Gulp ...

Another 5 Minute Friday ... one word, five minutes, no editing.  Ready, set, go!

Afraid

It sits in a green binder on the dining room table, little hot pink tongues of post-it notes peeking out here and there.  I even bought a special pen with which to write in the margins, something that flows smoothly.  The pen is tucked inside, waiting to be used.

I've read several different posts about how to revise, how to edit, how to rewrite.  I printed off a plan and it's stashed in the front pocket for easy reference.  I've even set myself a date.  March 1st ... have the first revision finished.

Now if only I could make myself sit down and start it.  Oh ... I started in earnest about three weeks ago, just after I bought the neon post-its.  And then the anxiety started in.  And the worry.  And the intimidation of all those pages, pages and pages.  And the fear.

What if I don't know how to bring this project to an end?
And what if I get it edited, revised, rewritten and then no one wants it?
Or what if some publisher takes it, but no reads it?

What if?
What if?
What if?

Time to tell those "What if's" to take a hike and turn to that next page with pen and post it's in hand ... and do it.

Ta-Dah!

This morning I submitted my book for "word count validation" and now I have this super cool button:

Yeah, me! :)  

Now I will go back and begin the editing, revising, rewriting and much-needed tweaking to what would appear to be book one of a set.  Eek.

Here's a little excerpt from Gifted and Talented:

The next morning, Mrs. Counterman pulled up to the curb in the school loading zone.  Peter sat in the passenger seat with his back pack between his feet.  As he reached for the door handle, his mother put her hand on his shoulder.  “Remember what we talked about last night.  Don’t be ashamed of your gift, Buddy.  Maybe this is the year you find out why God made you to see the world through numbers.”

“I know.  I’ll see you this afternoon,” Peter nodded, still feeling a little groggy from the early morning start.

“I’ll be praying for you today.  That you will have an excellent ‘Special Assignment’!”  She let go of grip on Peter’s shoulder and patted him twice.  “And don’t forget, you’re riding the bus home this afternoon.”

“Bye, Mom,” Peter unfolded his long legs out of the blue sedan, slung his back pack over his left shoulder, swinging the door closed behind him.  It was a chilly fall morning, but as it would warm up mid-day, Peter had decided against grabbing a sweatshirt.  He tugged on the long sleeves of his blue and green striped shirt, slipping his hands up inside each sleeve, and made his way to the front entrance.  He turned and waved once over his shoulder as his mom made her way through the congested school parking lot.

Once inside, Peter walked toward the school office.  There was another long line of students waiting to talk to the secretary and Ms. Inkstein already looked frazzled.  Peter took his place in line and looked around, fresh numbers flitted across his vision.

2 drinking fountains.

32 trophies in the display case.

1 framed photograph of the school staff.

27 smiling staff members.

4 pencils in Ms. Inkstein’s bun.

“Good morning, Ms. Inkstein.  Here is the form for the G & T class.  Is there anything else I need to do?”  Peter asked as he stepped up to the counter.

“Good morning, Peter.”  Mrs. Inkstein, dressed all in black again, had chosen a cranberry-colored lipstick for today.  The red seeped into the creases around her pursed lips.  She reached up for one of the pencils from her head, made a few notes on Peter’s form and then stamped it with a date stamp.  “You’re all set.  Have a good day.  Next!”

Peter ducked out of line and headed to his locker.  The hallways were already bustling with students and Peter checked the clock above the cafeteria door to see how long before the bell rang.  Three minutes.  As he spun the combination dial on his locker, he looked around for X.  He was anxious to see him, to have a friend to start his day with.  There was an eruption of laughter from the direction of the gymnasium and Peter craned his neck to see over the crowd.  Sure enough, he spotted X standing face to face with Flitch, who held X’s back pack over his head, out of reach.  Peter sighed, slammed his locker shut and made his way through the crowd.

“What you got in here, Xavier?” Flitch stretched out X’s name, taunting him.  “Let’s see, shall we?  What sorts of weird stuff does a weird kid carry around?”  Flitch unzipped the main compartment on the back pack and moved to dump it on the floor, but before he could, Peter came up behind him, standing a head taller and put one hand on his shoulder and one hand on the bag.

“Give that back, please,” he said quietly, but firmly.

“Hey.  Get your hands off me,” Flitch snarled, “Mind your own business, Skyscraper-Boy.”  A trickle of laughter ran through the circle of students.

“Sorry.  This is my business.  Please give the bag back.”  Peter looked down at Flitch and offered a small smile.  “Just let this one go, okay?”  At that moment, the first bell rang causing the surrounding audience to collectively groan in disappointment and head off to their lockers.  Soon only X, Flitch and Peter remained.  Without the support of his gang, Flitch scowled.

“Fine.  Here, Xavier,” he threw the back pack at X’s feet, sending several pencils flying out the zippered opening.  “Next time you won’t have your babysitter around, so watch out.”  And then jabbing a finger in Peter’s chest, he snarled, “And you ... I’ve got some friends in your gym class.  We could make your day pretty miserable.  And we will.”  He grinned maliciously, spun on his heel and walked off.

