Spring Fever and Life After Book 2

It's March. That means spring is on its way, right? RIGHT???? I say as I open up the draft on the wood stove to try and get the house warmed up on this spectacularly cold morning. The weather guy says it's supposed to start warming up tomorrow, and I keep checking that forecast to reassure myself that warmer days are on the way.

This week I pulled out all my seed starting supplies. Seeds, planters, grow lights, dirt, a nice card table set up under a sunny window...I even have a gardening notebook started. All in the hopes that this year isn't as wet and awful as last year was. Immeasurable amounts of hope and faith, and patience go into a garden each year. An exercise in practical faith if ever there was one. It's no wonder Jesus told so many gardening and growing parables! So in hope I planted some pepper seeds, since they need the longest head start. Watering them and watching and having faith that they'll grow, and that it'll eventually get warm enough out there to plant them. It helps to feel like spring is that much closer, I suppose.

Meanwhile, since Unmask the Night's release, I've decided to take a short hiatus from Red Wolf and get a head start on another major project that's in the works. It's another series, and I'm SOOOO excited about it, but that's about all I can give away right now. The final Red Wolf book IS started, never fear. I haven't shelved it. It's outlined, started, and planned with love, merely waiting for me to catch my breath and come back to it.

Like this winter that's dragging on, my creative spirit has been feeling frozen and wind-blasted, starved for light and warmth and growth. After the struggles of this past year, I find I'm in need of refreshment. So, like planting seeds while it's still winter, I'm sowing some creative ideas as well, watering them, and holding onto faith that one day soon they'll be beautiful, and will help nourish my spirit, and maybe someone else's as well. I've been doing some amazing reading, and taking delight in some new ideas, and it's beginning to open my eyes once again to the wonder and grace that's in the world. And now that I can start to see the wonder again, it won't be long at all before I'm ready to pick up the final installment of Red Wolf and discover where Red and Aaro's journey takes them at last.

Unmask the Night Release Date

Check it out, my friends. We finally got some snow! Oh, and that just happens to be the proof copy of Unmask the Night. Yep. That's right. My 4th book is about to be released into the world. *Sniffs* Proud mama here.

The official release date is January 25! The Kindle book is now available for pre-order on Amazon, so check it out!  See you in a week!

New Year's Non-Resolutions.

Greetings, fair reader.

I'm happy to report that Unmask the Night, that most troublesome manuscript of mine, is at last in its final stages of preparation. That joyous time when writing is finished, editing is done, and my inner author finally gets to take a very small break. That hateful, tear-filled time of tedious battles with Amazon's obtuse technical specs, the endless maze of navigating Microsoft Word on an ancient laptop that freezes every thirty seconds, and muttered insults at technology everywhere. It's a time of slowly, angrily dying inside. Of creativity and free spirit weeping and quivering in a corner of my mind... Anyway, you get the idea. Book 2 of Red Wolf is getting itself made presentable. I'm a bit nervous to give a solid release date, since I know how those things tend to fall apart on me, however, I am *cautiously* optimistic in hinting that it should happen before the end of January.

I never got around to making any posts for the holiday's this year, which makes me a little sad. I hope you all had a wonderful season. Ours was very nice, even with the inevitable party overload, but very chill this year. We went very simple, and didn't even put up a tree. Yes, I missed it. But after a rough year, it was really great to simplify and just enjoy having Hubby home for those extra days, relaxing, getting extra sleep, and pulling off those parties without extra fuss.

With the end of the year, I always get introspective. I've never been big on making New Year's resolutions, but I like to take a look at my life and spend some time dreaming and thinking about where I'd like to be. This season something jumped out at me that has stuck in my brain and really influenced a lot of my intentions and goals for the coming year, both for my home, and for this blog. It was a line from The Two Towers (the movie version) which I had a chance to revisit over the holidays. Orcs have overrun Helm's Deep, and Theoden, in a daze and expecting to be wiped out, says, "What can men do against such reckless hate?" I feel like that could be the lament for our time and our culture. Everywhere I turn, whether it's social media with its endless memes, to news media, it seems like America is drowning in rage. And if not rage, then sarcasm and casual indifference. Nothing is sacred, and rudeness has no filter. For an introverted empath like myself, it can feel like any contact with the world is an attack. And when I'm dealing with my own ugliness, insecurities, anxieties, and humanity, just turning on my computer in the morning can drag me into a really dark place if I'm not careful.

