Lynn Austin's Blog, page 22

Dream Killer

One of the biggest obstacles I faced in becoming a writer was fear. What if I wrote for years and never got published? What if I was no good? What if people laughed? I was so afraid of failing and of being criticized that my husband was the only person who knew I wanted to write. One day during my quiet time, I realized fear was killing my dream. I needed to trust God and take the seeds of my dream into the sunlight so they could grow. I had to risk calling myself a writer.

Not long afterwards, I was writing on a Saturday morning while my children played nearby and my husband taught music lessons to a parade of students. One young man awaiting his turn wandered up to me and asked, “Whatcha doing?”

I hesitated. Should I admit to this 16 year-old stranger that I wanted to be a writer? I decided to overcome my fear and trust God. “I’m writing a novel,” I replied. “I’m a writer.”

“That’s really cool,” he said with a huge grin. “My mom is a writer, too. You should meet her sometime.”

I was speechless! When I could finally talk I asked, “What does she write?”

“We’re Christians,” he said. “She writes devotional books for Moody Press in Chicago.”

The following week, Glenn’s mother came with him for his lesson. And from that day on, this gifted Christian writer, Alma Barkman, took me under her wing and mentored me. In a Canadian city of more than 300,000 people, God had brought a published Christian author right to my doorstep and into my life. I wonder where I would be today if I had been too fearful to call myself a writer?

One of the first things Alma did was invite me to her writers’ critique group. Again, fear nearly defeated me. How could I possibly read my feeble work in front of other people? And risk criticism? No way! But I set aside my fear—and quickly realized how helpful it is to have unbiased readers critique my work. I had to leave this group when we moved, but one of the first things I did in our new location was form a critique group.  Two dear friends from that new group, Jane Rubietta and Cleo Lampos, have now been meeting with me for 21 years. None of us had published a single word when we began. Now, we all have multiple books to our names.

Whatever your dream is, don’t let fear hold you back a single day longer. Bring your dream into the sunlight where it can grow.  I promise you, God “is able to do immeasurably more than all we ask or imagine” (Ephesians 3:20).

Germany-Switzerland Book Tour 2014!

Just Do It

A friend recently told me he had an idea for a book and planned to write it after he retires in 10 years.  I frequently hear comments like that, often about writing or some other dream for the future. “Someday, I would love to…” Followed by the excuses: “My kids are involved in too many activities right now; things are really crazy at work; I don’t have a calm, quiet place to write; I don’t have time . . .”

My advice is always the same: don’t wait! Your life will always be too busy with too many things to do. You’ll never have time unless you carve out time. And the quietest, calmest place you’ll ever live is in the cemetery. Harsh advice, maybe? But I learned it through experience.

When I first dreamed of writing I had a nine-year-old, a two-year-old, a newborn, and a husband who worked two jobs. I had no idea if I had any talent and not a clue about how to get published. I simply sat down one day when my oldest was in school and my younger ones napped and began to write. It didn’t take long to figure out I loved it. The short story I thought I was writing eventually grew into a 5 book series entitled “The Chronicles of the Kings”. I was hooked. And then my kids outgrew naps and life turned crazy.

I attended a Christian Writers’ Conference two or three years later and author Jerry Jenkins offered some wonderful advice. His sons were young at the time, and he still had a full-time job, but he said he’d promised God he wouldn’t write until his children were in bed. “Of course,” he added, “I sometimes have to put them to bed at 4:00 in the afternoon…” He was joking, but his point about setting priorities was exactly what I needed to hear. My spiritual life and my family were my top priorities. But if my dream to write truly had come from God, then it needed to be near the top of my list, too.

I set up my computer in our family room, in the middle of Lego creations and dollhouses and art projects, and learned to write in spite of the chaos and constant interruptions. I carried notebooks and research books to hockey practices and swimming lessons, and planned my next chapter while pushing kids on swings. I didn’t know the meaning of “peace and quiet.”

My point is, don’t wait! Just do it! Do it now while the dream is vivid and your passion burns. Chances are the urge that won’t go away, the dream that won’t die, is exactly the dream God has for you. It’s never too soon or too late to start. Rearrange your busy life. Adjust your priorities to make room. Then—just do it! Let your only regret be that you didn’t start sooner.

Enjoying the Fruit

The “glamorous” writing life is usually very mundane—spending long hours alone in my office staring at a computer screen. Even when I’m not in my office, I continue to fret over my plot and characters, trying to dream up fresh ideas and themes and ways to tell readers about God’s love. It’s hard work and I enjoy it, but I seldom receive feedback for my daily labor. And the long-term results are often invisible and intangible.

