tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-37231242667527503062024-03-07T16:27:29.323-07:00ANWA Founder & FriendsWherein Marsha Ward (the founder of American Night Writers Association) and a few of her friends blogged about Life, the Universe, and their place in the World of Writing and Publishing. This blog is now dormant.Marsha Wardhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15389060049107102815noreply@blogger.comBlogger2811125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3723124266752750306.post-25144496528001163062018-01-02T00:00:00.000-07:002018-01-02T00:00:12.689-07:00The ANWA Founder & Friends Blog<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<span style="font-family: "courier new" , "courier" , monospace;">It's been Eleven Years!</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "courier new" , "courier" , monospace;">I refer to the ANWA Founder & Friends Blog, which has been running for that length of time.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "courier new" , "courier" , monospace;">I'm Marsha Ward, the Founder of ANWA and the host of this blog. The original purpose, to illuminate ANWA and its authors, has been met. The additional goal to help other writers is now served in other, better ways. Therefore, it's time to end the blog and move onward to new adventures.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "courier new" , "courier" , monospace;">We've had many members on our Blog Team through the years. I want to acknowledge all these women and their wonderful blog posts, as well as our current Team. Included are two current Team Members who have been blogging along with me for the entire time: Kari Pike and Terri Wagner. Susan Cady Allred, </span><span style="font-family: "courier new" , "courier" , monospace;"><span style="font-family: "courier new" , "courier" , monospace;">Deb Graham, and Cindy R. Williams fill out the team. </span>Thank you! Thank you all!</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "courier new" , "courier" , monospace;">Now we're all moving on. We all have a lot to do in our lives as well as our writing careers, so I'm pretty sure the prick of losing this opportunity will not last long.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "courier new" , "courier" , monospace;">I will leave the blog up so that you can return and read your favorite posts from years gone by.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "courier new" , "courier" , monospace;">May you all have a wonderful New Year, full of joy and good cheer.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "courier new" , "courier" , monospace;">~Marsha Ward</span>Marsha Wardhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15389060049107102815noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3723124266752750306.post-71421625386845199972017-12-29T12:57:00.000-07:002017-12-29T12:57:01.293-07:00Looking forward to 2018<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhGzqjxp7yvYZGzBywRdmW50oqyq2gg5LGWdDLg2lBal6fJkl9qQf_ZYxWZKY5ooZe-aTAI7rY9IbM_0TfqwDYrshJwI_Vh5ws8nrBv-YgV5s0gt-WZkYceiRaSs9kwgChCg2tk-dXxcjTt/s1600/photo-1513552032527-39351ae04f86.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="900" data-original-width="1350" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhGzqjxp7yvYZGzBywRdmW50oqyq2gg5LGWdDLg2lBal6fJkl9qQf_ZYxWZKY5ooZe-aTAI7rY9IbM_0TfqwDYrshJwI_Vh5ws8nrBv-YgV5s0gt-WZkYceiRaSs9kwgChCg2tk-dXxcjTt/s320/photo-1513552032527-39351ae04f86.jpg" width="320" /></a>I'm not gonna lie. I was done with 2017 by about January 27th. And March 12th. And I'm pretty sure I begged for 2018 about 37 1/2 times throughout the year. Somehow I survived with all my fingers and toes still attached, though some family members didn't kept all their body parts. <br />
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I've spent years telling myself, "As soon as I get through this, I'll (insert goal here)." My great epiphany of 2017 was that life is not going to settle down for me. This is my normal and I'd better figure out some way to cope and move forward. If things haven't settled down after seven years, they're not going to settle down. <br />
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So I pulled up my big girl panties until I had a wedgie, pulled back my shoulders, and decided to push onward.<br />
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This year, I refuse to look back. Only forward. Goals are set and excitement is building. Instead of enduring the torrential downpour, I choose to dance in the rain, puddle-jump to my heart's content, marvel at the lightening shooting across the sky, and howl with the thunder as it vibrates through my bones.<br />
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No matter what life throws at you, I hope I find you dancing in the rain with me - it's always more fun when you have someone to splash with. May your new year be amazing and filled with wonder.<br />
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Happy New Year!<br />
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<br />Susan Cady Allredhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17192890882888509562noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3723124266752750306.post-30088256309553513512017-12-23T00:00:00.000-07:002017-12-23T00:00:01.634-07:00Be a Bonfire<div class="MsoNormal">
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<span style="background: white; color: #545454; font-family: Roboto;"><o:p>by Deb Graham</o:p></span></div>
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<span style="background: white; color: #545454; font-family: Roboto;">I have Seasonal Affective Disorder, as do about 10% of western Washington’s residents. It’s an inconvenient disorder to contend with during the gloomy, dank, dark, dismal, sunless, often rainy, never-ending winters that plague this area. Symptoms include a mad desire for light in any form, carbo-craving, fatigue and lethargy, and a little internal voice that chants, “HiberNATE! HiberNATE!” when attempting to do anything vaguely ambitious. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="background: white; color: #545454; font-family: Roboto;">Days are entirely too short here; often, streetlights shine before school buses pass the house. The only treatment I’ve found that sometimes helps, besides running up the electric bill and surrounding myself with special lights, is to plan a trip. Planning a sunny journey mid-winter gives me something to look forward to, as well as boosting my spirits enough to make through until springtime. Conveniently, my mother lives in Florida. I make a point to visit her in the darkest part of the year, To Be Sure She’s Alright. Mind you, she’s just fine the rest of the year, but in the middle of winter, I’d better go see for myself, and take a week or more doing it. I admit it’s a little transparent, as ruses go, but it beats jumping off a high building. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="background: white; color: #545454; font-family: Roboto;">I think about light a lot this time of year. I find myself drawn to Christmas lights and candles and lightbulbs and flashlights and lamps and stars, when they’re visible, which isn’t often around here. Did I mention it rains? And I think about the Savior, the Light of the World, the reason for the pretty little Christmas lights all around. An oft-repeated admonition of Jesus is found in Matthew, and a few other places as well throughout the scriptures.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<i><span style="background: white; color: #545454; font-family: Roboto;">Ye are the light of the world. A city that is set on an hill cannot be hid. Neither do men light a candle, and put it under a bushel, but on a candlestick; and it giveth light unto all that are in the house. </span></i><em><b><span style="background: white; color: #6a6a6a; font-family: Roboto; font-style: normal; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi;">Let your light so shine</span></b></em><span class="apple-converted-space"><i><span style="background: white; color: #545454; font-family: Roboto;"> </span></i></span><i><span style="background: white; color: #545454; font-family: Roboto;">before men, that they may see your good works, and glorify your Father which is in heaven.</span><o:p></o:p></i></div>
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<span style="background: white; color: #545454; font-family: Roboto;"> The Lord is big on light, it seems, and expects us to shine. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="background: white; color: #545454; font-family: Roboto;">Who am I to shine? This time of year, especially, I feel more like a weak, wet match than a bonfire. But let’s look at that match. Once lit, however fleeting or weak, it has the power to light a long-burning candle, a bonfire, a forest fire. When I taught my Girl Scout troop to light cooking fires, they did so under a sprinkler. It’s easy enough to light dry firewood, but to light rain-soaked wet wood, the kind we find north of Seattle ten months of any year, well, that’s a skill! They all succeeded in not only striking a spark, but boiling water and a single spaghetti strand soft enough to tie a square knot in. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="background: white; color: #545454; font-family: Roboto;">As I sit in darkness, being a little candle, I feel mighty inadequate. And a thought comes to me: not one about a light big enough to cast a dim glow across a room, but a full-on summer-beach-sized bonfire. That’s the kind of fire to be; a roaring fire that gives so much light, tourists can smile from three miles down the beach, wishing they were included. That’s the kind of light I want to be, the kind of old that steered sailors from a rocky jetty, bigger than a birthday candle. I can do this through my writing as well as human interaction.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="background: white; color: #545454; font-family: Roboto;">So is Letting My Light So Shine Before Men That They May See (My) Good Works a daunting task? Likely, but I can take small steps. I’m all about small good works, anything that pushes back the darkness a little more. My goal: Be a bonfire. Any spark has potential, right?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
Deb Grahamhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11156428420149097653noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3723124266752750306.post-85410375586713557242017-12-21T13:59:00.003-07:002017-12-21T13:59:22.457-07:00Christmas Blessings<div>
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Having grown up in the snowy mountains of northwest Montana, I always struggle to get into "Christmas mode" without some snow and ice. Thank goodness for music and cheesy Hallmark Christmas movies and yummy cookie traditions.<div>
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This year has proven to be particularly difficult. Honestly, between health challenges and the recent loss of family members and close friends, I couldn't find it in me to drag out the tree and the boxes and the strings of lights. My husband knew it was bad when, after wandering a bookstore for nearly an hour with the intent of purchasing Christmas gifts, I turned to him and motioned toward the door.</div>
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"Get me out of here." </div>
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"But you didn't buy anything. Where else you would like to go?" Doug put one arm around my shoulders and pushed the exit door open with the other. A cool breeze swirled through the door and I shivered. The ache in my heart and the fatigue of a long day made it difficult to walk let alone think and make decisions. All I wanted was my bed.</div>
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"Can we just go to church Sunday, sing a few Christmas hymns and listen to a couple of talks and go home and go to bed? Can we just call off all the celebrations this year? I can't do it."</div>
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So home we went. A little chocolate and good night's rest helped restore my mood for a day or two. When I realized I had 9 days until Christmas and I hadn't even started shopping yet, I kind of freaked out. </div>
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Then Tuesday happened. </div>
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #1d2129; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">There's nothing like a little "could have been deadly" accident to bring the important things back into perspective. Doug and Amy were driving north from Gilbert to Prescott Valley on I-17. Just before the Pinnacle Peak road exit on the north end of Phoenix, the semi in front of them changed lanes, revealing a hand truck in the road. With no time to react, they hit the hand truck and lost part of the front bumper along with a parking light and damage to cowling around the tire and some sensors. But no one got hurt!!! And the car was driveable. </span></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #1d2129; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">The highway patrolman asked if they saw what they hit, because all he could find was a couple of wheels. The hand truck had disintegrated. We have insurance and </span></span><span style="background-color: white; color: #1d2129; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; white-space: pre-wrap;">they will cover a rental car while repairs are made. The mechanics couldn't believe everyone walked away uninjured. We are blessed beyond measure. </span></div>
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #1d2129; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; white-space: pre-wrap;">Tomorrow the grandchildren are spending the day here decorating cookies and having fun. We will go caroling and play games Saturday evening. Sunday we will change up our traditional Christmas Eve trip to the zoo and act out a family version of the nativity. Family members will perform musical/reading numbers and we will enjoy lots of food and laughter. There might even be a few gifts exchanged...(assuming I can get off the computer and go shopping!) </span></div>
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #1d2129; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; white-space: pre-wrap;">I hope your holidays are full of love and joy. Merry Christmas to all and a very happy New Year.</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #1d2129; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; white-space: pre-wrap;">hugs~</span></div>
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Kari Pikehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13855609339118198399noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3723124266752750306.post-60273364320475544202017-12-12T14:23:00.000-07:002017-12-12T14:23:05.348-07:00Between a Rock and A Hard Place<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEil_agxkwCcQF46I4ZhJUpHonRORuw39sv4fogx8KlrRyKYUU5C0hAbQj_VExhcRZ_qUo6We-URA4OOd3n0BrMTpANEAcil5N46qwqTe9K9mb0JmIwd5Bw5CX61c3vBOGhnTqrDHTiGyTk/s1600/t1.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEil_agxkwCcQF46I4ZhJUpHonRORuw39sv4fogx8KlrRyKYUU5C0hAbQj_VExhcRZ_qUo6We-URA4OOd3n0BrMTpANEAcil5N46qwqTe9K9mb0JmIwd5Bw5CX61c3vBOGhnTqrDHTiGyTk/s200/t1.jpeg" width="200" height="133" data-original-width="309" data-original-height="206" /></a></div>by Terri Wagner<br><br>Appropriately enough our Gospel Doctrine lesson was on being a good citizen. In case you've been writing or hiding, you should know Alabama is voting on a new senator. We have quite the brouhaha here over our two candidates. While the lesson suggested you mention local elections, I did not want to get into a big discussion on this one. So I carefully read the riot act: vote, be active, run for office...and left it there. I did suggest they check the platforms of the people running for office, and prayerfully consider who to vote for. That's been tough here. How do you reconcile conflicting stories from 40 years ago...I have literally run from anyone trying to pin down who I intend to vote for while I considered and reconsidered. In the end, I made a decision based on as much fact (from fiction) as I could and prayed about my decision. And I still have no clear idea if I am making the right decision. I hope I am not wrong. I hope my vote counts, and the one I'm voting for wins, and proves to be what we need. So I'm signing off now to go vote.Terri Wagnerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06905158157291602809noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3723124266752750306.post-59733752335878445552017-12-09T00:00:00.000-07:002017-12-09T00:00:42.950-07:00It's the storm, not me, that's bound to blow away<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 0in;">
