Note: my site has been down. We seem to be back in business, so greetings this December 18.

Today, my dental hygienist described her accident twelve years ago–she swerved for a deer and hit a semi instead, breaking her arm in several places, crushing her humerus, ulna, and wrist, puncturing a lung, breaking some teeth and an ankle, cracking two vertebrae and lacerating her foot. Not to mention brain swelling and about a thousand bruises.

The Jaws of Life went into action, and an EMT attended her when she roused, her main concern returning her overdue library books and notifying her employer that she’d be late. Oh yes–and that her arm zigzagged like a shattered branch.

(This picture is NOT the young woman who had the accident, but it gives us an idea.)

Another detail: somehow, her tied work shoes blew off her feet. Sounds tornado-ish, doesn’t it?

She says the experience changed her tendency to keep everything spotless—of course, that’s the personality type for a fabulous hygienist. But now, if grandchild time is at stake, she can wait to sweep the floor.

One week from Christmas day, I can’t help but notice a parallel. Experiences alter our viewpoints. Accidents, traumas, and even delightful, exciting adventures transform us.

Writers try to clarify these changes in their characters. A small detail, trivial compared with collapsed lungs, can make a huge difference. If I survived such an accident, I’m not sure the flying sneakers would capture my attention. But as a writer, they do—how in the world did that happen?

Which brings us to the mystery of the nativity. Far before modern technological advances, human conception occurred apart from normal means. How could such a phenomenon occur?

There’s no nailing this one down. Some things, you simply must report and entrust to your reader.

Not much profundity comes from football, imho. However, today, I heard an announcer say, “So this team made a lot of mistakes today—what matters is their ability to put the past behind them and move forward. What happens in the next two minutes is what counts.”

And there you have it-just the truth one of my characters needs to hear. She’s never watched a football game in her life, but oh, well!

In her circumstances, forgetting how it’s always been and plunging ahead is truly all that matters. But can she do this? I really hope so, because I like her a lot and want her to succeed. Besides, what reader will stay with her if she continues to bemoan the past and sink into depression?

Not a lot to write for the day after Thanksgiving, but at least it’s something. And it certainly beats going out into our four-degree deepfreeze here in Iowa and trying to find a bargain!

Happy Thanksgiving weekend—and by the way, gratitude is one key to my character’s success in forgetting past mistakes and trying something new!

 I’m back, in the midst of Iowa’s polar vortex. Yet my Dare To Bloom blog is resurrecting, like these daisies in spring. 

DARE TO BLOOM

Where

have I

been,

you

ask?

In the land of the unbeliever-it’s difficult to consider blogging a valuable use of time with plots to devise, manuscripts to edit, agents and editors to ply…

A dear friend recently admitted she was especially sensitive that day, the anniversary of her mother’s death. But she added, “I’m okay, though–I see her in my child.”

What a statement of hope. And honestly, that attitude has to reign in the publishing world today, plugging away at your passion, staying positive, and nurturing your dreams.

I would love to hear from those of you new to my blog and others who left because I put this area of writing on hold for so long. What passion keeps you moving ahead, seeking, striving?

How do you still voices that say you’re wasting time or your efforts will come to nothing?

And how does that inner urging translate into your daily life?

I’m destined to think about cocoons lately. First, the visual came to mind in my August 15 blog in celebrating my memoir’s release.

Then, my granddaughter gave a fat green, black and yellow caterpillar a new home in a jar. She fed and watered the chubby creature and named it Cat. Today, her mom described how overnight, Cat has become a cocoon.

And during the past week, a friend who’s teaching me Spanish pointed me to a delightful video/song called Una cuncuna amarilla by Mazapan. www.youtube.com/watch?v=YjPOJ6OOh2g‎

What a fun way to learn vocabulary and sentence structure–the melody goes through my mind often.  A few days ago at a writing workshop at The Blue Belle Inn right here in St. Ansgar, I heard an author mention how whatever story she’s working on at any given time inundates her thoughts.

Maybe it’s the same principle–in both cases, we’re learning. In writing, we learn about our characters and plot as we move along.

Perhaps with any creative endeavor, we need a sequestered stage where the miracle takes place. We work hard, but at some point, sense a change. Our skills increase, and we know better what to do when we sit down to edit.

There still may be some waiting ahead for us, but we wait in hope. Now where have we heard that before?

And how is the wait going for you? I’d love to hear about your writing journey.

There are thousands of thoughts lying within a man that he does not know till he takes up the pen and writes.    ~William Makepeace Thackeray

Don’t you love Thackeray’s middle name? Of course, I would edit this quote—We discover a myriad of inner thoughts when we take up our pens and write.

