One of my favorite assignments in college was completing a writing autobiography. Since this is my first post, I thought I’d share a little bit of my journey. Hopefully, it’ll get you thinking about how you got where you are today.
Writing begins with reading. I was way too busy talking to learn to read until the second grade when someone suggested duct tape. But as you might suspect, my mom, Donita K. Paul, read to my brother and me. A lot. We’re talking stacks of books. We read all the children’s classics and were listening to The Lord of the Rings at the ages of seven and eight.
My brother devoured all that stuff, while I preferred fluffy titles like The Little Fur Family. I still prefer fluffy books, but maybe we should save that subject for another day.
Yes, I finally learned to read and very soon after discovered another outlet for my word overflow. Stories! My first ever was about a diver who discovered aliens underwater. They made a movie about it. Just kidding.
I was ten or eleven when I read Jane Eyre for the first time. That book changed something in my little world. I was in love with Rochester, of course. Who isn’t? But my subsequent readings revealed layer upon layer of treasure. Setting. Plot. Description. Action. CHARACTER. Even now I get goose bumps thinking about each of those elements in Jane Eyre.
Suddenly, reading was important to me, and, subconsciously, so was the writing craft. Although I continued with my first love, random babbling, I spent many hours reading. And tried my hand at short stories, poetry (gag!), and making book reports more fun (read: more creative but not entirely accurate.)
Fast forward to college: It became apparent that I wasn’t good at anything but writing. Actually, that worked out pretty well except when I tried to compare and contrast a multiple choice question on a physics exam.
I graduated with a degree in English with an emphasis in professional writing. I thought I was going to be an editor. I even worked as a proofreader until the company gently replaced my snoozing, pregnant self with someone less inclined to drool on the manuscripts.
I did the baby and kiddo thing. But in January of 2006, I had an unexpected pregnancy and miscarriage. I found myself needing a creative outlet. Something to fill the void, and so I started writing. My first novel was about friendships between men and women. It was in first person, present tense, and had three POVs. Yeah, not so great.
My second turned out better. Brandy and The Vine is about a Goth girl looking for a change. Turns out, her piercings and burgundy hair are the least of her worries. Brandy is out looking for a home right now. Poor thing, she’s a bit of a freak show.
Mom and I also co-wrote two picture books about a turtle and a dragon. Inspired by a last ditch attempt to get my then three-year-old to sleep, The Turtle and the Dragon will come out Spring of 2010. Followed by Padraig and Roger go on Safari in Summer of 2010.
That brings us to now. Like so many others, I’m juggling family and career. As an unpublished author, it’s okay if I occasionally let the writing stuff slip. But the boys really hate it when I drop them.
How about you? Is there a book that changed the course of your career path? The Little Fur Family perhaps? Are you one of those multi-talented individuals who came to writing after succeeding at everything else you tried? Or are you like me? Was there a moment in time when you found yourself hurting but somehow full of creativity?
What is your writing autobiography?
Tuesday, March 31, 2009
Friday, March 27, 2009
New Ideas?
Audre Lorde once said, "There are no new ideas. There are only new ways of making them felt." I believe she was right about that. Solomon said something similar in the first chapter of Ecclesiastes, "It has all been done before. Nothing under the sun is truly new." (NLT)
Do you know what I love about writing? Ideas are all around me, and they're limitless. When I see the trees begin to produce flowers in the Spring, I'm reminded of my personal growth that bursts into bloom after a long, dry, wintry spell of life. In that same Spring when we receive a surprise snowstorm and are forced to slow down and hibernate in our homes for a day or two, I consider the ways I am too busy, overly committed, and hard headed to realize that I'm in need of a day of rest and reflection. These epiphanies can't help but flow into my writing and inspire me to look at what I have to say with new eyes.
As writers, we are designed to take what we see, experience, and dream, and find engaging ways to offer it to our readers. There are no new ideas, only new ways of making them felt. That's one of my basic goals, to make people feel. What ideas are brewing in you? What inspires you to write? How do those things shape your writing? What does your writing make people feel?