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<span style="font-size: 18.6667px; line-height: 21.4667px;">by Deb Graham</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Lucky me– while in Utah visiting kids and grandkids over Thanksgiving, I attended a live broadcast of Music and the Spoken Word, with the Mormon Tabernacle Choir. I saw them perform for the first time in July ,in the LDS Conference Center, and that was majestic and grandiose and overwhelming. This time was in the Tabernacle on Temple Square, a surprisingly intimate-feeling venue. We sat on seats hand painted by pioneers who wanted oak and had only pine at hand. Besides loving the swelling music that vibrated the seats and my heart, two things jumped out at me.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;"> Mac Wilberg is a known musical genius, but I had no idea to what degree that’s true. We sat in our seats a few minutes early, and the Choir was rehearsing. Mac Wilberg stood on his podium with a headset on, the 110-member orchestra at his feet, the 360-member Mormon Tabernacle Choir in front of him. They ran through a line or two, and he waved his hand to a stop. He singled out three male singers on the fifth row, and asked for “More energy, please, not more volume,” and called for the second and third cellos to pick up the pace on stanza eight, if you please. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Now, granted, I impress easily. I freely admit my only musical talent is as an audience, and a fine audience I am; polite, attentive, appreciative. To see a man so finely tuned that he could isolate three choir members and two cellists out of the all the waves of sound around him surprised me. How much do I miss in my life simply because I don’t block out the distractions around me? <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">The Choir sang a song I hadn’t heard. My daughter sat beside me, and at the first stanza, we turned to one another, locking eyes. She recently moved away, breaking several hearts in the process, including mine and hers. Those lyrics went right through us both; I felt it, I saw it in her eyes. We agreed we need to both print out the words and post them in our homes to remind us we’re tougher than we think we are. See if they don’t make you feel better!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;"> I also found the Mormon Tabernacle Choir’s rendition on YouTube, should you have a few minutes to listen to it. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Hold On from <i>The Secret Garden</i><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="background: white; font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11.5pt; line-height: 115%;">When you see the storm is coming,</span><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11.5pt; line-height: 115%;"><br />
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<span style="background: white;">There's terror in your eyes!</span><br />
<span style="background: white;">What you do then is remember</span><br />
<span style="background: white;">This old thing you heard me say:</span><br />
</span><span style="background: white; font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 16pt; line-height: 115%;">"It's the storm, not you,</span><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 16pt; line-height: 115%;"><br />
<span style="background: white;">That's bound to blow away."</span><br />
</span><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11.5pt; line-height: 115%;"><br />
<span style="background: white;">Hold on,</span><br />
<span style="background: white;">Hold on to someone standing by.</span><br />
<span style="background: white;">Hold on.</span><br />
<span style="background: white;">Don't even ask how long or why!</span><br />
</span><span style="background: white; font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 16pt; line-height: 115%;">Child, hold on to what you know is true,</span><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 16pt; line-height: 115%;"><br />
<span style="background: white;">Hold on 'til you get through.</span><br />
</span><span style="background: white; font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11.5pt; line-height: 115%;">Child, oh child!</span><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11.5pt; line-height: 115%;"><br />
<span style="background: white;">Hold on!</span><br />
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<span style="background: white;">When you feel your heart is poundin',<span class="apple-converted-space"> </span></span><br />
<span style="background: white;">Fear a devil's at your door.</span><br />
<span style="background: white;">There's no place to hide-</span><br />
<span style="background: white;">You're frozen to the floor!<span class="apple-converted-space"> </span></span><br />
<span style="background: white;">What you do then is you force yourself</span><br />
<span style="background: white;">To wake up, and you say:<span class="apple-converted-space"> </span></span><br />
</span><span style="background: white; font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 16pt; line-height: 115%;">"It's this dream, not me,</span><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 16pt; line-height: 115%;"><br />
<span style="background: white;">that's bound to go away."</span><br />
</span><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11.5pt; line-height: 115%;"><br />
<span style="background: white;">Hold on,</span><br />
<span style="background: white;">Hold on, the night will soon be by.</span><br />
<span style="background: white;">Hold on,</span><br />
<span style="background: white;">Until there's nothing left to try.</span><br />
<span style="background: white;">Child, hold on, There's angels on their way!</span><br />
<span style="background: white;">Hold on and hear them say,</span><br />
<span style="background: white;">"Child, oh child!"</span><br />
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<span style="background: white;">And it doesn't even matter</span><br />
<span style="background: white;">If the danger and the doom</span><br />
<span style="background: white;">Come from up above or down below,<span class="apple-converted-space"> </span></span><br />
<span style="background: white;">Or just come flying</span><br />
<span style="background: white;">At you from across the room!</span><br />
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<span style="background: white;">When you see a man who's raging,</span><br />
<span style="background: white;">And he's jealous and he fears</span><br />
<span style="background: white;">That you've walked through walls</span><br />
<span style="background: white;">He's hid behind for years.</span><br />
<span style="background: white;">What you do then is you tell yourself to wait it out</span><br />
</span><span style="background: white; font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 16pt; line-height: 115%;">And say it's this day, not me,</span><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 16pt; line-height: 115%;"><br />
<span style="background: white;">That's bound to go away.</span><br />
</span><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11.5pt; line-height: 115%;"><br />
<span style="background: white;">Child, oh hold on.</span><br />
<span style="background: white;">It's this day, not you,</span><br />
<span style="background: white;">That's bound to go away!</span></span><span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">We are not going anywhere. We just have to hold on and push back the swirling darkness. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
Deb Grahamhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11156428420149097653noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3723124266752750306.post-79504798770954632622017-12-07T14:05:00.002-07:002017-12-07T14:05:44.639-07:00An Invitation to Growby Kari Diane Pike<div>
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About three and a half years ago, our youngest son Levi and our niece Megan participated in a cultural celebration to commemorate the dedication of the Gilbert Arizona temple for the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. Several hundred youth and their leaders rehearsed in dry, asthma-attack-inducing, dusty conditions and then performed as icy rain poured down from the sky. Megan described the event as the most horrible, magnificent experience she had ever had. All of the youth bore testimony of the Spirit they felt and the witness they received that Jesus is the Savior and Redeemer and that the Book of Mormon is another testament of Jesus Christ. They recognized that because of the conditions they faced, they could see how Heavenly Father strengthened them and gave them the ability to carry on with their celebration. They learned that they could do far more than they ever thought possible and do it joyfully.<div>
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I've heard Megan's words echo in my mind quite a bit the past couple of months. Life is magnificent, but sometimes living hurts. And have you ever noticed that just when you think you've figured out some of the answers, the questions change? Or the challenge gets bigger?</div>
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Why does it seem so hard to follow through on those flashes of inspiration and promptings I receive from the Holy Spirit? Through prayer and study I've discovered answers to questions and greater insight into principles of the gospel that have helped me make sense of recent challenges. For instance, I came across a wonderful article by Wallace Goddard titled, <a href="https://ldsmag.com/a-loving-perspective-on-difficult-children/" target="_blank">"A Loving Perspective on Difficult Children"</a> that I knew would help me understand and communicate better not only with my grandchildren, but with several adults in my life. Brother Goddard used a phrase that did more than light a bulb over my head. His "<i><u>Irritation is an invitation</u></i>" shot off fireworks in my brain. Thoughts and ideas that had been floating around began to fit together. But there was still something missing.</div>
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In seminary, we recently studied the book of Mosiah in the <i>Book of Mormon: Another Testament of Jesus Christ</i>. We compared the experiences of the people of King Limhi and the people of Alma. Both groups of people were descendants of the people who followed Zeniff from the land of Zarahemla back to the land of Nephi. Both groups ended up in bondage to the Lamanites and experienced great hardship and burdens. Both groups were eventually delivered from the bondage by the Lord. But their experiences also had some great differences. </div>
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The people of Limhi had initially rejected the words of the Lord given through Abinidi and Alma. They stood by as Abinidi was burned to death and Alma was hunted. Only when they began to recognize that Abinidi's prophecies had been fulfilled, did they begin to change their attitude and repent. The Lord was slow to hear their prayers because of their iniquities, but He did hear them, and He began to soften the hearts of the Lamanites and the people began to "prosper by degrees". Eventually, Gideon came up with a plan and the Lord strengthened the people to carry out a plan of escape. </div>
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The people of Alma sought him out and found him near the Waters of Mormon. They risked their lives to listen to him preach the truths of the gospel and to be baptized. They received warning when wicked King Noah discovered their whereabouts and they were lead safely to the land of Helam where they began to prosper. But then in Mosiah 23:21, 23 we read: </div>
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<i>Nevertheless that Lord seeth fit to <b>chasten </b>his people; yea, he trieth their patience and their faith...For behold, I will show unto you that they were brought into bondage, and none could deliver them but the Lord their God, yea, even the God of Abraham and Isaac and of Jacob.</i></blockquote>
While I thought I understood in my heart what the Lord is trying to teach in this account, I couldn't think of the words needed to answer the question I knew my students would ask : But they were obedient and making good choices. They were good people, so why did bad things happen to them? Why does the Lord see fit to reprimand people when they are being good?<br />
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Then I came to a quote in the <a href="https://www.lds.org/manual/book-of-mormon-seminary-teacher-manual-2017/introduction-to-the-book-of-mosiah/lesson-64-mosiah-23-24?lang=eng" target="_blank">lesson</a> that added the missing piece to my puzzle:<br />
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<span style="font-size: x-small;"><i><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0.01); color: #333333; font-family: DistrictThin, "Lucida Grande", "Lucida Sans Unicode", "Lucida Sans", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">“The word </span><span style="background: 0px 0px rgba(255, 255, 255, 0.01); border: 0px; color: #333333; font-family: DistrictThin, "Lucida Grande", "Lucida Sans Unicode", "Lucida Sans", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;"><b>chasten</b></span><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0.01); color: #333333; font-family: DistrictThin, "Lucida Grande", "Lucida Sans Unicode", "Lucida Sans", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> comes from the Latin </span><span style="background: 0px 0px rgba(255, 255, 255, 0.01); border: 0px; color: #333333; font-family: DistrictThin, "Lucida Grande", "Lucida Sans Unicode", "Lucida Sans", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">castus,</span><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0.01); color: #333333; font-family: DistrictThin, "Lucida Grande", "Lucida Sans Unicode", "Lucida Sans", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">meaning ‘chaste or pure,’ and </span><span style="background: 0px 0px rgba(255, 255, 255, 0.01); border: 0px; color: #333333; font-family: DistrictThin, "Lucida Grande", "Lucida Sans Unicode", "Lucida Sans", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">chasten</span><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0.01); color: #333333; font-family: DistrictThin, "Lucida Grande", "Lucida Sans Unicode", "Lucida Sans", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> means ‘to purify’ [see </span><span style="background: 0px 0px rgba(255, 255, 255, 0.01); border: 0px; color: #333333; font-family: DistrictThin, "Lucida Grande", "Lucida Sans Unicode", "Lucida Sans", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">Merriam-Webster’s Collegiate Dictionary,</span><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0.01); color: #333333; font-family: DistrictThin, "Lucida Grande", "Lucida Sans Unicode", "Lucida Sans", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">11th ed. (2003), “chasten”]” (Lynn G. Robbins, </span><a class="cross-ref" href="https://www.lds.org/liahona/2016/11/sunday-morning-session/the-righteous-judge?lang=eng&para=p12#p12" style="background: 0px 0px rgba(255, 255, 255, 0.01); border: 0px; color: #0091bc; font-family: DistrictThin, "Lucida Grande", "Lucida Sans Unicode", "Lucida Sans", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; text-decoration-line: none; vertical-align: baseline;">“The Righteous Judge,”</a><span style="background: 0px 0px rgba(255, 255, 255, 0.01); border: 0px; color: #333333; font-family: DistrictThin, "Lucida Grande", "Lucida Sans Unicode", "Lucida Sans", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;"> Ensign</span><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0.01); color: #333333; font-family: DistrictThin, "Lucida Grande", "Lucida Sans Unicode", "Lucida Sans", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> or </span><span style="background: 0px 0px rgba(255, 255, 255, 0.01); border: 0px; color: #333333; font-family: DistrictThin, "Lucida Grande", "Lucida Sans Unicode", "Lucida Sans", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">Liahona,</span><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0.01); color: #333333; font-family: DistrictThin, "Lucida Grande", "Lucida Sans Unicode", "Lucida Sans", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> Nov. 2016, 97).</span></i></span></blockquote>
