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Christian Fiction Friday Cavernous #4
Time again for Christian Fiction Friday, hosted by Hallee Bridgeman and Alana Terry. This is a chance for Christian authors to post short snippets from their works in progress! Easy and fun!
More from the first chapter of Cavernous, my inspirational YA dystopian.
Three knocks rattle the front door, and I drag myself into the entry to answer. Mrs. Whitman and company stand on the porch with a box full of baked goods and plastic containers of food. “Morning, Callie. We’ve been praying.”
“Morning, Mrs. Whitman. Mrs. Spencer, Mrs. Parker, Mrs. Bates.” I dole out hugs, my soft cotton tee catching on their gaudy polyester prints. Two still have hair in rollers. “Thank you so much.”
Mrs. Whitman shoves past me into the kitchen and sets the box on the counter. “This should keep you guys fed for a couple of days. We’ll be by with more sometime later this week.”
“It took forever to get here. Traffic’s backed up on the freeway for miles.” Mrs. Bates wipes a dramatic arm across her forehead. “I don’t know how I’ll get to the hairdresser.”
“Speaking of hair…” Mrs. Spencer lifts one of my matted locks and wrinkles her nose. “Go take a shower. It will help you feel better.”
“I’m sure you’re right.” I force a smile. “Thanks for stopping by.”
Mrs. Whitman shuffles around the kitchen, opening cabinet doors and glancing at the pile of mail Mom left on the counter. “What’s the smell? A candle?”
“Come on, Mary,” Mrs. Parker says. “Let the poor girl rest. She’s had a rough night.”
They tug Mrs. Whitman toward the door, and she pulls away. “What kind of candle, dearie? I’d love to get one.”
I sniff, detecting leftover pizza and the faintest hint of weed. “Um… pine?”
Mrs. Spencer also takes in a deep breath. “Have you been smoking marijuana?”
“No.” Pressing my lips together, I cross my arms over my chest. “No, I don’t do drugs.”
“It’s the college girl,” Mrs. Bates says. “The sister. Leroy always says she’s trouble.” She turns to me. “Is your sister still here?”
Leroy has no idea. “Amber’s asleep. I couldn’t get her to wake up this morning.” I walk over to the door and hold it open. “Thank you for the food. I’ll let you know the moment we hear.”
“Is she breathing?” Mrs. Whitman starts down the hall to the bedrooms.
Mrs. Parker links arms with her, dragging her toward the door. “Mary, we can visit later this week. Let’s go. We’ve got the women’s club meeting, and Ellen has a hair appointment.”
Mrs. Whitman harrumphs and follows the other ladies to the porch.
Outside, summertime dew covers the ground, and it smells like earthworms. I laugh as the ladies take ginger steps through the wet grass to Mrs. Whitman’s car, which is parked too close to the edge of the driveway. Hope she doesn’t hit the mailbox when she backs out.
About the book:
In a divided America, several secessions lead to the formation of a new nation, the Alliance of American States. Fueled by extremists who solicit members via social media, the Alliance has one weak point: Callie Noland, daughter of extremist leader Adrian Lamb. Can she maintain her faith in God and stand up to the man who calls himself Lord and Master?
The mission of the Cavernous trilogy is to incite a revolution for teen girls to delve into Scripture. Many of today’s society grasp at a meme-driven belief system and draw doctrine from Facebook and Twitter statuses. They need strong characters that write the words of God on their heart and take stands against slight untruths and injustices, especially the youth.
Christian Fiction Friday is a weekly blog hop where authors post snippets from their current Works in Progress. It is hosted by Alana Terry and Hallee Bridgeman.
Christian Fiction Friday–Cavernous #3
Time again for Christian Fiction Friday, hosted by Hallee Bridgeman and Alana Terry. This is a chance for Christian authors to post short snippets from their works in progress! Easy and fun!
