I wrote Enslavement, a YA sci-fi novel, over four years ago and I’m so excited that it’s finally getting published. Over that past months I’ve been working intensely with the Rebelight Publishing editors to get Enslavement whipped into shape.
Recently, I got the go-ahead to share the cover. This makes it seem so real. This. Is. Really. Happening. I was nervous to see the cover (what if I didn’t like it), but I was stunned by how much I loved it. What’s it about? Read on.
In the wake of global economic collapse, the OneEarth Bank promised world prosperity in exchange for compliance with the commerce chip insertions. Those who refuse the chip are vilified and labelled resistors—including Rielle James’s family.
On the day officers arrest her parents and seize her younger brother and sister, Rielle is assigned to a Community Service contract. Officially, contracts are portrayed as a way to rehabilitate kids from Resistor families, but in reality, they’re legalized slavery. Rielle’s contract is sold to the highest bidder—a wealthy and abusive banker. She quickly discovers that nothing in her owner’s home is as it appears. His seemingly perfect life is a facade that hides volatile secrets.
Escape means freedom and the possibility of finding her family–if she can pull it off. Prison or even death await if she fails.
I hate to flaunt my knowledge here, but I’m about to tell you.
You lick it. Not really a lick, more like a tongue dab. The bone absorbs the moisture from your tongue and will cling it. Rocks don’t stick to your tongue.
We took a trip to the Black Hills this summer and on our way back home we took a detour through the Badlands. There, we came across a park ranger giving a lecture on the fossils found in the area. He said we too could go fossil hunting and told us about the lick test. He held up specimens found by tourists just like us. He reminded us repeatedly, “find, photograph, report.” Don’t take them home! Find. Photograph. Report. Got it.
I picked through rocks, scanned mounds. And then I found it! Something. I don’t know what it was. It couldn’t be a rock. Only one way to find out. Lick it!
As it turns out it was a rock. And the next one was too. I licked half a dozen rocks.
But, then I hit the mother load. This had to be a bone. It was rounded weird. If I had to guess, I’d say a Coccyx of some sort (I took Anatomy and Physiology). I performed the lick test. I got stickage! A fossil. I found a fossil. Find. Check.
I waved my husband over to document my find. He asked, “Did you lick it?”
Oh, it would have fit so nicely in my pocket. My fossil. My ten thousand year old Coccyx. My cute little Coccyx.
Don’t worry. I didn’t rob mankind of earth’s history. I resisted temptation. I put it back where I found it. It’s still there. I told the park ranger about my find. Report. Check.:(
Sigh. Some other tourist is probably licking it right now.
Okay, so I’m the worst blogger in the world. But, this time I have a really good excuse for not blogging. Really, I do.
You know that I’m-going-to-throw-up feeling you get when it finally occurs to you that something big is happening. I’m a master of denial, so there’s always this huge gap between when I find out something is happening and when it actually hits me that it’s happening.
So, I finally have a publisher for my book and I’ve spent my summer slogging through edits with Rebelight Publishing. It’s been an amazing experience. It’s been hard and rewarding and exhausting and exhilarating.
But, I had serious doubts as to whether they were actually going to go through with it. I really thought they’d get to a point and say to themselves, “She’s hopeless. We can’t possibly publish this.” I maintained this doubt until last Thursday.
Then, as I’m driving down the road, it suddenly hits me. Oh. My. Gosh. My book is getting published. After years of rejections and disappointment, it’s actually getting published. Cue the I’m-going-to-throw-up feeling. I considered pulling over and making use of the Plessis road ditch several times.
I managed to keep my dinner down, but I’m still in this panic laced euphoria. This is actually happening.
Blogging has been tough lately. I usually blog about what’s on my mind, but lately what’s on my mind has been a series of secrets. Yep, stuff I can’t share. So, with those things so consuming my thoughts, my mind’s drawn a big fat zilch when it comes to blog ideas.
But, last night on Facebook secret #1 went public.
There are many questions that plague mankind—whether the chicken or the egg came first, whether Adam and Eve had belly buttons, how the fourth season of Arrested Development could suck that bad.
Over the past couple weeks I’ve had an answer to one profound question: How would I react, if say, my daughter got engaged a couple weeks before her high school graduation?
Now I know.
I totally freak out. Not on the outside, on the inside. On the outside I’m calm. On the inside I’m Ivy Mike (the codename given to the first full-scale test of a fusion nuclear bomb). Ivy Mike vaporized an island. Wiped it off the face of the Earth. Not literally because it probably ended up in the upper atmosphere and fell as rain all over the world. Kind of poetic in a sick, destructive kind of way.
I know that’s no way to end a blog post. There’s no closure, but that’s how it is. I don’t have grand advice. No epiphanies. I’m still kind of freaking out, but I’m trying to do it in a supportive and encouraging fashion.
Maybe by the time I post next, secret #2 will have gone public too.
Some news stories are so horrific that you just can’t let them go. One in particular has stayed with me—The Ghost Rapes of Bolivia–women drugged, stolen from their homes in the night, raped, then returned to their beds. And this is just one of the many struggles facing the women in the Mennonite colonies in Bolivia.
