In Primary, the children sing a song with these lyrics:

Give said the little stream, give oh give, give oh give

Give said the little stream as it hurried down the hill

I’m small I know But wherever I go,

Give oh give, give oh give

Give said the little stream as it hurried down the hill

Singing singing all the way

Give oh give, give away

Singing singing all the way

Give oh give away

But what happens when you have no more to give?

The question I am most commonly asked when going out to booksignings or speaking engagements, “How do you find time to write?”  I’m harsh in my answer. Sometimes bitter. (still cringing over my answer at my last literacy night in Eagle Mountain . . . I hope that guy forgives me for my angst ridden response)

Time.

I’d love time.

I’d love to find time like you do spare change when going through pockets before tossing clothes in the laundry. But I never find time for anything. I steal time. I steal time away from housework, and yardwork which results in the scariest abode in the entire town. I steal time away from friends . . . I seldom go visiting anyone or calling anyone. I steal time whenever it isn’t looking and I can sneak up on it, thump it on the head, and drag it off to do my bidding.

This results in a harried, frenzied life where the person in the middle of it is left screaming, “But I have no more to give.”

Have I become such a whisper of the person I once was, that I truly have no more to give?

Short in-denial-answer: No

Longer if-I’m-honest-with-myself-answer: I am pickier about what I give to and sometimes I feel guilty about that.  I feel guilty when my dishes aren’t done, when the boyscout leaders think I am the slacker mom from the hot place, when I have to find alternative sock options because I’m behind in laundry. I feel guilty when they (they is the sum total of any organization) ask for volunteers and my name is never scrawled onto the sign up sheets.

Singing, singing all the way . . . give oh give . . . give away.

I’m sensing a need to take a break.  I told my friend Karen Hoover that it was okay to take a break from writing when life gets too insane.  I do that sometimes too. I usually take a month or two off in summer when I have kids home and needing me. I write sparingly during that time. I think I’ll get the book I’m working on done this week—a bright flashfire of writing, and then a week or two of respite and recharge. I plan on reading at least ten books and soaking in lots of hot baths during the respite as my reward for being a good girl. Then the drought will be over and I’ll be able to sing, sing down the hill, “give oh give away” again. J

I know I know. I’ve already reviewed this book. But you can never have too much of a good thing.  I reviewed the book LOOOOOONG before it was released and now it’s available to buy, which is why you get to do a double take.  It’s a great novel and my favorite in her series so I wanted to remind everyone of how cool it is.

The fourth and last book in the Out of Jerusalem series, Land of Inheritance, is a vibrant completion to a well written, poignant tale. This conclusion shows us a glimpse into the lives of Nephi and his family as they settle into the promised land. Heather Moore has woven the scripture into a reality I can believe happened. I feel like I got to know Nephi as he carved out the scriptures. I understood passages of scripture that I had never really acknowledged before. The prologue starts off with Nephi who wakes up to find that the ship he had built had been set on fire. The ship represented so much to the family that it was an immense emotional loss. Of course, the guilty arsonists were his older brothers Laman and Lemuel.

My favorite line: “The writings of Isaiah are straightforward compared to females.”

Get your copy today!

There are certain words that I commonly misspell, words like “inheritance.” I swear it should have an E and not an A on the ‘ance’ part. It doesn’t matter how often people correct me or how often I see it underlined in red by my Word program. My thick skull refuses to accept the reality of that word spelling.

This is especially terrible since I once wrote a book called The Inheritance. One would imagine I’d bother to learn to spell the word I’ve highlighted in a title, but alas . . . no. I maintain my ignorance. It’s not that I’m not teachable.  I can be taught (though my math tutor from college who stormed out of my dormitory shouting no one deserved to be with me for more than two minutes might argue . . .). And it’s not that I’m stupid. I’m fairly intelligent (again, the math tutor would argue).

Sometimes I think parts of my brain are hardened like concrete and just as immovable. The synapses stop firing and those parts of my brain become like old and worn filing cabinets, used only for reference(albeit inaccurate reference), but never to add anything new, and never to allow an edit of those files.