I'm not making any resolutions, or setting any hard goals for anything, but this year I want to be more intentional about creating peaceful spaces. I want my home to be a haven. I want to celebrate reading nooks, potted herbs, paper and ink, hazy summer mornings and whole, nutritious foods. I want to de-clutter and clean and create an environment where my soul can be at peace. Instead of visualizing some perfect future where I can be happy because all's right in my life, my house is clean, chores are done, and magically there's nothing else on the to-do list, I want to find moments to live in. Moments where I can slow down and take it all in and remind myself to simply be alive. And I'm really hoping to be able to share some of those moments here. I'd like to create a space here, even if it's just a virtual one, to celebrate those geeky, homegrown moments of goodness. Maybe share some recipes, or talk about old fashioned things. Go all fangirl over garden weeds like dandelion and yarrow that are actually undercover superheroes. Just sayin'. Maybe it'll happen.

For now, keep an eye out for Unmask the Night. I'm hoping to get some special book-themed posts up here in the next few weeks. Super excited!

When Writing and Life Merge.

     Well, I hope you can all forgive me for being delinquent yet again with my posting schedule. Part of that last week was thanks to looking forward to having a couple wisdom teeth pulled - and by "looking forward" I mean the 'anticipating my last day on earth' type of looking forward. Thankfully, it wasn't my last day on earth, and after spending most of the week on the couch binge watching super corny fantasy/sci-fi/horror shows on Kindle (because, seriously, after getting two teeth dug out in pieces and being awake for it, who couldn't commiserate with a little slasher, monster action?),
I'm finally corralling my brain into a semblance of functionality again. Getting there as least.
     Anyhow, on to topic. I've been thinking lately about how much being a writer has influenced me. From the decisions I make, to the books and television that I really love or really don't love - really it's shaped my world view in general, probably almost as much as Christianity has. Writing has never been as simple as a career choice, or a hobby. It's been who I am for almost as long as I've been anybody at all - by which I mean since I grew out of my obligatory childhood obsession with horses as was able to start making informed opinions and decisions. So I guess, thanks to that, it's always been so ingrained that I don't even give it much thought any more, except for once in awhile when I realize I've just done, or am contemplating, something that most people would never even dream of, much less consider. Or if they do, it's not for the same reasons. Or when I realize the thread of thought I'm following is just so bizarre it's a good thing no one can read my mind...
     This past weekend was one of those times.
      If I was a character in one of my stories, I'd be the little hermit lady living on the mountain, gathering herbs and milking goats, and keeping chickens, that's about two marbles away from being crazy, but the heroes, out of desperation, drag their dying comrade through the forbidden forest, fending off my pet dragon, to seek my herbalist wisdom to cure their friend. Yeah - I'm that character. Not the beautiful warrior maiden or the powerful queen. The crazy hermit. In real life I do keep a flock of chickens, have a garden, do canning and dehydrating, make every single thing we eat from scratch, and pick wild edible things, like huckleberries, dandelion, yarrow, peppermint, and elderberry, though I haven't found a good local source for elderberry yet. (By way of disclaimer, this is NOT any kind of medical blog, nor will it ever be. Nor am I a medical professional. I'm not offering advice, only sharing some interesting experiences. If this sparks your interest, I'd encourage you to do some reading of your own, and remember, it's taken me thirty years to get this crazy. It wasn't something I went looking for over night o.0 )
     Anyway, I say all this to introduce the fact that I've already been harvesting yarrow for years, and am fairly well acquainted with many of its medicinal uses, like stopping bleeding, reducing fever and pain, and fighting infection, etc. It's pretty much a super star in its own right. Aside from the herbalist and homesteading blogging community, you don't really hear much about it, but historically, it's been used in fist aid applications for millennia. Something that any savvy novelist would be happy to know and file for future reference. Lately one of my friends who's also into obscure herb lore was saying how she's making yarrow salve, and I thought that sounded like a good idea, especially since I hadn't gotten any dried and put away yet for the year. So Sunday afternoon I dragged Hubby out with the 4-wheeler to take me yarrow picking on the family farm. Then, stocked with a bag full of fresh yarrow, some oil, string, and mortar and pestle, just like the crazy herbalist character, I went to work...