These are women without a voice, considered more property than people. Because of a language barrier (they speak Low German in a Spanish speaking country) and the control the men in the colony exert, they have limited access to health care or even to basic health information. Can you imagine not understanding the impact simple hand washing can have on your health and the health of your children? Can you imagine watching your sick child suffer and having no understanding of how to help them?
As a mother, a wife, a woman my heart aches for them, which is why I want to share Irene Marsch’s story, in her own words, with you. Can one person make a difference? Read on and find out.
“Health Talks with Nurse Irene”
By Irene Marsch
Where did it all start?
After my husband’s passing, I hurt. I felt very alone. I was searching. It seemed like everyone else around me knew what the role of a widow was. But I was confused. I felt lost and I asked, Lord what now?
In my search, I signed up for the Women Alive Conference in Toronto. Weeks before the conference, I woke one night and the first thought that came to mind was, “For such a time as this.” I remember thinking, it was from the book of Esther and then I went back to sleep. My first thought waking up that morning was again, “For such a time as this.” I went about making breakfast and again the words rang in my head, “For such a time as this.”
In my walk with the Lord, I have come to learn, that when I get three nudges, I drop what I’m doing and go. Make that phone call. Write that note or lookup that Bible verse. And that is what I did. I read the account of Uncle Mordecai telling his niece Esther that this was a special time and God had a special purpose in sending her to the king’s palace. God called Queen Esther to step out, to step up, and to speak out on behalf of her people. I brushed it away and said, “There is just nothing royal about widowhood!” And I left it at that.
When I finally got to go to the conference, the guest speaker stood before us and revealed her theme verse? I couldn’t believe it. The verse from Esther. “For such a time as this.” To say the least, I was crushed. In my mind I shouted, “Can I not get away from this Bible verse?”
Apparently not. By the afternoon I was participating in a brief exercise on seeking God’s will through a simple questionnaire.
Who am I? Well, Irene a widow, I answered.
What are your gifts? Nursing, caregiver, organizer.
What is unique about you? I speak Low German, some Spanish, German, English.
It was into this noise of questions, that I remembered the Low German Ministry at FLN. (Family Life Network) I came home from the conference, trying very hard to push it all out of my mind, but that did not work. I finally said, “Okay, I will dust off my resume!” After receiving some much needed help with my resume, I sent it off to FLN. This was the beginning of “Health Talks with Nurse Irene”.
There are many more moments of “A big God, taking Irene size steps” that have given me affirmation along the way. A week or so before I left for Bolivia, Claude Pratte saw me at church, probably sensing my apprehension, he said, “You will see that God, has gone ahead of you.” A day or two after my arrival in Bolivia I received an invitation to be part of the Women of Hope office in the Santa Cruz market area. Claude’s words, “You will see God has gone ahead of you,” made it easy for me to say yes. I thanked the Lord once again for being a big God, taking Irene size steps .
Every week I spent two to three days at this office, two days at the Women’s Shelter, and reserved one day for Women’s Ministry in the Mennonite Colonies. It was during the last week, before returning to Canada, that one lady approached me and said, “Can you come to our colony and do one of those Health Talks. I don’t know what to say to you. There could be two or 102 women.”
I had a hard time deciding, but then I was able to say, “Yes Lord, I will go for the sake of two.” When we got there, there were closer to a 102 women. Once again, a big God taking Irene size steps. I encouraged the ladies to stop me and ask question, but no one did, because they were so shy. So I offered to have a few one-on-one conversations and immediately a long line-up formed. The sun was going down and we needed to get out of the colony. It was during these last minutes that a couple of ladies came and asked, if I would record my talk on hormones and send it to them, so that they could give it to other ladies. I’d never considered recording my talks until that moment. After that conversation I approached FLN with the idea of making CDs to send to the woman. They offered me a radio program as well as the opportunity to make the requested CDs.
I’m pleased to say that the CD on hormones and one on STDs have been completed. The second CD, the one on STDs, I found very difficult to do—such a forbidden topic. On this CD I covered eight of the most common STD Health Issues. Each track has some scripture verses on marriage. I share a few thoughts or tell a short story out of my marriage to Roland and a short prayer. I know these people love to learn from personal stories.
Another, A big God, taking Irene size steps is the morning I was invited by FLN to talk about whether I would consider another year of “Health Talks with Nurse Irene” on the radio. In my mind, I was ready to listen and decide later, until I had my morning devotions and read the following verse: “I know your deeds. See, I have placed before you an open door that no one can shut. I know that you have little strength, yet you have kept my word and have not denied my name.” (Revelation 3:8) I was shocked by the direct words and the timing. The second phrase, “I know that you have little strength,” touched me deeply. God knows my weakness and he given me an open door.
