Lisa J. Crane's Blog, page 7
October 8, 2013
Just Go Ahead and (fill in the blank)
I just got off the phone with a woman whom I've never met. The call lasted 43 minutes and 12 seconds. The conversation was punctuated with laughter, gasps, "No way!"s and "Absolutely!"s.
About a month ago, I had breakfast with a woman whom -- you guessed it -- I'd never met before. I think we spent two hours in that Cracker Barrel, just talking.
In my email is a folder titled "Readers". It contains emails from women whom I've...nope, never met 'em. I've lost count of the number of emails in that folder.
Listed among my Facebook friends are several people whom...are you sensing a pattern? Yes, I have a whole bunch of FB friends on whom I've never laid eyes.
I know, you're wondering what my point is. Well, let me ask you a question. And you don't have to tell me the answer. You just need to answer it for yourself. The question is this: What gift did God give you, and are you wasting it?
Many of you know my story. At least you think you do. You see, the more I know, the more I realize, even I don't know the whole story. It seems that each day brings new friends, new opportunities, new adventures -- did I mention new friends? And they all stem from the fact that I finally sat down and prayed about the gift with which God blessed me: writing. And as I tell anyone who'll listen, once I started praying, the words just wouldn't stop.
So what's your gift? Maybe your gift is writing, like mine. Maybe it's singing. Maybe it's cooking. Maybe it's sewing. But you need to figure it out. And you need to use it to further the Kingdom of the One who gave you that gift. Don't wait till the time is right. The time is now. Don't wait until you know everything there is to know about "whatever". You'll always have something to learn.
So stop waiting and go. Whatever your gift is will multiply and return to you, I promise. So go on. Just go ahead and...?
About a month ago, I had breakfast with a woman whom -- you guessed it -- I'd never met before. I think we spent two hours in that Cracker Barrel, just talking.
In my email is a folder titled "Readers". It contains emails from women whom I've...nope, never met 'em. I've lost count of the number of emails in that folder.
Listed among my Facebook friends are several people whom...are you sensing a pattern? Yes, I have a whole bunch of FB friends on whom I've never laid eyes.
I know, you're wondering what my point is. Well, let me ask you a question. And you don't have to tell me the answer. You just need to answer it for yourself. The question is this: What gift did God give you, and are you wasting it?
Many of you know my story. At least you think you do. You see, the more I know, the more I realize, even I don't know the whole story. It seems that each day brings new friends, new opportunities, new adventures -- did I mention new friends? And they all stem from the fact that I finally sat down and prayed about the gift with which God blessed me: writing. And as I tell anyone who'll listen, once I started praying, the words just wouldn't stop.
So what's your gift? Maybe your gift is writing, like mine. Maybe it's singing. Maybe it's cooking. Maybe it's sewing. But you need to figure it out. And you need to use it to further the Kingdom of the One who gave you that gift. Don't wait till the time is right. The time is now. Don't wait until you know everything there is to know about "whatever". You'll always have something to learn.
So stop waiting and go. Whatever your gift is will multiply and return to you, I promise. So go on. Just go ahead and...?
September 22, 2013
Love My Readers!
If you happen to be my friend on Facebook, you know the past two weeks have been...eventful. There have been sick daughter events -- the kind where I feel like the meanest mom in the world for making her go to school. There have been car trouble events -- the kind where you just abandon one car and get another, because the cost of repairs is more than the car is worth. And then there were Facebook events -- the kind where people misunderstood something you said to the point that you get a little hurt, so you say you're taking a little break, and then when you go back and post something making fun of yourself about how the world didn't end when you didn't post anything, and people misunderstand THAT and think you're being rude. There were writers' group events -- the kind where another member, who missed the first chapter of your book, seems to take an instant dislike to you and your book and is overly harsh and critical. Yes, I realize those are all terribly-constructed, run-on sentences. But that's the way the past two weeks have gone.
I'm normally an extremely upbeat and positive person. My email address includes the words "happyheart". My license plate is HPY <3 HRT. I live in a sunny yellow house, for Pete's sake! It takes a lot to beat me down, but the past two weeks did it. Mind you, it doesn't usually last long, either. I get re-happy pretty quickly. But imagine how humbled I was to receive FIVE emails from readers during the past two weeks!
These were all emails from readers telling me how much they loved one or both of my book series. Each of them were so encouraging that they set me on the road to being my usual annoyingly perky self. They also got me to wondering how many readers realize just how much their positive feedback means to their favorite authors.
So this week, I encourage you to reach out to your favorite author (not me, lol) if they have an email or website listed. Tell them how much you love their work, and give them specific reasons why you do. You might not get a reply, but I bet you do. And I bet you'll make someone's week.
I'm normally an extremely upbeat and positive person. My email address includes the words "happyheart". My license plate is HPY <3 HRT. I live in a sunny yellow house, for Pete's sake! It takes a lot to beat me down, but the past two weeks did it. Mind you, it doesn't usually last long, either. I get re-happy pretty quickly. But imagine how humbled I was to receive FIVE emails from readers during the past two weeks!
These were all emails from readers telling me how much they loved one or both of my book series. Each of them were so encouraging that they set me on the road to being my usual annoyingly perky self. They also got me to wondering how many readers realize just how much their positive feedback means to their favorite authors.