            But for the past week, God has graciously allowed me to see and savor some of the fruit of my writing. I’ve just returned home from a tour in the Netherlands to promote my new non-fiction book “Pilgrimage; My Journey to a Deeper Faith in the Land Where Jesus Walked.” I traveled to ten bookstores in cities all across Holland to share my personal story about a time of spiritual dryness in my life and how I found renewal on a pilgrimage to Israel. I met so many women who could identify with my story, and who longed for renewed closeness with God. And I was blessed to discover that my book offered them hope.

            My busy schedule included interviews with a newspaper, a women’s magazine, and a Christian TV program. But what blessed me the most was the warm reception I received from readers of all ages. They told of the many hours of enjoyment they’ve had reading my books; how the books have taken them to other times and places; and how they’ve learned about God and themselves from reading them. Several people had tears in their eyes as they told me how my stories changed their lives.

I’m sure I had a look of stunned surprise on my face as I signed books and talked with readers in each beautiful Dutch city. It never occurred to me when I began writing 30 years ago that my books would be translated into other languages and enjoyed by readers in such diverse places as Korea, Indonesia, South Africa, Germany, and the Netherlands. But God “is able to do immeasurably more than all we ask or imagine” (Ephesians 3:20).

Now, after a long trans-Atlantic flight through seven time zones, I’m back at my desk, alone with my computer once again. No more lovely meals and gracious welcomes and thankful readers. I’ve returned to a snowy Chicago winter after enjoying springtime in the Netherlands with green grass and blooming daffodils and crocuses. But what an encouragement to know that my labor in the Lord has not been in vain! I’ve been reminded once again that God has given me this gift of words so I can share His love and grace with readers all around the world.

I know we’ll receive a reward in heaven someday for the work we’ve done here on earth, but this week I’ve already had a taste of that reward.  So, to all my new friends in the Netherlands, thank you for blessing me beyond measure.

Editing—and Life!

             How long does it take to write a book?  The answer is different for every author, but for me the process takes one year. Since I write historical fiction, I begin by doing research, a step that is truly fun for me. I love reading and digesting hundreds of facts and images and ideas about different time periods and pouring that information into what I call “story soup.” For the biblical series that I’m currently writing, I’ve read several translations of the books of Ezra, Nehemiah, and Esther, along with a variety of study notes and commentaries.  These historical sources are fascinating to me, especially the archaeological discoveries from this period. One book compared the details of Queen Esther’s story in the Bible with the archaeological ruins of her palace in Susa—and the Bible proved to be amazingly accurate. But my favorite part of doing research is traveling to the places I’m going to write about—in this case, the land of Israel.

            Doing research generates story ideas, and the next step in the process is creation—taking all of the raw materials and crafting them into a story. I begin by creating my characters, and I even pin pictures of how I imagine them to look on a bulletin board above my desk. This is the fun part of writing. I can let my imagination soar, using my creativity to transform historical facts and images into a story that will bring the time period to life for my readers.

            I try to let the story flow freely, and I since I don’t outline the novel ahead of time I make up the plot as I go along. But I’m somewhat of a perfectionist and usually can’t resist the urge to edit what I’ve written as fast as I write it. I often begin each writing day by re-reading yesterday’s pages (which seemed so brilliant as I was writing them!) and re-working them before launching into the new writing for that day.  By the time the book is finished, I’ve re-written and edited the story dozens of times.

            I’m blessed to be part of a writers’ critique group, sharing my writing life with two very special women—multi-published authors Jane Rubietta and Cleo Lampos. We’ve been meeting together for more than 21 years now, and as they critique my work-in-progress, our collaboration always makes my novels even better. As scripture says, “You use steel to sharpen steel, and one friend sharpens another” (Proverbs 27:17, The Message).

            When my final draft is complete, the novel still isn’t finished. I always print out the manuscript so I can read and edit the printed pages.  Then I type those edits back into the computer for one final rewrite. By now, my deadline usually has arrived so it’s time to send the manuscript to my publishing company. I always wish that this was the final step, that I could be finished with the project and move on to writing the next novel. It isn’t.

            My editor gives the manuscript to several in-house readers and compiles their comments and observations, along with her own, into a long letter of things for me to “consider” as I re-write it one more time. I confess, I dislike this step most of all, and would skip it entirely if I could. It makes me feel the way I did in school when a project I’ve worked on for a long time comes back with a grade of B instead of the A+ I was hoping for.  