I’ve been working on polishing three different manuscripts this summer–Humbled Goddesses, a series of short stories to introduce my romantic suspense series, Pandora’s Deed, the first book in my series, and Cavernous, my YA dystopian.
Here’s another snippet from Cavernous, chapter one.
Thunder rumbles in the distance while I study Mom’s fake ID. It appears legit, with a barcode and organ donor signature on the back. The plastic’s even scratched a bit. How long has she kept this secret?
When Dad comes home at nine, I show him the license, keeping Amber’s shenanigans quiet. He careens forward, missing the chair and landing on the linoleum.
I extend my hand and help him into the seat, wincing as he grips my fingers tighter than he should. He sits still for a moment, and then releases me, swinging his arm in a wide arc across the table. The license flies to the floor. “Why? Why would your mom do this to us?”
“Wish I knew.” Kneeling, I pick it up and set it back on the table, unable to keep the quiver from my voice. “Sorry, dad.”
Squeezing his chin with one hand and rubbing his neck with the other, Dad inspects the ID for about thirty minutes. Then he scoots away from the table, bends over double, and rests his elbows on his knees.
I’ve seen him cry one other time, at Grandma’s funeral, and it was nothing like this–a total breakdown in heart-wrenching sobs. Returning to the armchair, I let out wails of my own.
After a few minutes, he excuses himself to the room he shares with Mom, which I’d think would be the last place he’d want to be. His scuffles thud through the wall. He’s probably searching everything she owns for any sign she’s been hiding another identity. With nothing else to do, I crawl into my bed and cry myself to sleep.
Around eight the next morning, the phone rings.
Dad staggers out of his room, glances at the caller ID, and starts the coffee. “Is Amber awake?”
“No. I tried a few minutes ago, but she didn’t budge.”
“I’m going to run by work.” He grabs his bulging leather satchel. “I’ve requested a leave of absence, and I’m getting my courses in order.”
“Okay, we’ll be fine here. You want breakfast before you go?”
“Nah.”
I follow him to the porch.
Dad nods to a woman next door who drags two resistant little girls to a minivan. Four houses down, an older man in a fluffy blue robe walks out to get the paper. Doors slam, men in suits hustle, and car engines rev. Against the skyline, tractors putter across the fields, the part-time farmers returning to their subdivided homes after a few hours of morning labor. Typical day on Sycamore Street.
Dad mutters to himself as he stands between the car and the door. He watches me until I go back in to the kitchen then removes his wedding ring before dropping to the driver’s seat.
Filling a bowl with cereal, I blink away more tears.
Is Mom having an affair? I scan the ID picture once more. The detailed eye makeup and red lipstick take years from her already stunning face. Darker hair highlights her creamy skin, and the slight curl of her lips gives her a sultry air. An affair is a definite possibility.
About the book:
In a divided America, several secessions lead to the formation of a new nation, the Alliance of American States. Fueled by extremists who solicit members via social media, the Alliance has one weak point: Callie Noland, daughter of extremist leader Adrian Lamb. Can she maintain her faith in God and stand up to the man who calls himself Lord and Master?
The mission of the Cavernous trilogy is to incite a revolution for teen girls to delve into Scripture. Many of today’s society grasp at a meme-driven belief system and draw doctrine from Facebook and Twitter statuses. They need strong characters that write the words of God on their heart and take stands against slight untruths and injustices, especially the youth.
Christian Fiction Friday is a weekly blog hop where authors post snippets from their current Works in Progress. It is hosted by Alana Terry and Hallee Bridgeman.
Christian Fiction Friday–Cavernous #2
Late, but not too late for Christian Fiction Friday, hosted by Hallee Bridgeman and Alana Terry. This is a chance for Christian authors to post short snippets from their works in progress! Easy and fun!
I’ve been working on polishing three different manuscripts this summer–Humbled Goddesses, a series of short stories to introduce my romantic suspense series, Pandora’s Deed, the first book in my series, and Cavernous, my YA dystopian.
