Blackberry season is here! We celebrated the rich ripe sweetness with plenty of picking, followed by a hot date night with my husband and I making jam, and canning it. (while our kids were at a friends' house)
In the midst of the fun of the weekend, which included a get together with friends, a wedding, blackberry fun, and a going away blessing party, we also had many prayers on our hearts.
Dear, sweet friends of ours are undergoing a major storm in their lives. Their sweet seven-year-old daughter (who also has a rascally sense of humor) underwent surgery today to be fitted with a halo. She'll be in traction for six weeks, and then undergo a more major surgery - one that has only been performed 5 times in the world, and she'll have three surgeons working on her during that time. Our friends need marjor support in prayer, in presence, and in just dealing with the every day mess, and bills. The mom in the family will live with her daughter at the hospital, while the Dad works, and the older brother goes to school. Grandparents are marshalling their support, along with friends.
You may remember that our church sent a family to Disneyland . . . this is that family.
So we have been praying a lot for them, and we know they need more ongoing prayers.
In addition to that, we have friends who are moving away, accepting a Pastoral call and a family call to a ministry in Post Falls, Idaho. We have known them, and considered them sweet, good friends for 10 years, and it is really hard to say Godspeed. We'll keep in touch, but it won't be the same. Our lives have been inter-connected for so long that although we are excited for the blessings they are receiving, we are also saddened by the fact that we won't see them at least once a week.
Today, we transition in one more way . . . we are going on a mini-vacation tonight, with my parents in charge of the house, dogs, and cat. We are excited to have one last splash of summer before school starts. However, intermixed with all of the joy is the ongoing concern and prayer for our friends.
So, it's blackberry season. Sweet fruit, big thorns . . . all mixed together like life.
Monday, August 29, 2011
Thursday, August 25, 2011
Campaign Plunge
I've decided to take the campaign plunge, by joining Rachael Harris' Third Writers' Platform Building Campaign. It sounds like awesome writing fun, and a great way to encourage and build each other up as writers.
The last time she hosted a campaign, I saw some of the really cool fests that fellow bloggers were participating in, and I struggled with writer envy. Seriously. She knows how to hosts some fun events. So, if you would like to get know fellow bloggers with similar interests, join in on some awesome writing fests, I recommend joining the Third Writers' Platform Building Campaign.
I admit, I sat on the fence a few days thinking of this . . . just because my life feels slightly swamped with awesome blessings . . . but then I decided I would join in and try it anway.
Sparkfest: Doomed to be a Writer
Sparkfest re-post?! Believe it or not, the month of July was so crazy with busy-ness and sick kids that I actually thought the sparkfest started on July 22nd - I literally was a month early when I first posted "Doomed to be a writer". Considering that I am usually 15 minutes late to everything, and hope to be late to my funeral . . .well, it was interesting timing for me. Kind of embarassing really. Anyway, here it is again. Doomed to be a writer -
Sparkfest is an awesome Blogfest hosted by Christine Tyler at The Writer Coaster
We get a choice of three questions, or the wonderful random choice of making up a little bit of our own idea and mixing it with the theme . . . which is more the way I write already.
So, I thought about the question: which book made you realize you were doomed to be a writer?
And I have to say . . . all of them. Really, every book I read makes me realize that I'm doomed to be a writer. Whether I love the books I read, or strongly dislike them to the point of barely restraining myself from the urge to throw them across the room . . . I still come away wanting to write. And I love reading. I read like I breathe. I read fiction all the time, and non-fiction every day in smaller doses. Every time I put a book down, I am filled with the compelling urge to write, and write, and write again.
Sometimes the perfect, sweet, wow, amazing, incredible books fill me with a bittersweet hope that I will write like that someday.
Sometimes the awful, disgusting beyond belief, yuck, crummy, no-way-would-the-heroine-be-that-naive books fill me with the need to write a better story.
I can't remember the first book that made me realize that I'm doomed and blessed to be a writer, but each time I read I feel the need for paper and pen, or keyboard and screen.
If you haven't joined Sparkfest - go and sign up. Or just add your thoughts to the comment section - what book (s) fill you with the urge to write?
Scripture Blessings:
"And God said, 'Let there be light,' and there was light." Genesis 1:3
Sparkfest is an awesome Blogfest hosted by Christine Tyler at The Writer Coaster
We get a choice of three questions, or the wonderful random choice of making up a little bit of our own idea and mixing it with the theme . . . which is more the way I write already.
So, I thought about the question: which book made you realize you were doomed to be a writer?
