Tag Archives: writing

Summer Reading

16 Saturday May 2015

Posted by in Book Reviews, Faith, Relationships, and Other Topics, Writing and Pursuing Publication

≈ 2 Comments

Tags

, , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , ,

bookmarathonSchool’s out next week, which translates into more time for reading and writing, both for me and the kids.

While I have quite a few books on my to-be-read (TBR) list already, I’m always looking to add more, and now is a better time than ever to swap recommendations.

If you have a few novels or non-fiction books you think are must-reads (middle-grade and/or adult), please share in the comments. In return, here are a few I’ve read recently (with one or two exceptions) I think you might enjoy:

  1. The House of the Scorpion by Nancy Farmer. The first of a two book dystopian series, this book is creative and creepily realistic in its portrayal of the future.
  2. Wonder by R.J. Palacio. A book for middle-grade kids, Wonder had my whole family reaching for the tissues. It explores both the darkness and beauty of the human spirit, and prompts self-reflection of a noble variety in the kids who read it.
  3. The Butterfly and the Violin by Kristy Cambron. A hybrid historical and contemporary fiction novel that explores the origins of a Nazi-era painting, this book is simply…beautiful.
  4. By Darkness Hid by Jill Williamson. This is the first of a three book inspirational fantasy series. If you’re into Young Adult/Science Fiction/Fantasy/Speculative, you should check it out. I loved it.
  5. Undaunted: Daring to Do What God Calls You to Do by Christine Caine. This non-fiction title is like a call to arms for those seeking to live out their purpose.
  6. Wild Born (Spirit Animals #1) by Brandon Mull. Another middle-grade novel, this book is best read with your kids because of some of the violence. The story, however, is wonderful. This book is the first in a series of seven. Not that I’m into series or anything :-).
  7. Finding Amanda by Robin Patchen. I just finished this contemporary gem. Filled with suspense, conflict, and intrigue, this book is what inspirational fiction needs.
  8. A Voice in the Wind by Francine Rivers. Perhaps one of the greatest novels of all time. If you read nothing else, read this one. Then read the next two books in the series :-).
  9. To Be Told: Know Your Story, Shape Your Future by Dan B. Allender, PHd. I’m still reading this one. It’s so rich I couldn’t keep it off the list. Take your time reading, absorbing, and putting into practice the insights this book has to offer.
  10. The Black Rose by Thomas B. Costain. This book is one of my all time favorites. A friend once referred to herself as the Tristram to my Walter. To know how precious such a sentiment is…well you have to read the book.

And that concludes my list. I’d love for you to add to it. Have fun reading this summer, but don’t forget to live some adventures of your own :-).

A Wrecked Perspective

27 Tuesday Jan 2015

Posted by in Faith, Relationships, and Other Topics, Writing and Pursuing Publication

≈ 5 Comments

Tags

, , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , ,

thanks

“In everything give thanks; for this is the will of God in Christ Jesus for you.”
~ 1 Thessalonians 5:18

Recently, on a day like any other, my three kids and I set out for an evening of gymnastics and Kenpo practice, with a potential coffee stop squeezed in. The smell of mint wafted from my older daughter’s tea mug. The youngest girl crunched on a carrot as if it were her last meal, and my boy pretended to finish homework (I saw him tuck a toy in the jacket of his Gi before leaving the house).

We sat in the left turning lane behind a line of cars, underneath a partly cloudy sky. Tires screeched. Metal crunched. We lunged forward. Slammed backward. I screamed.

My pulse pounded in my ears, and I couldn’t hear anything else for a moment. The surge of adrenaline made me dizzy. I couldn’t believe I’d been hit, or that my kids were in the car.

I turned to them. “Is everybody okay?” They were shocked, but otherwise unharmed. Praise God.

I got out, shaking, and walked to the car responsible, its front end demolished. Behind the deployed airbag sat a young man wearing a dazed look of dread.

“Are you all right?” I asked.

He looked himself over and nodded, though he didn’t seem entirely sure. “Can I drive?” He pointed at a parking lot. Smoke drifted up from the remains of his hood, fluid poured beneath it.

“No. You should probably get out.”

By the time the ordeal ended, the police, a fire truck, and the boy’s parents and sister had arrived on the scene, and a tow truck was on its way to haul off the totaled car. I pulled my Chevy Suburban (a vehicle I shamelessly endorse) onto the road with minor rear-end damage.

Before leaving, I’d assured the boy and his family, “We’re fine. No one is hurt. It’s not the end of the world.” But for that eighteen year old, I could tell his world was crashing fast. He looked distraught, despite his parents and sister loving on him and stressing how much they cared about him and not the car.

