Be There on Time

For as long as she could remember, Lilly wanted dance. Her parents went to plays, operas, and ballets. They had season tickets. Sometimes, they went alone as part of their date night, other times they took Lilly. She didn't want to do anything else but dance. She was always lively whenever some upbeat song played on the radio.

Then in the sixth grade, she was really up for some tests--and they weren't just those few pieces of paper of questions and problems she hoped she'd studied for as much as she could. And that she could remember without being tempted to look at her notes. Sixth grade, the time in a child's life where they have different classes. Every hour or so, that time to transition between classes. 

Be there on time, all the principals, counselors, and teachers had advised during orientation. If she hadn't heard it once, she must've heard it a thousand times. She just couldn't see how she could be at every class on time. What if she was late? She remembered all too well all those people at school saying she'll get a tardy, a time in detention for being even one minute late.

The worst class she was in was science. The teacher was a lot older than the rest. Her policy was if the students weren't in their seats by the time the bell rang, they'd be considered late. One day, Lilly's locker was jammed. She broke into a cold sweat as she tried so many times to open her locker, her pulse racing as the students strode to their classes.

The tardy bell rang--and she was still at her locker. The hallways were empty. The teachers got their classes started. Papers rustled, some conversations between the kids. 

She just had to own up to the fact that Mrs. Hanson was strict and she had to be in detention.

Sometime later, Lilly really got the bug to dance. Apparently, the weekly lessons and rehearsals weren't enough. Renee, her teacher, approached her and her parents after rehearsal on afternoon.

"Lilly, I love your passion and enthusiasm in each move you made in every dance you've been in. We're considering you for the advanced class." She handed her parents some forms to fill out and read. "Please look over this and see if you think Lilly is fit for this." She turned to Lilly. "Lilly, you need to be on time for every rehearsal. If you're late to even one, you'll no longer be considered for it."

"Okay. I'll do my best." Of course, she knew she was at the mercy of her parents' full schedule and the increased Interstate traffic. Her parents always complained about it as they made dinner together. 

After some lengthy discussions, her parents approved of this dance class. Lilly was ready every day after school. She soon discovered how much work she needed to put into these rehearsals. It was soon challenging to keep her grades up. She also learned what she missed out on. Her friends, whom she never saw anymore. Couldn't even go to her best friend's spelling bee. She also missed her older cousin's bridal shower.

A few months after so many hours of rigorous training, and a horrible day in traffic, she ended up 8 minutes late to a rehearsal. Nonetheless, she dashed into the room. As she did so, the music radiated through the hallway, as if it teased her into thinking she was never going to be able to do this again. She walked in. Everyone was so wrapped up in the dancing. One of the other instructors standing at the doorway pointed toward the hallway. Lilly knew what she was going to say.

"I'm sorry, Lilly. You came late today. We can't have you on our dance team anymore. You can wait here until your parents pick you up." She pointed in the direction of the front entrance, where some chairs were.

Breaking a Rule

 Jack Dempsey pushed the end call on his smartphone screen. The show the band he's been a roadie for was now confirmed. In Lexington, Kentucky, at the Happy Place. Opening up for Cat Wild. Every time he heard something by her, he thought of his good friend Laura. She had written a novel which she'd published six months ago. She'd spent so much time on this novel. A year of long, hard hours between the time she worked as a life coach. Laura was a lifetime fan of Cat Wild, a female-fronted band that made lots of albums. In her novel, Laura mentioned their hit song "Here We Go Again." It was a song about complicated love reaching boiling points of insanity. Laura mentioned the song title during a tense part of the book, when things couldn't get any worse with this main character's "It's Complicated" love life. Main character Fiona is in a toxic, unhealthy relationship with Erik, who is verbally abusive. She has dreams she wants to pursue. The one who really likes her, it has taken her a long time to really fall in love with. A laid-back, soft-spoken guy named Craig. Laura wanted to find a way to give a copy of it to Cat Wild herself. She lived near Lexington and wanted to make a point to do this, no matter what.

Now that that show was confirmed, Jack called Laura. 

