April's Chatterbox

new specs!

It's April, my dear fools! Quite April. April fourth, or something, isn't it? I missed a good "here we go round the mulberry bush and gathering nuts in May' sort of opening to the month, but I'm here now. Truth to tell, ever since my older brother moved away to Leesburg, I haven't felt much like playing April Fool's tricks. I'd never noticed that I actually helped him with his machinations instead of making up my own. Huh. Anyway, the start of a new month also means the start of a new Chatterbox topic! I'm so pleased to see more and more writers participating each month. It makes such a better splash when you have writers in all genres from all corners of the blogging sphere. Perhaps one of these days I'll actually do something with it myself instead of leaving all the work to you. Haha. Oh, before I announce the topic, I wonder, how many of you are doing Camp NaNoWriMo? I am not--Heavens, I'm not!--but I would like to publicly raise my non-existent cap to you and say that you are jolly good fellows and I hope you meet your goals. Huzzah huzzah. I, for one, am finding the editing of Anon, Sir, Anon going slow as a snail jogging through wet concrete, so that is a very big cap-tipping.

April's Chatterbox topic is going to be:

Resurrection

Oh jolly. What do I mean by that? Do I mean the Crucifixion and Resurrection? Perhaps. Do I mean someone you thought was dead that reappears at an extraordinarily inconvenient moment? Do I mean the resurrection of old fears, or perhaps long-dead hopes? Spring is a beautiful time of re-birth, new life, and things-that-were-dead coming alive. I want to see you play this in a dozen different directions. It could be the up-sweeping of a long-dead custom, the revival of an old feud, the thawing of a long-icy relationship, the discovery of a hidden secret. So many possibilities. I cannot wait to see what you come up with. In addition to the topic being interesting (and appropriate for the month), it is a topic that ought to fit somewhere in every work in progress; though life is ever-changing, there is a rhythm to it just like there is a dance to the seasons and a pattern to the winds. Find that pattern in whatever way is most vivid, and bring your "resurrection" for the rest of us to read! Per usual, the link-up is below! 

Little stones are smooth

only when the water passes through

So I am a stone,

rough and grainy still

trying to reconcile this river's chill.

-Mindy Gledhill "River God"

Advice From a Social Caterpillar

I call myself a social butterfly, but sometimes I feel like my wings haven't quite developed as much as I like to think. On these days--my clumsy, cheerful, Mr. Frumble-y days--I call myself a Social Caterpillar. And sometimes I write about it and think what a hilarious little person I am and what my thought-process must be like to the outsiders. This, the first installment, is for anyone who wants some Advice from a Social Caterpillar.

(social caterpillars are fond of toast.)

The Secret Currency of Gutter-Coins

Always pick up change. People think pennies are like gravel, or gum wrappers, or cigarette butts; you know, the kind of thing that gets in your way and makes noise when you scuff your foot across it, and comes up green and rusty underneath car seats when you finally shop-vac after ten years.

So yeah. Pennies might just be weird disks of metal that get in the world’s way. But some people pick them up, and I heard once that if you get one-hundred of these common-as-bird-stuff annoyances together and drop them on a teller’s desk at a bank, he has to give you a dollar. Isn’t that awesome? And if you were really awesome and gathered five-hundred, that would get you a tall macchiato. Gum-wrappers won’t get you coffee. You could collect five-hundred gum wrappers and march into Starbucks and the barista would laugh at you. You could collect five hundred little rocks and slap them on the counter and the barista would give you a weird look. But if, out of the same gutter, you scraped five-hundred pennies and marched into Starbucks, the barista would give you a weird look and laugh, but he’d have to give you coffee too. It’s the law.

I don’t know who decided that paying with change is stupid. Paying with gum wrappers would be stupid, because gum-wrappers would get soggy if they went through a washing machine. Coins don’t. Paying with rocks would be dumb because if you sat down while you had rocks in your pocket, you’d soon wish you hadn’t sat down after all. Pennies don’t hurt your tush. But paying with pennies and nickels and dimes and quarters is pretty cool. Your pockets feel all heavy, like you’re walking through sand on a warm, sunny beach, and you jingle with every step. Have you ever jingled? Some people have to wear wallet chains to sound cool; not so to the brave soul who will pay with change.

You walk up to the counter and order a drink--a complicated drink, so the nervous kid behind the cash register will have to check three or four boxes on the side of the cup--and the kid says something about the total. You ask for the total again because, you know, paying in pennies and then having three-too-few would be a little awkward.

“Four eighty-three,” he snaps.

When you’re reasonably satisfied you have enough and it won’t end awkwardly, you bring out your faded, twisted ziplock bag of coins and start counting.

