Maureen Lang's Blog, page 17

This past week you might have heard about the major league baseball player, catcher Wilson Ramos from the Washington Nationals, who was kidnapped from outside his mother's house in Venezuela. When I first heard about the story I thought it would be something my husband would want to know about, since he follows baseball.

So . . . during his daily phone call from work, I casually asked if he'd heard about a baseball player who'd been kidnapped? My husband was immediately intrigued. Who was kidnapped? Was he a major league player? What team does he play for?

Well, I'd only barely listened to the report and all I knew at the time was the bare minimum. A baseball player had been kidnapped . . . in Venezuela, I think . . . and he was wearing a red jersey uniform in the pictures. Definitely a major league player, whose name or team of course I did not know.

To me all that was detail, schmeetail. I fully expected my husband to know all about the story before I even brought it up, but when he didn't he was looking for real details. None of which I had.

After a quick online search he had the information he wanted, and so I went back to what I'd been doing before. Researching my current work-in-progress. Now that's where details need to be details! 

All of this reminded me of how important my attitude is regarding the little things to make any story come alive. As I mentioned recently, I was having some challenges in finding unique material for my 1880s Denver setting. I easily found some big-picture material, but I was looking for in depth particulars.

My Inspirational set in Colorado might not be the first out there—but I want it to appear as if it is. I want a clear, specific image of everyday life. Not just what the city looked like, but what people who lived back then would have smelled and eaten and heard, how they voted and what they did for music, entertainment and work. What were the issues that concerned them? What would they have been talking about? Shopping for? Arguing about? Laughing about?

My online searches started out broad (Denver history 1880) but gradually became more focused (history of Market Street, for example). During one such search, I was led to a group of self-published books that looked promising. With my order of a couple of the books, I was able to exchange emails directly with the author.

It turns out he is a professor with extensive knowledge of the era I'm interested in. Although he's researched several books in various parts of the west, he was able to point me in the direction of some wonderful new resources. Now I have a plethora of historical detail that will not only help my setting come alive, but will broaden and deepen my original — rather sketchy — plot outline.

And I'm enjoying every minute of it!

PS If you don't already know, you'll be glad to hear Mr. Ramos was successfully rescued from his kidnappers.

 
The older I get, the more I realize I know more about whatlife isn't than what it is. Perhaps that's because age betterdefines limitations. With youth, there seem to be endless choices—even ones wemake for "somewhere down the road." Perhaps after age fifty, we know we'realready well down that road and if by now we haven't done some of what we thought we might do, we're not likely to do it.
I know my life wasn't created for my own happiness. Does Godwant His children happy? Of course—in between those times when we're not, whenwe're leaning on Him, learning, growing, having our eyes turned to Him ortoward someone else.
I also know hope isn't something to be treated lightly. It'sa fragile thing, one that we all need on the big scale (the hope of Heaven, forexample) but sometimes hope can be a tool used against our current wellbeing. Ican hope for something but if that's all I do, the days without what I hope forwill only seem longer. For example, I hope for a cure for Fragile X (thedisorder my son suffers) but if I focused only on that, these fifteen yearsI've been hoping for it so far might have left me soured by now. So I hopeloosely in the "now" but ultimately in the sure cure he'll have in heaven.
Sometimes the life we have isn't a perfect match for oursurroundings – you might be a perfect tree for your climate but you may not beplanted in the right soil. Craggy, sandy, overused . . . the tree can stillgrow, but will it thrive? We don't always feel like we fit where God has placedus. Sometimes we can grow into it, but sometimes we're there for a purpose wecan't easily understand. Sometimes we only understand it in retrospect.
About those dreams of life. Even fulfilled dreams aren't alwayswhat we really need, and sometimes nothaving them filled is the right thing for us. I recently went to see the movie"Moneyball" with my son and husband,and its depiction of how players are used or traded made me feel like thepublishing world, at least in comparison, is the most secure business on earth—afact anyone in the business regularly doubts. But it made me glad my husband'syouthful dreams of playing baseball professionally never came to be.
And as much as most people want every day life to be deep,relationally defined and community-oriented, much of life is superficial. Wewant to recognize and be drawn to beauty on the inside but our first impressionis normally on what's outside. We want to look deeper, and if given the chancewe're usually rewarded. But I think it's age that levels things out for us andthose around us, so we more readily develop an eye for what's underneath.
Life isn't easy, but we knew that from our first, cryingbreath, didn't we? However, even though the highs and lows might be morememorable, the real stuff of life is found in moments like this. When we'rejust sitting, recognizing our own attitude for what it is: generally good orgenerally bad. Can we change from a generally bad one to a generally good one?I don't know. Some say we're born with our basic personalities already inplace, pessimist or optimist, melancholy or cheerful. I do know we can trainour actions, though, and when they're generally good, generally good feelingsfollow.
I also know this: whatever state we're in won't lastforever. The good news is if we're in an unhappy season, this too shall pass.The bad news, of course, is the same can be said if we're in a happy season . ..
So with that in mind, here's to a steady-as-you-go kind ofday!I'll leave you today with a song about the stuff of life from one of my favorite Christian artists:

I recently read a quote from Thomas Edison that basicallysaid only the most insincere person calls himself happy.
Whoa! Someone as creative, accomplished and wealthy as Mr.Edison said when you scratch beneath the surface, no one is really happy? How can that be true?
He explained that even those people we'd assume to be happystill live wanting something. Putanother way, as one of my husband's favorite quotes go - We have a choice: wecan be deluded, we can live addicted to something (anything from sports todrugs) or we can live with an ache. (From the book Wild at Heart by John Eldredge.) I guess Mr. Eldredge has something incommon with Mr. Edison.
I consider myself a basically happy person, and I believethat's the façade I impart to others. My needs of health and security are meton a daily basis, for which I am grateful to both God and my husband. But likeanyone who lives and breathes and is old enough to have acquired a littlediscernment, if you look beneath the surface of course there are things thatcan make me profoundly sad.
I've always said God didn't create us for our own happiness.We're a natural reflection of His glory, simply because each one of us is amiracle. The Bible says He's pleased when what we do reflects Him and His love, so wecan point others toward His love. But the Bible doesn't say anything about having beencreated for us to fill our own desires.
God created us as complex creatures. I'm not sure we're evermeant to experience just one emotion for any length of time. We can be happyfor a season, or we can be sad. Sometimes, somehow, we can be both at the sametime.
I do think there are ways we can improve our happinessquotient. Here are some ways I "practice" happiness:
I reflect on the things God has done—for me. Beyond salvation, those things in my life that bring mecloser to Him. Even with the ache I live with, having Fragile X in my life,I've seen God bringing me closer to Him through the experience. (See the Blessings song at the bottom of last Monday's post!)Reflect on how God coordinates the details of my life. Heoften wants to teach or help me and I'll start hearing a "theme" from unrelateddirections: my pastor will talk about a topic that happens to fit what I'mworking on in my stories, or I'll hear a song that aptly ministers or helps meto define some emotion or challenge I'm facing. Or I'll be reading the Bibleand something that fits so perfectly to my situation jumps off the page. OrI'll hear a news story, or someone will mention something to me that fits aneed. Coincidence? Or God's coordination?I look at creation; without a single word spoken, creation revealsthe love of our creative and powerful God.I try to eat right and exercise. Believe it or not, thisreally does make a difference in so many areas of life. Sometimes just taking abrisk walk can improve my mood.I let music or a book or a movie minister to me. Sometimesescaping for a few hours is exactly what I need.Pray. I ask God what He wants me to learn, and for Him to help mehand over my worries to Him.Helping someone else almost always improves my mood.Work on something I love, which fortunately for me is what Iget to do with my days, and that's to write.
These are just some of the things that come to mind for me,but there are many other sources of happiness that life provides. I hope youcan take a moment to ponder what makes you happy, and then have a happy day!