     Yes, I do, in fact, own a marble mortar and pestle set. Just to get that out of the way...
     So, while I'm using castor oil for the salve, which will need to marinate for a couple weeks before beeswax gets added, I also did a tiny little batch with olive oil, crushing the yarrow extra well, and heating the oil a little bit so that it would be ready to use right away. Call it my writer's eagerness to experiment, but I was like hey - wisdom teeth out on Monday, let's see if this stuff actually works. And for the record - yes it does. Also for the record, I used olive instead of castor oil on the small batch because I haven't tried castor oil anywhere but on my skin, and since I thought I might be using it in my mouth, I wanted to play it safe. Even though people do swallow castor oil. *Shudders*
     Right now you're probably thinking "Man...even by writer's standards you're crazy." But that's not entirely true. I would have used my yarrow concoction with or without the incentive of "research," because it's something I had confidence in. I've used it before, and read a lot about it. It's real-world applicable, not just interesting for the sake of writing. And I wouldn't have used it unless I actually needed it. But after getting home from having teeth pulled, and not being able to get them to stop bleeding (probably because I was having a little panic attack at the time), I did use my yarrow/olive oil solution on them, and it stopped it. Instantly.
     So, loooong story short, now I not only have reading knowledge of how something might work in the world of story, I have first-hand experience! Woohoo! Though I wouldn't have complained about a less emotional and painful way of getting it... still. The fact that, in the middle of a completely miserable day of turture, the thing that pops into a writer's mind is "well, this sucks. Maybe I can use it in a book some time," seems to point to writers being not fully human. A sub species, perhaps? There's a standing joke with one of my friends that I'm part were-wolf. Maybe there's some truth to that. On the other hand, maybe writers are the most human of all. Because of anyone, we have the most cause to embrace our pain, and to own our experiences, both good and bad. When you read a book and it touches something deep down in your soul, and makes you cry, or surprises you into laughter, or begins to heal a hurt - I guarantee that's the author's own blood, dripping invisibly onto the page and reaching out to you. Instead of trying to forget their horrible experiences, they've harnessed them, and used them to infuse truth into their fiction, mixing a potent brew as powerful as any spell, capable of healing, or wounding, of changing hearts or changing the world.

Unraveled by Words

     Every month or two I end up taking a week or so off - by which I mean, not work on writing or extra housework for a couple days when I'm actually home. Usually it happens when something goes wrong, like last week, when I had the little bit of a tummy bug my loving hubby shared with me, and then didn't sleep for three days, thanks to feeling yucky and that dratted full moon. Or because there's just too much going on and my introverted soul is burnt out. Anyway, regardless the cause, I'm learning to accept it as a good thing, rather than beat myself up and feel guilty, which has always been my go-to response in the past. Instead I'll painstakingly pick out a new book or book series on Kindle and binge read. I used to find a TV series to watch, but I've found that that doesn't really do anything other than pass time. Reading renews my imagination and heals my heart like watching movies never could. And taking time out to do that is so refreshing and necessary.
     So last week, as I was saying, ended up being one of those recharging weeks, or part of it anyway. There were still a million projects going on, which have carried over into this week, keeping me way too busy for comfort. But in the in-between times I've been working my way through a new series I discovered: The Staff and the Sword by Patrick W. Carr. I just finished the last one yesterday.
     This has been one of those book series that picks up my world off its foundations and then shatters it. Every once in a while one of those will come along, and usually it's when I'm not expecting it. I read the description of the first book, A Cast of Stones, and nothing about it shouted "You will be destroyed!" but here I am, reeling and wondering what hit me.
     As a writer I can appreciate good writing, perhaps on a deeper level than most, since I understand what goes into it. As an intuitive personality type, where literally every thing I think about is connected to every other thing, all it takes at times is a spark of an idea to start that blaze going. Well, this book had more than a spark waiting for me. Its themes of sacrifice and service are so achingly and beautifully presented, over and over again, ideas and images and scenes building upon each other into a crescendo as sharp and powerful as a sword thrust... I think it has touched every area of thought for me, from life, to faith, to philosophy, to worldview, and more than anything else, my own writing. As if I'd been painting portraits with finger paints, and then one day someone showed me the work of Da Vinci or Michelangelo, and now suddenly I'm just like "What am I even doing here? I have no right to wield the tools of my craft."
     I suppose every once in a while it's good for a writer to be humbled. To find something to strive toward. There have been other authors and other books that have humbled me. But why does it at times have to feel like being undone? It's hard to pick myself up after one of those times and move on, when I feel like the meaning and the reason behind my own writing has been completely obliterated. It sends me seeking. Digging deeper. Crying while I drive or staring off into space until Hubby thinks I've finally lost it. In the end, I suppose, it makes me stronger. It makes me ask questions of myself, as a writer and as a person. It leaves me unsatisfied with myself, striving for more. Those are all good things, I guess. But my goodness, why's it have to feel like being a bug splattered on a windshield?

