I purchased Peace Like a River a few weeks ago. This novel seems to crop up on the “favorites” list of most of the authors I admire or love to read. So, I used my tightly guarded Barnes and Noble gift card and splurged. If nothing else, it would look great on my shelf next to all my “writerly" books, I told myself.
But on Friday night, while I waited for my husband to come home from work, and while attempting to avoid cleaning the house, I opened the novel.
Oh, I want to write like Mr. Enger. Or at least I want to read everything he writes and weep at the beauty, or gnash with envy at his masterful talent.
Halfway through the book, I am enthralled with the story. The characters squeeze my heart and prime my tear ducts, and the word weaving is similar to a freshly spun spider web baptized with dew aglow in the light of the early morning sun.
I put a lot of stock in endings, and I’m not there yet. So, I will bite my fingernails and hope for hope, and resolution, and a hint of peace.
Minnesota produces fine writers. Thoughts from Minnesotan, Susan Meissner will be posted today. I recommend The Remedy for Regret and In All Deep Places, both poignant and rich. Her first two novels Why the Sky is Blue and A Window to the World are on my must read list. I reviewed In All Deep Places – click here to read it. http://novelreviews.blogspot.com/2006/01/meissners-in-all-deep-places-reviewed.html
BIO:
Susan Meissner is the author of four contemporary fiction titles, including "A Window to the World," named to Booklist's Top Teen Fiction for 2005. Her fifth novel, "A Seahorse in the Thames," will release in July 2006, followed by "Widows and Orphans," the first of three mystery novels, in October. Her current release is "In All Deep Places," now on bookstore shelves. She lives with her family in rural Minnesota and enjoys good coffee, real cheese and the occasional malt ball. http://susanmeissner.com/
I posed the following question:
Character, plot or prose? Which grabs you by the heart? Why?
And here is Susan’s answer.
Prose, hands-down. I honestly don’t know why. It’s like trying to explain why I love the color red. I just do. Prose moves me — awakens me — more than anything else. I loved Barbara Kingsolver’s The Poisonwood Bible, even though God kind of gets a bad rap in the plot and the characters don’t become the people I long for them to become. But the way Kingsolver weaves words is stellar. That’s why I’m especially glad for writers like Leif Enger. His Peace Like a River is a tale exquisitely told, his characters are people I can easily identify with and God doesn’t take a beating.
Monday, April 24, 2006
Friday, April 21, 2006
Scribbles and Scrambles - Funeral Pyre Pat
Funerals are rarely funny.
It’s in bad taste to laugh during a funeral.
But then, some rules are meant to be broken by certain types of families. I belong to one of those rule breakin’ funeral laughin’ families.
In our defense, let me explain the situation.
Great Grandma Mame was bigger than life. Oh, she was tiny in stature, but big in drama. At the time of her death, her mind had already been in a better place for several years. Ninety plus-plus-plus, she’d lived a full life. She earned a master’s degree in her sixties, and taught school into her seventies. She was a woman who embraced life, ate dessert first, wore purple and any other dang color combination she dang well felt like wearing. She was a woman who took command of the room, kissed her great-grandchildren sloppy and did I mention drama?
So, if her funeral had been someone else’s and she was in her full mind, she would have laughed at the events. And, just for the record, she had a relationship with Jesus. Long in coming and a great celebration of a homecoming.
My aunts and my mother may have looked overcome with grief. They sat in the front row and their shoulders shook with emotion. Unfortunately, the emotion was hysterical laughter. The young preacher read a lengthy scripture about immortality. The word was repeated many times. Each time he read it he said immorality.
That’s mild compared to the Pat moment.
Pat may have been taught to drive by a stunt or race car driver. I’ve never checked into this, or maybe it was a preacher, because every time I ride with him I feel closer to God.
We were a little late to the funeral. This is also a common theme in my family. I am the only one who arrives on time. I believe this is a rebellious streak.
Did I mention that the virtue of patience somehow skipped my dad?