All this time I had been looking at "chasten" as a reprimand or lecture or punishment. But <b>purification</b> - now it all made sense to me. When my trainer at the gym sees that I have progressed as far as I can physically with the exercise routine he had set up, he adds new challenges and pushes me to go faster, lift more weight, etc. He wants to help me increase my fitness, so he makes the workout more difficult. The Lord saw that the people of Alma were ready to grow. As a result, they bore their burdens with grace and humility. They prayed for deliverance. Because of their righteousness, the Lord answered right away and strengthened them to be able to bear their burdens until such a time as He saw fit to deliver them out of the hands of their captors.<br />
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The Lord delivered both groups of people from their bondage. The main difference is that the people of Alma saw their trial, or irritation, as an opportunity to submit their will to the Lord and remained steadfast and immovable despite the persecution.<br />
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So, I made it my goal to stop and think when I feel irritated by circumstances or the actions of others and ponder the invitation I am being given to grow spiritually and to become more like the Savior as He purifies me. For some reason I feel like more situations than ever have cropped up to challenge my desire to do and be a better person. Sometimes I manage to recognize them and navigate through successfully, but more often than not, I find myself distracted or focused on other things and I trip, stumble, and even fall flat on my face.<br />
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Oh, how grateful I am for Jesus Christ's Atonement - the one and only way I can be strengthened enough to get up, find my bearings, and continue moving forward. I can let go of irritation and let it become an invitation to grow, to change, and to humbly submit myself to the Lord. This does not mean I have to tolerate abuse of any kind - please don't misunderstand. It does mean that I can let go of offenses - whether they are intentional or perceived - and I can forgive myself and others and extend love the way the Savior extends His love to all. I can experience happiness and joy amidst the challenges by knowing that it is through those challenges that I will learn who I am: a daughter of a Heavenly King who loves me so much He sent His Only Begotten Son to live, love, serve, suffer, bleed and die, and rise again - opening the way for me to also be redeemed and choose eternal life.<br />
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Life is magnificent and the pain is worth it.<br />
hugs~<br />
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Kari Pikehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13855609339118198399noreply@blogger.com10tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3723124266752750306.post-75484361584036175232017-12-05T11:26:00.000-07:002017-12-07T11:51:10.980-07:00Time<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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by Marsha Ward<br />
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It seems like time is rushing by so fast I can barely keep track of the days.<br />
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I noticed two days ago that I had a calendar stuck on October. As I regretfully flipped past November, I wondered where all that time had gone.<br />
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Had I used it wisely?<br />
Had the hours been spent doing something good and/or worthwhile?<br />
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I think so. Two weeks of October were spent traveling to and from and attending a week-long workshop on the coast of Oregon. The over-arching theme of the workshop was "Time," and how authors--especially indie authors--don't have enough of it to do everything they want to accomplish. I came away dazed, and with my head so full of information that I thought it would explode.<br />
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In November, I finished working on a piece of fiction that I wrote over the span of three years, mostly because the main character wasn't ready to move on. I can't force characters to reveal their secrets until they are ready. However, I managed to publish <i>Mended by Moonlight</i> on the last day of the month.<br />
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I also traveled to attend a family Thanksgiving celebration. That was very nice. I may spend Christmas Eve with that side of the family again.<br />
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Now I'm starting a new story. The challenge there is to break away from everything else I do and make time for writing it.<br />
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I have so many plans for things to do in the new year: cover re-dos for better branding, writing, marketing, learning. I have to focus hard and pick the most worthwhile projects and endeavors.<br />
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What do you do with your time?Marsha Wardhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15389060049107102815noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3723124266752750306.post-990095936653190892017-11-30T23:48:00.001-07:002017-11-30T23:48:17.840-07:00Dealing With Writer's Block<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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I knew this would eventually happen. After five years of constant obsession over writing, editing, and improving my craft, I knew I would eventually hit a wall. And, in true Susan Allred fashion, this writer's block is spectacular. Not spectacular as in, "this is so much fun I must do this every winter." More like "is this ever going to end? I have stories to write this century."<br />
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And it hasn't been just novel writing. The inspiration for our mystery game business has dried up, I have difficulty editing for more than fifteen minutes at a time, and I posted all of 238 words for NaNoWriMo in the month of November. Sigh. That's still 238 more words than I wrote in October.<br />
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Every day I sit at my computer with a list of different topics I could be writing about. And every day, I stare at a blank screen. I've plotted my Tim Reaper book twice, hoping to get the creative juices flowing. I've read other author's books. I've listened to a variety of audible books. I consider story lines as I'm driving and falling asleep, and have post-it notes all around my work space with ideas and prompts to motivate me to work.<br />
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I pray. I read my scriptures. Yesterday I went to the temple in hopes of finding the peace I need to begin working again. This blog is the closest thing to writing I've done all month. I'll take it.<br />
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As I struggle to find the creativity I need to push through this quagmire of creative mud, I'm reminded of those in the scriptures who endured hardships much more difficult than mine for years, sometimes decades, before finding relief. I'm reminded that this minor struggle is a twinkle in the fabric of time, and it will pass. <br />
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Until then, I take a deep breath, set my stories aside, and focus on my family during this holiday season. Maybe what my mind is really telling me is that I need to spend more time with the little ones while they're still in my home. Make new Christmas memories, bake cookies, visit friends and loved ones, and serve those around me. <br />
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What is a few months of writer's block if it means strengthening family and relationships and truly celebrating the birth of our Savior? So, I guess for now, I will continue to plot my stories while they're fresh in my head. And the true writing will begin in January. Sigh. This too shall pass.<br />
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<br />Susan Cady Allredhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17192890882888509562noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3723124266752750306.post-90152793897475539822017-11-25T00:00:00.000-07:002017-11-25T00:00:38.855-07:00Creating<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "arial narrow" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Does the God of all the universe and all within the expanse of eternity care about my measly writing goals? Does it matter one bit if I craft a perfect paragraph, finally locate the key to my research, design a stunning book cover, type The End on a manuscript?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial narrow" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">In the same way I cheer on my young grandchildren when they learn a new skill or stretch in anyway, I think He does. I think the act of writing, of linking words together like beads on a string is a significant part of eternity. There’s a lot of dark influences in the world; anything we can do to push back the darkness even a little bit is worth doing. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial narrow" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Dieter F Uchdorf said in October 2008: <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: #333333; font-family: "arial narrow" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt;">“The desire to create is one of the deepest yearnings of the human soul. No matter our talents, education, backgrounds, or abilities, we each have an inherent wish to create something that did not exist before.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: #333333; font-family: "arial narrow" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt;">Everyone can create. You don’t need money, position, or influence in order to create something of substance or beauty.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: #333333; font-family: "arial narrow" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt;">Creation brings deep satisfaction and fulfillment. We develop ourselves and others when we take unorganized matter into our hands and mold it into something of beauty—and I am<span class="apple-converted-space"> </span><em style="box-sizing: border-box;">not</em><span class="apple-converted-space"> </span>talking about the process of cleaning the rooms of your teenage children.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: #333333; font-family: "arial narrow" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt;">You might say, “I’m not the creative type. When I sing, I’m always half a tone above or below the note. I cannot draw a line without a ruler. And the only practical use for my homemade bread is as a paperweight or as a doorstop.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: #333333; font-family: "arial narrow" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt;">If that is how you feel, think again, and remember that you are spirit daughters of the most creative Being in the universe. Isn’t it remarkable to think that your very spirits are fashioned by an endlessly creative and eternally compassionate God? Think about it—your spirit body is a masterpiece, created with a beauty, function, and capacity beyond imagination.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: #333333; font-family: "arial narrow" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt;">But to what end were we created? We were created with the express purpose and potential of experiencing a fulness of joy.<span class="apple-converted-space"> </span>Our birthright—and the purpose of our great voyage on this earth—is to seek and experience eternal happiness. One of the ways we find this is by creating things.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: #333333; font-family: "arial narrow" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">How does this apply to writing? Have you ever found yourself caught up in a plot line, enthused about how well that part turned out, felt a swelling sense of accomplishment reading over words you personally strung together? In a very small (but valuable!) way, that’s a shadow of God’s creations. After the earth was created, Genesis records the Creator stepping back and saying, “It is good.” Not spectacularly overwhelmingly awesomely wonderful, but good. Our writing is like that. </span><span style="font-family: "arial narrow" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Perfection is a process. Anything we learn in this world becomes part of us, our very being. Learning to expand our skills in communication and expression is not sneeze-worthy. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: #333333; font-family: "arial narrow" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt;">In Alma 34 we read:<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span class="apple-converted-space"><b><i><span style="border: none 1.0pt; color: #333333; font-family: "arial narrow" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; padding: 0in;"> </span></i></b></span><i><span style="color: #333333; font-family: "arial narrow" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt;">Cry unto him when ye are in your<span class="apple-converted-space"> </span>fields, yea, over all your flocks.<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
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<span style="background-position-x: 0px; background-position-y: 0px;"><i><span style="color: #333333; font-family: "arial narrow" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt;">Cry<span class="apple-converted-space"> </span>unto him in your houses, yea, over all your household, both morning, mid-day, and evening.<o:p></o:p></span></i></span></div>
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<span style="background-position-x: 0px; background-position-y: 0px;"><i><span style="color: #333333; font-family: "arial narrow" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt;">Yea, cry unto him against the power of your<span class="apple-converted-space"> </span>enemies.<o:p></o:p></span></i></span></div>
