Canadian Prairies Missed the Old West

by Anita Mae Draper

I'm thrilled to be here, today. However, when Narelle first invited me to write a post, I went from elation to anxiety within hours. That plummet can only be contributed to one thing... I’m a traitor.

You see, I’ve lived my whole life in Canada. Born and raised in Ontario and Manitoba, I joined the Canadian Armed Forces (CAF) when I was 17 and married another CAF member at age 19. Our career moves took us to Alberta and then Saskatchewan where we’ve settled down.

So, why am I a traitor? Because although I live on the Canadian prairies, I write inspirational romances about the American Old West set in Wyoming and Montana.

Remember all those old TV Westerns from the ‘60s and ‘70s? My favorites were Wagon Train, Bonanza (or Ponderosa in syndication), Gun Smoke, High Chapparral, and The Virginian. It might have been my parents’ choice to tune in to those shows, but you couldn’t have pulled me away from the TV set when they were on unless you bribed me with a ride on a real horse.

Once the shows were over, I’d scurry to my room, make sure I was sitting on my half of the bed I shared with my sister, and with my scribbler on a pillow across by knees, I’d write my own stories based on the settings I’d ogled from the TV shows. I lived in Northern Ontario at the time, amid rocks, lakes and trees. Lots of trees. Maybe the American West appealed to me because of the physical wonders my eyes had never seen. I was 11 yrs old when we moved to the province of Manitoba. I still remember looking out the car window and watching the trees fade away. The open prairie welcomed me.

Or maybe it was the thrill of the lawlessness which excited me. You know, good versus evil played out in the lives of ordinary people. Whatever the reasons, those shows sparked my imagination and spurred my writing.

As a child, one of the things I missed out on was going to the local movie house because it was considered a sin. Yet, there was one long summer when my brother and I were sent to live with my dad’s mother and brothers. You want to talk about rules? There were none. All we had to do was smile and they’d give us a quarter. A chorus of Jingle Bells was good for a dollar. For the first time in our lives, we had our own bikes—and the whole town to explore. Grandma fed us whenever we got home and washed our clothes when they were dirty. Our only curfew was the town siren which went off at 9 o’clock every evening. Anyone under the age of 18 caught outside after that siren went off was promptly escorted home. I think I only missed the curfew a few times and while running down back alleys and keeping to the shadows charged my adrenaline, the threat of capture kept me inside more times than not.

And do you know what was so special about that summer? Not the money. Not the freedom. And not the thrills… It was the Saturday matinee at the local movie theatre.

To a girl born in Logging Camp #5 and used to a small TV with rabbit ears, the theatre experience almost overwhelmed me. The larger than life characters. Noises so loud I felt like I was in a vacuum for hours afterward. Feeling the room shake from the reverberations of the on-screen trains or explosions. Everything about the theatre was big. Oh, how I struggled to capture those sounds on paper.

I was introduced to movies like The Good, The Bad and The Ugly and although I didn’t have a name for it at the time, I’d stumbled upon one facet missing in my writing…tension. No matter what anyone says about those old ‘spaghetti westerns’, the time spent building an atmosphere of anticipation is a worthwhile study for any fiction writer.

With those basics, I wrote my stories. Some were set on a wagon train and some were set on the open prairie or on the rocky hills nearby, but they were all Old West locations.

Yes, I read the antics of Anne Shirley in Lucy Maud Montgomery’s Anne of Green Gables series, but they didn’t inspire me to write books like the ones about young girls and the hardships they faced on their journeys to the American West. Always The West.

So, why do I write about the American prairies and not the Canadian ones? Probably because Canada seems to have skipped the whole ‘Old West’ phase. It’s like we went from the Hudson Bay Company’s fur trapping era right to the Northwest Mounted Police (NWMP) and their Mountie ‘always gets his man’. Precursors to today’s Royal Canadian Mounted Police (RCMP), the NWMP was established in 1873. Since the setting of my current book/work in progress is 1879, I’m writing in the same time frame. So why didn’t Canada have an Old West? I really don’t know. Maybe the Mounties spoiled all the fun.

But I do have some story ideas using the Canadian West in the late 19th century. Since I’ve lived in all 3 of the Prairie provinces, I can draw on my personal wealth of information. And there’s one thing which will speed my will to write them… the knowledge that readers want to read them.

What was your favourite movie genre when you were a youngster? Is it the same now that you’re all grown up?

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Anita Mae Draper lives with her husband of 33 yrs and their 2 youngest of 4 children on a farm outside Montmartre, Saskatchewan. After a 20 yr military career, Anita Mae delights in the solitude and openness of the Canadian prairie although she and the kids often work as extras on TV and Film sets in the city of Regina, an hour away. She attends a small country church 40 km away where her husband and children are on the worship team. Non-musical (although she tries), Anita Mae’s ministry is webmistress for the church at www.glenavonchurchonthehill.com. Anita Mae invites you to visit – and befriend her – at these web sites:

www.anitamaedraper.blogspot.com

www.inkwellinspirations.blogspot.com
www.twitter.com/anitamaedraper
www.facebook.com/home.php
www.prairiechickswriteromance.blogspot.com (caution: secular)

SUNDAY EDITION

Coming Up This Week

Monday

Anita Mae Draper: Canadian Prairies Missed the Old West

Tuesday

Shirley Corder

Wednesday

LeAnne Hardy: Africa from a Child's POV

Thursday

Tom Davis

Friday Devotion

Shirley Corder: How to Slay a Giant

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News

Jeanette Windle's book, Veiled Freedom (Tyndale) is a 2010 Christy Award Nominee and a 2010 ECPA Christian Book Award finalist - congratulations Jeanette!

