Keep Writing Badly

Even after nearly 16 years of writing, I have to remind myself to allow myself to write badly. Just write something. And something will come out of all this writing. Just let it flow.

As I'm on this hiatus from writing big things, I'm learning some things about this craft I'd never been too open to try. Like writing prompts. Doing it through Ela Thier . In watching her videos, I learned how to write a screenplay. 

For the past few days and the rest of this week, she's had some writing assignments, advising us to write for 10 minutes, longer if we wanted to.

Parts of what I wrote the first day:

        Why can’t you just let me go? I said I want to leave, you beg me to stay, you ask why. I said I want to be away FOR GOOD FOREVER. Why did you not love me while I was around? Why do you ask me so many questions when I need to move on? Time’s getting away from me.

        Then I see you and tell me you miss me, you want me back. The sooner you leave me, the better. Did you not understand me the first time?

On the second and third days, the prompts were about Sam and Alex. Whether they are two men or two women or a man and a woman is up to the writer. 

Here's what I came up with:

            Sam and Alex. Sam and Alex. To others in the small community, it should be something like a team, a vaudeville team, or maybe a singing duo. No, none of the above. Who were they? Best friends. Or should I say bet female friends. Females with male names. What they had in common was their fathers named them after male names. They were in elementary school when they met, in the 3^rd grade.

             It’s like Beaches. They always were there for each other. It seemed like they hardly had a problem between each other. They had their share of disagreements, but they always seemed to work it out the same day.

             They ended up going to the same church. They were in the youth group. They confused people. They were expecting males, but they had two females. Things were getting weird between them. Raging hormones, crazy about boys, sometimes the same one. Were they going to be together forever?...

            A live band was playing some covers of some of the most familiar songs. The band happened to take a break. What they wanted to do was dance to the music, no matter what it was. They knew the host wanted clean music. Such great ‘80s hits, like “Walk Like an Egyptian” by the Bangles, everyone was doing that. Cutting up cutting loose. As if they’d had a lot of full days, lots of things going on. Time to cut up and be funny, be a teenager for the rest of the evening without being so serious and like an adult.

                Lots of formal finger food, sparkling grape juice, toasts, talk and talk about everything. Alex did a lot of it. Sam knew she could trust her to not embarrass her. Only, Sam wasn’t around a whole lot, barely talked to Alex during this night. What happened? Did she say something wrong? Alex sometimes spoke without thinking. Pause before you say something, so many had told her.

                She excused herself a few times, went out into the hallway, to look for her, wanted to tell her something. Then, out of nowhere, Sam came dashing up to Alex. “Oh, thank God you’re here.”

                “What’s wrong, Sam?”

                She held her stomach. “It must be those chicken salad sandwiches, the ones with the croissants, that didn’t agree with me.”

                “I had those. I wanted to see if I like chicken salad. I don’t, period.”

                Sam started for the door. “I think we’d better leave.” She walked on, didn’t wait for Alex. Alex ran on the balls of her feet.

                “Are you okay? Did they have any ginger ale? You may need some.”

                “No, I’ll be fine.” Sam continued for the door. Alex ran behind her.

                They got to the SUV. Then the whole building exploded...

            Sam and Alex in all their fun times together finally got married. In their late 20s, but better late than ever, right? They had a double wedding. That was fun. What was even more fun is they married guys who were also best friends, their names Tracey and Stacey. It was only very funny when they made reservations, they threw everyone off.

                Alex was the first one to turn 30. Sam wanted to do something extra special. So did Alex’s husband, Stacey. They tried all they could to keep Alex out of the house. She’d been burning the candle at both ends with all her speaking engagements. She became a motivational speaker. All she wanted to do was stay home and rest, cuddle up on the couch with her husband and their German Shepherd, Jerry Lee, and watch movies. Like maybe some rom-com. She always got a kick out of that. Stacey got extra points for watching it with her. He never complained about it. He even found some redeeming quality in it, especially when Alex wanted to watch Legally Blonde. She must’ve seen that a thousand times. She saw it on the big screen.