She answered on the 3rd ring. She took a deep breath, knowing Jack was always a breath of fresh air every time they talked. "Yo, Jack."

"You sound like you've had a trying day."

"I have. It can't get over fast enough. Isn't it true that if a day seems to go by so slowly, it's only an opportunity to make it better?"

"I guess." Jack shrugged his shoulders.

"Please tell me something good." Laura sighed.

"I will, But first, are you sitting down?"

"Uh--um--I am. This had better be good."

"I can sneak you in to see Cat Wild."

"What! You can? How? When?"

"I'll be at that venue called the Happy Place. I've been there before doing roadie work for other bands. I've always known their super-inefficient management. I can get you in and get away with it."

"Jack, you're the greatest."

It was a blazing, humid late-August afternoon on the day of the show. So humid it was Jack took off his shirt. Laura made sure to be around him. Where that inefficient venue owner was, no one knew. For all anyone knew, he may have stepped out and gotten a cup of sweet tea at McDonald's, a drink he may have gotten addicted to. 

The band Jack did roadie work for always had this habit of getting there late. It was always something, traffic, the lead singer's German Shepherd, or a serpentine belt wearing out all of a sudden. Load in time was supposed to be 4:00. Here it was 4:23. 

Cat Wild had gotten there. Her band's crew was dashing back and forth getting amps and speakers onto the stage. During this time, Laura had to go to the bathroom. When she walked back to Jack, he was talking to Cat. Laura dashed back to the hallway. The copy of her novel was in her hand, her hand felt clammy. Whether it was from the humidity or the anticipation of seeing Cat and finally meeting her--just moments away now--she wasn't sure. She dashed back to the hallway and sat on the floor. She got her pen out and autographed the part of the book where the mentioned that hit song. What she wrote: "'Here We Go Again'--but I here I go again writing another novel. I hope you enjoy this book.

Her heart pounded all through her body. She knew she was going to faint. No, don't fangirl, Laura. You're a professional. She approached Jack and Cat, introduced herself to Cat, gave her the book, told her about her mention of the hit song. Cat loved it so much and thanked her for doing that. She said reading novels kept her sane in all the hurry up and wait she had to contend with while on the road and in the studio.

Reconnecting with Someone

 Unfamiliar. Unknown. That's what Becca had a fair share of when she stepped into the doors of Living Life Community Church. It was a late-summer morning on this Sunday. The early-morning humidity indicated rain--again. Two young men were at the door to greet her and everyone else. When she walked in, a refreshing, cool wave swept over her. At least in that moment, she felt refreshed.

As if the ugly divorce she'd finalized a few months ago never happened.

As if she never saw Danny with that other woman, that one he'd talked about from time to time whom he dated in high school. As if he always wondered what happened to them, what went wrong, and wondering if they could try again. They'd reconnected on social media. On a weekend Becca was out with her friends, she came home to find the two of them sharing lunch together. And she was wearing her bathrobe.

Danny and Becca gone to church, served faithfully in it. Then at one point, he stopped doing it. Then made excuses to not go to church, most of the time because he said he needed rest. Becca went anyway. Then when she and Danny got divorced, everyone she'd known at church judged her, shunned her, gave her one bromide and guilt trip after another.

At this Living Life Church, however, no one knew her. No one, as far as she knew, knew Danny.

She loved how just a few feet inside, she smelled coffee and what she believed was cinnamon. She loved the sounds from behind the counter. One person after another getting their cups of Joe, to wake up and maybe be alert for during the service.

After she got her welcome gift bag, she looked around and tried to figure out who to talk to.

"Becca, is that you?" It was an average-sized woman with black hair and light-brown highlights. She jerked her head to figure out who was addressing her.

"Yeah." Only, Becca couldn't figure out who this was.

"You don't remember me, do you?" This woman came to her, smiling.

Becca shook her head. "No, I don't." And how many time had someone said that to her every time she was out?

"I used to work with you Dr. Millinton's office, his office manager."

"What's your name?" she asked while she mentally played through all the people who could possibly remember her.

"Clara." 

