Confessions of a Medical Mom

by Lindsay Franklin

 

Red lights flashing in the darkness, sirens wailing in the middle of the night. Your child being loaded onto a gurney and whisked away to an emergency room. It sounds like the start of a horror story. Every parents’ nightmare. The worst day of your life.

But if you have a child with a medical condition, this may be routine. It may be the eleventy-hundredth time you’ve watched EMTs load your kid into the back of an ambulance. It may only barely affect your blood pressure these days, which is good, because you have to be calm enough to recite your kid’s entire medical history at three a.m. to the paramedics who have probably never heard of his rare neurological condition.

I’m only speaking for myself, of course. Every medical parent’s story looks different—indeed, the variance can be wild. But the sirens don’t scare me anymore. When my son has a seizure, my husband and I time it carefully (our comfort zone is five to six minutes) and watch for signs of respiratory distress. Most times, we don’t call an ambulance anymore. What are the ER docs going to tell us? “Your son has something weird in his hypothalamus.” Yes, thank you. We know.

The way I’ve described it, maybe it sounds like medical moms (and dads) are the chillest cucumbers in the vegetable bin. In some ways, that’s probably true. We can’t afford to panic in the midst of an emergency. We have to stay calm and level-headed to make sure our kids get the care they need. But that’s only one facet of the medical mom life.

Anxiety has become part of my essential makeup. It always has been to a degree—I’m just wired that way more than some others, like my husband who doesn’t startle at loud noises and barely blinks when he hears glass breaking, people shouting, or atomic bombs dropping.

But my journey as a medical mom has upped the ante. The part of my brain that wants to protect my squishy, exhausted, grieved heart always has me preparing for the worst. When the worst has already happened—when you’ve gotten the very last news you ever wanted to hear—it’s hard not to constantly wait for the other shoe to drop.

I’ve had a lot of dropping shoes in my life.

There’s a strange layer of shame that tags along when you or your child is not healthy, especially in the faith community. I’d need a couple extra hands and feet to count all the times well-meaning people have subtly (or overtly) suggested my life would look different if I had a little more faith—if I prayed better or more frequently, if I had better theology, if there weren’t some underlying sin lurking in my past or present.

Look, I said they’re well-meaning, and I meant that. People don’t realize the hurt they cause when they say such things, and really, no sick or differently abled person should be surprised by these comments. They’ve been happening for millennia: “Who sinned, Jesus, this man or his parents?” But what these folks don’t realize is that the medical parent’s life requires a certain kind of faith just to reach ground zero, if you will. Just to get to the starting place where others begin growing in their relationships with God, we have an uphill battle.

That’s because we start in a pit. We start in a place of constantly wondering why our child is suffering, constantly working to overcome the anxiety and shoe’s-going-to-drop mentality. We start in a place of being reminded every moment that we are weak, that our children are hurting and there’s nothing we can do to fix it. So it is simultaneously true that I’m barely clinging on and my faith is a solid rock. Both those statements are my raw, naked truth—my confession. My faith is tested by the moment, and I’m still here.

The places where I’ve seen God working most clearly in my life have been related to my medical kid. Small miracles—and a couple big ones—have unfolded before my eyes. Medical parents may have a strange, arduous road to walk, but we also have a sharp, unshakable sense of hope. Hope that we’ll make it through today, hope that tomorrow will be easier, hope that even if it’s not, God will see us through.

 

Author Bio:

Lindsay Franklin is an award-winning author, freelance editor, and homeschooling mother of three. Her debut fantasy novel, The Story Peddler, releases in 2017 from Enclave Publishing, and her book of devotionals for young women, Adored, releases October 2017 from Zondervan/HarperCollins Christian Publishing. Lindsay has had dozens of short stories published, and she is Faculty Director for Realm Makers, an annual conference for speculative fiction writers of faith. She is a Bible college student and has taught fiction to wildly creative homeschooled junior and senior high students. Lindsay may or may not be addicted to full-leaf tea and organic coffee. Don’t tell anyone. Connect with Lindsay on Facebook, Twitter, or Instagram. You can also follow her stuffed wombat on Instagram. Yeah, you read that right.

Confessions of a Wallflower

by S.D. Grimm

 

 

I’m not particularly noticeable. I’ve been thought of as standoffish and snobby by people who didn’t know me yet. I’ve been the person no one in the room wants to get to know. I’m often the person no one remembers seeing even though I was there. The first to leave. Invisible. Quiet. Elusive.

It’s not that I dislike people.

It’s not that I want to hide from conversations, either.

In fact I love to sit down and talk to people about deep, soul-searching things. I cherish my friendships and desire to be able to be myself in social situations.

It’s just that social situations are terrifying. Talking to people on the phone? Rare form of torture. Being called out as the center of attention? The stuff of nightmares. The thought of being tossed into a room filled with strangers and being told to mingle? Enough to keep me at home huddled in my zombie-apocalypse room.

