July 23, 2010 @ 10:57 am | Filed under: Books,The Writing Life

 

MELROSE MIRACLE

by Staci Wilder

 

Chapter Five

             The flight home from Louisiana was delayed a couple of hours and, by the time they finally landed at LAX, it was nearly seven o’clock. Luke’s stomach grumbled that it needed some dinner but Kurt, once on the ground, was intent on only one thing: Getting home to Janie and Daniel.

            Luke unlocked the door of his apartment and stepped inside. He flipped on a light switch, tossed his keys onto the breakfast bar, and walked to the refrigerator. The steady hum of the fish tank was the only sound marring the still quietness. Pulling out a bottle of water, Luke glanced toward the tank. He’d asked elder Mrs. Norman, from the apartment below him, to feed the fish while he was out of town. Right now he was trying to remember when he’d asked her to feed the trio last. Yesterday? Today?

                He bent over the tank and peered closer. “Hmm.”

              Luke took a long sip of water and then set the bottle down and reached for the fish food. “Sorry ‘bout that, guys.” He sprinkled the brown caplets across the top of the water and watched Mannie, Moe, and Jack swim with feverish speed to the surface.

               Getting the tank, and the fish, had been a virtual afterthought during one grocery run to Wal-Mart. Sort of like a consolation prize because he couldn’t have a dog in the apartment. Besides the outrageous pet deposit his landlord required, the long hours at the studio would leave the poor animal cooped up inside more often than out. So one Saturday last month as he was pushing the cart down the shampoo aisle, he’d glimpsed the large overhead sign that read PETS. Of course, this meant pet food, for the most part, with the exception of iguanas and fish.

            Hence…Mannie, Moe, and Jack.

            Kurt had laughed when he’d learned of the newly acquired tank and fish, but Luke had shrugged it off. It was easy enough for a guy like Kurt to poke fun. He had a beautiful wife and adorable son at home. Not to mention the golden-haired retriever that ran laps around the Finley’s large suburban back yard. The consummate family man for five years now, Kurt had lost the sense of what it meant to be a single guy in LA.

            And what it meant to come home to an empty apartment night after night.

            Luke gathered his bottle of water, poured some peanuts into a small Tupperware bowl, flipped off the kitchen light, and retired to his leather chair in the corner of the room. This was his spot to relax, the place he unwound frazzled nerves at the end of each long day. He wondered what Kurt and his other married buddies did, fairly certain their rituals didn’t include sitting in semi-darkness, enjoying a cool drink and a salty snack.

            Luke leaned back and closed his eyes.

            There was a time—and not all that long ago—when he’d have been out with his single buddies, having a nice dinner or hanging out at a local pub. But that had been before Tessa, and certainly before he’d reexamined his life and found it most wanting in the spirituality department. Back then, it had been all about the fun, and how much fun could be had in a single night on the town.

            It shamed Luke now to think how far he’d allowed himself to stray from his conservative Mid-western upbringing. Fortunately, he’d made it through those tumultuous years without either of his parents finding out about some of his more embarrassing shenanigans.

            When he’d met Tessa, he thought his life had changed, and for the better. It changed, all right, but not in the ways he’d originally thought. Sure, he’d put other women out of his mind, reserving all his attention for Tessa. But her social life had made his own resemble a Boy Scout camp. Tame, in comparison with the wild parties and dimly lit clubs she loved so much.

            It hadn’t been his scene, but he’d loved Tessa and thought she’d loved him, so he’d tagged along wherever she wished to go. It had felt right at the time, like they were forming their own traditions, their own experiences together, as a couple. It wasn’t until after the pain of the breakup, he’d realized that letting go of who you were in favor of becoming more like the person you were with was no tradition at all. And their experiences? Well, most of the time the two of them had a few too many drinks to even enjoy their nights out.

            It had started out with petty jealousies and Tessa’s incessant penchant for shameless flirting. Knowing that her provocative dress and teasing mannerisms angered him, she’d promised to stop. For real, this time, she’d say. And she would, until the next time they went clubbing and the lure of attention was just too much for her to ignore. Still, when she’d packed her things and announced she was leaving, he’d been shocked. He thought they were building something solid, something permanent.

            Luke scrubbed a hand across his face now. What a fool he’d been, to believe that his future actually lay with a woman who put herself before anything and everything else. He’d never been drawn to shallow people before his move to LA; what had happened?