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<span style="background-position-x: 0px; background-position-y: 0px;"><span class="apple-converted-space"><b><i><span style="border: none 1.0pt; color: #333333; font-family: "arial narrow" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; padding: 0in;"> </span></i></b></span></span><i><span style="color: #333333; font-family: "arial narrow" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt;">Yea,<span class="apple-converted-space"> </span>cry<span class="apple-converted-space"> </span>unto him against the<span class="apple-converted-space"> </span>devil, who is an enemy to all<span class="apple-converted-space"> </span>righteousness.<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
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<span style="background-position-x: 0px; background-position-y: 0px;"><span class="apple-converted-space"><b><i><span style="border: none 1.0pt; color: #333333; font-family: "arial narrow" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; padding: 0in;"> </span></i></b></span></span><i><span style="color: #333333; font-family: "arial narrow" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt;">Cry unto him over the crops of your fields, that ye may prosper in them.<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
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<span style="background-position-x: 0px; background-position-y: 0px;"><i><span style="color: #333333; font-family: "arial narrow" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt;">Cry over the flocks of your fields, that they may increase.<o:p></o:p></span></i></span></div>
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<span style="background-position-x: 0px; background-position-y: 0px;"><span class="apple-converted-space"><b><i><span style="border: none 1.0pt; color: #333333; font-family: "arial narrow" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; padding: 0in;"> </span></i></b></span></span><i><span style="color: #333333; font-family: "arial narrow" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt;">But this is not all; ye must<span class="apple-converted-space"> </span>pour out<span class="apple-converted-space"> </span>your souls in your closets, and your secret places, and in your wilderness.<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
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<span style="background-position-x: 0px; background-position-y: 0px;"><span class="apple-converted-space"><b><i><span style="border: none 1.0pt; color: #333333; font-family: "arial narrow" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; padding: 0in;"> </span></i></b></span></span><i><span style="color: #333333; font-family: "arial narrow" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt;">Yea, and when you do not cry unto the Lord, let your hearts<span class="apple-converted-space"> </span>be<span class="apple-converted-space"> </span>full, drawn out in prayer unto him continually for your<span class="apple-converted-space"> </span>welfare, and also for the welfare of<span class="apple-converted-space"> </span>those<span class="apple-converted-space"> </span>who are around you.<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial narrow" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">I don’t have flocks or fields or crops. I’m not really an animal lover, and this is the first year in twenty-seven I didn’t plant a garden. What I do have is a desire to write. For a while, I felt funny praying for help in my writing, but old Alma had a point; if it matters to me, it’s worth praying over. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial narrow" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Sometimes, usually in that place between awake and asleep, inspiration will strike me and I’ll pick up paper and pen. Ideas for a new book, a plot twist, a way to untangle written dialogue, a nudge to write that article I’ve been putting off; often, ideas flow faster than I can write them down, like a waterfall of inspiration. Irrelevant things, perhaps, in the scheme of things, but it’s a reminder that my attempts at creating are noticed outside of my own mind. Sometimes I can sense a heavenly cheering section, encouraging me on, imperfect though my attempts may be. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial narrow" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Waffling about writing? Feeling like you’re not good enough? Get back to it anyway! And don’t forget to pray. Help stands waiting, I’m certain of it. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
Deb Grahamhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11156428420149097653noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3723124266752750306.post-86146070218539428832017-11-14T08:21:00.000-07:002017-11-14T08:21:11.791-07:00Lost in Life Events<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEil_agxkwCcQF46I4ZhJUpHonRORuw39sv4fogx8KlrRyKYUU5C0hAbQj_VExhcRZ_qUo6We-URA4OOd3n0BrMTpANEAcil5N46qwqTe9K9mb0JmIwd5Bw5CX61c3vBOGhnTqrDHTiGyTk/s1600/t1.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEil_agxkwCcQF46I4ZhJUpHonRORuw39sv4fogx8KlrRyKYUU5C0hAbQj_VExhcRZ_qUo6We-URA4OOd3n0BrMTpANEAcil5N46qwqTe9K9mb0JmIwd5Bw5CX61c3vBOGhnTqrDHTiGyTk/s200/t1.jpeg" width="200" height="133" data-original-width="309" data-original-height="206" /></a></div>by Terri Wagner<br><br>Once upon a time not so long ago, I would get up at 4:30 am, exercise, shower, commute an hour one way, work, get home, walk the dogs, jump on the computer and write for hours. What happened? In at least two years I've written maybe 10 pages. Re-reading them recently, they are good. But I have little desire to continue the story. Tried working on another story....nothing. It's like I caught something worse than writer's block. Has anyone else experienced this?<br><br>In a sleazy effort to redeem myself to my writing partner, I started the ole life-events routine. You know how it goes...things have been so difficult. Work is just crazy. Dad passed away (that maybe legit), losing my furry pals, moving back into my house, dealing with financial concerns about the house...you get the picture.<br><br>A more honest assessment would be Netflix. What an invention. It's almost like Star Trek. I dreamed about just asking the computer to play a certain song, video, TV show, movie, endless possibilities. DVR is another great distraction. I could go all spiritual and say I'm a gospel doctrine teacher and lately I've had to do every Sunday (I have a sorta partner, she's gone a lot). I could say I'm working on being more physically fit, but the truth is....the desire is gone.<br><br>So how do I get it back?<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg9l46OnnbOkwxFxh00nn3_E0LjpeDwD1Jvj6e-lxNyVnrRplNseAIFs4LTatokuoSDFO9hX8AE5RDyvauvNltsCe54K4d6fqgG1mgriiE1wZGdRhg7wpmmBms4U0Ehvl81YDm40F2-68U/s1600/b.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg9l46OnnbOkwxFxh00nn3_E0LjpeDwD1Jvj6e-lxNyVnrRplNseAIFs4LTatokuoSDFO9hX8AE5RDyvauvNltsCe54K4d6fqgG1mgriiE1wZGdRhg7wpmmBms4U0Ehvl81YDm40F2-68U/s320/b.jpg" width="320" height="307" data-original-width="840" data-original-height="805" /></a></div>Terri Wagnerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06905158157291602809noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3723124266752750306.post-55518903526507734802017-11-11T00:00:00.000-07:002017-11-11T00:00:39.588-07:00Who Cares About Cookie Cutters?<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;">Who Cares About Cookie Cutters? <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Well, I do. They're common enough tools, but I value those snippets of bent metal, from the early tin ones to the modern steel or aluminum ones. Don’t get me started on the tacky plastic ones; they have no soul. I own about 300, and the collection goes on. Some are my great-grandmother’s, my grandmother’s, my mom’s, mine from my childhood. Others are travel souvenirs: a moose from Alaska, a palm tree from Florida, a sea turtle from Hawaii, a crab from San Francisco, a snowflake from a magical December getaway in the mountains. Each has a memory, a story in its shape. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">When we designed our house, pushing out the bow window left a weird overhang, a flat wall about 15 feet long and ten inches tall. The builder lamented, “It’s holding up the roof. I just can’t fix it!” Fix it?! Clearly, that was designed for my cookie cutter collection to be displayed, part of it anyway. In the center is my family. I found a cookie-man, a cookie-woman, a cookie-girl, and two cookie-boys, one smaller than the other, representing my daughter and two sons. I arranged them under a temple cookie cutter, and above a sideways broom. That’s a nod to my southern years; jump the broom, get it? <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">My latest book is a multi-generational story told through the perspective of an elderly woman, the keeper of the antique cookie cutter collection. I’m enjoying the research phase! Did you know the most –expensive cookie cutter, called Running Slave, sold for nearly $8000 in a heated auction? As I bring the story from Queen Charlotte’s period to current times, my heart is drawn to the generations of women who baked cookies for their families. Some were servants in England, other indentured servants in the New World, some slaves in America through no wish of their own. Mothers made cookies for their children, early nurses gave the harder ones to fussy babies to teeth on. Some women made them to sell, including a couple of enterprising women who used their baked goods as a way to slip messages under the noses of King George’s troops in Boston, triggering the timing of the Revolutionary War. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">My own mother always had cookies in the cookie jar. Mom is an orderly soul; she likes identical cookies. When I was a child, milk and cookies was a common way to sit with a child after school and ask How Was Your Day, Honey? One of my favorite memories was when my family was traveling when I was a child. We stopped for a gas in a very small town somewhere in the Midwest. As soon as we stepped out to stretch our legs, we were engulfed by an overwhelming lemon-cookie aroma. The gas station attendant laughed and said Ma, the owner of Ma’s Cookies, always turned her vent fans toward the gas station when she noticed travelers stopping, and wouldn’t we like to go to her bakery across the parking lot? We drove away with warm lemon cuts outs, bags of them. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">A simple tool, it’s unlikely many people count cookie cutters as anything worthwhile, just a faster way to make same-shape-same-size cookies in a hurry. I see the story in them, a memory tied up in each. And I find it hard to talk about cookies without wanting one, so here’s a recipe for you: <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Sugar Cut Out Cookies<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: Symbol;">·<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-stretch: normal;"> </span></span><!--[endif]-->2 whole eggs yolks <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><br />In a mixer, beat butter and sugar until well combined, about 2 minutes. Add in 2 eggs and 2 egg yolks and mix until combined. Mix in vanilla and almond extract until combined. In a separate bowl, sift together flour, salt, and baking powder. Slowly (about a cup at a time) add flour to butter mixture and combine. Just mix ingredients until they are combined, so as not to toughen the dough. Cover and chill at least one hour. Preheat oven to 350 degrees. Roll dough out, cut out cookies, and bake for 6-8 minutes. Drizzle with a simple glaze or frost as desired. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Glaze: stir one cup powdered sugar with enough orange juice or milk to make a pancake-batter consistency. Drizzle over cooled cookies with a fork. </span><o:p></o:p></div>
Deb Grahamhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11156428420149097653noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3723124266752750306.post-15887743386822089252017-11-08T16:49:00.000-07:002017-11-08T16:49:27.418-07:00Business of Writing Workshop<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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by Marsha Ward <a href="http://marshaward.com/">marshaward.com</a><br />
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During the last half of October, I took an epic road trip to attend an 8-day workshop in Lincoln City, Oregon, hosted by <a href="http://www.deanwesleysmith.com/" target="_blank">Dean Wesley Smith</a> and <a href="http://kriswrites.com/" target="_blank">Kristine Kathryn Rusch</a>, two writers I count as mentors in the business of writing. I've learned so much over the past four or so years by reading their blogs regularly, but an opportunity came up to attend this workshop on the Oregon Coast and meet them in person, and I had to jump on it.<br />
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The venue for the workshop was the <a href="http://www.spanishhead.com/" target="_blank">Inn at Spanish Head</a>, a ten-story resort hotel on the beach built into a cliff. On the landward side, the reception area is on the ninth floor. The conference room is on the fourth floor. I wasn't the only one who became confused about whether one went up or down when entering the elevator.<br />
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The overall theme of the workshop was Time, since it's in such short supply for writers, whether indie, hybrid, or traditional. From 7 pm on October 21 to 9:30 pm on October 28, in three sessions a day plus late-night networking, I, and about forty-nine other professional writers, madly took notes on such topics as productivity, tracking output, deadlines, writing process for both linear and non-linear writers, health, separating the businesses of writing and publishing, making short- and long-term business decisions, structures of corporations, estate planning for authors, copyright, trusts, triage as a business plan, branding, virtual assistants, and the true meaning of hybrid.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Faces erased at the request of the participants.</td></tr>
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Please note that we covered that extensive list of topics by the end of Monday's sessions. There were a ton more each day, and I'm still working my way through the incredible amount of knowledge and information. I expect it will be a year-long endeavor.<br />
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One thing that was impressed upon us is that we must not make any business decisions and change up our plans for at least the two weeks minimum that it will take for our brains to heal from exploding with the input of all the new facts. Another was that "should do's" and "supposed to do's" are deadly, evil beyond imagination. We must choose to do only what works for our style and methods of writing and publishing.<br />
