Too Many Ideas

Funny, this isn’t as easy to figure out as the scrapbooking thing.

 I keep writing because I have too many stories I need to tell. Too many characters inside my head who need a voice. Too many ideas (maybe you’ve heard that before).

 I love writing because it takes me out of myself, takes me away from the problems and drudgery of everyday. Sort of like reading does. I love it because I can make the story come out how I want. I’m not just following some other author’s idea of a perfect story.

 It’s a creative outlet, sure, but I have a lot of those, and they’re a lot more quick with the gratification. I can be looking at a new scrap page in about an hour. A new book—um—a year. Not so satisfying. Not until it’s done, anyway, and the wait between is so long.

 I feel I’m fulfilling my purpose by writing. God gave me this talent, gave me the need, gave me the stories. What better use of my time than to thank Him by writing?

 It’s a good idea, though, to study your reasons, and reaffirm them.

It’s a cliché, I know, something so many say around this time of year. But I love Christmas. I love giving gifts, even when we don’t have much to give. I love the music. The decorations. The scents. The excitement in the air. I love going shopping for decorations in dedicated stores, although I usually don’t come back with more than ideas.

 And now I want to write a book set during Christmas. It’s titled (for now) The Christmas House, and while I haven’t written the first chapter yet, I’ve got half of it plotted. I know the setting, and the characters are coming to life.

 I love this stage of writing—when the story is perfect and nothing needs editing!

Last night was my book launch party. It was wonderful. I had such mixed feelings about it. I’m proud and happy to have my book out in the world, yes, but I also don’t like pushing myself out there and demanding everyone pay attention to me and tell me I’m fantastic. I’m not—but somehow promoting your book makes it look like that, to me, anyway. But my dear husband, my oldest and youngest, and friends wanted to do this, so I got into the spirit.

 So many bright spots—my son-in-law dee jay-ing with all my favorite songs and teaching us Kenyan dancing. My husband driving sixty miles away to pick up my daughter and her two boys, and back again, because said son-in-law put her car keys in his pocket and turned off his phone before he drove his dee jay equipment to our house. My third grandchild—the milk chocolate one—dancing to the music and hugging a friend without being asked—just ran up to him and climbed on his lap. All the friends we came to celebrate with me, and the ones who took over the barbecuing because my husband was on the road.

 But I think the best was my oldest grandson giving me a kiss and telling me, “Happy book day, Grandma!”

you can check out the cover, read the blurb, or order a copy at https://www.whiterosepublishing.com/

We should proclaim today, Sept. 11, the Day of Forgiveness. It should be a day that reminds us, like Good Friday, not only that we need to forgive, but that we have been forgiven.

 Yes, we were hurt. Yes, we lost loved ones. Yes, our nation grieved. But we’ve hurt others, caused loss to others, grieved others. Anger and blame and revenge won’t help. It gets us nowhere.

 Forgiveness opens us to new possibilities, new relationships. It strips away so much that holds us back and releases inspiration and creativity. Yes, it’s hard. Yes, it seems impossible. Yes, to some, it is weak and cowardly. No matter. It still does its job.

 I will celebrate Sept. 11^th, not only as a day of memory, but as a Day of Forgiveness.

It’s coming out much sooner than I ever expected. Sept. 25, 2009.

She loved babies. She loved her kids. She loved life. I can’t think of any better way to spend a life. We’ll miss her.

I didn’t vote for him, not because of his party, but because he supports abortion. The next election, unless he changes that stance, I probably will vote against him again.

 Do I think he’s a bad president? No. I don’t want his job and I can’t tell him how to do it. But I pray for him (and not just for him to change his mind on certain issues) every night.

 Do I think his speech to school children will corrupt them with his political agenda? Well, I just read the text, and if he stays anywhere near it, nothing much about it will go against my views.

 I saw a news report featuring a young mother, in tears because she doesn’t want her children indoctrinated by Obama’s agenda. Her words. She was wiping her face, a bit incoherent. I wonder if she’ll read it online before she decides to keep her children home for the day.

 I’m rather looking forward to my youngest’s reaction this afternoon. Granted, she’s not an impressionable elementary school age child, likely to fidget after the opening and begin to dream of what games she’ll play come recess. Although she might use the time to dream of something, and not pay attention. If she listens, and I sent her off this morning with the request that she does, IF she should have the chance to hear the speech, I’m hoping President Obama inspires her. She started this year with a much better attitude and a resolve to work hard, and I think this will encourage her.

Do I think she’ll turn into a Democrat? (We vote conscience, not party). I’m not really worried about that. I’d rather she turn into a thinking adult.

This speech might help her along that road.

My daughter and I visited the library onSaturday. She wanted something Stephen King (I shudder at that. The first few pages of Salem’s Lot scared me off his books forever, which I mean as the deepest compliment to Mr. King. He is indeed a GREAT writer). I had a long list complied from various book-loving websites. I didn’t find a single author on my list, so settled for one I’ve long heard of but never read.

The author I came home with has a distinctive voice. I’m not sure I like it yet. In fact, I haven’t yet read any pages the past two days. I’m still deciding.

But I doubt my voice is that distinct. I doubt my tone can bring a reader to fear and awe (any kind of fear and awe). Make them wonder if I’m worth the time investment—uh—yeah. The thing is, I’m afraid they’ll decide not, and there goes my reader.

I’m still developing my voice. Once in while I’ll go back to read something I wrong long ago, and hear the voice I didn’t know I had. I’m not aware of it as I write. Not sure I like it when I am.

Then I read this post (http://www.murderati.com/blog/2009/9/6/confidence.html ) and I begin to see some glimmerings of truth. She writes about something I’ve always lacked but am slowly grasping hold of.

Yesterday’s Gospel reading spoke about how Jesus healed a man who was deaf and mute. He gave him a chance to communicate, a voice. He gives us all our voices. I pray I use mine well.

We have no sun. The world is littered with white ash, speckled in black. My corner of the world has seen mass destruction, sheer stupidity, death and heroics. Fire fighters who have pledged to give their lives for our protection have done so, and my heart aches for their families and co-workers. Chances are, these fires did not start naturally, and I wonder at the person (or people) who would start them. But I can’t focus on that, or I’ll fall apart.

Sept is a time of new beginnings. School starts for my youngest today. I dropped her and her nervous stomach off in front of the building, with many prayers.

So many things need prayer. What would I do without God???