Talking one-on-one with someone about things that have nothing to do with the weather and everything to do with revealing something personal, be it a deep-seeded emotion or favorite comic book character or greatest fear or anything Star Wars related? My idea of awesome. Getting to know a small group of people with whom I think there’s a real possibility of cultivating friendships? One of my favorite things. Hanging out with people I’m already friends with so I can be my crazy, witty, shy, adorably awkward self? Heaven on earth.

Recently I was invited to hang out with some friends, who I am just getting to know. Excitement and anxiety started to mix in a dangerous concoction. What starts out as “Yes! People actually like me!” “I wasn’t completely awkward,” and “I managed not to accidentally tell them to ‘back off’ with a look.” Turns quickly into, “But what if they hate me?” “What if they didn’t really want to invite me, but I was just there?” Or “What if this is some long, drawn-out prank to get me to go meet them and then no one else shows up?” “What if they change the time and then forget to tell me because they don’t even remember inviting me in the first place?”

You can laugh. It’s okay. But you should also know that these thoughts (and more) literally crossed my mind. Not in a funny way, either. Looking back, I can sort of laugh at myself and at least think “why would you go there?” In reality, these thoughts put me in a serious state of panic.

I almost stood them up because I thought no one would notice anyway.

For me, starting a friendship is something that not only terrifies me, but is also something I crave. I LOVE my friends. I wish they knew how much they meant to me. And yet, I have to conquer stupid fears and sometimes crippling doubts to believe that my friends like me too.

That got me thinking.

A lot.

It does matter to me what the people I like think to some degree. I mean, I value their thoughts and opinions. On the other hand, my friendships aren’t just about what they think of me. It’s a give-and-take relationship. I make them feel loved and appreciated. They do the same to me. So … that means even if I’m scared, even if I’m anxious, even if I think an actual invite to hang out could be a ploy to make me feel stupid, I have a choice to make:

I can let fear win.

Or I can let my friendship win.

And when I choose to let my friendship win, guess who benefits? My friends. (Me too, actually!) But that’s what matters: that my friends feel the love and appreciation. Knowing that in my head helps me when the fear grips. Allowing myself to believe that other people could actually be interested in the shy wallflower helps me to take those brave steps forward.

And that’s what life is about, isn’t it? Taking brave steps forward? Because, yeah, bad things could happen. But so could good things.

That’s the risk of bravery. I saw this quote on a meme about being brave: Sometimes the fear won’t go away, so you have to do it afraid. And that spoke to me.

It doesn’t mean that I don’t still have thoughts of relationship sabotage or that I won’t be afraid and stand off to the side when the room is full. It doesn’t stop me from sometimes sneaking to the next aisle at the grocery store when I see someone who might know me, or slow my heart from racing when the phone rings. But it does allow me to stop and think. To make deliberate choices.

So maybe I should title this Confessions of a Braver Wallflower. Because every day that’s what I strive to be. Braver.

But remember, you can’t call it bravery unless you’re pushing through fear.

 

Author Bio:

S. D. Grimm’s first love in writing is young adult fantasy and science fiction—everything from urban fantasy to superheroes. Her office is anywhere she can curl up with her laptop and at least one large-sized dog. You can learn more about her, her debut novel Scarlet Moon, and her upcoming books at www.sdgrimm.com

Check out Scarlet Moon!

 

 

 

 

Confessions of a Thankful Internet Geek

by Laura A. Grace

My Papa’s legacy lives on.

Granted, I don’t recall ever seeing him pick up a book (well, unless maybe it was a train book with lots of pictures) except his Bible when he got older.

Yet his extrovert self still inspires my introvert self to actively get to know other people online, especially authors and writers.

He and my Grandma would share stories of how he met so-and-so online and then, when on a cruise, go and meet that same person. More than once did they tell me how they got “exclusive tours” because of an online friend my Papa knew.

Reflecting on those stories, I am mind blown at how he used the internet to make new friendships that extend over the ocean (and he didn’t even have social media to do it!).

It’s even more exciting to know that I’m following in his footsteps.

Just as it was for him, the internet has opened new gateways that the seventh grade me never would have imagined as I began devouring Nancy Drew mysteries. I thought the most I would ever be able to do was read and tell friends (which I still do). However, someone introduced me to the idea of meeting and interacting with authors online and transformed my life as an avid reader.

Now my inner fangirl does a lot more of this:

via GIPHY

And quite a bit of this:

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Now I could easily be doing this outside of social media (which I still do at some point while reading, and on multiple occasions if I might add), but now I am able to use book blogging to really get to know authors. I can reach out via Facebook messenger or email and ask if they would be interested in an interview or guest post. Then somehow as we’re chatting, the conversation keeps going and this amazing thing sometimes happens … (insert big breath) I get to know and call them friend. Talk about a dream come true! I have to try and remember daily that these authors genuinely call me friend and not let my inner fangirl explode with squeals and giddiness in every conversation (but don’t worry, when they release a new novel, they get a big dose of that).

via GIPHY

Recently my close writing mentor just released her short story on Amazon, and it is surreal to think how I can help get her book out there through blogging. I can show and talk about my friend’s story in a way that wasn’t possible when I first started reading in middle school (well, at least I thought wasn’t possible). I can make memes, do an interview, and make a fan-made book trailer to name a few fun ones.