            It hadn’t been until a few weeks after Tessa had moved out that Luke realized the answer to that plaguing question. By then the scent of her perfume was but a memory, completely gone from his clothes and his sheets. Once she’d been purged from his surroundings, from the things he touched and smelled and viewed each day, the truth came into focus.

            He’d let go of God somewhere along the way. At what point he exchanged his daily Bible reading time for a couple of beers out with the guys or what point he’d begun to crave the noise of some club over time alone in devotion, Luke didn’t know. All he knew was that all of a sudden he was very much alone in his apartment. No Tessa. No more noise. No more distractions.

            No real relationship with God.

            It hadn’t been a pain-free walk back to where he should have been all along, but it had been an easy one. After a few weeks, he’d come to realize that he was the one who’d abandoned the relationship, and not God. Finding comfort in knowing He’d been there all along gave Luke the reassurance he needed to stand up to his buddies and say no to the meaningless evenings out on the town. Instead, he’d taken to nights like these in his apartment, times of soul-searching and truth-seeking. He’d had his fill of shallow treats and temporary pleasures. He craved substance now, and wanted this kind of quality in all parts of his life.

            Including relationships with women.

            If that meant he’d not find that in this town, then Luke knew that was something he’d have to face one day. At that time, some difficult decisions would have to be made. He’d carved out a very nice career path for himself at The Cooking Channel and he enjoyed his work. But he wouldn’t settle in love again. Love wasn’t about settling, it was about sharing heart and soul with someone who valued you for yourself.

            Luke popped a few peanuts in his mouth and chewed. But what if God were to send him the right woman? Send her right here—to Los Angeles? Luke tugged his wallet from the back pocket of his jeans, opened it, and pulled out the business card he’d carefully tucked inside. He stared down at it, his eyes going over and over the small, printed words. ELLA PAGLIA.

            Luke reached for his cell phone and flipped it open. He stared at the key pad, trying to decide whether to go for it, or not. It was seven-thirty here on the West Coast, which meant it was…what, nine-thirty in Milltown? Luke battled with himself. She might be tucking her daughter into bed. She might be asleep herself. Or—

            “Come on, Abney,” he chided himself out loud. “You can come up with a list of ‘reasons why not’ as long as your arm. Or—” Luke sucked in a deep breath and punched in the printed number on the card—“you can call her and see what happens.”

            Luke grimaced. He remembered all too well that a misplaced phone call can mean the kiss of death to a potential relationship. In all his years of dating, he’d never managed to get a good handle on when to call/not call a woman. His relationship with Tessa had only intensified his fear of the phone.

            “There are phone rules, Lukie.” She’d pouted, one hand on her slim hip. “You should know them by now.”

            The rules, he’d come to realize, were subject to change without prior notice and very often were at the whim and mercy of Tessa’s ever-changing moods. Nothing seemed to emphasize the difference between the sexes like the telephone. And not the stereotype that women like to chat and men like to have quick, informative conversations. Luke knew men who could talk your ear off and women who insisted on getting straight to the point.

                The real difference lay in call counting. Women knew who called whom last. Women knew exactly how many times each of you has called the other over the last month. Women knew that you ended the last phone conversation with ‘I’ll talk to you this weekend’ and then didn’t call until Tuesday. Women knew that it’s been 4.5 days since you last talked on the phone. A woman knows these things and she believes they matter.

               Luke had found himself in these murky waters with Tessa more times than he’d like to admit. It wasn’t like he tried to see how many times he could get it wrong. Men, it seemed genuinely don’t know who called whom last. For real. Looking back, Luke knew it was just another sign of trouble in the relationship that he’d been to starry-eyed to notice.

                 The small business card felt heavy in his hand. His heart thumped with uncertainty, and his mother’s words echoed in his head. Don’t allow this bad experience with Tessa to rob you of what God has for you, Son. Do you hear me? Funny how his mom seemed to have a better grasp on what God’s ultimate plan was for his life than Luke did.

                 He stared down at his phone. What was the worst that could happen? She wouldn’t be home? She’d be too busy to talk? What? He’d better make a decision soon, before it got to be too late.

*****

              Ella paused while brushing her teeth, listening. Sure enough, her cell phone jangled again. Still clutching her toothbrush, she made a made dash across the hall to her bedroom where the phone was plugged into the charger. Glancing at the caller ID, she shrugged. Not a number she recognized, although the area code was the same as Reggie’s.