So this week, I encourage you to reach out to your favorite author (not me, lol) if they have an email or website listed. Tell them how much you love their work, and give them specific reasons why you do. You might not get a reply, but I bet you do. And I bet you'll make someone's week.
August 28, 2013
Fifty Years of Dreaming
I usually only post one blog each week. Today, however, marks the fiftieth anniversary of one of the most powerful speeches ever made by a man. Fifty years ago today, Martin Luther King, Jr. gave the speech that has come to be known as the "I Have a Dream" speech. This speech gets quoted often enough that many of us have that one passage memorized. I won't quote the whole thing here, as it's a simple task to Google it. In fact, I won't quote that part of the speech because I actually want you to search for that speech on the internet; find the transcript and read the speech in its entirety. It's pretty amazing.
You see, what a lot of people don't realize is there is so much more to that speech than that final moving crescendo of "Let freedom ring...!" Sadly, that part is, in fact, so moving and galvanizing that we forget that Dr. King encouraged his fellow marchers that day not to fall into distrust of all white people (I'm paraphrasing here). I fear a lot of white people haven't done much in the way of building trust among our black brothers and sisters.
I can't help but point to children as I write about this topic. It's an old example, but it's true: children are colorblind. I challenge you to find a child who's born with the prejudices many of us develop. No, children are taught prejudice and bias. We all learn it somewhere. We might learn it from family. It comes from the media, which seems to enjoy playing one race against another. It comes from classmates at school. It might even come from your Christian friends, who would be appalled if you called them a racist, but who continue to post racially-charged "news articles" with the tag-line, "Where's the outrage?". Really. That needs to stop. We should be outraged when anyone is murdered, regardless of their color, and regardless of the murderer's color.
As I write this, I'm thinking about a boy named William. I don't remember his last name, but in my mind's eye, he is just about the cutest boy you ever saw. Big, dark eyes, with eyelashes that went on forever. A smile so sweet it could melt a girl's heart. I remember the feel of his hand in mine as we played on the playground at Oakwood Terrace Elementary School. His hand was soft and warm...and it felt exactly like mine. I also remember that William's skin was the color of rich, strong coffee. Coffee, not cream, not even café au lais. No, it was most definitely the color of coffee, rich and dark like the coffee in my father's cup. And I loved that little boy. Oh, I loved him! I was convinced I would marry him one day. As it turns out, he moved away after first grade. But I still remember him, and I hope he remembers me, a chubby little girl with outrageous curls, a little girl who didn't realize they were "different".
I'm happy to say that my children, raised in a multicultural area, truly are free from most of the prejudices that were prevalent when I was a kid. I fear that's still not the case for many children in our country, and in our world. And until we no longer think in terms of being happy our children aren't racist or prejudiced, until it no longer even registers on our radar, I don't think we've fulfilled the dream. But I hope we'll all keep trying. Together.
You see, what a lot of people don't realize is there is so much more to that speech than that final moving crescendo of "Let freedom ring...!" Sadly, that part is, in fact, so moving and galvanizing that we forget that Dr. King encouraged his fellow marchers that day not to fall into distrust of all white people (I'm paraphrasing here). I fear a lot of white people haven't done much in the way of building trust among our black brothers and sisters.
I can't help but point to children as I write about this topic. It's an old example, but it's true: children are colorblind. I challenge you to find a child who's born with the prejudices many of us develop. No, children are taught prejudice and bias. We all learn it somewhere. We might learn it from family. It comes from the media, which seems to enjoy playing one race against another. It comes from classmates at school. It might even come from your Christian friends, who would be appalled if you called them a racist, but who continue to post racially-charged "news articles" with the tag-line, "Where's the outrage?". Really. That needs to stop. We should be outraged when anyone is murdered, regardless of their color, and regardless of the murderer's color.
As I write this, I'm thinking about a boy named William. I don't remember his last name, but in my mind's eye, he is just about the cutest boy you ever saw. Big, dark eyes, with eyelashes that went on forever. A smile so sweet it could melt a girl's heart. I remember the feel of his hand in mine as we played on the playground at Oakwood Terrace Elementary School. His hand was soft and warm...and it felt exactly like mine. I also remember that William's skin was the color of rich, strong coffee. Coffee, not cream, not even café au lais. No, it was most definitely the color of coffee, rich and dark like the coffee in my father's cup. And I loved that little boy. Oh, I loved him! I was convinced I would marry him one day. As it turns out, he moved away after first grade. But I still remember him, and I hope he remembers me, a chubby little girl with outrageous curls, a little girl who didn't realize they were "different".
I'm happy to say that my children, raised in a multicultural area, truly are free from most of the prejudices that were prevalent when I was a kid. I fear that's still not the case for many children in our country, and in our world. And until we no longer think in terms of being happy our children aren't racist or prejudiced, until it no longer even registers on our radar, I don't think we've fulfilled the dream. But I hope we'll all keep trying. Together.
August 26, 2013
Was the Wicked Witch Right?
I was in high school before I saw The Wizard of Oz in its entirety. You see, they always -- and I mean ALWAYS -- showed the movie on Sunday evenings. I grew up in a family that went to church on Sunday evenings (we still do). This was in an era before Hulu and Netflix, before Redbox and Blockbuster, before a bazillion channels. It was so pre-DVR it was even before -- are you ready? -- video-CASSETTE recorders! That's right. I'm that old.