            But the truth is, we are often blind to our own faults. The characters and story are clear in my own mind because I’ve lived with them for nearly a year, but to an outside reader, there may be thoughts I failed to convey, or holes in the plot that need to be filled, or maybe a loose thread left dangling. Fresh eyes can see these flaws much more clearly that I can. So in the interest of publishing the best possible book, I’ve learned to value these comments, even when they prick my pride and feel like unwelcome criticism.

            I’ve discovered that I need other people in my Christian walk of faith, too. We Americans are proud of our rugged individualism, and that attitude can carry over into our spiritual lives if we’re not careful. “Me and Jesus—that’s all I need.” But it isn’t true. I know how much my writing improves as I share it with trusted friends in my critique group, or with my editor . And the same honest sharing of my spiritual struggles can benefit me as well.

It’s difficult for me to let someone “wash my feet,” and even more difficult to be the one to point out the need for washing to someone else, especially someone I look up to. I admire the courage it took for Nathan the prophet to confront King David after he sinned with Bathsheba. And I admire the humility and courage it took for David to accept Nathan’s rebuke, knowing that it had really come from God.

            Whether it’s my manuscript or my life, I need other people to be my outside eyes, helping me stay on the right path. When I’m brave enough to pray, “Search me, O God, and know my heart…see if there is any offensive way in me, and lead me in the way everlasting” (Psalm 139:23-24), I shouldn’t be surprised when He sends a friend into my life to gently point the way back to the right path.

Hezekiah’s Tunnel

This week’s blog is excerpted from my new non-fiction book, Pilgrimage: My Journey to a Deeper Faith In the Land Where Jesus Walked. (Bethany House Copyright 2013)

 

 

Hezekiah’s Tunnel

The icy water takes my breath away. I wade into it, stepping down, and down again, until it reaches my thighs. But the shivery water isn’t the worst part of this trek through King Hezekiah’s tunnel. There is no light in here, electric or natural, and the claustrophobic tunnel meanders underground as if excavated by drunkards. Ahead of me, a tall man stoops to keep from smacking his head on the stone ceiling. A heavyset woman looks as though she regrets this adventure as she squeezes between the slimy walls. None of us can turn back. There’s only enough room to walk single file.

This water system, deep below the city of Jerusalem, is manmade. The Bible tells us that “It was Hezekiah who blocked the upper outlet of the Gihon spring and channeled the water down to the west side of the City of David” (2 Chronicles 32:30). I know the story well. The first novel I ever wrote, Gods and Kings, was part a three-book series about the life of King Hezekiah, who reigned in Jerusalem seven hundred years before Christ. With no supply of fresh water in the city and the vicious Assyrian army marching toward him, Hezekiah needed to find a way to safeguard the freshwater spring, located outside the city walls. His solution was to dig an underground tunnel from the spring to a new reservoir within the walls. Pressured to complete the work before the Assyrians attacked, he ordered the workers to start digging from opposite ends and meet in the middle.

“Hey, is it safe to trust a tunnel that was dug 2,700 years ago?” someone asks as we slosh forward. I shake my head but no one sees me in the dark. No. I don’t trust an ancient tunnel, especially in a city that has occasional earthquakes. I can only trust God—and keep moving, shining my feeble flashlight. The chiseled floor is uneven and rough, and since we can’t see our feet below the inky water, we shuffle slowly, careful not to stumble and fall. I’m not a big fan of caves, and this manmade one with its straight walls and squared-off ceiling is dark and creepy. The weight of the mountain above my head feels crushing.

“How much farther?” someone asks in a shaky voice. I don’t dare tell her that this serpentine tunnel will wind for nearly a third of a mile and take about half an hour to walk through. The college students in our group try to lighten the atmosphere with laughter and jokes. Then one of them starts to sing: “Fill it up and let it overflow . . .” It’s an upbeat version of “Amazing Grace” with an added refrain, “Fill it up and let it overflow, let it overflow with love.” Soon, everyone joins in.

We reach the middle and stop to see the spot where the two tunnels met. Here, chiseled into the rock, was the oldest Hebrew inscription ever discovered, written by Hezekiah’s men to explain how they had broken through after digging from opposite ends. The inscription is in a museum in Turkey, not here. We shine our flashlights on the wall and see where it once was, and also how the chisel marks slant from opposite directions at the meeting point.

This tunnel is an engineering marvel, especially when you consider that it was dug in 700 BC. Experts still aren’t sure how anyone could dig two meandering tunnels that began a third of a mile apart and get them to meet up in the middle, deep underground. Impossible! Everyone who hears the story and sees the tunnel is impressed with King Hezekiah and his men.