We arrived at a yellow light. A yellow light in a left turning lane on the way to my great grandmother’s funeral. The car in front of us stopped, as we are all taught to do in driver’s education class. They must not teach that in stunt driving school.
On the light that was so yellow it was orange, Pat whipped around the car in front of us, which necessitated a pass on the right, and careened left, while the light turned red.
Silence filled the car.
Then I came up with some clever headlines. “Entire family wiped out on the way to matriarch’s funeral.” “Discount given for mass burial of family.” “Main Street becomes a funeral pyre for overeager family.”
And we laughed.
It’s in bad taste to laugh during a funeral.
But then, some rules are meant to be broken by certain types of families. I belong to one of those rule breakin’ funeral laughin’ families.
In our defense, let me explain the situation.
Great Grandma Mame was bigger than life. Oh, she was tiny in stature, but big in drama. At the time of her death, her mind had already been in a better place for several years. Ninety plus-plus-plus, she’d lived a full life. She earned a master’s degree in her sixties, and taught school into her seventies. She was a woman who embraced life, ate dessert first, wore purple and any other dang color combination she dang well felt like wearing. She was a woman who took command of the room, kissed her great-grandchildren sloppy and did I mention drama?
So, if her funeral had been someone else’s and she was in her full mind, she would have laughed at the events. And, just for the record, she had a relationship with Jesus. Long in coming and a great celebration of a homecoming.
My aunts and my mother may have looked overcome with grief. They sat in the front row and their shoulders shook with emotion. Unfortunately, the emotion was hysterical laughter. The young preacher read a lengthy scripture about immortality. The word was repeated many times. Each time he read it he said immorality.
That’s mild compared to the Pat moment.
Pat may have been taught to drive by a stunt or race car driver. I’ve never checked into this, or maybe it was a preacher, because every time I ride with him I feel closer to God.
We were a little late to the funeral. This is also a common theme in my family. I am the only one who arrives on time. I believe this is a rebellious streak.
Did I mention that the virtue of patience somehow skipped my dad?
We arrived at a yellow light. A yellow light in a left turning lane on the way to my great grandmother’s funeral. The car in front of us stopped, as we are all taught to do in driver’s education class. They must not teach that in stunt driving school.
On the light that was so yellow it was orange, Pat whipped around the car in front of us, which necessitated a pass on the right, and careened left, while the light turned red.
Silence filled the car.
Then I came up with some clever headlines. “Entire family wiped out on the way to matriarch’s funeral.” “Discount given for mass burial of family.” “Main Street becomes a funeral pyre for overeager family.”
And we laughed.
Thursday, April 20, 2006
Serials and Scenarios – Mary DeMuth's Perfect Mix-Up Author/Book
Hello all. I promised to mix things up now and again. Today I begin the process of sharing some non-interview questions and answers.
First, I'll introduce Mary. Mary makes this blog international. I'm going to use that term quite a bit. I believe it will end up being ad nauseum, but we’ll see.
Mary lives in France. I took three years of French in high school. I considered myself pretty multicultural. But one day, while I sorted clothes in the store where I was gainfully employed, two ladies wandered in. One lady mentioned the other was visiting from France and needed some shorts. I steered her to the spot where we corralled the shorts, and the French speaking woman asked me a question. In French. The language I studied for three years. I'm sure I played the Stupid Americano part well. I shrugged and hemmed and hawed. She made a few more beautiful sounding comments that were probably hideous insults, and I didn't understand a word. Finally, she found a pair that worked for her, and I rang her up. As I closed the register drawer, something came to me, a word, a French word. I stood a little taller and blurted, "Merci!"
The laughter filled the store and rang through the mall. An hour later, I would have sworn I still heard it. So needless to say, it thrills me to have Mary make me international. I just hope she won't ask me to speak French.
Okay – on with the program of the day…… the non-interview questions explanation.
I thought and thought and thought some more until a few odd questions or story starter sentences eked out and popped up on my computer screen.