Anyway...where was I? Oh, yes! Do you remember the scene toward the end in which Dorothy throws the water on the Wicked Witch of the West? As the witch is melting away, she wails, "What a world! What a world!" I feel a little like that this morning.
This should be a great day. It's the first day of junior high school for my baby girl. I'm so proud of her and excited for her! She's gonna rock that school!
But while I'm so happy about my little girl, there is another little girl all over the internet this morning. Twitter, Facebook, gossip sites, mainstream news sites, all of them are talking about one thing: Miley Cyrus. On the off chance that you're living under a rock, and somehow missed it, you can simply Google her name. The first several links will be her performance at last night's MTV VMA broadcast. Miley has managed to overshadow Taylor Swift's vulgar language, not heard on-air, but clearly visible in video clips.
So while my little girl was getting ready last night, double-checking her backpack, planning her lunch and reviewing her (very modest) outfit for the first day of school, someone else's little girl -- she is only 20, remember? -- was wearing enough makeup for several hookers, NOT wearing much clothing, singing about "molly" (although that was censored) and dancing in a way that can't even be called "suggestive" (there was no question about that dancing). While my baby girl was annotating her required summer reading, someone else's baby was making an obscene spectacle of herself; sure, people are talking about her this morning, but to a man, they are condemning. And I do mean "man"; the men I follow on Twitter were clearly appalled by Miley last night.
Before I write anything else, I want to make it very clear that I believe there are children out there who will go terribly astray, in spite of having amazing parents. Free will, you know. But I can't help wondering, as a mother, how Miley's parents feel this morning. I can't imagine reading, seeing and hearing the things said about my daughter that people are saying about Miley today. I know I'd be questioning my example, my words and my actions as a parent.
I feel badly for Miley Cyrus. In the eyes of the world, she's an adult, able to make her own decisions. But in the eyes of the world this morning, she's also a sad, pathetic joke. And she's twenty years old. Let that sink in for a minute. What were you doing when you were twenty? So yes, I was disgusted by her attire and her behavior. But I am also sickened and saddened that a young lady with such talent and promise has gone so wrong.
At some point, don't we, as a society, need to take some responsibility for young women like this? Brittney Spears, Madonna, Lady Gaga, Courtney Love...the list is endless. In fact, the list goes much further back in history. Marilyn Monroe, anyone? When do we stop making young girls feel like they need to be "sexy" (I use that term loosely in this context) and behave in an outrageous manner to gain attention? When do we tell them it's not necessary to push the envelope of common decency in order to break out of their childhood (even if that childhood was played out on a television show)? When do we tell our little girls, "You are beautiful because you are smart and kind and brave"? When do we tell them, "You are enough"? I say, today.
Anyway...where was I? Oh, yes! Do you remember the scene toward the end in which Dorothy throws the water on the Wicked Witch of the West? As the witch is melting away, she wails, "What a world! What a world!" I feel a little like that this morning.
This should be a great day. It's the first day of junior high school for my baby girl. I'm so proud of her and excited for her! She's gonna rock that school!
But while I'm so happy about my little girl, there is another little girl all over the internet this morning. Twitter, Facebook, gossip sites, mainstream news sites, all of them are talking about one thing: Miley Cyrus. On the off chance that you're living under a rock, and somehow missed it, you can simply Google her name. The first several links will be her performance at last night's MTV VMA broadcast. Miley has managed to overshadow Taylor Swift's vulgar language, not heard on-air, but clearly visible in video clips.
So while my little girl was getting ready last night, double-checking her backpack, planning her lunch and reviewing her (very modest) outfit for the first day of school, someone else's little girl -- she is only 20, remember? -- was wearing enough makeup for several hookers, NOT wearing much clothing, singing about "molly" (although that was censored) and dancing in a way that can't even be called "suggestive" (there was no question about that dancing). While my baby girl was annotating her required summer reading, someone else's baby was making an obscene spectacle of herself; sure, people are talking about her this morning, but to a man, they are condemning. And I do mean "man"; the men I follow on Twitter were clearly appalled by Miley last night.
Before I write anything else, I want to make it very clear that I believe there are children out there who will go terribly astray, in spite of having amazing parents. Free will, you know. But I can't help wondering, as a mother, how Miley's parents feel this morning. I can't imagine reading, seeing and hearing the things said about my daughter that people are saying about Miley today. I know I'd be questioning my example, my words and my actions as a parent.
I feel badly for Miley Cyrus. In the eyes of the world, she's an adult, able to make her own decisions. But in the eyes of the world this morning, she's also a sad, pathetic joke. And she's twenty years old. Let that sink in for a minute. What were you doing when you were twenty? So yes, I was disgusted by her attire and her behavior. But I am also sickened and saddened that a young lady with such talent and promise has gone so wrong.
At some point, don't we, as a society, need to take some responsibility for young women like this? Brittney Spears, Madonna, Lady Gaga, Courtney Love...the list is endless. In fact, the list goes much further back in history. Marilyn Monroe, anyone? When do we stop making young girls feel like they need to be "sexy" (I use that term loosely in this context) and behave in an outrageous manner to gain attention? When do we tell them it's not necessary to push the envelope of common decency in order to break out of their childhood (even if that childhood was played out on a television show)? When do we tell our little girls, "You are beautiful because you are smart and kind and brave"? When do we tell them, "You are enough"? I say, today.
