by jphilo | Jun 19, 2009 | Out and About
All week I’ve been meaning to share a little about the Iowa Christian Writers’ Conference I attended last week. And all week this, that, and the other thing has kept me from doing it. But I promise that today and tomorrow will be about the conference.
The conference, which is held at Riverview Bible Camp in Cedar Falls, is organized by author Shelly Beach. She spoke a few times, but the main speakers were authors Tracy Groot and Dennis Hensley.
Tracy is a fiction writer with a passion for research, not just the book kind, but the experiential kind also – living what your characters will be doing. Consequently, one of her sessions was a “research field trip” to the cemetery adjacent to Riverview Camp. On the way there, Tracy asked us to take notes of what we saw, smelled, felt and heard. She said we were going to meet someone in the cemetery and could ask him any questions that came to mind.
Imagine everyone’s surprise when we stumbled upon Dennis Hensley (aka Doc) leaning against a tombstone, playing the part of an elderly widower who spent several hours each day at his wife’s gravesite. A flashlight, jumper cables and a croquet mallet were arranged beside the woman’s tombstone, and Doc had a story about each item along with complete details about his wife’s appearance, her employment history, her family and their children.
We were all amazed, but I was agog. Why? Because I knew something most of the others didn’t. Tracy and Doc had cooked up their scheme just the night before. And Doc took off for the cemetery only a 20 minute before the rest of us. In that short time, he searched the cemetery for a tombstone of a recently deceased woman whose husband was still living. Once he found what he was looking for, he had only a few moments to cook up an Irish accent and Celtic history to match the names on the headstone.
How could he make it look so easy? No doubt, his natural talent, a deep knowledge of history and a creative mind, stood him in good stead. But the main reason he could pull it off was this: Doc Hensley has spent years honing his craft. He is committed to his writing, intense, focused, constantly challenging himself to improve and grow.
Tracy’s research field trip taught me so much. I left the cemetery with a notebook full of writing ideas and an awareness of how much remains to be learned. But most of all, I left grateful for writers who are ahead of me on this writing journey, but kindly paused to show me and so many others a few tricks of the trade.
So top of the morning to the three of ya – Shelly and Tracy and Doc. And thank you for all you did last week.
by jphilo | Jun 11, 2009 | Out and About
Tonight is a lovely June evening at Riverview Camp. The sun is slowly sinking, coloring the leaves a luscious shade of gold and green and glinting off the Cedar River’s calm surface. One year ago, things weren’t nearly so serene around here. Volunteers were sandbagging the river in downtown Cedar Falls. Further downstream, the city of Cedar Rapids was flooding.
One year ago my son was in the monastery feeding goats and contemplating making his final vows. My daughter was home, lonely for her college friends and terrified by the specter of spinsterhood haunting her future. My mother was living in her own home, mowing her own yard. And I was organizing the notes for my first contracted book, wondering if I could shape the manuscript into something people would want to read.
Tonight my son, who left the monastery six months ago and just completed his third month on the job at the organic farm, called to say his work evaluation went well, he’s being promoted. Could we help him move into his apartment the weekend after July 4? My daughter’s boyfriend will spend the night at our house Saturday. A family of four now lives in Mom’s old house, Mom lives with my brother’s family and she refuses to mow their yard. And this afternoon, one of the authors endorsing my book and attending this writing conference, held up my book galleys for everyone to see.
One year ago, if a crystal ball had offered me a glimpse of today, I would have said it was cracked, crazy, cruel to entice me with such hope, such happiness, such sadness, and the possibility of a dream-come-true. There was no way, I would have said, for all those things to happen and for me to be alive to tell about it. No way, crystal ball. Quit teasing me.
One year ago, I would have scoffed. But today, I turn my face to the green leaves washed gold, to the sun sinking sun beyond the river and into into the next year, and I wonder what lies beyond this present world’s horizon. I take a deep breath and steady myself before I open my eyes.
It could be anything.
by jphilo | Jun 10, 2009 | Out and About
Last night, my annual stay in Munchkinland commenced. For your information, I’m not really in Munchkinland. It’s the Riverview Bible Camp in Cedar Falls, where the Iowa Christian Writers’ Conference is held. I’s also where I attended church camp as a kid.
