Writing About Mental Illness -- by Christine Lindsay

I'm not much interested in reading novels that weigh me down with the darkness of mental illness. Yet, it's an issue that's risen it's confusing head in my own family. Maybe that's one of the reasons why I steer away from stories that delve deeply into the shadows of depression.

I don't like going there. It's all just too dark.

I've had to live with the affects of emotional and mental illness in many of the people I love. My own precious daughter suffers with severe depression. If it weren't for heavy duty medications from her psychiatrist, she would be unable to function in our fast-as-lighting world today. 

My mother also struggled with depression and was even misdiagnosed by her doctor and prescribed medications that actually worsened her condition. One uncle died from an overdoes of medications, and a distant cousin committed suicide.

Horrible stuff. Horrible memories I don't wish to be reminded of.

Unless, it's to share a ray of hope.

Mental illness can be defeated. People can be set free.

My daughter modeling for the
front of one of my books.

I saw this in both my mother and my daughter. Today they are vibrant women living their lives and making a contribution to the world. 

So, I suppose it was inevitable that I would one day write a novel that touches on mental illness. In this case I put what we call Post Traumatic Stress Syndrome into one of my secondary characters. Just because they didn't label it that back in 1913 doesn't mean they didn't experience it.

But my latest book also dealt with a woman who suffers from addiction to a drug prescribed by her doctor. In this case, laudanum. I understood this too well as I watched my own mother slowly weaned off the wrong medication prescribed by her over-worked doctor.

Sofi's Bridge deals with these dark and difficult subjects, but I think the secret is in keeping this topic in small doses for the reader. The last thing the reader needs is pages and pages of dark depression. 

My advice in writing dark subjects such as depression and mental illness is to keep it short. Only place your reader in the mind of that tortured character for short periods of time, then whisk the reader out as quickly as possible to the point of view of a character that is propelled by hope.

We can't and shouldn't avoid stories about depression and mental illness, but we can write these stories in such a way as to give the reader hope for the people they love who struggle with these issues. 

My mum on her way to a
friend's birthday party.

That's the whole purpose behind Sofi's Bridge. I saw healing in my family from this disease, and bright hope for my loved ones' tomorrows.  

Christine Lindsay is the author of multi-award-winning Christian fiction with complex emotional and psychological truth, who always promises a happy ending. Tales of her Irish ancestors who served in the British Cavalry in Colonial India inspired her multi-award-winning series Twilight of the British Raj, Book 1 Shadowed in Silk, Book 2 Captured by Moonlight, and explosive finale Veiled at Midnight.

Christine’s Irish wit and use of setting as a character is evident in her contemporary romance Londonderry Dreaming and newest release Sofi’s Bridge.

A busy writer and speaker, Christine, and her husband live on the west coast of Canada. Coming August 2016 is the release of her non-fiction book Finding Sarah—Finding Me: A Birthmother’s Story.

Please drop by Christine’s website www.ChristineLindsay.org or follow her on Amazon on Twitter. Subscribe to her quarterly newsletter, and be her friend on Pinterest , Facebook, and  Goodreads

Christine's Got a Brand New Baby

If a writer knows the subject and setting well, the story comes to life. With this new baby of mine, Sofi’s Bridge, I’d like to take you on a tour of my beautiful home close to the Cascade Mountains that bridge Washington State and British Columbia, Canada.

In my opinion I live in one of the prettiest places in the world, often compared

Wood carvings featured
in homestead of Sofi's Bridge.

to the Swiss Alps. Since I literally live only 3 miles as far as the crow flies from the US border, I used my own valley and created a fictional vale in Washington State. I did this only to give the book an American setting since those readers make up the majority of the market. But just between me and you, the story is really set in Canada. But shhhh, let’s keep that a secret.

Below are 3 scenes in which I used my province to create the fictional town of Orchard in the US.

~*~

The view from my dining room window.

Sunlight slanted from the west as they entered the valley. Farms created a velvet patchwork, and the tang of recently mown hay sweetened the air. The opposite side of the bridge met them at the entrance to town, where the hammers of steelworkers driving rivets into the trusses rang like a welcome home.