Now I have to admit, it’s one thing to share the latest book trailer I made, but it’s whole other thing when I’m asked if I would be interested is hosting a blog tour under God’s Grace Blog Tours. By this point, I’m pretty sure my inner fangirl cannot help but faint from joy and excitement (whether I know the author or not). Not only am I able to gush all the amazingness of their story, but I get to do it with different bloggers all over the United States (sometimes even from all over the world).

Enter me stalking these bloggers’ sites for their posts of reviews, guest posts, or some other feature in the name of sharing the book love, and I feel my mission is partially complete.

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What is my mission as an avid reader, book blogger, and blog tour host?

Support the author, read the book, and share the book love (no matter what order I do these).

Usually the final and even more fun part of my mission includes participating in one of the coolest virtual book events I know on the internet: Facebook parties.

Oh my goodness! What an epic way to chat with other readers and favorite authors. Enter lots of fun chat and games with giveaways, and you have this mega fangirl party with lots of squealing and laughter off screen (at least for this inner fangirl).

via GIPHY

Yes, I can definitely say that I’m thankful my Papa showed me how wonderful of an adventure it can be when getting to know people online. A few years ago I would have been a nervous wreck even thinking about remotely wanting to reach out to people I don’t know (even at Facebook parties).

Not so much anymore. And as a result, my Papa’s legacy lives on.

Just with a lot more sequels of excitement and dancing over new book releases.

(Before I go, can I take a moment to share how I feel being featured on Ralene’s blog today? Yeah, I also might have been feeling this as I was reading her novel, Bellanok. Thank you, Ralene!) From Ralene: Aw, thanks, Laura. You know how to make a gal feel special.

via GIPHY

 

 

About Me:

Laura A. Grace loves to read with a passion. Her personal goal: to read all the books as well as write a few of her own (maybe even a hundred!). She’s a firm believer in spreading hope, and book blogging makes a perfect outlet. More than once her husband has caught her staying up late to support and get to know Christian indie authors online. You can find her in her North Carolina home, attempting to capture her characters and force them onto paper—or trying to read just one more chapter before going to sleep.

Links:
HOPE through the Pages (website): https://pagesandhope.com
Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/pagesandhope
Twitter: https://twitter.com/pagesandhope
YouTube: https://www.youtube.com/channel/UC-u-2ISJD33-o9YDd-0kv4Q
Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/user/show/15540563-laura-grace

I wrote an e-book, One Bookish Friend Challenge, sharing how I gave myself personal challenges to get to know other people online. I made it a freebie to those who sign up for my newsletter. You don’t have to share, but I thought I would mention it.

Here is the newsletter signup link and I’ll attach the cover in case you decide to share (again, if not, that’s totally okay): http://eepurl.com/csu9yr

Also, was unsure if I should mention, but if someone was interested in learning more about God’s Grace Blog Tours, here is the link: http://pagesandhope.com/gods-grace-blog-tours

Confessions of An Adventure Writer Who Disdains Change

by Elizabeth Van Tassel

 

I’ve lived through death-defying moments ducking from flames as we survived a wildfire, losing every possession and our home in one day, working in South America and had my hotel surrounded by machine guns going off at night and rioting. I’ve been closeted in a hospital room with family living on the edge of life and death, gotten on stage in front of hundreds, held thousands of dollars of pink and colored diamonds and a Faberge Egg, and have moved fifteen times in my lifetime all over the country. I write for tweens and teens about Indiana-Jones-style adventures in other worlds and nonfiction to encourage families to live with resilience after big life changes. Yet, when I first hear that a test or trial is coming, I cringe. That moment of trust is still slightly terrifying! Can you relate?

 

The Choice

When a challenge comes I first need to assess it and understand the parameters—what’s the cost going to be? To me? To my family? Our finances and life in general? It can be an unwanted medical scare or a child needing more attention—an extraordinary life event or amazing opportunity. It doesn’t even have to be all negative. It’s just the pain and distortion of comfort with change that gets me. I find it slightly humorous that I can imagine all kinds of terrors and torture, beauty and gems, and poignant lessons for my characters, yet I really don’t like having to endure them myself.

 

The Hovering

In every kind of change, there’s the point of acceptance. Now you understand it involves a move across the country, a whole new diet, a drastic budget change, or a huge open door you never could have dreamed up. The latter is more fun, of course, but in a walk of faith there’s a moment like watching a seagull hover in the wind currents at the beach, circling, wings spread wide. The winds whisper …

Will you accept or fight me?

Will you seek wisdom or do this on your own strength?

Will you allow others to bless you in this transition?

Will you be bold with your feelings or hold them inside?

 
In this hovering state, you meet the Maker, the Designer who holds the fiber of your integrity in one hand, and the ability to create in the other. He wants to shape and mold you. Will you be pliable?

I believe it’s a conscious choice at this point to decide to live a vibrant life. Resilience is found in those moments. Resilience is made in that crucible of belief and willingness to be open to change. I don’t have to like it, but I know its voice well. I won’t refuse the whispers that the Lord brings that can open doors I never would have dreamed, whether through pain or through perseverance.