August 18, 2013
Romance...or Fantasy?
A few days ago, I posted the following status on my Facebook page: Grocery shopping. This - yes, this! - is the exciting and glamorous life of a romance author. When I was younger, I'd look at the back cover of a romance and see the author's picture. Y'all know what I'm talking about; the "several years younger and heavily airbrushed and provocatively posed" picture of some woman gazing at the reader as if she'd just engaged in something naughty (or she was about to do so). So imagine my disappointment when, after uploading my first romance, my house wasn't magically spotless and my curls didn't fall silkily around my porcelain face. Okay, not really. I'd love to look younger, but most of us over 30 would like that. Some might say that romance is fantasy. I say baloney. I say romance is very real, and very necessary.
Gentlemen -- okay, it's a bit of a stretch to assume men are reading this. Ladies, feel free to print this and leave it strategically placed...like in the refrigerator. Moving on. Gentlemen, you need to understand, first and foremost, romance isn't flowers, jewelry and expensive gifts and dinners. Oh, certainly, most of us won't turn down any of those, but they're not the ultimate in romance. No, the ultimate is the "gift" that comes from your heart. Romance is taking a turn with a colicky baby in the middle of the night. It's doing the dishes sometimes. Folding that last load of laundry. It might be a very simple but heartfelt compliment. "Baby, you look good today." (Trust me on this, guys. Tell her she looks good when she's just dressed in her "whatever" clothes, and you'll see a difference. You'll most likely be pleasantly surprised.) Sincerity is the key here.
But ladies...when's the last time you looked at your guy and thanked him for going to work every day? When's the last time you told him HE looks good? It works both ways, you know. And your man may not recognize it as romance, but it is, and it goes a long way toward keeping your relationship happy and healthy.
The reason I'm telling you this is that August is "Read a Romance" month. And there are a lot of people out there, women included, who pooh-pooh the entire genre of romantic fiction as fantasy and nonsense. But it's not. I believe romance is a necessary part of every relationship. If one of my stories inspires a woman (or a man, hint, hint!) to plan something special, I'll take it. No, my husband has never done any of the big showy romantic things my heroes do in my books. But he does kiss me in a way that let's me know he thinks I'm the most gorgeous woman in the world. He tells me -- often -- how much he loves me. He shows me by being a good provider, a strong man, an emotional support and...well, he's just got a really cute smile and dimples.
So the next time someone tries to tell you romance is nonsense and that romance novels are based on fantasy, you have two choices. You can either smile, hand them your favorite romance and tell them you'll talk with them after they finish reading it. Or you can call your knight in shining armor to come defend your honor...or your reading choices.
Don't let anyone shame you into being embarrassed to read romance. I'm proud to write the books I do, and yes, I do think we could ALL use a little more romance in our lives.
Happy Reading!
Gentlemen -- okay, it's a bit of a stretch to assume men are reading this. Ladies, feel free to print this and leave it strategically placed...like in the refrigerator. Moving on. Gentlemen, you need to understand, first and foremost, romance isn't flowers, jewelry and expensive gifts and dinners. Oh, certainly, most of us won't turn down any of those, but they're not the ultimate in romance. No, the ultimate is the "gift" that comes from your heart. Romance is taking a turn with a colicky baby in the middle of the night. It's doing the dishes sometimes. Folding that last load of laundry. It might be a very simple but heartfelt compliment. "Baby, you look good today." (Trust me on this, guys. Tell her she looks good when she's just dressed in her "whatever" clothes, and you'll see a difference. You'll most likely be pleasantly surprised.) Sincerity is the key here.
But ladies...when's the last time you looked at your guy and thanked him for going to work every day? When's the last time you told him HE looks good? It works both ways, you know. And your man may not recognize it as romance, but it is, and it goes a long way toward keeping your relationship happy and healthy.
The reason I'm telling you this is that August is "Read a Romance" month. And there are a lot of people out there, women included, who pooh-pooh the entire genre of romantic fiction as fantasy and nonsense. But it's not. I believe romance is a necessary part of every relationship. If one of my stories inspires a woman (or a man, hint, hint!) to plan something special, I'll take it. No, my husband has never done any of the big showy romantic things my heroes do in my books. But he does kiss me in a way that let's me know he thinks I'm the most gorgeous woman in the world. He tells me -- often -- how much he loves me. He shows me by being a good provider, a strong man, an emotional support and...well, he's just got a really cute smile and dimples.
So the next time someone tries to tell you romance is nonsense and that romance novels are based on fantasy, you have two choices. You can either smile, hand them your favorite romance and tell them you'll talk with them after they finish reading it. Or you can call your knight in shining armor to come defend your honor...or your reading choices.
Don't let anyone shame you into being embarrassed to read romance. I'm proud to write the books I do, and yes, I do think we could ALL use a little more romance in our lives.
Happy Reading!
