Marking the Kindred: Experiences While Traveling

Lucy Maud Montgomery once claimed that she was a "book drunkard" ... a very apt term for those of us who can't seem to stay away from books. Even while travelling, I found myself drawn irresistibly to them. I helped lead our eighty-four campers into Colorado Springs to visit Garden of the Gods, the Air force Academy and Focus on the Family and of course made my way to the bookstore if there was one. At Focus on the Family we had a chance to visit Odyssey and Whit's End, the art gallery, or the bookstore; I utterly ignored the WodFamChocSods and came out of Focus quite a lot poorer in cash though richer in books with Tramp for God (Corrie Ten Boom's after-story), A Man Called Thursday and The Innocence of Father Brown by G.K. Chesterton, as well as a copy of The Weight of Glory by C.S. Lewis that I was given for my birthday (July 20). At first I was concerned about space in my suitcase, but having toted along two pairs of shoes for a friend which I had deposited in CO Springs, there was enough room.

Perhaps one of my favorite things about travelling is getting to mark and observe other readers. There is little more satisfying that hearing the stewardess announce that all cellular and electronic devices must be turned off during take-off and landing and settling back into your not-so-comfy chair with your paperback and a smile. I also like spying on what these fellow book-drunkards are reading. We had a rather long layover in Reagan International on the way home and it was only as we were called to our gate that I noticed a cheerful-looking older woman with a copy of Unbroken by Laura Hillenbrand on her lap; how I wished I'd seen the pair before! We could certainly have had a very interesting conversation. After getting situated on the plane prior to landing at Reagan, I noticed that the man sitting beside me not only had a prosthetic, bionic-looking leg, but his other leg had chunks out of it too, and he was reading a book called The Four-Hour Work-Week. The cover was embellished with golden palm-trees, leaving me to wonder A.) what sort of life he'd led so far B.) what he was planning to do with his life next. He texted someone named Kristen before takeoff and after landing, so I can only guess she's his S.H.I.E.L.D. contact and he spent quite some time at a place like Tahiti. (Phil Coulson's son?)

I just love speculation. I haven't forgotten last year's experiences with dropping a copy of Winnie-the-Pooh onto my seatmate's feet and having him fold himself like a Jacob's Ladder to collect it for me, and it sets me to wondering what sort of person my reading choices mark me out to be? It's such a fascinating thing to think on and wonder over. For instance, I was reading The Weight of Glory at the same time this man was reading about working four hours a week. He stole a look at my book, I peeped at his. I mean really, people, it's like optic eavesdropping: it happens. And yet for all his peeping and my peeping, we never actually spoke to each other. Had he never heard of C.S. Lewis? One would think that if he had, he might have said something friendly such as, "Such a great book," or: "I love C.S. Lewis." And if he hadn't heard of Lewis, what sort of shell had he grown up in? I, on the other hand, might have extended my remark on his really cool leather bag to include his strange choice of reading material and inquired further into Tahiti. But no, I turned shy and didn't wish to bother him anymore (he didn't respond with much animation to my compliments of his tote of choice) and kept to myself.

I recall reading an article recently wherein the author spoke on being a bit daring and extending our interactions to the point of commenting on an article of clothing, a piece of statement jewelry, or the book they are reading. It is amazing what sort of random and yet not random connections it is possible to have if one is willing to extend the right hand of fellowship.Also at Focus, I purchased a t-shirt with the phrase "It is well with my soul" emblazoned on the front in a pretty font. I bought it specifically as a pretty and fashionable conversation-piece, hoping to elicit a remark or two to see who might recognize the song and provide with me a counter-sign. The one who ended up making my day was a TSA agent. She remarked on loving the shirt and the sentiment, but what was even better was her remark that the story behind the song was precious. I'd found a kindred-spirit without even trying.

So be willing to start a conversation or be the conversation; find your fellow book-drunkards and hymn-recognizers and be available. It's such a rich feeling to know there are people like you in every corner of the world. 

