I am writing this outside on my deck, enjoying the sounds of chirping birds and an ambitious woodpecker searching for food. Early buds sprout on the trees and even a crocus or two has popped its head up in the garden. I hear my father’s voice, exaggerating his London accent, declaring, “Spring has sprung, the grass is riz, I wonder where the birdies is?”

Corny, I know, but it’s something he would say every spring and I truly wish I could hear him say it again right now.

Perhaps it’s because I’m sipping a cup of Lipton’s tea; or maybe it’s because today would have been his birthday; perhaps it’s because this weekend I’m going to a wedding and I can’t help but regret that he died before he could walk me down the aisle. Whatever the reason, I am missing him today.

My dad wasn’t perfect- but he was good, and kind and decent. He worked hard to support his family and he loved to share the fruits of his labor with those around him. Nothing gave him greater pleasure than Christmas day, watching us open gifts he gave us. I think he’d had so little growing up in war-torn London, that he enjoyed giving whatever he could to his children.

He’s been gone over twenty years now, and I still think about him. I miss his annoying cheerfulness in the mornings and his pub-style piano playing at night. I wonder what he would have thought of what I’ve done with my life so far. I wish he could have met my kids, I know he would have loved them and they would have thought he was a hoot!

So I just want to remind you all to take a moment today to give the ones close to you and extra hug or call a loved one who’s living far away. I sure do wish I could do the same with my dad. But for now, I’ll have another sip of tea and reminisce a little more on this glorious spring afternoon.

The year I’ve been dreading is upon me. 2012.

No, I’m not concerned with the Mayan Calendar prediction of doomsday, instead, the role I’ve happily carved out for myself as mom will alter dramatically this year.

My baby will graduate from high school.

More than likely my husband and I will become empty nesters by the end of the year when our daughter goes to college and our son gets an apartment on his own.

And so my only New Year’s Resolution this year is to slowly let go. I don’t want to be a helicopter mom, hovering over my grown kids lives. Instead, I want to be a lighthouse. A beacon that constantly shines, in good times and in bad, to let my children know they are loved.

 I may call out a warning in stormy nights, but a lighthouse doesn’t leave the land it sits on. Instead, it lets the ship navigate the rough waters on its own.   In good weather the lighthouse serves as a reminder that there is a safe harbor available if you want to come in from your journey and rest.

It will be a process, this letting go, but I resolve to start building up the foundation of my lighthouse so that I can stand tall and strong when the time comes to let my kids sail out on their own. A foundation built on the love we have for each other and the faith that God will protect them when they are out of my sight.

And so we come to the first week of December. The turkey has all been cooked and eaten. The Christmas decorations are beginning to find their way out of the basement and up around the house. And this writer has again completed a NaNoWriMo challenge. 

50,000 words. Actually, 51,000 and change. No, there are no rewards for finishing within the 30 days. No one gets a prize if they post their story first or have the most words. Instead, those of us who complete the challenge have the satisfaction of setting a goal and seeing it through. I don’t know about you, but in our fast paced world it’s nice to have that pleasure for even a little while. 

I find it especially fulfilling around this time of year when the advertisers all seem to scream, “You can only be content if you buy my soap, or my soda, or this car!” I can hold my home printed NaNoWriMo certificate high and shout back “Hah! I don’t need any of your trifles because I AM content. I’m happy because I’ve done what I set out to do. I may not have climbed Mt. Everest (although it felt like that on some days) or played in the Super Bowl but this victory is mine and it tastes almost as sweet.

Have you ever had one of those weeks where everything seems to be ganging up against you?  This has been one of those weeks. This is my third attempt at updating my blog, and the gremlins in the machine keep conspiring to erase what I write.

But, enough of my grumbling. Week one of NaNoWriMo is finished and even though I tend to write in spurts rather than a steady pace, I’ve managed to keep up with the word count. It hasn’t been easy. Life has tried to keep me from my goal. A rejection letter threatened to tear a hole in the last of my confidence.

But that’s one thing I’ve learned about writing. It’s a journey, not a formula. No matter how good my outline is or how many words I set as a goal, life has a way of interrupting. And no matter how wonderful I think my story is, not everyone is going to like it, just like not everyone likes chocolate. (Difficult to believe, I know but I’ve met a few of these people, even called them my friends.)

And so this week, I got another lesson in perseverance. Instead of quitting NaNoWriMo when I was over 3,000 words behind on the first week, I used the extra hour we got on Sunday and woke up early to write in the quiet before church. Instead wallowing in self-pity (okay, I wallowed a little) I wrote a nice thank-you letter to the editor who’d rejected my manuscript and asked if she’d read it again if I made some revisions, to which she immediately agreed.

So now, week two of NaNoWriMo begins and I’m only a couple hundred words behind. I’m off now to take care of the little things that are important to my family, things like laundry and grocery shopping, but I’ll be back at the computer as soon as I’m able, ready to continue on this journey called writing.

It’s that time of year. The leaves have fallen, the nights are colder and this author’s fancy turns to thoughts of NaNoWriMo- better known as National Novel Writing Month.

I took the challenge on last November and, with only an intial scene and the vaguest of plots,  spewed out  60,000 words of my second young adult novel. My family thought I’d lost my mind, and I nearly did several days, but at the end of the month I reveled in my accomplishment.

And so tomorrow, I begin again. This time I have the outline of a story to guide me. I’ll see if this process goes any smoother than last year.

I hope you join me on this epic journey. I’ll be blogging about my successes and failures as I come up for air during the month. Every author craves encouragement, so if you get a chance, drop me a line to cheer me on!

On your mark, get set….