August 12, 2013
Necessary Distractions (or Life Goes On No Matter How Badly You Want to Write)
You probably know I'm happily married (20 years this November) and have two children, a Jack Russell with a Napoleon complex and two of the laziest cats in the world (and that's saying something). If you have even one child, you know how distracting they can be sometimes. Mine are 18 and 12, so they're somewhat self-sufficient. But here's the thing. They talk. All. The. Time.
If they're watching TV, I get a play-by-play, because, hey, these ear buds in my ear don't mean I don't care about that TV show. They simply mean I enjoy exercising my hand to put them in and take them out repeatedly so I can hear a description of the "hilarious" scene you just watched. Right.
My son talks about his new truck, his girlfriend, Dr. Who (sorry, I'm more of a Dr. Who-Cares kinda woman). He talks about college and what he wants to do with his life. He talks about food. He talks about the Texas Rangers; this will change eventually to the Texas Aggies and the Dallas Cowboys.
My daughter talks about...wow, what doesn't she talk about? Let's see, there's school (even during the summer, she talks about school), friends, church, camp, music, hair (color, length and style), clothes, shoes, phones (she NEEDS a front-facing camera), books (mine and others), school supplies, what she wants to do with her life, Say Yes to the Dress (yeah, not for SEVERAL years)...let's see, what else? I'm sure I've missed something.
My husband, normally a quiet man, also sees my ear buds as his cue to talk to me. He will, on a regular basis, ask me a question about one of the kids...who are usually sitting right there with him. I am the official translator for my family; I'm not certain why this is necessary, as they all speak English, but whatever. It seems to be mandatory to relay questions and statements through me, as if they're all giving each other the silent treatment. (I feel compelled to point out, they very seldom ever give ME the silent treatment.) I once asked in frustration, "If I get hit by a bus tomorrow, how will y'all talk to each other?" He looked at me and said, "Stay outta the street." Thank you, honey, for that sage advice.
There's laundry, dishes, dinner, and all the other assorted things that come with a home and family. You know the ones.
Add to that the necessary evil that is the self-promotion needed on the part of a self-published author (i.e., Facebook and Twitter), and the need to stop occasionally to just listen to a song when a lyric jumps out at me, and it's truly a wonder I get anything written.
For a (mostly) SAHM, my life is pretty crazy and very distracting from the writing process. And I wouldn't trade a minute of it. Not one word, not one song, not one friend and certainly not my husband or children. Sorry, readers, you'll just have to be patient.
Happy Reading (eventually)!
If they're watching TV, I get a play-by-play, because, hey, these ear buds in my ear don't mean I don't care about that TV show. They simply mean I enjoy exercising my hand to put them in and take them out repeatedly so I can hear a description of the "hilarious" scene you just watched. Right.
My son talks about his new truck, his girlfriend, Dr. Who (sorry, I'm more of a Dr. Who-Cares kinda woman). He talks about college and what he wants to do with his life. He talks about food. He talks about the Texas Rangers; this will change eventually to the Texas Aggies and the Dallas Cowboys.
My daughter talks about...wow, what doesn't she talk about? Let's see, there's school (even during the summer, she talks about school), friends, church, camp, music, hair (color, length and style), clothes, shoes, phones (she NEEDS a front-facing camera), books (mine and others), school supplies, what she wants to do with her life, Say Yes to the Dress (yeah, not for SEVERAL years)...let's see, what else? I'm sure I've missed something.
My husband, normally a quiet man, also sees my ear buds as his cue to talk to me. He will, on a regular basis, ask me a question about one of the kids...who are usually sitting right there with him. I am the official translator for my family; I'm not certain why this is necessary, as they all speak English, but whatever. It seems to be mandatory to relay questions and statements through me, as if they're all giving each other the silent treatment. (I feel compelled to point out, they very seldom ever give ME the silent treatment.) I once asked in frustration, "If I get hit by a bus tomorrow, how will y'all talk to each other?" He looked at me and said, "Stay outta the street." Thank you, honey, for that sage advice.
There's laundry, dishes, dinner, and all the other assorted things that come with a home and family. You know the ones.
Add to that the necessary evil that is the self-promotion needed on the part of a self-published author (i.e., Facebook and Twitter), and the need to stop occasionally to just listen to a song when a lyric jumps out at me, and it's truly a wonder I get anything written.
For a (mostly) SAHM, my life is pretty crazy and very distracting from the writing process. And I wouldn't trade a minute of it. Not one word, not one song, not one friend and certainly not my husband or children. Sorry, readers, you'll just have to be patient.
Happy Reading (eventually)!
August 6, 2013
Texas Music
Some of you are friends with me on Facebook, or you follow me on Twitter, or we know each other personally. So you know that music is a HUGE part of my writing process. If I'm writing, there IS music playing. I may have headphones on, or ear buds in, but I'm swaying or bopping along to something. I started wondering, if my life had a soundtrack, what would be on it?
Okay, so the obvious first choice is Patsy Cline's "Crazy". There, now that the elephant in the room has been made to take a seat, we can continue.
Seriously, I don't believe there's a part of my life in which music isn't heavily involved. When I worship, I sing praises to God. When I'm in the kitchen, whether I'm cooking or doing dishes, I'm dancing (badly) to the radio. When I'm driving, the radio is cranked up -- I actually am looking into a new stereo, as I think I've blown out my speakers.