Neil stopped at the crossroads.

Sofi savored the outskirts of the town she’d spent most of her childhood summers. Already her spirits lifted. A high-wheeled freight wagon rolled toward Gronberg’s livery stable. Railway lines would make it so much easier to transports goods in and out of Orchard. But there were things she hoped would never change—the red and white awning of Helsing’s mercantile, the steeple of a white clapboard church that sought the sky. With a quiet nod, she motioned to Neil to take the road following this side of the gorge.

~*~

Sofi’s Bridge starts out though in Seattle, which I drive to a few times each year, so again I know the location well. Here’s another snipped created from my own memories driving out of Seattle and heading north.

~*~

Puget Sound

A rising sun melted the morning fog. Where the roads were good, the Cadillac ran smoothly at thirty-five miles per hour. Not so with the out-of-the-way paths

Sofi chose, taking them through cultivated farmlands that hugged the water.

Neil kept to a low speed to avoid jarring as the thin tires travelled the rutted byways. They’d come almost forty miles. Now a smattering of small islands floated on the intense blue of Puget Sound. To the northeast, rolling mountains furred with evergreens gradually molded higher and higher. Ireland wasn’t the only emerald land, but his halfhearted smile faltered when he glanced at Sofi.

~*~

A romantic scene from the book is set in one of my favorite places in all the world, taken directly from my visits to the Alpine Meadow in Manning Park BC,

just across the border from the same glorious Cascade Mountains in Washington State. In fact, each summer I look out on the US side from this location when I go to view the alpine flowers at their peak in mid-July.

~*~

At the summit they reined the Clydesdales under a shady tree. The wind, carrying a clean pine fragrance, blew unimpeded as though they’d reached the top of the world and grasses swayed in the breeze.

Neil walked with Sofi along a pathway strewn on either side with blue and purple lupine, pink phlox, yellow arnica, and red Indian paintbrush. In the distance, pale blue and turquoise ice from glaciers filled crevices between serrated granite heights. Quiet awe filled his face as he swept his gaze three hundred and sixty degrees and studied the glaciers that though they were miles away seemed close enough to touch. Above the tree line, gray peaks scraped the sky, some still capped with snow.

Sofi could only hope that up here for a while he could let go of whatever pain he was hiding from the world, and from her.

Read the first chapter of Sofi’s Bridge for free by clicking HERE.

SOFI’S BRIDGE by Christine Lindsay

Seattle Debutant Sofi Andersson will do everything in her power to protect her sister who is suffering from shock over their father’s death. Charles, the family busy-body, threatens to lock Trina in a sanatorium—a whitewashed term for an

insane asylum—so Sofi will rescue her little sister, even if it means running away to the Cascade Mountains with only the new gardener Neil Macpherson to protect them. But in a cabin high in the Cascades, Sofi begins to recognize that the handsome immigrant from Ireland harbors secrets of his own. Can she trust this man whose gentle manner brings such peace to her traumatized sister and such tumult to her own emotions? And can Neil, the gardener, continue to hide from Sofi that he is really Dr. Neil Galloway, a man wanted for murder by the British police? Only an act of faith and love will bridge the distance that separates lies from truth and safety.

PURCHASE LINKS for Sofi’s Bridge Paper & Ebooks

AMAZON.com 

Barnes and Noble

Pelican Book Group

About Christine:

Christine Lindsay is the author of multi-award-winning Christian fiction. Tales of her Irish ancestors who served in the British Cavalry in Colonial India inspired her multi-award-winning trilogy Twilight of the British Raj, Book 1 Shadowed in Silk, Book 2 Captured by Moonlight, and explosive finale Veiled at Midnight.

Christine’s Irish wit and use of setting as a character is evident in her contemporary romance Londonderry Dreaming and newest release Sofi’s Bridge. 

A busy writer and speaker, Christine and her husband live on the west coast of Canada. Coming August 2016 is the release of Christine’s non-fiction book Finding Sarah—Finding Me: A Birthmother’s Story.