[image error] Here's the latest from my friend Gail Gaymer Martin - and it's a bonus: two stories in one! I don't know about the weather around you, but up here in Chicagoland there has been a definite nip in the air lately. No wonder the stores are already putting out their Christmas decorations. Here's something to help get you in the spirit -  just looking at the cover makes me want to start humming a Christmas tune.  CHRISTMAS GIFTS
including Small Town Christmas
Love Inspired Duet - November 2011  Mini-Matchmakers And An Old Fashion Christmas  When the new second grade teacher, Amy Carroll, meets the precocious twin sisters, she knows she has her hands full, but when she learns they live on the street where she is staying with her grandmother and they have a single father who is handsome and needs help, Amy's hands are beyond full. But Amy's from Chicago and falling in love with a small town man is not part of her plan. Can God waylay Amy's desire to return to the big city? Can Mike Russett open his heart to love? Martin's story contains strong characters and touching scenes - Romantic Times  [image error] Multi-award-winning novelist, Gail Gaymer Martin writes Christian fiction for Love Inspired and Barbour Publishing, where she was honored by Heartsong readers as their Favorite Author of 2008. Gail has forty-nine contracted novels with over three million books in print. She is the author of Writers Digest's Writing the Christian Romance. Gail is a co-founder of American Christian Fiction Writers, a keynote speaker at churches, libraries and civic organizations  and presents workshops at conference across the US. She was recently named one of the four best novelists in the Detroit area by CBS local news. This duet novel also includes Brenda Minton's Her Christmas Cowboy Available in all stores where books are sold
To Purchase online click link:  here Excerpt Chapter 1 "Mrs. Fredericks." The office secretary leaned into the room. "Mr. Russet is here to see you."  "The twins father." A heavy sigh whisked the air. "Ask him to wait a moment." Amy took another step toward the door. No doubt the sigh signaled trouble. "Please wait a moment, Miss Carroll. "The twins will be in your class. It might help you to meet the girls. They have a propensity for getting into trouble." She motioned.  "They're right across the hall in the cafeteria. It'll give you a heads-up for Monday."
Trouble. Amy swallowed. "I suppose that would be. . .practical." "Yes, and you'll keep an eye on them while I talk with their father." She chuckled and motioned her to follow. Amy followed her across the hall and spotted the girls seated on each side of a cafeteria bench, cuter and sweeter looking than she'd imagined. Though not identical twins, their features were similar with bright Caribbean blue eyes. The child with a tawny ponytail swung her legs over the bench. "It wasn't me, Mrs. Fredericks." "Yes, it was." The blonder twin slipped from her seat, her hair gathered into a ponytail on each side of her head. "Holly tore up my drawing in art class." "Please sit for a moment." She gestured to the benches. "I want you to meet someone."They scrutinized Amy with a mix of speculation and determination. "Miss Carroll. This young lady is Holly." She rested her hand on the one with honey brown hair and the deep frown. "And this is Ivy." Ivy gazed at her, curiosity written on her face. Holly and Ivy? Amy wondered. She stepped closer. "It's nice to meet you."
Neither responded. Mrs. Fredericks eyed them. "Miss Carroll will be your new teacher on Monday."
Holly's ponytail flipped as she swivelled toward Amy while Ivy stared at her wide-eyed. "I'll leave you with Miss Carroll, and you can have a nice talk." She turned to Amy. "I'll be back shortly." She strode away but paused before exiting. "When I return, I'll introduce you to the girl's father. I'm sure you'd like that." "Our dad?" Two voices rang in unison. Amy wasn't sure she wanted her first parental contact to be with an irritated father, but she offered a nod. When she turned, the twins were peering at her again, Holly with her arms crossed at her chest and Ivy with her fist jammed into her waist. She slipped around the end of the bench and sat at the table. Behind those sweet faces, Amy sensed sadness. She looked from one girl to the other. "What are you doing in the cafeteria." Holly looked away. "Mrs. Fredericks made us sit here." "Hmm?" Amy tapped her finger against her cheek. "I wonder why?" Ivy bit her lip. "Kids who misbehave have to sit in here and wait." Holly's frown deepened. "I didn't do anything bad." Ivy pressed her face closer to Holly's, her look searing through her sister. "You tore up my drawing." "But you said it wasn't any good."
Ivy fell back to her seat. "If I wanted to tear it up, I would have done it." "That's right, Ivy." Amy focused on Holly, monitoring her tone. "What kind of pictures were you drawing?" Holly's shoulders relaxed. "Pictures of Pilgrims and Indians for our social studies."
Amy nodded. "For Thanksgiving." Blending learning with fun was good classroom planning. "Uh-huh, and. . ." A movement by the door caught her attention. "Daddy." The girls shot from the bench and ran to a harried looking man who stood inside the doorway, his hands tucked in his jacket pockets. Amy's heart gave a twinge. A five o'clock shadow encompassed his lean jaw, his chestnut hair tousled as if he'd run his fingers through it many times. His straight eyebrows stretched above his caramel brown eyes, flashing with emotion. He rocked on his heels. "You must be Miss Carroll, the new teacher." He strode toward her. "I'm the girls' father, Mr. Russet. It's nice to met you." Frustration winked behind his pleasant grin. Amy met him halfway while the twins hovered at his side. She dropped her palm into his, aware of his warm grip. "Good to meet you, too." Behind him Mrs. Fredericks grinned. "I'll see you on Monday, Miss Carroll." She gave her a wave and vanished. When she looked back, the man studied her with curiosity. "I'm sure we've met." Amy drew back. "Met?" "Years ago at Ellie Carroll on Lake Street." "Yes, that's it." Amy's memory gave a tug. "We live across the street." The twins voices melded together. "She stood bewildered. His grin widened. "Maybe eleven years ago." "I don't think so." Yet a memory shimmered in her mind. "I was eighteen then." "I was twenty-three, working as a handyman." He grinned. "Maybe you'll remember me as Mike." "Mike?" The recollection jarred her. "You dug out Grams old shrubbery and planted new ones." She pictured him in the summer sun, his muscles flexing while his shirt hung on a deer ornament in the tree-sheltered yard. "The same." Amy studied his face. His unruly hair hadn't changed. She remembered how it ruffled in the breeze, his lean handsome face taut with concentration. She'd flirted with him. But when she went inside, her grandmother notified her he was newly married. Heat rose up Amy's neck with the recollection. She hoped he didn't remember she'd toyed with him.