And it's not just music. Often, it's inspiration. If you're reading this, odds are good you've read at least one of my books. So far, everything I've written is set in Texas; yes, I'm partial to Texas and that's not changing anytime soon. But not only are my books set in Texas, my heroines are true Texas women. They're smart and strong and independent, just like their home state. And my heroes? Well, I like to think they're all swoon-worthy Texas men. Again, I'm a little biased, but Texas men are just...whew!
So while I'm driving with the top down, I might be listening to AWOLNation or Muse or Nirvana. But when I'm writing? It's all about the Texas music, baby! Wade Bowen, Randy Rogers, Brandon Rhyder, Max Stalling, Jason Boland and the Stragglers, Slaid Cleaves (who wasn't born here, but got here as quickly as he could). These are some of the performers whose music helps frame my writing -- especially my heroes.
So the next time you fall in love with a hero, ask yourself, "What was that writer listening to when he/she wrote this?" Now go find your inspiration for your own HEA.
Happy Reading!
Okay, so the obvious first choice is Patsy Cline's "Crazy". There, now that the elephant in the room has been made to take a seat, we can continue.
Seriously, I don't believe there's a part of my life in which music isn't heavily involved. When I worship, I sing praises to God. When I'm in the kitchen, whether I'm cooking or doing dishes, I'm dancing (badly) to the radio. When I'm driving, the radio is cranked up -- I actually am looking into a new stereo, as I think I've blown out my speakers.
And it's not just music. Often, it's inspiration. If you're reading this, odds are good you've read at least one of my books. So far, everything I've written is set in Texas; yes, I'm partial to Texas and that's not changing anytime soon. But not only are my books set in Texas, my heroines are true Texas women. They're smart and strong and independent, just like their home state. And my heroes? Well, I like to think they're all swoon-worthy Texas men. Again, I'm a little biased, but Texas men are just...whew!
So while I'm driving with the top down, I might be listening to AWOLNation or Muse or Nirvana. But when I'm writing? It's all about the Texas music, baby! Wade Bowen, Randy Rogers, Brandon Rhyder, Max Stalling, Jason Boland and the Stragglers, Slaid Cleaves (who wasn't born here, but got here as quickly as he could). These are some of the performers whose music helps frame my writing -- especially my heroes.
So the next time you fall in love with a hero, ask yourself, "What was that writer listening to when he/she wrote this?" Now go find your inspiration for your own HEA.
Happy Reading!
July 23, 2013
I'm Not Worthy
I know. The name of the blog took you back to Wayne's World, didn't it? But that's not what I'm talking about. No, I'm talking about being a romance writer.
You see, each year, the congregation of which I'm a member has a daily Bible reading plan. Sometimes we read through the whole Bible. One year, we focused on the life of Christ. This year, our plan is called Wisdom University. We've been reading (or have read) Job, Psalms, Proverbs, Ecclesiastes and the Song of Solomon. If you read my books, particularly the McKenna's Haven series, you've probably already figured out I love the Psalms. I have yet to come across a situation in my life where there's not at least one Psalm that fits, whether it be one of joy and praise, one of sorrow and pain --it doesn't matter. It's in that book.
But this week, we've been reading in the Song of Solomon. As I read the words between the groom and his bride, I realize just how inadequate my own words are sometimes. The couple's love and desire for one another is impossible to miss. While our urban culture may not understand when he compares her hair to goats, even in our ignorance, we understand it means something to her. He thinks she's beautiful and sexy and desirable. The bride doesn't shy away from such language, either, making it clear that her desire is for him alone.
Another thing that's made clear throughout the reading is that this couple has refrained from the physical relationship until they're married. I'm always surprised, and a little disappointed, when I get a review on one of my books that says the reader was hoping for a little more "steam". One reviewer even said, point blank, that she wished there had been "S.E.X." (that's how she wrote it) in Not His Type because there was plenty of sexual tension. It speaks volumes about where our society is, spiritually, that a reader can't enjoy a book that doesn't include explicit sexual scenes. I have a very happy, healthy marriage -- I don't need to read about other people's sex lives! (Nor do I need to write them.)
So as I'm writing my sappy romances, I can't help thinking how much more beautiful are the words penned by a writer who was inspired by God, Himself. And I am once again humbled that He has blessed me with what talent I have, and that He's given me the avenue to reach people to share my belief in purity until after marriage. And in writing my sappy romances, I'm not worthy. But until the words dry up, until God stops answering my prayers with "yes", I'll keep writing.
You see, each year, the congregation of which I'm a member has a daily Bible reading plan. Sometimes we read through the whole Bible. One year, we focused on the life of Christ. This year, our plan is called Wisdom University. We've been reading (or have read) Job, Psalms, Proverbs, Ecclesiastes and the Song of Solomon. If you read my books, particularly the McKenna's Haven series, you've probably already figured out I love the Psalms. I have yet to come across a situation in my life where there's not at least one Psalm that fits, whether it be one of joy and praise, one of sorrow and pain --it doesn't matter. It's in that book.
But this week, we've been reading in the Song of Solomon. As I read the words between the groom and his bride, I realize just how inadequate my own words are sometimes. The couple's love and desire for one another is impossible to miss. While our urban culture may not understand when he compares her hair to goats, even in our ignorance, we understand it means something to her. He thinks she's beautiful and sexy and desirable. The bride doesn't shy away from such language, either, making it clear that her desire is for him alone.