And I have to say . . . all of them. Really, every book I read makes me realize that I'm doomed to be a writer. Whether I love the books I read, or strongly dislike them to the point of barely restraining myself from the urge to throw them across the room . . . I still come away wanting to write. And I love reading. I read like I breathe. I read fiction all the time, and non-fiction every day in smaller doses. Every time I put a book down, I am filled with the compelling urge to write, and write, and write again.
Sometimes the perfect, sweet, wow, amazing, incredible books fill me with a bittersweet hope that I will write like that someday.
Sometimes the awful, disgusting beyond belief, yuck, crummy, no-way-would-the-heroine-be-that-naive books fill me with the need to write a better story.
I can't remember the first book that made me realize that I'm doomed and blessed to be a writer, but each time I read I feel the need for paper and pen, or keyboard and screen.
If you haven't joined Sparkfest - go and sign up. Or just add your thoughts to the comment section - what book (s) fill you with the urge to write?
Scripture Blessings:
"And God said, 'Let there be light,' and there was light." Genesis 1:3
Wednesday, August 24, 2011
Sparkfest: The horse in the well
What? You've never heard of "The Horse in the Well" - one of the greatest stories from my child hood?
Just kidding.
In my early years, "The Horse in the Well" was my favorite bed-time story at my Grandma's house. My Grandparents lives just across the street from me. When my parents decided to move to Enumclaw in 1974, my mom's parents discovered that the house across the street from our dream home was for sale, and they managed to buy it and finish moving in before we did.
Spending the night at Grandma and Grandpa's house became a regular, and delightful part of my childhood. I would ask if I could spend the night there, even if my parents weren't going out on a date night. Everything about bedtime at their house was just a bit different than ours. Instead of sleeping in my familiar second story room, I was in the second bedroom - the guest room in their tiny two bedroom home. A pink, fuzzy slip-cover adorned the wide guest bed, and my Grandmother had a collection of ladies gloves and scarves in the top drawer in the guest room. I liked to try them on before she came in to tell me bed-time stories.
At my house, my mom would read to me every night: one book, and the Bible. I loved hearing her voice, and the familiar stories. Books are meant to be read aloud. There is a certain rythm and beauty to a story well-read.
At my grandparent's house, my grandma would tell me stories without a book in hand. For a while I was fascinated with how many she knew and how she could tell them so well. She knew many standard stories like Goldilocks, The Three Little Pigs, and Sleeping Beauty. Her voice would strengthen and soften in all the right parts. However, her best stories were ones that couldn't be found in any book. They were stories from her life like: The Boy Who Fell in the Ice, The House that Caught on Fire, The Man who Played the Fiddle like a Violin, and my favorite, The Horse in the Well.
In nearly all of these stories, my grandmother's voice would become passionate and tender. Her voice and face portrayed a strength of memories and emotions. As a teen, when she lived in our home so we could care for her after a stroke, I asked her to write the stories down. They weren't the same on paper. I wish I had tape recorded her voice telling those stories.
Even after the stroke, when she spoke those stories aloud there was power in the words. I could picture her brother Clayton (always the hero in each of the stories), the mare and her foal, the old well cover, the fall, and the heroic climb from the bottom of the well with the foal on my great-uncle Clayton's shoulders. I could even picture my grandma as a little girl, with her sister Edna, both half-up the fence, with their feet on a lower rung, and their arms over the top, wishing they could help, and knowing they couldn't step in front of the mare who ran wildly around the well.
After hearing stories like that, I wanted to tell my own. I rarely ever write stories from my real life, but I consider it now and then when I think of my grandmother's voice rising and falling to a hush in the right moments. Storytelling is the heart of writing, and I long to capture the truth and passion of life in words.
Just kidding.
In my early years, "The Horse in the Well" was my favorite bed-time story at my Grandma's house. My Grandparents lives just across the street from me. When my parents decided to move to Enumclaw in 1974, my mom's parents discovered that the house across the street from our dream home was for sale, and they managed to buy it and finish moving in before we did.
Spending the night at Grandma and Grandpa's house became a regular, and delightful part of my childhood. I would ask if I could spend the night there, even if my parents weren't going out on a date night. Everything about bedtime at their house was just a bit different than ours. Instead of sleeping in my familiar second story room, I was in the second bedroom - the guest room in their tiny two bedroom home. A pink, fuzzy slip-cover adorned the wide guest bed, and my Grandmother had a collection of ladies gloves and scarves in the top drawer in the guest room. I liked to try them on before she came in to tell me bed-time stories.