The line queues up behind you, but you don’t mind because your pennies and nickels and dimes are just as good as their credit card--better, because you actually have it here with you and aren’t having to pay interest and go into debt. The barista starts frowning like, if you’re going to pay with change, you’re not cool enough for coffee. Do you care? No. Well yeah, you might care just a little bit. In fact, just enough that you’ve lost count and you smile softly at the kid and say, “Sorry, lost track.” and start over again, sliding pennies across the counter with the zingy smell of warm copper mixing with the normal scents of espresso and steamed milk. Your palm starts to warm after getting to three-hundred-seventy-eight and the three-hundred-seventy-ninth penny sticks to your skin. You laugh and shake it off, and it bounces behind the counter. The barista kid just stares at you.

“Could you get that for me?” you ask, because when you’re sorting pennies, everything counts.

“Are you kidding me?” He’s gawking--his scraggly “cool” beard is hitting the top of his green apron because his mouth is open so far.

“I’m not kidding,” you say. “Not unless my total is going down to four eighty-two.”

You give him a cheery smile when he returns your penny because everyone knows everyone else could use a little extra grin in their day, and continue parsing out your coins. It’s taking a long time, and your whole body is warm now, but you’ve gone too far to stop now. You shoot over the final dime and wipe your palms on your jeans.

“Feel free to check my math,” you say in an offhand way that sounds completely innocent but sends the barista into a fit of stiffness that looks like the start of rigor mortis.

“It’s fine.” He dumps fistfuls into the cash register.

“Won’t need anymore change for a while now, will you?” You nod to the people behind you in line; some of them look like they want to laugh--maybe they’re change-spenders too--and the others stand in an empathetic silence, making doe-eyes at the employee. Then, when you’re done with this nodding and smiling, you move off to wait for your drink.

It comes five minutes later, looking absolutely like every other drink that has slid across that counter since 5 a.m. But it’s different. It was paid for with the secret currency of gutter-coins. A penny from the pocket of each person walking by. You plug up the little drink-hole with one of those little sword-straw-things you never know what to do with, and you walk out with a smile on your face. Sure, the employees at this Starbucks will hate you forever more, but you’ve gained a little victory with your hazelnut latte. And as soon as you’ve got more pennies, you’re coming back for more.

The scent of victory is addicting. It smells like copper and foam.

Advice From a Social Caterpillar is an unofficial work in progress and is nothing but a brain-dumping file wherein I muse on life, liberty, and the pursuit of soft pretzels. Also, anything and everything that runs through my crazy little mind. Periodically, if you like it, I might share a new dose or two.

Wedded Bliss

Hello, old beans! I hope you've had a pleasant and restful weekend. I have had a rainy, quietish weekend of attending the wedding of a good friend and hanging out with my church family and a couple of friends (literally...they are a couple) whom I haven't seen much since their marriage. It has been a lovely weekend and despite being stressed over an interview I have at the start of the week for a part-time nannying job, I feel quite relaxed. I am sorry for the lack of truly interesting posts on this blog. Editing a mystery means I have to keep pretty mum about my actual writing--even quieter than while I was writing the actual thing...sorry! I will let you know, though, that my first two beta-readers loved the first draft and I even made one of them cry. So. Now you know. But while I am not allowed to say much about Anon, Sir, Anon, I can talk all I want about Fly Away Home! First off on that subject: I made a decision to lower the price of the Kindle edition to $2.99, so now it costs far less than a complicated Starbucks drink and will certainly afford you more pleasure. I've begun to think about books that way--once upon a time, I never would buy books, thinking them too expensive. Now I think of them in terms of how many coffees they cost, and it's really not all that horrible. This may or may not be some odd form of psychology. I don't know. I don't inspect it. It allows me to buy myself books without feeling guilty for spending the money. I approve this method. ;)

At this wedding of which I spoke, I was faced with the odd position of chatting about Fly Away Home with a ton of people. The complete stranger at the end of my pew asked what I did. I told her I'm a writer. What do I write? I write novels. What sort of novels have you published? Just one, Fly Away Home. What is it about? Insert my very unpolished blurb I hate here. This conversation turned into the woman scribbling down the title and my name on the wedding program right under the bridal-party announcements. While I felt a stab of compunction at seeing my sales pitch actually kind of work and adorn the program of a friend's wedding, I had to laugh. It is so funny how people react to meeting a real live author. Most of them don't even look disappointed when I tell them I independently published and therefore am not likely to become famous. At the reception, several acquaintances I haven't seen since the last out-of-town social occasion bobbed up and congratulated me on my book, told me they were planning to buy it, and asked about sales. Others told me they had just finished reading it and thought it wonderful. Another told me she had only just started but couldn't stop feeling excessively pleased that she was reading a real book written by her own dear friend. I felt my face growing red with pleasure and embarrassment mingled. I mean, what do you say to these well-meaning, lovely people? It's certainly gratifying to be recognized as an author by people who have read and enjoyed your work/blog/stuff, but I found myself automatically discounting that praise and deflecting it. "It was independently published," I'd repeat, as if that made any difference to them.