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Since I traveled for several days before arriving home, my brain still hasn't adjusted to all the new knowledge. I have my work cut out for me as the holidays approach. I must not be pressured, though, by my inner panic to DO SOMETHING NOW! I have to study and decide what will work for me.Marsha Wardhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15389060049107102815noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3723124266752750306.post-54768849940102629592017-10-31T06:00:00.000-07:002017-10-31T06:00:07.188-07:00Halloween<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEil_agxkwCcQF46I4ZhJUpHonRORuw39sv4fogx8KlrRyKYUU5C0hAbQj_VExhcRZ_qUo6We-URA4OOd3n0BrMTpANEAcil5N46qwqTe9K9mb0JmIwd5Bw5CX61c3vBOGhnTqrDHTiGyTk/s1600/t1.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEil_agxkwCcQF46I4ZhJUpHonRORuw39sv4fogx8KlrRyKYUU5C0hAbQj_VExhcRZ_qUo6We-URA4OOd3n0BrMTpANEAcil5N46qwqTe9K9mb0JmIwd5Bw5CX61c3vBOGhnTqrDHTiGyTk/s200/t1.jpeg" width="200" height="133" data-original-width="309" data-original-height="206" /></a></div>by Terri Wagner<br><br>Once upon a time, I used to dress up on October 31 and wander around my neighborhood getting candy. I usually went with a group and had a blast, the homemade treats were as tasty as the bought candy. Each house tried out do its neighbor in the scary but fun aspect of Halloween. I graduated from princess to pirate to Star Wars characters as my Halloween celebrations went from trick-n-treat to dances and parties. I had fun no matter what I did. I looked forward to being the house that dressed itself up, and handed out the flavor of the year treat.<br><br>In the words of a Tim Burton movie, "something went terribly wrong." Halloween became well weird. People started calling it Fall Festival...which just is not the same. People began x-raying candy, candy dispensing centers became the norm, think mall, and the age and time and date to trick or treat got complicated. What happened?<br><br>Did Satanists hijack Halloween like the Fall Festivalsayers claim? Did the inconvenience of a weekday Halloween just become too hard to set up? Did parties and adult tricks become the norm? Did the horror (think gross out) films take the fun from the holiday? It makes me sad.<br><br>I hope the tide changes or the pendulum swings back or whatever it takes to make it a fun kids holiday again. My favorite costume as a kid...hands down the pirate. I mean I got a sword! As a young adult, dressing up like an Ewok and singing Halloween carols to the bishop/stake presidencies at their homes, as an older adult, hands down opening the door to the cutest kids with the biggest smiles and handing out a treat.<br><br>The church's trunk and treat comes close to what I used to know. Let's take the holiday back.<br><br>My trunk and treat cuties...the mermaid and the rock star.<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj27YF0By0Ttg3qUYqRCDd1AoTS1QdK9243rupnRcn1sP9FFZ6yHRu13xiFAxVlGLwxkN6laRdPqgVvG6IHN0HHLqXTVU2xeYd7k6XjvjbX7gXp-CPV8ZkXyqdMwtFpd6Uw_IU40Vii3xo/s1600/tnt.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj27YF0By0Ttg3qUYqRCDd1AoTS1QdK9243rupnRcn1sP9FFZ6yHRu13xiFAxVlGLwxkN6laRdPqgVvG6IHN0HHLqXTVU2xeYd7k6XjvjbX7gXp-CPV8ZkXyqdMwtFpd6Uw_IU40Vii3xo/s320/tnt.jpg" width="240" height="320" data-original-width="720" data-original-height="960" /></a></div>Terri Wagnerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06905158157291602809noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3723124266752750306.post-23853588521538148692017-10-28T00:00:00.000-07:002017-10-28T00:00:19.681-07:00Whose Story Is It Anyway?by Deb Graham<br />
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<b><span style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; line-height: 115%;">Whose story is it?<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; line-height: 115%;"><i>“Using the pointillism technique we’ve explored this week, draw a human foot. Due Monday.”</i><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; line-height: 115%;">Confidently, I jotted down the assignment and headed home for the weekend. I got this! My grandmother was visiting, and she had the oddest feet I’d ever seen. Her baby toes curled under, and the corns near her big toes bulged. I knew she’d welcome the chance to sit and pose for me while she crocheted. And I knew my art teacher would love it. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; line-height: 115%;">Pointillism; a series of dots gathered together in a foot shape; I knew I could excel at this art class’ first homework. I spent two hours carefully detailing every inch of Grandma’s left foot. My family agreed I’d caught the realism. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; line-height: 115%;"> On Monday, I slipped my sketch paper out of my hinged portfolio and clamped it on my easel to show the teacher when he circled the room. Ten minutes later, I was in tears, humiliated from the public mockery and scolding dished out. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; line-height: 115%;"> Inaccurate lines. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; line-height: 115%;">Bulge by big toe. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; line-height: 115%;">Baby toes grotesquely rolled under<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; line-height: 115%;"> Visible boney structure and exaggerated veins. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; line-height: 115%;">And he announced my grade to the class; my very first D-. He said he only gave Fs when assignments were not turned in; this was a half point above not drawing at all. I held on another three weeks, then dropped the high school class, and with it, whatever latent drawing talent I may have had. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; line-height: 115%;">Today I secured a floor-length artist’s smock around my grandson; at only two years of age, adult clothing is always floor-length. I set him in front of an easel, and offered him his very first paintbrush. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; line-height: 115%;">“What color do you want?” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; line-height: 115%;">“Yite bwoo!” No surprise there; light blue is his favorite color. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; line-height: 115%;">I sat back. The little guy dipped his brush in the paint. Sure of himself, he arched wide blue swaths with gleeful abandon. I envied his confidence and obvious joy. And I didn’t tell him how to hold the brush, what strokes to make or criticize his choice of color. This was his art, not mine.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; line-height: 115%;">I’m a writer and an author. I've published 17 books, three this year. I’m most comfortable in nonfiction because it’s predictable; I control the outcome. I’ve written two novels and I’m working on three more. Fiction tends to go off on its own, and I find that unnerving. Characters speak to me, scenes veer off where I hadn’t intended, plot lines refuse to stay on track. Nonfiction doesn’t behave like that. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; line-height: 115%;">When I first attempted fiction, I figured I’d need all the help I could get. I researched, starting with internet searches on How To Write A Novel, How To Set A Scene, How To Write Dialogue; the basics. I also sought human help, including a critique group, beta readers, and editors. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; line-height: 115%;">When I wanted to learn to draw, I sought a teacher. At this stage, I find both about equally helpful. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; line-height: 115%;">Readers change the voice, insisting Will has to use complete sentences, and Cinci can’t use run-on sentences, although that’s the way I hear</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; line-height: 115%;"> them in my mind. Others call my style “Yoda-like” and insist on most sentences starting with He Was or She Went; passive to the point of yawning. One said a child couldn’t jump on a trampoline for ten straight minutes, but clearly, she hadn’t seen a joyful child on a summer’s afternoon. “You can’t kill off that character, or I’ll be mad at you!” wailed another. “Put him back!” </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; line-height: 115%;">If I listened to them, my stories would be unrecognizable mush. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; line-height: 115%;">An artist paints, then steps back, admiring. Never do they create a masterpiece, then hand over the paintbrush to a person to let them add a few strokes to the bridge or erase that tree on the left. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; line-height: 115%;">As writers, why do we open ourselves to peer-critique? No one can hear the story in our words, so why do we allow Them to change our voice, to dull its sharp tones, to conform the structure into mind-numbing dullness? It’s time to stop running our writing through committees. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; line-height: 115%;">How? Trust yourself. You’re the one who can hear the character; let them speak, unflattened. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; line-height: 115%;">Believe in your own writing. Trust the process, because what’s the worst that can happen?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; line-height: 115%;">Be brave! Get a copyeditor who will only find typos. Ignore any attempts to change your style or writing in any way; they’re only suggestions.</span><span style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; line-height: 115%;"> </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; line-height: 115%;">Sure, rules of grammar apply, and punctuation is critical; I get seriously annoyed by authors who lazily neglect to close quotes or who think every sentence must be paragraph-length, and you just can’t spell “unique” as “yewneak” and expect me to bother reading the rest. I have my limits, and anything that requires me to use a magic decoder ring to read isn’t worth my time. But editors who seek to change your plot, characters, theme, etc should...go write their own book. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; line-height: 115%;">Writers are artists, and we need to trust our art. The world needs to hear our voice, our story, and sometimes, just telling it and putting it out there is best, rather than letting it be edited to death. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; line-height: 115%;">I can’t draw anything fancier than a straight line, but I can write. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
Deb Grahamhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11156428420149097653noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3723124266752750306.post-30268130037220478922017-10-26T22:36:00.000-07:002017-10-26T22:36:02.320-07:00New and Exciting Things - Life Happensby Kari Diane Pike<br />
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In that space between sleep and wakefulness I watched the sun rise.The light chased away night's shadow and dressed the clouds in gowns of fuchsia, and gold, and copper. Color overflowed from the sky and a vibrant rainbow arched down to touch the valley below. The feelings of peace and gratitude and joy that accompanied the scene added to the beauty. The rainbow began to fade and I reached for my camera in order to capture the moment but I couldn't find it. The rainbow shimmered in a valiant effort to keep shining, then burst into glittery specks that fell to the earth. That's when I realized I had to be dreaming because (1) seeing a rainbow in front of the sun was scientifically impossible and (2) rainbows don't explode into glittery confetti.<br />
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The light faded behind a silvery mist and the echo of a train whistle outside stirred my consciousness. One more thought rode on the tail of my dream as it slipped away:<br />
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<i>You couldn't take a picture of what you saw, but you can share its beauty by writing about it. The gift is yours as long as you use it for good.</i></blockquote>
Today I met my new visiting teaching partner. As we chatted and got to know each other, she told me at least three times that I should write a book.<br />
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I haven't even been consistent lately about posting on this blog. What makes me think I can write a book? Sure, I talk about it. All.The.Time. But, you know. Life happens.<br />
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And then it hit me. Life happens! And it is magnificent. I love recognizing the Lord's tender mercies and watching the way He has prepared a way for everything to work out. Every day He sends angels to assist me on this incredible journey. And I want to share the beauty of witnessing how the Atonement of Jesus Christ blesses my life.<br />
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Two weeks ago, I learned I would be helping our oldest daughter drive her vehicle with five children, a dog, from Fairbanks, Alaska, to Phoenix, Arizona - oh, and towing a tent trailer the whole way. Sheer terror twisted my stomach in knots because, you know, two lane roads, ice, bar ditches, ice, never been there before, ice, camping along the way, ice... So I prayed. Our daughter prayed. My husband prayed. And several people came across our path. I learned from one friend that if we took the ferry to Seattle, we would save 1200 miles. That sounded like a perfect solution to avoiding the snow and ice that decided that week to cover the roads across Alaska and Canada. Except we couldn't find a ferry schedule. And believe me, we searched.<br />
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A few days later, I met a man in a hospital waiting room who had lived in Alaska for twenty-five years. In less than thirty seconds, he pulled up a ferry schedule. Hoorah! Another step forward. But alas. The ferry wanted $4500.00 for the three day trip for our Clampett-like entourage. Nope. Not happening. More prayers were offered. More research took place. My husband determined that the best decision was to store the truck and the camper in Fairbanks and fly everyone to Arizona. Staying alive was much more important than the expense of flying. Our daughter searched some more and found plane tickets that would cost less than the amount needed for gas to drive for 60 hours or more. Win-Win!<br />
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That's how a Grandma, a Mom, five children, a dog and kennel, 13 checked bags and backpacks of various sizes, seven carry-on bags and seven personal items descended upon an Alaska Airline flight to Seattle and Phoenix. Compared to the idea of driving and camping in the snow for a couple of weeks, the ten hour layover was a piece of cake.<br />
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Elder Joseph B. Wirthlin spoke about "<a href="https://www.lds.org/general-conference/2008/10/come-what-may-and-love-it?lang=eng" target="_blank">Come What May and Love It</a>". He taught about four things that help us get through life:<br />
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<li><i>Learn to laugh - it will extend your life</i></li>
<li><i>Seek for the eternal</i></li>
<li><i>Understand the law of compensation - every tear today will be returned a hundredfold</i></li>
<li><i>Put your trust in Heavenly Father and Jesus Christ</i></li>
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So during the past couple of days when my list of things to do threatened to topple over and bury me, I took a deep breath and watched the sunrise. I focused on the most important things, including a bike ride around the block with an active grandson and playing Mr. Potato Head with an imaginative granddaughter. I even found the time to post this blog, even if it had to wait until 10:35 p.m. </div>
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In about eight hours the sun will rise again and new and exciting things are waiting to happen. I look forward to seeing what comes. I know it will be spectacular. </div>
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hugs~</div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Sunrise in Fairbanks. October 23, 2017</td></tr>
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<br />Kari Pikehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13855609339118198399noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3723124266752750306.post-90661493246845418892017-10-14T00:00:00.000-07:002017-10-14T00:00:03.895-07:00Bring on the Retreat!by Deb Graham<br />
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As autumn settles in for good, I realize I’m exhausted. </div>
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of this is because I just returned from a trip, and I leave again next weekend.