Connect with Christine:

Please drop by Christine’s website www.ChristineLindsay.org or follow her on Amazon on Twitter. Subscribe to her quarterly newsletter, and be her friend on Pinterest , Facebook, and  Goodreads

The Real Story of St. Patrick by Christine Lindsay

Just like all holidays, St. Patrick's Day takes on some ridiculous forms of celebration from green beer to dressing up in silly clothes.

There are some fantastical legends about St. Patrick, such as him banishing all the snakes from Ireland. While it’s true there are no snakes there, it wasn’t the saint to the Irish who managed that. Ireland is like New Zealand, Hawaii, and Iceland in that regard--just no snakes.

There are certain truths though that we can rely on about St. Patrick, from some of his own writing, The 

Confession and A Letter to the Soldiers of Coroticus. It is true that Patrick was born around the year 389 and into a Christian family in Britain. His family were Romanized Britons and not nationals. His father Calpurnius was a magistrate and a deacon in the local church. 

Patrick was indeed kidnapped when he was around 12. 

He'd been out on his father's farm when Irish raiders captured him. He was taken to Ireland and sold as slave, spending the next 6 years as a sheep herder.

But like many of us, when bad things happen we often turn our sights toward God. It was while Patrick was a captive that his nominal Christian faith grew deeper. As a teen and a young man Patrick tried to shared his faith with his captors. Eventually Patrick did escape and made his way back to Britain to be reunited with his family. 

He was not a highly educated man, but did go to France and spent time as a monk in the Abby of Lerins in Gaul. One night Patrick dreamed that he heard a voice calling to him in the Irish language (Gaelic), “We beseech you, holy youth, to come and walk among us once more.”  

While Patrick was not the first missionary to Ireland, he did return to Ireland as a bishop in 432. For the next 30 years until his death, his preaching and baptisms strengthened the already growing church. Due to Patrick’s promotion of the ascetic life of worship, he boldly went into areas that were firmly pagan, teaching the Irish Druids how to worship the Creator instead of His creation.  

He died and was buried in Downpatrick in N. Ireland, and I have been to his grave. 

My aunt, me, and my daughter Lana 2006

Like many ancient cultures, Ireland has a rich oral tradition, and while there is nothing in Patrick’s writings to confirm this, he probably did use a simple shamrock to explain the Trinity. Tradition says that St. Patrick picked up a shamrock, which in the Irish Gaelic language means diminutive clover, and explained that this little piece of flora was one leaf and yet it was made up of three leaves. 

The shamrock helped the Irish, including me as an Irish child, to understand an amazing aspect to God’s person: God the Father, God the Son, and God the Holy Spirit, the Three in One.

Click on this link Londonderry Dreaming to hear some toe-tapping Irish music.

Irish-born Christine Lindsay is the author of multi-award-winning Christian fiction. She is currently writing her eighth book. To celebrate St. Patrick's Day, why not read some of Christine's books set in Ireland or that feature an Irish hero, check our Londonderry Dreaming and Sofi's Bridge coming May 2016.

Londonderry Dreaming available as an ebook, and Sofi's Bridge coming out in ebook and print May 2016.

BREATH OF FRESH AIR IN CHRISTIAN ROMANCE

I recently read for review I ALWAYS CRY AT WEDDINGS, the debut novel by fellow author Sara Goff.

Here is my 5-star review. LOVED IT. 

A BREATH OF FRESH AIR BY CHRISTINE LINDSAY

I ALWAYS CRY AT WEDDINGS is a wonderful romantic comedy for those of us who are tired of Christian romances that always seem to be set in pioneer days, dude ranches, or Amish communities. I’ve watched many a romantic movie set in New York. So, reading I Always Cry at Weddings felt like that---being inside a contemporary romantic comedy taking place in the Big Apple.

Ava Larson is a young woman like most of us, or like our grown up daughters or granddaughters---she makes mistakes. Big mistakes that accumulate a frightening amount of debt in a short period of time, all for making the right decision. Ava decides to not marry the rich man she’s been engaged to for the past five years and receives the bill for her high society wedding that will never take place. Ava then starts a journey of self-discovery that adds problems on top of problems, that have her squeaking pretty close to losing everything and facing the terrifying prospect of becoming one of New York’s homeless.