The point is, people don't care. I think those of us who have finished and independently published a novel feel a bit wary over accepting praise because a big fat editor in a bit fat publishing house hasn't reached down to help us set our "beetle-crusher on the ladder of fame" (to borrow Wodehouse cant). I love the fact that I self-published Fly Away Home, but I admit to feeling that people wouldn't be quite so excited if they knew they could publish just as easily as I did...and they might not have a lick of talent. But the thing I've had to realize is this: it really is a thing worthy of commendation to have finished a novel and to have people like it. How many people have really done that? Let people love you. Let people become fans and laud your talent and get excited. It is their privilege as readers to appreciate what they want to appreciate. If they like what you write, haven't you succeeded? Constantly correcting people with, "It was independently published" is the literary equivalent of having your outfit complimented and feeling compelled to say, "Oh thanks. It's a hand-me-down". People don't want to know that. They want to give you the gift of kind words. Discounting those kind words is neither polite, nor generous. It's like unwrapping a present, looking at it and saying, "Thanks, but no thanks."

The thing that ground this concept in for me was when Michelle, the bride, came through into the reception room. After the initial "hug each other and bounce up and down squealing" thing that is her trademark, she pulled away and stared me in the eye. "Did you bring me my book?" she asked. Now, Michelle had told me a couple months ago to give her a copy of Fly Away Home as her wedding present. If I had come up with that idea on my own, it would have been gouache, but Michelle doesn't say things she doesn't mean. So when I was hugging my wedding-gown-clad friend and celebrating this monumental moment in her life and she asked me that, I just laughed.
"Yeah, I brought it," I said.
"YES! I was so hoping you wouldn't think I was kidding!" she said, and hugged me tight. "I wanted it so badly!"
Michelle is having the hugest day of her life to date and she is just as giddy about my silly little book as she is about her new husband. I didn't bring it up; she did. She genuinely wanted my book as a wedding gift and wanted it badly enough to ask me right in the first moments of her Mrs. Karl Hertzler-ness if I'd remembered to bring it. Honestly, I felt a tad ridiculous but a little giddy too. This is the perfect example of being able to take a compliment graciously. Who am I to tell her that's no kind of wedding gift? If she is going to be delighted with a signed copy of Fly Away Home, just let her be.

This is the sort of thing we authors dreamed of. Let's start letting ourselves enjoy being loved.

Fly Away Home Art!

I am busy busy busy with editing Anon, Sir, Anon, and cannot stop to say too terrible much. I did, however, want to share with you the most beautiful piece of art inspired by Fly Away Home. I literally gasped when I saw this pop up in my Facebook feed...it is so perfect. Those of you who have read Fly Away Home: is this how you saw Callie all spiffed up? It is remarkably like her, I think, and I am so glad artist Kendra Yoakum decided to draw her. Kendra's attention to detail as described in the book is crazy-good. I have always loved her drawings so you can imagine how it thrilled me to hear my character had inspired one:

Enjoy your hump-day, darlings! I am off to do more edits and hope it won't be long before Anon, Sir, Anon will be out to my beta-readers.

{Just For Fun} 9 Gifts for You or Your Writing Friends!

It just struck me today, that sometimes we need a bit of spoiling. Why did I just think of this today? Well, last week I spoiled myself by buying P.G. Wodehouse: A Life in Letters in hardback. It came yesterday. Already a fascinating book and I'm so glad I splurged the fifteen dollars to buy it and ship it to myself. Now and then you ought to spend some of that coffee-money on something a bit more lasting. Today I've rummaged up a few spoilings under $10 that you might be interested in lavishing on yourself or another writer-friend. :)

This gilded filigree journal from The Victorian Trading Co. is on clearance for $6.99.

The charcoal and silver Florentine journal is also just $6.99!

Hand-stamped key-chain from Michelle Mach is  $10.00

Book Quote necklace from SilverRapture for $9.00

Writer's Pen necklace from MonsterBrand for $10.00

Word Geek upcycled bobby pins from PigseyArt at $10.00

Bwahahahaah. This pin is available from geektuary for $1.88

A vintage pink typewriter iPhone case? Apparently it exists from familycase for $9.99

Ummmm, now I want a guy writing-friend to whom I can give these type cuff links from thatsreallyclassic at only $9.90!

Well that was fun! Now I am going to run off and focus on my work for the afternoon: beginning the rewrite for Anon, Sir, Anon in preparation for sending it out to beta-readers! Hold your breath they like it.... ;)

Globe-Trotter: In Which I Leave American Soil {Again}

The spring is always a time for new beginnings, goals for the rest of the year, and impossible projects. But nothing is entirely impossible, is it? Especially when God's hand is in it. :) Some of you will remember that I went to Romania on a missions trip last year. If you want to read more about that mind-boggling trip, click on this link and it'll take you to the posts about it on my other blog!