Minding Your Own Business: Creative Life Devotional Series

     Peter seeing him saith to Jesus, "Lord, and what will this man do?"
     Jesus saith unto him, "If I will that he tarry till I come, what is that to thee? Follow thou Me."
     John 21:21,22

     In the last chapter of John, Jesus had a talk with Peter, telling him he would become a martyr. John was there as well, following, and that's when Peter turned around and saw him, and asked Jesus what his fate would be. Jesus basically tells Peter to mind his own business.
     Ouch, right?
     I don't know what Peter's motive was for asking about his friend, whether he was worried about him, or whether he was feeling a little bitter, being told that he'd die a martyr's death. After the episode just a couple chapters back where Peter denied Jesus, right after saying he'd be willing to die for Him, he's probably still pretty contrite, so it seems like a fair guess that Peter's motive for asking was well intentioned. Still, Jesus tells him bluntly not to worry about John, just worry about following Jesus.
     When I question other people's lives and wonder how everything seems to come so easy to them, my motives aren't always that good.
     I see fellow Christians, and it seems to me that they've been handed everything they need on a silver platter. I see them breeze through routine things that are a part of life, while I struggle and agonize over those same things. They probably think the same thing of me, of course. That I live a charmed life in a beautiful house with a great marriage, two cars in the garage, dogs, chickens, a garden, and a Kindle full of e-books. They haven't been inside my head to know the things that I cry over and struggle with, the things that are killing me inside. Things that they would just shrug off and say "Why is that a problem?" Meanwhile, while I'm internalizing everything, I look at them and think, how can you be so blind that you don't care?
     The truth is, they can't see fully what's going on with me, all the ways God is working in my life, and I can't see their internal world, and what is truly going on below the surface with them. So to let myself be jealous, or to question when it seems like I carry burdens that no one else does, is to question God's grace. Why does so'n so get more than I do? Why is it so easy for them?
     Well, A: It isn't necessarily easier for them. They have struggles and burdens I can't see. B: They might be struggling less because they're obsessing less. Or because they understand more. C: It's none of my business.
      Who knows the mind of God? Who can listen to what He whispers into any heart but their own? That thing that you just can't forgive because What's-His-Name just doesn't seem repentant? Well, what "seems" to be going on in his head is none of your business. Your business is to do what Jesus asks of you, namely, forgive. When you gossip about that other friend because she went back to doing that, that's not helping her. That's just ruining someone else's good opinion of her, and who knows if that person to whom you whispered your gossip would have offered some encouragement to your friend that would have helped her, if they hadn't been turned off by your words?
     All I'm saying here, is that you and I just don't know enough to make assumptions about whether God is treating someone else better or worse. What we know is what He's told us individually: Follow Me. Love each other, encourage each other, teach each other, even offer correction when necessary, but at the end of the day, you can't change them, and you can't change God, and sometimes questioning His designs for someone else can lead to bitterness and distrust.