Mom’s been missing four hours. Priorities, Amber. Blowing hard, I puff my cheeks and count to ten. “Yeah, me too.” I head to the kitchen, grab a jar of peanut butter, and slather it on slices of multigrain bread. “I’m worried. Maybe we should call Dad again.”
Flickering candlelight crawls across her face, creating a landscape of shadowy slopes. “Maybe.” She takes a sandwich and downs it in four large bites.
I try his cell. Whatever keeps Dad from answering must be important. Mom wasn’t in an accident. At least I hope not. And he’d tell us. Besides, wouldn’t the police have called?
Another hour passes. The power returns, but wind still jostles the windows. Amber cowers on the couch, watching the radar on our old-school, boxy TV. A hint of her tawny hair peeks from under a blanket, and she resembles a Middle Eastern princess with her striking green eyes and perfect skin. She yawns, long and drawn-out like a cat.
I touch my own face, running my fingers over acne. “You should go to bed. I’ll wake you if there’s any news.”
“I think I will.” She stretches again and drops the blanket to reveal the low-cut tank top she wore under her jacket. Of course, said jacket spent most of the evening draped over the kitchen chair since Dad wasn’t home. She’s going to end up pregnant before my eighteenth birthday. By the boy I love.
“Monster.” I stalk to the opposite end of the couch, my head filling with sinister thoughts I’d never act on—shoving her off steps, tripping her as she crosses my path.
Thunder crackles as if in answer, and I glance at the sky with a sheepish grin. I get it. Thinking it in my heart’s as bad as doing it. Forgiveness and compassion… easier said than done.
I turn off the TV and flop down so hard it unsettles the cushions.
A piece of white plastic catches my eye, poking out from the depths between us. I reach for it, knocking it farther under Amber’s seat. “Get up a second.”
She dives under the blanket.
“Amber. Get up.” I scoop below the cushion and lift, uprooting her slender frame.
Loose change and junk food crumbs litter the burlap covering, as well as a tube of Mom’s favorite lipstick and a gas station receipt. Her purse must have spilled, and she was in such a hurry she didn’t notice. I grasp a plastic driver’s license, photo side down.
As I raise the edge, my heart skips a beat. West Virginia, not Kentucky. I turn it over, revealing Mom’s face underneath a dark wig, distorted by heavy makeup.
About the book:
In a divided America, several secessions lead to the formation of a new nation, the Alliance of American States. Fueled by extremists who solicit members via social media, the Alliance has one weak point: Callie Noland, daughter of extremist leader Adrian Lamb. Can she maintain her faith in God and stand up to the man who calls himself Lord and Master?
The mission of the Cavernous trilogy is to incite a revolution for teen girls to delve into Scripture. Many of today’s society grasp at a meme-driven belief system and draw doctrine from Facebook and Twitter statuses. They need strong characters that write the words of God on their heart and take stands against slight untruths and injustices, especially the youth.
Christian Fiction Friday is a weekly blog hop where authors post snippets from their current Works in Progress. It is hosted by Alana Terry and Hallee Bridgeman.
Christian Fiction Friday: July 3rd
Today, I’ve decided to join in with Jewel Series author Hallee Bridgeman and cohost Alana Terry and participate in Christian Fiction Friday, which is a chance for Christian authors to post short snippets from their works in progress!
I’ve been working on polishing three different manuscripts this summer–Humbled Goddesses, a series of short stories to introduce my romantic suspense series, Pandora’s Deed, the first book in my series, and Cavernous, my YA dystopian. For this snippet, I’ve chosen a pivotal moment in Cavernous, where Callie, the protagonist, faces the end of life as she’s always known it.
Enjoy!
Michael backs against the wall next to Dad. “Can we help you?”
The taller man snarls, tugging the waist hem of his uniform coat while the shorter one presses forward with the barrel of his rifle. They resemble Union men in Revolutionary red, like a mismatched reenactment from history class. Strange, and chilling.