 

One of the most exciting things about being a writer is whenpieces of the real world around me fit, reflect, teach or enhance various partsof whatever project I happen to be working on.
I'll hear about a principle that one of my charactersstruggles with, or a song that reflects something one of my characters mightfeel.
These little nuggets—when real life and fictionintersect—are what fuels fiction. It makes the setting, the circumstances, thecharacters, come alive in a writer's mind.
Since I write Christian fiction, very often my intersectionsoccur at church or in a Bible Study. No surprise there, since a spiritualthread runs unapologetically throughout all of my fiction.
Recently both church and Bible study provided someGod-inspired fodder.
My new project, tentatively titled Great Deeds Never Die, revolves mainly around one deed my hero didwhich greatly impacted the quality of his life. My Henry did something heknows was wrong—he's stolen money, and not just a little. He's stolen a lot.Enough, in fact, to allow him to become a rich and influential banker in 1880sDenver.
Since my characters go with me everywhere, even as I'm sitting in church on Sunday morning or sittingat my Bible study session, whenever something comes up that might apply to one of mycharacters, my note-taking may take a brief detour.
At church, my pastor referenced a verse from Titus (1:16).From the Good News version: They claimthey know God, but their actions deny it…
My character, by being an upstanding, church-going man inhis community, knows how to "act" like a Christian. But he gave up anyauthenticity in that area a long time ago, and because he clings to his secret hedoesn't want to change. So his action denies his claim that he knows God.Perhaps that verse will come up in my story to remind him of his struggle…
In the study I'm doing with a large group of women (BethMoore's updated study on the Heart of David), she referenced James 5:16: So then, confess your sins to one another,and pray for one another, so that you will be healed… Through this verse, Beth Moore suggestedhonesty with one another to prevent any sin from ruling over us. Obviously mycharacter is being ruled by the sin of his past. Here's another thought thatmight help free my poor, guilty Henry: a reminder that he's not free. Hissecret sin rules nearly every decision he makes. Won't he want to break free ofthat?
As you can see, it's exactly this kind of thing that helpsme not only to understand what my characters might be feeling, but how theBible would help them out of their troubles—thereby helping me to write acredible and happy ending (once I get there, which at the moment seemsimpossibly far away!).
The only danger here would be to attribute all of these nuggetsof truth only to my characters, forgetting God might have something to teach me along the way, too!
Just so you won't think it's only my hero getting all theattention, my heroine has a song that helps me evoke some of her thoughts andemotions. She's a woman with a mission: she wants to help the fallen women ofDenver, and in a territory that was largely mining towns full of lonely men,there would have been plenty of women for her to help. She decides to open an1880s version of a women's shelter, loosely inspired by Hull House in Chicagoand Toynbee Hall in England.
Whenever I hear Laura Story sing her song "Blessings" I cannot help but imagine myheroine singing it to the wounded and fragile women she's trying to help.
I'll leave you with a YouTube video of this lovely song. Mayit bless you today!