Then I shared those questions/sentences with some writer buddies and acquaintances who said they’d play along. My question will be in red and italics, the answer in bold blue.
Perfect compilation author. Title of the best-selling novel? A tag line, too?
My example:
Author: Stephen Grisham
Book Title: "So Sue It."
Back Cover Grabber: No one recognized him, but he knew them all - every wart and blemish. Class-action in reverse, time for the settlement.
-------------Mary's Great Mix-it-up Novel Idea ----------------
Author: Jan Crichton.
Book Title: A Pox on Mitford.
Back Cover Grabber: Father Tim has a secret he’s told no one. He’s created a deadly weapons-grade virus—and his first victims? Mitford citizens.
Mary E. DeMuth
Christ Follower. Novelist. Freelance Writer.
Author: Building the Christian Family You Never Had
and Watching the Tree Limbs: A Novel
Blog. Website.
Bio:
Mary E. DeMuth has been crafting prose since 1992, first as a newsletter editor, then as a freelance writer, followed by a fiction and nonfiction author. Mary’s articles have appeared in Marriage Partnership, In Touch, HomeLife, Discipleship Journal, Pray!, Bon Appetit, Kindred Spirit, P31 Woman, and Hearts at Home. For two years she penned a lifestyle column for Star Community Newspapers in Dallas (circulation 100,000). Mary’s books include Ordinary Mom, Extraordinary God (Harvest House, 2005), Sister Freaks (Time Warner, 2005, one of four contributing authors, Editor Rebecca St. James), Building the Christian Family You Never Had (WaterBrook, 2006), Watching the Tree Limbs, and Wishing on Dandelions (NavPress, both novels releasing in 2006). In 2003, she won the Mount Hermon Christian Writers Conference’s Pacesetter Award. Mary loves to speak about the art and craft of writing as well as the redemptive hand of God in impossible situations. She’s spoken in Munich, Vienna, Amsterdam, Portland, Dallas, Seattle, Florence, Monaco and San Jose. A thirty-nine-year-old mother of three, Mary lives with her husband Patrick in the South of France. Together with two other families, they are planting a church.
Tuesday, April 18, 2006
Snippets and Sound Bites – Slick Lessons Learned
While I was Greasy…10 Life Lessons and a Bonus.
Most mistakes are not fatal. And life does not come to a screeching halt when you do something stupid.
Laughter is great for the soul.
Unless you attract flies or bright lights, chances are, most people won’t notice your flaws right away.
A sincere smile draws attention away from flaws. Unless your mouth is a faux pas factory – then you might want to work up another trick.
When people laugh at you, you can join them, or find a corner to pout in. And if you hide in a corner, or in a dark room, or with a bag over your head, you miss stuff.
Attitude is sometimes the only control factor you own.
If fear of failure, or ridicule, or love rules your life you miss out on the sweetness of living.
People vs. situations will almost always have unique outcomes.
Just because one person found success, doesn’t mean you’ll find it in the same place, and that’s okay…because….perseverance pays off.
Lemonade is made from lemons under pressure with lots of added sweetening.
Life is a learning process. Only those willing to learn have something worth teaching.
Most mistakes are not fatal. And life does not come to a screeching halt when you do something stupid.
Laughter is great for the soul.
Unless you attract flies or bright lights, chances are, most people won’t notice your flaws right away.
A sincere smile draws attention away from flaws. Unless your mouth is a faux pas factory – then you might want to work up another trick.
When people laugh at you, you can join them, or find a corner to pout in. And if you hide in a corner, or in a dark room, or with a bag over your head, you miss stuff.
Attitude is sometimes the only control factor you own.
If fear of failure, or ridicule, or love rules your life you miss out on the sweetness of living.
People vs. situations will almost always have unique outcomes.
Just because one person found success, doesn’t mean you’ll find it in the same place, and that’s okay…because….perseverance pays off.
Lemonade is made from lemons under pressure with lots of added sweetening.
Life is a learning process. Only those willing to learn have something worth teaching.