He lowers his gun to one side, nodding for the shorter man to advance. “Agent Kevin Wiseman. I’m looking for Callie Noland.”
Me? Why would they be looking for me?
Dad holds unsteady arms in front of him. “I’m Martin, her father. What do you need?”
Wiseman smirks. “I’ll be transporting Ms. Noland to her new home.”
I jolt. Ethan covers my mouth before I can protest, and my shoulders slump. He’s right. I’ll get us all shot.
Face tightening, Dad lowers his hands while Michael steps forward in full courtroom stance. He releases a shaky breath. “Did her mother send you?”
Michael’s scoff shatters the brief silence that follows Dad’s soft words. “Under whose authority? What organization are you with? Where’s your badge?”
“Under her father’s authority.” Agent Wiseman stands even taller, his chest puffing like a blowfish. “That’s all you need to know. Like I said, Ms. Noland needs to prepare for transport.”
The man accompanying Agent Wiseman lowers his rifle and pulls a folded manila envelope from under his arm. “According to this DNA test, she’s not your daughter.”
Angela, still bustling in the kitchen, drops a full platter of chicken.
Trembling head to toe, I dodge the crumbs scattering across the floor. Of course Dad’s my father. And yet… the driver’s license… Mom’s alias… No, it can’t be true.
“I don’t believe you.” Dad crosses his arms and straightens.
Wiseman hands him a piece of paper, which he scans, his face blanching.
All I can see is a blend of colors—the red flecks in the carpet, the gray steel of the gun, and the gold trim on the agent’s pants—swirling into a twisted mess. It takes a few seconds to realize I’ve doubled over in Ethan’s arms, and my hands grasp his legs for dear life as he tries to help me stand.
Wiseman snatches the paper and tucks it into the envelope, then removes another page. He shoves it in my face. “Your real father has filed for and received custody.”
Dad steps in front of me. “Not possible. When was the hearing?”
“We sent you a notification, and you didn’t bother to show.” Wiseman hands him the document.
Falling against the wall, Dad steadies himself with quivering hands. “I never received a notification.”
Snorting, the other agent turns to me. “Consider yourself fortunate. Provisions have been made for you to attend the Monongahela Military Academy. We’re leaving immediately.”
Ethan’s strong arms loosen their hold of my rubbery ones and his fists clench. The second agent aims his rifle, and Ethan relaxes his posture. “Can she at least have time to process it? Or to say goodbye?”
“I—” A military academy? My gaze darts between Dad’s gaping mouth and Wiseman’s rifle.
“I’ll be waiting by the car.” Wiseman nods to his partner. “Agent Burton will escort you when you’re ready. You have five minutes to gather your things and say your goodbyes, or we’ll have to resort to bigger extremes.”
Chills surge through my entire body. I lick my dry lips, hoping I can find the words to say goodbye. “But most of my things aren’t here.”
He points the rifle out the front door and shoots across the yard. “Five minutes, and no more. Resistance will not be tolerated.”
About the book:
In a divided America, several secessions lead to the formation of a new nation, the Alliance of American States. Fueled by extremists who solicit members via social media, the Alliance has one weak point: Callie Noland, daughter of extremist leader Adrian Lamb. Can she maintain her faith in God and stand up to the man who calls himself Lord and Master?
The mission of the Cavernous trilogy is to incite a revolution for teen girls to delve into Scripture. Many of today’s society grasp at a meme-driven belief system and draw doctrine from Facebook and Twitter statuses. They need strong characters that write the words of God on their heart and take stands against slight untruths and injustices, especially the youth.
Christian Fiction Friday is a weekly blog hop where authors post snippets from their current Works in Progress. It is hosted by Alana Terry and Hallee Bridgeman.
All These Things–Does Materialism Creep Into Our Fiction?
