Patience and Endurance…

The Coquihalla Highway was closed Monday due to a major snowfall. As we travelled homeward on Tuesday — the last day of April — a lot of the snow had disappeared, but it certainly didn’t resemble spring. The above verses of Romans (8:25 and 5:4) seemed particularly appropriate. There’s no rushing springtime. We just have to endure and be patient.

Writers know all about endurance and patience so this should be a cinch. In her guest post on Seekerville yesterday Connie Mann talked about endurance and why it’s too soon to give up.

“’Almost there’ is a tough, dry place to try to keep your bearings and stay focused,” Connie said. “It is lonely and frustrating and the doubt gremlins work overtime, whispering horrible things in your ear, day after month after year. The temptation to quit rears its ugly head, making even the most confident writer question the dream. If this is where you are today, let me encourage you. This particular wilderness, this season, won’t last forever, but it is often another stop, another way the Great Creator toughens our resolve for the rest of the journey.”

My plans for May are to write and to garden. I have control over the former, but not the latter if the weather doesn’t cooperate. Then again, if it doesn’t, I’ll be more inclined to stay inside and spend more time writing, so I suppose it’s all good. It’ll help me persevere.

Welcome, May! On your way in please collect spring somewhere and deposit it here, too.

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Springtime is an oxymoron

Leanne Shirtliffe is guest posting at Writer Unboxed today. Her topic is ‘Funny Oxymorons for Writers‘ and if you haven’t read it, you should. After I’d digested her definitions of ‘finished draft’, ‘aspiring writer’ and ‘mild heart attack’ I realized how many other oxymorons we live with. ‘Organized chaos’ is a regular for me, but ‘active retirement’ and ‘baggy tights’ are equally appropriate.

My cyber friends across Canada and the USA have repeatedly mentioned winter’s persistent intrusion into their springtime. Joylene Butler celebrated the ice finally departing from her lake while remembering that only two weeks ago nasty weather gremlins dumped 18″ of fresh snow on her.  Friends from Alberta have left for Mexico to escape the confused weather patterns at home. Spring is supposed to be a time of beginning again, with new growth, daffodils and cherry blossoms, but in some places it doesn’t seem to understand that.

I was away on the weekend, visiting family in the Okanagan, and of course had my camera in hand. Scenery flashed by (it always does at 100 k/hr on the highway) and I snatched photos that began with the rich greens of coastal BC’s developing spring season, moved to include passing snowcapped mountains, and finished with the interior’s barely budding branches.

I’ve decided this year ‘springtime’ is an oxymoron.

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A little madness in the Spring Is wholesome even for the King, But God be with the Clown Who ponders this tremendous scene — This whole Experiment of Green — As if it were his own! [Emily Dickinson]

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BOOK REVIEW: Christine Lindsay’s CAPTURED BY MOONLIGHT

“Prisoners to their own broken dreams…

After a daring rescue goes awry, the parched north of India grows too hot for nurse Laine Harkness and her friend Eshana. The women flee to the tropical south…and run headlong into their respective pasts…. Amid cyclones and epidemics, clashing faiths and consequences of the war, will the love of the True Master give hope to these searching hearts?”

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CAPTURED BY MOONLIGHT, Christine Lindsay’s recently released second novel, is filled with such rich description that the scenes in its 1920s India setting really come alive. The exotic sights, sounds and smells create a vivid and very authentic backdrop for the dual love stories of friends Laine and Eshana.

This isn’t your typical inspirational romance. The story grips from the very start and carries the reader through bigger-than-life cultural challenges, kidnapping, secrets and many dangers… even an encounter with an injured tiger. The likelihood of either woman connecting with the man she loves seems remote.

There’s no slick resolution here, but a deeply satisfying story of God’s remarkable love for those who truly put their trust in Him.

CAPTURED BY MOONLIGHT is a stand-alone sequel to SHADOWED IN SILK, the first book in Christine’s “Twilight of the British Raj” series. Both come highly recommended.