But Ava finds that all is not as it seems. Like who is that really cute guy that lives on the street just outside her apartment? How can this seemingly homeless guy appear to have his life in control while hers is spinning out of control?

This story has brow-raising but plausible twists and turns if you read it keeping the average young person of today in mind. Financial security is a thing of the past. Life can change on the spinning of a dime.

So while this book resonates with the honking horns of 5th Avenue, car fumes from New York cabs, the bright lights of Broadway, the thumping of the dancing shoes in night clubs, it still comes across as a breath of fresh air in Christian romance. The steadfast sweetness of Christianity is brushed into the novel with the lightness of a feather, enough to uplift you, as the flawed characters find strength and truth in ageless faith.

READ EXCERPT FROM I ALWAYS CRY AT WEDDINGS

Ava gave a hopeful smile and exchanged a glance with Josh, her fiancé. The last couple they expected to go simple and cheap was Courtney and Brad. They had the money to throw a knockout wedding, like theirs would be. Plus they had a vow of chastity to wrap up. Wouldn’t that be all the more reason to go big? In a church, or under a chuppah? What about God’s blessing? Instead, they opted for a public building with fluorescent lighting and stale air. A room where couples and their witnesses waited in long, grim lines to get their licenses signed, stamped or whatever. How unromantic. How could they?

Ava looked down at her skirt and blouse, her long legs in red opaque tights, and then to Courtney, who had on a pair of low-cut jeans and a pink T-shirt, both on the clingy side. Brad wasn’t dressed any better in grass-stained khakis and an old yellow polo shirt. Here they lost her completely. A bride wore a white dress of some kind. White wasn’t just tradition. It symbolized the innocence of a new beginning and the purity of commitment. Without white, it wasn’t a wedding.

“I guess we overdressed.” Ava blushed as it became obvious that she was staring.

“You guys have seen these outfits before.” Courtney winked. “The Bridgehampton Polo Club, a year ago today…”

“When Josh and I introduced you, of course!” They had gone divot stomping at halftime, Courtney and Brad competing and hitting it off at once. 

“That’s so cute you’re wearing the same clothes. Wow, our first date was so long ago…” She turned to Josh. “Remember? I wore a vintage bubblegum-colored dress with pleats down the front. Ugh! I was going through a ‘Carrie Bradshaw’ phase, on a budget.” She pictured the elegant French restaurant, Daniel, and her meal of goat cheese stuffed escargot and peppered filet mignon…warm and buttery madeleines…a taste of champagne.

“I remember you got a little tipsy.” Josh smirked.

She laughed, as if it were a silly mistake. After dinner, she had naively gone back to his apartment. In a dream-like moment, which she could barely recall, she had given up her virginity. Gone. She felt the sting of regret now, thinking that their first time could’ve meant something if they had waited until marriage, until they knew and loved each other, like Courtney and Brad.

“You look beautiful,” Ava said, softly, almost to herself. Courtney didn’t need the white dress, the veil. She still had that special glow.

ABOUT SARA GOFF recently moved to Connecticut with her husband of 14 years and their two sons after living in Sweden and then London for nearly seven years. I ALWAYS CRY AT WEDDINGS, her debut novel about figuring

out life and finding love in New York City, was recently released by WhiteFire Publishing. A part of the proceeds from the book will go towards her educational charity Lift the Lid, a 501(c)(3) tax-exempt organization. Visitwww.lift-the-lid.org for more information on the charity. 

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BOOK REVIEW POSTED BY CHRISTINE LINDSAY www.christinelindsay.com

BECOME A FICTION WRITER AND THANK THE GOOD LORD FOR YOUR LOUSY CHILDHOOD

This article was originally published on Novel Rocket April 2015 by Christine Lindsay.

You Cannot Write Unless You’ve suffered

Ouch! These days I thank the good Lord for my lousy childhood. But it wasn’t until I became a fiction writer that I could say this. Before that I suffered the same battles with bitterness as the next person, as the grown child of an alcoholic. Not to say that your novel can wallow in self-pity—how boring stories like that are. Same can be said for fictional novels with an agenda. Stories with a heavy line to preach are an easy turnoff to readers. So, it’s true, a lousy childhood is a great place to start as a writer, but unless you’ve reached the stages of healing you have nothing to offer your readers. 