August 15, 2013.  A faithful friend e-mailed me with a TA DA this morning. And why? Today, Catching Up With Daylight releases in e-book—in three months, we’ll have the print version, but some folks have already downloaded the manuscript to their Kindles.

Recently someone shared a theory about the struggle within a cocoon. The imaginal cell, destined to emerge as a butterfly, comes into its own through tremendous opposition. This cell sits in the cocoon’s soup, where all other cells attempt to kill it—it’s as if the caterpillar resists transformation into a beautiful winged creature.

But the imaginal cell multiplies, to eventually overcome and dart over the countryside.

Every published work has a history, from conception to release. The origin lies in ideas—the imaginal cells that flood our minds. Why do we receive them? And how? That’s a topic for debate, but what we do with them is what matters.

Catching Up With Daylight began with a few essays in 2004 when my husband and I moved into our present home. The manuscript endured its share of bumps on an uphill road replete with wonderings, doubts, and fears. But like a human being, it now enters the world.

The editors saw something worthy here. And my neighbor, an avid reader, writes:

Not one word of your book is intended to give pain. It is a release and a        statement of hope and moving forward. You bloom when you sit at the typewriter. The rest is in God’s hands. You wrote for a positive reason and God is smiling.

I need to focus on that smile. But it’s good to be reminded of what I did with what came into my thoughts. We each hold responsibility for that.

My motivation is to encourage readers on their journeys. And I’ve found that transparency concerning one’s own path provides the most solid support for others.

So here it is. Here we go. And as my neighbor said, the rest is in God’s hands. Another quote enlightened me today, from Myrlie Evers, Medgar Evers’ wife. I want to adopt her attitude.

         I have reached a point in my life where I understand the pain and the challenges; and my attitude is one of standing up with open arms to meet them all.

Along the way, friends have nurtured, believed in, and blessed me. Others have challenged, broadened, and helped to hone my perspective. I could pen quite a list. But I won’t—you know who you are, and I’m filled with gratitude.

If Catching Up With Daylight brings you pleasure, encouragement, or motivation, I’d love to hear from you.

Happy reading!

Book is available at www.whitefire–publishing.com/‎ and

Amazon: http://www.amazon.com/Catching-Up-Daylight-Wholeness-ebook/dp/B00EJPZHPK/ref=sr_1_1?s=digital-text&ie=UTF8&qid=1376600197&sr=1-1&keywords=catching+up+with+daylight

B&N: http://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/books/1116460147?ean=2940148394945

On daring our characters to bloom

It is often laziness and timidity that keep us within our duty while virtue gets all the credit.” 

–François de la Rochefoucauld, French writer

This concept struck me as worth exploring from a writer’s perspective. If it’s true, our characters may hide facets we haven’t considered. What if Loyal Lambert, the tenacious teacher of many a yearning youth, left behind his own dream of succeeding in the world of sculpture . . . or watercolor painting . . . or writing, because he was too timid to try?

What if he actually hates teaching, yet plasters on a pensive brow each morning, ready for whatever inquiries his students aim his way? What if his heart’s deep desire is to let his thoughts, emotions, and longings flow onto the page/canvas, or through the clay? But he’s too chicken.

What if courage, for Loyal, would be chucking it all and entering the fiercely competitive artistic “real” world? What if the world he’s chosen isn’t the one he was created to inhabit? And when he locks his classroom door each night and slinks homeward, he knows it—oh, he’s shoved the knowledge way, way, down, but it pops up like a prairie dog every once in a while.

Nobody knows how much courage such a move requires. You sit (or stand) daily with your teeming ambition, creating, creating, creating . . . with no guarantee of publication, a showing, or whatever form success takes in your chosen field.

You can’t be lazy, because you pour all you’ve got into your life’s work. The satisfaction that comes with writing that exquisite paragraph, exactly what your characters would do or say if they peopled your living room, is all the payment you get right now—and maybe ever. But you can’t stop, because those characters live and breathe. So does their story.

It took you so long to get to this point, where you’re willing to take the risk, putting your creation out there before an editor, art judge, whatever. And you’ve learned to take rejection in stride—you’ve certainly received plenty. But it’s a nebulous world you’ve entered. They say the perfect connoisseur waits out there somewhere for your masterpiece, the exact editor your manuscript cries for . . . you must keep on trusting, though your larder runs low.

You’re tempted to go rogue—self publish or stage your own show somewhere, somehow. How long must you wait for that golden moment when your creation becomes a conduit for truth to just the right audience? Did you hear wrong when that truth tiptoed into your heart?

