appalachian malady

I'd better type fast this morning as I'm expecting a call from the phone company to try to switch us from dial-up to wireless internet. Apparently there is some problem getting it in our neck of the woods though several of our neighbors have it now. I pray it works today as they couldn't make a go of it yesterday. Bring chainsaws! I wanted to shout at them. Cut down some trees! I think this is the hardest part about living here - it's so dark and wet and moldy most of the year - but the hemmed in feeling is the hardest. I like open expanses of pasture and rolling hills and fences. Breathing room.

I finished reading Clay's Quilt by Silas House yesterday. It gets boldface here because the book is that good. I was born and raised in central Kentucky - Fayette and Madison Counties - and was surprised to find that there are some startling differences between his eastern Kentucky upbringing and my own. I've never before heard the old belief that the fiddle is the devil's own instrument! I've always thought it was God's own. But I think that may be coming from his pentecostal roots. He is such a gifted writer. I prefer A Parchment of Leaves because it is more historical, but both are very good. I'm reading them out of order, I know, and still have A Coal Tattoo to go. House has a play opening in Lexington in April that looks very interesting.

The thing I liked most about Clay's Quilt was the author interview in back. He said some very author-like things that made me hungry to talk to another writer. I even found myself thinking that it would be a fine thing to be married to another writer. But I'm not sure if all that creativity would work. I'm as high-strung as an old fiddle myself at times and couldn't abide someone like me.

Anyway, House's books make me homesick. More than I already am. He might say there could be no higher compliment than that. Who was it that said "homesickness is the most common Appalachian malady"?

seed catalogs

Is there anything more wonderful in winter than a seed catalog? It speaks of spring, which is right around the corner for you southerners (who are now buried in snow, I know). Here it's been sunny and 50 degrees. I actually snuck out on the deck a little while today and Paul asked, "Mom, is it spring?"

Our mailbox is getting stuffed with seed catalogs and it's almost time to start mapping out our garden. My favorite thing to plant besides wildflowers are peas and green beans and yellow squash. Randy likes corn. Since our garden is bigger than our house we start early and plan where to put what. I had to let gardening go last year when my writing heated up. I said goodbye to canning for the first time in many years. This morning I made biscuits and opened our last jar of wild blackberry jam which left me wishing I'd been a little more industrious last fall when they were ripe.

All quiet on the book front. I lack 15 pages from reaching the end of this edit of Red River Daughter. The word count is down from 149,000 to 136,000 or so. In a few days I'll start from the beginning and try to deflate it further as it still qualifies as a big fat historical. Somewhere in publishing land, TFD is getting a final proofreading before being put into actual book pages and then returned to me for minimal corrections. Book 3 is at the bottom of my big rag basket beside my writing chair. I really miss it. There's nothing like the creating part of a book. The rest I gladly give you!

So in the quiet I get to dream about crookneck squash and having a little garden in a sunny hollow (holler) somewhere in Berea, Kentucky. I've almost talked Randy into moving back there. Stay tuned.

I think gardening is nearer to godliness than theology. -unknown

bookworm

I went to my first Superbowl (is that one word?) party yesterday. Randy and the boys have gone for several years but I'm not a sports fan so missed it till now. I still can't tell you who won although the food was wonderful, especially all that salmon dip - a northwest staple. The game just couldn't compete with the book I found on the coffee table. Some consider it the second most important historical book after the Bible. It's entitled Foxe's Book of Martyrs. If it sounds like dry reading, it isn't. The stories of the men and women within, all true, are a fiction writer's dream.

I kept coming across Scotsmen called "covenanters" who died for their faith. I have a penchant for anything Scottish. In The Frontiersman's Daughter I have a Scotsman that I fell in love with while writing. I know you're not supposed to fall in love with your protagonists but I do and guess it proves that they're really real to me. Nearly as real as Randy, anyway. Sometimes I feel I know them even better. Maybe because I dream them up. Scotsmen make very inspiring heroes as Foxe's Book of Martyrs proves. Think Mel Gibson and Braveheart. You get the idea. I recently read that over 1/3 of the Colonial population in America at the time of the Revolutionary War was Scottish!

Anyway, as the other game watchers sat cheering or booing and I sat reading, Randy finally leaned over and said to me, "You really are a bookworm." It's only taken him 25 years to figure this out. After Christian, I guess it's the label I like best.

bookworm (1599) 1: a person unusually devoted to reading and study 2: any of various insect larvae (as of a beetle) that feed on the binding and paste of books (Webster's)

I didn't know there were bugs that ate books! I much prefer the first definition. Hope there are no bookworms in your future. And you meet the first criteria:)

finally friday

It's a blue sky, 30 degree day here in the northwest. We've almost turned the corner on January - the longest month of the year for me. It's been a good month for reading and writing.