Peter exhaled, relief flooding his tall frame.  He had no desire to pick a fight, but he couldn’t stand by and watch anyone be bullied.  Turning to X, he stooped down and helped scoop up several pencils.  “You know, we don’t have to start everyday like this,” he joked.  “I’d be fine with just a simple, ‘Good morning.  How are you?’”

X looked up with his lopsided grin, “Good morning.  How are you?”

Laughing, Peter clamped one hand on his friend’s shoulder, “I’m great.  But we better hurry.  I don’t think we want to be on Mr. Hink’s bad side, too.”  With a quick stop off at their lockers, they half-ran, half-walked to class, slipping through the door just as the final bell rang.

Time Bender Trip

The book is still coming along well.  I'm on-target to finish on time and the story seems to be taking me along for the ride!  Very fun to see it come together.

I have enjoyed some spirited conversations with Aaron about what should happen yet.  And I have decided that Aaron needs to write his own book!  He has a lot of ideas, convoluted plot lines and intricate character interactions.  It was hard to keep up with all the twists and turns of the the tale as we walked through the grocery store yesterday.

Here is an excerpt from one of the Time Bender trips ... enjoy!

Case No. 216

Date:  9/22/12

Location:  London, England

Time:  July 11, 1859

G & T Team:  Charlotte, Charlie, Espi, X

We were deposited by the TB in the early morning hours in an unknown alley in central London.  We deduced our location by investigating our surroundings.  The cobblestone streets, the lamplighters working their way down the street to extinguish the street lights, the English accent of those walking by.

Our first course of action was to attempt to disguise ourselves adequately so as to not draw unwanted attention.  In the alley, Charlotte was able to crawl through a small hole in the wall of one of the buildings.  In spite of the hole being 10 feet off the ground, the twins were able to work together acrobatically to get Charlotte safely inside.  After squeezing through the hole, she discovered that it was a grocer.  As the store was still not open for business, Charlotte was able to smuggle out a bolt of dark fabric that we used to make capes to cover our clothing.  She also found two bonnets and two bowler hats for us to wear to cover our heads.

Now that we could chance being out among the Londoners, we braved the opportunity to leave the alley and get our bearings.  Once we were out among the public, we noticed that there was steady stream of people walking toward our right.  We joined the crowd, but we linked arms so as to not get separated.  We each were listening intently to the conversations around us in an attempt to discern what was happening with the hopes that we could pinpoint our location and time period.

The destination of the crowd, as it turned out, was Parliament Square, which was already quite full when we arrived.  We worked our way to the front of the crowd and that was when Espi deduced our whereabouts.  The crowd was gathered to hear the Great Bell’s strike for the first time on the Elizabeth Tower, better known to us as Big Ben.  Espi informed us that this historic even took place on July 11, 1859.

The excitement in the Square was palatable.  There was a steady hum of cockney accents on every side of us.  We only had to wait approximately fifteen minutes before the Great Bell began to chime.  In contrast to the previous noise, the bells signaled several moments of complete silence in the Square.  At the sixth and final bell, the crowd erupted in applause and shouts of, “Long live the Queen!”  Espi was quick to remind us that Queen Victoria was reigning during this time period.

The crowd began to dissipate, Londoners disappearing into the streets and alleyways surrounding the Parliament Square in within a few minutes, we were left almost entirely alone.  We took this time to conference, trusting that we would not be overheard.  Now that we were secure in our surroundings, it was decided that we would travel back down Queen Street toward the alley from which we emerged, seeing as in previous assignments, most missions are completed near the original drop spot.

As a group, we headed back they way we had come.  But before we had gotten far, Charlie became aware of a woman, some 50 feet behind us, who was crying.  We slowed our walk and allowed her to catch up with us.  We stood off to one side, while Charlotte cautiously approached the woman under the guise of asking for directions.

Within a few moments, Charlotte had managed (as she always does!) to befriend the woman and fish out her story.  She was Miss Rachel Ermin and she was the ward to a Lady Mockton, her own parents dying many years earlier in a plague epidemic.  She was only a young child at the time and was taken in by Lady Mockton as a distant relative.  Her twenty years spent in the care of Lady Mockton had been favorable.  She had joined Lady Mockton’s own small children in their lessons and their play and had grown up among society, at least as an observer.  Lady Mockton’s daughter, Harriet, and Miss Ermin were very close and spent most of their growing up years together.  That is until Harriet married earlier that spring.  Now Miss Ermin spent most of her days alone and lonely.

This new isolation had driven Miss Ermin to the library of the Mockton Victorian house.  During one afternoon the previous week, Miss Ermin had come across a small leather ledger.  Upon opening it, she soon discovered that at the death of her parents she had been gifted a large sum of money, enough for her to live on quite comfortably the rest of her life.  It was then that she realized that her parents had not left her penniless as she had been brought up to believe, but that in fact she was quite well off.

Being a spirited girl, she had pocketed the ledger and immediately requested an audience with Lady Mockton.  That very afternoon, she confronted her guardian.  Lady Mockton was surprised at the discovery of the ledger, but made a quick recovery and created a concrete case against Miss Ermin and the possibilities of her being independent, one that she claimed would hold up in court.  Miss Ermin had no defense and fled the room.  She had spent the remainder of the week, back in the library, searching among the books of law for some way to seize her financial independence and escape Lady Mockton’s grasp.  

