice which made me late for a lunch date which made me hurry toward the restaurant so i crossed the lawn instead of sticking with the sidewalk and that lawn just happened to be recently and thoroughly watered (you can picture it, right?). throughout the day, i heard several times a song that i didn't need to hear and found some papers that reminded me of other things i've lost and i spent an hour trying to speak with a human at MCI and AAA, "press 1 if you want to sit on the line for 53 minutes" (though AAA was much better than MCI).

AND YET i had a wonderful lunch with a friend, a surprise phone call that became its own gift, found a fun pack of goodies from tyndale house in the mail (thank you!), got my office nearly organized with my sister-in-law's enormous help, made my little son laugh till he fell off his chair and made my big son chuckle (both equal accomplishments), helped my daughter with algebra (even greater accomplishment), and sat for awhile on the back patio waiting for the moon as the crickets and lapping water sang him on up.

my lucky shoes have carried me all over europe on five different trips walking the lands of the netherlands, france, germany, austria, czech republic, and italy. i've worn them on field trips, to lunches and meetings, to date nights, to conferences, on airplanes and trains and subways, to kids' class parties, kid sport events, weekend getaways...i could go on, and on. oh, the stories those shoes could tell.

and so, i love my lucky shoes, even when they're not so lucky. no, they aren't as fashionable as when i bought them six years ago. yes, they've seen better days, much better. but i'm not getting rid of them -- how could i? some days, for the good or the bad, i just need them on my feet.

hemingway's one true sentence

A MOVEABLE FEAST is hemingway's memoir of 1920's paris including his time writing there. when struggling, he's say, "'do not worry. you have always written before and you will write now. all you have to do is write one true sentence. write the truest sentence that you know.' so finally, i would write one true sentence, and then go on from there."

true sentences can be found all around -- in something we know or observe or gather from others or the world at large. once found, we can go on from there.

well, off to find my one true sentence, from there, ah such possibilities.

a year and a day

i ran away this week.

all my kids are back to school, my husband has been working like crazy, i've been working like crazy and have piles and piles more to work through. so after dropping off kids, having prearranged for them to be picked up by family (yes, it sometimes takes prearranging to run away), stopping by starbucks, off i went. "pacific ocean, here i come!" it's three hours one way, but the drive was as important as the destination (windows down, tunes blaring, the open road).

it had been a year and a day since i'd been to trinidad state beach. that time with one of my best friends (you know, the kind who could make millions selling your secrets to tabloids if ever you became rich and famous). it wasn't the best time in my life, a year and a day ago, but the two of us had a time that cemented a certain bond beyond breaking. we ran along the beach in the dark, stayed up late talking, went back to the beach the next day, and drove home in near silence as we contemplated what waited ahead.

this week i went alone. alone is good sometimes. needed even, i've come to believe. grownups, career people, married folk aren't often self-less enough to get away alone. yes, i said selfless, not selfish. another thing i've come to believe. before it seemed self-sacrificing to give my life to family, friends, readers, and the stories themselves. and it nearly did me in. it takes some kind of wisdom that i'm only now discovering (through the insights of others) to take care of myself, my inner self in particular, to such a height that i can give to those people and things i love and who love me. a martyr might be a good if you're going to die for others, but to live for others, it seems you need to be strong, not dying. and i'm stronger now. i want to stay strong (which has something to do with weakness, a weakness only god fills up with strength). maybe i'm not fully saying this, i'm still discovering it myself -- that balance between nurturing our own souls not only for ourselves, not only for others either, but for us, others and god, perhaps?

CULTIVATE SILENCE AND CAPTURE BEAUTY
wrote those words in my journal while on the beach (yep, one of those dorky journal people at the beach and what of it -- i've become a blogger after all).

i think often i've been a "user" of silence and beauty. i observe and breath it in for a purpose, be it a storyline or character or something to share with someone i love or for even a stranger with likeminded soul. communion got me thinking about this, about partaking of things and making them part of our own being. of really letting silence and beauty reside inside without agenda or ticking clocks. something like hearing the christ say, "look around, this is me. partake in remembrance of me."

the beach -- nothing so revitalizing as the eternal rhythm of the sea. i waded in the waves, watched a family swim and laugh as their dogs splashed around,
finished reading THE GOOD LIFE: BENEDICT'S GUIDE TO EVERYDAY JOY which i highly recommend along with all robert benson works. it was only some hours away, some hours that would've disappeared, and yet, now they haven't.

before turning toward home, i bought a coffee and sandwich, sat by the trinidad lighthouse, and just enjoyed the silence and beauty. it was good to be there, a year and a day later. some things get lost, others gained, but the silence and beauty can remain. love remains, don't you think?

and so, i've decided...i just need to run away more often.

keeping little cups

communion sunday today, and the first time i've been in church in longer than i'm going to publically admit. sad, but true, and could include my long explanation of struggles with church, finding a church, yearning for something...okay, i'm not going here.

so communion sunday today. my youngest son was in the service with us which means a decision of whether he should take communion or not.

i lean over and whisper, "do you remember what communion means? that by eating the bread and drinking the juice, it's remembering..." and the whole explanation because i'm worried he doesn't get it and feel some huge weight that he should.