Another thing that's made clear throughout the reading is that this couple has refrained from the physical relationship until they're married. I'm always surprised, and a little disappointed, when I get a review on one of my books that says the reader was hoping for a little more "steam". One reviewer even said, point blank, that she wished there had been "S.E.X." (that's how she wrote it) in Not His Type because there was plenty of sexual tension. It speaks volumes about where our society is, spiritually, that a reader can't enjoy a book that doesn't include explicit sexual scenes. I have a very happy, healthy marriage -- I don't need to read about other people's sex lives! (Nor do I need to write them.)
So as I'm writing my sappy romances, I can't help thinking how much more beautiful are the words penned by a writer who was inspired by God, Himself. And I am once again humbled that He has blessed me with what talent I have, and that He's given me the avenue to reach people to share my belief in purity until after marriage. And in writing my sappy romances, I'm not worthy. But until the words dry up, until God stops answering my prayers with "yes", I'll keep writing.
July 17, 2013
Sweet and Random Memories
Do you ever just have random memories pop into your head? This morning, I was reading a book in which the heroine put a frozen pizza in the oven. I looked up and I was in my mother's kitchen!
You need to understand, this particular kitchen is the only one in which I actually remember my mother. This kitchen is in the house in which I grew up. This kitchen was the setting for countless meals, including large family gatherings after my three siblings and I were married and had children. The various tables in that kitchen served as a desk for homework, a sewing table, a drafting table, an artist's easel, a writer's desk, a baker's board -- those tables had deer, quail, dove and pheasant too numerous to count butchered on them. That kitchen is firmly embedded in my heart and soul, and is a part of who I am today. My children have fond memories of that kitchen, as well.
Even my husband, who loved my parents dearly, has so many memories of meals shared in that kitchen. When we went to Mom and Dad's house, Charles often spent time in there visiting with Mom. It wasn't just about the biscuits and gravy or the enchiladas or the snacks Mom always had on hand; it was about Mom's gentle spirit.
So the frozen pizza. Why did it suddenly transport me through time and space? Because for some reason, it made me think of going home from school for lunch. Some of you are now asking, "What is she talking about?" Others of you are nodding your head, saying, "I remember that!" Yes, once upon a time, before schools were terrified of being sued, children were allowed to simply leave school, walk home, eat lunch and return. We lived about two blocks from school, so we could easily make the trip, eat lunch and get back to school in plenty of time (although, in retrospect, I reckon I was late getting back on more than one occasion...I was something of a dawdler).
So even though I've eaten a bajillion or so frozen pizzas since my childhood, just reading that phrase -- "slid the pizza into the oven" -- sent me back to that wonderful place. I lost my Dad a little over three years ago, and Mom a little over two years ago. I know they are both in a better place, as we who are left behind say. I know they are happy and pain-free, sitting at the feet of Jesus. But the selfish child in me still misses them both terribly. So if a phrase about a frozen pizza can put me in that wonderful place in my memory, I'll take it.
What's your happy place from your childhood? I hope it's as easy to recall with the smell of a cookie, or the thought of a pizza.
You need to understand, this particular kitchen is the only one in which I actually remember my mother. This kitchen is in the house in which I grew up. This kitchen was the setting for countless meals, including large family gatherings after my three siblings and I were married and had children. The various tables in that kitchen served as a desk for homework, a sewing table, a drafting table, an artist's easel, a writer's desk, a baker's board -- those tables had deer, quail, dove and pheasant too numerous to count butchered on them. That kitchen is firmly embedded in my heart and soul, and is a part of who I am today. My children have fond memories of that kitchen, as well.
Even my husband, who loved my parents dearly, has so many memories of meals shared in that kitchen. When we went to Mom and Dad's house, Charles often spent time in there visiting with Mom. It wasn't just about the biscuits and gravy or the enchiladas or the snacks Mom always had on hand; it was about Mom's gentle spirit.
So the frozen pizza. Why did it suddenly transport me through time and space? Because for some reason, it made me think of going home from school for lunch. Some of you are now asking, "What is she talking about?" Others of you are nodding your head, saying, "I remember that!" Yes, once upon a time, before schools were terrified of being sued, children were allowed to simply leave school, walk home, eat lunch and return. We lived about two blocks from school, so we could easily make the trip, eat lunch and get back to school in plenty of time (although, in retrospect, I reckon I was late getting back on more than one occasion...I was something of a dawdler).
So even though I've eaten a bajillion or so frozen pizzas since my childhood, just reading that phrase -- "slid the pizza into the oven" -- sent me back to that wonderful place. I lost my Dad a little over three years ago, and Mom a little over two years ago. I know they are both in a better place, as we who are left behind say. I know they are happy and pain-free, sitting at the feet of Jesus. But the selfish child in me still misses them both terribly. So if a phrase about a frozen pizza can put me in that wonderful place in my memory, I'll take it.
What's your happy place from your childhood? I hope it's as easy to recall with the smell of a cookie, or the thought of a pizza.
July 15, 2013
Distractions, Distractions
I know I speak for mothers everywhere when I ask, "Can't I have five minutes by myself?"