A Wayward Clump of Marl

I am back!
 I cannot vouch for the coherency of my speech, my thoughts, or my actions because I got an average of 3 1/2 to 4 hours of sleep each night and worked every waking hour but it was amazing. The mornings were spent in writing the daily newspaper for the camp. By the time I passed out Monday's paper to 170 kids at lunch, I realized that the whole facts part of journalism is not for me. Give me a specs sheet of a new class of submarine and tell me to write an article about it and I utterly fail. But if my assignments were to cover the presidential debate, press clubs, charity galas, etc. I was in my realm. It had to do with people. I can do people. I love people. Also, I learned a lesson in how disappointing it is to not write with my normal spirit. I had written up a rather prosaic newspaper for Monday and brought it to my superior, Jeremiah Lorrig, for him to proofread.
"It's an excellent newspaper," he said, handing it back. "But I expected more snark from you."
I looked over my articles and wholeheartedly agreed with him; one had been a pre-set deal I simply tweaked. Another was my own. So before printing the copies for distribution, I went back and snarked it up and upheld that new standard all week. Actually, some of the kids remarked that this year's papers were the best they'd ever read and more than one was begging to make extra copies so they could take them home. 

Lesson learned: always write hot. 

On Thursday night we had a game wherein each staff member was assigned a certain role to facilitate a 3-hour scenario scavenger hunt. I got the part of a Shakespearean actor and reenacted Act 2, Scene 1 from Much Ado About Nothing 17 times. Yes, that's right. I got to choose two guys and a girl to be Leonato, Antonio, and Hero while I played Beatrice ... 17 times. It was amazingly fun, though by the end I was exhausted. Also, who doesn't like to be given permission to speak in a British accent, flirt, and wear a Tudor-style dress? Well, some people might dislike it but I found it quite pleasant.

While at camp, I was sent an amazing look at the cover design for Anon Sir, Anon and that look is giving me inspiration to continue rewrites and edits. Jeegly clambake ... it's a long process. All that aside, I am glad to be home for five days, though two of those will be work days. Thus runs the course of a busy life! Thanks to everyone who has entered Chatterbox this month. :)

July's Chatterbox: Something Foreign

I am taking a quick moment while my newspapers are printing to announce the Chatterbox topic for July because SOMEONE was so good as to remind me I hadn't done it yet. Ahem. Jolly good. So, the topic for July is going to be:

Foreign Relations

Haha. Hard topic on the surface but really: how do your characters interact with those of another culture or nationality? I want to know because it will probably be quite varied and certainly interesting. :) I don't have time to figure out how to sign in to the InLinkz page so for now, just leave a link to your post in a comment! :D Life of a journalist. So sorry. See you in a week or so!

"A Gentleman Arrives by Carriage."

Hey-low, people!

    This is just a very quick note to let you know that I am absent from home (and therefore absent from the blogosphere) for eleven days, starting today. That means that The Inkpen Authoress will probably be rather a quiet spot during the interim. I'm off working at Generation Joshua's iGovern East camp where, among my other responsibilities, I will be acting as the journalist and writing the daily newspaper, leading a tour of kids through Washington D.C. and spending my July 4th in the same, going to the Spy Museum. Confession time: I have wanted to be a spy since the age of ten or twelve and to go to this museum is an unofficial bucket-list item. :) So happy about this.

Can't wait to get back in town and to you, but I'm also super blessed to be a part of the GenJ Leadership Corps and working in the lives of these high-school students. God always blesses the week beyond our dreams and though we're technically there to teach them the inner workings of America's political system, shining the light of Christ into their lives is the actual goal.

So. See you in a week-and-a-bit and until then, take gobs of care and if you're American, have a blast on Independence Day. (I'm also a pyromaniac. I love fireworks.)

"In TECHNICOLOR."