     On a side note, I've found this really true in my life on a professional basis, with juggling my writing career, waitress job, and homemaking responsibilities. I see other people who seem so much more successful ALL THE TIME, in all of those areas. They're better homemakers, better at pursuing a money making career, or they're living the creative life, publishing books and apparently holding their dreams in their hands.
     Dwelling on other peoples' success ALWAYS makes me unhappy and dissatisfied with where I'm at. I wonder: 'What's wrong with me?' 'What am I even doing here?' I'm thirty years old and still a waitress at a small town restaurant. My mother-in-law (and pretty much everyone else) can run circles around me when it comes to keeping things organized, clean, planned, and put together. I read homemaking blogs about menu planning and it makes me see red. I have to remind myself that that's their life. They're living out their own struggles and callings, just like I am. And the things that I've gone through and the things that don't come easy for me, the dreams that I'm still longing for, they make me uniquely me. They make my relationship with my Lord unique. And that makes me a piece of God's puzzle that can't be replaced or duplicated. I'm not like everyone else, and no one else is like me, but we still fit together, and fill a hole no one else could.

10 Books That Have Changed My Life

     I'm working on coming up with a manifesto for my blog and writing, and part of that is inexorably bound to include some thoughts on reading. I've mentioned before that books have shaped the way I think, and not only the way I think, but the way I am. My worldview. My life. It's something I feel so strongly about! But not only because I'm passionate about reading. It's not just me who's been shaped by the things I've read. History itself is a slave to its authors, its readers, and its lack thereof.
      I could totally jump into a huge dissertation on why reading, writing, and creating are so important, but those of you who are readers already know it, and those who aren't probably aren't reading this anyway. So for today I'll keep the topic bite sized. But think about this: if you want to know about a person, look at their bookshelf. It will tell you more than their words.
     There are SO many books I feel indebted to that picking only ten seems almost laughable. I've tried to pick the first ones that come to mind, of ones that have changed my outlook, made me think, made me ask questions, or truly stirred my soul. This list isn't in any particular order, and its woefully incomplete. But here goes.

The Lord of the Rings by J.R.R. Tolkien.
     You had to know it'd be in here! Probably the most influential series as far as turning me toward writing. Deciding what I wanted to write was a non point, thanks to these.

The Chronicles of Narnia by C.S. Lewis.
     Again, a no brainer for any self respecting fantasy author. But they're much more than that. I've learned so much from these books. I still re-read them to this day, and I can say they were the very first fantasy books I fell in love with as a kid. These and LOTR pretty much carry between them the blame for my career choice.

The Screwtape Letters by C.S. Lewis.
     It make me think about my actions and motives, even my subconscious. It's a scary journey in terms of self discovery.

Freckles by Gene Stratton Porter.
     This book is truly beautiful.

Tales of the Kingdom (and it's sequels) by David and Karen Mains
     These books are a wonder to me. They are all a series of short stories about a group of characters that all tie in together in one way or another, and each illustrates some point of the Christian life. But lest that sounds really preachy and blah--Nothing could be further from the truth. These are the essence of simple but powerful. Truly well written adventures in a way I can only aspire to.

Legends of Muirwood (Trilogy, beginning with The Wretched of Muirwood) by Jeff Wheeler
     I read these knowing pretty much nothing about them, and wondered if they were written by a Christian. Turns out the author is Mormon. But that aside, they pack an emotional punch and so much wisdom. They spoke to me when I was in a really dark place, about the power of changing our thoughts.

This Present Darkness By Frank Peretti.
     Pretty much anything by Mr. Peretti, but this was the first I ever read of his. Master storyteller!

Dragons in our Midst (Series) by Bryan Davis.
     I have such a soft spot for these.

The Martyr's Song by Ted Dekker.
     Actually, it's also a series, and all of them turned me into an emotional wreck. This was the shortest and simplest one (each of them can be read as a stand-alone, though there are subtle connections).

The Last Sin Eater By Francine Rivers
     Another one I always go back to.

     So tell me, what are some of your favorite books, and how have they changed your life?