I wanted to comfort him myself, pull him in a hug, wipe his tears and make certain he understood that the wreck, as horrible as it seemed now, would be just a memory someday. But he’d had enough trauma. The last thing he needed was some stranger bear-hugging and petting him.

He saw the totaled car and cried over what that meant for his family. What it would cost them. How they would replace it. He didn’t consider their joy over the fact that their son had walked away from a thousand pounds of crumpled metal unscathed.

But I did. And it made me look at my own kids, my own life, my own set of problems, my own trove of joys. And it made me thankful.

Thankful that even though my son and I have a homework showdown every afternoon, he’s come home safe every afternoon. Thankful that although my daughter’s already showing signs of adolescent attitude, I get to kiss her sleeping face every night when she looks most like an angel.

Thankful because, while my edits are taking much longer than I intended, they’re getting done, and I’ve got somewhere to send them. Thankful that no matter what the day brings–good or bad–I’m loved from on high by One who suffered and died for me.

Sometimes it takes a crisis to wreck our negative perspectives; to take our eyes off all that’s wrong with the world and refocus them to see the joy, the love, the good.

I regretted not saying all I wanted to comfort the young driver before I left. I’m thankful his driver information comes with an address where I can send a card of encouragement. I can only hope I don’t look like a stalker when it arrives.

Your turn: What are you thankful for?

Happy and Prosperous 2015!

08 Thursday Jan 2015

Posted by in and Other Topics, Faith, Relationships, Writing and Pursuing Publication

≈ 11 Comments

Tags

, , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , ,

2014-12-28-McCauleyMcCauleys-202A man’s heart plans his way, but the Lord directs his steps. ~Proverbs 16:9

It’s the second week of the new year, and I hope you are still as excited about your goals and resolutions as you were at the beginning. I know I am.

2014 ended with the blessed commotion of travel, family, laughter, and lots of food. The new year started with a flu-like illness that put me out of commission for the better part of a week. At least now I don’t have to work off holiday pounds, just keep them off :-).

My goals for 2015 aren’t lofty, but they’re ambitious enough to stretch me and leave me a little daunted. Good thing I started the year with Christine Caine’s Undaunted: Daring to do what God calls you to do, a book I highly recommend.

Now I’m ready to excel in areas of faith, family, and of course fiction. While I’m currently doing more editing than writing at the moment, I am committed to finishing a third novel by September of this year. My biggest writing goal for this year is to acquire agent representation.

For my precious family, the goal is to continue to make time in our busy schedules to be present with each other. Cooking and reading together, as well as more dinners around the kitchen table, are just some of the ways we plan to stay connected.

A dear friend and I are committed to going even deeper with God this year, and are starting a Romans Bible study through Precept Ministries by Kay Arthur. The workbook looks intense, and I’m excited to get started.

Though fitness is a goal I added to my list with a grim scowl on my face (because I despise anything remotely resembling organized exercise), I am committed to exercising regularly this year. With three young children to take care of, I need to take care of myself, and that includes heart health from elevated heart rates, bone health from bearing weights, and yada-scowl-yada.

So that pretty much sums up my outlook for 2015 on a grand scale. I’ve got my plans broken down into doable chunks so that I don’t get overwhelmed by the lot of it. And I’m leaving room for the Lord to interrupt where He will, because at the end of each day it’s all about Him anyway.

So what about you? I’d love to hear what your plans are for this year, and how 2015 is going for you so far. Whatever this year holds, I pray it brings you closer to God and walking the path He designed specifically for you.

From my family to yours, Happy New Year!

When the Odd Bird Flies

09 Sunday Nov 2014

Posted by in Faith, Relationships, and Other Topics

≈ 4 Comments

Tags

, , , , , , , , , , , , , , ,

oddbird

Odd bird.

It’s an expression my family uses for something or someone who strikes us as unusual. The context can be positive, such as a quirky or endearing oddity; or it can be of the don’t-make-eye-contact variety.

A bird of the former type attends my daughter’s gymnastics school. She’s tall and pale, all angles and elbows. A haunting beauty if I ever saw one. Glance at her slumped shoulders and ducked head, and it’s obvious she doesn’t think so.

“I will praise You, for I am fearfully and wonderfully made.” Psalm 139:14

Each week I watch her practice, this swan in the making. I have never seen a cartwheel so awkward. When her legs are in the air, she pulls them in almost like a frog’s, as if she’s not quite sure how to manage their full length, and maybe doesn’t want to bring attention to how long they are. Her tumbles and rolls are just as unbalanced.