            “Hew-o?” She’d forgotten about the toothpaste.

            “Ella? This is Luke. Luke Abney.”

            Ella’s mind went into a tailspin. Luke Abney—Mr. Blond? Between her pounding heart and a mouthful of toothpaste, her throat felt clogged and tight. She ran for the bathroom on legs that were all of a sudden about as much support as a column of Jell-O. Covering the phone with her other hand, she leaned over the sink and spit.

            “Luke.” Ella tried to clear her throat without sounding like she’d just swallowed a mouthful of pool water. “Hi. How…how are you?”

            “Good, thanks. Listen…is this an okay time to talk?”

            “Sure…” Okay time? Ella scrambled to remember the parting words of The Cooking Channel team before they’d left Milltown earlier today. Had she agreed to a phone meeting? Had they asked for something and, heaven forbid, she’d forgotten?

            “I wasn’t sure I should call this late. I know you have a small daughter and all.”

            Luke Abney’s voice was quiet and mellow in her ear. He sounded neither rushed or business-like and, as the implication of what this meant began to dawn on Ella, she swallowed against the rush of adrenaline that seemed to push through her veins like a freight train.

            “Chloe.” She nodded in the darkness of the bedroom. “Yeah, she’s fast asleep.”

            “I was just thinking about you and I remembered I’d picked up one of your cards from the diner, so…”

            “Oh!” Ella perched on the edge of her bed, her mind in a desperate race to connect the dots. He was calling because he was thinking about her? He wasn’t calling on official contest business? “Did…did you make it home okay?” She laughed nervously. “I guess you did. You are calling me from LA, right?”

            Luke’s chuckle sounded close. “Yes, I’m sitting in the living room of my apartment. And, to answer your question, we made it home just fine. Easy flight. No major bumps. And I had an aisle seat. That’s important to us tall guys, you know.”

            “Do you live in Los Angeles? Close to the studio?” Ella crawled across the bed and leaned against the headboard, pulling her knees beneath her chin. Somehow the image of Luke Abney sitting somewhere in his apartment while talking to her felt very intimate. Not sure what to do or say next, she closed her eyes tight, hoping she wasn’t coming across as some star-struck high school kid.

            “Brentwood, actually. In a little apartment. Want me to describe it for you?”

            “Sure.” Ella opened her mouth in a silent scream. Just wait till Reggie heard about this! She’d never believe it in a million years. Ella heard a faint rustling on the other end of the line and assumed Luke was moving around.

            “Okay, let’s start in the kitchen. Small, galley-style kitchen. Pine cabinets. At least, I think they’re pine.”

            “And dishes?” Ella reached down and pulled the quilt up around her legs. “What kind of dishes do you have?”

            “Oh, man, you don’t even want to know the answer to that question, do you?”

            He laughed again and the sound of it caused something deep in her stomach to flip. She gripped the quilt, leaned her chin on her knees, and listened as he opened what she assumed were the cabinets.

            “I have…let’s see…three, four…I have five plates. Plain white. Four cereal bowls, eight glasses and…hang on, this could take a while…” He counted out loud. “Sixteen coffee mugs.”

            “Sixteen!” Ella laughed. “Why so many cups?”

            “Because everyone knows I like coffee and evidently everyone thinks I need a new cup for each and every birthday that rolls around.”

            “Ah, I see.” Ella nodded. “I get candles. Lots and lots of candles.”

            “Oh, yeah?” His laugh was soft in her ear. “I’ll remember not to buy you a candle for your next birthday then. Maybe you’d like a mug?”

            “Yeah, maybe.” Ella’s heart hammered inside her chest. How was it possible that things felt so easy with this man? She couldn’t remember ever feeling this kind of intimacy on this level.

            She’d shared a passionate love story with Stephen for sure. But they had been high school sweethearts. Ella couldn’t remember ever not loving Stephen. He was as much a part of her as her arm or her leg; an extension of her.

            But this…This was different. Luke was a virtual stranger and yet he felt so familiar. The feelings he stirred in her were completely new and she wasn’t quite sure what to make of them, and certainly didn’t know what to do with them.

            “The rest of my place is about as non-descript as the kitchen, I’m afraid. Brown leather chair and sofa, a few bookshelves, lots of books. Oh…I can’t forget the fish.”

            “Fish? You have fish?” Ella smiled in the darkness.

            “I do. Three fish. Mannie, Moe, and Jack.”