On the morning of our encounter with Miss Ermin, she had given up all hope, hence her tearful walk.  With a promise to help, Miss Ermin invited us to the house with the hopes of us scouring the library and discovering some means of Lady Mockton releasing her inheritance to her.  The Mockton House was just a few blocks from the alley where we were deposited earlier.  She informed us that Lady Mockton was out of the house for the day, the society ladies having seized the first chimes of the Elizabeth Tower clock as an opportunity to have a luncheon.  Miss Ermin managed to sneak us into the house using the servants entrance.  She snuck us down the hall to the library and secured the door.  

Time Bender

I have been plugging away at my book for the past 12 days and it's been astonishing to me to see how the story is unfolding.  I am currently just a bit over 26,000 words and I have just arrived at my, "uh-oh ... that's going to be a problem" moment, so I think that I'm on the right track.

I had an interesting situation crop up with a recent chapter in my book.  I was wanting to describe a scene involving a run-away train.  But, it stressed me out.  I had absolutely no clue as to how I would actually tell that story - especially with my limited train knowledge.  I let the idea sit for the better part of a day, mulling it over and coming up empty.  Then I had a spark ... maybe the train problem was out of my league.  I am better suited to write about a people problem, and so I did.  And I liked it.  And I worked in a problem with the train's brakes that didn't freak me out, but did raise a little panic with my characters.  Just enough.

It was a good lesson in writing about what comes naturally and not trying to write about something foreign.  Unless, of course, I have extra time to research, which right now I don't.

So ... another lesson learned.  And another snippet to share.  Enjoy!

Room A-1 looked the same as before, but there was an excitement in the air that Peter hadn’t noticed yesterday.  Silently Charlotte and Charlie sat side by side, their eyes turned to where Mr. Wiseman sat behind his desk, flipping through a stack of papers.  Espi sat on the edge of her seat, chewing on her thumb nail.  Her feet, both dressed in neon orange knee-high socks twitched under her desk.  Her wild and curly hair looked wilder and curlier today, perhaps because of her wide-open eyes that refused to blink.  She didn’t even acknowledge Peter and X as they entered the room.

Silently, X signaled for Peter to take the seat in the front row and he slid into the desk just behind him.  He lifted his index finger to his lips, as if Peter needed to be informed of the need to be quiet.  Peter looked to Mr. Wiseman who continued to study the file in front of him.  Every few moments, he blindly reached toward a brown paper sack on this desk and pulled out a lemon drop and popped it in his mouth, never moving his eyes from the page he was reading.

Peter couldn’t decided if the hum of energy in the room was as a result of nerves or anticipation and likewise he couldn’t imagine what could possibly transform these four students into twitching, wide-eyed, speechless individuals.

Finally, Mr. Wiseman looked up from his paper and smiled.  A collective sigh erupted from the twins and X and Espi, but they still said nothing.  Mr. Wiseman nodded a few times, still smiling, and then beckoned the students toward his desk.  Peter stood back, surprised, as the four students ran to the front of the room and surrounded Mr. Wiseman’s desk.  Peter walked cautiously to a space to the left of X and studied the faces around him, still unsure as to what was happening.

“Well, class.  I am very pleased with your report from last week.  I feel that you followed all the proper protocol and took great care to conduct yourselves appropriately and covertly.  I feel confident that you are aware of the awesome responsibility that this opportunity carries and that you are each using your individual gifts to the best of your abilities.  And so it is for those reasons that I have made the executive decision to send you on another, ‘Special Assignment’.”  Here Mr. Wiseman smiled warmly at each student, pausing for a moment to consider Peter’s puzzled expression.  “Peter, I can only imagine how confused you must feel right now, but I truly believe that you will have a clear understanding of what we do here, very soon.  Please be patient with me as I get the other students working and then I am at your disposal.  Agreed?”  Peter nodded, brow wrinkled and a frown forming on his face.  “Now, if you four are ready, please extend your right hand.”

Mr. Wiseman leaned back in his chair and pulled open the desk drawer to his left.  Reaching inside, he pulled out a long rectangular black box.  It was old and the leather along one corner was cracked.  Two rows of gold tacks ran along the middle of the box, indicating the top and bottom of the container.  Gingerly, Mr. Wiseman lifted the lid from the box revealing a bronze cylinder lying in a bed of scarlet satin.  The curious artifact was about eighteen inches long and had two bronze dials on either end.  The dials were marked with mysterious symbols Peter had never seen before.  Mr. Wiseman lifted the cylinder carefully and held it out toward the students.  X, Espi, Charlotte and Charlie each grasped the cylinder with their right hand and immediately a strange low humming sound filled the room.  The sound grew not in volume, but in intensity causing Peter to feel as though his entire body was vibrating.  Mr. Wiseman let go and moved his hand to the top of the cylinder, twisting one of the dials until there was an audible click.  Suddenly there was a wooshing noise, a momentary flash and then silence.  