Those filing cabinets are comfortable. They may make me look like an ignorant sort of author, but they’re like old friends who hang out on my couch and never pay their share of the gas money. They bug me, but not enough to get rid of them. I’m wondering if I’m the only one out there with mistakes hanging out on their couch. Anyone else willing to fess up?

It is with serious heavy heart that I write today.

The literary world has lost one of the greatest writers of our day. James Rigney, aka Robert Jordan, passed away yesterday somewhere around 2:45 PM.

Is it absurd to cry over a person you’ve never met?

My life changed forever the day I began the journey into the Wheel of Time. It was not *the* beginning, but it was *a* beginning.

http://www.dragonmount.com/RobertJordan/?p=90

May you shelter in the palm of the Creator’s hand, Jim Rigney. And may the Mother’s last embrace welcome you home.

Annette  tagged me for middle name meme. Yes, my middle name is Caroline. I got my middle name from my mom’s middle name. No one ever uses my middle name for anything . . . not even my mom when she was mad at me. But here goes:

C– Chocolate. I know how totally typical that sounds and it never used to be true. I used to despise chocolate, but lately it has been my life preserver in the dark and lonely sea of publishing. I prefer fine chocolate like Sconza, but every once in a while I slum and get a Hershey’s bar.

A- Alive. I have a pulse. I think this is a good thing.

R-Radio . . . it’s the only instrument I play. and Reservation . . . the only way my husband gets a decent meal he didn’t make. 

O- Overwhelmed ( I stole this from Josi) My favorite thing to chant to myself is “I am only one person . . . I can’t do everything” but the chanting doesn’t stop me from trying. I do too much and sometimes I break down due to the simple fact of being overwhelmed. Obsessive would work too.

L- Loquacious. It’s true. I talk too much. 

I- It. Whatever it is . . . I’m that too.

N- Nice. I try to be nice (shut up James) really I do. The world would be so much happier if people tried at a little niceness.

E- Emotional. For good or bad, I’m nothing if not emotional.

I tag Karen Hoover and Janette Rallison

Mr James Dashner has finally joined the blogging world. He feels a little lonely since he doesn’t think his million hits a day are enough for his big ego so he decided to promote his blog. That’s where I come in. Since I adore James and I just know his next fantasy book (due out in March) is going to rock the foundations of literature, I decided to give him a shameless plug. Go visit James at http://www.jamesdashner.blogspot.com/ 

I know I’ve said it before, but Tuesday is my day to blog over at Writing on the Wall. So if I may divert your attention:

http://writingonthewallblog.blogspot.com/

Thanks again for all the kindness everyone.

I read manuscripts to my husband as I write them. He helps me fill in plot holes I’m not aware of and gives general critique that’s pretty valuable. He is my favorite audience because I get his reactions, whether they be tears or chuckles, up close and personal. But sometimes . . .

The other night I wrote a line that struck me as funny. So while he brushed his teeth, I read it out loud to him.  This is the line:

“Nothing in the world is as scary as a mentally unstable nice person.”

“Well?” I asked.

“Well what?”

“I thought it was funny. What do you think?”

He spits in the sink and stares at me a minute before saying, “I didn’t realize you were reading to me. It sounded like you were talking about yourself.”

He is so lucky I love him. This may be the only thing keeping me from putting cayenne pepper in his contact solution.

  or not . . .

Notice the stance?  I’m too straight, hence the really great green and blue welt on my arm from the 40 pound snap of a compound bow, and the far more bruised ego as my brother, father, and sister in law laughed at me. I did get better once I learned to angle my stance better– see:

I’ll take a gun any day over the bow and arrow. Actually that isn’t true either. My pride, damaged as it is, insists on learning this to perfection so I can go back and prove that I’m not scared of a piece of wire. A gun is easier though . . . my favorite date memory in college was when the guy took me to a shooting range to show off his skills, and then never called me again when I proved my skills were greater.

While I waited for everyone else to take their turns, I got to sing my baby nephew to sleep and watch the sun set on Oak City.

So the evening had merit after all . . .