"yes, i remember, mom." he's excited, and that worries me. should we be excited about it? sure reverent, holy, silent...but excited?

during the time for reflection and examination of our hearts, he puts his hands firmly together and starts praying with brows furrowed (he's serious about this), and i can't help wonder what words a seven year old is confessing to god almighty. even at his age, he seems to have the clearest, most untainted view of god -- maybe because he nearly died when he was two and has seen a glimpse of life beyond, and maybe that glimpse remains inside him somewhere.

as the gleaming brass tray holding tiny square "breads" comes toward us, i see that gleam reflected in my son's eyes. i know what he's thinking. i know he's so excited to hold the shiny plate, pick up that little square cracker-thing, and be part of this exciting grown-up -- yet somewhat child-like ritual. he's not thinking snack time, but it's still so new to him, all the charm is there, every part. it comes out in kid language that makes me cringe.

"mom, i can hold my own cup."
"do we get to keep the cup?"
he moves his cup over to do "cheers" with mine which receives my "look."
"can we eat the little bread now?"
he looks around, smiling widely at people.
"hmmm, sour!" he says after drinking, smacking his lips.

as a girl, i remember my mom's horrified expression when i said loudly, "hey mom, i really like grape juice now. i never liked it until today."

i've partaken (you need a word like "partaken" when talking about communion) in a great variety of places, different parts of the world, sometimes with wine, mostly with grape juice, sometimes bread that's like bread, other times ripped up tortillas and such.

at times, i've wanted a whole loaf of bread, a huge goblet of wine -- i needed more of god than the mini-sized portions.

whatever means or method, i love communion. it always makes me stop short, gaze inside, review what is always here but not always recognized. i'll still battle my church issues. and i'm not certain my son's pure glee is what we should be like during communion partaking or not. but the act, the remembering, the symbolic becoming physical -- all this i love. guess, it's rather exciting when you think about it.

later, i asked my son what he thought about communion today, "it puts this kind of joy inside." he says so easily, and i marvel at that. then he adds, "i just wish we could keep the little cups."

shiny car update

writing chronicles return with a vengence -- i'm back to work, it's official. the excuses will no longer work from myself to myself. i need it. today, i wrote for the catalogue of my german publisher. yesterday, i tweaked the opening of a story and worked on a screenplay idea. also back to work-in-progress called "clockworks" or "3 AM" (any votes on which title is better?). it feels so good!

sorry to keep people waiting. back in june, i wrote a blog about shiny cars and my hunt for a new dependable ride (checkout archives if you so desire). at long last, i have a new shiny car, and i must confess it makes me happy.

truly. i drive and feel happy. in making the car decision, i found that driving a car that isn’t “you” is like wearing clothes that aren't your style. shallow yes, but is shallow always bad? i can give excuses like i got very low interest, the asking price was what we wanted. i can say that i’ve paid my dues -- have driven some of the worst cars on the planet. one caught on fire while i was driving, one was big enough to carry my entire senior class, one was named the “big banana” and could be spotted several miles away (it was THAT bright of a yellow), and one i bought for $1000 and drove for 4 years (and not too long ago either). i could give all the reasons, but they mean nothing.

the truth is, i like the color (charcoal), i like the stereo (matchbox twenty has already been inaugurated and next is bono and friends if i can find my cds), i like the smooth ride and smell of new car and that it had 12 miles on it (i’ve never had a new car before), and i like that it’s sort of me if a car can be (can do both 4X4 or dress up for the city).

a great portion of my life is spent in deep inner contemplation and in storyland. another part is joyful in the shiny new car. whooohooo, i feel like a kid getting her shiny new bike, with basket, chrome spokes, a horn, new tires...she's speeding down a hill with the wind against her face.

so for those on the edge of your seat wondering, i have a car...and if you want to see how it climbs hills, give me a ring.

other shallow news: in the bourne supremacy (great flick, by the way), matt damon goes to an internet café. welllllll, i have been to that very internet café, it’s one of my favorite places, especially now (it’s really in prague)! i found that fun to discover, yes, i did indeed.

soon, i should write about dealing with a son starting high school, and my old school even, but it's just too painful right now. i'm too young to face these things.

went swimming across the lake today, it was beautiful.

lastly, i ordered screenwriting software this week. will it sit on the shelf?

this was a very random day.

anniversaries

certain dates stay in our heads. i realized today was an odd anniversary, meaningful to me in its way.

in my author note of my first novel, winter passing, i talked about benchmark moments -- points of memory that change us, places we can recall quite vividly and remind us of something gained or something lost. there's a bench in austria mentioned, a bench above the alpine village of hallstatt. i've been granted five visits to that place, and one little bench has great significance to me. i have other places, and dates. and so today is one of those for me.

i'd love to hear of some of your benchmark moments, your anniversary dates. either comment here or email me.

to readers

i want to say this to you....

fictional architect howard roark, that noble soul in THE FOUNTAINHEAD (Ayn Rand), says to someone who understood perfectly what roark is doing with in his buildings, "i'm helpless against anyone who sees what you saw in my buildings."

