Scattered Jules

And yeah right . . . a writer without words . . .

I took this photo in Hawaii in a rain forest (don’t ask which one . . . That whole week was one blur of bliss and zen) I’ve come to really enjoy the concept of paths with turns that disappear behind trees or whatever. A path with turns, twists and the insecurity of not knowing what waits around the corner.

Life is a path like that. I feel like I’m there right now, standing at the turn, insecure in not knowing what waits for me, wondering if I dare take the step that will put me face to face with something new . . .

Does anyone have a good path story, where they got around the corner and found a surprise, good or bad, waiting? I’d love to hear it while I stand here contemplating my own bend in the road.

Because I am the mom

For your Mother’s Day enjoyment, you need to check out the above youtube video.

I am not all that fond of Mother’s Day. I’t a day to reflect on all the many ways I fall short. The fact that I got a really cool hammer from my husband for my mother’s day present (and the fact that I love it) is indicative of the type of woman I’m not. But I am starting to feel more comfortable with myself in my role as mother.  Moms are more than people who cook meals and clean house. Moms are people who genuinely love their offspring. I can do that. Moms are people who laugh, and cry, and scold, and sing, and cuddle, and laugh some more. They are the ones who rush in to hold you when you’re feeling sick, unloved, afraid. They are the ones who hold you long enough for the love to sink into your bones, until you feel better again. They are flawed–all of them. Kids are flawed too so it all works out okay. I don’t bake fabulous things. I don’t do a lot of things right, but I do the important things right.

My own mom is a sweet little lady who is desperately flawed. I wouldn’t have her any other way. She drove me in the mornings on my paper route because I was afraid of the dark and the Sunday papers were so heavy.  She had water fights with me and my friends. She properly humiliated me the day I needed to buy a strapless bra for prom (no my dress wasn’t strapless but the lace straps were . . . well lace. Lace has holes.) I still remember the day I walked in her room to find her on her knees in prayer. I hurried to duck out of her room so I didn’t disturb her, but the image of her turning to God for help stayed with me.

She’s a great mom. She’s there when I need her. What more could I ask for? I try ot be there for my kids when they need me.

Moms carry a lot of guilt around. We carry it with us like cloaks, worn on the outside, covering up all the great things we do. It’s springtime, ladies. Shake off your cloaks. Focus on the little moments where we get it right. There’s lots of those moments. Find joy in them.

Tristi Pinkston is the proud parent of a new book: Season of Sacrifice.

Sarah Williams is a young Welsh immigrant, coming to Utah to join her sister Mary Ann Perkins. When the Perkins are asked to join the San Juan mission to pioneer a trail through Southern Utah, they take Sarah along to help care for the children. But a six-week journey turns into six agonizing months of hard work and toil as the Saints blast their way through a cliff to bring their wagons through what would become the famous Utah landmark “Hole in the Rock.”

Finally settled in the San Juan, Sarah’s true hardship begins when Ben Perkins asks her to be his second wife. With their faith and testimonies challenged to the core, both Sarah and Mary Ann struggle to find the true meaning of Christ-like love and obedience. Will they make it through?

To commemorate her new novel we’ve done an author interview with her as follows:

1. When did you start writing?

Today is my day to graffiti on the wall: http://writingonthewallblog.blogspot.com/ Go take a look on a few tips to writing romance. If it’s incoherent it’s because it’s midnight and I am so tired I can barely write without my eyes bulging out of my head.

In good news, I finished a major edit of the Hazzardous Universe and feel good to have things a little more solid. YAY!

I am going to Vegas this week. I spend a lot of time in Vegas due to trade shows and the like. I don’t really get into the glitz of that city. I don’t gamble, I don’t drink, and I don’t care to see scantily clad women running around everywhere. But owning a business requires me to go to Vegas a lot.

So I have found a few places in Vegas that I love. The Bellagio is one of them. The “dancing fountains” is simply poetic. And the gardens are beautiful. They change the gardens in the Bellagio every couple of months and the designs are fabulous in every way.  Sometimes life size and larger than life statues made of flower blossoms, and train sets driving through trunks of real trees, can be found there. It is a beautiful room, filled with beauty, talent, creativity.

It’s nice to have places in the world filled with such wonder. I’ve also found that the temple in Las Vegas to be one of the most perfect places to simply sigh in relief. There is a little courtyard tucked into the center of the building with an outdoor garden. The garden has a couple of fountains and a little stream running through it. Unlike the Bellagio gardens, there are few people in the courtyard. One can sit on a stone bench and have it all to themselves. In the Bellagio gardens, there is still noise and confusion, high amounts of traffic, people snapping pictures. It’s sometimes hard to sigh in relief when you get there. It is an escape from the strip, but not far enough of an escape.