And by the way . . . how do you like the blog's new look?

Someone recently suggested to me a "worship style" test that wouldreveal the way God designed me to worship Him. Actually it was recommended by afellow author, who thought it would be a good resource not only for ourselvesbut to dwell on as we develop our characters. (That's a writer for you, takingsomething perfectly personal and applying it to our jobs!)
The test is from the book Sacred Pathways by GaryThomas. I haven't yet read it, but based on the test and the areasavailable—the various ways each of us most naturally worships God—it's a book Iplan to read.
After taking the test online, I found the resultsinteresting enough to ponder. Since I view my writing as a ministry, I fullyexpected my area of worship to fall in line with that. And it did. I'mcontemplative and intellectual — as I hasten to add I don't think of myself asparticularly smart, I just enjoy things that make me think.
So that much I expected. Writers must be able to think, since the stories we produce come out of our imaginations.
But one of the other major roles in mylife is as caregiver. My sixteen-year-old son needs round-the-clock attentionbecause of Fragile X Syndrome. At roughly a two-year-old's functionality, hecan't be left alone and even during the night we have to be aware of thenoises and sounds coming from his room. If he gets up during the night,anything can happen, from something harmless but frustrating like getting intothe refrigerator and leaving it open all night to something far morefrightening: the thought that he might leave the house. Thank God that hasn'thappened, but it's a possibility that has helped to make me a very lightsleeper.
Having been assigned this role from no lessthan God Himself, you would think another form of strong worship for me wouldbe as a caretaker. However this area of worship was the second lowest in myranking (traditionalist being the lowest). Caretakers,the test says, draw near to God throughcaring for and serving others.
Ranking low on this is pretty embarrassing, not just as a mom but as a Christian. Itried consoling myself by saying I answered the questions about service outsidethe home, so maybe someday I'll still win that mother-of-the-year award I've been waiting for. :-) But still I couldn't help thinking God either has a questionable senseof humor or I need to learn something.
And of course the latter is true. Doesn't God give uschallenges to teach us, mold us, make us a brighter reflection of Him and His servant's heart? Maybeonce I embrace my role as caretaker, the way I have as a writer, I'll havestepped a bit higher on my journey toward what God wants me to be.
So what's your challenge? Do you think a spiritualtemperament test might give you some insight? If so, here's the link:
http://common.northpoint.org/sacredpathway.html