(sidenote confession, i think i'm a little in love with howard roark.)

another scene of the book brings howard roark to meet with stephen mallory, a sculpture who is beaten and rundown by the world. when howard tells him what he sees in stephen's work, stephen replies,

"how did you know what's been killing me? slowly, for years, driving me to hate people when i don't want to hate them...have you felt it too? have you seen how your best friends love everything about you -- except the things that count? and your most important is nothing to them, nothing, not even a sound they can recognize. you mean, YOU want to hear?...it's not boring to you? it's important?"

howard does want to hear which unleashes a dam within stephen. he talks for hours "gluttonously, like a drowning man flung out to shore, getting drunk on huge, clean snatches of air."

true artists don't work for the acknowledgement. they work because they must. they work because a story or song or building is burning inside of them and that creator within will not be silent (just as our creator had to say "let there be..."). artists don't wait to see who will see them, but there is something deep and affirming when one does. and on the other side, the viewer, perceiver gains acknowledgement by seeing. when i discover great art, i feel a deep, affirming acknowlegement that i too am alive and for me, it then becomes something of a divine gift through the artist. and sometimes great art comes in the strangest places -- in the smooth lines of a boat, the complexities of a machine, in the work of a spider, know what i mean?

yet, an artist standing there naked and bare discovers the worst kind of pain is not ridicule, disgust, or confusion -- the worst comes in the turning away, the apathetic glance, the yawn. the worst is that a life isn't worth acknowledgement. howard roark could live with it; his work uncompromised. stephen mallory let the yawns nearly destroy him.

my random thoughts today are twofold. partially, my response to reading a beautiful book. i don't believe in all of ayn rand's philosophy, but that doesn't matter. i feel better for the reading and will read it again and again (you should see the pages and pages of underlined passages).

the other part, is thanks to readers. the emails of late from readers all over –Australia, Texas, Rhode Island, Tennessee -- amazing. also the phone calls -- m. thompson and also t.roe in colorado (i wish to say how much it meant that you'd underlined passages), and to those who put reviews on amazon.com and have commented about this blog.

sometimes i don't get back right away to you. other authors are so much better. but it's never truly neglect. i want the energy and voice to respond and make you understand what your words mean to me. it's difficult to express in a short note. it feels generic, those words of thanks. but it's not generic -- every email and letter is truly a gift, and i wish to tell you that.

as with howard roark and stephen mallory, i wish to say that i'm a little helpless when i get your notes, and that it means much that you would hear me and want to listen.

missing and missing

i miss europe. last night, i felt like a portal opened, and i was both here and there. vivid. the smells, the feeling so clear. and then it was gone. i want to go back, but there are so many choices of where. back to austria, prague, paris, netherlands, germany, or italy? what of ireland, greece, croatia...

i miss several of my friends. two i talked to yesterday (one the phone and in person), another i'll see today, one i've meant to call for months (sorry wee), one i need to email back and have mentally composed the email several times, and another i think of often and hold conversations with even though we're very far away.

school is soon to start and i get grouchy thinking of it. the kids gone and i'll want to do so many things. that's when i'll miss homeschooling and our ski days and such. but it's better this way, the way it needs to be. i'll miss them though.

oh yeah, i decided "no" on the reality tv show. it just wouldn't have been a good idea,i think.

my writer friend, laura walker, is coming for four days. it's her writing escape, and i'm thrilled to have her work here. i get to bring her tea and discuss plots and my new wacky idea i'm working on -- we're even strong about not talking too long so she should get lots done (maybe i'll get a decent amount too?). laura, my inaugural author to stay in my office with new comfy futon bed i bought for guests. even have some pictures up for her -- hemingway, van gogh, dali, matchbox twenty, buechner, enger (inspiration all around).

writing: reading the fountainhead is invigorating the writing mind. last night, as i drove and felt europe around me, i discovered two major solutions on two different projects. can't wait to work on them. and the wacky idea, my writing experiment titled either 3am or clockworks -- i've set a goal to finish the first draft. have a friends who will ask about it, right? we need that, you know. another goal to finish revision on a novel i wrote two years ago, my trusty agent will ask about that.

i guess i like missing things. it fine tunes the senses, even with its element of aching and longing. maybe missing things makes us all a little more than we'd be without it. know what i mean?

fountainhead

A creative few nights away from home, I’m staying in a house with a view of Mt. Shasta – a house that feels nearly like home for the time I’ve spent here alone and working. I’m not alone this time, my sister-in-law is here to read and relax too. Today, an unexpected rain storm with violent sheets of water from the sky – so beautiful and invigorating, and what fragrant air still remains from the open window even at this late hour.

So golly, I’m loving The Fountainhead by Ayn Rand. Few books have had this affect on me – I can name a few like works by Graham Greene, Lewis, John Irving and such. It’s a behemoth of a novel with over 700 pages of tiny print. I’ve only reached over 200. Only 200 pages and I just can’t express clearly all that's it's meant.

Do you ever feel at the end of something, at the threshold of something new, yet you’re patient, expectant and feeling strong in your forward walk? It often begins with things coming round again first. The whole full circle thing. And yet, there is no going back really or coming around to the beginning because we also move onward, changed, scarred, more beautiful perhaps, weaker and stronger too.

Parts of this book are bringing into view what I’ve been catching glimpses of. And I feel an energy to walk forward even while fear must be stomped with hard steps.
From the backcover summary, “This instant classic is the story of an intransigent young architect, his violent battle against conventional standards, and his explosive love affair with a beautiful woman who struggles to defeat him.” That my fellow book lovers is a glimpse into a book of incredible layers, character studies, views into why people do what they do or don’t do even when they want to…on and on.
And now for some random quotes, and I truly mean random. My book is filled with underlined passages and notes all over those 200 pages, and I just pulled these out for no purpose at all.