Yesterday I put away my writing and began and ended "A Parchment of Leaves" in a few hours. Silas House is a remarkable writer. I think he's the quintessential Kentucky man. If I go to the Kentucky book fair I'm going to get in line (and a long line it's sure to be) and buy his books and have him sign them. He reminds me of Jesse Stuart, Wendell Berry, and a bit of Janice Holt Giles. But he has his own very distinct style and it makes for beautiful reading. My favorite line in the whole novel is the very last line. And there's a scene with Vine and Birdie in a field of spring flowers that reached from the book and wrapped right around my heart. I can't quote it here due to copyright issues. Go ahead and read it yourself and you'll see what I mean.

All books are divided into two classes - the books of the hour, and the books of all time. Mark this distinction: it is a distinction of species. There are good books for the hour, and good ones for all time. -Jon Ruskin

Ruskin omitted one very important detail. There are books of the hour and books of all time. And there are books of the heart. Good writing is really a heart issue. You know what I mean.

I chuckle at the Italian proverb: There is no worse robber than a bad book.

Amen!

flop-eared mule

I hear you Kentuckians are iced-in at the moment. My folks in Berea have been without power for one of the first times ever. They went over to Richmond for supper and then returned to a very cold house and were going to sleep in front of their fireplace. When I was talking to Momma last night another big limb fell and sounded like a gunshot. Ice storms have a way of taking out a lot of those big old trees around their place and it makes me sad to lose them as they hold so many memories.

My favorite tree, a huge maple, decided to park some icy limbs on their deck yesterday. It's my favorite because my great-granny has a collection of rocks underneath from every county in Kentucky. And Kentucky has a lot of counties. When I was little the rock pile was simply astonishing to me but now when I go home it looks very small and the grass has grown up and hidden some of the treasures. Last year I took out an old rock (not sure which county it was from!) that had the imprint of a snake inside. Wyatt loved it.

Today is fiddling Wednesday for us. Paul and I go to Sequim for lessons and today he practices with an old fiddler for a performance in February. They're playing "Going to Boston" and a couple of other old tunes. "Flop-eared Mule" is a favorite. It's fun to watch his little fingers fly over the strings as he improves. He likes to play really fast. And yes, he's still sawing on those strings. Not sure how we're going to break his intensity.

On the scribbling front, I am past page 300 on Red River Daughter and have trimmed 14,000 words. I'll be getting the pages for The Frontiersman's Daughter soon for a last read-through/edit before it goes to print. I need to get back to book 3 but am not sure when.

And I have a Silas House book to pick up in town. A good day is always made better by a good book:) Happy Wednesday.

a look back

I keep two old journals on my desk to remind me of days gone by. When I leaf through them - they're full of quotes and Scripture and my own musings - I see that while nothing seemed to be happening with my writing, a great deal was happening inside me, in my heart and my head. I thought I'd run the risk of sharing a few excerpts, some of which are embarrassing and even amusing to me now.

August 1, 2007
Much happening. I am 46 - where have the years gone? Up before 6 a.m. Every day I work on Dogwood Winter (The Frontiersman's Daughter). The editing never seems to end.

August 7
Almost finished with this final edit, something I prayed would happen before our Montana trip. It seems my self-imposed deadlines are silly as no one is waiting for the manuscript. Though it feels good to get it done. Sort of.

September 5
There is not enough time - not enough for all the books I want to read and write. Just many and varied interruptions.

September 8
Very discouraged tonight. Depressing to find 30 year old journals in the attic - myself at 15 - writing about my writing dream. And here I am all these years later and am no further than I was then.

October 28
My lesson at this point in my life is trust. Rather the lack. This hard, painful thing I'm in - writing, editing, waiting - really boils down to trust. Do I trust Him with my life? Do I trust Him with my writing? Do I trust His timing?

November 1
So tired I can't even sit in my chair and write. Too tired to even write. Nothing happening with my writing. My computer is 8 years old and slow and ready to crash. My prayer needs to be - what pleases Thee, pleases me.

November 9
So much happening (except writing). Maybe all this scribbling is for my pleasure and enjoyment only. There are a million authors in the world who write far better than I do and who don't seem to have to work as hard at it as I do. Am not going to mention my writing after this. Dead ends. I seem to lack the talent to publish. Missing Kentucky and home.

Looking back, I think my vow to not mention my writing again lasted a whole five minutes. Writers are a little bit like boxers. They get hit and they get up - again and again. This might not seem like much of a trial in the grand scheme of things but it truly tried me in more ways than I can mention.

Why does God allow trials in our lives? I think one of the reasons is so we can help others.

He comes alongside us when we go through hard times, and before you know it, he brings us alongside someone else who is going through hard times so that we can be there for that person just as God was there for us.
2 Corinthians 1:4 The Message Bible

Hope this encourages you in some way today.
Laura

my kentucky momma

My Kentucky momma is coming to visit for 2 weeks in February and we can't wait! She hasn't seen the boys in awhile so they will be much bigger to her and they'll think her much smaller:) I'll have to see if she can sneak some grits in her bag as I'm running low. When she's here it's like having a party - she's that much fun! The only problem will be trying not to go back to Kentucky with her when she leaves. It's pretty dull around here after she's gone - kind of like the post-Christmas letdown.