Monday, April 17, 2006
Scary and Sensational - Weird Meme
Happy Monday.
Today you have to “listen” to seven weird things about me. Like you haven’t figured out at least seven weird things from what I’ve already posted.
I’ve been “Weird Meme’d” Thanks, Heather. You can reach Heather at http://heathersfunnythoughts.blogspot.com/ should you decide to complain about having to WAIT ONE MORE DAY for the gleaned wisdom from “while I was greasy.”
7. I once believed that the “powers that be” voted to change east and west so that the sun rose in the west and set in the east. My defense – I was 15, it was 4:45 a.m. and the cutest boy in the whole world lied to me. And I still married him!
6. The above little moment of gullibility lasted a fairly long time – like a couple of months. Hey, I was young, in love and it was stinking early.
5. I can pick up things with my toes. Yes, it’s true. I once gathered loose papers, shuffled them and stapled them together – with my toes. (No the toes were NOT stapled to the papers.)
4. I once cracked my collar bone by landing really hard on my rear end. (Oooh, that’s a good story, I’ll have to share it some time.)
3. My first book was self-published. I was five at the time. The title – Lousy, the Cat – written about my cat - Lucy. Spelling was not a strength.
2. Speaking of Kindergarten…. The lovely place where I discovered that yellow was not pronounced “wello”.
1. Speaking of spelling. College level “Spelling and Proofreading” made me a worse speller.
There you have it… I guess I’m supposed to plague others with the “Weird Meme Virus.” I plan to be very selective. Hmmmm...
Today you have to “listen” to seven weird things about me. Like you haven’t figured out at least seven weird things from what I’ve already posted.
I’ve been “Weird Meme’d” Thanks, Heather. You can reach Heather at http://heathersfunnythoughts.blogspot.com/ should you decide to complain about having to WAIT ONE MORE DAY for the gleaned wisdom from “while I was greasy.”
7. I once believed that the “powers that be” voted to change east and west so that the sun rose in the west and set in the east. My defense – I was 15, it was 4:45 a.m. and the cutest boy in the whole world lied to me. And I still married him!
6. The above little moment of gullibility lasted a fairly long time – like a couple of months. Hey, I was young, in love and it was stinking early.
5. I can pick up things with my toes. Yes, it’s true. I once gathered loose papers, shuffled them and stapled them together – with my toes. (No the toes were NOT stapled to the papers.)
4. I once cracked my collar bone by landing really hard on my rear end. (Oooh, that’s a good story, I’ll have to share it some time.)
3. My first book was self-published. I was five at the time. The title – Lousy, the Cat – written about my cat - Lucy. Spelling was not a strength.
2. Speaking of Kindergarten…. The lovely place where I discovered that yellow was not pronounced “wello”.
1. Speaking of spelling. College level “Spelling and Proofreading” made me a worse speller.
There you have it… I guess I’m supposed to plague others with the “Weird Meme Virus.” I plan to be very selective. Hmmmm...
Thursday, April 13, 2006
Scary and Sensational - Sonrise
What was it like on a Friday in Jerusalem almost 2,000 years ago?
Did the scent of budding and blooming life mingle with the metallic tang of His blood?
Was the air filled with the songs of birds before the darkness enveloped the city?
Ironic - the Creator allowed His creation to use His raw materials to crucify Him.
He stayed on the cross, held by puny metal nails.
Did the angels hover by the throne of the Almighty, begging with their eyes, hoping for a sign or a word that would release them to help Him?
The earth quaked.
Did the doves mourn?
What was it like for the Light of the world to have been cut off from the blinding Light of His Father's face?
The source of Life's life slowly, painfully ebbed away with each pump of His strangled heart.
The Wonderful Counselor was alone. No one to share His grief, or hold His head or hand and whisper, "there, there."
He did this for a small handful of worthless creatures who would choose to love Him.
He died my death, that day on the cross.
Then came Sunday morning.........and the rising of the Son.