Despite her weaknesses, before every maneuver her eyes light with a fierce sort of determination, as if in her head she’s saying, “I know I’m not good at this, but I will be.”

And for just a moment, that few seconds before she has to run down the mat, or hop up on the beam, or climb the rope, she folds out of her ball of insecurity and self-consciousness. She squares her shoulders, clenches her fists, takes a deep, shaky breath, and that little beauty puts her all into it.

Her finish is clumsy. She looks down, probably not wanting to see the response to what she presumes is failure. Still she gets back in line and gives it another go. And each week she gets a little better.

Watching her moves me. I can’t help thinking that maybe when the Father watches many of us, including me, He sees what I see in her: fear of failure, fear of being seen failing, insecurity over what we must look like to others when we put ourselves out there and finish clumsy, doubt that we’ll ever succeed despite how much effort we put into it.

And yet we don’t give up, because something inside won’t let us. Maybe it’s the fire burning within that speaks to the purpose of our creation, or maybe our Creator Himself, who knows the plans He has for our lives and spurs us gently onward.

“He who has begun a good work in you will complete it until the day of Jesus Christ.” Philippians 1:6

Writing is hard. Parenting is hard. Marriage, friendship, art, work. Life.

Everything we endeavor to do well can be laden with periods of ungainly tumbles and uncoordinated leaps. We fall, trip, bruise–and look as odd as a six-legged horse in the process. But like the little gymnast, we shake it off and do it again.

Because birds don’t fly on the ground.

Odd birds are only odd for a time, enduring momentary setbacks and temporary failures as we flap about. One day we’ll take flight, soaring high to all that God has called us to for His glory alone.

Right now we’re just strengthening our wings.

Gone Fishing, Author Style

02 Sunday Nov 2014

Posted by in Writing and Pursuing Publication

≈ 8 Comments

Tags

, , , , , , , , , , , , , , ,

This was originally posted on 11/09/2013. It’s that time of year again…

200351330-001

As a child, I fished with my father. Dark, quiet nights, sometimes nothing but the calm sound of water lapping the bank, or the buzz of mosquitoes testing the perimeter of whatever insect repellent we wore. It’s been a long time since we’ve done that.

Lately, however, those memories are rushing back. Memories of fish too large for my lanky little arms, fighting against me, tugging so hard on the line I feared a time or two that I’d be pulled in instead of the fish being pulled out.

Memories of determination, refusing to give up; of reeling in those bullish fish.

The cause of these memories? National Novel Writing Month (NaNoWriMo), and this commitment I’ve made to the program to have 50,000 words by the end of November; the side bet I’ve waged with myself to hit 80,000.

Striving to meet an ambitious daily word count–against all odds and come what may–is like fishing for words that are fighting to stay in the water.

Some days inspiration sleeps in. Creativity goes MIA. Skill leaves a “Be Back Later” sign on the door. And the words are left to swim amuck in an unsupervised pool of mockery and defiance; determined not to be hooked, refusing to be tamed.

I’d really rather not fight with the slippery suckers. Especially when the house is asleep, coffee’s lukewarm, and I’m getting a series of teasing tugs on my line with no bites.

Searching, straining, desperate for words, it gets tempting to just cut the line. Reel it in empty. Fish again another day. Maybe.

But to do that–to give up–is to get pulled in.

When I fished with my father I never got pulled in.

Strained a few muscles. Got mud on my knees. Suffered scrapes.

On the flip side my muscles grew stronger, my stance firm.

I didn’t quit then. I won’t quit now. One day, one word, one catch at a time.

Going fishing. Be back soon. ❤

And let us not grow weary while doing good, for in due season we shall reap if we do not lose heart. ~ Galatians 6:9 NKJV

A Writer’s Labyrinth

11 Saturday Oct 2014

Posted by in Writing and Pursuing Publication

≈ 2 Comments

Tags

, , , , , , , , , , , ,

Not too long ago my father-in-law presented me with a challenge. I placed all of my fingers together at the tips except the middle fingers, which touched at the knuckles:IMG_8516.JPG

Easy enough, right? Then I had to tap each pair of fingers together on command, all without moving the middle fingers. First the pinkies, then thumbs, next the pointer fingers.

Child’s play…until he called out the ring fingers.

I couldn’t move them. At all. I strained just about every muscle in my body. Nothing.

I resorted to glaring at my fingers in an attempt at telepathy. Nada.

No matter how hard I tried, they wouldn’t budge, though I always seemed to be just on the edge of success.

