My Shelf Has Two Books
My previously empty shelf now has two books!
I hadn’t intended to gobble. I meant to read slowly and deliberately. Like I usually do. But Wedded to War by Jocelyn Green wouldn’t let me put it down.
Now, I have to tell you, I’m beyond intrigued by the Civil War. That’s why I knew I’d be interested in this book. What I didn’t know was that Jocelyn would weave such a well written story into the harsh realities of a brutal war. Not only was I sucked in and deeply concerned for the characters, I learned a whole lot.
Several times, I said to myself, “This book is making me smarter!”
So there.
If you’re a history buff, this is a book for you.
If you like a good, complex story with realistic conflict, this is a book for you.
If you like to become immersed in story, this is a book for you…
Basically, if you enjoy reading, buy* this book.
You can purchase Wedded to War at your local book store (ahem…go for the Indy book stores, they’re way cooler). While you’re there, do yourself a favor and pick up Widow of Gettysburg, the second book in this series. Then watch for Yankee in Atlanta, book three and a fourth coming sometime in the future. You’ll be glad you did.
Oh! And, homeschooling parents, this is a good one for when you’re teaching the Civil War. Jocelyn more than did her homework on all of these books. She’s well researched and fact checked. This is a great and creative way to teach American history.
So. Now there are two books on my shelf. Next up is Catching Fire by Suzanne Collins. I know. About time, right?
*Yeah. I said it. BUY the book. All authors rely on sales of books. Every ebook or paperback sold helps them. When you find a GREAT author, make sure you invest in them. Don’t rely on borrowing books. Support authors and buy books. Pretty please. Otherwise, we won’t all be able to keep doing what we do…providing good stories that change hearts and minds.
One Book on the Shelf
The other day, I told you about Jon Acuff’s Empty Shelf challenge.
Can I be completely honest? It was super difficult to empty a shelf. I’ve got a ridiculous amount of books that I don’t care to rid myself of. So. So. I cleaned a few art supplies off this shelf.
And I got to reading.
Dina Sleiman (or, for this book, D.L. Sleiman) published a book with WhiteFire Publishing (yeah, that’s my publisher!) recently. This novel was quite a departure for her. Her first novel Dance of the Dandelion was set in Medieval England. Her second offering, Love in Three Quarter Time was set in 19th Century Virginia.
Dance From Deep Within is a contemporary novel.
Dina has written a very different novel. Unique, especially in the Christian Book world. She tells the story of three friends. Rain, a free thinking child of hippies. Allie, a ballerina Christian. Layla, an American Muslim. How she weaves their friendship into the story is beautiful. She sheds light on their differences as well as their similarities. A little romance (or a lot, really…but it is also an important part of the fabric she crafts), humor, suspense, and hope. She included difficult topics with dignity and grace, not allowing for heavy-handed writing.
The ending tied up a few strings, but not nearly all of them, leaving me eager for the second book in the series.
Perhaps the greatest gift that Dina gives her readers is a to put human faces, emotions, and lives to a people group we often don’t take the time to understand and love.
I think this would be a great book club selection, Church study, or for someone interested in learning more about Islam. Dina has also very graciously included discussion question in the back of the book. I also believe this would be a good book for those of us who want a substantial, convicting read.
If you use an digital reading device, you can purchase this novel for less than $4. You can find it at Amazon, Barnes and Noble. You can also find it on Goodreads. Also, find Dina Sleiman on Facebook.
So, the first book is now on my shelf. It’s no longer empty. That makes me happy!
Up next is Wedded to War by Christy Award finalist, Jocelyn Green.
Tell me: What are YOU reading? What have you recently finished? You can check out my Empty Shelf To Read list HERE
The Empty Shelf
You can follow Sir Acuff’s fun on Pinterest.
Now, I’d planned on making a list of books to recommend…even started one. But it took so long and I just knew I’d forget a whole bunch of them. I thought, instead, that I’d give you my To-Read list. I’m also hoping you’ll share a few books that you plan on reading, too. Also, if you have a MUST READ book, let me know what it is.
