Songs Hidden for Me

 

I am recording this so that future generations will also praise the Lord for all that he has done. And a people that shall be created shall praise the Lord. Psalm 102:18, TLB

 

                Every author has their own seasons when they write their best. Mine are fall and winter. These two seasons have been the best yet for me. I've put the finishing touches on Strong & Steadfast, my upcoming novel, and tweaked and trimmed the screenplay for it. The mad mix of creativity and Christmas cheer during this down time has made me loopy. I’m ready for a break, to do something else for a while.

            Every author also has their own way of seeking rest and getting re-inspired. I like to watch at least one movie every Friday either on DVD or Amazon Prime.

At the beginning of December, I saw Jesus Music. It was about the development of contemporary Christian music, or CCM. My earliest memories of this were of ‘80s Christian pop and rock bands. Their songs were on mainstream radio, their videos in heavy rotation on MTV. I passively heard “Love Will Find a Way” by Amy Grant because I wanted to be the “Material Girl” Madonna squeaked about. Moreover, I couldn’t wrap my mind around my classmate’s love for “First Love” by Petra, when my mix tape included “Sweet Child of Mine” by Guns and Roses.  

Yet in the ‘90s, I started listening more to CCM—including Petra. I went to New Life Books and Gifts, a local Christian bookstore in my hometown. As I bought Bible study guides, Janette Oke’s novels, and Jars of Clay’s debut CD, I got saved.

Jesus Music started with the Jesus Revolution revival, about Love Song. I’d immediately become a fan of theirs when I saw the awe-inspiring film about this revival. Their music sounded so simple yet deep.

Then they featured Larry Norman, the Father of Christian Rock.

I first saw his name when I was at the bookstore, around 1998. I looked through but didn’t buy a book about the top 100 Christian artists at that time. I read a brief bio of him and was fascinated and heartbroken. What did “Why Does the Devil Have All the Good Music?” sound like? He’d had a massive heart attack and was in rapidly declining health.

Could I have asked a sales associate to order some album of his? How could I think about this when the shelves and my music collection had tapes and CDs of Point of Grace, Steven Curtis Chapman, and Rebecca St. James? I also didn’t know anyone who was partial to ‘70s Jesus Music.

In the ten minutes the documentary dedicated to Larry, I learned so much more about him. Leave it to me to like his outrageous, unabashed lyrics about being fall-down drunk, over-sexed, and yellow-fingered from smoking—followed by a simple call to action to call out to Jesus. What went through hippies’ minds when they heard this? Did they fall to their knees and ask Jesus to be their Savior? Or did they take the needle off the record, toss the 33 1/3 across the room, then insert another needle in their arm?  

            My recollection of the book and my rising curiosity about this long blond-haired guy eased the tension when the CCM odometer rolled to the ‘80s and ‘90s. Tainted nostalgia as the featured artists spoke about divorces, drug abuse, and intra-band strife. Though jaded, I still got a brief chill when I saw a live clip of “Friends” by Michael W. Smith.

The next morning, I added many of Larry’s hits to my Amazon Music collection. One of them was “Why Does the Devil Have All the Good Music?”. I smiled. It’s so catchy, relevant, and entertaining. My favorite line is "Jesus is the Rock and He rolls my blues away."

I also have “The Outlaw,” “The Rock That Doesn’t Roll,” and “I Am the Six o’ Clock News.”

            Since my late-‘90s living inciting incident, Larry has passed away. I could wonder why I didn’t find out more about him then, but I won’t. His music was hidden for me, revealed at the right time.

           

                       

 

 

 

Confused & Heartbroken

I'm confused and heartbroken.

Here it is, Thursday, August 7, 2025, the back end of a much-needed hiatus from writing. What better time to do that than during the ever-humid summer months? Plus, I just published Running Through the Fire and am slowly planning my release date of Kill the Locust.

I hoped by now I'd have some schedule leading up to the February 2026 release of Kill the Locust. First off, I want to change the title; it's not working anymore. I keep telling myself I'll think of a better one when I least expect it. Then again, I thought I'd think of it when I wasn't writing. Also drawing a complete blank about how to ask for reviews and what the front cover will look like.

Over the past few years, I've wondered what life is like outside of writing. Without going into details, I don't believe I've experienced anything too different or better. No matter what, I only end up writing even more in my journal.

For at least a year, I've realized this so-called career I've had has not at all been what I thought. I didn't expect to write as many books as I have, but I was hoping, by now, I'd be a little more well known, know a thing or two about how best to market books. As a self-published author, I've had to go through a lot of trial and error to market my books. As far as I'm concerned, that trial period is long over. Nothing but errors.

Was I even meant to write?

Well, nearly 15 years later, I still have yet to answer these questions:

1. What are your writing goals?

2. Where's your following? How many followers do you have?

3. What's your platform?

I still have yet to do any of the following:

1. Go to a book signing.

2. A book reading at either a local bookstore or church. The only times I've done that are at open mics. At every one of them, the only one who's interested in it is me. In fact, that's pretty much been that way all along.

