The Carnival of Christian Writers

You can catch me over there today, along with a lot of other cool writer types. So . . . what are you waiting for?

Calvin as a Photog?

I went to download pictures off my digital camera the other day in preparation for the trip to see the Blue Angels. I wanted to make sure I had as much space as possible. I really need to get a memory card for that thing. Anyhow, I was surprised to find 17 pictures on it since I only remembered taking a few. It was still sitting in the dock, recharging.

I pressed the button to transfer the pictures. And was quite surprised to find these.

Somehow “Calvin” figured out how to 1) take the camera off the dock, 2) turn it on, and 3) take pictures with it. Pretty good for a five year old. A lot of adults can’t get that far.

Given the unique composition and his approach to the subject matter, I’m thinking he might have a future as a photojournalist. Certainly this looks like an abstract painting, the colors bold and slightly out of focus, yet not hiding the power of the dinosaur. And the material is unique, showing his out-of-the box creativity: it's one of his shirts.



Here I think he's saying something about scale. Buzz is a space ranger, so clearly his powers exceed that of a mere helicopter.





And this one. Certainly he's making a statement about his desire to learn to read so the "light" will go on. Or maybe we've sung "This Little Light of Mine" one too many times. Or maybe he just likes anything that looks like fire.



Again with the perspective. Maybe he wants to feel bigger than a car?

Of course all of this presupposes he lives to see six. He and his sister were trying to lower each other over the wall from the loft to the stairwell using a jump rope. Luckily, they were trying to pull UP and neither was strong enough. However, there are now rope burns on the wall. So, maybe a rappelling photo journalist?

One other thing. If you’re curious about what kind of purses different writers would carry, check out Jenny’s blog. Can you guess the genre by the purse?

Back yard update: The work has begun, so more on that later.

Leslie and Russell at Scenes and Beans

If you’re a Russell Fink fan (and, really, who isn’t?) hop over to Scenes and Beans, and see how he and Leslie meet up. Leave a comment if you’re so inclined.

The fun thing about this post was that Mike and I actually got to write it together in Dallas instead of e-mailing copies back and forth. It’s always interesting writing with a partner. Everyone has his or her own way of coming up with ideas and putting them down on paper, so even though we’ve been crit partners for a year, I wasn’t sure how that would translate into actually writing together.

I should have known. We only disagreed on one point (which I let him win) and had way too much fun writing together . . . and honestly, I had no idea what to expect when he e-mailed me the final file after I got home. We were getting pretty silly at the end. But it turned out so much better than anything we would have written separately.

And guess what? Apparently you can say dog poop in the CBA.

. . .

Blue Angels and Balloons

We went to see the Blue Angels Friday. They haven’t been in the Valley since 2001. We’ve seen the Thunderbirds twice out at Luke AFB since we’ve been here, but the Blue Angels always feel a little bit like home. In Orange County we lived near the now-shuttered El Toro MCAS and the Blue Angels would come to the air show there every year. For three days we could stand on our back patio and watch the whole show.

I haven’t seen the Blue Angels in nearly ten years, but earlier this year on the Military Channel, they did a documentary on them, following them through their training and show circuit. What always amazes me is the small or nonexistent margin for error. You space out for a second or have an off day and you can take yourself and your fellow pilots into eternity in an instant. Not exactly like writing where you get multiple chances to get it right.

The great thing about this air show was that it was a smaller, private airfield. We went on Friday, the practice day, so it wasn’t crowded at all, and we were close to the centerline on the airfield. Which meant that, at points, they were only 50 feet above our heads.

When I watch them, for just a minute, I forget there’s such a thing as gravity.

The other cool thing was the after-dark show. A plane danced across the sky with pyrotechnics coming off the wings and shooting flares. I’ve never seen anything like it. Then the hot air balloons lined up on the flight line, and began inflating. It was cool to see that happen, these giant balloons swaying in the evening breeze like giant Japanese lanterns.

Not Really News

I'm sure this isn't news to any of you, and I am woefully late getting it posted, but I still wanted to take the opportunity to brag on my awesome friend and crit partner, Mike Snyder. In case a few of you hadn't heard the news yet. Mike was selected as the editor's choice in fiction for the new literary journal, Relief for his short story "All Healed Up". I've read the story, and it's my personal favorite . . .