You can find my “Empty-Shelf-To-Read list” on Goodreads by following this link. HERE.
I plan to add to my list. What should I put on there?
Lavish Sprinkles
My son’s idea of cookie decorating involves a lot of sprinkles. A. Lot. He would have dumped the entire bowl of teeny tiny candies on the teaspoon of icing had I let him.
Seriously. He likes his sugar.
Now, this might offend some among you…but…oh well.
A sugar cookie without sprinkles is boring.
There. I’ve said it. It’s not that they don’t taste yummy. They’re just plain. Beige. Eh.
Hurl your stones this way if you’re upset.
Sprinkles make a sugar cookie beautiful. Sugary. Special. Attractive.
Lavish sprinkles are even more eye catching (although more difficult to eat, as evidenced by the pile of sprinkles around my son after he munched the cookie).
I’ve been thinking about truth lately. How something can seem absolute to one person and questionable to another. How we communicate what we believe to be true. How polarizing some truths are. That what we believe to be true can build walls between us.
I wonder if truth all by itself is missing a HUGE ingredient.
And I wonder if we sprinkled love on truth, what difference would it make?
Love makes truth eye catching (although sometimes a little messy). Special. Renders it beautiful. Mingling, the two can be attractive.
When love is missing from truth, it’s just a spouting off of someone who wants to be right. Clang the cymbal, crash the gong. Nobody’s going to hear it as more than noise.
Sprinkle love on top.
No. Not just sprinkle.
DUMP the love in with your truth.
It will make all the difference.
Because lavish love is essential for our souls. Our livelihood.
Makes us human.
Pulls us together.
It’s what we celebrate at Christmas.
The Christ child didn’t come with a pocket full of truth alone. He came with abundant love. Lavish love to be poured out on us over and over and over.
So much love that we can afford to pour it out on each other.
Peace That Passes Understanding
When I was a kid, the hardest lyrics to sing were
“I’ve got the peace that passes understanding way down in the depths of my heart”.
Difficult. Mostly because the words tied up in my tongue and made me giggle.
I was a child prone to giggling.
I suspect it would have been even more challenging had I paused to consider the words. Their meaning. The significance they carry in this broken, pain filled world.
I’ve been an adult prone to seeking peace in the storm.
I haven’t always succeeded.
The other day, a man lost his wife. Her breast cancer had returned. Spread. Left behind are her husband and cuter-than-any-button-I’ve-ever-seen daughter. She’s 4. Her mother was only 36.
36. 3-6. Thirty-six.
Right around my age. So, so, so young.
I never met her. Wouldn’t have even heard about her if not for her husband being the editor in chief of Burnside Writers Collective.
Still, the mourning touched my heart. The sense of loss. Grief that this beautiful woman has left this world. And that strange rejoicing because she’s finished with the struggle. She’s in glory now.
But her husband is left behind. Her daughter. And that’s what broke my heart. I prayed, not knowing what to say. Just asking God to give them some mercy. Somehow. Anyhow. Just mercy.
Yesterday, Jordan updated his Facebook status.
“I don’t know if I’d call it a shout, but I have joy this morning, and I am thankful.”
Isn’t that beautiful? Doesn’t it touch your soul? Such tender vulnerability. Such…
Mercy.
When I read that status, I had a thought. Let the thought unfold real slow and mellow and quiet from that place in my soul that I’ve yet to understand.
And my thought ambled around all day and into this morning.
My thought:
That. That is the peace that passes all understanding. Mercy. Joy in the morning. Thanksgiving.
If you are able and would like to bless Jordan Green and his daughter Lana, I’m certain they would be grateful. Mercy is helping to shoulder a small piece of financial burden. Here’s the link for the online collection being taken. Believe me when I say that no gift is too small.
Owl Barf
About once a week I volunteer at my kids’ school. Now, before you go thinking I’m being Super Mom, I’ll assure you that I most certainly am not. I do it because the kids crack me up. I’m NOT joking. Kids are awesome.