But God wasn’t impressed. He sent the prophet Isaiah to rebuke the king for all of his plans, saying, “You built a reservoir between the two walls for the water of the Old Pool, but you did not look to the One who made it, or have regard for the One who planned it long ago’” (Isaiah 22:11). In other words, Hezekiah was relying on his own preparations instead of trusting God.

Fifteen minutes later, a pinprick of light in the distance tells us we are almost to the end. I have a new respect for that old cliché about seeing the light at the end of the tunnel. I hear a lot of grateful sighs, including my own, when we wade out into the blinding sunlight. As we sit in the sun to warm up and let our clothes dry out, I’m still thinking of Hezekiah.

The city of Jerusalem was saved from the Assyrians, but not by this tunnel. When the most powerful army on earth surrounded Hezekiah, demanding surrender, he knew he’d reached the end of his resources. Facing an impossible situation, he went up to the Temple and knelt before God, placing his hope and trust in Him: “O Lord Almighty, God of Israel,” he prayed. “You alone are God over all the kingdoms of the earth . . . Now, O Lord our God, deliver us from [the enemy’s] hand, so that all kingdoms on earth may know that you alone, O Lord, are God” (Isaiah 37:16, 20). That night, the angel of the Lord walked among the sleeping Assyrian warriors and put to death a hundred and eighty-five thousand of them. At dawn, the horrified king of Assyria gathered up his few surviving soldiers and bolted for home.

It’s okay to make plans, but the lesson of Hezekiah’s tunnel is that when we put our trust in God, not only is He victorious but He is glorified. I think of the struggles I’ve experienced lately as life has veered out of my control, the times when I’ve panicked as the water has crept higher and higher until it seemed to reach my neck. In spite of all my feverish plans and schemes, the enemy has besieged and surrounded me, leaving me trapped with no way to escape. But as I sit in the sunlight outside Hezekiah’s tunnel, I think of God’s promise from Isaiah, the prophet in Hezekiah’s time: “Fear not, for I have redeemed you; I have summoned you by name; you are mine. When you pass through the waters, I will be with you; and when you pass through the rivers, they will not sweep over you” (Isaiah 43:1-2).

We can step into the deep water, the darkness, the unknown—and trust God. At the end of the tunnel, we will emerge into dazzling sunlight.

Tentative Schedule for Netherlands Book Tour March 2013

Cleaning House

On the surface, my home looks neat and tidy—most of the time. But I have a few favorite closets and cupboards and crannies where I like to stuff things. You know, all those things you aren’t using but don’t want to get rid of, things you conveniently shove out of sight and promptly forget. Curious and unwary visitors open the doors to these hidden places at their own risk. And that’s the problem, you see. We’re putting our house up for sale in a few months and these are exactly the kinds of places that prospective buyers will want to peek inside—to see how much space they’ll have to hide all their stuff.

Unwilling to risk an avalanche or a bodily-injury lawsuit, I’ve been cleaning out these catch-all places for the past week. For inspiration, I watched an episode of the reality TV show, Hoarders. It did the trick! I’m now motivated to clean house.

The TV show taught me to divide everything into three piles: the stuff I want to keep, the stuff I can give away, and the stuff that can be thrown away. This might seem obvious but it’s harder than you think. What may appear to be junk to an observer often has great sentimental value to me—like the crafty things my kids made for Mother’s Day. Or cards and keepsakes from loved ones. Or household items that I’ve had ever since I married, 43 years ago. (These last items come in lovely shades of avocado green and harvest gold and are probably antiques by now.)

But I have bravely set to work making slow but steady progress. The local landfill will be a little fuller this week. The nearby Bibles for Missions Thrift Store may earn a dollar or two from all my junk. And the trip I took down memory lane as I sifted through my possessions was sometimes hilarious, sometimes heartbreaking.

I feel lighter now, and freer. And that was the point. I’m moving into a new chapter in my life as my husband retires, moving to a smaller home and a simpler lifestyle. So while I’m at it, maybe it’s time for me to do some soul house-cleaning, too. I need to “throw off everything that hinders and the sin that so easily entangles” so I can “run with perseverance the race marked out” for me in the years ahead (Hebrews 12:1).

I have a page full of New Year’s resolutions I hope to accomplish in those years, copied from the January 2014 issue of Indeed magazine. Among them are:

·        Have enormous dreams, visions, and goals.

·        Give yourself to repairing and restoring His world.

·        Be relentlessly merciful.

·        Seek and expect miracles.

·        Speak life-giving words.

·        Don’t wait to enter His kingdom someday; bring His kingdom to earth now.

·        Heal and comfort the brokenhearted.

·        Be wildly creative.

·        Never, ever give up.

·        Dance, laugh, rejoice, live, love.