Now, she remembered. When the two of them were working together, Clara had short hair. For whatever reason, she'd grown it out.

Becca hadn't worked for Dr. Millington, an ophthalmologist, in many years. 

Clara continued. "I didn't know you went to this church."

"Well, this is my first time."

"Really?"

Becca nodded.

"You'll love it here. How did you find out about us?"

"I just drove by. I wanted to get out and go to some church."

"I hope you stay. I have so much to tell you."

Back when Becca and Clara worked together, Clara's two daughters where twelve and fifteen. Before she asked about them, she wanted to know if she still worked for the temperamental Dr. Millington. "Yeah, I still do. He's thinking about retiring soon."

"How are your daughters?"

"Fantastic. My older one is now assistant manager at Main Event. My younger one is looking at colleges. I can't believe it. Before too long, Ed and I will be empty nesters. How's Danny?"

Becca tried not to cringe at the mention of her ex-husband. Clara hadn't seen her in a long time, so she didn't know. "We're no longer together."

"Oh, I'm so sorry to hear that. I can't imagine how hard that is."

"I'm getting through it, seeing what more I can do." Only, she wasn't convinced.

"I suggest an awesome grief recovery group. They'll start meeting next month."

You Must Get In

 Natalie was not the typical woman. While other women wore sweaters or jackets while either in the grocery store or a movie theater, she always wore short-sleeved shirts. The funniest time was in the fall and winter. Everyone at her office wore sweaters and thick-lined shirts. No, not Natalie. She wore thin short-sleeved shirts. At her office they turned the heat up to a what Natalie called a "sinful temperature." So many older women asked her if she was cold, kept suggesting she bundle up.

She'd arrive at the office after a workout. Only, this wasn't some workout at the gym. Her "gym" was the greenways that were all around Knoxville. Her favorite was Victor Ashe Park. She just lost herself in the run, not always mindful of how far she'd run--in weather that was about 30-35 degrees. She loved it, the cold sweat that beaded her forehead, under that ear cover. She was even more defiant. She had a red ear cover that had NRA on it. She'd tell her coworkers unashamedly about it, about all the pre-work runs she'd have. Someone once asked, "Don't you think it's a little too cold to run outside?"

"No," she said. "This is the best time for me to run."

Winter gave way to a brief early spring. About a week or so of a beautiful early spring, it was so hot. As always, Natalie paused the running and swam. Another one of those pre-work workouts. She'd come in feeling so awesome, maybe more so than after she'd run.

"Oh, Natalie. Just the person I've been wanting to see." It was Wendy, her favorite coworker. Whitty Wendy is what they called her. She was always so upbeat and positive. Always going out to places. 

"What's going on?" Natalie was barely inside her cubicle, coffee in hand, keys in the other.

"I have tickets to go see Punchlines & Backlines." 

Wendy reminded her who they were. She'd seen some videos and reels of theirs. She laughed so hard, especially at Rodney D's jokes about the '80s. "You do?"

"Yeah. Bobby was going to go with me, but he has a business trip to go to. Wanna go? Girl's only road trip. You and me going to Nashville for the weekend."

"Sounds like a plan."

"I loved how reasonable the VIP ticket price was."

"VIP?" Natalie raised her eyebrows.

"Yeah." Wendy stepped closer. "And we get half off of any entree at Johnny J's."

"I've heard of Johnny J's. Been wanting to go there, just to check it out."

"I've met Rodney D. Met him at a convention in Nashville. Great guy."

The time came for Wendy and Natalie to go to Nashville. Johnny J's was a bar on Broadway 5 stories high. They had a challenging time getting a parking space, but they got a good one. And good would only describe the time they had. They even had a chance to meet Rodney D. When they first got in, they went in the wrong elevator. They were supposed to be on the 4th floor, but this elevator took them to the 5th. They went downstairs to the 4th. 

Rodney D headlined the show. Natalie and Wendy had great laughs, all of which continued when they went back to their airbnb. Natalie got to meet Rodney. He remembered Wendy from the convention from a few months ago. He hugged both of them.