 

The Change

You can feel yourself stretching. It is often uncomfortable and brings humbling times where you’re at a total loss. You can truly no longer go it alone on your own strength. You’ve not only come to the end of the rope, but the rope is waving in the breeze, floating away. You’re just living in the trust-zone.

I am right there now. We are getting ready for move number sixteen, living on wisps of trust with a new job, new life, new city, so many things all at once will be new. It is very tempting to question and even when there’s been significant signs of affirmation, it still
makes cringe. Someone else will live in our home, walk our paths, feel the Southern California sunshine in my place. You can even meet skeptics and others with difficult journeys where you’re headed.

But all I know is one simple truth.

I’d rather be walking where the Lord directs my path, than anywhere outside of it that seems easier or more comfortable. Jesus is found in those moments of trust. He’s at work inside of me and our family and is being the wonderful Craftsman that He is. Chiseling away at my inadequacies, making a whole new life ready. Ready for change.

Are you ready for change? Do you love the fresh experiences it brings or want to hide in a corner? How have you seen fingerprints of faith on your own journey of change and growth?

 

 

Author Bio: 

Resilience Expert Elizabeth has lived a life with diamonds, wildfires, and miracles. The gemologist and communication specialist has held a modern-day Faberge egg, played with pink diamonds, and spoken to hundreds of people about adventures with heart. She winds her tales of wondrous gems and destructive loss into fantastic fantasy for teens and tweens, and meaningful nonfiction for adults.

But it’s not all sparkle. Elizabeth has found gems of true meaning as a wildfire survivor who lost every possession. She has helped her family through horrific medical traumas with her son almost dying, and her husband’s stroke. Determined to thrive, rather than just get by, now she spots potential as much as she finds inclusions in her microscope. Her creative eye and stories of survival help others to rise above circumstances and begin meaningful life changes. She also speaks, hosts classes, and blogs for adults and kids about how to live a resilient life.

Starting in April, Elizabeth is featuring a guest-blog series on Thorn & Vine with terrific authors sharing their own stories of resilience and invites you to participate at Elizabeth Van Tassel.com

 

LINKS

(http://elizabethvantassel.com/) where you can sign up to receive the posts to your email personally. She hosts a YouTube channel and interviews inspirational people, actors, and authors to encourage your journey (https://www.youtube.com/channel/UCbfGSIRoGjwywnyAto0IQKA) and family-friendly or beauty inspired activities to lift your perspective. Her Instagram (https://www.instagram.com/elizabethvantassel/?hl=en) features moments of beauty and inspiration, as well as gems from her gemology life to dazzle and delight. Catch her on Twitter (https://twitter.com/ElizVanTassel) too!

 

Confessions of a Recently Married 20-Something

My name is Adrienne Niceley–I mean Rollick. Still getting used to that. I got married in November 2016 to my hero, David.

Most people when reading that will get visions of sunshine and roses and smiles and sparkly rings. But for us, things haven’t been quite that shiny from the beginning.  

We met online through The One Year Adventure Novel community. Tried a relationship, and it failed. A little while later tried again. And, while it worked, (obviously) it was hard. David lived hundreds of miles away in Kansas while I lived in Kentucky. Our relationship was long distance for almost a year. And if you’ve never been in a long distance dating relationship, let me tell ya, it’s tough as nails.

Because of the distance, the time commitment for our relationship was larger than a normal one, and that, paired with my part-time job, family commitments, and volunteer conference work, took it’s tole on me both physically and creatively.

Now, I’m at the other side of the taxing journey, and I stand before you a recently married 20-something who is … struggling.

Why?

Being an adult and dealing with life and building a marriage all while desperately trying to fulfill the longing in my soul to just create drags me down more often than I’d like to admit.  It’s hard when you have ten loads of laundry on your bedroom floor and three days worth of dishes piled on your counter tops, and all you want to do is run after your dreams of becoming a published author and small business owner.

Life has a way of slowly sucking away at your creativity, joy, and time no matter what stage of the journey you are in.

But today I am also celebrating.

Because I am more myself now than I have been in three years. I am brainstorming again, and my writer’s brain is churning out a story that I am genuinely excited over. I’m reading, knitting, crocheting, cooking–all the things I was too exhausted or too preoccupied to do for the past couple years are all coming back, even if it’s not as much as I would like.  I am building a marriage with my husband that we can be proud of and planning adventures for us to go on together.

The seasons of life are a mixture of the good and the bad, and, more often than not, they show up at about the same time. I’m learning that keeping fast hold on the good isn’t always easy, but it’s abundantly worth it.