 *

Christine Lindsay

Click here to read Chapter One and Two of Captured by Moonlight

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Available now as Kindle ebook, and for pre-order in paperback from Amazon.com

Website:  http://www.christinelindsay.com/

E-mail:   Christine.lindsay.writer@gmail.com

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It’s that ‘same old, same old’ routine

A walk to our marsh isn’t anything new for me, nor is the view. Yet I wander down there regularly. You’ve accompanied me on a few occasions (here and here), following the trail and sitting on the bench beside me. The same path takes me past the same trees, footsteps cushioned with decades of fir needles and crushed cones. Ferns and mosses, leathery salal and the occasional huckleberry shrub return every spring under the same dense evergreen canopy.

Marshes don’t change much. There are always grasses emerging from their watery roots, ducks and geese diving for fresh shoots, swallows swooping after mosquitoes and herons stalking lunchtime morsels. I have photos taken fifteen years ago that I can’t tell from others taken last week except for the seasonal colour variations.

But each time I go, it feels different, perhaps because I’m looking with a different focus. This week it’s on the Canada Goose who, after a three-year hiatus, has returned to occupy her old nest on top of the beaver lodge.

She wasn’t there in the early afternoon yesterday when I went to check up on her, and I feared she might have abandoned it again. But no, soon she and the gander swam back from the deeper end of the marsh and she clambered up to settle in.

There are two pair of geese populating our marsh and they each respect their separate territories, although I occasionally hear a commotion if one meanders too close to the other’s domain. I assume it’s the same two pair every year, since geese mate for life and are relatively long-lived.

Do you suppose they have any thoughts about the recurring, never changing cycle of their lives? Do they ever experience the hamster-on-a-wheel sensation, as people do – the here-we-go-again, tied-to-the-old-survival-routine kind of monotony?  Or are they even conscious of the renewal of a season? Geese are very family oriented. They show affection for each other, welcome each other after an absence. They defend their mates and their young. I wonder if they have any other emotions in common with people. I’ll probably never know, but I like posing such questions.

I do something similar when I’m establishing new characters for my stories. I want to know what they think, how they’ll respond, what personality traits they’ll display as the plot unfolds. Will routine bore them or help keep them grounded?

What kind of questions do you ask as you begin assembling a fresh cast of characters? Has the arrival of spring inspired any enthusiasm for beginning something new? How do you feel about the repetition of the seasons?

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While the earth remaineth, seedtime and harvest,
and cold and heat, and summer and winter,
and day and night shall not cease.

Genesis 8:22

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To every thing there is a season,
and a time to every purpose under the heaven.

Ecclesiastes 3:1

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Looking over my shoulder (or… how life changes)

The traffic light was slow to change. I waited, impatient to get across the street and to my meeting. Ahead of me two young men also waited, black backpacks slung over their shoulders. Prior to the Boston bombing I wouldn’t have looked twice at them. Now…? When we reached the other side and they moved away, I peered back over my shoulder to check where they’d gone.

It was silly, I know, but instinctive. As our world changes, so also does human behaviour. Events 4,000 or 5,000 kilometres away may not directly impact us, yet they alter how we think. Then again, so does life in general. We are not exactly the same people today that we were yesterday, nor the same as we will be tomorrow. It’s called growth.

In our novels it’s called the Character Arc.

In PLOT VERSUS CHARACTER, Jeff Gerke points out that in some novels, notably mysteries, the main character may remain unchanged, because the story is all about the plot and how it unravels. In most other genres, however, the story is about how the main character is affected by the plot. Jeff suggests the Character Arc should have five distinct parts:

1. Initial Condition
2. Inciting Incident
3. Escalation
4. Moment of Truth
5. Final State

A static character will be flat, despite all the personality quirks we may give him. If we want him to come alive for our readers, he has to be challenged by something that requires him to reason and react. Inevitably he must encounter obstacles and/or discoveries that will change him either physically, mentally or emotionally.

Do you consciously develop a pattern of change for your character as you plan your stories? Do you evaluate during revisions whether or not you achieved an effective character arc? In your opinion, how important is such change in a short story compared to a novel?

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In praise of “the birds of the heavens”…

Rufous Hummingbird (female)

~

awake at dawn

darting through strands of mist

the flower-seeker

out of heaven

still glittering

the hummingbird

Larry Gates

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Who do you depend on?