I’ve been fortunate over the past couple of months to read some great books with inspiring stories and intriguing characters. People who have taken risks to help others or overcome tragic adversities. It’s made me wonder, what am I made of? Would I have the kind of courage it takes to harbor a Jewish child during the Holocaust or would I have shut myself off from the truth like so many others did? Could I have survived on a raft out on the Pacific for a month or would I have given myself over to the sharks?

I guess it comes down to something I read in my Bible study this morning. When facing adversity, how much will I try and do myself, and how much will I turn over to God? The Israelites were told to collect  2 omers of manna each morning, and somehow, every family gathered just enough for each day. If they tried to save it for another day, the manna would smell rotten and have maggots. Each day they walked outside their tents and gathered what God provided. It sustained them.

I hope that when I’m face with the trials of this life, I will do the same. Wake up every day seek God’s will. Open up my Bible and collect God’s mercy, which is new every morning, and use it to sustain myself. What am I saying? God didn’t promise to provide for his people on certain days, or when times were particularly tough. He promised to give them what they needed every day. And He promises the same to us. Life would be so much easier if I could learn to let go and let God provide.

What makes a great character? What draws us back to a story we’ve read before just so we can revisit a fictional character we’ve begun to think of as a friend? I contemplated that after reading Pride & Prejudice. Although I love Colin Firth’s Mr. Darcy in the BBC version, what is it about Jane Austen’s written words that caused me to fall even more in love with the character? I think it’s the insights we’re privy to when we read, rather than watch, a story. In a book we’re allowed inside the character’s mind and so we see exactly what motivated a certain action. It’s a much more intimate interaction, maybe that’s the key.

I also got to thinking about some of my favorite fictional characters and why I love them so much. I like Mr. Darcy because he’s awkward around strangers, like I am. He gets caught up in trying to behave the way he should even when his heart tells him something different. Eventually tho, his heart wins him over and he confesses his feelings to Elizabeth.

I have a couple of characters that I revisit often in books. There’s Ender Wiggin of Ender’s Game and the subsequent series it spawned. But it’s in this first book that I made friends with the lonely, ambitious, brilliant boy who would save the world. I can’t help but root for Fiver and Pippin of Watership Down even though I know how the tale will end since I’ve read it so many times. I weep every time I read about Hadassah’s family perishing in Jerusalem in Francine Rivers’ AVoice in the Wind.

My list could go on and on but I’m wondering about you. Who are the characters you revisit on a regular basis and why? Let me know.

I’ve spent the last few weeks trying to figure out what’s wrong with my web site. It wouldn’t let me edit any of my pages or post anything new! Now I’ve figured out that it’s not my web site but something on my home computer so I’m typing this up on my Netbook and avoiding the problem entirely.

It’s something I do well.

Avoid the problem. I don’t like conflict. I never have. We were silent arguers in my house. It took me years to figure out that if my parents weren’t talking to each other, that meant they were arguing. We were always told to go to our rooms if we were angry or upset. I guess the idea was to work out your problems alone and don’t drag the rest of the family down into your swirling drain.

Maybe that’s why I’ve turned to writing. It’s such a cathartic exercise. Even now, I’m gloating over the fact that I’ve bested whatever computer beastie has tried to thwart me by coming in through the proverbial back door and venting my frustrations to y’all. But it’s more than that. Childhood dreams can be relived, teenage angst worked out and secret ambitions attained all through an author’s imagination and some time at the computer.

What is it that drives my fellow writers to write?  Drop me a line and let me know!

I’ve been horrible at blogging this month. Stress and visitors in the house have zapped my computer time. I’ve been told there’s no such thing as writer’s block, so I guess what I’m experiencing is writer’s apathy.  

Anyway, right now it’s 2 a.m. and I can’t sleep. I’m trying to decide between watching a favorite movie to remind myself how a good story is told, or turning on my laptop to try and write something in my own story.

On other nights when this has happened I’ve started on Facebook then moved on to watching a movie. Tonight, however, I think I’m going to try writing again. Perhaps it’s all the coffee I had today, but my brain is clicking and I’ve missed hearing the tapping of computer keys as I work out the stories buzzing around in my head.

That got me thinking, what do other creative people do when they can’t sleep? I thought I’d take an informal poll. Is it

a) watch a movie b) write c) read a book d) play on Facebook or e) other

Drop me a line and let me know!

Once again a great author has made me see my life in a different light.  I read Marcus Zusak’s I am the Messenger on a recent plane ride and had to resist the urge to grab the passenger next to me and yell, “Wow! You have to read this so we can talk about it!”

I  don’t want to give away the whole plot, because I truly hope you read the book, but in order to tell you my revelation, I have to disclose some of it. Ed, an ordinary guy, is plunged into the extraordinary when he receives addresses in the mail from an unknown person. At each new address he discovers some message he must deliver to the inhabitants. At the end of the book he comes to the realization that he wasn’t the messenger at all, but the message.

Even though Zusak’s book had little mention of the Christian faith, the thought struck me that each of us needs to live our lives, not as if we are messengers of God’s love, but as if we are the message. My life as a Christian should not be one of telling others about my faith, but interacting with people, even strangers, in such a way that my life is the good news of Christ’s love for us. Like the character in Zusak’s novel I don’t have to perform miracles. Just the simple act of buying an ice cream cone can help someone.  Every day I should be finding ways to impact the lives of those around me for good.

I suppose I am a message in progress. Some days my signal goes straight through, other times my mood and/or selfishness blocks it out.  But that’s the great thing about God’s grace. If I fail, He always gives me an opportunity to try sending the message again.