This certainly was a trip worth taking again. Natalie needed a laugh after some hard times after breaking up with her boyfriend. She also wanted a certain job. Someone kept telling her "It's hard to get in." She applied anyway, got one interview, but then got a "thanks but no thanks" email. She hated it when people told her it's hard to get in. Could it be she should go out with Wendy more often? What was it about her that made her get VIP tickets everywhere?

"Fanboy expo is next," Wendy said soon after this Nashville trip.

It was a boiling summer morning when the Knoxville Convention Center opened up its doors on Friday at 9:30 a.m. Standing in line, a long one, for a long time. Just to get in and wait in even more lines and just about as long.

Getting Someone to Talk

Week after week in this Bible study, Stacy was learning so much about the apostle Paul. Such rich studies. The small discussion group she was in had ladies of all different walks of life. An older married lady who doesn't have children. A woman in her 40s, the same way but has a radical, ever-active life as a booking manager, author, and photographer. Then there was also Carrie, the youngest in the group. She hardly talked. Stacy, an extrovert who had taken up the role as a greeter for this Foundations Bible study, liked knowing everyone's names and finding at least one thing they have in common.

What was it about Carrie? Where did she grow up? What kind of work does she do? Every time they had discussion, everyone talked except Carrie. Why? Introverted? Scared to talk? Surely there must be something that happened in her life that made her slow to speak.

Week after week, Stacy studied the lessons in such books as Ephesians and Colossians. That was how she spent her mornings. Before too long, it was time for her to go to work, as a front desk receptionist at a retina clinic. She got to know the names of all the regular patients, including one patient in her 50s who was a rising stand-up comedian. She always said how she hated to come to these appointments. Getting the treatment for her retina was gruesome, a hassle. That was something she looked forward to that one Thursday a month when she had her appointments.

Week after week, she looked forward to the Tuesday evenings she went to Foundations. She's been at this study for so many years. She knew every several weeks, they had a night of fellowship, an extra 45 minutes to talk about the study, have a good time, and eat. Stacy always made sure to not eat any sweets at work. A lot of times, the ladies wanted to order pizza and doughnuts the same day she had these fellowship nights. She also loved to bake. It was a cool, crisp fall day on that certain Tuesday. She had some annual leave to burn. She used that time to make a pumpkin chocolate chip bundt cake. Only, she did something different. Even though she didn't have to, she bought gluten-free ingredients.

Two hours after she baked it, she had it in a cake holder and the tote bag of her Bible and Bible study guide. She headed toward that congested Alcoa Highway to the study. Walked as if the horse knew the way into room 212 of the host church. The leader, Ilene, was there. They chatted for a moment. One by one, the other ladies came with cookies, crackers, pepperoni and salami slices. Carrie was there, too, but had brought nothing. Everyone easily got into conversations--all except Carrie. 

Chocolate, the one thing that never lets any woman down. Stacy thought about the co-pastor's wife, Kathy, who loved everything chocolate. They had lots of conversations about it. Stacy kept glancing at Carrie. What would it take for her to talk? 

"Ladies, my cake is gluten free."

As if she said the magic word, whatever it really was, Carrie's eyes lit up. She reached for a plastic plate, a few napkins, and a fork. Using a knife, she cut a big slice of it. "I love chocolate. And I'm gluten free." She cut a piece of it with the fork and closing her eyes, as if in a dream, she slowly bit into it. She remained quiet for some time before eating another bite. "Stacy, this is delicious. I'd love the recipe." 

Stacy had learned to always be prepared when going to gatherings. She made some copies of the recipe. She had one in her Bible study guide, folded in half. She handed it to Carrie. Carrie studied it briefly. "I'd love to make this. It's coming up so soon on Thanksgiving. I wasn't sure what to make since I'm the only one in my big family that is allergic to gluten."

The fellowship time unfolded. Women talked about their things going on at work, all the ups and downs. Carrie talked about problems she was having in her marriage, some family issues. While she talked, she ate another slice of the pumpkin chocolate chip cake. She took the rest with her.