QUOTE-ARAMA TIME:
"He thought of his days going by, of buildings he could have been doing, should have been doing and, perhaps, never would be doing again. He watched the pain’s unsummoned appearance with a cold, detached curiosity; he said to himself: Well, here it is again. He waited to see how long it would last. It gave him a strange, hard pleasure to watch his fight against it, and he could forget that it was his own suffering; he could smile in contempt, not realizing that he smiled at his own agony. Such moments were rare. But when they came, he felt as he did in the quarry: that he had to drill through granite, that he had to drive a wedge and blast that thing within him which persisted in calling to his pity.”

(this by Roarke, the young architect talking to a potential client)
“Don’t you know that most people take most things because that’s what’s given them, and they have no opinion whatever? Do you wish to be guided by what they expect you to think they think or by your own judgment?”
“You can’t force it down their throats.”
“You don’t have to. You must only be patient. Because on your side you have reason – oh, I know, it’s something no one really wants to have on his side – and against you, you have just a vague, fat, blind inertia.”

well that's all for now from the mountain. nighteo or rather guten morgan from ceecee-senorita

"the years only make us more of ourselves." 

a friend turned forty.  my son starts high school in a few weeks at my old high school.  and my crash-and-burn watersport injury is over a week and half old and i still can't take a deep breath without pain in the ribs -- i used to bounce right back from such things. 

age.  and i'm okay with it.  i like the above quote and find for me and hopefully many others, it's true.  when you live in your hometown, people have known you, and you've known them forever, or so you think you know one another.  some friends say that i've changed, changed a lot (hopefully not in a bad way).  i don't think i've really changed, and this quote sort of defined it.  i've only become more myself.  a few of those glimpses are coming into light.  pieces are clicking together.  less and less of me feels the need to apologize for how i view things and what i feel compelled toward.  a strength perhaps.  a vision with the determined force to race toward it.  for a while now, it's felt like much of my life was bumping around in the dark, finding familiar forms, fearing what i couldn't see but trusting the hand guiding me along (what else was there to do?).  there are times god strengthens our trust in him, then we get back to running that race, and running it hard.      

a friend and i discussed various religions yesterday.  there are issues with americanized christianity that are tough at times, and truth is found in all religions.  but what christ offers is grace.  free to me, but not free to him.  grace that is also love, peace, hope, and a whole slew of other wondrous things.  and i'll take it, every day as air to breath.  i'll cheer and laugh and jump around a bit if we get talking much about grace.  it's free stuff without guilt but with eternal benefits -- and god, yes god indeed to be discovered and known (as much as we earthlings can know him).  i'm in.   

a strange mistaken twist yesterday brought me, instead of the intended person, talking for an hour via phone to someone who had a shotgun beside him and was ready to leave this world.  what words to say and how needy we are for god in such times.  and yet, all the time too.  and i'm just fine with being a needy person; i'm needy for air and food and blood flowing through my viens, and for a good swim like i had today.  

age.  i think i'm finally okay with it all.  also reading "the fountainhead" by ayn rand.  what a grand experience that's been so far.  rather transforming on a multitude of levels.  all of it is invigorating on the writing side of life.  some story is brewing, i feel it both in my stomach and chest.  can't wait to explore it, run with it. 

all around us

at our community pool, i’ve seen a couple come and go with their little baby and all the baby accessories.  once we left at the same time, so we waved goodbye and i saw them pack everything into their blue SUV-thingie.  every time i drive by and see that blue SUV-thingie, i smile thinking of them swimming with their baby and carrying more than people without babies carry when going to the pool for the afternoon.  
 
nearly every morning around 10AM, a guy swims with his two dogs on the other side of the lake.  i can’t see him very well, so can’t guess his age and i don’t know who he is, but i’ve come to hope he and his dogs will be there whenever i realize it’s that time of day.  one dog is white and the other yellow (labs perhaps), and they love splashing and swimming around the guy – the water goes a-flying.  he tosses a stick and they all swim out toward it as if racing and laughing together.  i like that guy whoever he is; somehow he makes my day better than it was at 9:45.    
  
i know at least three friends who work in offices and read my blog, and i can picture each of them in their little spaces, working on the work they do (hello, hello!).  i like picturing them there; it comforts me to see them even when they’re far away or we haven’t spoken in a while.  
 
once i had a friend with a little photo of himself in his cubicle with pin pricks in it, he liked to throw pencils i guess.  he said, “me, the target.  but i don’t feel that way any more.”  he pulled it down and tossed it away.  i always meant to ask him about that, and wish i’d kept the picture – even if it was a really bad photo of him.  
 
maybe my friends in their offices are having a bad day today.  maybe their bosses are making them crazy.  maybe the library members, subcontractors, and authors are being demanding.  maybe today rather stinks in their life.  maybe that guy with his dogs has only one good half hour in the day, or maybe one day i won’t see him again.  maybe my old friend feels like a target again.  and still, somehow, both stranger and friend make my life richer just picturing them, wondering about them, praying for them, imagining their routine, thanking them for what they’ve given me, and even missing them terribly. 
 
