Jessica Berg's Blog, page 2

It’s a bird … it’s a plane … it’s a jackalope??

Welcome abroad for the next leg of the journey through the great state of South Dakota. Last week we visited my hometown, Eureka, and indulged our imaginary taste buds on the sweet, custardy goodness of kuchen, the state dessert. So sit back and enjoy the ride as we travel to our next destination.

South Dakota may not be the largest state or the most exotic state or a state with a bursting population, but what we do have makes up for it all. We have jackalopes. Yup, I’m referring to the jackrabbit/antelope things that roam the prairies until their lives are cut short by avid jackalope hunters looking for the prize trophy to taxidermy and then place on their mantelpieces. In fact, if you want the epic experience with this odd looking creature, you can even sit on a giant one at Wall Drug.

Now for those of you who are not familiar with Wall Drug’s location, there should be a billboard close to you advertising how many miles separate you from this once-in-a-lifetime experience.

Even though these creatures were discovered in Wyoming, they migrated to South Dakota, establishing themselves as local legends and joining the hall of fame of hoaxes. Even though jackalopes would be the coolest animal ever (except for meerkats), these creatures are nothing more than the figment of some men’s imaginations and will to make a buck. This just goes to show that South Dakotans love a good joke and aren’t above making fun of ourselves in the process.

And while you are at Wall Drug, visiting the giant jackalope, take some time to look around. Grab yourself some free ice water or a 5 cent coffee, pop in on the jackalope’s next door neighbor, the fully-animated T-Rex, and then bask in the glow of history, the stories of this state’s exciting and often overlooked past. They say a picture is worth a thousand words; well, Wall Drug is worth a million.

After our second installment of this epic voyage, I hope you understand a little why I love my home state. I hope you fall in love with it too and join me next week. I believe we’ll see some pretty famous faces!

Kuchen: The State Dessert and Love Affair for the Tongue

Welcome, dear readers, to a tour of the great state of South Dakota, the state of my birth, the refresher of my soul, and the setting to my book Amber Waves of Grace and the continuing sagas in the following sequels. For those of you who are natives to this great state, I hope you chime in on the comments section with your memories of each stop. To those of you who haven’t been fortunate enough to visit us yet, I hope you leave with a little taste of this endearing part of the country.

Our first stop: Eureka. This community weighs in at a whopping 800ish inhabitants, but don’t let that fool you. Upon meeting most people, they either have been there, know someone who’s been there, or have driven through it. Back in the 1800s, this little community was thee Wheat Capital of the World. That’s right! Originally called End of Track, this town was the hub of business, a bustling mini-city with every right to strut its stuff around the area.

As with most communities in South Dakota, after the railroad activity decreased, so did the population and commercial and industrial promise. But just because the population declined doesn’t mean the work ethic that drove it did. People living in this small town have a fierce dedication to seeing it survive and thrive. In fact they are currently building a new high school!

But that’s not the coolest thing about my hometown. It’s kuchen: a delicate crust in which a rich, fruit-filled custard nestles sweetly and softly inside. Hungry yet? You should be! Several years ago, a committee from Eureka lobbied the state legislature to make kuchen the state dessert, and abracadabra…kuchen is officially the tasty after-dinner treat of the state.

So thanks for Eureka’s predominantly German Russian heritage and several amazing bakers, Eureka put itself on the map. I’m okay with going from Wheat Capital of the World to Kuchen Capital of the State. It’s tastier, that’s for sure.

So the next time you’re going through Eureka, stop and grab some kuchen. Whether you like peach, apricot, strawberry, or prune (yes, prune), you will find a flavor to match your style and personality.

Please join me next week for the next stop on our tour of South Dakota. I believe we will be visiting the home of the Jackalope. Exciting stuff … don’t miss it!

Freedom Behind the Wheel of a Tractor

You want to know the best thing about being raised a farm girl? It’s not the freedom to skip through the meadows, picking wildflowers. It’s not even the cute kittens that seem to pop out of nowhere and purr and cuddle into your arms. Nope. It’s … tractors! Big ones, green ones, cabless ones, air-conditioned ones. Doesn’t matter the type or make (however, if you noticed, I did purposefully leave out red ones), tractors and other big equipment makes a farm girl’s heart purr more than that kitten she was holding just minutes ago before plopping it on the ground to hitch a ride or … even better … drive the darn thing herself.