She loves to come out in the summer as our heat rarely climbs above 70 and the nights are cool and full of stars. We might have to buy her some rain boots this trip. By the time she returns to Berea spring will be right around the corner and her deck and all that redbud and dogwood will woo her away from us.

By the way, airfare is incredibly low right now so if you want to take a trip, now's the time.

It's Saturday here and I have absolutely nothing memorable to say. I've been reading Jan Karon's A Continual Feast and it's such a treasure! She's the author of The Mitford Series
with Father Tim and Cynthia and Dooley and the gang. If you haven't read them, run to your local library and check them all out. Then put up a do not disturb sign on your door and savor them like a box of Lindt chocolates.

Here's a quote or two from A Continual Feast...

'Tis the good reader that makes the good book. -Emerson

Where Christ is, cheerfulness will keep breaking in. -Dorothy Sayers

There is a sense in which God is at the tip of my pen, my spade, my brush, my needle - of my heart and of my thoughts. -de Chardin

the case of the giggling heroine

I've been doing a lot of reading lately and am running into more than a few giggling heroines. Heroine is an old-fashioned word (circa 1609, according to Webster's) for the female that propels a book. I prefer the word protagonist or main character. For the record, I have a hard time with heroines who giggle. They instantly lose credibility with me, maybe because I've never giggled in my entire life and I don't understand those who do.

I did a word search in all 3 of my books and was very relieved when the word 'giggle' appeared ZERO times. Chuckle and laugh, yes - but not giggle. Maybe I'm missing out by not being the giggling sort. Maybe my heroines are, too! I'm afraid I may be one of those folks "who have a hard machine to drive," according to C.S. Lewis. Life has always been serious to me.

I do find things very humorous around my house with 2 boys about, but for the most part my view of the world is more melancholy. At one point I prayed for a more merry heart but it didn't happen. I'm still the same old pensive person. I feel things deeply and often wish I didn't. I'd love a pair of rose-colored glasses:)

I've just discovered a Kentucky writer named Silas House. Isn't that a wonderful name for an author? I know, he's been around awhile and for good reason - this man can really write! And I think he plays the banjo too! This morning I read the first pages of his novel, "A Parchment of Leaves." The cover is one of the most stunning I've ever seen. If there was ever reason to pick up a book, this is the cover to covet.

But I'm not sure I can read it without skimming over the hard, heartbreaking parts. It is just too serious. I guess I'm somewhere between the giggling heroine and the heartbroken one. My books always end with hope and none of my characters get too messy.

Anyway, I've been giving away those books with giggling heroines to my giggling friends. Back to the pensive people on my pages!

waiting well

Lately it seems I'm doing a lot of waiting. Waiting for wireless internet. Waiting for Paul to read music. Waiting to lose the 7 pounds I've gained from too much time sitting and writing. Waiting for that first book to come out. Waiting for spring. Waiting for the Super Bowl party. Waiting to go on that women's church retreat in Canby, Oregon. Waiting for Paul's bad cold to be over. Waiting to see if I will catch it next.

If there's one thing about being here I won't miss, it's waiting. Imagine not having to wait for anything ever. Instant gratification. No delays. No wondering what's going to happen next. No worrying. No regrets. Heaven, indeed!

I watched a little of the inauguration this morning and wondered how well our new president waited for this day to arrive. Aren't those girls of his darling? Malia looked like she didn't have a care in the world as she twirled around on stage. Children are so present. That's the secret to waiting well, I think. I remember missionary martyr, Jim Elliot, saying, "Wherever you are, be all there."

I must confess I'm not waiting well lately. January already seems 6 months long to me! Hope your month is short and sweet and full of good books.

what really matters

Lately I've been struck by how fleeting life is and all that can change in the span of a few hours. Maybe it's because I'm suddenly wearing reading glasses and sprouting wrinkles. I'm becoming very aware of how the things we deem important today are really so very fleeting. Even books.

Have my boys ever heard of the bestselling Gone With the Wind? The music of the Partridge Family and The Jackson Five? TV with only 3 channels and no remote? Telephones with a partyline? When I describe these things they get really tickled and think I'm making them up:) Then they run to their dad to check my stories. He tells them they are indeed fact, not fiction.

This all helps keep the writing life in proper perspective. The shelf life of a book is very short. Painfully short if it sinks instead of swims. Even a bestseller is quickly forgotten. Authors come and go. Publishing trends change. The market is fickle. I like to keep all these things in mind in advance of this first book coming out. No one is going to carve on my tombstone: She Wrote 'The Frontiersman's Daughter'. By then the book will be out of print and only found in the Library of Congress archives. Negative thinking, you say? No, simply realistic. I don't know how anybody can get a big head from writing a book.

The only things that truly matter are the eternal things, often unseen. How much I love my children and husband. If I am a faithful friend. How big my heart is for missions. My part in helping spreading the Gospel. The moment I believed. A thankful heart. I'm sure you can think of some eternal things yourself.

The first rule is to keep an untroubled spirit. The second is to look things in the face and know them for what they are. -Marcus Aurelius