Subscribe to Relief to get Mike's story and all the other selections of fiction, creative nonfiction, and poetry. Also, Relief is looking for submissions, so if you have something to submit, send it in. And go check out Relief's website. Mike's bio is the most entertaining.

Also, Robin Cynclair has good news. Her romantic suspense, Bayou Burning was contracted by Steeple Hill. Yay Robin!

Anyone else have any writing news to share?

Blog Tour with Alison Strobel

Between here and the past, there lies a place……a place of longing for what has been rather than hoping for what could be.

A true artist, Violette is passionate and emotional. Climbing back into life after suffering a loss, she teeters on the precipice of a new relationship with Christian, a psychologist who not only understands her struggles but offers safety and his heart. As Violette and Christian begin to feel something they both thought impossible, tragedy strikes again. Violette becomes trapped in a place of past memories–and she finds that she may not want to come back.

What would it be like to choose a place between the past and the present?

This is the dilemma facing Violette in Violette Between, Alison Strobel's latest book that is on blog tour this week.

I really enjoyed this book. If you like Lisa Samson and Susan Meissner, there's a good chance you'll like Alison Strobel. Her use of language and her ability to look at honest emotions in nontypical ways make this book refreshing. And if I weren't so tired, I could probably say something even more descriptive about it.

And here's an interesting fact: Alison and I also lived in the same condo complex in Orange County at the same time for about a year. Although we didn't know it at the time. So, if that's not reason enough to go out and buy the book, I don't know what is.

Our House

We're officially in our new house now. It's been an interesting experience. First of all, my poor cat, Duchess, has been through more moves than she has lives. Poor thing. One time when Peter and I moved into married student housing at UCI we couldn't find her for the longest time. Until I opened up the kitchen drawer. It stuck. I pulled harder. It opened to reveal black striped fur. I screamed and jumped back before I realized it was her. She had climbed up inside it from a cupboard and was hiding. At least is wasn't a giant mouse. We had plenty of the little ones there, which kept Duchess busy.

I'd like to think that after all the moves she's adapted. But this time around, we moved with a dog, something she hadn't experienced before. She got to ride in the middle seat between the kids in her carrier while Charlie was in the back drooling on her. She stayed very quiet the whole trip instead of meowing pitieously as usual.

Here, almost everyone is in one of the building trades, plus there's a sheriff's deputy and a Navy guy. And about 15 kids on our cul-de-sac. Should be great for the kids.

But one of the best things for me was driving out here among the sheep and the cows and seeing the stars. We can see stars. Now we could see stars at our old house. Never could in California. But here, there's zero light pollution. Very, very cool.

And I've included a few pictures of our new neighbors.

















































And last, but not least, Arizona snow, AKA cotton.

I'll Be Back Soon . . . Promise

I know I need to blog about something, and I have some ideas, but I'm a little distracted right now with moving and other things . . .

But later this week I'll have an interview with Alison Strobel, author of Violette Between and Worlds Collide. She and I have an interesting connection, but you'll have to read the interview to find out.

So until then, feel free to make up random comments. Probably will be more interesting than anything I could come up with right now anyway.

Our New Backyard

We got the drawings from the landscape designer this week for the backyard on our new house. I was pretty amazed. Considering Peter and I designed and put in the whole landscaping at our current house, it was such a relief to have someone else do all the heavy lifting of the design work and physical labor. The fact that the builder was throwing this package in was a major factor in selling us on the house. The backyard is a quarter of an acre, about twice the size of what we have right now, and I can't imagine doing all that work myself.

Unlike the first landscaper we worked with (and subsequently got fired), this guy was amazing. It was so much fun to sit down with him with the prelimary sketch I'd made and have him refine it and make suggestions that made the backyard exactly what I wanted. Reminded me a lot of the critique/editing process in writing. Two large grass areas and a play area surround the central patio with a built-in barbeque and bar. The trees are situated to block the neighbors' houses but not our view of the mountains. And the plants were specificially chosen to be rolling palette of color.