3. Go to some event and break even.

Additionally, none of the literary collaborations have materialized.

Have I done something I shouldn't have? Or was there something I should've done but didn't do? 

Am I writing in the right genre? 

I feel like I've messed up just another thing in life. Wrong again. And in the worst way I've ever known

In just about every conversation, no one wants me to talk about my books. If I have and even shared a buy link with you, please forgive me for imposing myself on you. I know you don't have enough time or money to invest in what I've written.

Worst of all, I've been rejected more times than I could tolerate.

Some spiritual guidance I've been chewing on this past summer: If you're doing something and always losing, do something else.

Based on what I've written in this post, I don't believe it's worth it to write anymore. It's not worth the strife and tears. But what better thing can I do in the early mornings? So many times, I've asked that, often given myself reverse psychology every time. 

I'm sure before too long, it's going to be a reality.

Yet more hope. Not only did I share Running Through the Fire with Word Weavers, but I also got a 5-star review of it on Amazon.

 

Nonetheless, I wonder if I have the strength and intestinal fortitude to keep writing.

The Provision of Snow

 "Now, if you'll excuse me, I have a book to write."

I said this to a good friend of mine after we'd finalized the details of an upcoming show for his band. He hadn't intended to steal my precious writing time. He knows I'm an author. 

Hardly any of my early mornings have turned out the way I'd thought. If I got up early, I knew I'd have some time to work on Kill the Locust before 6:30.

Not when I want to write in at least four pages of my journal. I need an hour for that.

On other days, I've had more time--and an unlimited number of thoughts. That's two hours.

I love early-morning workouts. Whoever said exercise is an inconvenience was really onto something. By the time I end my workout, it's already the middle of the morning. And I need to go on with the day.

Nonetheless, I'm so close to the end of Kill the Locust. 

On the last Friday in December, something unforeseen happened. So many thoughts, so many emotions, so many unanswered questions. I wanted to pound out more in Kill the Locust. That I received another diagnosis for a minor chronic medical issue was a good reason to work on this novel.

The next Sunday and Friday, I went to two shows, one in Sevierville and the other in Knoxville. Both of them allowed me to clear my head, to refocus. 

This past weekend, my husband and I joined some friends of ours in preserving history. I lived in every moment despite strong urges to steal away and write. After all, this is winter, the time when creative juices flow.

Photo credit Best Shots Photography

Photo credit Best Shots Photography

Then, Monday happened. 

My husband was off for Martin Luther King Day. I always live for federal holidays; I need not tell you why. 

Well...it didn't work out the way you're thinking. I went to the grocery store. No, I didn't make that proverbial mad dash to get bread, milk, and eggs {hearty laughter at stupidity}, it was to get a week's worth of groceries. I thought I'd go before the weather got worse.

After I unloaded the groceries, I had something I've had many times: a meltdown.

This week, many have measured the (approximately) 7" of snow and are stir-crazy and ready for summer. 

Everyone but me. The past two mornings, I've pounded out so much more of my novel in progress.

Now, if you'll excuse me, I'm going to publish this post.

 

Line-less Outlining

Authors are easy to please for Christmas gifts. Usually, all they want are notebooks, fancy pens, or cute or inspiring pictures to place on their desks.

Not too long ago, a really good friend of mine didn't give me any ordinary notebook. This one had a groovy, peace-lovin' theme.

At that time, I'd beaten to death a composition book, outlining every last detail of my most recent novel . I still wasn't done with it, though, and was tempted to immediately use this new one. It was a sketchbook. On some of the pages, it had this and other like phrases:

I've almost reached the end of my eleventh book, Kill the Locust, and have been outlining the story. Not unlike any of my other novels I've outlined, I've made several attempts, and each one is better than the last. 

The past two early mornings, I've noticed I need to fill in the holes of what I believe is missing. In the small spaces I have between short descriptions of each chapter, I jotted some more things. Then, a phrase I'd never used before:

CHAPTER CHALLENGES

How will I weave in such things as how Amy and Jeremy's love grows and is tested, the fun she and her best friend Monica have, and the challenges in the career path she wants to take...all in spite of worsening endometriosis symptoms.

For the rest of this week, I'll be mostly away from social media and my laptop for Thanksgiving. When I'm alone, like in my much-cherished early mornings, I'm going to open my Woodstock sketchbook and see not only how I can meet these self-imposed challenges, but also find new ones.

To that end, peace, outlining & turkey.

Thoughts on a Rainy Saturday Morning

What I thought last night as I got ready for bed: I'm getting up early tomorrow to tweak Kill the Locust, no interruptions.