Here's a good example of one of the timeless lessons in publishing. The book Ijust finished stirred a new idea for me, a novel I wanted to set here inChicago. Not only was the prospect of vast and easy research appealing, butthere was a character in Bees In TheButterfly Garden (releasing June 2012) that I just couldn't let go. She's beenlurking, waiting for me to turn all my attention to her (that's the kind ofdemanding character she is).
So I thought about what kind of story might fit thischaracter and did a bit of research (always the fun part!) then wrote up asummary for myself and my editor. I'm already contracted to write a differentstory next, but I thought it was worth talking to my editor about shiftingfocus. I'll still write this other story, but perhaps we could adjust theorder.
I was happy to learn this wasn't an impossible scenario . .. however, and here is where the lessons in publishing start, since laborstrife played into my late 19th century setting, I met somehesitation. There is already a book in the pipeline for something similar.
Sigh.
Much of the conversation with my editor revolved aroundmaking sure I was excited about whatever project I took on next. It was then Iappreciated a whole new aspect about her job. It never occurred to me thatwriters might be . . . well, let's just say our job requires a certainintangible that a sensitive editor wants to keep in tact.
So while my demanding (but redeemable) character taps hertoe in impatience to find herself on the page, I turned my attention back theother idea I was already contracted to write.
And here is a lesson about the writing end of things. If thestory is right, that lovely intangible—the element necessary to be excitedabout whatever project we're creating—is flexible and nearly indestructible.
All I needed was the hope that I'd get to keep alive thatother character, which I received. Once I turned my attention back to the otherproject I'd presented a while ago, the old excitement was easily revived. Goodas new, because it has all the elements I need to get into a story: aninteresting premise, a character who intrigues me, and a theme I want toexplore.
The setting is—you guessed it—Denver! I love the west butsomehow have never done such a setting. The main character is Henry Hawkins, aman with a secret, the kind of secret that is the precise antonym of the valuesmy heroine holds dearest. Ah, the angst we press upon our characters! All of itrevolves around the theme of what we treasure most—which just so happens to fitwith the current sermon series I'm enjoying at my church. I guess God knew allalong which book I'd be writing.
So here is what I learned:
Timing: what wewriters want to write must fit the publishing lineup. This is a business, afterall, and has survived for centuries. As writers, we don't have the full picture of all the contracted projects.
Tact: A goodeditor will treat that lovely intangible all writers have with amazingdelicacy! She or he is aware that the emotional aspect of writing is vital, anddoesn't want to bruise that creative fire if they want their writers to producetheir best work.
Tenacity: aworking writer needs this, but with the real hope that ideas born in us with aflash of excitement can be put on backburners without simmering away. Tenacityis easy when partnered with hope that the stories we want to write will bevaluable and valued. Old ideas never die.

Not long ago I experimented with the idea of writing anovella. Although the project didn't end up going anywhere, my thought process during the brief encounter swung somewhere between excitement of achallenge and outright fear.
The fear might surprise someone who doesn't normally writeunder deadline. For me, there is some element of fear every time I start a newproject. I'm a seat-of-the pants writer, which means I only have a vague idea ofhow the story will unfold. I know the setting, the major conflict and a basicidea of the ending, but I only get to know the characters and the theme of thestory as I write. Sometimes I feel like the first reader of the book, notknowing what's going to happen next and surprised at the turns I uncover.
The fear comes in because I know I only have a certainamount of time for all the fun that comes along with seat-of-the-pants writing.
My fear at writing a novella was more than the typicalseat-of-the-pants fear. Plain and simple, itwas fear of writing short. I recently came across a Blaise Pascal quotethat sums up my feelings exactly:
I have made this letter longer than usualbecause I lack the time to make it shorter.—Blaise Pascal
Put "book" in the place of "letter" and there you have it.It's easy to ramble on, to sort of babble on paper, and in stories to explorerabbit trails, to take time getting to know the characters. We have room to addlots of subtle hints at motivation, to expand back story or a foundationalimpetus that might add another layer to our hero or heroine.
And speaking of layers, it's so easy to add layers to alonger book! Subplots, little quirky twists that offer a broader, deeperinsight into our character's slice of life.
I'm not here to argue that War and Peace is inferior to AnimalFarm because it's ten times longer. What I'm saying is that for me,novellas present a particular challenge because a reader of romantic storiesexpects every bit as much honest motivation, clear conflict, romantic tensionpacked into 80 or 100 pages as in a full length novel. Explaining motivation isa lot easier to do when we have the time to explore possible reasons behind theinner obstacles a character must overcome.
If I ever do write a novella, and I really do want to one ofthese days, I will most likely write many more pages than end up included inthe final version of the story. The real test will be in my ability to cut outwhat isn't absolutely necessary.
Which reminds me of another quote:
Perfection is achieved, not when there isnothing more to add, but when there is nothing left to take away.—Antoine deSaint-Exupéry
I'll leave you with the thought that sometimes streamliningis preferred, depending on the circumstance. I'm hoping to make it through thisweek's writing without getting sidetracked, as I so often do, by minutia thatwon't really matter once I step away then return with a fresh eye.
My thanks to the following blog for the inspirationalquotes:
Litemind

