Novel of the Month: Forsaking the Garden

Forsaking the Garden was originally conceived as the story of a kidnapped and brainwashed woman. The idea first reared its head in September 2010, when I watched a special about a polygamist sect and read an article about a psychological disorder known as folie imposee, where a dominant person initially forms a delusional belief during a psychotic episode and then imposes it on others who are under his direct influence.

Originally, I intended to write the novel from several different points of view. Each of the wives would share their history, though the focus would be on Jennifer, the young woman snatched to replace a dead wife. I wrote 58 pages – nearly 15,000 words – before I realized I was telling the wrong story.

Irene was a minor character. As the eldest daughter of the family, she was supposed to be smart but obedient. And she was – but she also witnessed too many inconsistencies for her to remain obedient for long. The character practically screamed at me as I wrote a third-person limited-omniscient chapter for her. When I had finished the chapter, I knew Irene was my protagonist. I started the novel over, writing Irene’s story from a first-person perspective. The concept of folie imposee was not abandoned, but it definitely became secondary to Irene’s coming-of-age tale.

To read an excerpt of this novel, click here.

If you would like to read Forsaking the Garden, you can find it at Amazon, Barnes &Noble, Smashwords, and several other e-book retailers.

FOR A CHANCE TO WIN AN AUTOGRAPHED COPY: visit my Facebook page and“like” the Book of the Month post.

Why You Should Pay for Books

Writer Wordart (Photo credit: MarkGregory007)

This morning, I read a blog post by my friend, Alan Jobe, regarding the trend toward pricing e-books at “free.” Alan has been reviewing books for a number of years and worked in a library, so I know the man has a strong appreciation for the written word. His thoughts on the subject were enlightening. This post is written in response.

As someone who has been a full-time novelist for nearly three years (thanks mostly to the faith and patience of my hard-working husband), I can tell you that being a writer is no way to make a living.

The truth is that, while publishing has gotten easier, finding an audience has become increasingly difficult. I am thankful to have a fair number of vocal readers, most of whom have paid for every book I've written. With each book I write, I hope to pick up more of these readers. Progress is slow, though. And my dream has a deadline. Without a larger audience, I will be forced to return to editing full time in the near future, which means I will likely stop writing entirely.

So, how do you build an audience in today's publishing market? With a glut of terribly written novels competing against others of higher quality, it is no surprise that "free" is often the only way to get a "new-to-you" writer onto the average e-reader. After that, the quality of the work is the only tool the writer has in getting readers to buy another of his or her books.

Alan argues that he has no reason to buy a book when he can get so many for free. If you agree with his argument, please keep this in mind: if writing becomes a “non-profit” industry – so to speak – readers will soon find themselves in a barren literary wasteland. That’s not to say there won’t be books – there will be millions of them! But none of them will be fresh and new, because no one will be writing anymore.

My plea is this: if you read a free book and enjoy it, buy one of the author’s other books. Most e-books cost about what you would pay for a cup of coffee or maybe a fast-food hamburger. If you read a new author and love their work, tell your friends! There is no shortage of e-books, so there’s no reason to horde all the good writers for yourself.

My Book Junkies Interview

Last night, I had the privilege of being interviewed by David Cleinman, the author of Toys in the Attic and the host of Book Junkie Interviews. I had a great conversation with him and a few callers about my writing and literature in general.

I hope you'll set aside some time and listen to the taped conversation.

And don't forget about the autographed copy of An Unassigned Life that I will be giving away at the end of the month. If you would like a chance to win it, just leave a comment on the Novel of the Month post.

Thanks for stopping by!

Five New Year’s Resolutions for Writers

Image by joka2000 via Flickr

In just two short days, 2012 will dawn, bringing with it the same promise of every previous new year. Many of us will make resolutions to ourselves and our loved ones: to eat less, exercise more, be nicer, become organized, etc.