It may seem like I'm putting a lot of importance on the backyard. One of the reasons we moved to Arizona was to have a yard. In California, we never would have been able to afford a house with an actual yard. But with two kids who have a LOT of energy and gorgeous weather nine months out of the year here, the backyard is an extension of our house. It's where we'll spend most of our time. And if the kids are happy out there running around, I can sit on my porch swing and get some writing done. Of course as Malia will probably tell you, Charlie, the dumb dog, thinks he belongs on the porch swing. I really don't like dog hair in my laptop.

Come Thanksgiving, the whole yard should be done. I can't wait.

I Thought I Left That in California

This was the interesting sight outside my back window today.















When we moved out here from California, I thought we’d gotten away from brushfires. But last night, someone set the field behind us on fire. Now it’s an alfalfa field, so there’s not a lot to burn. But it’d been recently harvested and plowed over, and with our near-zero humidity, the plants were drying out. So it caught fire and burned pretty good for about an hour and then smoldered for another ten. It closed one of only two exits for us out of our subdivision and the lack of a breeze last night caused the smoke to hang over us like dirty fog. This morning our garage smelled like someone had a campfire in it.

So today I’m out front putting new plants in the planter when I hear the fire trucks. They get closer. I hear them come up the street behind us where the field is. I figure last night’s fire has flared back up, so I go upstairs to the playroom to look out.

There are flames directly behind our house. I’m not overly worried. We have a landscaped yard and a tile roof. These flames are only a couple of feet high, nothing like the twenty-foot monsters in Southern California that create their own deadly weather by sucking oxygen out of the air.

The fire department got this one put out quickly. Unlike in Southern California, there are a lot of people on our street that stay home during the day. Our neighbor had seen the flames and called 911. He talked to the police and firemen. Apparently, they’re investigating it as arson. And there’s still more stuff out there to burn. So you can bet I’ll be checking back there every so often to see if someone’s going to go for a third time.

Funny thing. The book I’m supposed to be working on right now, the second in the series, is about, you guessed it, a fireman. You know, I’m all for research, but this might be a little too close to home.

And, Michelle, see, there are trees in Arizona. :)

. . .

My One Year Anniversary . . .

. . . was September 20. If I’d been slightly more coherent, I would have realized that the one-year anniversary of my blogging passed the first day I was in Dallas. I guess because I started blogging after last year’s conference in Nashville that I was thinking the anniversary would be after the conference.

I never intended to become a blogger. What could I possibly say that anyone would want to hear? I still feel like that’s true. But like many things in life, this was Mike’s fault. I wanted to leave a comment on his blog and to do that, I had to have a Blogger account. (Funny thing. As I was trying to find my first comment on Mike’s blog, I realized I hadn’t learned yet people respond to your comments so you have to go back and check. So a year later: no, yes, and I hope so.) And after that I realized that I wanted to share with a bunch of people my thoughts on the conference and a blog would be a good way to do that without sending out a lot of e-mails.

And I never planned to blog after that until I had some Amazing Writing News. Still waiting for that. But I posted a picture of Arizona on my blog a little later because I thought it was cool, and Mike and Jenny responded. So then I thought I’d blog when the mood struck me and now it’s become a pretty regular thing. I’m humbled and amazed by the people who stop by and leave comments. But the best thing about blogging was completely unexpected. It’s been a great way to keep in contact with all you wonderful people I call friends. The immense loneliness I felt after getting back home from Dallas has been lightened somewhat by hanging out on your blogs. I can’t imagine how much worse I would have felt if I didn’t have that to look forward to.

So, now I’m thinking we need a cyberparty. Maybe a giant chat room? Any thoughts?

. . .

Withdrawals

I’m amazingly tired after coming back from the ACFW conference in Dallas late Sunday night. I should be doing all sorts of things around the house (I haven’t even unpacked), but I’ve spent the morning reading everyone else’s blogs on the conference. For someone like me who pretty much just sees her family daily, being around other people nearly 24/7 for five days is a radical change.

I loved it. To me, the best part of the conference was hanging out with people I had met at other conferences and had become good friends with, meeting people I knew only online and finding we connect even better in person, and meeting new people. But to have all of that suddenly cut off feels strangely odd, like we need some sort of transition or post-conference decompression chamber.

Heather left the comment on my blog, “So what are we doing this weekend?” And I think I wrote back on her blog, “I feel like half my family has left me.” As an introvert, this is a new feeling for me. Generally, as much as I like other people, I need space away and time to recharge. Maybe because I’m in desolate Arizona among the cotton and the cattle steeped in solitude that I didn’t need it as much.