Looking over my calendar, I see these are my 11<sup>th</sup> and 12<sup>th</sup>
journeys this year, and two more biggies are scheduled before the holiday
frenzy sets in. By the time my wedding anniversary rolls along, I’m invariably out
of emotional fuel. Whose idea was it to marry right after New Year’s? <o:p></o:p></div>
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Along with a whole lot of travel, I’ve had other bumps in my
road this year; a few significant illnesses, my husband retired in May, then
started a new (and undiscussed) job of work the following Monday. My eldest son has torn at the fibers of my family, causing sleepless nights and stomach pains. My favorite
(and only) daughter moved away and I grieve the loss of near-daily contact with
her and my cute grandkids. I learned the meaning of Sandwich Generation as I
worry for her having a rough time settling in and health challenges of her own,
plus my mother who rode out a major hurricane at our place. I never aspired to
be peanut butter, but sandwiched I am. <o:p></o:p></div>
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Writing has taken off this year; I’ve published three whole
books and have several more in various stages of completion. Time-consuming, stressful,
and enjoyable, it’s on my mind even when I sleep. I’ve longed for a personal assistant
to take over the chores of advertising, website stuff, and other
writing-related tasks that are not much fun.<o:p></o:p></div>
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As I said, I go into Fall feeling depleted, which is less
than ideal since I live in the Pacific Northwest. I need all the emotional energy I can muster
to get through the upcoming long, gloomy, dreary, soul-sucking, endlessly
rainy, dark, chilly days ahead. This year, I’m running on fumes, and it’s only
early October. <o:p></o:p></div>
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But there is light on the horizon! I’m grateful to be at the ANWA Northwest Retreat as you read
this! It’s my third year going, and I’m counting on the same uplift I found in
the other years. The coming together of diverse, strong women, united in faith
and common interest is soul-filling. I soak up knowledge insights, and
information, but the best part of the Retreat is nurturing my bruised, tired
soul absorbs. <o:p></o:p></div>
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These are not ordinary women; they’re creatives, out to push
back the darkness of the world by writing uplifting, wholesome pieces that
inspire and uplift. They’re warm and accepting, no matter the level of writing we find ourselves,
and just being in their presence is exactly what I need right now. I know I’ll
come home re energized, buoyed up, strengthened and confident enough to step
forward with feet undragging. <o:p></o:p></div>
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I’m not done unpacking from the last trip yet, but I already
set aside a heap to take with me to the Retreat. I can’t wait!!<o:p></o:p></div>
Deb Grahamhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11156428420149097653noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3723124266752750306.post-46334182316433241062017-10-06T02:42:00.002-07:002017-10-06T02:42:58.230-07:00My Black Thumb Strikes AgainAutumn is one of my favorite times of year. Crisp air turns noses red, dense fog blankets the earth and hovers over the river. Leaves turns brilliant hues of yellow, orange and red. Homes are decorated with pumpkins, gourds, corn stalks and hay bales. Crunching footsteps tromp through piles of dry leaves. Children chatter about their Halloween costumes, and the smell of pumpkin pies and warm, spiced cider waft through the air. I can almost feel the heat on my face from the crackling fire in the fireplace, flames dancing over a log, casting shadows on the pages of my book as I read nearby.<br />
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In Spokane, the metamorphosis from Summer to Autumn occurs almost overnight. One week, sweat rolls down my back, soaking into my shirt from triple-digit weather. The next week, frost covers the green grass, and I'm scraping car windows before I take kids to early morning seminary.<br />
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But by ten in the morning, the weather is perfect. 65 degrees F. Vivid blue sky with puffs of clouds and a brilliant sun brightening the day. It's the kind of weather that makes me want to go outside and do<i> something</i>.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Courtesy of: http://parkseed.com<br /></td></tr>
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Today, I only had two appointments, which means I had a few hours without (gasp!) anything to do. So, I went outside for the first time since...well, who are we kidding? It's the first time all year. And, it's October. Ahem. Anyway, I went outside. To do yard work. I'd had a box of Red Hot Poker plants my sister had given me two months ago. They'd been sitting in the dilapidated cardboard box, slowly dying, changing from deep green, to pale green, then to tan, and a few of the stalks were now brown and brittle. I'd walked by that pathetic, wilting box several times a day going to and from my car with my kids. I'd scurry from therapy sessions to school, seminary, church, and everything in between, promising myself I'd plant those poor flowers tomorrow. <br />
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Tomorrow was today. I grabbed a shovel, drug the box with my half-dead plants over to the side of the house where it gets the most sunlight during the day. I cleared out all the weeds vines, and debris from a year's worth of neglect, and planted those darned plants. <br />
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As I stood, staring at the side of my house, dotted with green, wilting stalks, I shook my head. It'll be a miracle if these poor things survive the winter. Heck, who are we kidding? It'll be a miracle if they survive a week. Especially with my black thumb. But at least they have a fighting chance. Something they weren't getting in that stupid box!<br />
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I went into the garage and put away my shovel, lamenting over how I'd managed to neglect another set of plants. As I opened my front door, I glanced at the rock garden where my rose bushes used to be, and spied an itty bitty little purple stem from a burgeoning rose bush! The very same plant I've uprooted<br />
four times, placed landscape tarp over, and then covered with about 2,000 lbs of rock. And yet somehow, this tenacious little plant has found it's way to the sunlight again. <br />
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I think I snorted. I guess if that thing can survive me intentionally trying to kill it, my Red Hot Pokers have a chance at surviving my unintentional murderous tendencies. Either that, or I'm going to have to put a cape on that little rosebush, because that bugger has super powers!Susan Cady Allredhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17192890882888509562noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3723124266752750306.post-12372723419614163692017-09-30T00:00:00.000-07:002017-09-30T00:00:00.191-07:00Sharpshooter <div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; margin-bottom: 6pt;">
<span style="font-family: "comic sans ms";">by Deb Graham</span></div>
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<i><span style="font-family: "comic sans ms"; font-size: 12.0pt;"> “It’s nice to read about ordinary people, which most of us are."—</span></i><span style="font-family: "comic sans ms"; font-size: 12.0pt;">from a review by Charlotte<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "comic sans ms"; font-size: 12.0pt;">My 88-year-old mother just left after a visit extended due to a major hurricane taking aim at her hometown. As she said, “It’s never good when Anderson Cooper says the name of your county on CNN.” Mom’s flying 4000 miles to her home, diagonally across one of the largest countries in the world. She looked vulnerable as her face pressed against the window, waving bravely. Mom’s small, but one of the toughest people I know. Even watching the news on TV when it looked dire, she never had a come-apart. Instead, I noticed how she continued to do what she does, daily working the NY Times crossword (in ink!), ironing everything in sight, and encouraging the rest of us. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "comic sans ms"; font-size: 12.0pt;">I’m thinking about my friend, Ruby, today, too. Ruby died a few years ago at the age of 96. I guess I should have grieved, but it's hard to mourn a life lived as thoroughly as Ruby lived hers. The paintball episode comes to mind. Ruby and I, along with a few other friends, had a quilt project going; in the space of three years, we made 1006 baby quilts and donated them to Project Linus. Great group, by the way; they believe, as I, that any child dealing with illness or loss will cope better wrapped in a warm soft blanket of their very own. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "comic sans ms"; font-size: 12.0pt;"><br />When Ruby was much younger, say 94 or so, she and I sat in my home, stitching, talking, being together. My teenaged sons tumbled in, laughing after a round of paintball in the woods. Ruby had never seen a paintball gun<span style="color: #181818;">. Interested, she asked if she might give it a try. Smirking, the boys agreed. One took her arm --he's been taught respect—and slowly led her to the target set up in the back yard. His brother explained how to shoot the gun, casting glances at me. I could see in his eyes he doubted frail Ruby could even hold the gun up, much less pull the trigger. Ruby took aim. And hit TWELVE bull's eyes in a matter of seconds. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: #181818; font-family: "comic sans ms"; font-size: 12.0pt;"><br />I can still see the shock on my sons' faces, as their respect for this wobbly old lady soared. Turns out, one of Ruby's childhood chores was keeping down the population of rats on the irrigation ditch on her family's farm.<br />You can't tell by looking, can you?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: #181818; font-family: "comic sans ms"; font-size: 12.0pt;"> </span><span style="color: #1d2129; font-family: "comic sans ms"; font-size: 12pt;">I think my reviewer nailed it. In twelve words, she pinpointed a truth humanity forgets. We’re all hungry for relevance, to be notable, or to be liked or at least noticed. We can do that by just being ordinary. We’re drawn to people who are ordinary; they’re not intimidating. We just don't always have an opportunity to see other people because we are all busy just getting by.</span></div>
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<span style="color: #1d2129; font-family: "comic sans ms"; font-size: 12.0pt;">Not wanting to be a "somebody" or trying to become relevant is probably the easiest road to travel through life. It adds a lot of pressure to try to be a "somebody." Once labeled as a somebody, you have to continue to be a somebody in order to feel relevant. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: #1d2129; font-family: "comic sans ms"; font-size: 12.0pt;"> As an author, I frequently feel like a fraud, as if They expect me to be something I’m just not qualified to do. Teach a workshop on self-publishing? um, okay. Lead a group through a self-exploration writing exercise? sure, no problem. Tell a group about my experience somehow stringing words into seventeen books? gleep; who am I to advise anybody on anything? Interview as if I am a real live author? Can’t they see I’m like the wizard of Oz, skillfully directing attention elsewhere? Whatever you do, don’t look behind the curtain!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: #1d2129; font-family: "comic sans ms"; font-size: 12.0pt;">Charlotte helped me realize how being ordinary is much more extraordinary than I previously believed.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: #1d2129; font-family: "comic sans ms"; font-size: 12.0pt;">We are surrounded by ordinary people doing wonderful things, sometimes extraordinary things, often without even noticing. Extraordinary is just a couple of notches past ordinary, after all. Maybe it’s not such a high bar to reach; maybe weathering a hurricane or rejoicing as a child learns to read or shooting twelve bull’s eyes is just what ordinary people do. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: #1d2129; font-family: "comic sans ms"; font-size: 12.0pt;">All it takes is getting up every day and being the best person we can be. </span><span style="color: #1d2129; font-family: "comic sans ms"; font-size: 12pt;">Whether your place on this planet includes manning a keyboard, nurturing small people, juggling spreadsheets and bedsheets and paper sheets, do ordinary things- then do a little extra.</span></div>
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<span style="color: #1d2129; font-family: "comic sans ms"; font-size: 12.0pt;">I come from a long line of ordinary people, none notable, all extraordinary. I hope to carry on the tradition, and one day, be as tough as my mom. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
Deb Grahamhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11156428420149097653noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3723124266752750306.post-69390190262447432482017-09-28T20:23:00.000-07:002017-09-28T20:23:03.367-07:00Life is Magnificentby Kari Diane Pike<br />
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Hello Friends!<br />
<br />
Did you miss me?<br />
<br />I have most certainly missed you.<br />
<br />