I like to be in the courtyard at the LV temple and simply sit. To breathe in and out with my eyes closed so I can hear the quiet of the place. It’s not as fancy as the Bellagio, but it is elegant in its simplicity. I find my own rhythm there, while I breathe in and out and feel my heart steady to its natural pace. If you’ve not been to the LV Temple, I suggest going. Have a sit in the courtyard and breathe for a while. You won’t be sorry.

Karen Hoover tagged me a couple of weeks ago (see what a slacker I am?) And Tristi Pinkston tagged me as well. I can put it off no longer. Seven random things about me:

1. I Hate Mayo–and not just a little. I really really hate it. I went to a fast food place with my dad who hates Mayo more than I. We spent ten minutes telling the kid behind the counter to NOT put mayo on our burgers. Told him mayo was fruit of the devil and consuming it ensures a ticket to the hot place. It’s fast food . . . the employees are teenagers . . . what did I really expect was going to happen? You guessed it–Mayo. When I tossed the burgers on the counter and stared down the kid who’d taken my money, he grabbed the burgers, turned to the fry cook and muttered, “I told you they’d notice.”

Yeah. He KNEW he was giving me tainted food.

2. I once joined with my brother in a neighbor feud. We put a dead fish under the seat in my neighbor’s car. It was july. The high the next day was 103. I still feel guilty, even though I snicker when I think about it.

3. My husband and I almost broke off our engagement when we took ballroom dance classes together. For the sake of relationship preservation, we quit the classes instead. Years later, I found out that not only CAN the man dance, but he is pretty wicked good at it. What a punk! The whole unwilling to dance thing is his only flaw and remains a sore point with me.

4. I used to steal flowers from La Caille’s gardens in the middle of the night so I could deliver them to my grandma while I ditched school the next day.

5. I don’t think I’m a good role model for teenagers and I shouldn’t admit to floral theft in a public forum.

6. I still mourn the loss of Kaberry Kaboom Ice cream from ben and Jerrys

7. I’m happy. I mean I’m really happy. I don’t have everything in the world, but I have three healthy kids who make me laugh, one husband who alternates between making me laugh and making me sigh with adoration, a roof over my head, heat in the winter and A/C in the summer, and I found success doing the one thing in life I always wanted to do–write.

And I found when I really looked at my life, I am happy. Yeah sure, there are little things that trip me up every now and again, the house isn’t always (or ever) spotless, there’s a list of mile long of have-to-dos, and sometimes I feel like the little stream who sings and gives away and then dries up (making a tragic ending to a children’s song). But when I really put my life under the microscope, I can only smile with what I find.

I think it was last year when they did the census and I turned mine in, but for whatever reason the post office put a spin on that whole “through sleet and snow” oath and failed to deliver my census. The government hired some poor person to call those who were missing in action and ask the questions personally.  After I was done and had answered those ultra personal questions, the lady paused for a long moment. I almost thought she’d hung up. Then she said, “Do you have any idea how rare you are?”

I was startled. But I understood what she meant. And sometimes when doubts creep into my life ABOUT my life, I look at that beautiful rare family and smile. Oh yes, I am happy.

I was tagged for a meme by my dear friend Karen Hoover and I swear I will do the tag on my next post, but it’s late and I have a hard time being clever when I feel wiped out.

I just got back from speaking at a writer’s group in Ephraim. Talk about rolling out the red carpet! They had my name advertised on the town marquee, they fed me a fabulous dinner, they provided me with excellent conversation, they gave me a wicked cool gift basket and laughed at my jokes. What a great crowd. I had a blast.  Shirley Bahlmann had invited me to come speak to their group and am I ever glad I did! I’m tempted to move just so I could have a cool writer’s group like Shirley’s.

What was really awesome? I signed a lot of books, not the brand-new, never-been-read kind . . . but the worn, ragged-edged, crinkly-paper-from-being-around-a-bathtub kind.

There is a truly awe inspiring feeling that overcomes an author (well . . . this author anyway) to hold a worn out and much used book in your hands with a smiling fan standing in front of you asking you to sign it. The book is loved.  Every scuff and bent page is significant. The book is proof that somewhere along the way, this reader and this author had a communication open between them. Even though the author wrote those words months and sometimes years previously, and the reader read them months and sometimes years previously, and even though the author and reader had never met before this one moment, they understand something about one another.

When I sign the new books, it’s different. The reader hasn’t read the book yet. They don’t know if they like it or not yet. I don’t know if they’ll ever crack the spine (that sounds gruesome, doesn’t it . . . crack the spine?).

But a book that has been read and reread, I know that the reader has pieces of me fused into their hearts. I know that they like things similar to what I like. And when they ask me to sign a book that they obviously loved, they are saying that they feel I did my job well. It’s the best kind of pat on the back.

Yep . . . I love what I do. Thank you Ephraim!