Self-doubt stalks you. You do feel timid, but it’s more than that. You’re downright scared that all this effort, all your trials and tears, all your hopes and dreams, will come to nothing. It’s a scary feeling, a limbo-like place to dwell. But you pick yourself up from the dew of despond and soldier on.

And then you think, “Ahhh . . . this is why my character, Loyal Lambert, stays in his stultifying job. Not because it’s a virtuous vocation, although for many called to be teachers, it is.”

Loyal hears rumors of his virtue from parents, fellow instructors, maybe even his principal. They praise his perseverance, his never-ending patience. But he knows better. It’s not virtue that drives him on, day after day after day in an endless cycle. It’s timidity. It’s laziness. And he hates himself for shutting down his creativity, for the mockery that has become his daily reality.

Now, if you can get this cautious character, Loyal, to somehow hear his soul’s suppressed supplications and make the impossible decision to “do” his art, you’ve got a story! If you can revolve the facets of that common word, courage, to show that what seems like courage isn’t necessarily so, and what seems foolhardy and/or selfish may indeed be courageous, you’re on your way. Ole!

Have any of your characters needed a little push to connect them with their creativity or move them into their creative rhythm?

If so, how did you accomplish that feat?

June fifth, another cloudy day in Iowa. Our state is failing us . . . you can see it in people’s eyes at the grocery store. Some farmers haven’t even had the chance to get their crops planted, when perky rows of corn and soybeans ought to be lining the fields.

Everyone’s grateful for no ravaging tornadoes, yet the gloom that we expected to leave in April . . . then in May, still hangs on. Of course, we keep planting flowers around the yard. 

But this parade of weepy days gets to folks after a while. This morning, it got to me as I considered one of my plantings.

This is supposed to be a daisy. It IS a daisy . . . you can see the little greyish circles? Well, those are daisies poised to bloom. The trouble is, they’ve been poised to bloom for over a week. They just need a little sunshine. (Heaven knows, they’ve had plenty of rain!)

So I bumbled around this morning, trying not to let discouragement  seep into my spirit, but when you’ve been poised for something for a long, long time, it’s tough not to feel just a little down in the dumps.

See, there’s another pot w/a daisy in glorious full bloom–has been for over a week. The two plants, purchased the same day, are supposed to be matching drops of yellow in our front yard. I’m not exactly comparing them, but . . .

Anyway, all this reminded me of how it is when we’re poised for publication. Over the past few years, I’ve met so many in that position, poised, ready for “the call,” and just as many on the other side.

Whatever their stories, it’s encouraging to hear them. They cheer us on, tell us not to give up, remind us to keep on keepin’ on.

If flowers could talk, I wonder what my yellow daisies are saying to the poised ones just down the way this morning?

And you? Any thoughts to share on your journey into full bloom?

I haven’t always appreciated my husband’s sense of humor, but yesterday when he left for church, he said, “Hope you feel les miserables.” His play on words evoked the slimmest of grins.

A die-hard morning person, I never go back to bed, but this time, I did—twice. Like a longsuffering parent hearing one too many shrieks from the back seat on a long trip, after five days of toying with a sore throat and aching muscles, my body put on the brakes.

I spend most of the day horizontal. At eleven, I summoned the energy to take a hot Epsom salts bath—they say it helps remove toxins. That wiped me out for another couple of hours, but when I got up to heat a headache pack in the microwave, I noticed tiny, moving dots along the windowsill.

At first I thought I must be seeing things, but on closer inspection, you guessed it—ants. The last I knew, the ant poison sat on the highest shelf in our basement cupboard. No way.

When my knight came home, I mentioned the plague in our kitchen, and heard him descend into the abyss.

“I couldn’t find any poison,” he told me after a while.

“So what did you do?”

“Sprayed ‘em with WD-40.”

“Seriously?”

“It smells bad enough, maybe it’ll kill them.”

When I had an energy surge strong enough to carry me to the kitchen, there sat the telltale blue and yellow can—he hadn’t been joking this time. He had sprayed the stuff, and it did smell lethal.

Epilogue: A couple days later, I’m happy to report that I’m upright. Also, most of the ants have fled. And what does this have to do with writing? It’s all about creativity. We do the best we can, and sometimes we “make do.” My critique partner and I co-wrote a flash fiction piece this week, and it was fun letting the creativity rip.

One of the characters revealed his bad guy skills, and at the last minute, a power woman showed up to show him up. Actually, the denouement turned into a murder, complete with theological overtones.

Ahhhh . . . creativity!