If you are a writer, chances are good that by March, most of those resolutions will have gone out the window. When you are stuck on your storyline, that bag of chips or box of cookies will practically jump into your hands. When your creative juices are flowing, who has time to jump on a treadmill? Whether your writing is going well or poorly, the chance that you will snap off the hand (or various other extremities) of anyone interrupting you is close to 100 percent. And, of course, any writer who claims to be organized must be fooling himself.

Therefore, I present to you a few resolutions you might actually keep:

1. Avoid Gloating. That five-star review that’s got you over the moon today? Go ahead and share it. However, don’t assume that every reader will think you are the next (insert most-admired author’s name here). In fact, tomorrow you may suffer the crushing blow of a one-star review. Which leads to…

2. Don’t Lash Out in Anger. Remember, people, the internet is forever. Just because someone doesn’t like your work, doesn’t mean he or she is an imbecile or a monster. If you call him or her that, you are the one who winds up looking like a fool and probably losing readers as a result.

3. Finish that Novel/Novella/Short Story. I understand that not everyone writes at the same pace. However, endlessly polishing your work (yes, I am talking about that manuscript that is now in its fifteenth draft) is just another form of procrastination. It’s done. Publish it already. After that…

4. Write More. We are all proud of our first novels. When we finally put them out into the world, we can’t help but believe our baby is going to shine brighter than any literary star out there. And maybe it will, someday. In the meantime, it’s going to be overshadowed by the brilliance of other works. You know what will help your baby grow brighter? A few siblings. A cluster of stars always shines more brightly – think of the Milky Way.

5. Be Kind to Fellow Travelers. Writing is often a solitary road, even in today’s connected world. Therefore, when you read someone else’s good news on Facebook, Twitter, or anywhere else, take a moment to congratulate them. If someone is down, offer comfort and encouragement. If you know the answer to a question, share it. Try not to trample the dreams of others. That dream might be the only lifeline they have left.

 Happy New Year! Here’s wishing all of you a bright, productive 2012!

#NaNoWriMo Success

For the past twenty-nine days (minus three for various celebrations), I have worked diligently on my eighth novel. Today, I reached the magic number of 50,000 words written, which indicates that I have "won" NaNoWriMo.

However, I do not have a completed first draft of my novel yet. As a matter of fact, I haven't even picked the poison of choice for my murderess! I've still got a chapter or two before I have to make that decision. Though I had originally hoped to pen the entire 60K+ novel during this month, I find myself dragging across the finish line with only a day to spare and probably another two weeks' worth of writing to do, if I return to my normal 1,000 words per day. Which, of course, I will definitely be doing.

So, what stopped me from reaching my goal? I didn't let much get in my way. I wrote at a steady 2K a day rate from the 1st through the 16th. After much debate, I gave myself my birthday off -- and boy, did I need it! On the 18th, I was back in my chair writing. Dan and I had Thanksgiving plans that took me away from my computer for two days. I didn't worry too much -- even with three days lost, I still should have had 54,000 words by the end of the month.

What I didn't count on was getting sick. Since Friday, I have been literally dragging my coughing, miserable carcass to this desk and forcing myself to write at least 1,000 words. Do I think that anything I have written in the last four days is any good? It's hard to tell. I know there are parts that won't make it past my first read-through. But then, that's true of every novel I write. If you don't want to get choked by writer's block, you have to keep writing -- even when you suspect the words might just be crap.

What the last month has taught me:
1. A detailed outline, even one that turns out to be not quite right, is a great tool for keeping me on target.
2. I can write more than 2,000 words a day consistently -- as long as I'm willing to be exhausted.
3. I'm happy with my normal 1K a day goal, even if that means it takes me three months to write a first draft.

If you participated in NaNoWriMo, be sure to leave a comment and share what you learned about your writing style this month.

Imagining the Next Forty Years

My fortune says "Imagination rules the world."
Nikki's reads "Imagination is everything. It is a preview of life's coming attractions."

Thanks for all of the birthday wishes. I had a wonderful day. And I plan to keep using my imagination for the next forty years.