Tom Davis' book, Scared (David C. Cook) is a 2010 Christy Award Nominee - congratulations Tom!

Lisa Harris' thriller set in Africa, Blood Ransom, is an April 2010 release from Zondervan.

Harry Kraus' book, The Six-Liter Club, is an April 2010 release from Howard Books.

Christine Lindsay is a finalist in the historical category of the Faith, Hope and Love Inspirational Chapter of Romance Writers of America's 2010 Touched By Love Contest - congratulations Christine!

DEVOTION: The Day God Laughed. (Marcia Lee Laycock)

“See what you have to look forward to now?” The whisper in my ear came from a friend in the pew behind us and it made my smile widen. It was Dec. 10th and we were on our first outing with our new baby. She was only 10 days old, but we braved the frigid Yukon winter to attend the Christmas pageant at a small mission church.

I knew the service wouldn’t be a grand production. The church was just a hall, tiny and dilapidated. The Carols were sung a cappella, without a pianist to help keep us in tune. The pageant consisted of six or seven children dressed in bathrobes, their heads in kitchen-towel wraps. The backdrop was made of cardboard stars covered in tinfoil.

But I was seeing everything attached to Christmas in a new way. The tinfoil stars glittered more brightly than a chandelier. The carols were as harmonious as though sung by angels. And the children... ah, the children made the story live!

I was bursting with thankfulness. I had just been given the desire of my heart, the precious gift of a child of my own.

We had been told it wouldn’t happen, and after five years without conceiving a child, my husband and I tried to resign ourselves to that reality. I took great pains to hide the deep sadness I found almost unbearable. No one knew how much I wanted a baby, but the clues were there. I was angry much of the time. Convinced God was punishing me, I hated Him. The bitterness poured into all aspects of my life.

Until the day God laughed.

It was on the road to Mayo, Yukon. I was going to visit a friend, determined not to think about God or religion or any of the baffling questions my husband kept bringing up. But no matter what I tried, my mind would not rest. The question of God’s existence and what he had to do with me would not go away. In desperation, I pulled my vehicle into a lookout point above the Stewart River.

The beautiful river valley stretched out below, but I barely saw it. In turmoil, I challenged God to do something to prove He was there. Then I realized how foolish I was, talking to a God I did not really believe existed. At that point something happened which I have never been able to describe adequately. I “heard” laughter, like a grandfather chuckling, and the words, “Yes, but I love you anyway.”

None of this was audible, yet it was real. I thought I was going insane. The turmoil had finally pushed me over the edge and now I was hearing voices. I stomped on the gas pedal of my truck, turned the radio up as loud as it would go, and fled.

My visit with my friend turned out to be more discussion of spiritual things, but by the time I returned home I was determined not to pursue Christianity. Besides, I had something else on my mind. I had been suffering from a strange flu. On about the seventh day of this “flu”, the realization I was in fact pregnant flooded over me like warm rain. With it came a thunderbolt of truth.This was the “something” I had challenged God to do. The child growing in my womb was His answer, the proof of His love. He gave me the desire of my heart.

She was born Nov. 30, 1982.

“See what you have to look forward to now?” Oh yes, I saw. I saw a future filled with the knowledge there is peace without measure, grace without limit and love without conditions. I saw a future suddenly bright because I believe the Christmas story. A tiny baby, whose sole purpose was to die for me and all others, was born in Bethlehem. I saw the reality that the Christ is still intimately involved in our lives here on earth. Though the church may be just a hall, the music less than perfect, and the costumes homemade, the story is exquisite.
The story is true!

Marcia’s inspirational writing has won awards in both Canada and the U.S. Her devotionals are distributed to thousands and her novel, One Smooth Stone, won the Best New Canadian Christian Author Award in 2006. Marcia is also a sought-after speaker for women’s events. Visit her at www.vinemarc.com

Yay! Criticism

Hello again! Ufuoma here and I have a quick question for you:
Show of hands? Who likes to be criticized? Anyone? No one? Surprise, surprise.

I recently joined a writers' critique group. Critiquing the work of others was a pleasant experience and much easier to do than receiving critiques of my work. The first ones were not so bad, but after a few days I almost began to dread checking my email for fear of what other criticism I might find.

One critic only read the first sentence in my chapter and sent me a note telling me that she gives harsh critiques so she would only continue if I could assure her that I was thick-skinned. My pride wouldn't let me admit that I'm not as thick-skinned as I would like to be, so I gave her the go-ahead to critique my work. The truth is that I haven't worked up the courage to open her emails since.

This got me thinking. There are so many possible responses to a not-so-glowing critique. You could internalize every negative comment and feel like giving up, believing that you got it wrong, and God didn't call you to write. Or, you could totally disregard any negative comments, believing that you know best; after all what do 'they' know? But I think most people fall somewhere in the middle - appreciating the feedback, pondering on the comments made and making decisions on what to implement and what to ignore.

