International Christian Fiction Writers: Alice Valdal

Thursday, August 11, 2016

Legacy

there's no stopping time

I read an article recently on isolation and loneliness in care facilities. The title sounds dreary, but the article wasn't. In fact, the article intrigued me enough that I've done a little unscientific survey of my own on the question, "What is the one thing in your life you'd like to be remembered for?"
In the article, this question was posed to lonely residents as a means of giving them connections, a history, an identity. One woman wanted to be remembered for the hundreds of mitts and socks she'd knit and donated to a children's hospital. One wanted to be remembered for her chocolate chip cookies. Small things, but they were a glimpse into the lives of people who were losing their ability to participate in the community at large and who felt lost and forgotten. Using this question, the staff at the care facility were able to restore a sense of value and individuality to their patients.

I've often attended funerals where the eulogy presented a vibrant, adventurous, accomplished person whom I'd never met. I only knew the shrunken old lady who needed a walker -- not the one who won a provincial water-skiing competition. So, I thought I'd ask the question now, while the subjects were still around to answer. Here's a sample of the results:

a retired civil servant wanted to be remembered for his honesty with public money
a former nurse wanted to be remembered for her compassionate care
one man wanted to be remembered for his loyalty to family and friends
a music teacher said his students liked to come to lessons, even when they weren't very good musicians!
a woman said God had given her a joyful heart and she wanted to be remembered for bringing that joy to everything she did
one wanted to be remembered as a dedicated nurse
another saw herself as a problem solver

For me, the interesting thing about the question is that people found it hard to answer. To begin with, I got the "good mom, loving husband," kind of answers, but when people dug a little deeper, they tended to come up with character traits, not accomplishments. No one said he wanted to be remembered for how much money he made or even how many books she wrote. :-)

Not to be morbid, but thinking about the legacy we leave is a good way to examine the life we lead now. If we want to be remembered for honesty and kindness and generosity and hospitality and goodness, we need to practice them now.

So now I pose the question to you, dear readers. When you can't speak for yourself, for what one thing do you want to be remembered?

Alice Valdal lives in British Columbia Canada. She has just returned from a large family reunion where the question of legacy was top of mind. Her forebears were farmers. They left a strong understanding of the value of hard work, of generosity, of family and doing-it-yourself.

Visit her at www.alice valdal.com or at
facebook.com/#!/alice.v aldal.5

Published Books.

Alice Valdal lives in Beautiful British Columbia, Canada where she looks out at the ocean, green trees and rose bushes in bloom, while trying to wrap her mind around the tragedy that has befallen her fellow citizens.

Monday, May 16, 2016

Our Better Selves

For the past week and a half the news in Canada has been dominated by the wild fire in Fort McMurray. Fort Mac is a fabled city in our country, it is the capital of the oil sands development. The place that shows as a huge scar on the earth from space.

The place that powers a large segment of our economy. The place that produces 8% of the greenhouse gas of our nation. The place that provides high-paid employment for Canadians from all regions of the country. Love it or hate it, Fort McMurray matters to Canada.

On Tues. May 3, 2016 a wildfire shifted direction, the wind whipped up and the entire city of Fort McMurray came under threat. Within hours an evacuation order went out. 88,000 residents fled their homes. Some went north to the oil camps. Those who could went south toward Edmonton. There is only one road in and out of the city. It was a nightmare scenario. Yet in the midst of it all came the good news stories.
A good Samaritan drove his ATV up and down the shoulder of the packed highway offering free gas to those who had run out.

Another generous soul walked the line of cars handing out coffee, muffins and water. With only a few hours notice, the tiny town of Lac La Biche, pop. 2500 took in over 10,000 evacuees, providing showers, food, clothing, toiletries and a place to sleep.

Firefighters, police and paramedics went beyond the call of duty to see that everyone was safe. They even went door to door when they could rescuing pets. Pet rescue groups set up shelters, provided food and helped reunite hundreds of pets with distraught owners. Airlines waived their rules and let dogs and cats ride in the cabin as thousands of residents were air lifted to larger centres.
People from across the country united in sending aid to their stricken fellow-citizens. The Canadian red cross has collected an unprecedented $86 million dollars in ten days, donations from ordinary citizens, sports teams, institutions, service clubs, and corporations. One heart warming story concerns a five year old boy who set up a lemonade stand at the mall. He collected $2500.00, all of it for Fort Mac. Even Syrian refugees, in this country for only a few weeks themselves, pitched in, giving what they could, wanting to help. The good news stories go on and on. In the midst of disaster

people across the country showed compassion, generosity, hospitality, kindness, patience. In fact, you could make a list of the fruits of the Spirit and find a story to go with each one. No doubt, when the smoke clears, we'll go back to complaining about this government decision or that one, sniping that one region, or one interest group got unfair advantage, but I hope that our collective sense of ourselves lingers and, as a nation, we exhibit more kindness and understanding with each other.