Yes, my dear readers, nothing beats the roar to life and then the constant rumble and grumble of the motor vibrating your seat. As a young girl, however, driving grain cart for my dad, I did not appreciate it. To tell the truth, at times I hated it. I wanted to go play with my friends or do normal summertime activities.

Now that I’m a grown up, caged city-girl, I relish the opportunity to fire up an engine and go play in the dirt. There’s power in that steering wheel, ladies. It’s a power that says we can drive a tractor with the best of them. It’s a power that says we can plant fields and then harvest the fruits of our labor. It’s a power that embodies the old WWII Rosie the Riveter poster.

There’s also humor seeing the faces of men as they pass on the highway and see you, a woman, behind the wheel. Simply smile and wave, girls. Smile and wave. So, kick back, ladies, and enjoy your drive. You are kid-free (unless they suckered you into letting them have a tiny ride), dishes-free, lunch duty-free, and laundry-free (for now) for the entire day! Tune into whatever station will come in, turn it up, and embrace the dirt under your fingernails.

What I couldn’t understand as a young teenager, I grasp now: there’s nothing a man can do that a woman can’t behind the wheel of a big piece of machinery. Behind the wheel there’s an equality that’s not prevalent in other facets of society. Behind the wheel there’s a sense of belonging in a male-dominated farming culture. Behind the wheel, you are a farm goddess, rolling things, planting things, digging things, or harvesting things.

I can’t tell you how excited I am about the next step in the life of my next book, Amber Waves of Grace. It’s about to go to agents who requested it. Hopefully, soon, my main character, Corrie, can show the world that farming isn’t just a man’s world. It’s a woman’s world, too.

When I Grow Up, I Want To Be A Farmer

Wholeheartedly Commit

The prairie. My home. It beckons me, soothes me, inspires me, rejuvenates me. Under my feet are generations upon generations of history, legacy, and story. It’s where I spent my childhood and where I now spend my summers, trying to give my children the experience of playing in the dirt, campfires, and riding in tractors. Now that I live most of my life in the city, I crave the smells of grass and dirt. I miss the whispers of wind as it blows through the ripening wheat or the chatter of corn, dried, shriveled, and brown.

Just today on the way home from work I passed a soybean field being harvested. Honestly, I felt jealous. I wanted so badly to park my van, run through the ditch, and hitch a ride for a while. Call me crazy, but if my husband were to come home one day and announce that we were packing it all up and farming, I would leap with joy.

This love for the land and the people that dedicate their lives to working it propels me to write. My stories center around the prairie, hard-working families, and farming. They are a self-portrait of what I wish my calling would be. I don’t need fancy dinners; I’d much rather eat a ham sandwich on the end gate of a pickup. I don’t need a limousine ride; I’d much rather climb into a John Deere tractor, turn it on, and feel the rumble beneath my feet.

So, as I wait for my husband to come to his senses and begin farming, I shall bide my time and finish my edits for my book Amber Waves of Grace, a story that celebrates women, farming, and family. I hope you join me over the next couple of weeks as I concentrate my blog posts on the beauty of the prairie and the incredible experience of farming.

Compliment Me, Please!

After riding the high of ACFW conference week, I’ve asked myself this one question: does validation matter?

Before going to the American Christian Fiction Writers’ conference, I was a bundle of nerves. Fear (as per my last blog post) twisted my mind, making me doubt myself as a writer and a survivor of a plane trip. But, after landing in Dallas, my nerves wouldn’t give me a moment of peace. My inner self kept nagging with inspirational quotes such as, “People will think you’re a horrible writer” and “Agents will only laugh at you and chuck you out of the room.”

Now, my inner self can certainly have her moments, but I believed her. I invested in those thoughts and held on to them like my daughter holds on to her security blanket even though its been dragged through the dirt. I did not believe in my ability or myself, making me a rather wet blanket to be around.

