by jphilo | Jun 16, 2011 | Reflections on the Past
This week is a trip down memory lane. I’m at a writers’ conference housed on the grounds where I attended church camp as a kid. Other than the buildings and grounds being much smaller than they did 45 years ago, everything looks pretty much the same. That’s a good thing because:
- Deeply buried directional memories are keeping me from getting lost.
- This place feels like home which leads to a good night’s sleep.
- Internet access is severely limited, so conference attenders are interacting face to face. How strange is that?
This morning I facilitated a workshop called To Thine Own Self Be True. After a brief introduction of the three basic learning styles – visual, auditory, and kinesthetic – attenders used a learning styles inventory to determine their dominant styles. In small groups, they shared what they’d learned and how to apply it to their writing time and spaces. (Teacher friends, is this making your hearts go pitter-pat?) Then, they did the same thing with Howard Gardner’s multiple intelligences. And guess what?
The workshop was a huge hit.
Several writers had “aha” moments about why they react the way they do. They talked about it all through lunch. And they extended what they’d learned about themselves to fictional writing. How could information about learning styles and multiple intelligences to add dimension and depth to the characters they create? How could word choice appeal to visual, auditory, and kinesthetic readers?
I had a ball applying my teacher training and experience to writing.
So, here we are half a day into the conference, and I’ve already walked down both my church camp and teacher days memory lane. Now, I’m getting a little nervous about what’s next on this path down the past:
- Summer with cousins at their farms?
- College romance?
- Wilds of South Dakota days?
- Swapping pregnancy stories?
- Children’s hospital hauntings?
Hmm. Maybe it’s time to quit while I’m ahead, get in the car, and head home. Or maybe I should suck it up and boldly face the past. Which one will win out? It all depends on how much I miss the internet.
by jphilo | Jun 20, 2009 | Family
This is the last blog about last week’s writing conference. I promise. But before I close the book on the subject, please scrutinize the photo above and notice my presence on a conference panel of real, live, published, legitimate authors. As you can see, they even let me hold the mike and talk.
Of course, there’s a reason why everyone’s laughing. Before I answered the first question, I stopped the proceedings and asked a member of the audience to take a picture of the panel. I needed proof for my sibs that I was not telling tales again.
See, when we were kids, I lived in my own little world. My mother indulgently called my propensity for story telling “an active imagination.” My dad rolled his eyes. My creativity-impaired sibs, called it lying. Boy am I glad they weren’t in kindergarten with me. They might not have appreciated the stories I invented and told about them during show-and-tell. I thought of it as my personal comedy gig which grew more inventive and outrageous as the weeks rolled by.
So maybe they do have a reason to doubt my recent speaking and writing claims. And maybe I do have a reason to gather evidence to dispel their doubts. Anyway, I’m thankful that Shelly Beach humored my request instead of kicking me off the panel. Of course, after pulling a stunt like that, she may never invite me back, which is another reason I’m tickled to have this picture. It my most shiningest moment of fame since kindergarten – and it may be my last.
by jphilo | May 18, 2009 | Out and About
On Saturday evening in Estes Park, I met a very odd couple. Hiding behind a cabin, an elk leaned against a fence while a black and white bird pestered him. The bird perched first on the elk’s ear, then his nose, his neck, and the elk bore it all patiently. They were an odd pair, but they seemed enjoy being together.
At the beginning of the writing conference, I felt like the odd half of an odd couple. I What did I think I was doing, perching beside well-known authors at meals, pestering agents and publishers in the hallways, picking the brains of magazine editors at appointments? Surely everyone would see through my act and throw me out on my ear.
But that’s not what happened. Instead, people encouraged me, asked for articles, and wanted to know when they could purchase A Different Dream for My Child. Almost everyone had a sister, a brother, a friend, a daughter, a son, a niece or a nephew who needs the book. And many wanted it for themselves. After the first few requests, the feeling of being the odd man out disappeared. It was replaced with the confidence and satisfaction that came with knowing I was exactly where I should be, ministering to the people God’s equipped me to meet.
Odd, isn’t it, how those things happen?