Peter realized he had closed his eyes and when he opened them, he discovered that he was standing alone at the desk staring at Mr. Wiseman.  His teacher smiled at him, and held up the small paper sack.  “Would you care for a lemon drop?”

NANOWRIMO ... huh?

Before Gretel tossed her hummingbird into the flames and scampered down the trail to be reunited with her family, a new story was brewing.  My brain barely had time to rest before another tale began to take shape in my mind's eye.

Fresh characters grew flesh, developed personalities and hefted their backpacks over their shoulders.

A bell at an unknown middle school rang and a new school year started, halls loud and boisterous.

Troubles with bullies, problems to solve and friendships to build ... scenes all impatiently waiting to be spelled out.

A mysterious relic, five eclectic students, a quirky Gifted & Talented teacher and a world that needs saving ... one adventure at a time!

And another challenge to jump into as a writer.  A crazy, impossible, mind-reeling, caffeine-worthy, finger-trembling challenge.  This month I will follow Marcus out of the principal's office and into the main hall of Great Heights Middle School.  Here I will join him on a wild adventure filled with friendship, fraught with danger and sprinkled with silliness.

And in the midst of these 30 days with Marcus and his friends, my goal is to tuck away 50,000 words (gulp!) and end up with a book.  At least, that's the plan.

Of course, I already sat down with our family calendar and attempted to map out the month.  I'll do the math for you ... 1,667 words a day.  And then double that every now and then to make up for days away from the computer for Thanksgiving and gymnastic meets (oh, my head) ... but before I could talk myself out of it, I officially signed up with NANOWRIMO:

National Novel Writing Month

You can follow along with my progress with a peek at the little blue window to the left.  And you can cheer me on as I face this daunting (albeit, thrilling) task.  And maybe you could even send chocolate.

I am anticipating that I will be a tad bit sporadic here, but I intend to share snippets of the novel.  Maybe  I'll even surprise you every now and then with a snapshot or two.

Write Right Now

While my mom claims that I've always been a writer, citing childhood tall tales and storytelling at slumber parties, I still tentatively call myself a writer.

"What do you do?"

"Me?  Oh, I'm a mom.  I get to stay at home with my kids, which I love.  And, uh ... I write."

I almost apologize for that addition to my job title.  Mom and, er, mumble, writer, mumble, mumble.  But in finding my feet over the past two years while blogging, I have discovered that I am indeed a writer and a storyteller and that people enjoy the tales I tell.  (Insert surprised and astonished face here.)

While blogging has been the kiddie pool in which I have splashed and played, I have begun to feel that maybe it is time to be more intentional about writing and to actually jump into the deep end with a  commitment to a larger project.  (Insert wide eyes and trembling chin here.)

Life is busy and I'm not quite certain how it will all come together, but I do know that I will never take the leap if I don't make the commitment to be intentional about my writing.  And so, I have decided to set aside the month of October and participate in a 31 Day Challenge to write a novella.  (Insert quaking and nail biting here.)

I wrote the opening scene a few months ago and the story has continued to marinate and ruminate in my head.  Little bits of dialogue or snippets of scenery descriptions tip-toeing throughout my day and heart-felt insights into my characters catching me by surprise.  It's time to watch the story come together and see it through to the end.

I'm off to write right now.  (Insert tentative smile and hopeful thumbs-up here.)

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Linking up with The Red Dress Club.  This week's prompt:  300 words to share writing goals.

Get a Clue

Maggie added cream to her mug and slowly stirred the caramel-colored coffee.   She put down the spoon and absently began to twist one unruly curl around her finger.  She twiddled with her pencil, bouncing the eraser off the table top.  Her mind obviously elsewhere.

"Hmmm.  Do the 49ers play at Candlestick Park?"

"Yep."

She filled each square, carefully writing in capital letters and went back to her stirring her coffee.

She yawned and stretched, a cool breeze drifted through the patio screen door.  Maggie sighed, settled back into her chair and kicked off her slippers.  She propped her chin on her hand and rested her elbow on the table.

Three Down - Library classification system.

She tapped her pencil on her chin and counted the available blocks.  Carefully she printed, "D-E-W-E-Y".

"I think I need more coffee," she said with a laugh.  "Apparently my brain's still asleep."

Maggie blew on her mug and took a sip, the perfect mixture of coffee and cream.  She picked up the bagel on her plate and took a bite.  Licking cream cheese off her fingertips, she picked up her pencil again and tapped it against her chin.

"Eight down is, 'One of six original Clue characters.'  Seven letters, ends in 'T'."

"I'd say, Scarlet.  Did you play that game as a kid?  My brother was ruthless.  Are you finished with the business section?"

Maggie passed the newspaper to her husband.  "Can I warm up your coffee, Love?"

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Linking up with The Red Dress Club.  This week's prompt:  250 words honoring the game of Clue - three of which have to be candlestick, library and scarlet.

What Are You Waiting For?

Be intentional ... pray, write, submit.  Repeat.

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#1 - Six-word Memoir

A New Bestseller!