Do you know what I love about writing? Ideas are all around me, and they're limitless. When I see the trees begin to produce flowers in the Spring, I'm reminded of my personal growth that bursts into bloom after a long, dry, wintry spell of life. In that same Spring when we receive a surprise snowstorm and are forced to slow down and hibernate in our homes for a day or two, I consider the ways I am too busy, overly committed, and hard headed to realize that I'm in need of a day of rest and reflection. These epiphanies can't help but flow into my writing and inspire me to look at what I have to say with new eyes.
As writers, we are designed to take what we see, experience, and dream, and find engaging ways to offer it to our readers. There are no new ideas, only new ways of making them felt. That's one of my basic goals, to make people feel. What ideas are brewing in you? What inspires you to write? How do those things shape your writing? What does your writing make people feel?
Wednesday, March 25, 2009
Dear Diary
Wednesday, March 25, 2009
Dear Diary,
Another day. Another blog. I almost forgot about this one. Looked at my calendar and realized it was the 25th. Oops! LOL. Anyway, I wanted to jot down some of my thoughts in regard to what happened to me this past week—a week where God dove deep, down, inside my heart and pulled up things I didn’t even know were there. Lovely things. Frightening things. Things that challenged who I was in Him.
Question: Where do I start?
Ah yes…
Eight years ago God called me to write something that was beyond my comprehension. One story. Nine books. An epic. Then He said “apprentice.” So I did.
Things went along just fine…for a while. Then my “wine skins” dried up. I wanted to quit. But God said “no.” Said He’d provide me with new skins—ones that would never empty. And He did.
Enter ACFW. Enter Kathy and Paula. Enter Heather and others.
I’d be lying if I said it wasn’t hard. It was. There’s a lot of pressure making yourself accountable to a group of women who barely know you. Sharing your dreams, your visions, your words from the Lord. Watching in amazement as they stand by you—believe in you even when you don’t/can’t believe in yourself.
So, dear diary, I stepped out in faith and trusted.
Days turned into weeks, weeks into a few years. Time did what it does best: moved forward. Sometimes slow. Sometimes fast. Sometimes at a steady drip, like water from a faucet. Yet these friends stayed there. So did the story.
Writing is an interesting experience. You start out not knowing who your characters are or what they’ll be doing. For a while you feel like a stranger in a foreign land. But before you know it, the characters—the story—belongs to you, becomes a part of you. But not without challenge.
Last week was my challenge.
Five days ago a friend sent me a link to an article posted on publishersweekly.com. When I read it, my heart stopped, my blood froze, every cliché I’d ever heard, happened. Thoughts exploded through my head as doubt clashed with promise, fear clashed with hope. I began to question everything the Lord had told me regarding my call, regarding the story, regarding His promise.
How could someone else—someone secular—been given the same story I had? Someone who I could not compete against? Someone with credentials a mile long that could propel his books—my books—into the public’s eye? And by autumn, nonetheless. It was eerie, the similarities between "his" story and "mine."
There was only one answer I could come up with. Only one answer that made sense.
I had failed God.
Failure sucks. Especially when it comes to believing you failed God. So without second thought, I did what was, to me, the next obvious step: I decided to quit. Quit writing. Quit hoping. Quit believing in the promise. I mean, why bother? I had failed the only One in my life who had never let me down.
I clicked off a text to the friend who had sent me the link and told her my intentions. Her response: get over it.
What? Get over it? Yeah. Right.
I was quick to reply with one simple word: No.
We texted back and forth for a while until the stark reality of what needed to take place next, hit me. I needed to take it to the Lord.
How long does it take, dear diary, for self-pity to turn into anger? A minute? An hour? A day? I was there now. Throwing myself in a full fit at the Lord’s feet. Accusing Him of leading me on. Of giving me false hope. Of letting me down. Yet during the entire time He did nothing but listen. Quietly, lovingly, listen. No condemnations were thrown my way and I didn’t get hit by any lightening bolts (although I probably should have). Instead, gently He lifted me up and held me close.