He called me out of the darkness, and calls me His bride.
Maranatha.
Did the scent of budding and blooming life mingle with the metallic tang of His blood?
Was the air filled with the songs of birds before the darkness enveloped the city?
Ironic - the Creator allowed His creation to use His raw materials to crucify Him.
He stayed on the cross, held by puny metal nails.
Did the angels hover by the throne of the Almighty, begging with their eyes, hoping for a sign or a word that would release them to help Him?
The earth quaked.
Did the doves mourn?
What was it like for the Light of the world to have been cut off from the blinding Light of His Father's face?
The source of Life's life slowly, painfully ebbed away with each pump of His strangled heart.
The Wonderful Counselor was alone. No one to share His grief, or hold His head or hand and whisper, "there, there."
He did this for a small handful of worthless creatures who would choose to love Him.
He died my death, that day on the cross.
Then came Sunday morning.........and the rising of the Son.
He called me out of the darkness, and calls me His bride.
Maranatha.
Scribbles and Scrambles - Bad Idea - Part 4
Not only did I have to go to work on Slick Thursday, but I had two other must-dos. My writing support group meeting and a trip to the mall to pick up my daughter's engraved graduation locket couldn't be missed.
I pulled my greasy Medusa locks into a messy ponytail. Copped a little swagger, and projected the "I meant to do that" attitude and I hurried to the jewelry store.
I don't know if it was the glare from the overheads that caught everyone's eye, or if it was the eau du salad wafting behind me, but I pretty much had everyone's attention. Did I mention that I had begun rinsing with vinegar after each futile shampoo post cornstarch dump?
With my prized locket clutched in my hand, I hurried to the car and braced myself for one last frontier.
We meet in the coffee shop of a large Christian bookstore. Had this Vaseline incident happened today, I'd share it with the group and we'd have a good laugh, and talk about the stories that could come out of it.
But this particular meeting was only my fourth, ever. Published, intimidating authors populated the group.
I arrived fashionably late and slide into an open chair. All eyes fastened on me. I froze and eked out a tiny princess wave.
No one asked, though subtle sniffs seemed to come from my writer friends as they walked past my chair. And I caught many odd glances, but I didn't say a word.
Survival strengthened me.
On Friday, my locks still squirmed like Medusa's on a bad hair day. Shirlee breezed in with a perfect coif and a giggle. I hummed "I Will Survive."
By Sunday, the surface of my hair was dry to the touch. A week later it shone and luxuriated around my shoulders.
The benefits lasted about two days, then I had to pay for the harsh treatment.
Come back next week and I'll share what I learned while I was greasy.
I pulled my greasy Medusa locks into a messy ponytail. Copped a little swagger, and projected the "I meant to do that" attitude and I hurried to the jewelry store.
I don't know if it was the glare from the overheads that caught everyone's eye, or if it was the eau du salad wafting behind me, but I pretty much had everyone's attention. Did I mention that I had begun rinsing with vinegar after each futile shampoo post cornstarch dump?
With my prized locket clutched in my hand, I hurried to the car and braced myself for one last frontier.
We meet in the coffee shop of a large Christian bookstore. Had this Vaseline incident happened today, I'd share it with the group and we'd have a good laugh, and talk about the stories that could come out of it.
But this particular meeting was only my fourth, ever. Published, intimidating authors populated the group.
I arrived fashionably late and slide into an open chair. All eyes fastened on me. I froze and eked out a tiny princess wave.
No one asked, though subtle sniffs seemed to come from my writer friends as they walked past my chair. And I caught many odd glances, but I didn't say a word.
Survival strengthened me.
On Friday, my locks still squirmed like Medusa's on a bad hair day. Shirlee breezed in with a perfect coif and a giggle. I hummed "I Will Survive."
By Sunday, the surface of my hair was dry to the touch. A week later it shone and luxuriated around my shoulders.
The benefits lasted about two days, then I had to pay for the harsh treatment.
Come back next week and I'll share what I learned while I was greasy.
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