Our five-year-old granddaughter wanted to go for a family walk last night. It might have been a bedtime delay tactic, but in the end we agreed. She was determined we should go down the trail “through the forest to the pond,” so we did, and discovered a few inhabitants who haven’t been around for the past couple years.

You have to look carefully to see my favourite…

Yes, it’s a Canada Goose nesting on top of the beaver lodge. For years we had two pair of geese in the marsh each spring, and one goose always returned to patch up her old nest and settle in until her brood hatched, confident that few predators could bother her. Then one summer a few years ago, after a group of homes went in on the other side of the marsh, the water level dropped. The beaver did their best to dam up the creek, but in the end they abandoned the lodge. After that the geese nested elsewhere, out of sight in the tall grasses.

Now they’re back. I don’t know if their presence indicates the beaver have also returned, but the lodge has again found favour as a secure nesting locale. Nearby, the gander patrols, ensuring the ducks, hawks and coyotes keep their distance.

It’s fascinating to see the interdependence of the wildlife. The beaver’s home provides security for the goose, while the gander’s honking and squawking warn her and the beaver of anything intruding into their space.

There’s a parallel of sorts in the writer’s world. Each of us has a job to do as we nurture and deliver our stories. As much as writing is a solitary task, we’re dependent upon others for critiques, editing and publication, to help us reach our goal of providing a good story for readers. At the same time, those same people, including the readers, need writers to keep writing if there are going to be books to produce. There’s interdependence in the industry but there is also interdependence at the grass roots level.

Who do you depend upon when you need story advice, editing assistance, agent recommendations and the like? Or are you a true loner?

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Taking a risk; making a start

You know the feeling. That breathless, gasping ache for air as you force one foot ahead of the other, climbing one more step, and one more, and one more… desperate to reach the top.

It may have been a challenge, a climb, a race, a chase. Or maybe you were recovering from surgery and pushing yourself just one more step was part of your therapy.  Whatever the case, the first step had to be taken, then another. Without making a start, there was no way to reach the top.

Yesterday I came across this poster on Facebook* and was reminded of how often we don’t make progress because we never quite muster the momentum that’s needed. We never succeed because we can’t accept the risk of failure. We never finish because we don’t start.

Writers face this every day. There are those who would like to write a novel but aren’t sure they can create 90,000 consecutive words. Or they have too many ideas and don’t know how to round them up into a cohesive story. Others have written their stories but aren’t able to share them with editors or agents, or even other writers, for fear they aren’t good enough. Some published authors fear their initial success is a fluke and whatever else they write won’t measure up, so they don’t try again.

I’ll bet you can think of times you’ve hesitated, turned aside from pursuing a goal or a dream for what seemed like a very legitimate reason. Did you ever return to it… eventually make the effort… or did you accept it wasn’t meant to be?

It’s never too late to try again. If the original dream is beyond reach, you can always modify the goal.

“Tip toe if you must, but take the step.”

~

 

“I don’t so much mind looking back on having lost the election,
or having been denied a role in the play, or having had my novel repeatedly rejected,
or having been turned down for a date,
or recalling laughter at my expense when I attempted some silly challenge.
Those things simply prove that I lived life.
What I do mind, however, is looking back on the lost opportunities
where imagined concerns kept me from even trying, lose or win.
I’ve learned that there is no regret in a brave attempt. Only in cowering to fear.”

Richelle E. Goodrich

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“May the favor of the Lord our God rest on us;
establish the work of our hands for us –
yes, establish the work of our hands.”

Psalm 90:17 – NIV

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“Most of the important things in the world have been accomplished
by people who have kept on trying when there seemed to be no hope at all.”

Dale Carnegie

* Quotes and Fantasy

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Seen in passing…

April hath put a spirit of youth in everything.

William Shakespeare

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Why is it that everything looks good on a sunny day? Yesterday DH and I travelled across the Lower Mainland for a family visit, and while he drove, I pointed my camera at anything that caught my attention. And almost everything did. In this mini-travelogue I’m sharing the many sights that made me smile and count blessings.