my youngest son’s question keeps coming at me, “what is your greatest heart’s desire?”  i can come up with some pretty good-sounding spiritual answers – and i even mean them.  but then there’s my earthly answers, and self-sacrificing ones, the selfish, the horribly honest, and then my wonderfully honest answers, and i’ve just decided that i must have several hearts for all the desires within them.  
 
how can it possibly be this hard to live here on planet earth?  seems the older i get, the more complicated it becomes, and the less most of us see things as black and white but instead understand there are many layers and depths beyond our easy glance.  we understand better how people do the things they do, even if we don’t agree with them or ever want to walk such paths or just don't have such affinities.  but we get it.  we can see a hint of waywardness within ourselves or our own secret wishes and it heightens our compassion and understanding.  maybe that’s why.  maybe discovering deeper levels of compassion inside, desired needs of forgiveness, more substantial beauty in what we’d once pass on by – maybe that’s why it’s hard on ole planet earth.  
  
i don’t know.  i’m just thinking here. 

a good life and its struggle to be

"the struggle to find others with whom we can share our lives, others who give our lives texture and color and meaning, has been going on forever.

"the task of finding work to do that is fulfilling and productive and sufficient for our needs has been constant.

"the need for rest and sustenance and time apart has been never-ending.

"our hope and yearning and our desire for god, and a life lived with god, have been everlasting, from age to age."

sometimes you find the words that exactly describe your own search, and really mankind's search for the most part -- though don't we know so many who sit down and give up on it (don't we sometimes too)? the balancing of this struggle, these needs, hopes and yearnings and searches -- this is my struggle, your too perhaps. one complicates the other. i strive harder for that fulfilling work and find myself lost in another area. i discover someone who gives my life texture and then the busy life or the real world living doesn't allow for the texture and color and meaning to be. my responsiblilities somehow harm my time with god, or my time with god is disrupted by thinking of what needs to be done. what i yearn for isn't always what i need. what i desire may not be for this time. my excuses or guilt or view into the sadness of life can shadow the rest and prayer and joy. on and on they go.

the quote comes from "a good life: benedict's guide to everyday joy" by robert benson. even in the struggle, some guidance is most welcome. most welcome. a small book of hope.

reality tv

so do you imagine yourself on a reality tv show?
i love to watch them, or rather hate to be hooked and watching and watching like some crazed person (though the past few months insanity i've hardly watched tv). today amanda tells me all about surreal world on mtv and now i want mtv to see it.

but, what about ME on a reality tv show? not in my forward thinking plans, not on the goal list, not on the "what i hope to accomplish before death." and yet, in my inbox is an email from a tv producer with a phone number and two email addresses and asking, "am i interested?" now, of course, they may not be interested in me. there's a lot to consider, a lot of things to look at for them, but still i have to ask on my side too. am i interested? how can i not be? how can i? oh my gosh, the fool i could be exposed as, and not just on local tv, not just on national tv, but on us and english tv!

this wasn't in my book marketing plan. this could be trouble.
but....

just months ago the hallmark channel considered my latest novel, "the salt garden." cool to be considered, kind of prodded me on in a difficult time even though they decided to pass. but that and this are very different. very different.

guess we'll see where this goes. advice, i need advice!
more to come....

random as the name implies

so my neighbor said yesterday, "i've decided i'm not going to have any more bad days. it's good days from now on." he just decided it. hey, isn't it mostly attitude? i liked that.

i'm reading another great robert benson book, "a good life: benedicts guide to everyday joy." it talks of balancing life -- prayer, work, community, and rest. i need this book. i need this balance. for about two years now, i've been saying how i need to make some major changes. i want good days, life as prayer, to swim more, and to keep the inner peace i've been feeling so strongly lately (god with his grace and love so close) even though it's been incredibly hectic.

"who yearns for good days?" that's not the right quote from the book, but i don't have the book here. but the question is the same. and i want good days, meaningful days that add up to a good, meaningful life. a "well-done" life. so maybe this book will offer a little direction. robert benson doesn't know me, though i did get to shake his hand in atlanta and get a signed copy of the book, but his words and journey sure never fail to speak to me.

my seven-year-old cried for a half hour last night because he wanted to move back into the old house. he feels bad for leaving the old for the new as if we've abandoned something. i love him so.

"who yearn for good days?" i'll get the exact quote, but i still wanted to ask. and what will it take to have it?

to brady

tomorrow is the 4th of july. for my family, it's the day to remember my nephew passing from this life to the next.

brady shawn harman lived three months.

sometimes short snippets of time with people change us in the most profound ways. they move us, shape us, help us reach beyond the moment and our own narrow view.

my son and my sister's brady were born two weeks apart. we were excited about having babies so close together, wondered what they'd be, anticipated them starting kindergarten together in mrs. kostelec's class. oh, the plans we make. the days we believe to be ours.

brady was older and smaller and didn't have the health to live upon this earth. and yet, he was loved so richly and he gave back so deeply with his smile and little grip around our fingers and a depth in his eyes that seemed beyond this place.

how can seven years have passed now? it seems impossible. born on easter sunday and died on independence day.

we miss you, brady. we will see you soon.