            She laughed out loud. “Chloe loves fish. I think the aquarium is her favorite place. Next to McDonald’s, that is.”

            “Me too. Chloe and I must have a lot in common. Which does she like better, the burger or the nuggets?”

            “Nuggets, hands down.”

            “Me too! Ketchup or barbeque sauce?”

            “Neither. She dips them in mayonnaise.”

            “What?”

            Luke’s deep laugh made Ella’s skin grow warm. She pressed a hand over her flushed face, still not quite believing this was happening. A whimper from across the hall snapped her back to reality.

            “Oh, Luke? I hear Chloe waking up. I’d better check on her.” She paused, not sure how to handle this. She wanted nothing more than to keep talking to this man, but at the same time she didn’t want to be too presumptuous. “Do you want me to let you go or—”

            “I’ll wait.”

            Ella pumped her fist in the air and resisted the urge to jump up and down on the bed. “You sure? It could be a few minutes?”

            “Take your time. I’ll be right here when you get back.”

Tags: Free Fiction Fridays, Staci Wilder books, summer reads, writing

July 22, 2010 @ 6:08 am | Filed under: The Solid Rock,The Writing Life,Uniquely Me

There is nothing that sucks the joy out of creativity – that inate ability to build and mold and design amazing things from the God given instinct that dwells deep in one’s bones – than overthinking.  Over-analyzing.

Writing by instinct and getting it right can only happen when my heart and head align with His will. When my own will is supple and pliable, the molding process is relatively painless and the creations seem to flow.

It’s like riding a bike. You don’t read directions on it. You don’t read a book about it. And when you hop on that bike, you don’t recite left, right, pedal, balance, steer. You just do it. And the more you don’t think about it, the better it all seems to go.

And soon, you’re soaring fast, and with flair. Like pastel handlebar streamers whipping in the wind and colored beads in the spokes humming their rhythmic beat with each seamless rotation of the bike wheels.

I try to trust my instincts because they’re good and hearty instincts. I don’t want to worry about ruining the talent or stifling the creativity because I know that would be the worst possible use of my abilities, as limited as they feel some days. But that’s not the woman I want to be. Nor the writer.

So I’m writing like a woman who just simply doesn’t know any better right now. Putting it all out there. Little bits in this synopsis. Chunks of my heart in that manuscript. Layers of who I am in all of it.

Will these words ever see the light of day?

I don’t know the answer to that.

There was a time when that doubt alone was enough to stifle the creativity. To cause me to second-guess, summoning about six kinds of self-doubt that all but clogged the veins of inspiration.

But now I simply write.

I have gained this real, amazing confidence in just putting it out there and doing my very best to create without too much thinking. Without too much censoring, too much second-guessing.

I am a woman who is governed by passion.  By love. By the simplistic things in life.

But more importantly than all of these I must be governed by His will and that beautiful principle of….becoming what I’m meant to be.

It’s all about those God given instincts. Not necessarily about getting every word right every time.

***********

In other news, I’m off today for an exciting few days with the cousins!

It’s our annual girls-only summer trip, and I can hardly wait! Last year, we left my place, drove for two hours, finally stopping for lunch in an amazing little cafe that turned out to be only forty-five minutes from my house! Don’t ask…WE DON’T KNOW !

But it’s those moments with these women (and their precious daughters) that make these trips something that I look forward to for months in advance!

So I’m off to appreciate a few more of those {apron}  ties that bind in the best possible kind of way!

Chapter 4 of MELROSE MIRACLE will be up tomorrow though – tune in!

Tags: Staci Wilder books, writing

July 21, 2010 @ 6:21 am | Filed under: It's a Girl Thing,Pure Sunshine,The Writing Life,Uniquely Me

I love beautiful, simple things.

Like old aprons with a rich history, books with a timeless story, people with a look of love in their eyes, and days dotted with laughter and meaning.

There is something about real simplicity that speaks volumes to my soul. It renews me somehow, reminds me of all that is truly important and all that is not.

Simplicity is an apron tie that binds my heart strings…

I appreciate the brilliance of the Kindle, but on some days there is nothing that gives me greater satisfaction than holding a book in my hands…breathing in that deeply musty scent and fingering the pages even while the words take my mind to a place far, far away.

I adore my iPhone and all of the apps and texting and messaging it allows me…talking to many friends at once without really talking at all…But on some days there is nothing that does my heart more good than to sit down over a cup of coffee with a friend who knows my heart and talk for real…and laugh and laugh and laugh…and even cry a tear or two if the moment calls for it.