"In her debut novel, Fruitful Fairytales, Morgan invites us to ask the question, 'But what did they learn from their daring brushes with death, their frightful encounters with fiends and their challenges resulting from bad choices?'  You'll enjoy reading these vignettes about the kindness Goldilocks returns to the Three Bears in their twilight years and how Eric persists in his faithfulness to Ariel, even when her good looks begin to fade and her voice gets a little scratchy.  An intriguing tapestry of familiar fairytales woven together with the Biblical virtues found in the fruit of the Spirit, you're sure to be delighted as you discover what happened following those legendary words 'happily ever after'."

And now the opening pages from chapter one, "Rooted in Love" ...

Gretel paused for moment to push her unruly curls back under her kerchief.  She sat back on her heels to stretch her back and brushed her hands on her apron, leaving a dark smudge of dirt across the fabric.  She was only about a third of the way through the flower garden, pulling out the stubborn bind weed and turf from around the plants.  How long had she been at this tiring task?  She checked the sky and guessed it to be about lunch time.  Perhaps just a few more feet and then she could stop for a bite to eat.


She bent back over her work and felt the hot sun her neck.  Gretel grabbed a handful of dandelions and gave a tug being careful not to uproot the tender buttercups nearby.  She moved on to a tuft of burdock that threatened to choke out her cotton candy colored primrose.  It was a never-ending battle to keep the weeds from taking over her flower garden.  Unbidden, her father's old saying came to mind, "Weeding halts the unwanted seeds we allow to take root in our lives."  With renewed vigor, she seized a handful of flixweed and yanked ... hoping to also uproot the control her father still held over her life.


Turning back to her work, another of her father's phrases sprang to mind.  "Work while you work, play while you play.  A job half done isn't don't the right way."   Gretel shook her head and blinked back tears.  It had been nearly nine years since that horrible day, but it felt like only yesterday she had stood in the middle of this forest, clinging to her brother's hand and searching in vain for the bread crumbs that would lead them home again.


She remembered the first time that wicked woman, her stepmother, had tricked them into following her into the woods.  Gretel had watched her father from under the pine tree as he argued with his wife, but in the end, he had relented.  She had felt his rejection as he had turned back to his wood shop, never looking back over his shoulder to see her standing in the shade of the tree.  At the time she hadn't understood what was going on, but she could sense there was trouble.  That was the reason for her pocketful of pebbles when they set off for their afternoon walk with her stepmother.  Her caution had been their salvation.  


She smiled ruefully as she remembered the shocked and angry look on the face of her stepmother when they arrived back home in time for dinner.  She had been flustered with their appearance and had received them with a stilted, "Welcome home.  Wash up for dinner."  Gretel remembered the fierceness with which her father had hugged her, but she had not hugged him back.  She could not forget how weak he had been earlier that day.  Nor could she forgive him for letting her go.


Knock, knock, knock ... 


Gretel was startled out of her reminiscing by a noise coming from the roof of the cottage.  She squinted against the sun and could just make out the silhouette of Hansel crouched at the edge of eaves.   He was hammering in new gingerbread shingles to replace the ones the crows had eaten.  Hansel had mentioned over breakfast that a woodpecker had pecked a few holes in the sugary mortar between a few of the shingles which in turn had weakened the them enough for the crows to fly off with several prized cookies.  Gretel caught a whiff of the sweet and spicy smell of the gingerbread boy baking in the oven.  She had offered to make a ginger scarecrow for Hansel to mount on the roof, but first he needed to repair the damaged shingles.


While Gretel worked in the garden, caring for the sky blue lupine and the dusty purple field aster, Hansel took care of the red and white candy cane shutters and black licorice lattice of the cottage.  They were a good team and Gretel was grateful they had each other.  She was grateful she wasn't completely alone.


Again, her father's words fluttered through her thoughts, "Blood is thicker than water and family is sweeter than candy."


"Leave me alone," she grumbled to the ironweed she clutched in her hand.  "Why can't you just leave me alone?"  She stood and angrily brushed her hands against her apron again.  She needed a change of scene.  She headed to the front porch and sat in the shade of the cottage.  In spite of her efforts, her thoughts returned to the past and the day her wicked stepmother successfully abandoned them to the woods.


She remembered being shaken awake while it was still dark.  Her stepmother stood over her with her shawl and shoes.


"Get up and get dressed.  We're getting an early start."


"Why?  Where are we going?"


"Shhh... don't wake your father.  Get up and wake your brother."


She had stumbled around in the dark to dress and find Hansel's shoes and cloak.  Her stepmother stood at the door tapping her foot with her arms crossed sharply in front of her.  Gretel could hear her father's whiffly snore from the back room.  She thought for a moment that she might call out to him.  But then the fear that he would turn his back on her again clutched at her heart and instead she walked toward the door.


"I'm hungry," mumbled Hansel sleepily.


"We've no time to eat," demanded the stepmother, "you can find some berries along the way."


Gretel felt panic rising in her chest.  She had not prepared for this early morning exodus.  She had no rocks this time and she looked around the dark kitchen in desperation.  It was then that she spotted the coarse-grained bread on the table, left-over from last night's dinner. She quietly and quickly slipped the loaf of bread into the folds of her shawl and grasped Hansel's hand.


"Let's go."