A Conflict with the Love Languages

In 1992, The Five Love Languages by Gary Chapman lined the shelves of bookstores. The purpose of the book was to enhance married couples' communication and emotional intimacy. Since its release, Chapman has included this principle for all other kinds of relationships.

My love language for my marriage and all my other personal relationships is words of affirmation. I've kept every handwritten note someone has given me. I've stuck them in any one of my Bibles or notebooks and perched them on my desk. I've read them on bad days. Furthermore, I've taken screenshots of kind words I've received in texts and Messenger conversations. 

When someone says a kind, sincere word to me, I have a productive day and a positive, hopeful outlook on life. If some unforeseen circumstance happens, I'm hopeful in seeing the end soon. 

On the other hand, one discouraging word would take me the rest of the day, maybe even a whole month, to get over it.

The beginning of this week was challenging. I once again felt inadequate, invisible, unappreciated. I should've reminded myself to give it 72 hours. Some awesome, unexpected thing may likely happen.

And it did on Wednesday night.

I spoke with the pastor of my church during our weekly Equipped to Stand Bible study, based on Ephesians 6:10-18. What I learned about him: We have the same love language. We talked about how frequent, discouraging, back-stabbing words can make us feel like we've done something wrong, can hinder our progress. I often wonder what I could've done had I not let others' discouraging words or actions (or lack of them, like ghosting) take root in my mind and soul.

What I thought about yesterday morning: My love language as an author is acts of service (for now, anyway).

Since publishing Strong & Steadfast , I experienced new things. Within less than 12 hours after its release, I received a glowing 5-star review. Not just one review afterward, but two others, both of which were a 5. I also sold it to someone in person, which, for some reason, has always been rare for me. She later told me she couldn't put it down. 

However, I have some disappointments. 

In the weeks leading up to the release date, I announced it in the Facebook groups (where I could, of course) for endometriosis support and once again--and many times--told everyone who expressed even the smallest interest in this upcoming writing offering of mine. 

Soon after it went live, I also made a flyer with the blurb, front cover photo, and a QR code for the Amazon link, printed out several copies of it, and had them laminated. For a few weeks, I placed them in waiting areas at ob/gyn clinics and hair salons

This will blow your mind: 0 response. 

In some ways, I'm a quick learner; in others, I'm like an elderly turtle. This year, I finally realized how stressful book-signing events are. 

The big picture of them: I pay a so-called low vendor fee, determine what books I'd like to sell that would interest the target audience, and order some more copies if necessary. I load my car up with them, some decorations, food, water bottles, and for outdoor events, a table and a canopy. After I check in with the event contact person, I set up everything on my one designated table. And during that whole event, I get more compliments than sales. You may say, "I thought that was your love language." 

Suffice it to say my "compliment tank" is filled to overflowing, but my soul (not to mention other obvious unspoken things) is empty. Authors write books to impact peoples' lives with their words, not to get compliments. 

I'll close with this quote: 

    Praises pay neither printer, editor, nor contributor. -James       Henley Thornwell

Hiding Something

     

Photo extracted from Pinterest

    Heather unlocked the door. It was a crisp fall late-October afternoon. She felt a bit weak. She barely ate breakfast or lunch. Her friends were concerned about her. She couldn't eat. For someone who's 14 and healthy, she was never sick. Therefore, it was so unusual for her to not be able to keep it down.

    Now that she was a teenager, her mom took the chance to take on new patients. As an ob/gyn, she was in high demand. Such was the case today. Also, her father was a tax accountant. It may not be tax season, but he was still wrapped up, submerged in figures and numbers.

    She always had cheese and crackers. When she got home today, however, she didn't want them. How could she hide that in any of the trash cans? Did either of her parents even pay that much attention to what was in the trash can? Also, she was mindful of what she fed their dog, Goldie.

    She just sat on the couch and soon got into those Dick Van Dyke reruns. Two hours of it. She wasn't sure what to eat. Her parents were going to be out all evening. How to hide what she couldn't eat.

    Later that evening, she attempted to eat...

    The door opened. She heard the lilting whistle of her mom. She had this way of whistling tunes from the Jesus Music era. Song of choice "Rock That Doesn't Roll." 