SWM seeks

so i've lived with my impatience. conquered, or so i've told god and insisted he need not test me any longer as i'm as patient as i need to be. ah, but my patience or impatience will be tested again and again and again -- this my writer friends is what awaits each of us. months and years and decades of waiting. but we must persevere, the alternative is to not be a writer.

i'm again at larger waiting stage. who wants a novel? anyone, anyone? well not just anyone? what if no one? am i doomed toward future publication? and all that guidance that seemed straight from god while in atlanta feels a little hazy now.

SWM (single written manuscript) seeks good publisher who enjoys long walks on the beach, has likeminded vision and immediate love-at-first-read for a long-term commitment (maybe tens of thousands of sales, please, pretty please, it's a writers unfortunate reality -- yes, sales are very important even for those of us who wish to only be lost in the words and myth).

tested impatience brings out my oddities. i have plenty to do, to write, to pursue. and for over two years, i've been seeking to change my life. i need more peace. but how?

ah, one treasure of my recent cba convention...robert benson's new book, A Good Life: Benedict's Guide to Everyday Joy. focuses on our lives as a balance of prayer, community, work and rest. i need this book, can't wait to crack it's pages and hope in my soul for some guidance. here's the study guide:

please tell me i'm wrong

so here i am at the christian booksellers convention. it's a cool time for me, really. most of my year i'm writing away in little ole cottonwood, and then powie, i get to hang out with my favorite writer friends. i stay in hotels that i usually can't afford (they give discounts and i pile in friends). i see and meet a few famous people or once-were famous or lukewarm famous people too -- hey, i like them all. and some people actually act like i'm a little famous which is rather a kick. two dear people in my booksigning line mentioned their disappointment over my first three novels all going to out-of-print purgatory this year. bless them, i wanted to take them home with me.

i get to wear all my dressy clothes and shoes and feel prettied-up for author dinners and events. browsing the floor, i see all the new books, cool covers, spot christian music artists, rush over to old friends, set up meetings both semi-important and then just plain fun. talk about the future, the ideas, the vision, the plans, the things we've learned, the things we'd wished to never know. and i haven't even begun to mention the writer's retreat before cba begins, or the intense discussions or plans for my trip to the philippines in november. people expand my world, and i love them and they love me. you see the best of people and are reminded or given fresh views of god love, his grace, and his intimate reach around the world.

and then there is the downside. the convention is for displaying new products. christian products, if you will. though how really does a product understand its need for grace? so, among the christian stuff, i find things that i like. books, i'm bringing home tons of books. and other things too. but then, then, then, oh then, there is the crap, if you will. and i mean crap spelled s-h-i-t. really, will a christian in-soles (IN SOULS), you know those padded things for your shoes, truly help me live a better life in christ? (and i came up with that idea years ago as a joke, and now someone has a booth and product) and then, the scripture mints, the stickers, the flower arrangements, framed quotes...anything and everything you can think up that can hold a verse and sell, really they're selling what it cost christ to die for mankind.
how about some toilet paper?

WHY ARE THESE THINGS FOR SALE? WHY ARE PEOPLE BUYING THEM? HOW CAN THIS BE A MARKET?

no one thought my sleeping bag roller-upper was a good enough idea. or what about the body cup holder (hands-free coffee for the gal on the go!). or...hey, maybe if i put a scripture verse on that. and the thing is, people don't get outraged about it (well some do), but not enough really, cause it has a verse and so must be christian (is this the thinking?). but i'll get disapproval for saying shit.

god can use anything, and will. someone's life will be moved by a mint with a scripture on it. but that doesn't stop the disgust of motives behind it. i mean, enough already.

now, i really don't mind being told i'm wrong. i'm wrong all the time to such a degree i'm forever doubting myself. so tell me, if you know. am i wrong here?

i'll miss cba, the people, the events, the energy. it's been a great one, and i'm grateful for it. grateful for so many things i see in my mind right now, and wish to write each one. wow, i thank god for them.

home in the morning (missing home) and with the sleep i've had, that flight will be a blink.

????????

what do you want?
at the core of your being, not just what shiny car, what do you really desire?
and what do fear, the most? (make a list) when the feared comes true, how will you survive?
what keeps you from the want that is also part of the purpose for life on planet earth? what happens in the next life if you miss the purpose of this one?

at the end of the end of the day, will you have loved who you were meant to love, what will you wish to have done, who will you wish to have known, what will you wish to have changed? will you have loved enough? can you love too much?

questions for me, and you.

god, will you redeem this life every morning and help me answer?

far away

atlanta, georgia.

floor to ceiling glass gives a great view of the atlanta skyline.

flying today, i slept a bit and awoke to think i was coming into salzburg for a moment. had that sudden sense of a place and longed for it.

and glimpses, more glimpses. i feel the need for a life that matters, for a purpose, for a reason beyond myself. easy to let myself forget such need, get caught in the moment.

flying away from the majority of people I love (those close by and those distant), i thought of each one. wondered at the moment i first loved them and which ones i most needed and/or wished for love back. travel always makes me feel small. and makes me want to see the world even more. also makes me long for things i sometimes don't quite grasp.

rambling now. off to bed, but reports from cba soon....

leaving on a jet plane

two writer friends were god-sends in the past few days:
one on the phone from chicago -- just talking writing plans and dreams with him brought alive something that was a little sleepy.