I found that even though it's hard looking at a sea of red or lines crossed out of the work I put my heart in to, I was glad for the chance to be able to answer some questions or defend my reasoning for putting certain scenes in my manuscript. I was also sometimes thrilled at the new ideas I got from reading other people's suggestions.

Much of life is about finding the right balance and I've had to pick and choose what to pay attention to and what expend energy on. But to make the best of this gift (and indeed it is a gift of other people's time, thoughts and creativity), one must be open, totally honest with one's self, willing to learn and over all, love your story enough to want to make it the best story it can be, all the while maintaining it's integrity.

On the other hand, when critiquing someone else's work, let's not forget to be pepper our honesty with kindness. And be open minded about the story you're critiquing. It's not yours. What I'm trying to say is, offer constructive criticism, but don't knock someone else's story. You may not like it, but God may have given them the raw materials to eventually bring a beautifully crafted story to fruition and you could be a wonderful (not painful) part of the process.

I end this post with the awareness that I have much to learn and I'm grateful for the brilliant critics (teachers and encouragers) that God had placed in my path. I trust God that I am a stronger writer for them.

God bless you.

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Ufuoma Daniella Ojo is a technical writer, working very hard to finish editing her first novel and trusting God for it's subsequent publication.

Deadlines... any survival tips?

Narelle here. I'm filling in for Jeanette, who is hard at work on her next contracted novel and has a deadline looming.

We all have deadlines in our lives. I remember, during my university days, all my essays would fall due at the same time. The week or so before the deadlines was crazy as I grabbed every spare minute I could find to work on my essays. I have deadlines at work, with certain tasks that need to be completed by the end of the day. I also know two or three hours before my work day ends whether or not I'm ahead or behind on my schedule. I'm also a great believer in the old saying 'Make hay while the sun shines' because you never know what disaster may strike that throws out your carefully planned schedule.

I'm yet to receive my first publishing contract and enter the world of published author deadlines. I have author friends who talk about how a deadline on a contracted book can be all consuming, and their lives revolve around getting the book finished and submitted to their editor. They often juggle multiple book contracts and have revisions to complete whilst they're working on their current book. Deadline pressure isn't necessarily a last minute phenomenon and they can feel the pressure to write a certain number of words per day or week for many months before their book deadline.

Every three months I undertake a 'Book in a Week' (BIAW) challenge with one of my writing groups. I set a target word count goal for the week and focus all my time and energy on achieving my writing goal. BIAW can give unpublished authors an insight into what life is like for published authors working on a deadline. I've learned to be self-disciplined, organized and I set aside time to achieve my daily word count and self-imposed deadline.

I've heard writers pre-cook meals, ignore housework and clear their schedules to meet their writing deadlines. I set the alarm on my phone so I don't miss important appointments or lose track of the time and forget to collect my kids from school. I write a weekly 'To Do' list so I can manage and keep on top of all the writing and other commitments in my life.

Do you have any survival tips on how to manage the various deadlines in your life? I'd love to hear your thoughts.

Tracy Groot’s Hat Trick – Author Interview and Book Giveaway

by Marion Ueckermann

Christian Author, Tracy Groot lives near Grand Rapids, Michigan, where she was born and raised. Besides books, chess, good coffee and baked goodies, Tracy also loves the woods, backpacking, the open sky and adventure. She lives in a predominantly male household with her husband Jack, three sons, Evan, Grayson, and Riley, and Murphy, their Jack Russell. Tracy loves travelling and researching for books. Tracy’s novel, Madman, won a Christy Award in the Historical Fiction category for 2007.

MARION: Tracy, welcome to International Christian Fiction Writers.

TRACY: Thanks! It’s a pleasure.

MARION: Tell us how old you were when you began your writing career?

TRACY: Eight. I started stories and didn’t finish them, once I realized an ending was required. I was in my late twenties when I got serious about it, and finally wrote something with an ending.

MARION: Did you know you’d be a writer when you grew up?
TRACY: Either that or a missionary, which is interesting because I had no idea what a missionary was. Just sounded cool.

MARION: Something happened to you one day on the way to college. Tell us about that and how it affected your writing?
TRACY: I became a Christian at the age of 16, and had a freaky Abraham-sacrifice-Isaac idea that I had to slap the writing on the altar and kill it dead for some sort of swap with God for this new life I loved. So I got rid of the gift (or thought I did), ditched the idea of college, and settled in with a job as an Accounts Payable clerk until I finally discovered that God actually gave me the gift to write, and I didn’t have to kill it, because it’s rude to kill a gift.

MARION: How did you land a job writing radio commercials?
TRACY: I worked in Accounts Payable in a big automotive corporation, and had more fun with office memos than invoices. I saved the memos and used them later when asked for my portfolio.

MARION: Your first two books published were young adult novels in a series called, Casey and the Classifieds. How did you sell these two books?
TRACY: I signed up for a consultation with an editor at a local writer’s conference, the Calvin College Festival of Faith and Writing. Along with the first two highly polished chapters and synopsis, I instinctively brought to the meeting what the editor told me later was a “pitch line.” I said, (and I think I even framed the words with my hands, like a director): “Picture this: Nancy Drew with an attitude.” The editor told me in later years that the line became textbook, and he actually taught it in a writing class. So pitch line, people, pitch line. Bring the definition of your book down to one succinct sentence that will put the picture right in the editor’s head. They’ll think you’re a rock star. Or at least, they’ll think you know what you’re doing. No one has to know otherwise.