What would the shadows in a painting be without the sunshine—only a dark painting.

Good Paintings Have Shadows

Have you ever noticed that the best paintings have shadows? The shadows are a foil for the sunshine. Often when I view a painting it’s the dim corners that intrigue me, because I want to know what’s down that murky trail or around that shadowy alley.

Remember---the Resurrection came after the Crucifixion.

The same with writing. I love to read short pieces on humor, but after a while if the stakes aren’t raised, if danger isn’t imminent, if there’s not a chance the hero or heroine will have their heart broken, I’m bored. Stories that keep me rapidly turning the pages are those filled with the pain of suffering, but with the hint of hope on each page, leading to a climax of joy.

Reach Down Deep into Your Gut to Remember what that Hurt Feels Like

• In a romance we need to know what it feels like to be lonely, dumped, forgotten, a wall-flower.
• In a mystery we need to know what it feels like to be scared, our heart pounding, have secrets kept from us.
• In writing a drama we need to know what it feels like to be abused, poor, sick, neglected, etc., etc.

Tap Into Feelings that are Similar

Now granted we don’t all need to know what it feels like to be attacked, or God-forbid—raped, or live through a war or a kidnapping, but we can tap into feelings that are similar.

I remember the day my middle son disappeared. All the neighbors were out looking for him, people were praying. An hour later, he waltzed home, smiling to beat the band, and clutching a posy of dandelions in his grubby little hand for me. Thank the Lord I do not know what it feels like to have my child kidnapped, but I can tap into those feelings of the “Day of the Dandelions” as it is known in our family for all perpetuity now.

The dark shadows of my fear for my little boy only made the sunshine of our reunion all the brighter.

Tapping Into My Lousy Childhood

Memories of my alcoholic father inspired portions of my multi-award-winning historical series Twilight of the British Raj. But it only works because I reached healing a number of years ago. I have something to offer my readers.

If you have not reached emotional healing--you have nothing to offer your readers. 

HEAL FIRST, WRITE AFTERWARD. 

My entire series Twilight of the British Raj shows the healing of a family first tainted by a father’s alcoholism. In book 1 Shadowed in Silk, my heroine Abby Fraser stands up to her drunken and abusive husband. 

In book 2 Captured by Moonlight my Indian heroine Eshana stands up to her fanatical Hindu uncle who won’t allow her to live as a Christian. 

And in the final book 3 Veiled at Midnight my character Cam (who was a boy in book 1) and is now a man, faces his inner demons that he has inherited his father’s addiction to alcohol.

All that trauma and what I call Big Love Stories too.

A dark childhood can be changed into a bright and beautiful life. Mine was. And I promise my readers a happy ending in all my books because I’ve seen happy endings in my own life through my faith.  

In triumph I write not about drunkenness, but the tingling feeling of when God makes everything thing new.

Veiled at Midnight is Book 3 the Explosive and Passionate Finale to my multi-award-winning series Twilight of the British Raj.

As the British Empire comes to an end, millions flee to the roads. Caught up in the turbulent wake is Captain Cam Fraser, his sister Miriam, and the beautiful Indian Dassah.

Cam has never been able to put Dassah from his mind, ever since the days when he played with the orphans at the mission as a boy. But a British officer and the aide to the last viceroy cannot marry a poor Indian woman, can he?

As this becomes clear to Dassah, she has no option but to run. Cam may hold her heart—but she cannot let him break it again.

Miriam rails against the separation of the land of her birth, but is Lieutenant Colonel Jack Sunderland her soulmate or a distraction from what God has called her to do?

The 1947 Partition has separated the country these three love…but can they find their true homes before it separates them forever?

READ THE FIRST TWO CHAPTERS FREE—click here Chapters one & two of VEILED AT MIDNIGHT

CONNECT WITH CHRISTINE LINDSAY on her website http://www.christinelindsay.com/ follow her on Twitter and be her friend on Pinterest , “Like” her Facebook Page, and  Goodreads

SETTING—LIKE A BOX OF WATER COLORS

Maybe because I used to paint before I started writing fiction is the reason I love to write description.