Upon entering my first agent meeting, my stomach wanted to meet my mouth several times, but I stuffed my anxiety in the remotest corner of my soul and waltzed in with a smile on my face and a look of dread on my heart. You want to know what he said? He said I was a good writer, that I knew how to write dialogue, and that he noticed I could tell a good story. Did he ask for my proposal and manuscript? No. But at that point in time, it didn’t matter to me. Somebody besides friends and family told me I was good at writing.

Here’s the thing, dear readers. My manuscript didn’t magically change when I walked in that room. My bumbling pitch didn’t work miracles. My smile didn’t win anyone over. What did happen was this: I was validated. Someone who didn’t have to told me I was good at something.

I walked out of that room, weightless and justified. All those hours over the past two years culminated in one affirmation. I became a different person after that meeting. I held my head high, walked into agent meetings with hope, and flew home, proud of my writing and confident in my goals.

The moral of this blog? Simple. Don’t wait for validation like I did. Don’t hesitate on your dreams because you are waiting for someone to give you permission. Chase your dreams, attack your goals with ferocity, be confident in who you are and where you plan to go.

Think about things you’ve been waiting on. Make a list and start checking them off.

Thou Shalt Not Fear

As I write this blog, I am 32,000 feet in the air. I wish I could enjoy the white, fluffy clouds outside my window, but alas, I’m doing my best not to burst into tears of fear. This got me thinking. Thinking about fear.

Isn’t fear a funny thing? It’s universal, crosses all gender roles, races, ages, and abilities. Every human feels fear, but what each human finds fearful is different. Take my husband, for example, he loves to fly but is afraid of mice. I, on the other hand, hate flying and don’t mind mice.

Fear, if uncontrolled, has the ability to take hold of a person’s ambitions and goals and keep him/her in a perpetual status quo. Just think about it. Where would we be if our ancestors allowed fear from keeping them from coming to this country? Where would we be if we allowed ourselves to succumb to the fear of the unknown future and simply stayed in our tree house, coloring?

If I allowed my fear of flying to keep my two feet on the ground, I would have missed out on so many amazing journeys. In fact, I’d be missing one now. As I’m headed to Dallas, Texas, for the American Christian Fiction Writers’ conference, I’m looking forward to learning new writing techniques, meeting new people, and speaking with agents. Even though my fear is real, my quest for learning cannot be quenched.

I’m glad my fear is not keeping me from exploring the world and all it has to offer, but I can’t promise my stomach won’t dip to my toes the next time this plane experiences turbulence!

Please don’t let fear rule your heart. We are children, the princes and princesses of God. We have nothing to fear! So, spread your wings, let your tray table down, put your seat back (do be mindful of knees, though), and tell fear to go fly a kite!

Facelift Complete

I’m going to be honest with you all.  When I first self-published my book three years ago, I felt a sense of shame, a sense of failure at going “indie.”  The dreaded question, “So, who published your book,” sent shivers of self-doubt down my spine, and I often ended up muttering that I did it myself.  End. Of. Conversation.

Fast forward three years.  I’m a much different person.  After educating myself, joining groups, and asking for help, I’m proud of my literary baby, my first born book.  Did I get a book deal?  No.  Does it matter?  No.

With my newfound knowledge, I revamped my book, gave it a facelift, and provided it a breath of fresh air.  As any proud mother would be, I’m showing off my creation with zest and zeal.

So, please, be a part of the rebirth of my book.  I would love if you were to stop by and say hi and maybe leave a review before you leave!

Visit it here:  http://www.amazon.com/Place-Call-Home...

And before I sign off to go celebrate by grading high school English papers, I just want to thank you all for your support.  Without you, I would just be writing for myself, and that is no fun at all.

Manu”ship” Island: Authors Beware

Source: Manu”ship” Island: Authors Beware

Manu”ship” Island: Authors Beware

“No man is an island.” Well, John Donne was right, however, as an author I often feel as if I’ve been shipwrecked on some deserted island in the middle of a stormy night with nothing but monkeys to keep me company. Whether or not I start talking to those monkeys is another question on which I plead the fifth. For years I’ve struggled to survive, crouching in my tree fort in the middle of a coconut tree forest, scared of the dark, unknown places on an island with seemingly no communication to the outside world.