Do You Have a Book in You?

Next month, along with thousands of other writers, I will be attempting to write a complete novel for National Novel Writing Month (NaNoWriMo). In order for me to accomplish this goal, I will need to double my daily writing output from 1,000 to 2,000 words. While this is a challenge, it’s not impossible; I do hope my friends and family will forgive my absence over the coming weeks, though. I hope to pop my head up for a few days around Thanksgiving.

This morning I was thinking about all the people I’ve known over the years who told me they had a novel in them. If you are one of those people, now is the time to prove to yourself and everyone around you that you do: sign up for the NaNoWriMo challenge. Put your effort where your mouth is. Don’t think about the 50K word goal – just write every day for a month and see where you are at the end. NaNoWriMo offers a multitude of peer groups to join; if you need even more support, I highly recommend joining the Book Junkies on Facebook.

From my personal experience, I can honestly say that writing one book has the potential to open your creative floodgates. It took me six months to write The Thief of Todays and Tomorrows. Before I was done with it, though, I had ideas for several more novels. My NaNoWriMo novel will be my eighth book and I’m sitting on at least six more plots.

Stop telling me you have a novel in you – write it down and share it with the world.

My Sixth Book, Wild Life, is Now Available!

Wild Life, the first book of the Brass Monkey series, is now available on Smashwords. For those of you who don't know, you can get any e-version you need from them, so you don't need to wait for the book to arrive at Barnes and Noble, Sony, Amazon, etc.

Here's an excerpt:


“Anything in your pockets?” asked the muscular black man who guarded the entrance to Monkey Village like a bouncer at a hot nightclub.

Milo had been through the routine before. “Hello, Zareb. How are the monkeys today?”

He raised an eyebrow, eyeing Milo suspiciously. “Anything in your pockets?” he repeated.

Milo did his best to look innocent and offended. “Zareb, don’t we know each other better than that by now?” He flashed his antique Kodak folding camera and smiled. “I’m just here to try out my new gadget. Only thing in my pocket is some extremely expensive film.”

Zareb gave him a smile. “You really should invest in a digital camera, Milo.”

Milo shrugged. “Photographs mean so much more when it costs something to take them.”

“Maybe,” the baritone man acknowledged, “but when you take a bad shot you don’t have to feel so guilty.”

“So am I cleared for entry?”

“You swear you don’t have any peanuts?”

He held his right hand up. “So help me God.” The dried peas rattled in his pocket as he walked past Zareb; luckily, the man was already talking to the young mother behind him.

The zoo had nearly twenty squirrel monkeys in the exhibit. They ran across ropes and trees with enviable agility, barely noticing the humans who gawked at them from the ground below. Milo knew the zoo had a strict policy against humans hand-feeding the monkeys. Last week, when he had casually poked a few peanuts through the hole in his pocket in an effort to lure a monkey or two down from the trees, the beige woman had reprimanded him before picking up all of the nuts and expelling him from Monkey Village.

The beige woman – he couldn’t help thinking of her like that. She had blonde-gray hair and pale skin without a hint of makeup. In her beige zoo polo shirt and tan khaki pants, she looked like she was all set to hide out in the Sahara.

He opened his camera and focused it on the area just beyond the ropes where he intended to lure the monkeys with the dried peas. After some internet research, Milo had discovered that two-thirds of all female squirrel monkeys see in color, just like humans. He hoped that the sharp-eyed little primates would be attracted to the flash of bright green when he tossed a pea into the area.

He saw the beige woman approaching in his peripheral vision and straightened up, glancing at her badge before meeting her eyes. “Nice to see you again, Claire,” he said genially.

“Mr. Crosby.”

“I don’t believe we’ve been properly introduced. Milo Crosby. And you are?”

“I’m a zoo volunteer. That’s really all you need to know.” Her expression remained neutral and forbidding.

“My reputation precedes me.”

“I asked around.” She crossed her arms under her ample bosom.