What I thought when I woke up this morning: Do I have to get up? Today would be a good day to lie in bed. After all, I've worked hard (mostly on other than writing) this week. At that time, it was a little after 5:30 AM. Two and a half hours till Cultivate opens. I ate, washed my hair, wrote four pages in my journal, and packed my bag--in spite of feeling worn out. 

Why was I so tired?

Usually, for the first few hours of early mornings, I'm mostly oblivious to everything else. Therefore, when I walked out to my car, I noticed it had rained. Oh! No wonder I'd poured my heart out in four pages, front and back, of my journal--and felt like going back to bed.

Do I give in to my tiredness or take full advantage of this rainy Saturday morning? 

THE LATTER. 

Soon after I made my beeline to my usual spot at Cultivate and started unpacking, I realized I'd forgotten my smartphone. Not wanting to be without it--who can't and won't in this day and age?--I drove home and got it.

Surprisingly, I wasn't too upset. I knew I'd still have time to write. Plus, it allowed me to think about writing this as my blog post for the month.

The two biggest takeaways for this early rainy Saturday morning (before 10:00):

(1) If you don't sweat the small stuff, something good will come out of it. Be open to it.

(2) Write anyway, even when you're feeling tired and are sacrificing rest. We talked about this before last month's Word Weavers Page 48 meeting, about writing at odd hours, especially at 2 or 3 AM. I thought about this a lot over the past few weeks. Thanks for the healthy, encouraging conversation, J. D. Wininger .

I'm now settled here and in a writing groove. With this wet morning and the brief interruption, let me see how much better I can give Amy, my main character, hope and strength in all her physical and emotional pain.

Dedicated, Steadfast...& Shameless

Two pieces of advice I practice every time I start writing a novel: (1) Start somewhere in the middle and (2) Move the story forward, increasing tension.

Let me make a confession: I haven't been consistent with what I've told you about Kill the Locust, my current novel in progress. As main character Amy's endometriosis symptoms intensify, so does her relationship with Jeremy. Initially, I had Amy doubled over in stabbing, excruciating pain in chapter two. Although my writing buddies loved how well I'd written that scenario, after rereading it dozens of times, most recently while sipping some wild strawberry juice , this was too tense, too soon.

What was it like for me in 2000, when I first felt endometriosis symptoms? I can't remember much.

What I remember was Garth Brooks was a hot country singer.

Photo credit to owner

While we all heard about him showing up in boots and ruining a black-tie affair and wanting two pina coladas, I had a mad cycle of ultrasounds, pelvic exams, and blood tests, and frequently got poked, prodded, and palpated. Every time I went to or came from a doctor's appointment, I'd hear any one of his hits. 

"Shameless" stands out to me (yes, I know that's a cover of a Billy Joel song). Twenty-three years later, I still remember hearing that song after leaving a doctor's office one late morning.

I've played that song a few times over the past week. It's working. Amy's life is so ideal--and that sharp pain is all in her head.

Now more than any other time, I enjoy listening to songs I knew in my teens and twenties. However, I'd like to have a better memory with "Shameless"--like all the early mornings I sweated every detail of Kill the Locust.

Drink Wild Strawberry Juice

In the days leading up to publishing The Unknown Missing Piece , I thought of what I wanted to do in my much-needed two-month hiatus from writing fiction: spring cleaning, arrange travel plans, and watch movies.

I also wanted to eliminate caffeinate. After all, I hadn't planned on writing for a while.

Around 2020, I replaced my morning Diet Coke with an energy juice. In using them, I learned I needed only a small amount of the mix with a small amount of water and strawberry was my favorite flavor. Yet even this super-conservative amount got me wired. I couldn't always easily concentrate on my writing. Am I one of few authors who doesn't need caffeine?

Although I didn't write any fiction during those two months, I still wrote voraciously in my journal between 4am and 6am. This time, however, I drank Gatorade or something similar.

Thirty days passed. I was on a roll. I'd gotten past that challenging 21-day habit-breaking phase and reached a higher level of discipline. It was easier than I thought to grab another drink instead of the usual.

Around the 60-day mark, I resumed writing novels. I reveled in writing Kill the Locust without drinking one drop of caffeine and how much better focused I was.  That kept me planted in my seat, my laptop booted up and my file of my novel in progress open.

It takes 90 days for something to become a lifestyle. I'd gotten used to the caffeine-free life and was proud of myself for resisting all the urges to drink some energy juice. If this was going to be my new way of living, I was on the right track.

But my concentration derailed. I would either write senseless things or blankly stare at the screen. Although I do both from time to time, this concerned me. I kept falling asleep a lot, too.

For the past three mornings, I drank the energy juice. And I'm not jittery. Instead, I feel a little more alert, more focused. On Fridays, I spend more time writing. I've had an excellent morning making Kill the Locust more structured. Best of all, for the first time in nearly a year, I've written a blog post.

With apologies to Dr. Seuss, oh, the thinks I can think, oh the places my mind will go when I have that little bit of early-morning wild strawberry juice.