But these communication lines did exist. Earlier this summer I met with another indie author who showed me the bridge spanning my solitary island with a whole passel of other islands. My world opened up, the dark unknown didn’t seem so scary anymore, and I learned a valuable lesson: people are not only willing to help, they WANT to help. I began connecting with people and groups I’ve never met through the beauty of facebook and twitter (yes, I now know how to tweet with the best of them). When I was ready to burst into tears and throw my laptop out of my coconut tree fort because I couldn’t get my Word document to properly convert to a PDF, a very helpful soul gave me some advice and BAM! My problems were solved. If this would have been even months ago, I’d still be in my tree fort throwing old coconut shells at naughty little monkeys.

So, if you are a brand new author either sailing in the Indie Sea or traversing the Traditional Rapids, please know that you are not alone. Connect with authors by joining facebook groups, follow indie authors, publishers, and agents on twitter, and find another local author with whom you can share ideas and discuss your work. Their input, advice, and presence will be a like lighthouses lighting your path as you traverse the rocky and solitary world of writing.

No monkeys were actually harmed in the writing of this blog.

What American Dream…?

The Statue of Liberty. Just for a moment, picture it in your head. She’s tall, regal, and slightly green. Yet, some of us, as born Americans, have lost the true meaning of this Iron Lady, an iconic figure symbolizing the American dream. What used to bring immigrants to tears is now a tourist trap and a great photo op. When and where did we lose our sense of WORKING for our American Dream?

Let me tell you a story. It’s about the strongest woman I’ve ever known. My grandma Helen. She was born in 1920 in Strassburg, Russia, near the Black Sea. Her childhood was a normal childhood until WWII wreaked havoc on everything she knew. My grandma and her mother and two sisters (along with all the German inhabitants of the little village) were forced to leave their homes. Without any means of transportation, they WALKED from Strassburg, Russia to Poland! WALKED. Their journey was fraught with disease, intermittent air attacks, and Mother Nature. My grandma not only lost her home, she also lost her only brother and her husband who were forced to enlist to fight for something they didn’t even necessarily believe in. My grandma worked as a servant for many years, trying to support her young daughter. It was then that she got word of a Catholic Church in Hague, North Dakota, who was willing to sponsor German Russian refugees. This decision would affect the rest of her life. She signed up and soon found herself standing on the deck of a ship, watching her mother wave to her. She and her young daughter were leaving their country…forever.

Upon reaching this country, The Statue of Liberty greeted her and sent her a message. A message of hope. A message of a dream. Did this message promise instant gratification? No. Did this mute Lady promise a good paying job on the first try? Nope. Did my grandma get in writing that no matter what, happiness would fall in her lap? I highly doubt it. Here’s the message: If you are willing to work and work hard, the American Dream is yours. And you know something? My grandma worked her fingers to the bone. She never asked for anything or complained because she didn’t have what the “Jones’” had or that her life was rough and hard or that life had treated her unfairly. Instead, she raised her seven children, respected and loved her husband, kept her household in order, loved God, and possibly loved her grandchildren more! Her reward? A legacy that will never end. And a huge mansion in Heaven.

So, what’s the moral of the story? Simple. The Statue of Liberty isn’t for people coming into this country. Most of these newcomers understand the value of a strong work ethic. Look at the jobs they’re willing to do just to live in this country! The Statue of Liberty is for natural-born American citizens. We are a spoiled, pampered, and whiney group. Some of us don’t think we have to work for our bread and butter. We simply think that we should hold out our hand and POOF…there’s a Big Mac and super-sized fries sitting in our palm. Look at your grandparents, great-grandparents, and all the great greats. Look what they had to do so you are able to have what you do now. So, I think it’s time we get our hands dirty. Ever pick acres and acres of lettuce to pay for food for your family? Maybe you should. That food you buy might taste a little better. Next time you buy fruit, think about who picked it. I’d bet it’s someone who’s just working to make the American Dream a reality for himself/herself and his/her family. So my question to you is this…what are you doing to make your American Dream a reality?