As they walked through the woods, she secretly dropped crumbs of her father's bread.  He was a baker as well as a woodsman.  In fact, he was quiet famous throughout the forest glen for his hearty breads.  His love of nature found its way into his culinary expertise as he chose unique and flavorful seeds and seasonings to add to his baked goods - sesame seeds, flax seeds, sunflowers seeds and more.


As you well know, those breadcrumbs we quickly snatched up by the birds and squirrels of the forest and when young Hansel and Gretel found themselves hours later deep in the heart of the forest and utterly alone, there was no trace of those precious morsels left to follow home.


Gretel and Hansel wandered for a few hours longer before finding the gingerbread cottage and the old witch who lived there.  Out of desperation and hope, Gretel had continued to drop crumbs of her father's loaf even right up to the cottages front step.


"How about something cold to drink."


Gretel jumped and looked up from her place on the porch.  Hansel stood behind her with two glasses of chilled, chocolate milk.  She smiled and scooted over to make room for her brother.


As she sipped the cold, creamy milk, she looked down the path that lead from the steps out into the woods.  She could see the little blue flowers peeking up from the soft green brush along the edge of the well-worn trail.  Every spring those little buds appeared and every spring she tried to ignore their arrival.  Little seeds nestled in her father's bread and left behind by the birds.  Little seeds that had bloomed and beckoned her to take a walk.


In her heart, she knew those delicate forget-me-nots would lead her all the way home. 
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#4 - You've got a book deal ... now what are you going to write?!

small things {routines}

small things #38 ... routines

We jumped this week into Summer.  Actually it was more of a heedless dive ... headfirst and without our water-wings!

What fun it is to change up our schedules and enjoy mornings that start at eight o'clock instead of six-forty-five.  

What a delight it is to eat meals, piled around the kitchen table, but only when we're hungry.

What a wonderful change to have gymnastics in the afternoons and dinner before the kids get weird.

But what craziness would ensue if we were to throw all of our routines to the wind!

For my own sanity, we need to have much of our same daily schedule with some summer fun thrown it for good measure.  If you are like me, perhaps some of these ideas will give you some inspiration to keep up your routines and add in some school silliness to keep their brains supple.

This summer we will continue to have daily (and mandatory) quiet time in the afternoon.  For one hour a day the kids will have an opportunity to read, journal or do other quiet activities.  This is also Mommy's hour - my time for writing, reading my Bible and recharging my batteries. (This is more for me than for them ... but ultimately it's for the them because I will be nicer!)

On Mondays the kids will participate in correspondence.  They will each have the chance to send out three letters, postcards or notes to friends and family.  Not email ... good ol' fashioned snail-mail.  Hopefully this will be a fun way for them to share their summer activities with loved ones and maybe get some fun mail in return.  (hint, hint!)

On Wednesdays we will be having a fun game day, reminiscent of our Spring Break Game Day.  Check back here during the summer for our games of the week and our reviews ...  what did we like and what flopped?

On Fridays we will be exploring a variety of artists.  After a bit of studying and research, we will have a chance to try out our own artsy hands in the methods and manners of each artist.  A fun challenge to create beauty in ways we haven't done before.

Finally, the kids will be studying the US of A this summer and touring the states via our new ginormous wall map.  We'll be learning the capitals and locations of the states ... and any other interesting facts along the way.  Each morning, the kids will have to follow the clues to find their new capital and then fill in a fun workbook with facts about that state.

It promises to be a fun-filled summer ... and I can guarantee that we won't be bored!

Routines ... boundaries that help to make our days go 'round while still providing time for adventure!

_________________________

In light of our summer schedule being a tad bit wonky-doodle, you can expect posts here at Snapshots to be a little sporadic, spasmodic, erratic and unpredictable.  In an effort to depressurize, I am releasing myself to post when I can and maybe even focus on another writing project I have brewing.  Like I told Brett just the other day ... it'll never get published if I don't actually write it!  So wish me luck ... and enjoy your summer! ... I'm sure I'll be around. :)

Two Words

As I zoomed along the highway, singing along to my own personal Sara Groves radio station, God was planting a seed.  This long stretch of desert road is actually fertile ground for a lot of God's little kernels.    It was on this same dry sweep of land that the idea of this blog was planted.  Over the past year and a half, God has used this long and lonely stretch of road to water and nurture this writing adventure.  And this past weekend's trek was no exception.

As I set the cruise control in the car and settled in for the drive, I was not only excited and anxious to get away for the weekend, I was also hoping (with great expectations) for some direction as to my next writing series.

I have been feeling a little uninspired in my writing.  A bit dry, literarily speaking.  I just finished my series in February, Snapshots of the Heart, and I while I loved the challenge of that series, it wiped me out!  Add to that the busy-ness of spring-time ... kid's school activities in full swing, MOPS meetings to finish with enthusiasm, VBS planning beginning (already?!?) and the usual "go, Mom, go!" of life ... and this little garden of writing is under threat of neglect.

But, this gift of writing is a tender plant that I want to care for, water and grow.  It is precious to me.  And I'm a happier mom, wife and woman when I've had time to cultivate this plant.  So ... then question becomes what to do?