Anyway, the other day I noticed some…ahem…floaties in dixie cups sitting on the table of my boys’ Young Fives classroom.
“Um…” I managed to get out.
“Owl pellets,” the teacher said. “It’s not poop.”
“Oh! Great.”
“It’s just owl barf.”
“Is that better?”
“The kids are going to pick through it to see what’s inside.” She smiled.
I may or may not have gagged a little.
The cuties sat at the table with tweezers and some pointy stick thingy. They proceeded to pick through the…ahem…vomit.
As grossed out as I was, the kids were enjoying it. They found fur. Tiny rib bones. Skulls. Teeth. Oh…the teeth.
Then they glued the…erm…parts onto a paper plate.
The cool thing was that, as the kids dug through the…blerg…barf, they found what was inside. They found little treasure of equally gag inducing partially digested body parts. They found what was inside. And what was inside was quite fascinating. Especially to a group of 5 year olds.
As writers, that’s what we need to do. Swallow down the gag reflex and dig through the muck to find what’s inside. To find the real story.
Is this a stretch? Am I pulling out too much from this owl vomit? I really don’t think so.
See, we live in a culture that looks at the surface. Seldom do we dig through the mess to find what else is there. Because the mess, the muck, the mire is overwhelming. It’s, well, dirty and gross. What we find, though, when we take a few minutes to look deeper, is sometimes just as icky. Sometimes, what we find is a treasure. Sometimes we find what feeds the pain or hope. What fuels the ability to keep going despite the muck. Or what keeps the person in that state of bitterness and despair.
All around us are people who need a second look. Not so we can observe them. But so that we can understand them. Build compassion for them. And, dare I say, find a way to love them…even the people who make us uncomfortable or who have hurt us.
Every once in awhile, we’ll find that what lies beneath all the layers of muck is something that looks pretty doggone familiar.
And sometimes, we find that what we find draws us together.
(NOTE: The owl barf was sanitary…made so by the wonders of science! Also, my boys’ teacher is passionate about science and teaching kids to love it. She cracks me up…but she also is teaching me a whole lot!)
(ANOTHER NOTE: I just found out that my boys’ teacher won “Teacher of The Year” for all National Heritage Academy Schools. Pretty cool, huh?)
Tell me: Anything. I have no idea what to ask you. Maybe tell me about looking deeper into the life of someone and understanding them better. Or…what was the grossest thing you had to dissect in school?
On Ending Up in a Bathroom, Taking a Selfie
Seriously. Who takes a selfie in the restroom of a greasy spoon?
Well. I suppose a lot of people do that, actually. Like, a kazillion people. And they all put the pictures up on various social media, forgetting to hide the potty.
Anyway. Why would I do that?
Well. I’ve got a semi good reason.
Last weekend I had the honor of speaking at a Christmas Gala at a church in my hometown. Both of my high school English teachers attended. 4 out of 6 college roommates. Several friends. Plus a lot of other people.
But how does that get me in the bathroom, snapping a selfie?
Sorry. I’m getting to that.
The morning after the Gala my mom took me out to breakfast. She said something about going to Jackie’s Diner. They, apparently, have killer omelettes. I just wanted some halfway decent coffee with a plate of bacon.
Bleary eyed from hardly any sleep, I sat back, taking in the sights of Logan/Martin Luther King Junior BLVD. Then I realized that she was pulling into THE diner…
THE diner that was called Theo’s when I was in high school. THE diner that changed over to Nic’s when I was in college…
THE diner that Steven took Cora to after he rescued her from the rain in Paint Chips! (if you haven’t read Paint Chips…then why not? Get thee to Amazon and order thine copy!)
Remember the puddle they made on the floor? Ahem. From their rain soaked clothes. Come on, people. Well, Jackie’s has carpet, so Steven wouldn’t have needed to mop. But, still…this is what I had in mind when I wrote the scene.