MARION: You wrote a play, Consider it Joy, about James, the brother of Jesus, which you turned into a novel. The book sold as The Brother’s Keeper. Both this book and the sequel, Stones of My Accusers, got starred Booklist reviews. Your third historical novel, Madman, got a starred Publishers Weekly review and a Christy Award for historical fiction. All three of these books were set in Palestine during Jesus’ lifetime. What inspired you to write stories set in this era?
TRACY: I have no idea.

MARION: Tracy, I just loved the twist you brought to the tale midway through Madman – the winner of your book giveaway is in for a treat. Please tell the readers what Madman is about?
TRACY: Madman is a story about the Gerasene Demoniac, the one told about in the gospel of Mark, from whom Jesus drove the legion of demons into the pigs. To me, it’s one of the greatest love stories in the Bible. Kardus wasn’t even Jewish. Jesus crossed the sea for one tormented, misery-filled man, locked away in hellish isolation, all hope for deliverance non-existent. But I’m digressing…the book is a story about the demoniac, told from the points of view from his family, colleagues, and strangers.

MARION: If there is a way into madness, logic says there is a way out. Logic says. (Quoted from Madman). You successfully take the reader into the mind of the Gerasene demoniac. Was any special research required to accomplish this?
TRACY: I had an idea that if I didn’t tell his story truthfully enough, Kardus would deck me when I got to heaven. I had to fully understand what it was like to be demon possessed. Now, I’m in to certain forms of experiential research, but not this time. Instead, I prayed for God to lead me to people who had been possessed, so that I could interview them and do my best to understand what possession was all about. God provided many people to talk to, and many books to read, and I came to a pretty fair understanding of this heartbreaking state. In fact, I’ve received email from formerly possessed people who have asked, “How did you know? Were you possessed?” It wasn’t an easy topic to research. But Barry Moser once said, when I asked him how to go to painful places to get the goods and bring it back to my work, “You can’t be a coward; you have to go to the heart of darkness.” And Paul Mariani, who was with him, added, “And Jesus will meet you there.” I have found it to be so. I can’t be a coward when it comes to researching hard things. I have to go the heart of darkness, if need be, and take courage knowing that Jesus waits for me beside those hard places, like the safety and comfort that he is.

MARION: What are you currently working on?
TRACY: Well, I was working on a period book about Jonah. Now it looks like I’m working on a contemporary book about Jonah. Same theme, different century.

MARION: Tracy, you confess to being obsessively compulsive about research. Tell us about the crazy research you did for Jonah.
TRACY: I wanted to know what it was like to be thrown off a ship at full sail into the Mediterranean. So I went and did it. The salt was a surprise, since I live in Michigan near the Great Lakes and I’m used to fresh water. It cleared my sinuses in a most distracting way, when I’m trying my best to simulate drowning and take mental notes like a court stenographer hopped up on caffeine and Krispy Kremes. Yes, it was quite an adventure, and the captain I hired thought I was nuts. So did his crew. It was great. Not that it gave Americans a great name, they think we’re all insane writers who want to throw ourselves off full-sail ships.

MARION: Do you ever struggle with writer's block?
TRACY: Yes, it can be quite aggravating, but it can also be your shining best friend. I consider it a very vital part of the writing process. Writer’s block is simply your gut telling you that you haven’t fed the compost heap enough information to draw upon, thereby risking any number of things: weak description, weak characterization, weak motive, and worst of all, weak direction. If you don’t have a good gut-instinct direction for the story, you’ll end up taking it where it should not go; the danger is getting attached to new characters you may meet, when maybe you shouldn’t have met those characters at all. You may end up with a painful pile of massive rewrite on your hands, stuff you get attached to that you’ll later have to cut, when writer’s block could have served you if you had allowed yourself to sit with the pain and go where it was leading. Writer’s block can demand far more than you are currently giving, and will send you mercilessly back to the drawing board to figure out what the problem is. I don’t think people are willing to do this, much. They fear sitting with the frustration, they fear thinking it through; they fear the block is some indictment on their story or their writing, when the opposite is true; the block is an ally. I sometimes go for long walks to puzzle things out. That’s where writer’s block sometimes sends me. Or I’ll get out a huge dry erase board and start writing down why I’m feeling frustrated. Sometimes I’ll interview my characters. Nothing like a good Q and A with your characters to find out surprising things. This is not some esoteric exercise, it really works. Bottom line, put writer’s block to work for you by asking what it requires. It may be something as blissfully simple as better description for a delivery truck. Once you see it in your head, you can get it to the page and that one single thing could unlock it all. (I’ve done workshops on writer’s block, you can see I’m pretty passionate about it because there’s beefy type on top of this sentence. It’s a great topic.) One time all I could see in my head was flitting lightening arcs; turned out it was not evidence of a hallucinogen, it was exactly what I was supposed to be seeing. I’d just never seen it before. So I wrote it, I wrote exactly what I saw and what the lightening arcs were doing and man, what a scene that was. Sometimes writer’s block isn’t block at all, but something we’re seeing; we just don’t know that we’re seeing it yet.