At my house, my mom would read to me every night: one book, and the Bible. I loved hearing her voice, and the familiar stories. Books are meant to be read aloud. There is a certain rythm and beauty to a story well-read.
At my grandparent's house, my grandma would tell me stories without a book in hand. For a while I was fascinated with how many she knew and how she could tell them so well. She knew many standard stories like Goldilocks, The Three Little Pigs, and Sleeping Beauty. Her voice would strengthen and soften in all the right parts. However, her best stories were ones that couldn't be found in any book. They were stories from her life like: The Boy Who Fell in the Ice, The House that Caught on Fire, The Man who Played the Fiddle like a Violin, and my favorite, The Horse in the Well.
In nearly all of these stories, my grandmother's voice would become passionate and tender. Her voice and face portrayed a strength of memories and emotions. As a teen, when she lived in our home so we could care for her after a stroke, I asked her to write the stories down. They weren't the same on paper. I wish I had tape recorded her voice telling those stories.
Even after the stroke, when she spoke those stories aloud there was power in the words. I could picture her brother Clayton (always the hero in each of the stories), the mare and her foal, the old well cover, the fall, and the heroic climb from the bottom of the well with the foal on my great-uncle Clayton's shoulders. I could even picture my grandma as a little girl, with her sister Edna, both half-up the fence, with their feet on a lower rung, and their arms over the top, wishing they could help, and knowing they couldn't step in front of the mare who ran wildly around the well.
After hearing stories like that, I wanted to tell my own. I rarely ever write stories from my real life, but I consider it now and then when I think of my grandmother's voice rising and falling to a hush in the right moments. Storytelling is the heart of writing, and I long to capture the truth and passion of life in words.
Tuesday, August 23, 2011
Sparkfest: Long ago in a galaxy far, far away
Sparked by a Movie Again!
A Long Time Ago in galaxy Far, Far Away . . .
I watched a movie that fed my imagination with more flight, with a fight for justice against overwhelming odds and evil, a Princess with spunk, a young man/boy with a new vision, a rebel without a cause and his best furry friend, and a wise man without enough time to teach his student to use the force.
Maybe it's just my generation, but this movie and the series of movies affected the way that I played, dreamed, and wrote stories. I didn't venture into writing sci-fi until my college years, but I certainly daydreamed, played "pretend" with my cousins and imagined new Star Wars plots.
For me, the Star Wars movies were deeply meaningful, fun, and fulfilling. They hit me on many levels. Today I'll just mention one: the spiritied heroine.
The idea that a woman could be beautiful, strong of mind and spirit and be the romantic lead was awesome. I never wanted to be a Princess in a tiara and a spotless dress. Princess Leia gave me hope that I could at least pretend to be a Princess with spunk, fire, and strength - even if my dress got dirty in a trash compactor.
In all of my writing, I hope to create heroines like Leia . . . well, maybe not exactly like Leia, but determined, pivotal characters who take a stand against injustice, fight for their people, and still have time for some romance while fixing a spaceship in a swamp that turns out to be the stomach of a planet dwelling giant alien.
Sparkfest is an awesome blogfest hosted by Christine Tyler. The official questions to answer are:
What book made you realize you were doomed to be a writer?
What author set off that spark of inspiration for your current Work in Progress?
Or, Is there a book or author that changed your world view?
As writers, we're always striving to get out a message of inspiration to others. This blogfest is a celebration for those who have done this for us. Join the Spark Blogfest, aka Sparkfest, by posting your answer to any of the three prompts above (or make one up as long as it fits the theme).
I admit, I've kind of gone into the "make one up" and hope it fits the theme. I'm looking at all the storytellers who sparked my imagination and drive to write great stories. Tomorrow, I'm going to write about the first storyteller and reader to touch my life, and then I'll write about books and authors . . .really, I will.
Scripture Blessings:
"On the Sabbath we went outside the city gate to the river, where we expected to find a place of prayer. We sat down and began to speak to the women who had gathered there. One of those listening was a woman named Lydia, a dealer in purple cloth from the city of Thyatira, who was a worship of God. The Lord opened her heart to respond to Paul's message. When she and members of her household were baptized, she invited us to her home. 'If you consider me a believer in the Lord,' she said, 'come and stay and my house.' And she persuaded us." Acts 16:13-15
(This Scripture is dear to me because it portrays one of the strong women of the Bible, who is often overlooked. We have to realize that in the time of these events, women were not often treated well. To have one show up in the Biblical narrative shows that women were leaders in the early church within their societal roles. The Bible is one of the few ancient books, and one of the few religious works, that shows women acting as role models and leaders. Just read it, and see.)
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