Hey, see the projector hanging from the ceiling? That’s about the only new thing in the place since I was in high school (like 17 years ago).
This is my cup of coffee. It. Was. STRONG! Whew! And the waitress was just as gruff as the one I’d written. Only difference? The real waitress didn’t soften to us.
I ordered one of the killer omelettes (sorry…no sourdough for me). By the end of the meal, I had the following conversation with my mom.
“I HAVE to go to the bathroom,” I said.
“Too much coffee?” she asked.
“Mother! The heresy! There is no such thing!” Grabbing my phone. “I just HAVE to go look at the bathroom.”
“Why? And why do you have your phone? What’s wrong with you? Why is my daughter such a FREAK OF NATURE????” (okay…not all of that. But it’s funnier this way. Remember: I write fiction because I like to lie).
“I have to get a picture, Mom.”
“You are so weird. Maybe it’s from all the times I let your older siblings drop you on your head and feed you paint chips. Ah well. It was the 70’s. I mean, we had an avocado colored fridge. Seriously. It was a strange time.”
“You let them feed me paint chips?”
“Yeah. We didn’t think it would actually hurt you. Boy. Did I get that one wrong.”
(disclaimer: I have no idea what just happened there. But I’m tired and I’m not fixing it.)
So, pondering my troublesome childhood nutrition, I took to the bathroom. Standing, looking in the mirror, I breathed in deep. Then quickly regretted my decision and gagged a little.
“I’d better snap this selfie fast before I become dizzy.”
Just as I pulled the phone from my pocket, the door swung open. A small woman (Jackie, I presumed) entered. She grumped about something (I couldn’t tell what language she used), flushed both toilets before closing one of the stalls and locking the door.
It didn’t seem like the appropriate time to take a photo. Especially since the gaps in the stalls were HUGE. I hightailed it out of there.
“Did you get the picture?” My mom sipped her 30th cup of coffee.
“Nah. The lady walked in.”
“You should have asked her to take the picture.”
“Um. No.”
“You know, I didn’t really let them feed you paint chips. Right? You know I wouldn’t do that.”
“Uh huh.”
The lady walked out of the bathroom. Then, I had my chance! So, I ran to the door, took a deep breath, and rushed in. Snapped the picture. Ran back out.
“Got it.”
“I mean, paint chips wouldn’t really harm you all that much. It wasn’t like they had lead in them.”
“Actually, yeah. They probably did, Mom.”
“Well, at least we know why you’re like this. Right?”
“Right.”
(NOTE: my mother is a sweet and loving person. She never has and never would allow anyone to eat anything harmful to them. She is a model of motherhood and I dream of one day being half the woman she is. Just taller.)
(ANOTHER NOTE: In Paint Chips Cora has a scene in the bathroom in which the waitress comes in and they have a tender moment…that’s why I wanted to get a selfie in the bathroom.)
So. That is the strange and over-caffeinated story of how and why I took a selfie in the bathroom.
Now, your turn. Tell me about the weirdest selfie you’ve ever taken. Ahem. Keep it clean. This is a family friendly blog. Why did you take the picture? Was anyone with you? Did your parents let you eat paint chips?
On Rejection
The other day, my friend and fellow novelist Bob Evenhouse wrote about his novel fearing rejection. Go on over and give him a gander. I remember those days. The shaking hand before hitting “send”. The way my tummy stirred and flopped and dropped to my toes at the thought of the words “No! You stink! You should NEVER write again!”.
Yeah. That’s pretty scary.
Until it happens. And you cry your make-up off (I don’t think Bob wears make-up, though). You get furiously angry with the entire world for about a week. You throw away all your pens. Burn all your paper…or at least threaten to. Wish terrible things to happen to the one who rejected you…until the guilt sets in and you hope they’re okay and that they never ever know that you were so off the wall crazy to think such a thing.
But then, you get over the hurt. Realize that it wasn’t so much of a rejection. That it was more of a “no thank you”. Remember that it’s a big sea. And that the fish aren’t all looking for the same worm.