If you read my bio, you know I have two children, the apple and kumquat of my eye. Harley is 18. He is a fairly typical 18 YO boy. You know, video games, absurd TV shows, that sort of thing. Chloe is 12. She is scary smart, but...a little ditzy. Drama, clothing, reading, a little more drama -- thank goodness no boy drama yet; she's smart enough to know any "relationship" she has now will probably end within a month or two, and frankly, she'd rather be friends with the guys she knows. (Whew!)
I've discovered that, opening my tablet to write, is the technological equivalent of picking up the phone, or closing the bathroom door; suddenly, everyone wants to talk to me! Because, you know, I haven't been sitting here doing nothing for a while, so you couldn't have talked to me then, right?
Yesterday was a double -- no, a TRIPLE whammy. First, Chloe had been gone for a week. She was down in the Hill Country of Texas at Hensel Camp. This camp is sponsored by the Florida College Booster club, and both my kids have gone for a couple of years now. When they come home, they both want to tell me about new friends, new experiences, a refreshed spirit from spending time with other Christian and like-minded teens and tweens.
Well, let me tell you, Chloe can talk like nobody's business. So she talked. And talked. And talked some more. She sang songs she learned, told me about winning an award for Bible knowledge, told me about the boys her friend liked...it was a running commentary. She started talking when she walked in the door Saturday afternoon, and she's still talking.
Shortly after she came home, I happened to notice the Hallmark Channel was running Christmas movies all weekend! Hello! My mother once joked that she should have named me Noel, as I adore all things Christmas. And a Hallmark Christmas ROMANCE? Come to mama! So Chloe began recording the movies. And watching them. I'm sorry, if a holiday romance movie is playing, it is a physical impossibility for me to tune it out.
In the meantime, yesterday after morning worship services, my honey took Harley to camp -- same camp, different age group. They called me at least once every half hour. They called to rub in my face that they'd eaten lunch at Health Camp in Waco; nothing healthy on that menu, but oh, some of the best burgers and shakes this side of the Mississippi! Yum! They called to tell me my car was behaving (I've had some issues). They called to tell me they made it to camp (okay, I appreciated that one). Then hubby called to tell me he was stuck in traffic. Really? On I-35? No way! (Read that in a very sarcastic tone.)
The result of this weekend? Six pages. Yep. Six hard-won, re-written several times pages (in Word) of my latest book. That's it. So if you read Delaney's Peace when I release it, and you're wondering why there are random Christmas songs referenced, or peach shakes, or camp songs...you'll understand. The book may be called Delaney's Peace, but I had very little this weekend. Ah, well. I love my three distractions...to distraction!
Happy Reading!
If you read my bio, you know I have two children, the apple and kumquat of my eye. Harley is 18. He is a fairly typical 18 YO boy. You know, video games, absurd TV shows, that sort of thing. Chloe is 12. She is scary smart, but...a little ditzy. Drama, clothing, reading, a little more drama -- thank goodness no boy drama yet; she's smart enough to know any "relationship" she has now will probably end within a month or two, and frankly, she'd rather be friends with the guys she knows. (Whew!)
I've discovered that, opening my tablet to write, is the technological equivalent of picking up the phone, or closing the bathroom door; suddenly, everyone wants to talk to me! Because, you know, I haven't been sitting here doing nothing for a while, so you couldn't have talked to me then, right?
Yesterday was a double -- no, a TRIPLE whammy. First, Chloe had been gone for a week. She was down in the Hill Country of Texas at Hensel Camp. This camp is sponsored by the Florida College Booster club, and both my kids have gone for a couple of years now. When they come home, they both want to tell me about new friends, new experiences, a refreshed spirit from spending time with other Christian and like-minded teens and tweens.
Well, let me tell you, Chloe can talk like nobody's business. So she talked. And talked. And talked some more. She sang songs she learned, told me about winning an award for Bible knowledge, told me about the boys her friend liked...it was a running commentary. She started talking when she walked in the door Saturday afternoon, and she's still talking.
Shortly after she came home, I happened to notice the Hallmark Channel was running Christmas movies all weekend! Hello! My mother once joked that she should have named me Noel, as I adore all things Christmas. And a Hallmark Christmas ROMANCE? Come to mama! So Chloe began recording the movies. And watching them. I'm sorry, if a holiday romance movie is playing, it is a physical impossibility for me to tune it out.
In the meantime, yesterday after morning worship services, my honey took Harley to camp -- same camp, different age group. They called me at least once every half hour. They called to rub in my face that they'd eaten lunch at Health Camp in Waco; nothing healthy on that menu, but oh, some of the best burgers and shakes this side of the Mississippi! Yum! They called to tell me my car was behaving (I've had some issues). They called to tell me they made it to camp (okay, I appreciated that one). Then hubby called to tell me he was stuck in traffic. Really? On I-35? No way! (Read that in a very sarcastic tone.)
The result of this weekend? Six pages. Yep. Six hard-won, re-written several times pages (in Word) of my latest book. That's it. So if you read Delaney's Peace when I release it, and you're wondering why there are random Christmas songs referenced, or peach shakes, or camp songs...you'll understand. The book may be called Delaney's Peace, but I had very little this weekend. Ah, well. I love my three distractions...to distraction!
Happy Reading!