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It’s a challenge to live in a “gimme” society and shield our children from the wiles of materialism. Let’s be honest–it’s a challenge to shield ourselves. We’re continually surrounded by advertisements, samples, new technology, and a lot of times we worry more about how we’re going to obtain these treasures than we do about sharing our faith and living to please Him.
We read passages like Matthew 6:33 and Luke 12:27, acknowledge their truth, and then become distracted by earning an income and arranging to get more things.
Matt 6:33 Seek ye first the kingdom of God and His righteousness, and all these things shall be added unto you
Luke 12:27 Consider the lilies how they grow: they toil not, they spin not; and yet I say to you, that Solomon in all his glory was not arrayed like one of these.
It’s a temptation to let this carry over into our writing. After all, we often fantasize about things that fall under the pride of life–fame, fortune, luxury. Sometimes we give characters objects and experiences that we could never have and live vicariously through them. How many books, for example, base their premise on the celebrity falling for a Cinderella, or the underdog rising to the top?
Just as it’s important to consider modesty when describing how our characters dress, or prudence when deciding their actions, we should consider the avoidance of materialism and covetousness when placing objects into our settings.
Of course, we sometimes need our main characters to have such traits to show their growth. I’m not talking about that, but rather those background things that cement our characters in the settinig.
Do we, for example, set them at tables with an abundance of food, eating gluttonous meals and disposing of the leftovers? Do we dress them in the latest fashions and accessorize them with designer handbags and expensive shoes? Do they drive brand new cars and live in outlandish homes, or strive to fit into a luxury-seeking crowd?
Are their kitchens stocked with the finest china, or their walls covered in exquisite art?
What do our characters spend money on? When they go on dates, do they dine at the finest restaurants? Do they buy expensive coffee on the way into work every morning? Do they spend an hour covering their face in expensive makeup and styling their hair?
This is especially important when writing for teens. I watch them in my classroom every day, emulating everything they take in. They braid their hair like Katniss and get tattoos like Tris. One student can walk in holding the latest model cell phone, and four or five of them will have one in the next week.
IMHO, it’s important to show them that it’s okay to live in a modest home and watch a television instead of a theater/projection system. It’s fine to drive an older-model used car. Our characters can order from the 99-cent menu at McDonald’s as opposed to ordering the six-dollar bagel.
We should make an effort to have them occasionally giving as well as receiving. Maybe they take the leftovers from their family dinner to the elderly lady next door or sift through their closets to find clothes to donate to the needy.
Do you have any suggestions? What are some other ways we can clip materialism from our writing?
If Gatsby Can Do It
“Gatsby 1925 jacket” Licensed under Fair use of copyrighted material in the context of The Great Gatsby via Wikipedia
In a lot of ways, writing a novel reminds me of The Little Engine That Could. The author must plug along, muddle through the tough parts, and then once it’s polished, keep propelling it forward through marketing. It takes a lot of effort. No wonder a lot of books flop.
I’m sitting on a nearly finished, highly polished “first of the trilogy.” It’s easy to worry that this sliver of my creative mind will be a flop. So many questions of doubt–if someone gives me a chance on the first book, do I have what it takes to write the second and third? Or, if I do, what if I put all that time and energy in and the first book flops, and no one ever reads the second and third? As with my last post, I know where that doubt arises, and it’s a temptation I must overcome, but nonetheless, I find myself searching for encouragement, that publishing can be a real possibility.
Yes, I know I could always self-pub, but traditional publishing is on my bucket list.
Of course, I’ve not actively queried or made a huge effort to promote at this point, so it’s really just a fear of the unknown.
Anyone relate?
I love NPR’s Fresh Air, and stumbled upon this little gem from September 8, 2014, a 38-minute interview with Maureen Corrigan regarding her book, So We Read On: How the Great Gatsby Came to Be and Why It Endures.