I can’t keep even one of these resolutions without God’s help. And that’s where my own, personal “house cleaning” comes in. I have crannies and cubby holes in my soul that are filled with junk.  Things I have stuffed out of sight so I can look good on the outside. Attitudes and habits that I know God wants me to get rid of but that I haven’t been willing to relinquish. Worries and fears that I’ve toted around for years instead of giving them to Him.

Sorting through these hidden places requires hard work and a lot of prayer. I’ve found that a good place to start is David’s prayer in Psalm 139: “Search me, O God, and know my heart; test me and know my anxious thoughts. See if there is any offensive way in me, and lead me in the way everlasting.” Step by step, one item at a time, my soul-closet can be emptied and cleaned and filled with good things that can be used for His glory.

And now, back to work. I have some hidden faults that need to go to the dump. And does anyone out there need a lovely, harvest-gold fondue pot?

Netherlands Book Tour March 2014

I’m thrilled to announce that I will be doing a book tour in the Netherlands this March 3-8, 2014…more details will be posted soon.

 

Storing up Sunshine

I’ve asked my good friend and writing-critique partner, Cleo Lampos, to be a guest blogger for me today. Cleo has a brand-new historical novel, A Mother’s Song, from Oak Tara Publishers, detailing the true story of the Orphan Train. If you don’t know what the orphan train was, you’ll find out when you read her heartwarming book. Make sure you have a tissue handy! Cleo also has a fiction series with Oak Tara in which the main characters are teachers, like Cleo herself was for more than 30 years, as well as policemen, firefighters, and other “ordinary heroes.” Welcome Cleo!

by CLEO LAMPOS
“There is an opportune time to do things, a right time for everything on the earth.”

- Ecclesiastes 3:1 The Message

 

           The kitchen knife slides easily across the cooked beets, creating burgundy cross sections of summertime goodness slipping into sterilized jars. A cup of hot vinegar-sugar syrup tops the beets then the metal lid and ring are secured. Thirty minutes in a hot water bath and pickled beets are placed on the shelf. During the cold, snowy days of winter, a jar will be opened to tantalize the taste buds, waking up the flavors deep in the mouth. Companion jars of strawberry preserves invite thick slices of homemade bread to the toaster. A half pint of peach jam made from the tree outside the kitchen window reminds the taster that food mileage is measured in feet and inches, never in miles. Home canned green beans, carrots, tomatoes and salsa bypass winter’s icy windows to recapture bare feet in the soil. Food from the garden stored in glass jars at the peak of the season brings back the warmth of summer during winter’s frigid hibernation. Sunshine in a jar.

Writing words is a lot like canning a season’s produce from the garden. So many seasons of life bring unique perspectives and issues. When my children toddled around my ankles, I wrote sentimental articles about motherhood, the joys of nursing, the wonders of pregnancy. Precious memories translated into words. Several vignettes published about the exploits of my preschoolers fueled my desire to keep expressing myself with words. But the seasons changed and so did my life. The teenagers cohabiting with my husband and me became surly at times, causing tension and emotional outbursts. These events translated into teary entries in my journals. Fortunately, we moved to another season of memories to store with words. Empty nest, marriages and grandchildren. A time of regaining the innocence of life. Happy, joy-filled pages of resolution and contentment. Sunshine in a journal.

 

           Today my writing harvests the accumulation of my life as wife, mother and teacher to produce articles and books. With words, tragedy is stored as triumph when a teacher friend’s son is murdered and she begins a ministry with at-risk youth. With words, challenges are interpreted as potential when my experiences as a special education teacher demonstrate the value of every student. With words, despair is translated into dreams in the historical fiction of a boy who rode the orphan train. In the collection of words, sentences, paragraphs and chapters that all writers create, we store up hope for our readers. We want them to turn to these passages again and again in the dark dreariness of their lives to feed their souls. Sunshine in a book.

 

 

Cleo Lampos, preserver of produce  and words, lives with her husband, Vernon, and two cats on an urban homestead in the Chicago area. During the summer she enjoys storing produce from their garden in the canning kitchen in the basement of their bungalow. In the winter, retired teacher Cleo writes articles and books. Teaching Diamonds in the Tough:Mining the Potential in Every Student was published by Lighthouse of the  Carolinas (2012). Second Chances, Book 1 in the Teachers of Diamond Projects Series, was released in 2013 by Oak Tara. The next book in the series, Miss Bee and the Do Bees was released in the winter 2013. Also released in 2013 by Oak Tara is the historical fiction A Mother’s Song which chronicles the Orphan Train epic. Visit Cleo Lampos at www.cleolampos.com Teachers and Other Everyday Heroes