MARION: What is the best writing advice you’ve heard?
TRACY: “Only a slob leaves it to the editor.”—Stephen King.

MARION: Tracy, you have an incredible sense of humor. Any chance you would write a comedy?
TRACY: Thanks for the compliment. My husband used to be appalled when I’d sit at the computer and laugh at my own stuff, but I figure, if it doesn’t make me laugh, I don’t have a hope in heck of making someone else laugh. I’d like to do some humor writing some day, though I’m not sure how it would play out, either in memoir or in contemporary fiction. I’ll have to content myself with occasional self-serving blog entries on my website.

MARION: Thank you for your time. May I wish you every success with your writing, and I look forward to seeing more of your books on our South African shelves.
TRACY: Thank you so much, Marion, and thanks for asking terrific questions. They were a lot of fun to answer. Here is my favorite writing blessing to you and all your writing compatriots, from Psalm 90:17: “May the beauty of the Lord our God be upon you, and give permanence to the work of your hands.”

Visit Tracy’s website: www.tracygroot.com

Tracy will be giving away a signed copy of Madman and will post to anywhere in the world. If you would like to win a copy of Madman, please add your email address with your comment, replacing @ with (at) and .com with (dot) com. The winner will be announced in The Sunday Edition June 6th.

"Void where prohibited; the odds of winning depend on the number of entrants. Entering the giveaway is considered a confirmation of eligibility on behalf of the enterer in accord with these rules and any pertaining local/federal/international laws."

MARION UECKERMANN’s writing passion was sparked in 2001 when she moved to Ireland with her husband and two sons. Since then Marion has been honing her skills and has published some devotional articles in Winners at Work as well as inspirational poetry online and in a poetry journal. She has written her first Christian Women’s novel (unpublished) and is currently completing the sequel. Marion now lives in Pretoria East, South Africa with her husband, sons and a crazy black ‘Scottie’. A member and moderator of the South African Christian Writers Group, Marion can be contacted via email on marionu(at)telkomsa(dot)net or through her website www.inkslinger.co.cc

FROZEN BOOKS

Hi! Ruth Ann here.

I’m sure you’ve never dropped a book in the bathtub.

You have? You mean I’m not the only one who reads in the bathtub? For an hour or more?

Dropping your book into the water is one of the hazards of reading while you soak and relax in the bubbles. The last time I dunked a book, I sun-dried it and then spent hours ironing it page by page. It’s still legible, but has a decidedly puffy look, so I was overjoyed when I found a tip on reviving a book which has almost drowned. The writer of the tip advocated sealing the sodden book in a plastic bag and then freezing it.

Hmmmm, how could this work? I didn’t know but decided it was worth giving it a try. I took an old book that was earmarked for paper recycling and dipped it in warm water. I shook off the excess water and then used a nifty kitchen gadget to vacuum seal it in plastic. I left the enrobed book in my deep freeze for a couple of days to ensure it was thoroughly frozen.

When the time for testing came, I cut the plastic bag and slid the book out. I tried to open it, but it disintegrated into several frozen sections. I left them to thaw, and later in the day I no longer had frozen pages. I had soggy pages.

I still wonder what I did wrong. If you know, or can suggest an alternative solution, please leave a comment below.

All this set me wondering about places where books are read. As a child growing up in Africa, I climbed the trees in my yard and pulled up my books on a specially devised pulley system. The mulberry tree was especially handy as I could snack on fruit in season. When we visited my grandparents in England I loved sitting upstairs with a book in the window seat of their two hundred year old house.

A friend relates with a smile how, as a child, she read on a platform under the water tank on the roof of her house. Another friend’s teenage son read in the shower- he braced his back against one side on the shower, his legs on the other and stuck his head, one arm and book out of the shower.

A new friend in South Africa describes Kaapsehoop, one of her favorite reading spots. "There's a natural rock formation and the Kaapsehoop wild horses. I drive up the mountain and sit in the rocks and if you go early enough the wild horses come out of the forest through the mist. They almost look like ghosts. It is an amazing sight . . .  This place is a little part of Heaven on Earth.

When you leave, a part of your heart and soul is left behind to roam across the canvas of His master piece, wrapped up in the rich soil, peace and tranquility. There’s no doubt; you’re woven into His tapestry of beauty."  

Don't you long to join her there? I do.

I’ve compiled a list of favorite spots from readers all over the world.

·        at a red stoplight

·        next to a roaring log fire in winter

·        on an exercise cycle or treadmill at the gym

·        in the kitchen while cooking a meal (please note, librarians are not happy when you return burnt books!)