Milo’s eyes dipped involuntarily. He might be fifty-seven, but he wasn’t dead.

“You threw apples to the orangutans.”

“They looked hungry.”

“You taught the macaw to say ‘So’s your old lady.’”

“It seemed appropriate.”

“And, as I recall, the last time you were here you were smuggling peanuts.”

“I didn’t realize there was a hole in my pocket.”

“Look, I understand there’s no way for me to get you banned from the zoo, but that doesn’t mean I can’t watch every move you make in this exhibit. You are a menace to the animals and a bad example to every child you encounter.”

His lips twitched as he tried to contain his prideful grin. “Call me Milo.”

She turned on her heel and walked back to the other woman patrolling the exhibit. He couldn’t hear her words, but she was pointing at him, apparently instructing the younger black-haired volunteer to keep her eyes on him. He smiled and gave the girl a friendly thumbs-up, causing her to slide her eyes quickly away.

Another stream of visitors flowed past him, providing ample cover as he slipped a hand into his pea-filled pocket. Waiting until a solid line of people separated him from both Claire and Zareb, he flicked the pea into the foliage a few feet outside the human boundary. One of the monkeys in a nearby tree followed it with her eyes. Milo had her interest; she ran closer to the boundary.

Slipping another pea from his pocket, he flicked it out to land next to the first one. The curious monkey jumped lower in the tree, her eyes moving from the peas to her benefactor and back. She dropped to the ground and moved into the frame Milo had preset with his camera.

“Monkey!” squealed a toddler next to him as she dove under the rope meant to separate the humans from the primates.

The squirrel monkey picked up both peas and paused just a moment, skittering away as Milo took the picture, leaving what Milo knew would be a blur of tail on the negative. “Damn,” he muttered.

Freedom to the Writers -- and Readers!

I had been mulling over a blog post about e-publishing -- something about how writers need to stop pinning all their hopes and dreams on a single novel and how readers should stop believing that publishers have their best interests at heart. And then I did a little blog-reading and discovered that two wonderful authors have already covered this subject well.

I highly recommend visiting Gerry McCullough's blog and reading "The Books We Weren't Allowed to Read." And when you've finished with that, move along to Mark Williams' site and check out "Dumb and Dumber."

By the way, if you haven't read Sugar and Spice, I recommend it. Check out the review.

Happy Writing and Reading!

Half Off, Today Only: An Unassigned Life

From the paranormal novel, An Unassigned Life:

“What should we do with the old computer?” Cynthia asked as she and Nick wrangled the heavy wooden desk out of the living room and into the spare room they had designated the office.

“It’s not good for much other than parts at this point, but you never know when we might need them. Let’s hold onto it for now. We can stick it in the closet.”

They slid the desk under a window that looked out onto the street, and Nick began setting up his own computer on it.

“No! Don’t do that!” Tim screamed, even though he’d already figured out that screaming was useless – Detective Ramirez and Melissa had certainly not heard him as he complained loudly about the officers removing the computer.

“Did you hear something?” Cynthia asked.

“No.” Nick was on the ground, plugging the cords into the surge protector.

“I think there might be someone here. I’m going to check.”

“Okay. Bring the old computer in here when you get a chance.”

Cynthia walked to the living room and opened the front door. A bum was standing at the edge of the sidewalk in front of the bungalow, staring at it. She moved to close the door.

“Where’s Mr. Tim?” the bum asked.

“Excuse me?”

“Mr. Tim. Is he home?”

Realizing that the man was referring to the previous owner, she said, “I’m sorry, sir. Mr. Tim died a few months ago.”

“But I just saw him last week.”

Tim remembered: last week, George had knocked on the door and Tim hadn’t bothered to hide. He’d just stood in the living room and watched the bum pound on the door. He’d been more persistent than usual, but Tim had chalked it up to George being very hungry. Now, he thought there might be another reason. He went to the window and stood where George might see him.

“Maybe you saw my husband. He was working here last weekend.”