Simple, beautiful things. They are the apron ties that create simple, beautiful moments…

And I’ve learned how life often hands them out.

Good and beautiful moments followed by trying and sad. Complex hurdles and challenges balanced perfectly with simple happy days. Intricate layers of learning and knowing, feeling and being, moving forward and being content to simply reside in the moment.

I don’t think I’d have it any other way. I love the simple, the good, the happy. But without the trying, the complex, the sad, the good just wouldn’t seem as good and there would be no desire to inch forward…to the better that is just waiting to be realized.

(1) my grandmother’s apron…worn thin and stained from a lifetime of making pecan pies for the family! (2) my newest find in Natchitoches, Louisiana – love the retro look! (3) the apron I’m TRULY jonseing for…it’s calling my name!

I find myself challenged lately to really think about the broader scheme of life and circumstances, and how to have a  greater understanding of purpose.

Wanting to live purposefully and knowing that, at any given moment when things seem just as they should be  – whether it’s enjoying a luxurious morning with a delicious book or a relaxing afternoon with a dear friend over a cup of coffee  – my awareness alone for the simple and beautiful things in life is the beginning of my purposeful journey.

I’m trying to capture these thoughts and more for a new story I’m working on this summer. Without further ado – may I introduce you to my summer writing project…a way I’ve found to mix all that I love (people, books, God) with all that I find inspiring (food, aprons, writing). 

Here’s a peek…I hope you enjoy!

The Apron Ties that Bind Series:

“Amanda, Jessica, Elizabeth and Lauren are more than mere sisters. They own and operate a business together—their family’s old world-style Italian cafe. Four sisters—four distinct personalities—and four ways of managing the cafe their parents willed to them.

Amanda, the eldest and the most conservative, runs a tight ship and keeps a strict eye on finances.

Jessica, the free spirited bohemian of the bunch, finds life inside the restaurant too confining for her taste.

Elizabeth, quiet and loyal, is the peacemaker, putting her own ambitions on hold for the sake of her feuding siblings.

Lauren, the baby of the family, is exuberant and carefree, oblivious to her sisters’ quandaries as she spends her days in college classes and her evenings chatting up the neighborhood boys who venture into the cafe.

As life and love stir the hearts of the Benetti sisters, they struggle to find their own place in the world…without losing each other in the process.”

If you don’t mind, keep this story – and me – in your prayers!

Embrace YOUR apron ties today! Let the binding  {and more of life’s simple, beautiful moments} commence…

Tags: living simply, writing

September 24, 2009 @ 6:20 am | Filed under: The Solid Rock,The Writing Life

Tags: devotionals, life lessons, walk with God, writing

September 23, 2009 @ 6:22 am | Filed under: Family,Uniquely Me

So here’s the deal.

I had to write a food memoir for the Advanced Non-Fiction writing class I’m taking. As a self-proclaimed, card-carrying, exuberant  foodie, there were about a zillion-and-one  things that immediately popped into my head after receiving this assignment.

Long, laughter-filled dinner parties with friends, the way mom always made spaghetti and cherry pie for me on each and every birthday, Deviled eggs at Easter, patterning my own meatloaf recipe after  my grandmother’s (secret ingredient is brown sugar!)

I could go on and on…

The long and short of it is that food is more than just an energy source. Mealtimes are a bonding experience and whether it’s as a family or amongst friends, a good meal paired with laughter and sharing is just about as good as it gets.

Maybe that’s why I have such a passion for cooking for those I love…

Maybe that’s why I want to run a B&B one day and have my guests return home with a happy tummy, happy heart, happy memories…

And because I am writing this post instead of doing homework, I am totally digressing…and let’s face it, folks, the homework’s not doing itself.

The following is the food memoir I finally decided on. This memory holds a special place all its own in my heart. I love how its the smallest moments, filled with the most insignificant of things, that are what we remember with the most clarity from our childhood.

Plus, I know that Kevin and our respective spouses will totally get a kick outta this one!