I love sharing thoughts and inspirations and learning from your comments. But life happens. I saw my podiatrist, cardiologist, oncologist, dermatologist, optometrist, and gastroenterologist, and child number seven married the man of her dreams, all in the short six to eight weeks since I last posted here. I reached a goal to ride a distance of fifteen miles on my bike, shed nearly thirty pounds, and my blood work results came back better than they have been in years. There has been <b><u>no</u></b> progression in my <a href="http://www.mayoclinic.org/diseases-conditions/mgus/home/ovc-20199535" target="_blank">M.G.U.S</a>. and my heart is full of gratitude. Yep, we've been crazy, busy, happy.<br />
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During all of this craziness, an experience of a four-year-old grandson helped keep me grateful and grounded:<br /><br />
<blockquote>
Mom: <i>Time to get your jammies on and get ready for bed.</i><br />Four-year-old: <i>Wait. What? But I want to have dessert.</i><br />Mom: <i>It's too late for dessert. It's night time. You need to go to bed.</i><br />Four-year-old: <i>Humph. No fair. Jesus ruins all my plans.</i><br />Mom: <i>Did you say Jesus ruins all your plans?</i><br />Four-year-old: <i>Yes. He ruins all my plans.</i><br />Mom: <i>What do you mean by that? Why would you say that?</i><br />Four-year-old: <i>Well, you told me that Jesus made the whole earth and He made the day and the night. And you said that since it's night we have to go to bed and I don't get dessert. So He ruined all my plans. </i><br />Mom: 😲</blockquote>
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I've pondered on this little discussion for weeks. Part of me is in awe of this little man's reasoning skills. Another part of me laughs out loud when I think about the future parenting adventures that lie ahead for his lucky mom and dad. Deeper thought reminds me that, like our little grandson, there have been many occasions when I've been unable to comprehend why the Lord asks certain things of me. I get a plan in my head, pray about it, set goals, and start putting those goals into action only to run up against what I perceive to be road blocks. And sometimes I wondered, "Why did You ruin all my plans?" or "Why did I feel prompted to make this choice only to have everything fall apart?"<br />
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In 2009 we earnestly prayed about moving our family to Utah where my husband had been working for nearly a year. Let me emphasize that word "earnestly". We wanted our family to be together, but we truly wanted to make the best choice and accept the Lord's will. We received a miraculous confirmation to our prayers and decision and used every last penny to relocate. More tender mercies paved the way for us to find a lovely home in an incredible neighborhood. We had no doubt that the Lord had guided our steps all along the way. Until things started to fall apart.<br />
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We lost our renters soon after the move and eight months later lost our home in Arizona that held thirteen years of precious memories. Well, "okay", we said. We love it here in Utah and we'll start over. Our landlords had given us a lease with an option to buy, and we had come to love Utah county. We could get over that little bump. We didn't see the hairpin turn up ahead.<br />
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A year later, downturn in the economy caught up with Utah and my husband was laid off from his job as a civil engineer. We used the money we had saved for a down payment to get us through six months of unemployment. Our landlord kindly encouraged us to stay in the house until school let out for the summer, at which point they moved back to Utah and we - two adults, three teenagers, a cat, a dog, and a parakeet - moved into our little tent trailer and camped in my sister-in-law's driveway.<br />
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The first few days of "camping" was kind of fun. Our two families cooked together and hung out on the porch and played night games. Even having only one bathroom available for eight people worked out because the Texaco station down the street opened at 6:00 a.m. "House" cleaning took less than thirty minutes. What a great adventure! Until it wasn't.<br /><br />The violent windstorms that whip out of the canyons of Utah county are scary enough when you live in a sturdy house with a strong foundation. The rain and hail and flying debris accompanied by micro bursts of sixty to eighty-mile-per-hour winds are down right terrifying in a tent trailer. I broke down that night. I learned what it means to "cry unto the Lord". Why, oh why, had things turned out so differently than we expected? Had I failed to listen to His will? Were we supposed to stay in Arizona? Had I put my own desires in place and made the wrong choices?<br />
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I begged for protection for my family. I pleaded for peace of mind. I cried for mercy.<br />
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And then it was quiet.<br />
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Oh, the storm outside our canvas walls raged on. But in my heart and in our little home on wheels, I felt love. The thought that grew in my mind:<br />
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<i>Just because things didn't turn out the way you expected doesn't mean you made the wrong choice. You are not being punished. You will discover great blessings. Do you think that things worked out for the early pioneers they way they anticipated? Do you think they expected drought and crickets and nearly starving to death? Did they do the wrong thing? No! They followed the counsel of the Lord. They learned. They grew. They endured. And look at the legacy they left for you and others. Laman and Lemuel murmured because they didn't understand the mind of the Lord. They refused to try. Remember what you learned before about being prepared to receive blessings? You are being prepared. Don't be afraid. Faith endures.</i></blockquote>
Six years have passed since that storm raged. I never imagined we would be where we are today. I can honestly say I count my blessings every night and thank Heavenly Father for "ruining my plans" because the life with which He has blessed me and continues to bless me is far more magnificent than I could ever dream.<br />
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Hugs~<br />
<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg5IAXmpke46vpccuUdXA0OZtVbJjemwY-cHdIIaRxgl8CUiMya9IqmPs3lGR7qlsTkX36naVh5WQAJ-OLlpTqRZ1JZl0yCMLljOEQom7pSlbLUfuwOK6hMtYydm4HvGpvXJS5icI3qe762/s1600/Robert%2526BrittanyWedding+Day-0331.two+families+connected.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1068" data-original-width="1600" height="425" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg5IAXmpke46vpccuUdXA0OZtVbJjemwY-cHdIIaRxgl8CUiMya9IqmPs3lGR7qlsTkX36naVh5WQAJ-OLlpTqRZ1JZl0yCMLljOEQom7pSlbLUfuwOK6hMtYydm4HvGpvXJS5icI3qe762/s640/Robert%2526BrittanyWedding+Day-0331.two+families+connected.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Two families tied together through the blessings of eternal marriage. I love being connected to all of these amazing people!</td></tr>
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<br />Kari Pikehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13855609339118198399noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3723124266752750306.post-56793185465562955602017-09-26T00:30:00.000-07:002017-09-26T00:30:12.657-07:00Writers Conferenceby Marsha Ward <a href="https://twitter.com/MarshaWard" target="_blank">@MarshaWard</a> <a href="http://marshaward.com/">marshaward.com</a> <br />
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<br />
I spent a few days a week ago down in Gilbert, Arizona, for the 25th
Annual Writers Conference put on by American Night Writers Association
(ANWA), which is a writers group I started back in 1986. I had a ton of
fun, seeing long-time friends again, “meeting” face-to-face with
long-time Facebook and email friends, and enjoying the energy of so many
like-minded souls together.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgwDml6avKUq3eEGEW_bFJQuY2B1SgrXsyv1n5gZqkqBFUaWAkDWUcXw_T-pnrnWdhNxongBSlDyehO9P3vzFmZyCUm5gvQ6uFOpN0jXF2xEu5kNx5AM-F1H9x582dlOVHLdlu7cVQYyDY/s1600/21686758_10213921149884511_5663456258104481052_o.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="530" data-original-width="1224" height="172" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgwDml6avKUq3eEGEW_bFJQuY2B1SgrXsyv1n5gZqkqBFUaWAkDWUcXw_T-pnrnWdhNxongBSlDyehO9P3vzFmZyCUm5gvQ6uFOpN0jXF2xEu5kNx5AM-F1H9x582dlOVHLdlu7cVQYyDY/s400/21686758_10213921149884511_5663456258104481052_o.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
<br />
The highlight of my trip was a class I gave for two hours on Saturday
afternoon. There were several talented writers who attended and found
themselves validated in their writing style. It was a joyful class, and I
loved being the bringer of that joy.<br />
<br />
Have you ever attended a writers conference? What did you take away from the experience?<br />
<br />
*Photos by Deb Eaton<br />
Marsha Wardhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15389060049107102815noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3723124266752750306.post-1609314655257393562017-09-21T22:11:00.001-07:002017-09-21T22:11:15.928-07:00The Main Thing I Took Away From the ANWA Writers Conference<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgr6NH5fgmHRuW1fwh-_YDjVkjDOZaPAZS0AYXihd5E-CWf2uXL82SE0vbvVCU3J74cxlLSosVfM1Nix02oKGfCMlTr3yQRPjV4o_lUgz2iOKO9kZ47gXGCx1XyXO5DOWXpYl0Fk69MqKRM/s1600/9c1b4aeda148f93f0a8e22bb3eb878b3.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="480" data-original-width="480" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgr6NH5fgmHRuW1fwh-_YDjVkjDOZaPAZS0AYXihd5E-CWf2uXL82SE0vbvVCU3J74cxlLSosVfM1Nix02oKGfCMlTr3yQRPjV4o_lUgz2iOKO9kZ47gXGCx1XyXO5DOWXpYl0Fk69MqKRM/s320/9c1b4aeda148f93f0a8e22bb3eb878b3.jpg" width="320" /></a>I've been home from the ANWA conference nearly a week. If you recall from my last blog post, one week prior to the conference, I was running around screaming and waving my arms in the air. Okay. This is not unusual for me, but there was a sense of urgency the last time around.<br />
<br />
Now I'm home, the deed is done, and the pitches complete. I cannot undo what has been done, and quite frankly, I don't want to. I'm happy. <br />
<br />
Not because we got one full and one partial request for our non-fiction, or because they wanted the first fifty pages for my YA novel.<br />
<br />
My happiness doesn't stem from my little sister and I getting first in our respective genres for the BOB (Beginning of Book contest), or from the new writerly friends I made, or even the dozens of pages of notes, ideas, and inspiration I gained while I was there.<br />
<br />
I am happy because I took a huge, monumental, earth-shattering (for me) risk and put myself and my writing out there. Nearly every writer fears sharing their work; giving it to someone and risking rejection. It's almost as scary and walking up to the person you've secretly adored for years, looking the in them eye, and declaring your love to them.<br />
<br />
Your heart stutters, stomach clenches, knees wobble, and a cold sweat forms all over your body as you scrutinize every nuance of their body language, mentally screaming for them to love you...er, your work. What if my writing isn't strong enough? What if I misspelled something? What if they don't like the storyline? What if there's a giant, gaping plot hole? What if...?<br />
<br />
The what ifs can eat a person alive, bit by bit, piece by piece, until we're crippled with fear. Horrified by the self-perceived shortcomings of our work. We grip our pages tightly to our chest, afraid to show even a scrap of it to those around us. Heaven knows rejection runs rampant in the publishing world. <br />
<br />
Writing is painful, at times tedious and, at least for me, the learning curve was much like climbing Mt. Everest. But so is losing weight and/or getting healthy, striving for the Celestial Kingdom, and any other truly worthwhile endeavors in our lives. To grow, we must be willing to endure a certain amount of discomfort or pain.<br />
<br />
I've discovered 'no' from one person may be 'where have you been all my life?' from another. No two people's tastes are alike. And, much like the dating game, we need to be willing to kiss a whole lot of frogs to find our prince (or princess). But we still have to put ourselves out there and kiss 'em.<br />
<br />
So, in a long, winding, convoluted way, I'm trying to say the main lesson I took away from the ANWA Writers Conference is to look fear in the eye and take the leap. The answer will ALWAYS be 'no' unless I ask. And to ask, I must put myself and my writing out there.<br />
<br />
Last year the answer was, "not yet." Time will tell what the publishing world currently thinks of our work. But I have a story to tell, and by golly I'm gonna tell it! <br />
<br />