“No. I know what Mr. Tim looks like.” George shifted his eyes to the window and said, “See? Right there! Hi, Mr. Tim!” George waved.

Tim waved back, bemused. Why can George see me? he thought. Pulling the El Pad from his pocket, he read the answer:

Some living humans, particularly those suffering from a chemical imbalance of the brain, are able to see and interact with you. Unfortunately, this imbalance frequently leads others to label these individuals as insane. 

Great, he thought. If I want to hang out in an asylum, I can have all the company I want.

Yes, answered the El Pad.

*****

If you enjoyed this snippet of my paranormal novel, I hope you will take advantage of the one-day half-off sale at Smashwords. To get this book for only $1.50, click here and use this coupon code: RH42G.

#Trust30: Alive-est When Finished

At just a stroke before midnight on June 24^th, I wrote the last line of my sixth novel: “Well, shit.” As soon as my fingers made the last keystroke, I had a surge of endorphins and adrenaline that would rival the levels produced by jumping from an airplane. Suddenly, I wasn’t tired – I wanted to sing (a bad idea because Dan was sleeping) and dance (an even worse idea…I should never dance). This happy feeling lasts about a day – sometimes two. Then I kick myself in the rear and get busy revising.

As a writer, that shot of natural chemicals is my addiction. Unlike a lot of writers, I get my greatest high from ending the first draft of a novel – from knowing that, despite the editing and revising work ahead, I have told the story I was meant to tell.

The brain rewards behaviors it wants to see repeated. My brain probably chooses to reward finishing because for much of my life I didn’t finish anything. I have scads of half-written novels, half-finished craft projects, and half-baked ideas. If I had never finished The Thief of Todays and Tomorrows, I would never have known about the natural high my brain was prepared to give me. Now that I do, my focus on finishing a novel is almost obsessive.

Okay. It IS obsessive.

Because writing is when I feel most alive.

#Poem: My Grandmother

Her weathered and creased hands hold memories:

She played peek-a-boo with Baby Brother
On cotton bedding in an earthen home
When everyone was poor and life was hard.

Early mornings, farmland warmed by weak sun,
Her strong fingers grasped and milked cow's udders,
Part of chores before the long walk to school.

Her creased hands hold weathered memories:

In worn leather jacket and high-water jeans,
He claimed her hand with his soulful blue eyes
And tender letters written from boot camp.

In tough leather gloves and a safety veil,
She stole amber-colored honey from bees
And taught her young sons to be courageous.

Her hands hold creased and weathered memories:

In the final years of her mother's life,
She held her weak hand while the slight woman
Lost her way, not remembering her child.

She smiled and held the photos out to me;
Her strong, sound mind shared the fragile slivers
Of time and place that connect us to life:

Her weathered and creased hands hold memories.


Happy 84th birthday to the strongest woman I know: my grandmother, Christine Wells. Thank you for always loving and supporting me.

#Trust30: Giving the Finger

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Nothing is at last sacred but the integrity of your own mind. Absolve you to yourself, and you shall have the suffrage of the world. - Ralph Waldo Emerson

Would-be writers generally fall into one of two categories. Some will tell you proudly that they have never taken a single class. Others continue attending workshops and courses long after they have any real need of them. There comes a point in every aspiring author’s life where he or she either must begin writing or abandon the dream.

I’m not saying that taking a few classes on the art of writing is a bad idea; in fact, I would recommend that everyone who seeks to be a writer take, at the very least, a grammar and rhetoric class and a creative writing class. Both of these courses put tools in the writer’s toolbox. Not learning the basic building blocks of good writing shows a lack of respect for the potential audience. This is one of the reasons I will not recommend a badly written novel, no matter how ingenious the plot is. For me, a weak plot is less egregious than talentless prose.

However, I’ve seen too many talented writers paralyzed by the opinions of a few readers. To be a writer is to cut off a finger and offer it to someone who might have preferred a toe. Not everyone will think you are brilliant; therefore, you must accept that when you send your work out into the world, some will try to send it back. There aren’t enough classes in the world to make every reader love your work – accept this and you are on your way to success.