 

Bio:

Adrienne has often been compared to Anne of Green Gables. Although she’s never desired to sleep in a wild cherry tree, she has yearned to use stories as a way of reaching out to others and pointing them to God. A student of The One Year Adventure Novel, Adrienne has been pursuing the art and craft of writing fiction for seven years, and is involved in several writing communities. A newly wed, Adrienne is currently working on settling into her new life as a wife and homemaker, as well as getting back to her passions of writing and yarn creations. Visit Adrienne at https://thestorytopian.wordpress.com/

 

Confessions of a Lazy Mom

by Tabitha Caplinger

 

Hi! My name is Tabitha, and I am not a Pinterest-perfect mother. I am, in fact, a lazy mom. Feel free to judge me if you wish. My best friend is also a lazy mom. Her name is Holly. You can judge her too.

We spent the other evening listing the things we have done as parents that most would consider lazy. I won’t tell you specifically which of us did what, but here is the list I have compiled to give you a glimpse of our lazy choices. (For reference sake our kids are all between the ages of 4 and 8.)

  1. Letting our kids drink our drink because we didn’t want to get up and get them their own. (You’ve done it and you know it.)
  2. Making a husband bathe the children in order to eat ice cream alone. (Tell me you understand.)
  3. Buying 3 pizzas from Little Caesar’s so we don’t have to cook all weekend. (You’ve got to admit that one is genius.)
  4. Eating cereal for dinner because we just can’t adult anymore that day. (Not healthy cereal either. I’m talking Fruit Loops and Captain Crunch.)
  5. On the topic of food … popsicles for breakfast because it gets us to the coffee faster. (To be fair, these were real fruit/veggie pops with no added sugar.)
  6. Two Words. Youtube Kids. (That and chocolate milk, and we just bought ourselves an extra hour of sleep.)
  7. Telling our kids that playgrounds at fast-food restaurants are closed for cleaning so we don’t have to go in to play. (Lying is bad, we know that, but we also tell our kids there’s a tooth fairy and Santa so the line here is already a wobbly one.)
  8. Pretending we couldn’t smell the poopie diaper and then passing the kid to our husbands because whoever discovers it has to change it. (We know you’ve done this one too.)
  9. Setting up the pantry so the kids can get snacks by themselves. (This one isn’t so much lazy as strategic.)
  10. Making our kids think we’re horrible at reading instructions so we don’t have to help put Legos together. (I mean, there’s like a million pieces, We just … we can’t.)

 

Are you judging us yet? Please don’t misunderstand, I love my kids. Holly loves hers. Truly, we do. But we also love our sanity.

Want another confession? I don’t even feel guilty about it. (Holly doesn’t either.) I used to. I used to have horrible mom guilt. Especially after seeing someone post the craft they did with their kids, or their fabulous day spent at the park or museum. I felt so bad that I wasn’t the type of mom who would jump at the chance to plan the classroom party or go on every field trip. I used to feel like maybe my kids were missing out on something, that their childhood wouldn’t be magical enough.

But you know what? My kids are awesome. They are independent. They can make their own lunch, put away their own laundry, make the beds, and help each other. They are musical and artistic and smart and kind and brave, and their childhood is magical. They have light saber fights in the living room. We dance while cooking dinner. They spent the weekend camping in a tent in the living room.

So, yes, my name is Tabitha and I am a lazy mom, and I am totally okay with that.

 

Author Bio:

Tabitha Caplinger is a wife, mom, youth pastor and professed tv addict. It’s seriously a problem but she doesn’t plan on getting help anytime soon. Mostly because she loves the stories. She can’t help but get lost in the worlds created and invested in the lives of the characters. She brings that same passion for the story to her own writing. The first book in her YA trilogy, The Chronicle of the Three: Bloodline, is currently available with the second book releasing in early 2017. Aside from writing and watching tv, Tabitha can be found singing off key and dancing in the kitchen or car with her two adorably sassy daughters and awesome husband who she thinks is kind of cute.

You can find more information about Tabitha and her books at tabithacaplinger.com

Links:

Facebook: Tabitha Caplinger

Twitter: @Tab_Caplinger

Instagram: @Tab_Caplinger

Snapchat: pastortabitha

 

 

Confessions of a Part-Time Teleworker

by Gretchen E K Engel

 

My name is Gretchen and I’m a part-time teleworker and a full-time mom. That makes me 1.5 people. Sometimes it seems like it. I’m married to my college sweetheart and have two school-aged children. We moved to a small mountain town in Arizona eight years ago for my husband’s job. When we moved, I became a teleworker.

Five years ago I began writing. My first manuscript was a speculative fiction story with a real-world setting and a supernatural twist. Since then, I completed two sequels, a manuscript for a steam punk story, as well as several short stories that have been published. Currently, I’m writing a steampunk deconstruction of “Beauty and the Beast”. I’m active in Realm Makers, a regular contributor for New Authors Fellowship and the Scriblerians, which stems from my young adult writing group.

By day, I’m a chemical engineer who works as an environmental engineering consultant for a large engineering firm. My specialty is compliance, and my job consists of preparing permits, reports, and plans to keep clients out of trouble with the EPA. Day-to-day I’m a technical writer and Excel spreadsheet ninja.

By night, I’m a wife and mom. We don’t over-involve our kids. It’s sports (one per season) for our son and piano, dance, and AWANA for our daughter. This year I hung up my soccer mom tag and became a football mom, which was a fantastic experience.

