It’s a little after four and I’ve managed to brush my teeth, change a laundry load, edit my book for a contest (not there yet) deadline today, sit on the steps with the dogs, and admire Neil Armstrong and the rest of the Apollo astronauts.
Mighty small fraternity there, ten men who walked on the moon. As I gazed up at that beautiful orb this morning I smiled and thought of Neil. I remember that day in 1969 so vividly that I can taste the onion rings at my uncle’s bar and the thrill of standing behind the couch (so that we didn’t block the adults) to see the first man walk on another planet.
He led a quiet life after his moon walk but his impact was thundering. I don’t think there was a little boy anywhere in the nation that didn’t admire him and want to be just like him. Handsome, smart, and as brave as any warrior ever was.
I hope that every time I look up into the night sky for the rest of my life I’ll think of Neil, Buzz, and Mike for just a moment or two.
Thank you, Mr. Armstrong, for lifting my dreams to the heavens.
I’m sure you’ve heard the expression “She let the cat out of the bag” at some point in your life. Sometimes the cat just chews a hole in the bag and takes a peek out.
No matter how it happens, once that cat is out it never goes back in quite the same way. That happened to me this morning, as I’ll explain.
I strive in my life to keep Santa Claus in a box for a good share of the year. The box is kept next to the cat in the bag. Sometimes Santa and Joe live in the same place (like this blog) and other times only one or the other is allowed out at any given time. Kind of like Clark Kent and Superman. I do that to keep small ones from being confused.
For example, I have some cousins who only know me as Santa. I’m only around at Christmas time and only in the red suit. I’m not going to reveal my true self (and the line gets more blurred every year) until they’re all at least 9 or quit believing, whichever comes later. I love those kids and it’s been fun watching them grow up. But if they met Joe it would ruin many aspects of their childhood for them. As it is, they just think that they have the best relationship that any child ever could with Santa.
On the other hand, my niece and nephew didn’t know that I was Santa… until this morning. I’d coached all of the family about the issue, put my beard in pony tails to further the deception and sworn them all to secrecy. They are visiting from out of state and on the first night of their visit the topic of my strong resemblance to Santa came up. I assured them that not only was Santa a better fellow, but he was better looking as well. Fortunately they agreed and the subject was dropped. But they had been wondering/speculating for some time from what I gathered. I even managed to sneak in a picture with my niece on my knee. A Santa photo with out the suit.
Super, thought the fat man. Pulled it off. And then this morning we were all at the pancake place that has become a tradition when they visit. I don’t even remember how it came up, but my wife’s response to a question was, “Well, at least as long as he’s been Santa.”
The world stopped. My wife slumped down in the chair. She’d not just let the cat out of the bag, but she’d kicked the poor thing right between the uprights and scored 3 points. Totally crestfallen, I was sure she’d burst into tears. What she didn’t see, but I clearly observed, was my six year old nephew at the far end of the table do everything but a fist pump and a cartwheel. His expression said, “I KNEW MY UNCLE WAS THE REAL SANTA!!!” and then he quickly put on the stone face. He somehow knew that that was as secret that he couldn’t acknowledge under any circumstances around me. After all, I’d obviously been hiding that fact from him. But he had that secret in his pocket and it warmed him in a way that I’d never seen before.
He’s headed back to his home a thousand miles away and when the time comes, he’ll be telling his friends that Santa is his uncle. How can he be sure? Well, his uncle looks like Santa, lives in the north, and sends him cool toys at random times of the year. I hope they believe him, because that’s about the neatest thing any 6 year old can have in his aresenal.
How do I feel about it? A little sad that I’m no longer just Uncle Joe. But tremendously proud to have those two little kids as members of my family. I’ll give up a part of one identity to take on the other for the rest of their lives. That’s what they call a mixed blessing.
I have never been to Westminster for the dog show. I have been to the local kennel club, the county fairgrounds and the civic center for a few over the years.
No matter what your problems are in life, being around all of the happy people and their happy dogs will do wonders for your soul.
People and their friends.
If you can remain glum when surrounded by bright eyed dogs, waggy butt puppies, and the general pride that smothers all of the problems that life presents you are an exception.
This week we attended the national specialty for Miniature American Shepherds. My good friend was judging the show and we’ve been looking for a puppy to add to our lives. Our two old friends are getting on in years and soon it will be time to add another pooch to the roster around here. (I’m sure of that, just spent $1000 cleaning and repairing our oriental rugs and carpets. Need a puppy to start the cycle over again.) Continue reading →
Yesterday was like most of the 19190+ days that preceded it in my life. The big difference was the call that came at 1647 Central Daylight Savings Time. I was just sitting down to dinner with my wife and a friend when my cellular phone rang. I hate people who sit at the table in a restaurant and talk. I got up and walked out to take the call.