It strikes me that our personal growth follows the same pattern as this national disaster. When we are at our most desperate, we call out to God and He hears us. For a little while, broken, needy, despairing, we put our trust in God. Our faith is strengthened. For a little while we "know" that Jesus loves us. Then, life gets back on track, we become self-absorbed again, we believe we've rescued ourselves. God becomes a benign Being we mostly ignore.
I heard a story once of a clergyman late for a meeting in a big city. He couldn't find a parking place and the clock was ticking. In desperation he prayed. "Please God, give me a parking space and I'll double my weekly offering." Immediately a car pulled away from the curb. The clergyman shouted "Never mind, God. I found one."
I don't wish disaster on anyone, personally or collectively. I'm one who wishes to avoid tears and rain. I much prefer joy and sunshine. Yet I know that hardship calls forth our better selves. It seems we don't grow, physically, emotionally or in faith, without pain. There is a reason God gave us all the emotions, not just the happy ones.

As I pray for the people of Fort McMurray, I give thanks for the courage and perseverance of the fire fighters, the police, and

paramedics. I give thanks for the kindness of strangers. I give thanks that no lives were lost to the fire, although two people died in a car crash during the evacuation. Like Elijah, I ask God to send the rain. I ask for courage, strength and hope for all those displaced by the fire.
And I pray that we remember our better selves when the crisis is passed.

Visit her at www.alice valdal.com or at facebook.com/#!/alice.v aldal.5

Published Books.

Tuesday, March 29, 2016

Render onto Caesar

Easter and income tax season coincide in my part of the world. Whenever I consider this task I cannot help but think of Render onto Caesar the things that are Caesar's and onto God the things that are God's. I don't actually mind rendering unto Caesar. I enjoy clean water, good roads, hospitals, airports, schools, national parks ... taxes are a small price to pay for citizenship in this country. What bothers me is the process. I swear the people who design Canada Revenue's T1 form and the accompanying instructions have an advanced degree in obfuscation!

My usual approach to the task is to delay as long as legally possible, then scowl, fret and sweat my way through it and hope the folks on the other end will believe I did my best and not penalize me for errors.

However, in the spirit of "sunny ways" I've resolved this year to tackle the job early and with a positive mind set. So, here goes.

We have income — that’s good.
We have taxable income — even better.
We have enough to share — those charitable donations not only reduce tax, but apparently make you feel just as good as eating chocolate.
I bought a programme that does all the arithmetic so I don’t get hung up with wrong numbers.
Having the year summed up in tidy columns of plus and minus is rather satisfying in a control freak kind of way.

But doing my taxes reminds me there is so much more to life than the getting and spending of money. In 2015 I wrote a contemporary romance (it’s in the rewrite stages now). I outlined an historical romance. I wrote 89 blog posts, some here, others at my church blog and still others for my own blog. I wrote a Christmas short story and a Christmas play.

I planted a garden, tended it, harvested it and filled my freezer with home-grown goodness. I won ribbons at the Fall Fair. I read books, sang in choirs, nurtured my friendships and enjoyed my cats. I went fishing with my husband. I had a birthday. I made Christmas ornaments for my great nieces and nephews. We celebrated 27 years of marriage. I redid my website . . . 2015 was filled with beautiful days, amazing adventures, quiet moments and a few rain storms. Definitely more in the plus column than the minus.

In Canada we have what is called "progressive" taxes. Those with the most, pay the most. Those with little, pay nothing. Seems fair, don't you think.

As I tot up my pluses and minuses in this Easter season, I remember that two millennia ago there was One who owed nothing, yet paid everything. I may wipe the slate clean with the tax department. I can never repay my debt to my Redeemer. I humbly offer Him my thanks, my praise and my heart.

Christ is risen. Hallelujah!