 

The Good

My life is ideal. My position is professional and is 20-40 hours per week. My company is very pro-teleworker and work-life balance. In the past eight years, I’ve been promoted and given some exciting projects. At the same time, the less than 40 hours plus no commute gives me time to be a mom, wife, serve in ministry at our church, attend performances/practices/games, and of course write. My schedule is deadline driven and consequently pretty flexible.

 

The Bad

Flexible sometimes translates to erratic by day, week, and month. The first four months of the year are “compliance season.” Federal, state, and local reports for the previous year are due during that window. November and December are sometimes slow. The first of the month is busier. Mondays and most Wednesdays my most structured days. Fridays are quiet.

 

The Ugly

I’m not a flake—really! However, I don’t commit to steady volunteer roles because of my work schedule. It has to be something really special. Lots of guilt when I offer to help friends but have limited availability. Honestly, my day job often has to take priority. Remember, I work for a large company with prominent clients. They don’t understand “I can’t turn in the report because I have to run a sick friend’s errands.” Callous maybe but real. The good thing is with time management, I can usually plan out my week to accommodate making meals, etc. but am not the best person to rely on in a pinch.

 

What does a day in my life look like?

0645-0900 (I prefer military time) – I get up in time to see my son off on the bus. Some mornings I get up earlier to make my son and husband breakfast others I sleep in until about 0700. Coffee is my first priority. Cattle prodding my daughter to get ready and eating breakfast are second. This is my Bible study time at our kitchen island, which includes homework for church leadership training. Occasionally, I write. Recently, I uninstalled Facebook and except for a quick check of work e-mail, I remain electronics free. My daughter gets on the bus at 0815. I continue Bible study or get ready and start my work day. Arizona doesn’t do daylight savings time; part of the year I have calls at 0800 but not until 0900 the remainder.

0900-1600 – The bulk of my work day. I run and exercise, so it’s not unusual for me to fit in a 3-4 mile run or yoga, etc. and a quick lunch. I try to not leave my house for errands. It disrupts the rhythm of my workday, which also includes housework like laundry and dishes.

1600-2200 –  Depends on the day. I work until about 1730 or when one of the kids has an activity. My iPad with Scrivener goes whenever I’m shuttling kids. Piano and dance are great times to squeeze in a few words. Tuesdays I go to the gym after my daughter’s dance class. Wednesdays it’s piano and AWANA. Other days it’s dinner, homework, piano practice, and sports depending on the season; occasionally I work in the evenings. My son is in bed by 2100, but my daughter is a night owl (Where does she get that?) and is hard to wrangle to bed.

2200-0100 – peace and quiet. All are in bed and I do the bulk of my writing. I read for a few minutes before bed.

“It’s complicated” describes my daily life. While not overly busy, I’m constantly “doing something”. Things that keep my sanity: coffee, Earl Grey or cold brew decaf for the afternoon, chamomile-lavender tea for nighttime, slow cookers, and audiobooks for housework multi-tasking. Scrivener is my favorite writing tool. I can write offline on my iPad with the iOS app while my daughter is at her activities, on the way to church, and other bits of time. I have Scrivener on my laptop for home.

 

Author Bio:

In high school, Gretchen E K Engel competed to write her English teacher’s favorite essays and earn highest marks in physics. Science won over the arts, and Gretchen became a chemical engineer. An environmental consultant by day and speculative fiction writer by night, she has authored hundreds of technical documents and several short stories.

 

Links:

https://www.facebook.com/gretchen.engel

https://twitter.com/GretchenEKEngel

http://gretchenekengel.com/

Also blogs at

http://thescriblerians.wordpress.com/

https://newauthors.wordpress.com/

Confessions of a Dreamer in Search of Wonder

by Patrick Carr

Most of my dreams are unpleasant. I don’t know if I’m alone in that because, frankly, I don’t want to know. Yet, I suspect that like a lot of people my brain goes to work at night trying to find solutions to the conflicts and confrontations we experience during the day. For those of you who don’t know me, I’m a math teacher in an urban school setting, so I live, eat, drink, and breathe the pressure that comes with public school education every day. Naturally, some of that stress spills over into my sleep.

But there are times I have these dreams filled with wonder and I wake and it’s as if I’m a child again experiencing the world for the first time. This in itself would hardly be worth mentioning except to say I hope everyone has them because I think they’re a gift from God. But as they say in the commercials “but wait, there’s more.”

These dreams, the ones I long for, these rare respites from thistles and thorns aren’t unconnected. Weird, right? I don’t mean that I will have continuing dreams several nights in a row, although I wish “wonder” would visit me that often. It’s stranger than that. Years, sometimes many years, will go by and a long-forgotten dream will come back to me and pick up where it left off, like a favorite college-friend who drops in on your doorstep unexpectedly to say hello.

I had one of these sublime visitations last night, which is why I’m writing about it. My amazement and longing is still so fresh, I doubt if I could write about anything else. What fills me with wonder? That the answer is surprising to me perhaps reveals how little I know myself, but to understand last night’s dream, I will have to relate the details of its predecessor.