·        at the computer while waiting for internet pages to download

·        in front of a mirror while blow drying hair

·        in  the wind free zone behind the driver of a motor bike while on a ride

·        in a tent using a flashlight

·        in the bathroom while brushing your teeth

·        by a river or lake with a fishing pole in one hand, book in the other

·        in a closet with the door closed using a flashlight

·        in a funeral home

·        in a car stuck in a traffic jam

·        next to a campfire

·        in the emergency room awaiting treatment

·        on the beach

·        on a blanket or bench at the botanical gardens

·        in a studio while getting a tattoo

·        on the roof of a shed

·        at the top of the  Eiffel tower

·        outside in a hammock

·        on the stairs in a sunbeam

·        backstage at the theatre during rehearsal

·        propped against an old oak tree

·        at the bottom of a ski slope with skiers gliding round you

·        on a hiking trail on a patch of grass or a boulder with a view

·        in bed with a storm raging outside

·        next to a window when it’s raining or snowing outside

·         in the grocery checkout line, the queue at the bank, the doctor’s surgery- anywhere that requires waiting

·        in a car, train, tram, plane, boat- any form of transport

Please leave a comment in the section below and tell me about your favorite or most unusual reading haunt.

Enjoy reading in your favorite spot today!

Ruth Ann Dell writes children's stories and international Christian fiction from her home in a sunny South African suburb. She is a member of several writing groups including the American Christian Fiction Writers and Writer's Ink. Her desire is to craft gripping stories which draw her readers into a closer relationship with God.
Ruth Ann and her husband have lived in several countries and are renovating a cottage in the heart of Ireland.

SUNDAY EDITION

Coming Up This Week

Monday

Ruth Ann Dell

Tuesday

Marion Ueckermann: Tracy Groot's Hat Trick - Author Interview and Book Giveaway

Wednesday

Jeanette Windle

Thursday

Ufuoma Daniella Ojo

Friday Devotion

Marcia Lee Laycock: The Day God Laughed

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Contest Giveaway Winners

Carole is the winner of Kathi Macias' book, More than Conquerors (from Valerie's post, May 10).

Congratulations Carole!

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News

Jeanette Windle's book, Veiled Freedom (Tyndale) is a 2010 Christy Award Nominee and a 2010 ECPA Christian Book Award finalist - congratulations Jeanette!

Tom Davis' book, Scared (David C. Cook) is a 2010 Christy Award Nominee - congratulations Tom!

Lisa Harris' thriller set in Africa, Blood Ransom, is an April 2010 release from Zondervan.

Harry Kraus' book, The Six-Liter Club, is an April 2010 release from Howard Books.

DEVOTION: Prayer Paralyzes Evil. (Gerald McCann)

Read Ephesians 6: 10-18 

Pray in the Spirit on all occasions with all kinds of prayers and requests - Ephesians 6:18 NIV

In the third week of April 2010 an Icelandic volcano exploded with devastation effect, sending clouds of smoke and ash 11 kilometers into the sky. High winds carried this ash over most of Europe, grounding jet aircraft and paralyzing air transport. The ‘fall-out’ has been devastating in terms of passenger trip-disruption and the time and financial losses to airlines and business.

The Lord used this occasion as a parable to teach me about our Christian warfare in the spiritual realm. When Christians gather in prayer under the fiery presence of the Holy Spirit, immense power is released. Our prayers ascend as a cloud, not just for 11 kilometers, but up to the very throne of God. There the wind of the Spirit carries our prayers over enemy strongholds, paralyzing and grounding the evil purposes of ungodly forces that they intend to release upon God’s people. This allows the children of God to prepare and arm themselves with the whole armor of God to withstand the attacks of the evil one.

A biblical example of this parable and the power of united prayer is found in the Book of Esther. There the evil Haman sold his plan to destroy the Jews in the empire to the Xerxes, King of the Medes and Persians. Through the work of Queen Esther and prevailing prayer, God thwarted Haman’s plans, destroyed the evil plotter and saved the Jewish people.

We as children of the Most High God need to be sensitive to the Holy Spirit’s leading and warnings. At such times we must gather together and pray volcanic prayers of protection in the Spirit and God will be glorified.

When fear threatens to overwhelm us may God teach us to stand together in prayer to resist the devil and overcome the evil one. Do you know of someone or some danger today that generates fear and threatens God’s People? Can you call people together in prayer to meet this danger? Remember, our God is an awesome God.

Gerald McCann is a retired pastor, author, artist and mountain man, living in Bot River, near Cape Town, South Africa.

He may be contacted by e-mail at:
geraldmc(at)telkomsa(dot)net 

How Does Your Garden Grow?

-- by Alice Valdal


It's seeding time in my neck of the woods. Time to break up the crust of winter, bring in fresh compost, dig out the old and plan anew.



I love the garden, both in real life and as a metaphor for writing. I consider this preparation time like the dreaming time for a book. The time when all things are possible. The time when characters and settings and themes and the perfect hook float in my conscience, as enticing as the packets of seeds at the Butchart Gardens.



I can't wait for the days to get warm enough, so I start some seeds indoors on a sunny windowsill. My heart lifts when I see those first green sprouts.
In my writing life, I go out and buy a new notebook, one with a pretty cover, and I write snippets of dialogue, character interviews. I try out a few titles, play with names. I draw a picture of the town where the book is set, or sketch out the heroine's house. Ah, my story is coming to life, just like my little seedlings.


Once the garden is up, the weeding and hoeing become reality and I question my decision to plant such a large area! Can two people really eat four rows of green beans, not to mention turnips, onions, lettuce, beets, carrots, corn, peas. . . Like I said, I get carried away in the planning stages.