In God's faithfulness, He gave me a new little blossom to tend to.  It's small.  It's still just a seed in my mind.  It's settling into my mind and heart and taking root.

I love when God is tangible!  When you know in your heart you've encountered Him!  This answer to my scattered prayer for inspiration is a gift and a reminder of His intimate care of me.  I don't have all my ideas growing just yet, but I know I'm being nudged by God to faithfully use this gift He's give me.

Even if the only words I have right now are "small things".

Small things.  Stay tuned to see how thought this grows ...

And what about you?  
God planting any seeds lately?  
How are you cultivating them?

Starting Anew

I'm sitting here looking at the blinking cursor and feeling a little intimidated with all that white space on the screen.

In all honesty, I really and truly enjoyed this past week of not writing.  I gave myself a super-duper-mini-sabbatical from blogging/writing/trying-to-put-thoughts-to-paper/scribbling.  And it was grand.

But that also bothered me a little bit.

If I truly love writing (which I do) and if I like this platform for sharing my thoughts (which sorta do) and if I feel like this is an opportunity which God has given me (which I think is true) ... then why wouldn't I miss it?

In spite of this feeling of insecurity, I made a decision to jump back in - get the gears working again, work out the squeaks, fall back into a groove - and trust that God would give me direction.  Surely if He intends me to continue on here, He will provide the inspiration, the desire, and a compass for my course.  I started brainstorming what my first post of the new year would be.  And I waited.

As I lay in bed on New Year's Eve at about 11:13 (yes ... that is the pair of party animals we were this year!), my mind was blank regarding what to write.  But it was bursting with other thoughts!

I wrestled with the pressures of writing and the freedoms of the previous, writing-free week
-- maybe I need to release the expectations I have for myself.
I tossed back and forth the idea of pursuing other writing options
-- but with limited time to write, I would have to be picky about where I invest myself.
I questioned the significance of my writing
-- what is the purpose of this labor? do I keep at it? quite honestly, who gives a hootenanny?!


As the digits on the clock marked time toward midnight, inspiration and sleep continued to elude me.  With all these thoughts and more bubbling around in my brain, I finally did the only thing that I knew would help.  I prayed.

"Okay, Jesus ... this is all Yours.  I don't have the energy or the oomph to muscle through all this.  If you want me to keep writing, I need your help.  And I really want to go to sleep.  Amen."

I felt the promised peace settle over me.  And in my mind's eye, Jesus brought to mind an image from earlier that day.

Ashley and Lydia are standing side-by-side on the gymnastic mat.  In front of them is the play highchair from the basement, but today it has a different job.  Propped up on the tray of the chair is "The Treasury of Amelia Bedelia".  The girls ask for our attention and begin to sing.

"Follow the star, follow the star, follow the star, follow the star ..." (That's a shout out to you, Cousin Rebekah!)

They mumble through the other lyrics, "reading" from their "sheet music" and return to the chorus, "Follow the star, follow the star to Bethlehem!"

They finish and smile.  A little bow as we clap.  And before the ovation quiets down, they jump back in.

In their own little way, they are sharing a bit of beauty with us.  And they are enjoying it.  A lot.

I see again their little tootsies standing on the hot-pink mat - their stage.  I see their joy in singing for us - their gift.  I see their satisfaction in the smiles and applause of their meager audience - their joy.

And I hear God speaking to my heart.  Again.

Sitting here on this scruffy folding chair with my fingers finding the letters to my thoughts, I am perched on my own little stage.  As letters become words, words become sentences, and sentences become thoughts, I am sharing this God-given gift in my own small way.  As I sense God's pleasure in my simple use of this passion, I experience joy.

And I get to share a little beauty, and enjoy it, too.

So ... I guess I'll be back again tomorrow!  Because I want to share with you about last week ...

But what about you?

Where is your stage?
What is your gift?
What gives you joy?
How are you sharing a little beauty?

Who is Me? {part 3}

For the past two days I have been sharing about how God finds us beautiful on the inside and about how He wants that beauty to shine on the outside.  Today I am excited to share about God's desire for us to follow our Passions ... and add to His beauty around us!

Here is the final installment of my mini-series on our identity.  Enjoy ... and be inspired!

If you were to ask my mom, she would tell you that I’ve always loved to write.  At a very young age, maybe 7 or 8, I wrote my first book.  It was about a girl and her horse and I remember I used the word “humongous” multiple times.  Later on, I was famous for my storytelling.  As kids, my siblings and I would pile into one room and I would tell silly stories until my audience drifted off to sleep.  Even now, if I have a episode with the kids to retell, I can’t just say:  “Ashley stepped in some red ants and nuts.”  I have to tell you just what happened.  For example, I recently recounted just such an adventure.  Here's a snippet ...

Sweet Le-le screamed and started tap-dancing in place.  Her little legs were flailing around.  She flapped her arms wildly, sending her jangle-y bracelets up into the air, scattering across the sidewalk.  She was terrified.  (And so was that poor little ant.)

I got back into the habit of writing when Aaron was born.  I would of send out to family and friends newsy little emails sharing our adventures with pureed peas and trips down that twisty slide at the park.  I loved chronicling my stay-at-home days (it gave them significance) and people loved hearing from me.