another friend called from an airport between north africa and atlanta -somehow minneapolis became one of her connections. i'll be rooming with her in a few days and see her once a year, unless i make it to the netherlands where she lives on rotterdam harbor. she never fails to inspire.

leaving for atlanta in a few hours for the christian booksellers convention. i will be reporting from there and will include phenomenal facts and insider commentary.

this evening -- family competitions -- i defended my title as air hockey champion, won at go-cart races (okay, i did take off well before the light turned green, but i didn't know there was a light), played video games and my first laser tag (what fun is that), watched in amazement at my children, how i love them! saw a bumper sticker: it's never too late for a good childhood. i have a bit of peter pan in me.

quote: "velour sweatshirts, for sure, but not baby pink or blue. maroon or fuchsia are always in style." from "Style Tips for Heavy Eaters" in The Sopranos Cookbook.

could i live without

could i stop writing? what would it do to me? is it even possible? wouldn't i always be one in my head, mentally writing things down, seeking that perfect description, grabbing onto things said around me, amazed by a sentence or word, or anxious to move my fingers in accordance to a thought?

or does it feel impossible because it's something i don't want to give up? wouldn't it be an easier life? i might be more organized, a better wife and parent perhaps, a better friend and correspondent. or would i? i have lived through things i needed but lost, got up another day because as humans we must, especially with people depending on us.

these are certainly not new musings. but tonight, or rather early morning, they return. hey, a bug is swimming in my cup and i'm suddenly thirsty.

grace and god's guidance to you with your musings.

wimpy writing goals

monday seems a good day to rethink and set new writing goals, sort of the new years day of the week (new years day is never as fun as new years eve, but it is the actual beginning). as i floated on an air mattress yesterday and swam a bit, i tried to consider where to go now. not writing is getting to me. it's like an ache in the stomach that grows, i feel it as i type this. thus some monday goals.

i leave for atlanta thursday (christian booksellers convention) and as with most of my trips, i don't feel ready (though i do need this i think). it takes until that plane tips off the ground to say, "okay, i'm going, i can't do anything more at home, can't feel bad for leaving, now i'll focus on what this will be." since i'm rather directionless at the moment, hoping it provides a little. meeting with my agent and writing friends should help. some help too from time to think and pray and sleep (yeah right, i'm in atlanta with friends). in many ways, life would be easier without writing. but could i live through it?

monday writing plann-eo: 1000 new words (at least) on writing experiment and put together some of the pieces -- see if they make anything. wimpy goal, yes, but trying to be realistic with what this week means.
also, create game plan for atlanta.

"you don't remember me, but i remember you." just heard that on the evanescence cd playing through my computer, liked it. maybe i'll put something of it in my writing experiment.

ambiguous sarcasm or sarcastic ambiguity

sometimes i can be such a sarcastic little twit, and yet the irritation doesn't leave me even while identifying such flaws. i'll just apologize in advance if this hurts feelings. but i have to say this. i just don't understand why many christians often say, "praise the lord" or "thank you jesus" or "exalt his name" or "rejoicing in him" but ONLY when something goes our way. i mean, when something goes our way, that often means it didn't go someone elses.

i'm all for gratitude and such, don't get me wrong here. but what about praising god even when life sucks? what about rejoicing in him when there's nothing or no one else to rejoice in? how often do christians say, "praise god, my car broke down, i'm in deep debt, i didn't get the promotion, my child said his first swear word and i'm rather suicidal today." so often the bad is the devil and the good means we're blessed. what about blessed are the poor in spirit? blessed are those who suffer...and all those mystifying words from that hillside chat.

this wasn't supposed to be a rant, but it somewhat is.

however, of writing value, today i chose this word and it's variants: mystify, mystic, mystical. i just said each slowly and find them of delight. and for my jenna jane, how about some ambiguity, i always liked that word until we said it two hundred times yesterday. any words to add that just sound great? i sure have my list of despised words, but i despise them too much to write them here.

pain over morning coffee

this morning i think not only of the pain we carry, but the pain we cause. this life journey creates it.

i've never intended to hurt anyone, well, i'm sure a few times though i'm presently mentally blocking them. whether from simply not returning a phone call, not reading someone's writing...not doing any number of things to the actually doing of -- hurt can happen and i'm the cause. like trying to do what's best for everyone which is most often impossible and someone gets hurt. or trying and wanting to love selflessly and yet needing love desperately too. or...well, this could go on and on.

somewhere i have lewis' "the problem with pain" though it's probably packed for the forthcoming move. and more scary and weird dreams after my late blogging. weird one was that my new writing spot was on a skinny platform (like a giant lifeguard station) perched out in the ocean. i had to swim to get there (hmmmm) and when i'd finish writing and was feeling brave, I'd jump the 60ish feet to the water (where did my laptop go after work?). i watched a black stingray, then a whale, and wondered if i was brave enough to jump that day. so, analyze that.

anyway, who wouldn't agree that it's worse to be the cause of pain than to carry it? maybe those people who can move on and not look back. i'm not one of those, which sometimes feels unfortunate.

thoughts on pain

for no apparent reason, today i was thinking about the pain we all carry.