“Do you think I was surprised by this other book?” He whispered. “Do you think this wasn’t part of My plan? That I can’t handle a mere bump in the road? A bump the enemy put there to deter you?”
What could I say? He was right, you know. It was His plan. Not mine. His. And I had to trust that He knew best.
The evening melted into early morning before I was finally able to fall asleep. I had my tantrum, and God and I had our talk. In the end I realized what the Lord had called me to do…to write…had landed me dead center in the middle of a battleground. On my own, I would never survive. But with God on my side, carefully guiding me through the minefield, it would all work out.
After all, the battle belongs to the Lord—even when it comes to writing.
“For our struggle is not against flesh and blood, but against the rulers, against the authorities, against the powers of this dark world and against the spiritual forces of evil in the heavenly realms. Therefore put on the full armor of God, so that when the day of evil comes, you may be able to stand your ground, and after you have done everything, to stand.” (Ephesians 6:12-13)
Dear Diary,
Another day. Another blog. I almost forgot about this one. Looked at my calendar and realized it was the 25th. Oops! LOL. Anyway, I wanted to jot down some of my thoughts in regard to what happened to me this past week—a week where God dove deep, down, inside my heart and pulled up things I didn’t even know were there. Lovely things. Frightening things. Things that challenged who I was in Him.
Question: Where do I start?
Ah yes…
Eight years ago God called me to write something that was beyond my comprehension. One story. Nine books. An epic. Then He said “apprentice.” So I did.
Things went along just fine…for a while. Then my “wine skins” dried up. I wanted to quit. But God said “no.” Said He’d provide me with new skins—ones that would never empty. And He did.
Enter ACFW. Enter Kathy and Paula. Enter Heather and others.
I’d be lying if I said it wasn’t hard. It was. There’s a lot of pressure making yourself accountable to a group of women who barely know you. Sharing your dreams, your visions, your words from the Lord. Watching in amazement as they stand by you—believe in you even when you don’t/can’t believe in yourself.
So, dear diary, I stepped out in faith and trusted.
Days turned into weeks, weeks into a few years. Time did what it does best: moved forward. Sometimes slow. Sometimes fast. Sometimes at a steady drip, like water from a faucet. Yet these friends stayed there. So did the story.
Writing is an interesting experience. You start out not knowing who your characters are or what they’ll be doing. For a while you feel like a stranger in a foreign land. But before you know it, the characters—the story—belongs to you, becomes a part of you. But not without challenge.
Last week was my challenge.
Five days ago a friend sent me a link to an article posted on publishersweekly.com. When I read it, my heart stopped, my blood froze, every cliché I’d ever heard, happened. Thoughts exploded through my head as doubt clashed with promise, fear clashed with hope. I began to question everything the Lord had told me regarding my call, regarding the story, regarding His promise.
How could someone else—someone secular—been given the same story I had? Someone who I could not compete against? Someone with credentials a mile long that could propel his books—my books—into the public’s eye? And by autumn, nonetheless. It was eerie, the similarities between "his" story and "mine."
There was only one answer I could come up with. Only one answer that made sense.
I had failed God.
Failure sucks. Especially when it comes to believing you failed God. So without second thought, I did what was, to me, the next obvious step: I decided to quit. Quit writing. Quit hoping. Quit believing in the promise. I mean, why bother? I had failed the only One in my life who had never let me down.
I clicked off a text to the friend who had sent me the link and told her my intentions. Her response: get over it.
What? Get over it? Yeah. Right.
I was quick to reply with one simple word: No.
We texted back and forth for a while until the stark reality of what needed to take place next, hit me. I needed to take it to the Lord.
How long does it take, dear diary, for self-pity to turn into anger? A minute? An hour? A day? I was there now. Throwing myself in a full fit at the Lord’s feet. Accusing Him of leading me on. Of giving me false hope. Of letting me down. Yet during the entire time He did nothing but listen. Quietly, lovingly, listen. No condemnations were thrown my way and I didn’t get hit by any lightening bolts (although I probably should have). Instead, gently He lifted me up and held me close.