In my "great Canadian novel" I'm running into similar difficulties. Too many characters, too much useless detail. I have to yank out these "weeds" as ruthlessly as I attack the thistles in the strawberry patch, and we all know how that can hurt.




But finally, as the days grow hot and the dried up seeds respond to light and water and heat, my garden grows. I harvest those first tender leaves of lettuce. Onions and radishes adorn my salads. I feel rich as a king when I pluck the fruits of my labour.
My book takes shape. There is a beginning and middle and an ending. Somewhere among the tangle of words a theme emerges. The "weeding" becomes more like flower arranging. Move a word or phrase. Tidy up the syntax. The slash and burn of the first edits is over.

When I began my garden I envisioned something like the picture above, or maybe this one at right.

I dreamed of bidding wars for my novel. Saw it crowned with a "best-seller" sticker. Imagined the millions of people ( no point dreaming if you don't go big!) who would be moved by my words.


My garden, as seen below, doesn't quite measure up to the Butcharts. But it's pretty and it feeds my body and my soul.

Full of hope, I send my book to editors and agents. So far, no bidding wars, but I've written something I'm proud of. The work of creating the story has fed my soul and humbled my pride. I'm thinking it's time to buy a new notebook. Do you like the name Daria for a heroine?


The Bible is full of garden metaphors. "A sower went out to sow." The mustard seed. The Garden of Eden and the barren fig tree just to name a few. In John 12:24, Jesus spoke of his own death as resurrection in gardening terms. "Except a corn of wheat fall into the ground and die, it abideth alone: but if it die, it bringeth forth much fruit. (KJV).
As a gardener and a child of the land, all of these passages speak to me. But what of the inner city child who thinks milk and bread come from the store? I cannot think of a metaphor that would resonate with that urban child. Can you?

To read more of Alice's adventures in publishing land or in the garden, check out her website http://www.alicevaldal.com/

One Year In Paradise - Part One

It wasn't until we landed on the airstrip at Port Moresby, Papua New Guinea, and stepped out into the humid heat, that I first asked myself, "What on earth have we done?" It had taken me and my family 26 hours to fly from Vancouver, Canada, north towards the top of the globe, down the coast of Russia, China and Japan to this South Pacific island just north of Australia. We had driven through a blizzard to reach Vancouver, and knew the shock of arriving in the tropics would be great. It began to dawn as we stood under slow-moving fans in the long line at the customs counter, aware that we were the only "whiteskins" with perspiration dripping off our noses! Our passports and visas checked, we made our way to the waiting area, tried to find a seat directly under a fan and bemoaned the fact that we hadn't yet changed our Canadian “loonies” into PNG Kina, making the CokeT machine inaccessible!

People-watching helped pass the time. Women stood and squatted in the lines, many in national dress, the bright "meriblaus," a full top extending almost to the knees and "lap-lap," an ankle-length piece of cloth wrapped around twice and tied at the waist. Some bore facial tattoos, blue lines and dots on their foreheads and cheeks. Almost all of them had children on their laps and at their knees. The men were small-built, all wearing shorts and T-shirts, some bearded and a couple with matted hair braided and tied at the back of the neck. Almost no-one wore shoes.

The noise in the room was considerable. If my ear had been able to distinguish at the time, I would have picked out several languages, (there are 869, at last count, in a country roughly the size of Alberta). I was having trouble just trying to understand the common trade language, Melanesian Pidgin, which blared over a loudspeaker whenever a flight was ready to board. The national folk didn’t seem to have the same problem as they surged toward the exit at each announcement, leaving emptied seats snatched up by those sitting and squatting on the floor.

Two long hours later we boarded our Air Niugini flight to the other side of the island where we would go to "jungle camp," the orientation spot for short term workers in the country. The shock of arrival continued when we flew over the lush landscape, but it slowly gave way to wonder at the beauty of P.N.G. The coast-line quickly gives way to jungle and Sago swamps (Sago palms provide the staple food, even though they have 6 inch thorns surrounding their trunks). The swamps in turn give way to a ridge of mountains running like a spine down the full length of the island.

Our small plane bounced as we neared the high ridges but we ignored the instability and peered down at clusters of village huts and gardens cut into steep slopes. The land descended quickly as we approached the city of Madang, clinging to the edge of coral reefs in the clear waters of the Bismark Sea. The airport in Madang is a smaller version of Port Moresby, minus the fans. It was at this point we realized that, although we were visitors in this country, we would not be tourists. We had come to work at a centre called the Summer Institute of Linguistics, (S.I.L.) and we would soon learn that we had our work cut out for us.

To be continued …

Marcia now writes from central Alberta Canada. See her website - www.vinemarc.com

The Constant Heart

“If anyone should ask me what God is, I should answer: God is love, and so altogether lovely that creatures all with one accord essay to love his loveliness, whether they do so knowingly or unbeknownst, in joy and sorrow”.

Meister Eckhart

A couple of months ago, the revision of my novel ‘Flint and Feather’ completely stalled. I had no resources to fix it. My well of images was stone dry! So I’ve been writing other things, painting, singing, getting qualified to teach English as a foreign language and whingeing to God. I’ve also been digging out last year’s summer wardrobe now that spring is here and sprucing up what I can still get into, which this year amounts to ... er, some scarves.