As you can see, I love words and I’ve always loved how you could string them together to create a story.  But, I would never have considered myself to be a writer.  That title, that identity was not something I could claim as my own.  It was too lofty, too esteemed, too highly regarded for little ol’ me.

That is until God started calling me out.  A few years ago, I had people (people besides my mom, that is) asking me what I was going to do with my writing.  I would shrug and shake my head ... just as curious as my inquirers.  Then last year, my mom suggested I start a blog.  The first thing I did when I got home was to Google, “Blog”.

It was then that I really felt like God opened a door for a passion that He has been nurturing for a long time.  Suddenly at my fingertips was a place for all these words and sentences and stories that were piling up in my head.  Within reach was a platform for sharing my heart about the worthiness, the challenges, the exasperations and the privileges of mothering.  In my hands was an opportunity to grow in a whole new way, to develop a gift that God had given me and share His grace and beauty with my readers.  

Since that first post here on, Snapshots, I have discovered that I am in fact a writer.  This doesn’t surprise my mom ... but I am daily stunned and humbled by that title.  

As I go about my day, I feel like my eyes are open to everyday experiences that actually have spiritual significance.  I have front row seats to the snapshots God points out and suddenly the ordinary aspects of my day (laundry, dishes, walking to school and bed time routines) are sacred.  I get so excited when I finally get to sit down at the computer to transfer those thoughts to the computer screen.  And no one is mores surprised than me at what comes out of my fingertips!  This writing gig is 100% God!

I fully believe each of us is hardwired with passions God has given us.  Think through your life and interests.  Maybe it’s music, art, cooking, teaching, crafting, dance, serving, sports, a church ministry, hospitality, interior design, make-up and hairstyling, sewing, gardening, crafting ... the list goes on and on.  


In order to discern what your passion is (and distinguish it from, say, an interest), I would encourage you to ask the following questions:

• What energizes you? (actually charges your batteries)
• What excites you?  (you think and talk about it a lot)
• What do you think about doing with longing?  (wishing you had more time to do it)
• What activity can you lose yourself in?  (5 o’clock already?!)
• What makes you sad or frustrated if it’s lacking?
• What gifts and abilities has God given you? (others can help here)

Once you have pinpointed your passion, it’s time to cultivate it.  And this is the most challenging aspect!  Especially as mothers of preschoolers.  The demands on our time and energy often result in our allowing our God-given passions to go dormant.  That’s perfectly natural for this season of life, but we don’t have to ignore it completely.  In fact, I don’t think it’s healthy for us to put our passions into a MOPS-induced coma!

God gave us these passions with three purposes:  to bring Him glory, to benefit others and to fill us with joy as we share the beauty He has imparted to us in our own unique way.  If we neglect our passions, those things don’t happen.  And personally, I don’t want to miss out on the satisfaction, joy and fullness that comes with writing!

So ... what does this look like in my life today?

• I have to be intentional about carving out time to write.  (nap time and some evenings)
• I have to be realistic.  (not my first priority ... it will get bumped)
• I have to be willing to sacrifice a bit.  (giving up other pleasures to capture available moments)
• I have to be creative. (any opportunity to write, jotting down thoughts for later times)
• I have to be patient.  (not my season to devote hours to writing ... but someday)
• I have to be focused.  (the purpose of this passion is to join God in sharing His beauty)

I want to leave you with a song of encouragement.  This is by one of my favorite, passionate musicians.  Sara Groves is an inspiration to me.  She is a songwriter, a story-teller, a transparent lover of Jesus and a mom.  Her songs have ministered to me in powerful ways throughout this journey of redeeming my Person, revamping my Package and releasing my Passion.

Add To The Beauty

by Sara Groves & Matt Bronlewee

We come with beautiful secrets
We come with purposes written on our hearts, written on our souls
We come to every new morning
With possibilities only we can hold, that only we can hold

Redemption comes in strange place, small spaces
Calling out the best of who we are

And I want to add to the beauty
To tell a better story
I want to shine with the light
That's burning up inside

It comes in small inspirations
It brings redemption to life and work
To our lives and our work

It comes in loving community

It comes in helping a soul find it's worth

Redemption comes in strange places, small spaces
Calling out the best of who we are

And I want to add to the beauty
To tell a better story
I want to shine with the light
That's burning up inside

This is grace, an invitation to be beautiful
This is grace, an invitation

Redemption comes in strange places, small spaces
Calling out our best

And I want to add to the beauty
To tell a better story
I want to shine with the light
That's burning up inside

Now it's your turn ... how are you going to add to the beauty?

___________________________________

Day 1:  Mom in the Midst

Day 2:  My Button is Lame

Day 3:  Splendidly Lavish

Day 4:  Keeping My Head Above Water

Day 5:  Time-Warp Wednesday ~ Little Me

Day 6:  Me, Myself & I

Day 7:  Food For Though ~ Bacon

Day 8:  The Aches and Pains of Service

Day 9:  I Heart You

Day 10:  Who is Me? {part 1}

Day 11:  Who is Me? {part 2}

Day 12:  Who is Me? {part 3}