Alice Valdal lives in Beautiful British Columbia, Canada. In 2015 she got a new publicity photo.

Visit her at www.alice valdal.com or at facebook.com/#!/alice.valdal.5

Published Books.

Wednesday, February 10, 2016

Opening the Well

Recently on this blog, Morgan Tarpley wrote a post titled, "When the Well is Dry." I'm afraid that title fits me very well as I approach this post. What, I wonder, can I possibly write about? Then I read Diane's blog on Monday and thought there must be an epidemic of stalled writers out there. So, I decided to explore my dry well.

It seems my creativity and my productivity both sag when I have too much time on my hands. How so? In a world where we constantly complain about the demands on our time. So many competing priorities -- write the next book, write a blog, do social media, study a craft book, take a course on marketing. There is never enough time to do all the things a modern-day writer is expected to do. How can I have too much time on my hands?
There are a few answers. One of them is holidays. Over the Christmas period, I put away any pretence of writing. Physically my time is consumed with dozens of tasks that must be completed in a short time frame. Mentally, my mind is whirling with all the lists and people I must remember. There is no time or room for dreaming up a story. I can barely keep up with personal e-mails.
But once the holidays are over, I feel lost. The cooking, cleaning, visiting, entertaining, singing, worshipping, partying and decorating that consumed my days are finished, but I've lost my normal routine. I wander from room to room, pick up a book, put it down, stare at the left-overs in the fridge and close the door without taking anything out, I look at the pile of bills on my desk and walk away. I'm unsettled, anxious, irritable and frustrated. My well of creativity may not be dry, by the lid is firmly nailed down.
Since this situation repeats itself every year, I've discovered some coping mechanisms. First, I look for a small, concrete task that I can finish in a short time, something like balancing the cheque book. Having accomplished that one thing, I look about for the next. At this point, I often make a list, including short-term, long-term, small and large tasks. Then I start with the smaller items, gaining confidence and satisfaction as I tick them off, one after another. I pick up the rhythm of work and rest, physical and mental exercise. I re-learn how to make decisions, how to prioritize and how to let my mind wander.
When I'm ready to go back to writing, I usually start with editing. Words already written. As I read, re-write, move paragraphs around, find a better word, hammer out a satisfying phrase, my imagination wakes, crawling out from under the pile of "must do's" that have held it captive. I move into new writing, blogs, morning pages, a new scene in the wip.
The well is filling, ideas tumbling over each other in their race to be first; words, soft and mystical, strong and heroic bubble up from the bottom, blowing the lid off. My well is deep and turbulent, rich and diverse. My fingers fly over the keyboard, my spirits soar. I am writing!
Morgan finds her inspiration in the headlines. Diane dreams over the ironing board. I thrive on routine.
What about you, dear readers? Does the "shiny new thing," beckon you, does inspiration strike when you're busy with something else, or do you ground yourself in the stability of routine? Please share your strategies.

The cat? She likes routine too, mostly it involves a lot of sleeping on my bed.:-)

Alice Valdal lives in Beautiful British Columbia, Canada

Visit her at www.alice valdal.com or at facebook.com/#!/alice.valdal.5

Published Books.

Monday, December 14, 2015

Why I Write the Christmas Play

I've mentioned previously on this blog that I write Christmas plays for my junior choir at church. Last year, I did not. The choir had become very small, the kids involved in a plethora of after-school events and the adults exhausted by all the demands of the season. Last year, I kept my hands off the computer keyboard and let others take the lead, and that included hearing a beautiful cello solo by our gifted church organist -- also cellist. I thought how lovely the music sounded and my imagination took over. I could not keep from writing yet another Christmas play. And so, "Humphrey the Lonely Cello" was born.
But this year, I vowed to be smarter. I wrote a story for narration only with members of the choir acting the parts but not speaking lines. Fewer rehearsals, fewer bodies needed, fewer demands on all of our time. Despite being "smart" the lead up to this year's concert overtook all my other resolutions. I made last minute costume accessories, baked last minute goodies for the tea,

organized others to bake cookies, recruited a kitchen team, marked a script for the lighting guy, coached a teenager on her solo, moved pews, ransacked my house for desk lamps and gave my husband permission to lock me in a closet if I ever again got an idea about a Christmas play!

Show night came, all was in readiness, and the sound system at the church went on the fitz.

What's a Christmas concert without a panic? The minister and his son hauled out our portable sound system, the audience sang some carols and, finally, we began.