Worse, long after figuring out that those fingers were staying put, I spent a lot more time and energy trying to prove otherwise. I earned for my efforts a stabbing three-day headache. It reinforced the idea that if you think too long or hard on something, the effects can be crippling.

Likewise, in writing–or any worthy goal–it’s easy to overthink a project or try to force an ill-placed scene.

One can puzzle for months how to approach a story, but at some point the words to that story must be introduced to their pages. Some scenes or characters need cutting, others filling out.

Thoughts must become decisions that turn into action.

Otherwise, precious time gets lost in the Labyrinth of Perpetual Thought and Distraction, where corridors are lined with finger statues, and progress hides behind a foggy horizon always just out of reach.

“Think it through too long, and it may stay a thought forever.”

Your Turn: What are your biggest obstacles to progress? Try the exercise (though don’t spend too much time on it). Were you able to tap the ring fingers together?

Race for the Chicago Hot Dog…A Food Tour Tragedy

04 Saturday Oct 2014

Posted by in Faith, Relationships, and Other Topics, Writing and Pursuing Publication

≈ 2 Comments

Tags

, , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , ,

On my way to the American Christian Fiction Writers (ACFW) conference in St. Louis, I made a two-day pit stop in Chicago to visit a dear friend who’d just moved from my town to that town. My sister, who lives in Boston, jumped at the chance to join us, and we spent days before our little gathering emailing back and forth about how we’d spend our time.

Oddly enough, the conversation turned to hot dogs, and went something like this:

Sis: Carissa do you know a good hot dog place?

Me: Hot dogs?!? I call foul. FOUL I say!

Sis: Hey, Tanara, it’s not all about you, lol. I heard Chicago style dogs are good!!!

Carissa: True, true! I asked Chris & he said Chicago hot dogs are famous & good! We will have a hot dog stop!

Sis: Thank you so much. You don’t have to try one, Tanara!

Me: Hot dogs. We talkin’ bout hot dogs (in my Allen Iverson “talkin’ about practice” voice). Fine, being the good follower that I am ;-), if everyone else is having hot dogs I’ll have one too. Hot dogs. smh.

And so the race for the famous Chicago hot dog began. I arrived in Chicago before my sister Makena.

IMG_8202

Being hungry, and not wanting to eat her precious hot dog without her, I lunched with Carissa at Mezcalina. I ate the pollo almendrado (chicken in almond mole) and we shared two guacamoles (traditional and del dia).

IMG_8211

IMG_8213

We’re beating hot dogs by a mile straight out the gate.

My sis arrived at dinner time. We met her at an Orange Line exit, then hoofed it the rest of the way to Roka Akor Chicago, where we had dinner reservations with Carissa and her husband Chris. We ate Omakase style, which allows the chef to pick your food for you.

IMG_8222 IMG_8217

The experience was Ah-mazing. I’ll admit, though, not being a lover of food that hasn’t gone through a trial by fire of sorts (ahem…cooking), I struggled through the raw fish course. Hot dogs sounded pretty good in that moment. Then the next course came…what’s a hot dog?

Dessert made me want to run a good two miles, circle back to the restaurant and have another…to myself. It was that good. No, really, it was THAT good.

IMG_8224

Next day we hopped on city bikes and cruised the streets like we owned them. Carissa in the lead, dinging her bell at every poor soul unfortunate enough to share the trail. Makena brought up the rear, her legs working overtime to compensate for her too-short bike. Between her and Carissa we had our own theme song going. It went something like, “Ding, ding! Wait for me, guys!”

We spotted a couple of hot dog stands along the way. They looked a little shady, so on we went…

IMG_8234IMG_8259

For lunch, Makena had a place on her list considered a must dine.

IMG_8262

The Purple Pig, voted one of the ten best new restaurants of 2010, had some of the best calamari I’ve ever tasted, served cold like a salad. That I enjoyed it says a lot, because the only cold food I’m really fond of comes out of the freezer and is eaten by spoon.

Next we ate at this little joint:

IMG_8265

The Billy Goat Tavern happened to be featured in a book I read recently, Katherine Reay’s Dear Mr. Knightley (great book), so I saved my appetite for one of their cheezborgers (that’s how they spell it, don’t ask me why). I know what you’re thinking: I complained about hot dogs and scarfed down a cheezborger.

Yes. I did.

Mr. Goat’s was a homey place, the walls plastered with pictures of famous people who’d dined there over the years. Munching on my borger, I leaned over the table and fixed my attention on the Jeopardy episode playing behind the bar. I celebrated every question I answered correctly. Nobody minded. It’s that kind of establishment.