                It was a beautiful fall day in October. The crispness of fall was really showing off, in the cool air, in the red, yellow, and green leaves. You need a breath of fresh air, not TV, Sam had said when they looked at the weather forecast for her birthday...

              So, she decided to take both her husband’s and her best friend’s advice. She spent some more time out, even treated herself to the biggest helping of yogurt she could possibly want at Menchie’s. She loved Menchie’s, they gave her a free cup of whatever she wanted. On that day, they had her favorite, cookies & cream.

                When she had enough of it, she went home. No need for her to sit in front of the TV, after the refreshing day she had. She even went for a walk in the greenway. While there, she saw a photographer with a bride and groom taking wedding photos. A good day to get married. The weather was perfect for the day like this.

                Before too long, she got tired of being alone on her 30^th birthday. Don’t need to watch Legally Blonde and be away from those she loved. Hoping still for the quiet evening at home, she was surprised to see so many cars in her driveway and in front of her house. Including Sam’s. What’s going on? She kept asking. She kept shaking her head. As if nothing was going on, as if she were dreaming, she just walked in the familiar side door, into the kitchen, where there was a lot of food. What’s going on? Who did what? Surely it had to be Sam. She did something. She took off her shoes and went to the living room. She kept hearing lots of chatter and music. The music to Fleetwood Mac. I Don’t Wanna Know was playing. That was one of her favorite songs. She didn’t like the hits of any famous bands.

                When she saw everyone, they all exclaimed, “Surprise!” and then sang Happy Birthday.

                They served pizza and ice cream and cake, as if she were still a third of the age she was now. All of them went around the room and talked about her as if she were dead. What if they jinxed it and she really did die that night? No way. Not going to happen. The best eulogies she’d ever heard. She only hoped they’d say those things—verbatim, that’s if they outlived her—when her time came to go...

          What was she going to speak about now that she was 30? What mindsets did she still have that needed to be laid to rest? What was she going to do more or less of? What would she tell 30 years olds twenty years from now when she was 50? Words of wisdom? Don’t do what I did? Do what I didn’t do? What did she want to do with her life? Was she only a speaker for life? Yes, she was a speaker—for life—life after college, life after a nasty breakup. Just because she was happily married didn’t mean she didn’t think about Luke...

         “I hope I don’t feel old,” she said, loopy from all the merriment she and her friends had had that day.

                “Only if you let it,” he said. “Don’t say what you don’t want.”

                “I wonder how much better or different things will be in this decade I’m in now.” She lay next to Stacey, cuddled up to him. They kissed several times.

                “Better. Different, better things.” He cupped her face in his hands.

                “I wonder what things I’ll no longer do.”

                “You need not wonder.”

                “I’m not saying it’s going to keep me up at night. I’m already exhausted as it is. Is this a bad sign? That I can no longer stay awake on the late nights?”

                Stacey only chuckled.

                Alex knit her eyebrows. “Why are you laughing? What’s so funny?”

                “You.”

                “What about me?”

                “Oh, please don’t take that the wrong way. I’m laughing because you amuse me with all your ideas. I’m sure if we took a cross-country road trip, you would talk non-stop about all your ideas. They might not make sense to me, but I’d love every one of them. If I don’t talk at all during that time, I wouldn’t be surprised.”   

Let me invite you in on this. Think of your own story, whatever your fingertips lead you to write, about Sam and Alex.

Getting Beyond the F-word

 I can do all things through Christ who strengthens me. (Philippians 4:13, NKJV)

 

            When my alarm went off, I said the f-word.

            I don’t feel like getting up.

            Hit the snooze button. Dozed off. Alarm went off again.

I don’t feel like writing.

Repeated the cycle.

I don’t feel like running errands.

I threw my head down on the pillow and tugged my sheets tighter and closer. What’s a good reason to get out of bed when I’m still coping with an untreated problem? As I lay there, I mentally listed everything I’d planned that day. But the warmth of the sheets only tempted me deeper into their comfort.