    "Hi, Mom," Heather said as she kept wiping her mouth and swallowed hard several times.

    "Honey, are you okay? You look sick." 

    "Oh, no. I was just getting small aftertaste of some juice I drank."

    "Well, that stomach bug is going around."

    "Mom, I never get that no matter what."

Parts of Books, Handwritten Notes, and Journal Entries

Writers write, but they also read.-- and re-read. In fact, I don't think I do that as often as I'd like. I've had some new and exciting things happen in my life. What else can I pick up on in books I've read a few times that I didn't before?

Then there are the books I hadn't heard of before, like The Reading Life by C.S. Lewis. In the chapter titled How to Know if You Are a True Reader, the first way, according to him, is "Loves to re-read books."

I also read to be further inspired. Before I started writing the screenplay for Strong & Steadfast , before I even gave it any thought, I read Earl Hamner: from Walton's Mountain to Tomorrow: a biography. Many of you know, he was the writer and producer for The Waltons. He also wrote the script for 1973's made-for-TV movie Charlotte's Web. Now that I've been deep in the heart of working on the screenplay and learning about the film business, it was time to re-read this biography.

Hamner's personal "screenwriter's oath of conduct": First, do no harm. 

Although screenwriters need to cut the story and alter its concept, they shouldn't needlessly change the original author's words or meaning. Since I wrote the novel and its screenplay, let me do whatever so-called harm seems good to do. In fact, when I had some peaceful early mornings this past weekend to tweak it, I decided to make some scenes different, the dialogue either longer or shorter, and maybe even deleted some scenes and details. Hamner did that some when he wrote the script for Where the Lilies Bloom. Editing without mercy at its finest.

For some time now, I've been noticing small but no less meaningful words in Bible verses. Some I've been taking notes on are establish, bread, and the name of Jesus. I still haven't figured out what I'm going to do with any of that, but I'm in no hurry. 

For many years, I've been reading a chapter a day in Proverbs. The word for this month as I read it is path. Webster's New World Collegiate Dictionary defines path as "a line of movement; course taken; a course or manner of conduct, thought, or procedure." 

Give careful thought to the paths for your feet and be steadfast in all your ways (Proverbs 4:26, NIV, italics mine). 

Let me close with parts of yesterday's journal entry:

    I wrote a screenplay based on my upcoming novel. That's what I said between mid-November and 2/27/26.

    I wrote a screenplay based on my most recent novel. What I've been saying at times

-or-

    I've been working on a screenplay based on my most recent novel.

    Working on.

    Tweaking.

    And even more tweaking. 

    Also, asking for and receiving feedback, possibly 4 people.

    I have to come to a time when I really need to finish it, to submit it. Get to learn how to write a pitch deck. Pitch deck. What I wrote to look more into this week. It may be so hot I can't easily breathe or concentrate, but I can no longer or stall my progress. Take today off. Enjoy what's left of this glorious 4th of July weekend. A milestone to live in and be as much a part of as possible...

    What do I have to yield to now that I haven't yet? Still, it's interesting how I've amazed those around me. I'm amazed that I easily amaze them. It's not like I've arrived. Let me not do that while I'm here on earth...

    Let Him work within me. Let me quit stalling. Let me stop saying I don't know anyone. I need to stop that.

*Tentative plans for next week: To share with you a writing prompt, which, at this writing, I still haven't done yet. The theme: hiding something.

Brainstorming

Brainstorming, what I've been doing a lot of lately. Writing things down in any of my notebooks. 

I take notes on just about everything I hear. 

In learning about the film industry, this is something I learned about producers:

* Get production crew 4 months out

* Set shoot date to keep from stalling

* For a feature film (which Strong & Steadfast just may be if this comes to fruition), shoot date should be one year out

Here's what I learned about directing movies:

* Make performances believable

* Actors should be doing something while talking

* They need to speak over each other

On any given morning, I'd write in my journal then work on a novel, a devotion, or more recently the screenplay. I may want to consider making an "irrelevant scene". Well, of course, nothing I've written is that. Let me put this in a better way. Perhaps make some short scripts of one of the scenes from one of my previous novels. Which one will I choose? Active Waiting , Twofold Love Comeback , The Unknown Missing Piece ? If I'm still long enough, I'll think of some awesome idea.