This conference was so much about heart and so little about craft for me. Mary DeMuth’s morning track was just perfect for this. If you didn’t attend, get the CDs. I did teach a late night chat on mentors and mentees which went well, considering I almost forgot I was teaching it, I was completely brain dead, and it was the night everyone went out to dinner so I expected nobody to show up.

I also was surprised to receive an interesting array of gifts: blush, a contact case, Diet Coke, and a hotel coffee cup. Just goes to show what quirky friends I have.

But most of all (not really, but . . .) I was so thrilled to find that it was 90 degrees when we landed in Phoenix Sunday night. Somehow I lost three pounds during the conference, and I think it’s because I shivered them off. Dave Long called me a cream puff at the FiF dinner Friday night for not wanting to live anywhere it snows routinely. I challenged him to visit Phoenix in July. Yeah, we’ll see who’s the cream puff.

Pictures:
I didn't take any, so I only have what Jenny took with my camera Thursday night and other people have sent me.

I stole this picture from Heather. It's Mike Snyder, Heather, me, Michelle Pendergrass and her husband, Phil.




This is me, Pam Dowd, and Jeanne Damoff. The three of us were roommates at Mount Hermon last spring. Jeanne's my sister if only we had the same parents.

And, would you believe, that's it? I told you I didn't take pictures. Maybe I'll remember next year.

. . .

Maybe More Than You Want to Know

Malia's staying here with us before we all take off to Dallas early Wednesday morning (she, Jenny, and I are all on the same flight--scary). And she's blogged about her experiences in the Tiszai household, particularly in respect to my husband. Go check it out but remember, we're not all that exciting. That's probably a good thing. :)

Home Sweet Home

We picked up the keys to our new house this afternoon. Still feels a little surreal. Bet it will hit me when I get back from Dallas with all those boxes to unpack.

Now we just need this house to sell. Um, and we have to get it ready.

Just for Fun

Tricia Goyer has a fun list of trivia posted at her blog today. I love stuff like that. Guess I'm just a trivial kind of gal.

On a more important note, today Calvin turns five. Some days, I never thought he'd live this long.

Actually, he was never supposed to survive the pregnancy. Turns out there's a protein in Peter's blood that I make antibodies to. Of course both of our kids got this protein so I made antibodies against them while I was pregnant with them. It gets worse with each pregnancy, and we didn't know about it when I was pregnant with my daughter.

At about twenty weeks, the specialists told us there was a good chance our son wouldn't survive the pregnancy and that, if he did, he might need an intrauterine blood transfusion and be extremely ill when he was born. I went into labor at twenty-two weeks and spent the next fifteen weeks on bedrest. He also turned breech three weeks before he was born. See? He was being contrary even in the womb.

Two days after the towers came down, my little boy was born. Perfectly healthy.

Progress . . .

Slowly we're getting through the house. The downstairs is nearly done. All of the flooring should be in tonight.

As far as injuries go, this project has been relatively harmless. No stitches, broken bones, or trips to the ER . . . yet. So far, I cut myself on the arm when I put the chisel in my tool belt edge up. Then I slammed my right foot into a stack of flooring, giving myself a nice cut and a really good bruise. Can't wear anything but tennis shoes. I'll have a nice scar. And today I hit my left index finger with the hammer. Yesterday I was thinking the nail would fall off in time for the conference, but it's not looking too bad today, so I guess the nail will hang around. Home improvement is hard on the manicure.

Multitasking

I’m not very good a multitasking but I keep trying, sometimes with disastrous results. However, I did discover something this weekend that will kill two birds with one stone. Want to make over your house and your body? Well you can do both at the same time simply by laying laminate flooring. Seriously, the box needs a warning label like you see on workout videos: before beginning this or any other exercise/home improvement program consult your doctor.

The process goes something like this. Grab a plank of flooring, squat down and lay it on the floor in the precise position. Stand up. Grab another plank and squat down. Hammer the two together. Put them back in the precise position. Stand up. Grab another plank. Squat down. Measure and mark. Stand up. Cut plank to precise size. Squat down. Insert choice exclamation when you realize you’ve cut it wrong. Stand up. Grab another plank. Squat down. Repeat a million times.