“Do you think I was surprised by this other book?” He whispered. “Do you think this wasn’t part of My plan? That I can’t handle a mere bump in the road? A bump the enemy put there to deter you?”
What could I say? He was right, you know. It was His plan. Not mine. His. And I had to trust that He knew best.
The evening melted into early morning before I was finally able to fall asleep. I had my tantrum, and God and I had our talk. In the end I realized what the Lord had called me to do…to write…had landed me dead center in the middle of a battleground. On my own, I would never survive. But with God on my side, carefully guiding me through the minefield, it would all work out.
After all, the battle belongs to the Lord—even when it comes to writing.
“For our struggle is not against flesh and blood, but against the rulers, against the authorities, against the powers of this dark world and against the spiritual forces of evil in the heavenly realms. Therefore put on the full armor of God, so that when the day of evil comes, you may be able to stand your ground, and after you have done everything, to stand.” (Ephesians 6:12-13)
Monday, March 23, 2009
Confessions of a Blogaphobic
Almost a year ago I stepped into this blogging arena determined to blog 2-3 times a week. Not because I wanted to, but because I was supposed to . . . I had to. :-P
I made exactly six posts in about two months. I didn’t see the point. No one was reading it, so why bother? Every week I’d tell myself that I’d start posting again . . . next week. Next week.
The year came to a close and next week never came.
The guilt piled up. I would shyly tell people I had a blog. A few people told me that it didn’t count if I never posted. (You know who you are.)
But . . . but . . . but . . . I have a blog.
So with a new year, I had new determination to blog three times a week. What was I going to write about three times a week?! I didn’t wait until next week, I just wrote something and posted it.
Why was I doing this? I was supposed to, I guessed.
I got some needed inspiration and motivation from a friend. I still didn’t know what to write about but at least I was motivated now.
Then I came up with a brilliant idea. At least I thought it was a brilliant idea at the time. I had a novella I wrote years ago. Every Friday I post an edited scene/chapter. This meant I only had to think of new things to write two days a week and my readers would get a free story. Brilliant, right?
What happens when I run out of chapters? Do I start a new story that I write from scratch? What have I gotten myself into?
So I’m posting nonsense two days a week and a chapter on Fridays. I’m inspired and motivated. And I’m having fun.
Yes, I’m actually enjoying blogging. (Shh. Don’t tell anyone.)
I have ten library books on blogging, including the Idiot’s Guide, No One Cares What You Had For Lunch: 100 Ideas For Your Blog, as well as others, trying to figure this whole thing out.
I even started another blog! Can you believe that? I thought I needed a Web site for this other project I’m working on, but a blog is perfect. I have tips, fun facts, and instructions for projects.
I’m even telling other people to start blogs. Me, a blogaphobic!
It’s mind-bloggling.
I made exactly six posts in about two months. I didn’t see the point. No one was reading it, so why bother? Every week I’d tell myself that I’d start posting again . . . next week. Next week.
The year came to a close and next week never came.
The guilt piled up. I would shyly tell people I had a blog. A few people told me that it didn’t count if I never posted. (You know who you are.)
But . . . but . . . but . . . I have a blog.
So with a new year, I had new determination to blog three times a week. What was I going to write about three times a week?! I didn’t wait until next week, I just wrote something and posted it.
Why was I doing this? I was supposed to, I guessed.
I got some needed inspiration and motivation from a friend. I still didn’t know what to write about but at least I was motivated now.
Then I came up with a brilliant idea. At least I thought it was a brilliant idea at the time. I had a novella I wrote years ago. Every Friday I post an edited scene/chapter. This meant I only had to think of new things to write two days a week and my readers would get a free story. Brilliant, right?
What happens when I run out of chapters? Do I start a new story that I write from scratch? What have I gotten myself into?
So I’m posting nonsense two days a week and a chapter on Fridays. I’m inspired and motivated. And I’m having fun.
Yes, I’m actually enjoying blogging. (Shh. Don’t tell anyone.)
I have ten library books on blogging, including the Idiot’s Guide, No One Cares What You Had For Lunch: 100 Ideas For Your Blog, as well as others, trying to figure this whole thing out.