I find myself in a library. It’s not overly large and certainly not modern. There are no computer stations and there are all these old-fashioned card files to help the patrons find their books. The shelves are hardwood and they lacquer on them is dark with age. Though well-lit, the library has a bit of a dusty smell and the books are all hard-bound copies and the binding is the heavy duty type with embedded fabric without ornamentation. Only the titles are on the cover.

I love libraries, especially one with hardbacks and I’m browsing through the shelves when I find a series of thick books in my favorite genre by an author I’ve never heard of before. I pick up the first book in the series and I start to read.

Boom.

The story is perfect. I’m so overwhelmed by it that I’m completely captivated. Not only does the story enthrall me, it gets inside of me. It makes me a better person. It’s literally the perfect story.

I’m filled with wonder.

I’ve lived and breathed fantasy for years. Why haven’t I heard of this story and this author before? Here I am, holding in my hands huge volumes of the best writing I’ve ever read and I’ve never even heard mention of the author. I sit on the floor, so lost in the writing that I don’t want to move, half-afraid the books might vanish.

The dream ends.

Now, understand, this dream came to me decades ago, but last night I got the sequel.

I’m wandering in the countryside. I live in Tennessee so there are a lot of places even close to Nashville that are half-a-breath away from being completely rural. For some reason in this dream I’m walking and I come upon a hollow. For those of you who don’t speak the southern vernacular, a hollow is the fold between two hills. Unless you go right up and into the crevice in the land, you’d never see whether or not there’s a house there.

I enter the hollow using a dirt road of southern red clay – there are hills all around – and I see a house. When I look at the mailbox, I realize it’s the home of the author of these amazing books. He lives here! I’ve stumbled on the home of the greatest fantasy author ever to set pen to paper.

It doesn’t matter that he’s not home. It’s the middle of the day and I know he’ll be back before long. I settle myself to wait for the man who wrote the story that got inside of me and filled me with wonder on every page.

And that, fortunately or otherwise, is where the dream ended. I don’t know what the author looks like. I don’t know if he’s a nice old man or curmudgeonly with age. I only know that I’m filled with wonder and longing this morning.

I’m also resisting the urge to interpret the dream. I have no desire to explain the points in both dreams and their obvious symbolism. They’ve worked their magic on me and I find myself unwilling to reduce my wonder to the level of prosaic explanations.

However, I will say that I hope and pray you have a similar experience. I hope you get to read the perfect story and find the author, even if it’s just in your dreams.

 

Author Bio:

Patrick W. Carr was born on an Air Force base in West Germany at the height of cold war tensions. He has been told this was not his fault. As an Air Force brat, he experienced a change in locale every three years until his father retired to Tennessee.

Patrick saw more of the world on his own through a varied and somewhat eclectic education and work history. He graduated from Georgia Tech in 1984 and has worked as a draftsman at a nuclear plant, did design work for the Air Force, worked for a printing company, and consulted as an engineer.

Patrick’s day gig for the last eight years has been teaching high school math in Nashville, TN. He currently makes his home in Nashville with his wonderfully patient wife, Mary, and four sons he thinks are amazing: Patrick, Connor, Daniel, and Ethan. Sometime in the future he would like to be a jazz pianist, and he wrestles with the complexity of improvisation on a daily basis. While Patrick enjoys reading about himself, he thinks writing about himself in the third person is kind of weird.

www.patrickwcarr.com

Confessions of a Rail-Jumper

A few months ago I opened an Etsy shop and named it Jumping Rails. Part of that name choice came from an experience in which I’d jumped a fence to cross some train tracks despite the warning sign not to, but the deeper reason has to do with my path as a creative person. You see, I am constantly jumping rails from one pursuit to another.

Pretty much any time before my senior year of high school, had you asked me what I wanted to be when I grew up, I’d have said, “Artist.” But after graduation, I honestly had no idea what direction I wanted to go. I still loved to draw, but didn’t like the idea of it becoming “work.” Art stayed a hobby for me, but it didn’t at all stay centered on drawing, even though drawing was the heart of what I considered true art.

Over the years, art has shifted from one thing to another for me. Some examples:

Drawing

Painting plaster figurines

Assembling a multitude of craft kits

Scrapbooking

Refinishing furniture

Building and sewing window treatments

More drawing

Writing

Making wands

Mixed media art

Acrylic painting

I’ve had to shed the strict “artist” label I’d held onto during my childhood and adolescence, but it’s come off layer by layer over many years. I spent a lot of time feeling guilty for not sticking to one art form, worried that I was abandoning certain talents. I have wondered off and on what it says about me that I am constantly changing direction and focus. I’ve thought, “I must not be an artist anymore because it’s been so long since I’ve drawn,” all the while not realizing that all creative things are art as well in their own ways. The guilt was never quite strong enough to keep me from jumping, though. I have never been one to force creativity. I found inspiration and it called relentlessly.