As I learned these basics of directing and producing, I wasn't above these reminders of storytelling:

* Plot: the pursuit of a goal despite obstacles (goal, motivation, conflict--my fellow authors will be familiar with that)

* A character is defined by the theme of the plot

* A meaningful ending is one in which the character steps out of his or her pattern

I take copious notes at church. What I need to remember is look at them soon afterward. One of the pastors at our church taught from John 2:1-11, message title Yes Changes Everything. When you say yes to Jesus, we open the door to spiritual transformation, a life of great adventure. Therefore, don't say, "Yeah, but" or let fear of rejection or failure paralyze you. Furthermore--and I need to remind myself of this daily--maybe many times a day--don't recite the history of failures and rejections.

How to apply all this: simply trust God for guidance, for the right place and time to do everything, to connect with the right people.

There are many plans in a man’s heart, Nevertheless the Lord’s counsel—that will stand. (Proverbs 19:21, NKJV)

Keep Writing Badly, Part Two

 

Last week, I shared some parts of a few days of writing prompts. Only, it didn't end there with Sam and Alex. Below are part of what I wrote the rest of the 6-day course.

        She knew there was more to public speaking than just what was in high school. Therefore, she didn’t bother taking that course in high school. Besides, she was shy. Apparently, it took living with Luke—oh, we’ll be just fine, we love each other—to make her realize she was headed down a wrong path. Well, enough of that. She was even more ready to move on. She takes classes in how to improve her speaking skills. She always learned quickly. But there were some times she had some challenge in wrapping her mind around it. Don’t take it too seriously, she kept telling herself. Her actress of a younger sister kept telling her if you make a mistake, keep on going. The audience won’t think anything of it.

         She was also in for a rude awakening when she learned some things beyond speaking. Those whom she trusted to help her—she knew for sure she and Shea were on the same page, cut the same cloth, so to speak when it came to speaking—only to find he was shallow. What should I improve on? What he started off with: You need to. Well, she of course wasn’t contractually obligated to do anything. That first thing was to watch other speakers on YouTube. Oh, yeah right. Like she’s going to do that all the time. She did it when she had time. But she wanted a style that worked for her that reached her audience, young women. She knew she could speak to them...

            But what was she going to talk about? The words of “I Want Action” spilled through the speakers of her laptop. What a strong laptop she got! Action. Do something. Do something in spite of what others tell you. The good thing is Shea is a male who lived in north Georgia. He wouldn’t attend this event. Besides, he doesn’t like Nashville. He avoids it whenever possible. Alex has always been strong. Be strong in the Lord and in the power of His might. That’s what they talked about in Bible study recently. Was that because she was about to turn 30 and she’d have so many other battles? Another level, another devil. Oh, if she heard that once, she must’ve heard it a thousand times.

            Press on. Move forward. Take action. Want it. Because wisdom is where you find it. Crying aloud in the streets. Crying so loudly...  Take action. Open your mouth wide. Just say something. Have a good time. Be yourself. Be authentic. What did authentic mean? She glanced down at the bottom shelf of the bookcase. The heavier, bulkier books, one of which is the dictionary. She wasn’t about to pull it out and look up and write what that meant. Movement. Action. Be proactive. Be so intent on what you want to do, you refuse to quit. How to put her own words into what she wanted. Had being 30 slowed her down like this?...

        She couldn’t wait to get home. Good thing she’d made spaghetti. A simple thing to make while she and Stacey were so busy, full schedules. Actions that astound enemies, their jaws will drop open. No time for losers. She didn’t really like Queen very much, but she liked that line. You are more than a conqueror.

        What she wrote when she got home and got a glass of water. Take action, take that first step. Take a deep breath and jump. Wasn’t that a long-forgotten line from Flashdance? She loved that movie, too, because the character was Alex.

          

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.