It was “The Agent.” A person whom I respect greatly who had been looking at my work for quite some time. I’d sent an email a few days before asking if they’d finished the revised novel. I’m now less than a month out from the ACFW conference in Dallas and I wanted to know if I had an agent and a book to shill, or if I needed to move on to “Plan B.”
Where I plan on being soon.
As is always the case, he was pleasant and in this case apologetic for not getting back to me sooner. But after long reflection and consultation with his fellow agents at his place of employment he regretted to inform me that he was not going to be able to represent me in my career as a writer at this point.
The reason? Simply stated I’m out on the edge of the cliff with my book. It isn’t a historical romance, nobody in the book is Amish (that I’m aware of, anyway,) and it’s more like Vince Flynn than Norman Vincent Peale. Mitch Rapp would feel right at home with some of my characters.
And that’s cool with me. I want to thank him (he shall remain nameless) for his mentoring words and kind assurance that I actually have something to contribute to the world as a writer. But not in the current marketplace of Christian Fiction. And, given that he’s an expert in the field, I’m going to take him at his word. He was/is a great fellow, fun to talk to, full of insight and inspiration to a fledgling like me. And I don’t regret a moment of the wait for his verdict.
The reason for no regrets is that I’m starting the revisions on the novel tomorrow. I know some things that I didn’t know 4 months ago when I sent him the book. I have some very good ideas on how to tighten the plot, cut some fat, and make it even more readable. And I’m not giving up. I plan on being in that picture above in the near future. (It’s where I fit on the shelf when they get the thing in print – Alphabet, dontcha know?)
Maybe it is time that the Christian Publishing world opened a new division for gritty thrillers with a Christian message. I’m volunteering to lead the way. The simple fact is that Satan is alive and well in this world and there are a great number of people under his influence. The Bible is replete with heroes who fight against evil and great odds. It’s almost always bloody and it’s always a test of wills.
That’s essentially who my characters are: Biblical heroes and villains set in the 20th and 21st century. Each of them has a place. And there’s a message to my fellow Christians as well as non-believers: you can have a darned good story with real life events that brings the Gospel to the masses. It’s not the cup of tea that many seek when they go to LifeWay Bookstores, it may not be on the list at most Christian presses, but there’s a place for it in the literary world.
So, what’s the plan? I’m going to keep writing, keep editing, keep working on the first two books I have completed. Book #3 is getting set aside for a brief time but it’s over 25% complete and it’s a good time to let it simmer a while. If there is no agent (and I’m not done with that avenue yet, one more agent is interested,) and if there is no publisher on the horizon, there is always direct to E-Book. I’ve got enough positive feedback on the manuscript to think that it’s worth a whirl taking that route. Maybe not with the opus I just finished, but with the first book. That one is worth rolling the dice on an E-Book platform.
No matter what happens, I’m just tickled that “The Agent” was so darned nice to me and had so many positive things to say about my writing. I’m thankful for his guiding hand. And when the books eventually sit on the shelves at Barnes & Noble, I’m autographing one of the first dozen copies and sending it to him in thanks for his friendship.
I’m not demoralized, I’m renewed. And I plan on pursuing my writing as the strongest evangelistic tool in my arsenal. God gave me this gift to use and I plan on doing just that for him.
My wife has worked with ESL (English as a Second Language) for years now. She’s tutored Russians, Somalis, and who knows who else. I think she needs to work with me.
I just got done with the Neurologist. I got the official “you are a twit” look when I told her about my medication and how much I took. Seems your beloved correspondent is illiterate. I was quite sure the dosing instructions said one thing. She showed them to me on the computer. No, they said I could actually take twice as much as I thought for my migraines. I was sure the label from the pharmacy was misprinted, but didn’t protest too much.
Good thing I didn’t. Upon reading it again, it appears that my damaged brain retained only part of the label. I really could take a whole lot more than I did. I could have avoided months of misery if I’d only read the label again instead of being so sure I was right. Much better than going the other way and overdosing, but not my much.
I won’t say “I can’t wait to try it” because I dread migraines. But I’m a lot more optimistic about the battle than I was three hours ago.
I am, however, still a moron.
And, if you’re interested, the weeklong headache has kept me from writing. It was just too painful to do any serious thinking. Sorry for the absence.