It wasn’t until after I started writing that I finally began to see the connection. It finally sank in that I was using the same creative force to write stories as I had to draw portraits. And that same creative force was at work when I scrapbooked, or sewed, or reupholstered a set of dining room chairs. I also accepted that painting didn’t have to mean masterpieces; I didn’t have to be Da Vinci or Van Gogh. I could paint space ships and fairy trees and it still counted as art to me. I could glue burnt paper and brass keys to painted canvas as long as what I created made me happy and counted as art to me.

All of those things, all those art forms, are part of a giant rail system, but for so many years I thought to be a true artist I needed to stay on one track. Now, I’ve had time and life experiences that have shown me all the branches of creativity cross each other. (As we get older, we are more able to see just how complex life in general is, so carrying that over to art makes much more sense.) I’ve gotten to know other artists and creative people who have embraced the different aspects of their own natures, and I’ve learned from their examples. Now I know it’s perfectly okay to jump the rails from one track to another as long as I keep the train moving.

 

 

Author Bio:

Kat Heckenbach spent her childhood with pencil and sketchbook in hand, knowing she wanted to be an artist when she grew up—so naturally she graduated from college with a degree in biology, went on to teach math, and now homeschools her two children while writing. Her fiction ranges from light-hearted fantasy to dark and disturbing, with multiple stories published online and in print. Her YA fantasy series Toch Island Chronicles is available in print and ebook. Enter her world at www.katheckenbach.com.

Amazon page for Toch Island Chronicles ebooks on sale for $1.39 each- https://www.amazon.com/s?ref=series_rw_dp_labf&_encoding=UTF8&field-collection=Toch+Island+Chronicles&url=search-alias%3Ddigital-text

Confessions of an Independent Woman

by Emilie Hendryx

Hello, my name is Emilie and I am an Independent woman … but sometimes I think I’m too independent for my own good.

That may sound funny—especially in the atmosphere of today’s world. Women are encouraged, even pushed sometimes, to be independent. The more independent the better! A common phrase I hear is: “I don’t need a man to complete me.” Well, of course you don’t! You go, girl! But, at the sake of sounding a bit countercultural here, I want to look at the other side—dare I say, the downside?—to independence.

Note: This is not a political post. Really. I promise—it’s not! Secondary note: This is not about bashing men or other independent women. I feel very strongly in supporting other independent women! If anything, it’s a caution to myself and others like me to see our independence as a blessing and to use it wisely.

I enjoy my independence. I like the fact that I can make decisions on my own, do what I want, and rely on ME.  >insert finger snap here< But … the flip side of that is the occasional presence of self-doubt, feeling alone when it’s just me in my one-bedroom apartment, lugging heavy boxes/groceries/furniture in by myself, or wondering what I’m really doing with my life when everyone around me seems to be getting (or already is) married or having their first, second, or third child. Most of my adult friends are at a different stage in life. That’s good … but it’s also hard.

I’m an only child, and I think a lot of my independent mentality comes from strong parents who raised a strong daughter (thank you, Mom and Dad) and who encouraged me to know my own mind. I wouldn’t have it any other way! But, if they had done that and also instilled a sense of single-minded heroism in me, the type of “Emilie, you don’t need anyone—ever” kind of thinking, I’m not sure where I’d be today. Instead, they encouraged me in my independence while they encouraged my faith and my friendships, gave me help and advice, and portrayed a strong marriage ethic for me. Yes, they really are rock stars.

As I’ve gotten older though, I see my independence both helping and hindering me. It helps me when I face new things in life, turning to the Lord with a confidence that can only come through His strength. It helps me when I remember that He has made me the woman I am. I know I have what it takes to make it through whatever I need to (through Him). And it helps me when I decide to go to the movies alone and I’m reminded that it’s okay to be by yourself—that I am not less-than because I’m single or a woman.

But, this sneaky, old independence has its downsides too. When my independence get’s in the way of community, there’s a problem. When my independence incites arrogance in my heart, there’s a problem. When my independence allows thoughts of control, there’s a problem. And when my independence overshadows who I am: a woman who loves God and loves people, there’s a problem.

I am more than my independence. I am a child of God, one of many brothers and sisters around the world, and I am called to love. Sometimes that means giving up some of my independence and allowing others to help me even if it makes me feel “less in control”. Sometimes that means forcing myself to take a step back and listen to what others are saying—is my independence stifling them and their gifts? And sometimes it means being alone and resting in Him and seeing myself as needy—I need my Savior and His strength.

I’m Emilie, an independent woman who is dependent on a strong God and an amazing community of believers.

_____

Author Bio:

Emilie lives in Dayton, Ohio and fills her time with creative pursuits. She writes, takes pictures, designs, reads, plays guitar, and drinks too much coffee. She’s a member of ACFW and currently working on a romantic suspense novel and plotting a YA Sci-fi series. She’s got a soft spot in her heart for animals and a love for the mountains of the Pacific Northwest.

 

 

Connect with Emilie:

Blog: www.eahendryx.blogspot.com

Instagram: www.instagram.com/createxploreread

Twitter: www.twitter.com/eacreativephoto

Facebook: www.facebook.com/emiliehendryx

And check out her shops full of bookish things:

www.society6.com/emiliehendryx & www.etsy.com/shops/createexploreread