At last, you must believe in yourself. If you are a good writer, you will find success.

#Trust30: Should I Write about Mrs. Tom Thumb?

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I have an idea for a novel that I have been sitting on since I finished The Thief of Todays and Tomorrows in 2009. It would be a historical novel blending the life story of Mercy Lavinia Warren Bump, better known as Mrs. Tom Thumb, with the fairy tale Thumbelina. As it happens, this nineteenth-century celebrity’s life follows the flow of Thumbelina quite well, and I’ve had numerous people tell me that it sounds like an interesting book.

My biggest roadblock on this project is the historical research aspect. I’m stymied as to how much should be fiction and how much should be biographical. Should I simply change the name of the main character and make the whole thing fiction, or should I try to stick – at least somewhat – to the facts? All of my other books are cut from the whole cloth of my imagination. I’ve never tried to weave more than the basic facts of a time period into my work – certainly not anyone who could be recognized as a real person.

Still, the idea lingers, no matter how many times I’ve tried to put it aside. I wonder: should I treat it like any other book? I tend to take a “damn the torpedoes, full speed ahead” approach to writing. How obligated am I to historical facts? I have read Mrs. Tom Thumb’s autobiography, such as it is. She seems to have wearied of the subject and ended up pulling together a compilation of other people’s writings and articles regarding her life rather than add anything of herself to the story. Yet I know this woman – she fought the perceptions of the times that said her small size meant that she was less intelligent than “normal” people. She chose to capitalize on her size rather than think of it as a liability. She met royalty and presidents and impressed them with her remarkable charm.

Maybe it’s time for me to stop making excuses for not writing this book. Maybe this should be my NaNoWriMo project come November. This is a Tinkerbell moment: if you believe in this book, leave me a note of encouragement.

#Trust30: Learning to Obey My Heart

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Abide in the simple and noble regions of thy life, obey thy heart. – Ralph Waldo Emerson

I joined this challenge on the spur of the moment; I’d been looking for a reason to blog more, and this seemed like an interesting task. The problem is that most of the prompts assume that I haven’t already overcome many of the obstacles and achieved many of my goals in life. The obstacles that remain have much more to do with the world’s reaction to me than with my reaction to the world.

I am happy to say that I have been obeying my heart since late 2003, when my maternal grandfather committed suicide. I was very close to my grandpa; in fact, I’d been living with him for more than a year when he decided to take his own life. A medical condition was slowly robbing him of his independence. He was unwilling to sacrifice his self-reliance in order to live a longer life. You can read my essay about his death here.

After that, I knew the most important lesson I needed to learn was to follow my heart, no matter what anyone else said. I met my husband in the Spring of 2004 and knew within a matter of weeks that he was the one for me. Despite the warnings of some close to me, I chose to pursue our relationship. It was the right decision – these last seven years have been the happiest of my life.

In the early ‘90s, I abandoned college one semester short of a B.A. in English. It was self-sabotage – I see that clearly now. In 2006, I returned to college and finished that semester with straight As; I gained the confidence I needed to stop editing the words of others and start writing original works.

In 2009, I could literally feel a book trying to burst out of me. Thanks to my wonderful husband, I was able to sit down and write that book – and the next one, and the next one, etc. I was obeying my heart – and he was trusting my instincts.

Writing isn’t my job; it’s my vocation. I was born to write and nothing in this world makes me happier than writing. It’s an addiction – seeing characters come to life, plotting stories that tug heartstrings and alter mindsets.

I think my grandfather would be proud of me. He always saw more promise in me than I saw in myself. I like to think he’s been around, nudging me toward my future a little at a time – putting a little of Emerson into my heart long before I recognized it.

A Flash of Inspiration!