Forget Buns of Steel. After eight hours of this, I could barely walk. But my entryway looks great. Only have the hall, living room, dining room, and kitchen to finish.

By the way, a good complement to your lower body workout is painting. Rolling color on an endless number of walls is great for the biceps, triceps, shoulders, and upper back. Your house will look great and you, well, you probably won’t be able to move, but the house will look great.

Next time, garden your way to good health. How shoveling two tons of gravel can be good for you.

Interesting Article

This article from UK News Headlines claims books can reveal your personality. It's interesting. I can't think of a time where I saw someone reading a book and it changed my opinion of them. Mostly I'm just thrilled to see anybody reading any more. Nonetheless, I always feel a particular kinship with people who like the same books I do.

Anybody ever been surprised by a book they found someone reading? Did it alter your opinion of them?

A Lot Going On

Obviously I haven’t been posting as often as I normally do. There’s a couple of good reasons for that. One, I’ve been gone about every three weeks this summer and I’m leaving again in three weeks for the ACFW Conference in Dallas.

Two, we’re moving. We bought a spec house (a house a builder builds without a buyer) last month and should be closing on it just around the time of the conference. It’s about 30 minutes east of where we currently are, out in the boonies a bit (so far out it’s not on Mapquest and Google Earth still shows it as cotton fields), but it’s a good move for us. But it also requires us to get our current house ready to go on the market. And since “Calvin” has gone through a black Sharpie period in his art, I have to do A LOT of painting. Like nearly every wall in the house. Not to mention cleaning baseboards, light fixtures (how do all those bugs get in there?), and switch plates. So, obviously, I’m having a ton of fun. Feel free to come on over and join me.

This last weekend I was back in California for my cousin’s wedding. It was a fun wedding. They got married on the beach at the Naval Air Station North Island in San Diego by a Navy chaplain who had a family friend for years. The reception was in the officers’ club.

The fun thing about being around my family is that I no longer feel like an Amazon. I’m actually one of the shorter people. I’m the oldest grandchild of nine, and one of only two girls. All my cousins and brothers are over six feet tall.

We drove down from Orange County with my parents and grandparents. I joked with my dad that he’d better not wreck because with four generations of Crosswhites (my maiden name) in the car, he’d take out a big chunk of the family tree.

We arrived at Coronado three hours before the wedding and since we couldn’t just wander around the naval base that long, we headed to some of the tourist spots and walked along the beachfront. Which was interesting considering I was dressed up for the wedding, in heels, walking around while most people were in shorts or bathing suits. And, I still managed to get sunburned. Not hard to do. I can burn under a light bulb.

I rarely go any place that I need to dress up enough to wear nylons, but I did wear them to the wedding. While we were standing outside an ice cream shop, my little Calvin squatted down in front of me. Then he starts poking my leg and rubbing it, and then looked up at me and poked my leg again. Then he pulled up his pant legs and looked at his legs. Ah! I finally figured it out. The sun was shining on my nylons, giving my legs a weird iridescent look which he’d never seen before, and he couldn’t figure out what was happening. Since it’s summer and I’m in shorts most of the time, he sees my legs a lot. Just not looking all shiny like that.

Considering my kids spent several hours in a car then had to sit through the ceremony and the dinner after, they were pretty well behaved. But Calvin had had his limit by about nine. He went over to my grandpa and told him, “GGpa (short for great-grandpa), it’s time to go. C’mon.” Then he goes over and grabs my mom’s big tote bag and carries it to her, spilling out half the stuff on the way and shoving it back in. “Grandma, let’s go.”

And we did.

In case you’re interested, the entry Mike and I wrote channeling Kanner Lake reporter Leslie Brymes will be up at Scenes and Beans Friday. And maybe I’ll have something more interesting to talk about later. Or you all could suggest ideas (except for Peter and Mike).

An Interview of Me

Sabrina Fox has posted an interview with me up on her blog, so if you want to know my deepest, darkest sin . . . wait, she didn't ask me that (Dang, and I had a good answer too). If you want to know how many bones I've broken . . . no, she didn't ask me that either. But if you want to know how many different majors I had in college, that's there. Along with various and sundry items that might be of passing interest. Or not.