One of these is a small silk square my husband brought back with him from a trip to Taiwan a few years back. It’s bordered with sets of fighting figures in colourful costumes and ornate head dresses. I remembered the shock I got when I first set eyes on it, because I’d awoken that morning directly from a dream – of battling oriental warriors – in fact, the characters depicted in my scarf had already appeared to me in my dream. It would seem that I’d ‘seen’ the scarf in advance of receiving it.

I’ve had sufficient experiences of this and similar phenomena to have researched, on and off, what is commonly referred to as ‘extra sensory perception’. Now, as I looked down at the scarf in my hands, the ‘edgling’ project came to mind. I don’t say I believe in it and I’m not going to write here about ‘ESP’. There’s still a web site online about the project (with an interesting article debunking the Theory of Evolution), for anyone interested.

The word ‘edgling’ brought me to ‘edge’. I’ve always been drawn to edges, extremities, including physically. My life view seems to be: “What’s the point of having an edge if you can’t jump off it?” Reckless, sometimes! But edges are also frightening, the proximity of unknowns. In pondering edges, however, it came to me that my novel is about ‘edges’ and about people on edges: of conscience, desire, reason and so forth and how they deal with these. And I realised that I’d stalled on my novel because I’d let my characters drift away from their respective edges.

There was something more, still related to edges, to ‘read’ in my scarf. My attention drifted from the illustrations of those scrapping warriors, to the centre, which is made up of a square of solid red. And this reminded me of another dream, in which I handed someone a gift, a gift of a square of red cloth. This was in 1997. It was a time of personal crisis – I’d just lost a second younger brother and both my parents, in less than a year.

The dream of the red square is one dream I’d never been able to fathom. At the time, all I knew was that it had to do with Love. As I stared down at the red square on the scarf, the significance of this dream became clear. As I looked at the red square at the centre of all the fighting on this scarf, I also remembered that somewhere along the line, I knew that my novel was to be an exploration of Love. I also feel I’ve been directed to explore this theme on my own behalf. If I describe the red square I offered in my dream as a red I associate with shallowness and the material as synthetic, I am saying that in the dream and in life, I needed then and still need now, to approach the terrifying precipice of Love.

The square of solid red on my scarf is right at the centre of warring figures. I interpret this square as the ‘Constant Heart’. There is no war going on within its boundaries, just ‘solid’ Love. Beyond its edges is the wasteland of humanity at perpetual war with itself – in perpetual suffering. A definition for ‘square’ is defined as being ‘completely fair, honest and direct’. A good definition of ‘love’ and something to strive to become. I can barely imagine the horror of an existence without a ‘Constant Heart’ at its centre, without the state of Absolute Love to strive towards. If there is no ‘Constant Heart’, no Love, then there’s just perpetual suffering ad infinitum. Thanks, but no thanks! It doesn't make sense.

Love is the epicentre of Jesus' teachings. It is central to Christianity and this seems to single it out from other religions: 1 Corinthians 13: "So now faith, hope, and love abide, these three; but the greatest of these is love".

If I think about ‘square’ as a verb, ‘to square’ something also means to ‘set something straight’. I think this means I am also trying, in my novel, to set something straight about the issue of Love, certainly for myself.

Curiously, by chance, I just came across a magazine I let drop a few years back and its current issue is devoted to the theme of Love. It’s full of essays and art on the subject.

So it’s forward into battle again with ‘Flint and Feather’. I’m armed with a new level of consciousness, a magazine full of Love (and a copy of Donald Maass' Writing the Breakout Novel Workshop').

Ann Isik

The Story of the Day

I’m a suspense writer, but let me tell you a love story.

This one’s of a writer who woke up early every morning to write a new short story or random narration--he called it "The Story of the Day." He had to finish the story and email it by 7:30 am, so the story would be in the recipient's inbox before she arrived to her office.

It was her ritual, you see, to read "The Story of the Day" before starting the work day. Sometimes, the stories came in installments, and she hurried to the office, her hands trembled with excitement as the computer started up.

Just as the writer's first waking thought was of her--and what kind of story she would like to hear--the woman's first waking thought was of him--and what story would he write for her.

Needless to say, the writer and his reader fell in love--were in love--and those daily stories became a big novel with a wedding, kids, and a happily ever after.

I must say I enjoyed writing those stories.

Today is my seventh wedding anniversary, so I can write of nothing else but what’s in my heart—my awesome bride, the joy and love of my life. Thanks for being my most loyal reader, baby.

SUNDAY EDITION

Coming Up This Week

Monday

Nick Daniels

Tuesday

Ann Isik

Wednesday

Marcia Laycock

Thursday

Alice Valdal

Friday Devotion

Gerard McCann: Prayer Paralyzes Evil

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News

Jeanette Windle's book, Veiled Freedom (Tyndale) is a 2010 Christy Award Nominee and a 2010 ECPA Christian Book Award finalist - congratulations Jeanette!

Tom Davis' book, Scared (David C. Cook) is a 2010 Christy Award Nominee - congratulations Tom!

Lisa Harris' thriller set in Africa, Blood Ransom, is an April 2010 release from Zondervan.

Harry Kraus' book, The Six-Liter Club, is an April 2010 release from Howard Books.