It was inevitable because our Triumvirate (plus gobs) always ends up taking one another's ideas and it was only right that I'd come up with a vlog too. This is a thing I've been wanting to do for some time but a thing to which I'd never buckled down. Now I have. And here is the product. Not as nice a product as Jenny's, but I blame that on the fact that I don't have an iPhone and I don't know how to turn down the music's volume in the background of a video. HARUMPH. I will learn. This is the first of many, I hope, so enjoy. Also, if you've any questions about me or my writing, do please leave a comment below! I love to interact with you. Really and truly. :)

Ciao! 

To Fan-Letter or Not to Fan-Letter?

"I admire Shakespeare enormously. But since I can't be him, I'm glad that his marriage was unhappy and that he's dead."

-Bauvard

Our internet is not working. I know you can comprehend how utterly incomprehensive that is. Internet not working? Like, what the blazes? I don’t mean that we are having any large problems. It’s just that I’m sitting here waiting for the Blogger page to load so I can actually blog and instead I’m having to type all of this into a blank Word document. Amazon is loading the super slow html version of the page as I try to check on Five Glass Slippersreviews and it is taking me back to the 90’s and I’m once again overwhelmed with gratefulness that I was not an 80’s kid.

Random asides wrapped up, I wanted to write today on the subject of fan-mail. I’ve always rather scoffed at the practice of fan-mail because I have a mortal dread of seeming like One of Those People. I don’t know how many of you have Instagram accounts and follow celebrities (my celebrity follows are left at Owl City and Broadway stars) but if you do, you will probably relate to a certain sinking sensation in the pit of your stomach when you inadvertently read the latest comment of the queue of four-hundred twenty-seven such worthless things: “SO hey, I love you sosososososossososososososos much and you’re like the best thing ever and I like would scream and cry and absolutely DIE of joy and tears if you followed me back. LOVE YOUR MUSIC. Xoxoxoxxx.”

Cringe-worthy.

So for years and years I thought of all fan-mail as that sort of saccharine thing and I figured I would always always hold myself to a snobbier standard that scoffed at such things. Then I began to write and when I was a writer, I noticed how good it felt to have my hard work acknowledged and appreciated. It is a truth universally acknowledged that most people don’t do things for praise (At least … I thought it was. Ahem.), but praise is a wonderful thing in its place. That place, dear reader of mine, is among the responsible, coherent public.

Intelligent fan art, fan mail, and fan other things (I still cringe at fan-fic but that is just my opinion) are the public’s way of letting a person know they place worth on what you do and that they think it worth their while to tell you about it.

The more I looked at fan-mail this way, the less I despised it and before too long I found myself trekking to our mailbox with a letter in hand. This letter was for historical romance author Sarah Sundin and upon its reception Sarah took a photo and put in on her Facebook page. She enjoyed my calm, coherent, congratulatory letter. I was not dying of shame in my corner over a letter I had (not) written in glitter gel-pens and decorated with an unseemly quantity of rainbow Lisa Frank stickers. I wrote a letter with my real (quiet and commonplace) feelings of admiration for her novel and I sent that letter and it was received gladly.

I’ve only written one other fan-letter after this, (though my sister, Leah, wrote to Broadway star Laura Osnes and actually got a reply.) With the publishing of Five Glass Slippers, I have been thinking a lot about what blessing it is to know someone appreciates your work and has taken the time to tell you about it. In the final line-editing copy stages of the pre-publishing work, one of my “Slipper Sisters” emailed to tell me her mother had read The Windy Side of Care and adored it.  That email is going down in history as one that made me happiest of all. It was a simple thing of a few lines and it gave me the boost I needed to finish up the work I had to do. In the same way, last week I received an email from a total stranger who had read Fly Away Home on the recommendation of a friend and very much enjoyed it. Again, none of the fan-girlish (or fan-boyish, which is almost creepier because guys tend to be blessedly understated) effluence that makes one discount the praise immediately.

Because we do.