Here’s a quote from the NPR article describing the reception of the book in its time:
The literary readers — people like Gertrude Stein, Edmund Wilson, Gilbert Seldes, who was a critic and reviewer of the time who really got Gatsby — they loved it. …
The popular reviewers read it as a crime novel and thought for the most part that it was maybe just OK. There’s a famous headline for a review of The Great Gatsby that came out in theNew York World, and the headline reads, “Fitzgerald’s Latest A Dud.”
Fitzgerald died having no idea of Gatsby’s future success. Another quote, from Corrigan’s book:
What happened to me, a former high-school apostate (idiot), is exactly what happened throughout America, broadly speaking, in the 1940s and ’50s; like me, those midcentury critics and readers gave Gatsby a second chance and were knocked out.
According to the article, what happened was World War II. Publishers printed thousands of copies of books and sent them to soldiers overseas, hoping to give them something to distract them from the fear of war. And as we all know, Gatsby exploded into a powerhouse story.
What’s interesting to me is how well that worked as an unintentional marketing strategy. It makes me wonder what strategies I might take with my books in the future to promote and propel them.
Since I write YA, what if I purchased several copies of my own book to donate to school or church libraries? Maybe I could drop some copies off in the hospital waiting room or send them to local doctor’s offices?
Friends of mine have suggested promotional bookmarks, and offer tips about distributing them. It would be easy and cheap to print tons of them and send them out to high school English teachers.
I think, in these days of self-promotion, success comes down to how hard you want to work for it. Even for traditionally published authors.
This interesting article addresses self-promotion, from The New York Times Sunday Book Review, by Tony Perrottet. He goes through the history and points out that even back in the day, many of the greats had to engage in self-promotion to sell books.
So, perhaps I’ve written a flop. Maybe you have, too. But that old proverb comes to mind:
If at first you don’t succeed, try, try again.
I Can Do ALL Things
Meet my little self-proclaimed “Peacock Girl.”
Her beautiful spirit amazes me, and her fearlessness paralyzes me with terror. This child does not believe in obstacles. She creates, loves, dreams, and experiences with every fiber of her being. But most of all, she believes.
Philippians 4:13 has always been one of my favorite verses.
I can do all things through Christ, who strengthens me.
But do I really believe that? Do you? All things? Or just some things?
I want to be a published writer. Not just of any fiction, but of Young Adult Christian Fiction. The edgy kind, where kids will look at it and say, “Yes. That’s me. I relate to that character, and I want her faith.”
I can write a lot of different genres. I suppose I’m lucky in that regard. But I want to move teenagers to find a faith that they embrace with Hunger Games intensity.
This past week, I received my first official rejection. Even though I expected it, it stings a little, because I’ve poured so much of myself into Cavernous. I say I have no intention of giving up. And yet, in the back of my mind, I have this little voice saying it’s impossible. One rejection, and it’s put a tiny dent into my belief.
I’ve been thinking a lot lately about 2 Corinthians 5:7, and what it really means to “walk by sight.” It’s so easy to view the world through the misguided lenses of doubt and fear. Do I really trust God that He has a plan for my writing talent? Do I have the patience to let Him work through me?
Peacock Girl walks by faith because she doesn’t see those things that could stand in her way. She only sees the end game, and keeps her eyes on the goal. My goal in writing Christian Fiction is evangelism to a subset of our society who desperately need ministering.
So I’ll press on, and I’ll pray. And I’ll get busy writing book two of the Cavernous series, because I believe it’s a message teens need to hear. If I can do ALL things, I can do this, too.
A Character’s Reflex and Senses
We did the Active Shooter Response Training this week at school. Big shoutout to the KSP--it was fantastic. I learned so many things I’d never thought about before, and for the first time in my career, I don’t feel like a sitting duck.
One thing the speaker said resonated with me as a writer. He talked about how in a scenario like a school shooting, the body tends to focus on a single sense, like tunnel vision. The person in danger could literally see everything in the room and hear nothing. I heard what he said, but it wasn’t until we started doing drills that I really understood. We get so carried away with trying to throw in all those sensory details that sometimes we forget to check reality.