Our little play came off brilliantly. When I first began writing for our church stage, the star of this show was two years old.

We've put on eight productions since then and the children -- er-- youth -- are all pros. They appear on stage with ease and aplomb. They have great ideas about how to perform a scene. They take responsibility for making the show succeed. I am very blessed to have them in my life at all times, but especially at Christmas they add the "merry and bright" part.
My husband, lovely man that he is, painted the sets,built the "cello", lifted the heavy stuff, narrated the story, held my hand, missed his dinner, and didn't complain once.

Christmas has changed since I was young. Public celebrations now focus on "The Holidays." To proclaim the birth of Christ in the marketplace or the workplace is to invite censure. Towns put up lights, Santa visits and there's a tree on every corner but the wonder, the beauty and the holiness of the season are lost beneath the wrapping paper.
The trend saddens me. I miss being part of a world where "everybody", or at least everybody I knew, understood what Christmas meant. But, God always has a reason. Perhaps, by taking Christ out of mainstream Christmas celebrations, those of us who love Him must consider more carefully our faith, examine our motivations, contemplate what that long ago birth means in our day.
Maybe that's why I can't help writing a Christmas play. I rebel against too much food, too many presents and too numerous parties. My Christmas includes Bethlehem and shepherds and wise men. Together, with my little band of actors/singers, we declare the message of Christ in the manger, the coming of peace, good will toward men. We sing out the faith in our hearts and the hope in our souls. We celebrate the real Christmas.
Gloria in excelsis Deo

Alice Valdal welcomes comments on this blog or on her personal website. www.alicevaldal.com

She has a new Christmas short story, set in her favourite historical fictional town, Prospect, B.C. You can get your own copy by dropping by her website and subscribing to her newsletter.

You can also read her collection of Christmas stories in
"The Man Who Loved Christmas"

Wednesday, October 28, 2015

WWJD?

I first became acquainted with the "What Would Jesus Do?" movement in the late 1990's when golfer Payne Stewart wore the letters in a bracelet.  Turns out, I was about one hundred years late! In 1896 Rev. Charles M. Sheldon published a book called In His Steps.   It was a huge, best seller at the time. Although the author made almost no money from the book, he delighted in the fact that so many people read his message of living a life as Christ would.
Over the years several authors wrote adaptations of In His Steps and in 1997 Garret W. Sheldon, the great grandson of Charles Sheldon wrote What Would Jesus Do?, a contemporary version of his ancestor's original book.
When I began the book, I wasn't sure I'd like it, the writing style is reminiscent of 1960's Sunday School leaflets, but I soon became so fascinated with the characters and their tales that my inner editor fell away. The story, this is fiction, concerns the minister of a large, well-off congregation who realizes that his church is "successful" in secular terms but failing in its duty to model Christ to the community around them. So he and a number of his congregation take a pledge to live their lives in accordance with Jesus' teachings. Every time they must make a decision they ask first "what would Jesus do?" The results are amazing and disconcerting.
For example, attendance at church drops, but attendance at the after-church meetings of those taking the pledge goes up. A TV station decides not to air questionable programming or advertising. A store keeper removes pornography, tobacco and liquor from his shelves.
Living "What Would Jesus Do?" has consequences, some welcome, some more difficult.

In real life,  those who knew Payne Stewart noticed a real change in him as he took those words to heart. He was still competitive, still passionate about the game, but his relationships were marked with increased thoughtfulness. His devotions were deeper, more sincere, and he seemed a man at peace.
In an ironic twist of fate, the woman who first created jewellery, t-shirts, and other items with the initials WWJD on them was also denied a profit from her invention. Like Charles Sheldon, Janie Tinklenberg wanted to use her creations to teach young people, to remind them of their faith. But commercial interests soon realized the value of her little trinkets and turned it into a multi-million dollar industry. Tinklenberg was denied a copyright for her slogan and WWJD showed up on all kinds of stuff, even when the item bearing the inscription seemed to contradict the message.

For myself, I'm glad I've read the book. I don't have the bracelet, nor do I want one, but the phrase sits quietly in my subconscious, nudging me, discomfiting me, encouraging me. When life hands me a difficult problem, asking "What Would Jesus Do?" makes the decision clearer -- not easier, but clearer.

What about you, dear readers? Have you used WWJD in real life to make a hard choice?