 
I'm so pleased to bring you information about Donita's new book! Sounds like it might make a great Christmas gift for those hard to buy-for teen boys on our lists...
With the finalinstallment of the "Twilight" film series scheduled to be released in October,vampires and zombies are set to be among the year's most popular Halloweencostumes.  Many parents feel tornbetween their child's love for imagination and not wanting to encourage thedarker side of fantasy.  How canthey encourage reading and wonder, but without all the junk?  Meeting that precise need, popular andtrusted author Donita K. Paul brings us her newest tale of dragons,adventure and faith in The Dragons of the Watch (October 4,2011 from WaterBrook Press).  

 TheChronicles of Chiril continue as Ellie and Bealomondore find themselves trappedin an isolated city guarded by dragons and separated from everything they knowand love. How can they escape? Along the way they meet a group of wild childrenand a very old man, whose needs they must meet before they can find their wayhome. With the help of the dragons of the watch, they discover that their fatedepends upon their ability to recognize and step in line with the Creator'swill. 
Mrs.Paul has created a fascinating and detailed world where dragons and humans"mindspeak," tiny creatures are heroes, and gateways serve as doors to anentirely different place and experience. With a warm, accessible and humorous tone, lots of action, and avoidance ofthe heavy, dark elements found in much of today's fantasy fiction, The Dragons of the Watch is a greatfamily read.  On a deeperlevel, it also encourages discussion of how to interact with those who do notshare one's faith in a foreign culture or one's own city. The book includes a map and a glossary ofcharacters and terms, and fans can go even deeper at DonitaKPaul.com withpuzzles, recipes, resources for aspiring writers and links for homeschoolingfamilies.
An excerpt:
1Invitation
Elliesat on her favorite boulder and looked Tak right in the eyes, telling him whatwas on her mind. "Gramps shouldn't have taught me to read."Takresponded as he usually did when he received Ellie's confidences. He loweredhis head, placing it on her knee for a rub.Ellieobliged her pet, stroking the white hair between his nubby horns with one handwhile digging in the pocket of her homespun pinafore with the other. Themountain breeze toyed with the paper she withdrew. With difficulty, shesmoothed the small poster out on her other knee. Dirty and wrinkled, it stillmade her heart beat a little faster.RoyalWedding and Coronation:PrincessTipper     And     PrinceJayrus, Dragonkeeper and Paladin
All invited to the celebration."Allinvited. But Efficinderpart Clarenbessipawl and her goat Tak can't come. Nochaperone, no travel. Ma and Da aren't interested. And Gramps just laughs.'You'll see. You'll see.' is all he says. He should take me himself."Heryounger brother's shrill yell came from the knoll rising out of the river tothe east. "Ellie! Ellie!"Hestood on the hill, grinning like a bear with a paw in the honey hive and hisface red from running. His stubby tumanhofer body bounced with excitement. Heheld his fists above his head and whirled them around in circles. Something hadset him off.Shestood and hollered back. "You be calling me by my proper name out in the open'n at the top of your lungs, Gustustharinback. Ma will tan yer hide if she'sfinding out you disgrace the family with such shabby care of our dignity."Whenhe saw her, he cupped his hands around his mouth and shouted, "Yere wanted athome. Itta be good news."Thatinformation didn't impress her. Probably a delivery of the bolt of muslinordered, which meant she'd be cutting and dying lengths for making new clothes.Not exciting news at all."Canit wait?" She gestured behind her to the scattered goat herd. "I'll have togather Tak's clan if I'm to come home now.""I'llcome help you." Gus charged down the hill toward the footbridge across theriver.Elliestared at him for a moment with her mouth hanging open. The good news hadnothing to do with cloth. Her brother would never voluntarily come help bringthe goats in for something as mundane as new clothes. And he scurried down thepath, slipping some on the loose rocks. But the precarious descent did not