J Scott Savage is doing a blog tour when his advanced reading copies are released for the novel Farwold. The blog tour will consist of doing reviews and interviews and he’s giving two free ARC’s for every blogger who becomes part of his tour. He’s capping it at 200 bloggers.  You can read the rules at his website: http://jscottsavage.blogspot.com/

I am doing a major plug for this book because I had the privilege of reading it before it was a glimmer in Shadow Mountain’s eye. I read it before Scott had finished writing it and nearly had a nervous breakdown while waiting for him to give it completion. You will not be sorry if you choose to use his book as a review book and a subject for topic on your blog. It was spectacular! Scott is a great visionary. He understands his market, his craft and his characters. His dialogue is rich, his plot–action packed and filling. You’ll love it . . . I promise.

I bought the book A Circle of Quiet just after my booksigning at the BYU symposium. It was on sale, and I can’t turn down a sale. I love to tell Scott how much money I save him. Besides, I loved reading A Wrinkle in Time when I was in fourth grade and was happy to read more about her.

I have shed many a tear since then. Madeleine and I have quite a bit in common. We’re both neurotic writers. We’re both mothers trying to juggle writing careers while dealing with the tsk tsks from other mothers who have it all together when we don’t. We both own grocery stores in small communities. We both married men who loved acting. We’ve been dealt the stinging blow of rejection and have come back screaming, “Is that all you got?”

Okay so maybe neither of us came back screaming for more, but we did come back . . . isn’t that the important thing?

I  hate how I’ve discovered how much I love this woman only after it was too late to ever meet her. Madeleine died last September. I would love to give her a hug and say, “Thanks for understanding my very weird life.”

Something that struck me as utterly profound was this statement she made after a rejection she received on her fortieth birthday. This was after her years in the thirties, which were filled with endless manuscript rejections and incredible guilt for taking time to write books when she worried she might be better occupied to learn to make cherry pie and do as other–more proper–mothers do. She decided to, “Stop this foolishness and learn to make cherry pie.”

She covered her typewriter in what she refers to as a great gesture of renunciation and walked around and around her room bawling, totally, utterly miserable.

While pacing and bawling, she stopped, realizing her subconscious mind had already begun working out a novel about failure.

She uncovered her typewriter.

This was her moment of decision. This was her moment where she realized she WAS a writer, no matter what, even if she never had another book published.

A quote from her on this matter is, “I’m glad I made this decision in the moment of failure. It’s easy to say you’re a writer when things are going well.”

I mourn the fact I never got to hug her.

There have been several rocky years where I was faced with the very real possibility that I would never see my name on a future publication. There was a time when I covered my computer, and said, “Stop this foolishness and learn to make pie.” Okay, maybe I never said I’d learn to make pie, but there are so many ways I fall short of other women because I have split my life into other things. I would stop the foolishness of writing, and be like other moms.

I uncovered my computer.

I, too, am glad to have made this decision in my moments of failure.  And now with another book coming out,  quite possibly two, I wonder that I even considered it.  There is no such thing as second child infertility with novel writing. If you can write one . . . you can write two, and more. If you can make the choice to keep writing amidst rejection and failure, then you’ve proved something important–to you and to the world, but most importantly to you.

You proved you really are a writer.

Art by Kevin Wasden–the brilliant

J Scott Savage brought this book to my attention, so I went out and bought it (no easy feat since it was first published in 1987 . . . thanks Heavens for eBay!). I had no idea Stephen King wrote fantasy, so the idea of this book intrigued me.

At first . . . well, I hated it. The writing is all passive with very little dialogue and the first several chapters are predominantly exposition.  These are major irritants to me as a reader. However, I experienced a change in heart somewhere around page fifty. At that time, I determined I actually liked this book. The story worked for me. And in spite of all the rules being broken, the broken rules ended up working for me too.

The story is centered around two young boys, princes of the land of Delain. The older is wise and good and the second . . . well, he’s not quite good, but decidedly not bad either. The second is simply confused. Their father, the king, is murdered, and the older brother is blamed and imprisoned for a crime he did not commit. This leaves the younger brother, who knows the truth of the murder since he witnessed it first hand, to claim the throne and the kingdom. Naturally with the good and wise brother locked up and the confused brother in charge, the kingdom falls to ruin–exactly as planned by the murderer.

There are some lovely bits of fantastical elements in the book, some poignant thoughts on judgment, and a clever little twist involving dinner napkins.

While the book is marketed to young adults, I personally will not be suggesting it to my twelve-year-old, not for several years yet. I liked the book, but felt some of the thematic elements are decidedly adult or at least older teen. I know . . .I know. Kids these days are grown up enough to handle adult themes and childhood no longer smells like honey on the wind. Innocence is for babes in arms, not teenagers–not any more.

But my twelve-year-old remains mine, and I get to make decisions like this for a while still. If I can shield her away in a protective bubble for a little longer, I plan to do so. Don’t worry, she won’t be getting Rapunzel syndrome or anything, my protective bubbles are nowhere near the isolation of a tower with no doors.

However if you know of any towers with no doors where I could lock my daughter up in until she’s got a master’s degree . . .

I’m kidding! sorta . . .