That’s where Munchkinland comes in. Numerous decades ago, and don’t ask how many decades or you won’t be my friend anymore, this campground was absolutely humongous. I spent the first half of every camp week worrying about getting lost and never finding the way back to my cabin. Also, the cabins were palatial, gigantic edifices, one of which I was sure, was used as the model for the Beverly Hillbillies mansion. And the swimming pool, well, it was as glamourous and enticing as the hillbillies’ cement pond. As an added benefit, it required no admission, and the admission price as the local pool back home was the major reason Mom said we couldn’t go swimming most days all summer long.
My annual three days at the yearly writers’ conferences show me what a Munchkin I was back then. On my morning walks, I circle the camp’s circumference, all four blocks, in less than ten minutes. Why did I think I would get lost in such a tiny place all those nebulous decades ago? These days the cabins don’t look like mansions, more like children’s playhouses. And the aging swimming pool, which might be enticing on a hot day, comes across as more pathetic than glamourous.
Tiny as the campground is, a certain we’re-not-in-Kansas-anymore charm lingers around the edges of the place. Somewhere in the shadows, where the scent of flowers collects and the air is cool, the voices of my childhood beckon. In the presence of their light and lilting music, I am once again over the rainbow in a magical place, small and safe from all harm. I am, this undetermined number of decades later, home again.
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?
by jphilo | May 14, 2009 | Out and About
Life at 8,000 feet is a dizzying experience. So far altitude sickness hasn’t been a problem, but this view, which is visible on the path from the sleeping quarters to the conference headquarters, takes my breath away.
Even more dizzying are the conversations with other writers, sharing projects with one another and hearing their life stories. Then there’s the marketing class, where I’m learning to make a press kit and the class about drawing women to your ministry, where we’re learning all sorts of internet stuff. The information comes so thick and fast, my head is spinning. And walking through a herd of elk (yes, you read that correctly) on the way to my room tonight left me a tad disoriented. We don’t see a lot of those in Iowa.
But, I’m following all the directions to avoid altitude sickness – drinking lots of water, avoiding caffeine, and pacing myself – so I should make it through this dizzying experience and be ready to return to our little gravel road in a few days. Until then, I’m keeping my eyes open for the elk.
by jphilo | Mar 26, 2009 | Out and About
Monday night, five of us went to Bravo’s in West Des Moines to celebrate a friend’s birthday. Grilled asparagus was on the menu, which the birthday girl pointed out, even though she knew of my aversion to it. The other women all like asparagus and shared cooking tips concerning the evil vegetable. I tried not to gag. Finally, the birthday girl asked me not to post any asparagus rants on the blog this spring. What was I supposed to do? It was her birthday girl, and I was severely outnumbered. So I promised, knowing full well my chances of keeping the promise were slim.
This morning, asparagus came to mind again, once I talked myself into taking my morning walk. Forty-nine percent of me hollered, “I don’t like to walk in the cold,” while fifty-one percent replied, “But it’s so good for you. Your back feels better you walk.” The promised health benefits and a little vote-rigging with my emotional hanging chads got me out the door.
The cold was so unpleasant, I immediately thought of asparagus. Then my thoughts shifted to what I want heaven to be like: fresh strawberries and sunshine, time to do every good thing in the company of people I love. Then I had another thought. What if heaven isn’t everything I like, but me transformed into someone who loves to do the things God says are good for me? Exercise would be joy instead of drudgery. All work would be pleasure because it’s inherent goodness would motivate me.
Best of all, I would no longer be a picky eater with a sweet tooth. Healthy foods would be my favorites, and I would never overeat. It sounded like heaven to me until another thought stopped me short. What if, on every Valentine’s Day throughout eternity, I received a box of asparagus truffles? Would I actually enjoy them? Did I want to find out?
Then I devised a scheme to avoid the whole issue. I’ll save the truffles until my friend’s birthday and give them to her. She’ll be happy, I’ll be happy, and heaven will be spared the possibility of one of my asparagus rants. Keeping my promise to the birthday girl will be easy once eternity rolls around. Now if I can figure out a way to do it during this life.
Any suggestions?