A few weeks back, I wrote a post about my favorite online writer/reader group, Book Junkies. In the post, I mentioned that several of us were collaborating on a flash fiction anthology. Today, I am pleased to announce that the book is available -- for free -- on Smashwords. This little book is like a treasure chest filled with perfect gems -- stories that will make you laugh, cry, and want more.

I encourage you to grab your copy today!

#Trust30: Choose Your Own Adventure

Because today’s official #Trust30 prompt would essentially cause me to re-publish something I already wrote, I have chosen my own quote to work from:

“Adopt the pace of nature: her secret is patience.” –Ralph Waldo Emerson 

I am not a patient woman. This, I believe, is one of the hurdles I have been given to overcome.

When I was very young, I wanted to learn to read. My mother, fearing that if she taught me I would be bored when I started school, refused to teach me. Instead, she promised that I would learn this treasured skill from my teacher. After my first day of school, I came home and complained irritably that the teacher hadn’t taught me to read yet.

When I became a Christian, one of the first things my fellow believers told me was to never pray for patience. Apparently, asking for patience is the same as asking for tribulation – see Job for more details on that. Since I didn’t want to lose everything and suffer from one heck of a case of the shingles, I took their advice.

I have learned the most patience since choosing to pursue a career as a writer. For me, writing novels is similar to nature’s seasons:

Spring = A new idea sprouts, along with a number of weeds (weak or bad ideas).
Summer = I carefully nurture the good idea, growing it a little each day. I let the weeds grow alongside; I don’t want to disturb the growth of the flourishing idea.
Autumn = I harvest my idea, which has grown into a novel. I sift through the novel to be sure I’ve removed as many weeds as I can see, casting the weeds into the “delete” bin, before sending it off to market – or in this case, Inknbeans Press.
Winter = I allow myself a fallow season. During that time, I plant as many seeds as I can and wait for the next new idea to sprout.

Though I may never master patience, I have at least learned to take life and my work in stride. For a little girl who couldn’t wait to learn to read, that’s progress.

#Trust30: Alternative Paths

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Taped to my computer monitor is a Chinese fortune I received a number of years ago now, back when I was toiling as a worker drone: “You will live the life that makes all others not envious, but proud of you.” Those words dug a foxhole in my psyche and have held their position ever since.

When I first read that fortune, I was not living a life I was proud of. I wasn’t writing. I’d named and claimed writer’s block for so many years that my family and friends had given up on me ever writing anything beyond a thank-you note – and even that was iffy. I was well on my way to letting my talent wither and die within me, leaving only the empty husk of what might have been.

Those words on that tiny slip of paper shamed and inspired me at the same time. I taped them a few inches to the right of the Dell logo on my monitor, where I knew I would see them every day. And I started to change my life.

I have been looking for alternative paths now for several years. Even when the path ahead of me is clear, I stop and consider what other options I might have. I could have continued to submit my manuscripts to agents – I’d had some encouragement in that direction, albeit not as much as I’d wished. I changed course and self-published. I could have spent all my time on social media tooting my own horn in an attempt to get noticed, but I was just one more voice in the cacophony of the internet. Instead, I became a voice of encouragement and support for other indie authors. Because I turned in that direction, I found an e-publisher who loves my work and encourages me every step of the way.

I continue to search out new paths on a daily basis. Though it is sometimes challenging, I try to never close my mind to the possibilities of the universe. After all, sometimes the messages God is trying to send arrive with the bill in a Chinese restaurant.

#Trust30: Surprise

I am a writer – which means I surprise myself every day.

There are days when I wake up certain that I won’t be able to write a single word. Then I do.

I have stared at blank screen after blank screen. I filled them.

I have written my characters into inescapable predicaments. I found them a way out.

I wrote my first complete novel doubting that I’d ever let anyone read it. Then I published it.

I thought I would be one of those writers of whom no one has ever heard. Then I found fans.

I was certain no publisher would ever want to work with me. I found one who did.

When people ask me what I do, I tell them I’m a writer. I’ve never had a better, more rewarding “job.” And I surprise myself every day.