I even started another blog! Can you believe that? I thought I needed a Web site for this other project I’m working on, but a blog is perfect. I have tips, fun facts, and instructions for projects.
I’m even telling other people to start blogs. Me, a blogaphobic!
It’s mind-bloggling.
Wednesday, March 18, 2009
Get Your Toes Stepped On
Following my last blog, I've had several people who have actually thanked me for stepping on their toes. Let me state categorically that was not my intention when I posted that blog.
I really just wanted to share a recent revelation from God about my faith and my writing, and hoped, maybe, that it might speak to one of you out there in Blog-land.
I guess I wasn't expecting God to use a megaphone to speak to you.
And yet, sometimes He does that.
I have recently been reading in 1 Kings 19 about where Elijah was hiding in the cave from Jezebel. There was an earthquake, a big wind (think hurricane or tornado), and a fire, and yet God didn't speak to Elijah through those elements. Instead, He waited until Elijah calmed down a little bit, then spoke to him in a still small voice.
So, while God does sometimes use a megaphone (think Donna), He also uses a small still voice.
Think Retreat.
The ACFW Colorado Writers Retreat is being held April 24 and 25. Last year we had a great turnout, especially considering the quick planning and short lead-in time. This year, we are expecting an even bigger group. Kimberly Woodhouse is our keynote speaker, and she has already promised to step on our toes.
And yet, for those of you who know her, you can be sure Kim will step on your toes in a way that makes you want to smile and come back for more. The Spirit of God is so sweet and delicate on her that you won't even realize she has stepped on your toes. But she isn't cotton candy – this lady has a faith to move mountains and a testimony that will bring tears and challenge you.
Please, I urge you, make plans to attend this retreat. Encourage your writer friends to attend, whether they are members of ACFW or not.
The truth is, getting your toes stepped on is not the worst thing that could happen to you. The Bible says God chastens (think coaxes, encourages, redirects) those He loves. So, if you aren't getting your toes stepped on -- well, you can figure out what that means.
The retreat time will refresh you, renew you, cause you to question your calling to write, make you hate where you are, direct you on to new heights, and strengthen your bonds of friendship with other like-minded writers who are going through the same process.
And hey, the good news is, if you get your toes stepped on enough, you can always go out and buy new shoes!
I really just wanted to share a recent revelation from God about my faith and my writing, and hoped, maybe, that it might speak to one of you out there in Blog-land.
I guess I wasn't expecting God to use a megaphone to speak to you.
And yet, sometimes He does that.
I have recently been reading in 1 Kings 19 about where Elijah was hiding in the cave from Jezebel. There was an earthquake, a big wind (think hurricane or tornado), and a fire, and yet God didn't speak to Elijah through those elements. Instead, He waited until Elijah calmed down a little bit, then spoke to him in a still small voice.
So, while God does sometimes use a megaphone (think Donna), He also uses a small still voice.
Think Retreat.
The ACFW Colorado Writers Retreat is being held April 24 and 25. Last year we had a great turnout, especially considering the quick planning and short lead-in time. This year, we are expecting an even bigger group. Kimberly Woodhouse is our keynote speaker, and she has already promised to step on our toes.
And yet, for those of you who know her, you can be sure Kim will step on your toes in a way that makes you want to smile and come back for more. The Spirit of God is so sweet and delicate on her that you won't even realize she has stepped on your toes. But she isn't cotton candy – this lady has a faith to move mountains and a testimony that will bring tears and challenge you.
Please, I urge you, make plans to attend this retreat. Encourage your writer friends to attend, whether they are members of ACFW or not.
The truth is, getting your toes stepped on is not the worst thing that could happen to you. The Bible says God chastens (think coaxes, encourages, redirects) those He loves. So, if you aren't getting your toes stepped on -- well, you can figure out what that means.
The retreat time will refresh you, renew you, cause you to question your calling to write, make you hate where you are, direct you on to new heights, and strengthen your bonds of friendship with other like-minded writers who are going through the same process.
And hey, the good news is, if you get your toes stepped on enough, you can always go out and buy new shoes!
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