_________________________________

        The mid-summer Texas afternoon was near perfect: cloudless blue sky, sprawling green lawns, and all up and down Bayshore Drive, the squeals and laughter of neighborhood kids as we ran with abandon through whirling water sprinklers. The morning lay like a long, winding ribbon behind us, lazy yet loud, and we didn’t know any better than to expect the hours until dusk to be exactly the same. Then and only then, when mothers, one by one, would stand on front porches and call loudly for their respective kids, would we begrudgingly turn for home. Turning to yell an occasional promise of “Tomorrow! We’ll do it again tomorrow!” to our friends, we’d trudge home with bare, dirty feet, smudged grins, and a tummy rolling with hunger. This was a scene that was repeated more times than I can even count. Only one thing ever marred those priceless dinner hour memories. But that one thing…was big enough, horrid enough, smelly enough…that my brother, Kevin, and I—much to the horror of our mother—still talk about it today.

            Homemade pickles.

            If you’ve experienced pickle-making of the homemade variety, then you know exactly what I’m talking about. If you haven’t…let me explain. Pickles come from cucumbers and did we ever have some cucumbers growing in our backyard. I was a child of the seventies and it was not uncommon for a middle-class suburban family to grow their own vegetables in neat little rows against the back fence in those days. We were no different. Neat green clumps of lettuce, juicy red tomatoes, and the most prickly okra you’ve ever felt in your life found their way up through the earth in our backyard. Unfortunately for Kevin and me, cucumbers also grew in vast amounts. Sometimes they would grow so fast and multiply in number so quickly that my mother would carry brown paper bags full to eager neighbors.

            Other times, she’d make…pickles.

            There are no words to describe running up your driveway, tired and hungry from the hours spent outside, and being assaulted in the garage by the smell of vinegar and cucumbers! It is unique, to say the least, and the acidity and sourness blend in such a way that—truly—it can only be described as a stench. One whiff and I no longer had that boisterous eight-year-old appetite. Instead my tummy whirled and spun inside of my skinny little self and I’d beg to go to bed, gagging all the while. In hindsight, my brother and I kind of wonder if the pickle-making process was just Mom’s way of needing a quiet night with the kids tucked away early! I’d hold my nose during a quick shower while the warm, soapy water washed away the day’s grime but did absolutely nothing to dilute the smell that had such a talent for wafting its way from the kitchen into the farthest parts of our home. Scarcely dry, I’d jump into pajamas and make a run for my bed. Once there, it didn’t matter that it was ninety-five degrees outside or that the sun had yet to disappear completely behind the horizon. I’d go as far down in the bed as I could, pulling every stitch of covers up over my head, burrowing my face in the pillow. Praying for sleep to quickly deliver me from the smell, I’d almost always fall asleep wondering one simple thing. Why on earth did Mom  go and ruin a perfectly wonderful summer day with a pot full of silly old cucumbers?

            I still don’t eat pickles.

            The memories of those pickle-making summers, however,  have turned out to be something I wouldn’t trade for any amount of money. The richness of shared family recollections, no matter how smelly, provide endless hours of laughter and reminiscing. Our spouses shake their heads every time Kevin or I bring up the subject of pickles, but even they are wiping away tears of laughter by the time the story has been told…one more time.

            Not the pickles again!

 

 

Tags: Family, summertime memories, writing

September 14, 2009 @ 2:21 pm | Filed under: Uniquely Me

“Openness serves as a bridge to the world of others. It enables us to get involved with others, to understand the thoughts of others, to feel what others are feeling. In other words, if we’re open, we’re able to enter the existential world of others even if at times we can’t identify with someone’s particular world.” –Brennan Manning, The Wisdom of Tenderness
_______________________
There are so many days lately that I find myself craving more time. I fight resentment over the fact that – though writing is my calling – I have so little precious time to devote to it.

I know I am where I am supposed to be right now. I am truly thankful each and every day that I have no doubt about that. But my heart very often leans toward the words that seem to always lie in the recesses of my heart and mind, just waiting for me to mine them and spin them into gold threads for a future story.

Always the stories are there.

Always they call to me in the deep of the night and in the first whispers of morning.

I pray that they not lose patience with me, that these words will find a nest within my soul and cradle there until there moment in the sun.

Openness.

That’s what I endeavor to achieve right now.

Tags: writing

January 29, 2009 @ 6:49 pm | Filed under: Faith Lifts,The Writing Life

I posted over at Faith Lifts today. If you have time, pop in and read some of the inspirational thoughts written by my fellow contributors. They are awesome women of God!

Tags: devotionals, writing

July 23, 2008 @ 8:19 pm | Filed under: Books,The Writing Life

Tags: authors, novels, writing