i pictured the faces before me from my husband, family members, and a trail of friends, and with each their pain seemed suddenly vivid -- nearly a color or image. then thoughts went to acquaintances who i've often been surprised to find what they've carried, or the many hastily resown hearts. we've no idea what each other has inside. such scars and unhealed wounds. they can't be compared to each other, each individual's experience comes in different weights. i considered my own too and wondered how we all do it. how do we get up sometimes?

later, i stopped by the traveling viet nam wall with my oldest son and daughter and my niece. yes, "stopped by" which felt rather disrespectful. my father was in viet nam when i was born, and i wished to know the names he could recognize there. we watched a man trace the name of someone he knew. i read wishing to speak each one aloud and know them for a moment. what enormity of pain in each one.

another matchbox twenty quote (oh, that rob thomas), "there's no one around who can tell us what we're here for." such could be a quest of mine, to know why we're here. i mean really. my need for christ is part of that quest, but all the old answers don't work for me (such as, "to go out and share christ." yeah, that's worked great, so all this pain has been well worth it). robert benson writes something of this in between the dreaming and the coming true. this from memory and my own thoughts too...but,

can we see or experience light without having been in the dark?
could we know joy without some sorrow?
is beauty beautiful because of the ugly to contrast?
for us to love must we also feel pain, even the pain of love?
is the loneliness required to someday feel complete?
and must we be separated from god to truly discover him or to need him or yearn for him or recognize our need and want of him?

somehow among these, i feel it connects with a required divine sacrifice for human redemption.

wonder if robert benson has a blog? i'd be stopping by if so; his books amaze me.

anyway, i'm much more philosophical silly-putty than any kind of theologian. maybe sleep will bring something more, lately sleep's been overflowing with dreams. some scary, others painful. so i'm tossing thoughts to see what returns.

asher lev

"faith in fiction" blog starts a discussion monday on one of my very favorite novels: my name is asher lev by chaim potok.

if you haven't read this book, you must! especially writers and other artists. and join or at least pop in to david long's faith in fiction for conversation. i'm anticipating. but next thursday, i leave for atlanta and the christian booksellers convention (cba) so might miss some, but hope not much. and cba, now there's a discussion. the reunions are longed for like my best writing friends, one as far away as holland.

today's writing chronicle: a few paragraphs on writing experiment tentatively called clockworks or 3AM. this project began over a year ago and keeps going. i thought it was two separate stories and called them: two weeks and 3AM. then they merged and now we have clockworks, perhaps. fun stuff. no deadline. very different writing for me. a general market audience, but strong redemption message. every one of my stories seems to be a redemption story of some sort. just like my life.
and answering reader letters...wow, that never fails to amaze me.

something musically interesting is on letterman, a rap group not sure who.

night night, cee

ps. hi a.d.

comments

i love seeing people make comments. please do on anything! so a questions after my "underwater," what other places do you feel closest to the eternal?

underwater

i went swimming yesterday.
at last, and how i'd forgotten.

there's a nice lake near my house and soon i'll be moving to its shore, so it's often that i see it. water never fails to hypnotize me, i could stare at it for hours. but i haven't been swimming there since last year, last year when life was utter chaos.

i almost didn't go. my hair was washed already, makeup done, and i had my writers group in several hours. then my seven year old lured me in to swim with him, so i was halfway there. funny how i can sit and consider and sometimes not do what i need so desperately, some practical thing keeps my feet on the ground.

finally, i asked my sister-in-law katie, "do you mind watching the kids?"
"you're going across?" katie knows, we've been friends since third grade and then married brothers, quite conveniently.

so i left everyone and went to my spot. it was windy and the water a little wild. the cold crept over my skin, physical exhilaration. there's a stiff line between air and water; the surface we call it though it should be named something else. it's rather a doorway, but that doesn't quite work either. when i've had a mask, i like to put that water line halfway up so as to view both sides. whatever that line or veil is called or should be, i was in it. lungs in need of air brought me up, everything else was taken in, so struck by that other place, consumed and at one. it's a whole other world, truly a step closer to the eternal, i think. always near, yet completely foreign to the world i inhabit. you can actually hear peace underwater. i'm weightless and have a sense of freedom unfound anywhere in the world of air and earth. friends have mentioned such deterrents as large fish and things in the dark down deep, and sometimes that thought has made me pause. but not when i'm there. the magic of water takes over then and fish or creatures of any size are simply comrades in our liquid kingdom. it's like flying, or maybe better.

on the other side of the lake, i sunk my feet into the slimy, thick mud and felt six years old. staring back, i could see the kids and katie all appearing so "away" and none saw me. the light too was oblivious to everything except it's dance on the tips of those waves.

it was another perfect moment. a wider glimpse. a reminder of all that's right beyond my sight especially when i won't allow myself to see.

and so, no more whining, i told myself as i've told myself before. no more eeyore whining (as a friend would say). i'll swim instead. swim and swim. of course, whenever these moments happen, it seems we come from our enlightenment to be slapped around a bit. the rest of the day had some of that and i wanted to sink into the earth again, so quickly i forget the places barely separate from us. so i hope to go swimming again today. when i move, my neighbors might hate me. they'll say, when does that crazy women ever DO anything. but it's when i forget that i begin to unravel. and my god how i need him, and how i need water.

it's summer, i might just stay there.