Yes, there is much work ahead, but a Big God, continues to take Irene size steps. It is affirming, humbling and even scary, how the Lord is there just at the right time—like when it was time to pay for the cost of making the CDs at FLN and our church came through and took care of that cost. And when I received four invitations into the Colonies for Health Talk Sessions on my Follow-up visit and an invitation to use the same office in the Santa Cruz Market area, where I’LL have a chance to meet women from remote and closed Mennonite Colonies.
In spite of our weakness, God chooses to do his work through us. May it be an encouragement to all of us, that A Big God is taking our size steps, to be at our side in our everyday life! Thank you.
On May 14 Irene leaves for Bolivia with 600 CDs in tow!
Into the Elements: A writing workshop with best-selling author Donald Miller
Donald Miller delivers four lectures on the art of story, showing any communicator how to translate their ideas into stories that readers, viewers and listeners can’t turn away from.
In this four session series you will learn:
• Use the elements of story to keep an audience interested in your lecture.
• Keep a reader interested on every page of your novel.
• Learn the techniques for creating the beginning, middle, and end of your story.
• Learn to plot the story-arc before you ever write a word of your novel.
• Understand how “The Story Question” is the heart of every story.
• Create stories that are exciting, provocative and meaningful.
I’m terrible at naming my novels. While some have names for their manuscripts before they even open a new Word document, I finish them and go through umpteen edits before settling on a name. My first manuscript has gone through four different names and now I’ve gone back to the third.
My eighth novel was originally called Assimilation until its final chapters when I came up with the most awesome name ever. Maybe my book naming woes were over. I was so proud of myself. This was a gooder. It matched the theme and had a deeper meaning that the reader would only catch after reading the book. I called it The Lilith Strain.
It was great until I said it aloud. Go ahead. Say it aloud. Tongue get all tied up and twisted? Mine did. Say it three times fast—The Lilith Strain, The Lilith Strain, The Lilith Strain. Okay, that name had to go. So, now it’s called The Miller’s Daughter, a title I’m not enthusiastic about, so it probably won’t stick either.
I struggled to name my children too. I was more concerned about the meaning of the name and that it didn’t rhyme with any body parts than the actual name. I mean, how could I give my child a moniker that meant smelly haired (Brendan)? My daughter’s name means lion of God. It’s a good strong meaning and since she bit the doctor on the way out and, in my Demerol induced stupor, I imagined she had a mouth full of razor sharp teeth, it seemed the perfect name
I’m days away from finishing my ninth novel. And it has no title. I’ve tried out several names, but none are quite right. For now I’m calling it the No Name Novel. Catchy isn’t it? Doesn’t that just make you want to grab it off the shelf and take it home?
Just one more edit. Just one more teensy edit. That seems to be my mantra lately. I contacted a friend who was about to read my manuscript and asked her to delete it because I wanted to edit it one more time. Not a huge edit; I just came off one of those. Just a little edit. A once over to see if the last edit did it’s job. Hmmm. There is such a thing as over-editing, over-thinking and, dare I say, obsessing.
There’s a story told about Picasso and how he would sell his paintings, then buy them back because he, probably after obsessing for awhile, would determine that the painting wasn’t quite done. I don’t know if the story is truth or legend, but I totally understand why an artist would do that.
As I’ve considered my work over the years, it’s clear that I’m a better writer now than I was when I started and I’ll, hopefully, be better in ten years than I am now. Will I look back on my 2014 work and shake my head, be embarrassed at my writing? Since nothing is ever perfect, I’m sure I will. Whenever I send anything off, whether it be to a beta reader, agent, or editor, I get this sense of anxiety. There is a finality to it. Their image of me as an author and my writing will be formed around the piece of work I’ve sent them–AS IS. As exciting as it is to have people read my work, it’s also terrifying. And so, I edit.
I’m editing the piece I have for probably the 25th time. Deep sigh. It’s probably time to stop.
I don’t get paid for caring for my family and I get paid very, VERY little for my writing. I just earned two figures from a short story I sold. Yeah, that’s right. I might be able to indulge in a haircut. Don’t be jealous.
I won’t go into what the hourly wage would. Let’s just say, right now I’d be thrilled to earn minimum wage.
While I know that just because an endeavour doesn’t pay money doesn’t mean it’s worthless, it can feel worthless especially considering the need to pay mortgage payments, buy food, and having a child dangerously close to requiring post-secondary education.
March 2014 has been a deadline for me. This is the month I have to apply for my medical radiology program and I have to decide if I’m still going through with it. Completing this program is almost a guarantee of a pay check—actual money. Gasp. But, I’ve lost my zeal for it. I know I could do it and do it well. But, the writing is a siren singing my name.
I’m reminded of the movie, The Never Ending Story. The boy is told to stop dreaming and get his feet on the ground. That’s what I feel I’m being told, not by any person in my life, but by my own sense of responsibility. I’m torn in two: the sky or the ground. The sky seems a lot more appealing.
Right now, I’m stuck. I don’t know quite what to do, so I’m praying and waiting a little longer. And wondering, if writing is my path, how to get over the feelings of worthlessness that come with not being able to contribute financially to my family. Maybe that’s my biggest hurdle—not which path, I think I may know that already, but how to feel valuable in the midst of it.