I kept a meticulous travel journal while there which has proved to be amazing to look back on...

This year we are going back! Our tickets are purchased, and I will be leaving for Romania on May 12th for another two-weeks' trip! Absolutely cannot wait... Last year, I was full of the excitement of a first trip out of the country. This year, I am filled with the tremulous excitement  of going back to a place my heart loves well...

This year, we are leaving most of the cities behind and forging deeper into the mountains to more churches, more villages. We're going to TRANSyLVANIA, people! And I have it on good authority that we are stopping by two castles on the way, including the one wherein lived Count Dracula. (The man. I don't think he was a vampire. :P)

As I said above, we have bought the tickets, but our team still needs to raise over the half the funds needed (about $1800 total per person) by the time of our departure. I know God will provide as He did last year with just the right amount of funds at just the right time, but I would really appreciate your prayer for wisdom as to how to raise the money. 

This year we are pairing up with our friends' church to go. I think it's such a cool thing that two American churches are able to pair up and travel to a couple dozen Romanian churches. The world-wide body of Christ is such a beautiful thing. I will be keeping you updated as to what fund-raising schemes we are up to (if any of you have ideas, by all means pass them on!) and for now, if you would like more information on the trip, how you can pray, and any other information, please head to The Missions Trip Blog for more! I know God will provide...I look forward to seeing His hand. :) Cannot wait to set foot on Romanian soil and again see these beautiful beautiful people. <3

Pace, darlings. 

"Why Can't I Write Like Tolkien?" A Rebuttal, of sorts

I was reading an article the other day that complained of why current Christian writers can't rise to the level of the Tolkiens and Lewises of last century; why Christian fiction now is so dull and drab in comparison. I didn't finish the article so I can't offer a comprehensive answer as to whether I agreed with the writer's logic or not. I think my tablet crashed of there was a baby to rock to sleep or something along those lines. Or kittens. I think it might have been kittens.
So this question ("Why don't we have a new Tolkien yet?") stayed in the back of my mind and collided this morning with idle musings over the fact that Tolkien's translation of Beowulf is going to be published this spring. (incidentally, I've never read Beowulf but I think I need to now.) At first I thought, "Oh, of course. Translation of Beowulf. Tolkien. Right. Okay, what next?" and then my brain wheeled around like a dog that has just galloped past a cat and squeals to a stop on his rump.

Well that, my darlings, is the answer to your question.

J.R.R. Tolkien was fluent in or at least had a working knowledge of 35 languages, including those he invented. (But a ruddy lot of the languages he knew were real, not concocted.) Lewis was equally intelligent. Both were professors at Oxford and Lewis took a spell at Cambridge too. These were brilliant, disciplined, crazy-academic minds, not your average aspiring novelist.

When people complain about today's Christian fiction, I don't think they are entirely complaining about its preachiness. You see, an unskilled writer is always going to disappoint in putting forth their subjects. You might notice the glaring lack of tact in portraying the Gospel ("I've got to have God in here somewhere. Might as well bang 'em over the head with it."), but if you care to look deeper, you will also find a lack of tact in portraying almost anything. The general question is, "Why can't authors today portray Christianity in their writing like Lewis and Tolkien did?" but I think the underlying question is: "Why can't authors write today like Lewis and Tolkien did?" and there is an answer to that question:

We don't bother enough with our education and intellect.

You cannot seriously expect to write like some of the most brilliant minds of our century if you don't take care with your own brilliant mind and cultivate it. Deciding you've finished high-school and therefore have no compulsion to read anything but historical romance the rest of your life is not going to stand you in good stead. Because writing is an out-pouring, we must counter that egress with an influx of something hearty. Read good books, read strong books. Talk to and meet people and travel when you can and always keep a mind active and open to learning new things. Just because you are out of your formal education years can't mean you stop learning. It's madness. The strength of your writing is going to be directly proportionate to the strength of your mind. I realize the opposite end of ignoring the furthering of you education would mean becoming one of those annoying academics who do nothing but read, discuss philosophy, and debate ethics with you when all you asked was whether the bananas were ripe or whether they wanted a few days more.

I don't intend to urge you into that boorish style of living. I only propose that, did J.R.R. Tolkien stop pouring into his education at eighteen, he might never have written The Lord of the Rings or translated Beowulf or taught at Oxford or learned all his languages. I also propose that if you, dear Christian Writer, make an effort to continuously broaden the horizons of your mind, there is no limit to the things of which you might be capable. Build your mind, nurture your intellect, and write to the depths of your being. That is the secret of Tolkien, the genius of Lewis. Stop asking why we aren't them. Start paying heed to the methods and path they forged before us.