slowhim a bit. Even in the narrower patches where exposed roots of arranndon bushestripped careless hikers, her sturdy brother skidded downward.Foldingthe Royal Celebration notice into a small square, Ellie stuffed it back in herpocket. She turned away from watching her brother's progress and nudged thegoat. "Come on, Tak. You find the nannies, and I'll find the billies."Elliewent one direction and Tak another. In a few minutes, she located the fifteengoats who regularly hung together. Mostly young males, these animals preferredthe rockier terrain. She suspected it had to do with their perpetual game of I'm-up-highest.Sheclicked her tongue and tapped her staff on a rock. Their heads rose as if allattached to the same string though they didn't come right away. Each one chewedwhat was in their mouths and casually left their places one by one. Taking aserene amble down the hillside, they passed her, heading toward the bridge andhome. Whenthe last one clomped by, Ellie rested her staff on her shoulder and followed. Takalready had the nannies plodding along the bank toward the footbridge. Gustustharinbacktrailed the nannies and carried the smallest of the baby goats in his arms.Heshouted when he caught sight of his sister. "Hurry! Aunt and Uncle Blamenyellomontare at the house. I can't tell you the surprise, and I'm gonna burst withkeeping my tongue from waggin' and you from knowin'."Shetapped her staff on the rock beneath her feet. The billies scampered beforeher, picking up her impatience and gratefully heading for home. Even aftereating all day, they appreciated the handfuls of button-grain they got from thefarmer's younger children. Withthe goat hooves pounding on the wooden bridge, Ellie couldn't hear or be heard.So she waited until she'd caught up with her brother on the other side."What'swith all the folderol, Gus?"Shewatched as he forced a glare onto his face, erasing the impudent grin he'd beenwearing. "You are to call me by my proper name if I have to call you by yours.""There'sa difference between shouting 'Ellie' and speaking 'Gus' quietly." She grabbedhis arm. "Now tell me, or I'll toss you into the river." Hepressed his lips together and gave her his most obstinate glower. The cornersof his lips twitched, and she knew he wanted to laugh. She let go. She couldn'treally dunk him while he carried the small kid."Whyare aunt and uncle here?""Can'ttell you that either. But they's only stopping, not staying. We better hurry."Ellielost Gustustharinback's help as soon as they came in sight of the pens. Hescuttled down the last hill and opened the gate but then ran through the goatbarn, across the yard, and into the house. 
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Mrs. Paul has also released a prairie romance, Taming the Wild Wind. Check out her website for details: donitakpaul.com
 

The arch in St. Louis! It's a great advertisement for stainless steel, because it's looks so shiny and new even after forty years!


I've just returned from this year's American Christian Fiction Writer's conference held in St. Louis. What fun! It's come a long way since the first ACFW conference I attended in 2001 in Kansas City. At that event there were under 100 people, since our total membership was something like 150. Now we're up to 2500 members and counting, and the attendance this year was around 650. That's quite some multiplication!


And it's easy to see why. ACFW is an organization that nurtures the hopes and dreams of writers. Of course it does much more than that, as a professional organization that shares information and offers ways to improve our craft. But as you'll see from my pictures it's most loved because of the friendships we've made over the years. We all have different journeys but we share so much along the way!


I roomed with my friend Jill Eileen Smith. We met through ACFW about ten years ago. Got to spend some time with my dear friend Judith Miller. She's a kindred spirit!



Ruth Axtell Morren and I met because we're fans of each others work. We've known each other for at least four years.I had dinner with Rachelle Gardener (standing furthermost to the back) and other wonderful WordServe clients.

And spent some great time with my Tyndale editors, Sarah Mason (left of me) and Stephanie Broene (right).