We do get horrible shivers up our spines (and famous people get them worse) when we open an email or read a letter or what-have-you that is nothing but sugar mixed with that fake maple syrup spread over doughnuts stuffed with caramel frosting and pitted dates that have been chopped up into a compote with children’s ibuprofen and treacle.

The best kind of praise is intelligent praise. I was set to thinking after a comment left by one of my readers on my post about taking criticism. In this comment, the lady said that low-ratings are actually good for the health of public opinion because they make it obvious that you haven’t rigged the votes in your favor. I quite agree. I love to know that a reader loved my book. I’m sure actors or athletes enjoy the sensation too. But if I open an email that says, in essence, “This is the best book ever written and you are a modern-day Dickens. Period.” I am amused and happy but I can’t resist a sort of Miss Taylor To Emma Woodhouse Smile-Across-The-Table. (Dear reader, I have never received an email like that, never fear.)

How much would I rather an email like that I received last week: a simple congratulation of a job well done, quite understanding that many people do jobs equally well done!

In the end, I suppose this is a post of release, as if you needed my sanction on things you wished to do: write fan-letters.

Write them calmly, honestly, and with your natural tone. None of this stiff formality that has no personality but go easy on hyperbole.

Send those letters to people you admire (Even people you actually know. They deserve fan-mail too).

Wait patiently. Maybe they’ll write back. Maybe they won’t. Why did you write? If it was simply to congratulate them, you’ll not want to be another letter to gain a reply sitting in their slush pile.

Do it again. (To a different person or at least for a different occasion.)

And that, dear reader, is how I’d recommend writing fan-mail.

Please let it be understood that I’m not fishing for you to write me fan-mail by creating this post. It was more of a, “Oh, I wonder if my fan-mail (to a celebrity this time) will actually get read. Probably not. Oh well. Hey! Blog-post fodder.”

A Thousand Baby Lobster For The Salad

In the wake of the Five Glass Slippers blog tour, I have been laughing to myself over some of the songs from Rodgers and Hammerstein's Cinderella that were edited out for the current Broadway edition. In fact, I love their Cinderella musical so much that I wanted the soundtrack to be my contribution for the giveaway but it was a bit too expensive for that. Sorry, people! Instead, today I'm posting the lyrics and video to one of the funniest. (Sorry in advance to Mirriam Neal who will find this just as addicting as "The Stepsisters' Lament")
Servant: I have the chef and steward waiting outside to report their plans for the dinner.

King: Come in, gentlemen.

Steward: Your majesties
Your majesties,
A list of the bare necessities

King: a list of the bare necessities for what?

Queen: For seventeen-hundred guests.

King: That seems a lot.
Oh. Don't have any Chicken King.
I hate to see that on a menu ... "Chicken King". Seems like a criticism of my courage!

Queen: A thousand baby lobster for the salad

King: Wow!

Queen: And five-hundred pheasant for the pie

King: Aye-Yi!

Queen: A thousand pounds of caviar ...

King: A thousand?!

Queen: Hush.

King: That's more than the sturgeon can supply.

Chef: I told the steward to get us forty acres of lettuce and six-hundred suckling pigs for roasting.

King: But what about the marshmallows?

Queen: Who wants marshmallows?

King: I do.

Queen: Why?

King: For toasting.

Steward: Now would it please your majesties I have a list of wines.
The best of all the vintages from every nation's vines.

King: I want the wine of my country.

Queen: Hush, my dear.

King: I want the wine of my country, I want the wine of my country, I want the wine of my country! The wine of my country is beer.

Queen: Obviously.

Also, because I think laughing at oneself frequently is the best way to insure a healthy opinion of oneself ... I'm sharing this lip-syncing video my sisters and I did for our (quite single) Valentine's Day. Go ahead and laugh ... it was meant to be funny and the song is just terribly wonderful for letting off steam. :D

Well. Now I suppose you know how I got The Windy Side of Care ... I always do favor the whirligig varieties of things!