In some of the drills, we had to flee. I’ve never ran so fast in my life, and surprisingly, I wasn’t breathless. Here I’ve been making excuses about not running 5K’s and who knew I could jet across a parking lot in ten seconds, ha ha. But the crazy thing is, I remember all of the cars in the parking lot beside where I was standing. I remember details of the back of our school that I’ve never noticed before even though I’ve been out that same door several times. Everything I saw the second the drill was over is blazed in my mind.
Then it hit me (duh) that I’ve taught anatomy, and human reflexes are pretty well-researched phenomena.
Here, for example, is one of the sites I like to use: Our Body’s Rapid Defense Mechanism. It explains involuntary movement and what almost always happens when we get injured.
Tying this back to characters, it makes me wonder how well we pace their reflexes. When I heard gunshots in the hallway, I stood frozen for about 5 seconds before I ran, evaluating which direction was safe. Sitting in a room with someone pointing a gun at me completely changed the way I see that kind of scene. They told us in the training to fight the man, and I dove at him before I even knew what I was doing. Let me tell you, in that instance, I wasn’t thinking about what color shirt he was wearing or whether or not he had a certain hair color or style.
What I’m saying is placement of details matters. In that 10-15 seconds that I held the “shooter’s” wrists and the other teachers helped me ambush the poor guy, my only thought was keeping that gun out of my face. Now after he was on the table and the “danger” was over, I noticed everything in the room.
Now I’m pumped, ready to write a good fight scene 🙂
The Anxious Writer
Weather forecasts like the one for today always make me nervous. I want to just cuddle up with my family in a cave somewhere and hide until it’s over. Twice in my life, I’ve driven in tornadic storms, and I don’t think I’ll ever lose that fear. Fear is something I carry with me a lot in my life, and something I need to let go of.
Fear has two meanings–anxiety and respect. It’s healthy to want to take cover in impending weather. But the anxiety… that’s something I really struggle with, both as a person and as a writer.
Joshua 1:9 is constantly on my mind:
Have I not commanded you? Be strong, and of good courage; do not be afraid, nor be dismayed, for the Lord your God is with you wherever you go.
Part of my struggle with this verse is that fear is such a physical response for me. If I have to speak in front of a crowd, butterflies fill my stomach regardless of how much I pray. If I have to drive home in a bad thunderstorm, I tremble. If I think my children are in danger, my heart pounds. Looking over a high point, my knees knock. But I think perhaps those fears come from the respect for the possibility of a dangerous or unpleasant outcome.
With writing, though, it’s another ball game. Complete and utter anxiety. What if I spend months writing and polishing this book and no one wants to read it? What if it’s not good enough? What if I finish and sell the first book of my trilogy and stall out on book two? What if teens don’t relate to my characters or plot? What if people do read it and they hate it? What if people think I’m weird for writing Christian fiction? What if my characters come across too weak? What if I inadvertently misrepresent God’s truth?
Charles Spurgeon says this of anxiety:
Our anxiety does not empty tomorrow of its sorrows, but only empties today of its strengths.
So true, and such hard advice to follow. And from a writer’s standpoint, our anxiety does not put words on a page, but only distracts us from writing brilliance.
Right now, my proposal is out there, in the hands of a couple of people who may hand me my dream or tell me now is not the time, and I’m anxious. But my brilliant editor gave me a fantastic pep talk this weekend, reminding me that I’m writing for Him, and He’s read the whole thing. Which makes me wonder–why do I not have anxiety over that?
I saw a Facebook meme earlier this week that asked why we worry so much about what others think and not enough what God thinks.
My prayer for today is that my words will please Him and further His truth.
Psalms 19:14
Let the words of my mouth and the meditation of my heart be acceptable in thy sight, O Lord, my strength and redeemer.
Monica Mynk 
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