And you learn that if they say something hurtful and rude and insulting that they are the LAST person on the planet you want to work with. (True story, I had someone reject my work by saying that I’d never make it as a writer. Eh. Whatever, you know?)
You realize that the rejection, the no thank you, wasn’t the worst thing in the world. Being trampled by a herd of rabid buffalos would be worse. Being the main course for a great white shark is WAY worse. Getting salsa in your paper cut is even worse.
Because the rejection makes you better. Stronger. More aware of what needs work in your manuscript. And it’s just another chance to find the best home for your work.
Now, success. That’s scary. Really, really scary.
Not kidding.
So, tell me…do you fear rejection? Not just with writing. But in life. How do you deal with that? I love to hear from you…even if it’s completely off topic. I just like you!
Giving Imperfection A Big Bear Hug
I’m not perfect. Here’s the hard evidence.
See. Bad at math, too.
I know. That’s not my fault. My fault is that I rarely correct people. Also, I don’t correct them when they call me Sue or Susan or Betsy.
I’m not perfect. Not by a long shot. My sink always has that one mug that got missed when loading the dishwasher. I have to wash loads of laundry twice, sometimes three times because I forget about them. I forget a lot of things. I’m a terrible speller (thanks, phonics). And I sometimes say dumb things when I’m nervous.
I’m not perfect. I suspect you aren’t, either.
Isn’t it frustrating?
I mean, do you have any idea how many purple pens I murder while editing a manuscript? My record is 8. 8 pens worth of ink used to slash and correct and rewrite all the imperfections out of a novel (My Mother’s Chamomile, available for preorder NOW! Click Here…I have no shame).
FRUSTRATING!
I want to tell you a little story. It’s short, don’t worry.
Last Friday, my kids helped me put the ornaments on the (fake) Christmas tree. It’s the first time they’ve assisted. In years past, I decorated it as they slept to surprise them. And, quite honestly, because I wanted it to be pretty. Maybe just a tiny itty bit perfect.
But this year, my daughter asked if she could help. And my boys got in on it, too.
As we unwrapped each ornament, I was able to tell them story of it (if it had a story). I let them put up the ones they’d made in Sunday school or preschool. I looked at the tree. All the silver bulbs were in a cluster on one side. The bottom half of the tree (where they could reach) was the only part with any decoration. We plugged in the tree only to find that the middle section no longer lights up. Garland zig zagged across the front of the tree.
“It’s so beautiful,” my daughter whispered.
It is. It really is.
Imperfect, yes. But full of so much meaning. Because we did it together. We shared in it.
We have a common moment. A story together. And that is where the beauty lies.
Nails and pie crusts and dirty dishes are all part of life. All part of a story. And, as imperfect as they may be, they are part of making life beautiful.
Even lots of edits and murdered purple pens.
So, how about you give imperfection a big old bear hug. Give yourself a little grace. And afford the same to those around you.
Life is full of mismatched socks and crooked pictures.
And that is beautiful.
Tell me: What are a few of your (minor/funny/embarrassing) imperfections? Have you embraced them? Are you working your tootsies off trying to fix them?
Fa-La-La-La-La-La…BOOKS!
Full disclosure: I don’t shop on Black Friday. Or Thanksgiving. Shopping isn’t the most enjoyable activity, as far as I’m concerned. Neither is the risk of a royal rumble over $2 laptops. But, I do enjoy giving gifts to people I love.
And I especially like giving books as gifts.
Well, and getting books, too. (hint, hint)
I thought, on this crazy day of shopping, I’d give a few suggestions of books you could give and who might like them! (click on the book cover and you’ll be transported to a buy link!)
There are so many more. Books and books and books!!! But I have to get the Christmas tree up.
Oh. Hey. There’s another book you might want to give to friends and family and strangers and the postman and your kids’ teachers…(shameless…shameless…)
Tell me…what books did you read and love this year???
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