Alice Valdal is a romance writer from British Columbia, Canada.
Check out her blog at http://www.alicevaldal.com/blog/ She often shares historical tidbits she's found in her research

She has published western historical romance, contemporary romance and a book of Christmas Short Stories. Find them all here

Monday, September 14, 2015

Drought and Rain

This is a picture of a prize rose in my garden, five days before the Fall Fair. A few hours after I took the photo, the rains started -- hard, pounding rain. Water droplets hit the pavement and bounced four to six inches in the air, the wind blew, toppling trees and knocking out power to thousands. Rain beat the petals off my roses. Wind snapped the stems.
Occasionally there'd be a let up, the sun would peek through and I'd think "I'll still have a rose or two for the Fair." Then the rains came again. By Fair day, I had only a few bedraggled blooms to enter in the competition.
We have had the hottest, driest summer on record in my part of the world. Creeks have dried up, warm waters in the rivers threaten the fish, fires have consumed hundreds of thousands of hectares of forest, reservoirs have dropped to dangerous levels. I could not complain about the rain. It was desperately needed.

The summer has been a dry spell for me on the writing front as well. The flow of words has dwindled to a trickle, imagination is sere and dry, motivation is stagnant and confidence has evaporated.

On Fair day, I entered the hall without much hope, but, in view of the weather, the judges were lenient. They forgave the odd torn petal or rain spot.

My rose bushes have recovered and I now have dozens of blooms to choose from -- just too late for the Fair!

While a tiny part of me wishes the rain could have held off for just a few more days, my better instincts give thanks for the rain and rejoice that rivers are flowing freely again, that the fires are finally under control and that, like the Psalmist, we give thanks to God for watering the land.

As I gather the wealth of blooms from my rose bushes, I marvel at the wonderful world God gave us. Devastation turned to beauty in a few short days. I take hope. I pray God will restore the gift of words to me as surely as he restored the water to the earth. Nevertheless, Lord, "Thy will be done."

iAliceValdal lives in Beautiful British Columbia Canada Visit her at www.alicevaldal.com or at facebook.com/#!/alice.valdal.5

Published Books.

The Man Who Loved Christmas

P.S. The Man for Her is on a free kindle promotion on

Wed. and Thurs. Sept. 16 and 17

Tuesday, July 28, 2015

Mind Your Tongue

I was rolling out pie crust the other day and had a flashback of myself as a pre-teen sitting in my neighbour's kitchen while she demonstrated the art of pasty making. There were eight or ten of us, all members of a 4-H homemaking club. The leader, my neighbour, was having trouble with the pie crust. It kept tearing. She was doing her best to instruct us girls on the finer points of pastry while trying to repair the holes that appeared in her pie crust. A school chum sitting next to me snickered behind her hand and made rude comments.
Our neighbour was a busy farm wife with hundreds of tasks awaiting her attention. She received no monetary recompense for teaching a batch of smart-aleck school girls. She didn't even have a child of her own to benefit from the 4-H club. She deserved our gratitude, not our ridicule.
The Bible is rife with instructions to guard our speech. James 3:8, Matt 12: 36-37, Ephesians. 4:29. 1 Peter 3;10, Ps 34:13, to reference a few.
As writers, I think we need to keep those warnings in mind. Whether we write for a Christian market, or the general market, we write from a Christian world view. Of course we want realistic characters, we want villains and we want to speak into the world around us, but we can make sure that our villains are not heroes and our heroes are not villains. The entertainment world has blurred that line so much it is often unrecognizable. A protagonist with a foul tongue, is not a hero, in my view. A character who indulges in spiteful gossip is not a heroine -- she is a flawed character who needs to be redeemed. That would make a good story, don't you think?
Malicious talk is ungodly, it is damaging to the community and it is hurtful to the victim. What I realized, as I rolled out pie crust, some fifty years later, is that a nasty tongue is harmful to the speaker as well. That incident has stuck in my mind all these years, and my memory of my school chum has been tarnished forever by her unkind words.
I remember telling my pal to hush lest she be heard. I wish I had told her to hush because she was doing wrong. Col 3:16.
The characters in our books should do no less.

Alice Valdal lives in beautiful British Columbia, Canada, where harvest time has come early. As well as pies, she's making jams, jellies, relish, . . . Visit her at www.alicevaldal.com or at facebook.com/#!/alice.valdal.5

Published Books.