The approach to Golden Ears Bridge over the Fraser River was heralded on both sides with massive eagle sculptures…

Four smaller golden eagle sculptures adorned both ends of the bridge…

On the other side, masses of daffodils lined the roadway for several kilometres…

… and  fresh new greens graced the views in every direction…

Oh, and then there were those mountains…

Many things were seen in passing today, but the best view of all was the reason for our trip… seeing our favourite aunt, home from hospital once again…

Nothing could brighten the day quite as much as her wonderful smile! Thanks for the visit, Aunt Norma! You are a blessing in our lives.

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But for those who honor the Lord, his love lasts forever,
and his goodness endures for all generations

Psalm 103:17 – GNT

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Strength and dignity are her clothing,
and she laughs at the time to come.
She opens her mouth with wisdom,
and the teaching of kindness is on her tongue.
She looks well to the ways of her household,
and does not eat the bread of idleness.
Her children rise up and call her blessed.

Proverbs 31:25-28a – RSV

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Are you motivated by the destination or the journey?

There were just two daffodils in our entire yard. I know better than to plant tulips because the deer consider them a gourmet salad mix. But I’ve planted dozens of deer-resistant daffs and narcissus through the years, carefully selecting varieties said to be good naturalizers. The first year several bloom; the next only a few; and from then on I’m lucky if there are any. I just don’t seem to have any luck with them. But I noticed these two daffodils a couple days ago, gamely working their way up through the protection of a rhododendron branch, and I smiled.

Yesterday my hubby handed them to me. We’d had an exceptionally heavy rainstorm, and he found both of them broken, with their sunny faces resting on the ground. I rinsed them off and tucked them into a vase. The sun came out briefly during the afternoon and shone through the window. I couldn’t stop admiring how the flowers looked, basking in the glow. Naturally I reached for my camera and took shots from every angle.

It was only as I reviewed the photos on my computer that I noticed something. I had selected a vase based on its appropriate size, and not paid a lot of attention to which one it was. But the sun’s rays made it glisten, and now my attention was drawn to the beauty I’d overlooked.

We often chuckle at young children who get more pleasure from the box than from the gift inside. Other times we may go overboard and labour over gift wrapping until the exterior of a package is worth more than its contents. In my case, I found joy in sunshine through petals, and only later gleaned equal pleasure from the casually chosen container.

How often do we miss seeing the obvious? And when we miss seeing, we forget thankfulness. And without thankfulness there is no joy.

Not long ago I printed out “A Year of Graces” from Ann Voskamp’s website — a perpetual calendar with lines on which to record those things for which I am thankful each day. On the first page is this statement:

“Joy is always a function of gratitude –
and gratitude is always a function of perspective.
If we are going to change our lives,
what we’re going to have to change
is the way we see.”

Later there is this:

“No one gets to joy by trying to make everything perfect.
One only arrives there by seeing in every imperfection
all that is joy.”

And in that was my analogy, just waiting to be found… the link to writing. I have always affirmed that I enjoy revising my writing. There is such satisfaction in refining to bring forward the best a story can be. Yet many times I struggle with revisions, trying unsuccessfully to find exactly the right words, too often becoming frustrated and disheartened. In retrospect, I think it’s because I’m seeing my failure and overlooking the process… focusing on the results instead of how I achieve them.

I love writing. The thought of not writing fills me with anxiety. I’ve always been better at putting words on paper than in speaking them. How would I express the chaos of unuttered thoughts if not on paper? What would I do with all the story ideas and blog posts if I didn’t let them flow out through my fingertips? Fulfillment comes from the doing, from creative expression, in wrestling thoughts out of the void into a finite place. I’m grateful for the ideas, for the ability to put them into words — however imperfect they may be — for the desire to communicate and the freedom and time to keep trying.

My gratitude prompts thankfulness, which in turn encourages joy to blossom. In those moments when I gather together my efforts and raise cupped hands in a gesture of thankful praise, it is the uplifted hands that are important, not the quality of their less-than-praiseworthy contents.

I have a new work-in-progress that I put aside in favour of revising something older. Lately both have been preempted by a church history project, but it doesn’t matter what I’m working on as long as I approach the task with that attitude of gratitude. There will be joy in the doing.

What small everyday joy will bring thankfulness to your heart today?

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“I will praise God’s name in song and glorify Him with thanksgiving.”

Psalm 69:30

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