Next was Eataly. An Italian market/restaurant/gelato/winery/coffee, etc., etc., place.

IMG_8267

Since “life is too short not to drink well,” I ordered an expensive espresso. It was so strong I forget which exotic country produced it.

Evening arrived and still no hot dogs. Surely the Navy Pier would have a stand we could patronize. We set off on foot. The shadows of dusk gave way to an over-dark nightfall, and we soon questioned the wisdom of our choice. We passed under a bridge and up a flight of concrete stairs, heads turning to and fro in search of rats and ruffians. Made it to the pier just in time to watch them locking up.

Legs tired, bellies grumbling, we piled into a cab. It took us to Chicago Pizza and Oven Grinder. This place was also featured in Dear Mr. Knightley (seriously, great book). We split a Mediterranean bread. Then the pizza pot pie and oven grinders arrived.

IMG_8340IMG_8338

The sight of that huge sandwich shut me down. I took a couple bites of delicious sausage blanketed with melted cheese and killer sauce, then raised the white flag.

One look at my girls and I knew my flag had company. Two days of walking, biking, eating, and exploring caught up with us. We boxed up the food, cabbed it back to Carissa’s place and stuffed our boxes in the fridge, pleased to know Chris would enjoy the fruits of our surrender.

Not until Makena and I boarded separate planes the next day did we realize her tragedy. We’d raced through the city of Chicago in search of a great hot dog, and ducked off the trail before crossing the finish line.

It’s a problem in need of remedy.

Your turn: If you live in Chicago, or have been to Chicago, do you know a hot dog spot worth recommending? Or better yet, one worth an extra trip? I might be inclined to say, “We talkin’ bout hot dogs.” But then again, it’s not about me :-).

When Mom’s Away…

21 Sunday Sep 2014

Posted by in and Other Topics, Faith, Relationships, Writing and Pursuing Publication

≈ Leave a comment

Tags

, , , , , , , , , , , ,

As I gear up to head to the American Christian Fiction Writers (ACFW) conference in St. Louis, I’m tempted to fret over how my family can possibly manage without me. My husband is off work and my father-in-law will be flying in to keep him company, still I’m skeptical of two men being able to manage every group of the food pyramid (we won’t even discuss cooking it), school uniforms, practice schedules, games, homework, chores, gardening, an all day four-year-old, and countless other things. Not to mention what my two daughters’ very long, exceedingly curly, extremely thick hair is going to look like by the time I return from five days absence.

This short, fifteen-second commercial helped me to put the brakes on all that worrying. When I’m gone, things won’t be done my way. And that’s just fine. While I might find a few things to cringe about if I could watch the goings-on of my household from my cell phone (is there an app for that?), I’d also find my kids safe, prayed over, fed–with something, and happy.

I’m blessed to have a husband who supports my dream. And I’m grateful for a place to go where I can connect with other writers, grow in my craft, worship the Lord, and pursue the next step.

So St. Louis here I come! May the Lord bless, keep and protect my family, and every other family His writers are leaving behind. And for the moms en route with me, here’s to having things dad’s way for a time :-).

Falling Off the Writing Wagon

07 Sunday Sep 2014

Posted by in Writing and Pursuing Publication

≈ 2 Comments

Tags

, , , , , , , , , , , , , ,

wagon wheel

“Find a job you love, and you’ll never work a day in your life.” ~ Confucious

Quite an inspiring declaration. Too bad “inspiring” is not synonymous with “truth.”

I love to write. The process of weeding out an idea, then turning that idea into hundreds of pages, is beyond rewarding.

But make no mistake about it. It’s work. And writing is never harder than when there’s a break in the process.

Circumstances in the past couple of weeks have pulled me away from a consistent writing schedule. And while much of it was beyond my control, I still fretted daily in the back of my mind: “You need to write. You need to write.”

Now that I’m free to get back to my current work in progress, the chasm between what needs to be done and what I think I can do seems to have widened a mile per day spent not writing. I agonize over closing the gap.

Getting back into a rhythm will be a grueling process; a mental strain akin to standing up, dusting off, and limping to catch a wagon that I fell from, before it picks up speed and barrels down the trail without me. The prospect of giving up becomes as tempting as a cold drink in a dry desert.

All the more reason to push through.

Writing is a part of me. I do it because I love it, but it’ll always be work. Whoever coined the phrase “labor of love,” knew what they were talking about.

Now I’ve got a wagon to catch.

Your turn: Do you love what you do? Has it ever been hard for you, despite how much you enjoy it?