Some experts teaching the craft of writing will give "description" a hard rap on the knuckles. Granted, we don't want to go back to the days of heavy-handed writing when the setting alone took up several pages.

But in much modern writing, we've gone too far to the other extreme. If there's not enough description, and only dialogue zinging back and forth, I tend to get bored. Quickly. 

For me a good book must have it all: character development, a ripping plot, but when I read a book for fun--I want to go somewhere. Show me the place!!! Let me feel the place!!!

I hail the great MM Kaye for teaching me about writing through the sheer enjoyment of her blockbuster novels loaded with description.
It's a delicate balance, combining your setting with what the characters are doing. This will break your description up into more appetizing chunks and stop you from writing "purple". It also makes your description ACTIVE. 
Here's an example of a snippet of description from my latest novel Veiled at Midnight. The sky is actually active.

Through the window the darkening Indian countryside sped by under a green sky with a crescent moon rising. 

~*~

Not all description has to be pretty. 

Closer to the front behind the engine, carriages lay smashed across the rails, nothing more than a pile of splintered wood and tangled steel. Twisted rails stuck out all over, while cars and coal tender straggled about the ballast stones. Indian passengers crept out from the broken matchbox of a train, in shock, blackened with smoke and grease. Cam heard and understood various dialects from people speaking all at once—Hindi, Punjabi, Urdu, and several others. Many sobbed, hunched over their wounds, while one Indian woman, seemingly uninjured, stood like a statue. Her sari fluttered in the scorching night breeze as she gazed about her at nothing.

~*~

I enjoy writing sensual scenes. As a Christian I hold back in writing sensuality between men and women for the sake of purity, but I will put it into the textures around a man and a woman falling in love. This description is broken up by Cam's reactions.

Velvet divans here and there, cushions of satin and silk in jewel colors—ruby, emerald, sapphire—were scattered over cool marble floors interspersed with Kashmiri carpets. Brass gods scorned Cam from various corners. Lush potted palms quivered in the stillness like the nerve at the side of his neck. A suite of rooms, private for a man and his wife to play with their children. A private place to hold a woman. 

~*~

Peace of mind returned as Cam watched beyond the edge of the roof. Light from the fast-sinking sun went out like a lamp over Calcutta. Duck-egg green shaded the sky, a backdrop to the carved, white, pavilion in Mogul design…the silhouette of a woman against the fretted stonework.

It took a moment to realize that she stood at the arched doorway. It was the rose-like perfume of Dassah’s presence he must have taken in. 

~*~

Writing about India these past ten years has been such a joy, satiating my own appreciation for the sensuality of God's creation. Now that my series Twilight of the British Raj is complete, I'll miss my research on that gorgeous, exotic sub-continent. Especially the scenes set in one of the prettiest places in the world, The Vale of Kashmir. 

Dassah's breathing resumed a normal rhythm as Cam pulled the car up to a mooring where a long, slim flat-bottomed boat waited, that Cam told her was called a shikara. He helped her into the shikara, and along with the young Kashmiri man, Cam packed the bags and boxes into the craft. Cam learned the driver’s name and passed it on to her—Asheesh—who took his position at the back of the shikara. At last, Cam sank onto the seat in the middle of the craft with her, a gaily colored canopy flapping above them. Asheesh dipped heart-shaped paddles into the water and pushed them forward.     

Trailing branches of willows whispered along the waterway as they glided past. For the first time since last night, Cam touched her by drawing her near to rest her head against his collarbone. She breathed in the clean scent of his cotton shirt as the sun set. Snow-packed peaks around them flushed like a ripe peach as their craft slid out to the openness of an immense placid lake, dotted with lotus blossoms.

Veiled at Midnight is the explosive and passionate finale to the historical trilogy Twilight of the British Raj.

For more information on Christine Lindsay and her books drop by her website www.christinelindsay.com and connect with her.

CLICK HERE TO READ 

CHAPTER ONE OF VEILED AT MIDNIGHT