What got my feet on the floor: some alone time to read the Bible. I wanted to read the verses that reminded me God is my Rock, Refuge, and Strength. When I shuffled into my study and read them, I soon forgot about my fleeting feelings.

An hour later, I booted up my laptop. 

            For the rest of that morning, I corrected typos, deleted unnecessary words, and moved my novel in progress forward. That afternoon, armed with my to-do list, I tackled every item on it.

What amazing things I can do when I trust God for strength in all things!

Broken Trooper

 “You’re a trooper

tough

loyal

dedicated

giving your all

pouring out

all that’s in you.”

But I’m

broken

isolated

empty.

Something inside me is

unsatisfied

unhealed

unattended.

My weary head on the pillow,

my heavy eyes close,

soon transporting me to 

a colorful world.

an unconscious Utopia,

vivid realities of 

good times

lasting memories

life-changing revelations.

Waking up to 

getting the job done

moving forward

embracing every opportunity

Daily fighting 

wars

in and all around me

rejections

misunderstandings

ridicule.

They build up, 

like my unshed tears

and the voids inside my body, soul, spirit grow

deeper

emptier

hollow.

I can’t cry–

All because I’m a trooper.

Can I, too, get the shoulder

the warm, long embrace

the kind, uplifting words

the unrushed quality time

to restore this brokenness inside me?

Keep On Keepin' On, Everyone

 

Ask and keep on asking and it will be given to you; seek and keep on seeking and you will find; knock and keep on knocking and the door will be opened to you. For everyone who keeps on asking receives, and he who keeps on seeking finds, and to him who keeps on knocking, it will be opened. (Matthew 7:7, 8, AMP)

            I’m out of breath.

            I’m so drained.

            How many times have I said, this week alone, “I wrote a screenplay based on my most recent novel”? I may also add, “It’s time to break the silence of endometriosis.” I’ve talked about this in almost every conversation, in person, in emails, and via text or Messenger.

How many times have I said this since I published Strong & Steadfast in late February? I don’t get exhausted after I run four miles or swim for an hour. Have I run several straight marathons and didn’t even know it?

Rest, repeat—and remind myself of what’s in God’s Word.

If I keep on asking, seeking, and knocking, I will receive what God has for me. The best things often take time. No rush.

The two strongest words in the English language are will and shall.

Best of all, it’s in the Bible—in Jesus’ red-lettered words.

But wait! There’s more…

God gives to everyone who keeps on keeping on. I’m an everyone; so are you. Continue to delight yourself in Him, and He will give you your heart’s desires (Psalm 37:4). When you least expect it, when you’re just about to give up, you’ll find what you’ve been looking for. And when God opens doors, you will enter them with a renewed, purposeful stride.  

“Now go; I will help you speak and will teach you what to say” (Exodus 4:12, NIV).

Say Something

 

Let your conversation be always full of grace, seasoned with salt, so that you may know how to answer everyone. Colossians 4:6, NIV

            Social.

            Whether as a noun or an adjective, it will always involve spending time with others, laughing, sharing—speaking words.

            It’s the end of another week, and my soul is hollow. Hardly any in-person social interactions. 

All of them were through a laptop or that rectangular 4 X 6 X 1 ½” device. And I’ve gotten a lot more “reactions”. For social media users, you know all seven of them: like, love, care, ha-ha, wow, sad, and angry. Each has an emoji. 

With a quick touch of a button, you have, according to social media, shown you’re involved and have adequately expressed how you feel about a post.

            Nowadays, social media is the best way to announce milestones or updates. Imagine getting nothing but these clicks of buttons when you announce a graduation or the death of a family member or friend. After all the hard work you or a loved one did to get that diploma or the grief you’ve endured, you need, as the above verse says, gracious words, seasoned with salt.

Liking, loving, and caring involve words and quality time. 

Next time you see a post that catches your attention, comment on it. Your words may be the very ones they need.

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.