I hope you will join me on this journey and put yourself out there. Somebody is waiting for your story, wishing it would be told. You don't want to disappoint them, do you?<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />Susan Cady Allredhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17192890882888509562noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3723124266752750306.post-35976305383104551852017-09-19T09:41:00.000-07:002017-09-19T09:41:25.510-07:00Characters & Floating Thoughts<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEil_agxkwCcQF46I4ZhJUpHonRORuw39sv4fogx8KlrRyKYUU5C0hAbQj_VExhcRZ_qUo6We-URA4OOd3n0BrMTpANEAcil5N46qwqTe9K9mb0JmIwd5Bw5CX61c3vBOGhnTqrDHTiGyTk/s1600/t1.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEil_agxkwCcQF46I4ZhJUpHonRORuw39sv4fogx8KlrRyKYUU5C0hAbQj_VExhcRZ_qUo6We-URA4OOd3n0BrMTpANEAcil5N46qwqTe9K9mb0JmIwd5Bw5CX61c3vBOGhnTqrDHTiGyTk/s200/t1.jpeg" width="200" height="133" data-original-width="309" data-original-height="206" /></a></div>by Terri Wagner<br><br>I must confess up front...I am terrible about writing like this. I seem to like writing about what's in my character's head. I like "I" POV. However, I read this <a href="https://www.thecreativepenn.com/2011/04/27/five-common-writing-problems-and-how-to-fix-them/">article</a> that made me rethink my writing preference. Floating Thoughts makes <a href="https://www.thecreativepenn.com/blog/">Jonna Penn's</a> five most common writing mistakes. She is both a writer and an editor.<br><br>As I have said numerous times before, I love sci-fi/fantasy. And my favorite are epic stories that span a wide arc. In my most favorite series, the characters often communicated through "thoughts" to each other in times of stress or battle. Better than a cell phone! Their observations to themselves gave me insight to their motivations, especially when they seem to make a decision that appears out of character. So it is a great writing device that makes the characters more real.<br><br>Ms. Penn warned in her guest post that drawing out the "thinking" for a surprise ending is not a great way to hook a reader. I am sure we have all read a story based on the character's perspective only to discover later they are in a hospital bed. She suggests finding a better way to jump into action. I realize many stories are based on the fact that it has the surprise ending. They use this technique quite often in teaching manuals because the perspective might be someone with autism, ADHD, is blind, etc. And it helps teachers and fellow students to get inside the head of a person with challenges. I prefer challenges to disabilities because it really is a better description. Think Little People Big World.<br><br>Although Ms. Penn's article is short and sweet the way a blog post should be, she has opened my eyes to a bad writing habit of my own. Never ever underestimate the value of action over a lengthy monologue leading to a surprise. <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEia7vl0O_xyWCOgrDQxwA3T1_6RWxTSAmq6AzUhP73k63HbYZKpiCIDvBxuESvlPPBO7JRTmMVZS_4FpLYtsVw6UHsU5i7BC4T9_kGQN1VJ8x2YC9-JYvEiVwR-bQbGo9UONQkam4_BR7Q/s1600/7bad10793f2f90fca211f9005dfbbda6.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEia7vl0O_xyWCOgrDQxwA3T1_6RWxTSAmq6AzUhP73k63HbYZKpiCIDvBxuESvlPPBO7JRTmMVZS_4FpLYtsVw6UHsU5i7BC4T9_kGQN1VJ8x2YC9-JYvEiVwR-bQbGo9UONQkam4_BR7Q/s320/7bad10793f2f90fca211f9005dfbbda6.jpeg" width="213" height="320" data-original-width="250" data-original-height="375" /></a></div>Terri Wagnerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06905158157291602809noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3723124266752750306.post-59313149062634996282017-09-16T01:00:00.000-07:002017-09-16T01:00:02.572-07:00Sometimes I can see better in the dark with my eyes closed.<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: .5in; text-indent: 40.5pt;">
<span style="font-size: 21.3333px; line-height: 24.5333px; text-indent: 0px;"><b>Sometimes I can see better in the dark with my eyes closed </b></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: .5in; text-indent: 40.5pt;">
<span style="font-size: 16.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-size: 14.0pt;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 16.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-size: 14.0pt;">Deb Graham </span><span style="font-size: 16pt; line-height: 115%; text-indent: 40.5pt;">I noticed the
other night, as I was wending my way back from the bathroom about 4 AM after
drinking too much grape juice before bed, that I was walking with my eyes
closed. Odd, so I questioned mySelf.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 16pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 16.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-size: 14.0pt;">“Self, why are you walking with
eyes closed?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 16.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-size: 14.0pt;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 16.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-size: 14.0pt;">Without an eyelash’s hesitation, mySelf
replied, “It’s dark. I can see better with my eyes closed.” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 16.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-size: 14.0pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: -4.5pt;">
<span style="font-size: 16.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-size: 14.0pt;">Well, that was worth thinking
about, so I sat down in the dark hallway and pondered for a minute or six. I
realized I often close my eyes in dark places...to see better. Outdoors on
moonless nights, I often walk with eyes clamped shut. On nights when I need a
bathroom run and feel too polite to wake Husband by turning on a light, my eyes
don’t open, and I manage to powder my nose, wash my hands, and make it back to
bed with toes unstubbed. I’ve mentioned before I often write notes in the
night, and I don’t turn on a light for that, either. Hmmm. What does my Self
know that I don’t?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 16.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-size: 14.0pt;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 16.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-size: 14.0pt;">Can I really see better with my
eyes closed? Yes, I guess I can. In dim light, I strain to make out the
outlines of the hotel dresser or the rock in my path. Just before dawn, my eyes
ache, trying to suck in the faint light so I can dodge the trees. In the
evening, as darkness falls, I scramble to pack up my reading materials so none
get left out overnight. If I try to see when there’s just not enough light to
take in, my eyes quickly fatigue from being asked to accomplish what they
cannot.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 16.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-size: 14.0pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: -4.5pt;">
<span style="font-size: 16.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-size: 14.0pt;">But once I’m in full and total
darkness, I automatically shut my eyes and rely on my other senses to protect
me from falling or crashing into things. And they step up to the task. With my
eyes closed, I can sense or feel doorframes, shoes left on the floor, furniture, even in unfamiliar places, and I
noticed I’ve been doing that for years. My inner self guides me, and for the
most part, my shins remain unbarked. I don’t like the dark, but I seem to have
figured out a way to navigate in it. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 16.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-size: 14.0pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: -4.5pt;">
<span style="font-size: 16.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-size: 14.0pt;">How does this relate to writing? I’m
constantly running ahead, flipping on lights, researching frantically, drowning
in copious notes and ideas and outlines. Maybe relying on self-imposed
deadlines, plot lines, charts, and keeping close track of book sales and advertising
plans and All Of It is getting in the way of why I started writing in the first
place.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: -4.5pt;">
<span style="font-size: 16.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-size: 14.0pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: -4.5pt;">
<span style="font-size: 16.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-size: 14.0pt;">I wrote my first book (<i>Tips From The Cruise Addict’s Wife</i>) because
I realized I just plain knew more than most people. I’m no brighter than anybody else,
but I’m a compulsive reader and have a fear of missing Something Wonderful,
right there, when I travel. My first novel <i>(Peril
in Paradise) </i>came about because of a question. How could a Bad Guy make use
of the fact that immature Hawaiian sea turtles have a predictable migratory
path? I had a story to tell! <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 16.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-size: 14.0pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: -4.5pt;">
<span style="font-size: 16.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-size: 14.0pt;">I write rather a lot; I published two
books this summer alone. I’m aware of at least four more brewing in there;
there could be more. Am I blocking my own path by not allowing my senses to guide me? By straining to see what lies ahead and
get in front of every possible contingency, am I missing the joy in writing? If
I get out of my way, would I do better and be happier? Sure, there’s a risk of “failing,”
whatever that looks like, or at least flailing, but so what? </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 16.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-size: 14.0pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: -4.5pt;">
<span style="font-size: 16.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-size: 14.0pt;">I may occasionally
smack my head on a low-hanging shelf I couldn’t see in the dark, but mostly, I
get along just fine. Sometimes I can see better in the dark with my eyes
closed. With regard to writing, it’s worth a try. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
Deb Grahamhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11156428420149097653noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3723124266752750306.post-33120771515128896762017-09-12T13:35:00.001-07:002017-09-12T13:35:52.223-07:00I'm back!<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgzbCt5jhuDDgzRPZ2XwliWZ8rarg0_wzvgJVbDUDPMMpwRXGXr-vgzUITQR4UjdndmsEr8L_HjZdHTOuB32AmPz-akzIBzOrUG5EnJYBWBio9MMHI2taAZS-VbG7UplgNdT0ddJq9WgwE/s1600/Marsha-Ward_150W-72dpi-1-3.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="205" data-original-width="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgzbCt5jhuDDgzRPZ2XwliWZ8rarg0_wzvgJVbDUDPMMpwRXGXr-vgzUITQR4UjdndmsEr8L_HjZdHTOuB32AmPz-akzIBzOrUG5EnJYBWBio9MMHI2taAZS-VbG7UplgNdT0ddJq9WgwE/s1600/Marsha-Ward_150W-72dpi-1-3.jpg" /></a></div>
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">by Marsha Ward <a href="https://twitter.com/MarshaWard" target="_blank">@MarshaWard</a> <a href="http://marshaward.com/">marshaward.com</a></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Month after month I've been forgetting my turn to post. That's a crying shame, because, yanno, the blog is named after me, sorta, kinda. I'm the founder of ANWA, and I blog with a few of my friends.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Maybe I'm burning out. I've been writing a white-hot streak of fiction for several months, and often find myself with no words of wisdom to share at the end of the day.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">I've produced ten (10!!!) projects this year, including a brand new short story that was released last Friday. <i>Scandalous: An Owen Family Story</i> is my first venture into the exclusive program at Kindle called Select.</span><br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjHybM2TzypvlXX93YoG0neFuJhg7CBE_epvjLLD2NmJfHOo9vqYh2NxTvKRkI-LaDQbKeoFYzntR8ZFqjZHMNp4IO2ZifrAfAHM_RrnGQqC8nyiHN-KQ6-bBsuKB3pvojzTTsx7A3wEhc/s1600/Scandalous+250w.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="375" data-original-width="250" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjHybM2TzypvlXX93YoG0neFuJhg7CBE_epvjLLD2NmJfHOo9vqYh2NxTvKRkI-LaDQbKeoFYzntR8ZFqjZHMNp4IO2ZifrAfAHM_RrnGQqC8nyiHN-KQ6-bBsuKB3pvojzTTsx7A3wEhc/s320/Scandalous+250w.jpg" width="213" /></a></div>
<br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">You can find <i>Scandalous</i> <a href="http://amzn.to/2wNIfMP" target="_blank">on Amazon for purchase</a>, or read it free if you subscribe to KindleUnlimited.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Here's the blurb:</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Young Julianna Owen didn’t think flirting with Parley Morgan at the barn raising would lead him to put his hands where they ought not to be. But worse yet, her sister discovers them and Parley abandons her, running off into the woods.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"> </span>
<br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Julianna’s strict father has found where she is hiding, and her world on the Colorado frontier is crashing down around her ears. She thought love and romance was only about going on picnics and holding hands, not rough kisses and hurtful pawing.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Now the consequences of her actions might be beyond what she can bear.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">In the 1860s Owen Family universe, <i>Scandalous</i> shines a light on teen hormones run amok during a trying time in the family’s story, as it ties up a loose thread from the novel, <i>Spinster’s Folly</i>.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">This edition contains bonus material at the end, an excerpt from the Shenandoah Neighbors story, <i>Bloodied Leather</i>.</span><br />
~~~<br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">I've also been going-going-going this year and I have three more places to go before year's end: The ANWA Writers Conference, where I'm doing a two-hour presentation; an epic road trip to the Northwest, and the Mesa Book Festival. Maybe I can relax during the Christmas holiday?</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">That's not likely.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">I'm just hanging on and hoping to be more consistent with my blogging turn here. So, I certainly will try to be here in two weeks.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Happy reading! </span>Marsha Wardhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15389060049107102815noreply@blogger.com2