The Winner Is…

Irrelevant. Sort of. Not really. Let me explain if you would be so kind.

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At the end of the day this posts I will have either become an author with a publishing contract and $20,000.00 in an advance on Assault On Saint Agnes, or I will be one of the other four who made it to the finalist round of the Christian Writers Guild Operation First Novel. That’s a pretty big deal all by itself. That will be the only change on the surface. The significant change is on my insides over the last five years. (This was written Monday. I have no clue who wins.)

I wrote my first novel (if you don’t count the countless useless pages for other books that never got past the first two chapters) five years ago. You will often hear authors talk about what got them off the dime and moving toward completion after many failed attempts to write a book. I can honestly say I never set out to write the first few books, only tried to write chapters. That may not make sense except to other authors, but the simple fact is that while a story line was wedged in my head, all that came out was a chapter, or two, and no real book was there to find. Parts of one were incorporated into another work. Most sit in unseen files on my hard drive.

The first completed work was inspired by God. Laugh if you must, but I was clearly given the impetus for that book on a Sunday morning while sitting in church. God guided me through the book, helped me to work my way out of the corners I’d written myself into, and gave me great characters. I spent more than a few hours flat on my belly praying for guidance. I spent a lot of time laughing at the insights He gave me along the way. He spent even more time laughing at me. That’s how it started – He evidently wanted that book written.

Assault On Saint Agnes was just 30,000 words in a file when I went to my first writers conference. It was the only thing that interested the agents and publishers, the first book was an albatross around my neck. Way out of my comfort zone in the pitching of myself and the book, that little bit of prose caught the attention of others. The road that led me to today, win or lose, is what was fun and interesting to me. I’ll be humbled if I win, grateful if I lose to have made the final round.

I would be remiss if I didn’t take this opportunity to thank those people who helped along the way. I would start listing names and then miss someone important. But I’ll take a whack at that in my author’s forward when the book is published. Because it will be published no matter how the contest works out on Thursday. I am sure of that as other publishers have the manuscript and are considering it right now. Barring that, there’s a whole world of self-publishing that beckons new writers.

Back to the thanks that I want to give. First, thanks, God. You gave me the tools to make this all possible. In moments of doubt You sent signs that I should continue. Without You in my life, I would be useless.

Second, to my wife Kip. She has put up with all of my nonsense, blabbering, postulating, dialogue reading, and general tomfoolery over the past few years while this book got moving. She also spent great amounts of time editing it so that someone other than the dog could read it.

Then there’s Ma… (*she hates being called “Ma”*) I knew there was something good going on when she liked the second book. The first one was a dud to her. All the way along she’s been encouraging me in this pursuit. Nothing like a mother’s love in this life. Dad? Well, hopefully he’s kibitzing in Heaven for a win. But I think he’d like the book if he could read it – He’s Catholic and the book’s about an attack on a Catholic church. He’d like the characters as well. People he could identify with easily. So, thanks, parents!

To Alton Gansky and Julie Gwinn: Wow. I never understood what an editor could bring to the table until I met you two. My book is a much better work as a result of your input.

To my agent, Jessica Kirkland: You kick butt with the best. That’s what I needed, that’s what you provided. Your simple rewrite of the first chapter showed me the way to get from interesting to riveting. You also showed me why a fellow needs an agent in the modern market when you greased all of my pitches last fall at ACFW. For an author there is nothing better than sitting down at the table and being told, “I already talked to Jessica. Just send me the full manuscript.”

To Joel Kneedler: while you didn’t need to do it, you provided me a kick-start as a mentor when the book was pretty raw (and, horribly wordy.) I will never forget your admonition to “Let your inner psycho out.” Or, perhaps it was just words to that effect. You, sir, are a gracious man.

To the people at Athanatos Ministries: From the first moment I talked to you until this very second you have done wonders for me as an author. Your novel contest made me work hard to get the book into a usable form. You took me from the minors to AAA ball in just a few months. Your novel contest is a blessing, and I thank you every day.

To my fellow authors, especially John Otte: I love sitting in those monthly meetings and annual conferences with all of you. You are an inspiration and a gift to new writers. Each of you has shown me something to try, or to be wary of, in your stories and experiences. Thank you for sharing. I single John out because he taught a class on the Otte Method last year. It was the final piece I needed to eliminate a lot of wasted words in my book.

To my friends and coworkers who have read the book and made suggestions: Thank you. Every one of you. You all contributed in some way to the work as it stands. Your honest criticism and simultaneous praise allowed me to see other viewpoints and get the whole thing done. Your input made me change large, and small, things about the book that were vital to it being interesting to a mass market of people. I am honored that you took your time to help.

To the same group as above: my, but you were tolerant when I obsessed over the book. Thank you for not dousing me in gasoline and flicking matches at me. I must have been terribly annoying on occasion. Thanks for not telling me to shut up.

To the readers of this blog: thank you for being part of this journey. Writing here every week helped me get past writers block more than once. You either loved this daily dose of me or hated it, but you kept coming back. I love you for that fact.

To my good friend Larry W. Timm: thank you for being my brother, my sounding board, and my friend while we start out in the publishing world. I can’t wait to write a book alongside you – Look out Jenkins/LaHaye.

Finally, to Mr. Raymond Slater: Mr. Slater, you were my sixth grade teacher and encouraged me to write. I put it away for a lot of years, but I still remember my short story about a bush pilot in Alaska during the Pipeline construction. You planted a seed with your interest that today is growing into a tree. For all the teachers out there, don’t discount your impact on little kids – Ray Slater changed my life with his kindness and praise over 40 years ago.

A Fan Letter.

I’m willing to bet that we have something in common: we admire someone from afar and will never get a chance to tell them about our appreciation of their talents.

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That’s one of the joys of having a blog: you can do something about it and hope that the recipient sees it in their Google Alerts.

Given the paltry chance that I’ll be recognized, but hoping that I’ll find this exercise cathartic, I wish to write the following fan letter to some of my favorite personalities that remain with us. (The dead ones I will hopefully catch up with in Heaven.)

Don Rickles, I love you. You have cracked me up for decades. I had the joy of seeing you perform live in Las Vegas about six years ago and it was amazing. I honor your service to this nation as a veteran (a fellow sailor, I might add) and as an entertainer who has gone out of his way to entertain the military over the years. Your stories, movie performances, and stand-up routine are all fun. But nobody will ever top you for the Dean Martin Roasts and your appearances on The Tonight Show With Johnny Carson. You are a gentle man beneath it all and I thank you from the bottom of my heart for all the laughs, and the influence you’ve had on my sense of humor.

Maureen O’Hara. So many wonderful performances, so much humor, such beauty and grace. If life were a movie I don’t know anyone who wouldn’t want you as a costar. You enlivened every thing I ever saw you in, and made film history fun for this amateur student of the art. I am awed by the depth of your performances as a young woman. I am amazed at your ability to play physical comedy late in your career. You are one astounding woman.

William Shatner. Mr. Shatner, you are quite a mix of things – all of them entertaining. You are funny and smart. I enjoyed you in so many roles over the years and yet you were the butt of so many jokes about your acting style. I bet you laughed all the way to the bank. As a lesser known actor and voice talent, I’m blown away by your chops on the microphone. Your demolishing of a studio weasel a few years ago ranks as the greatest booth performance I have had the honor to listen to in my life. You gave me a role model in Captain Kirk; it was fine to be concerned but do it anyway because it was the right thing to do. I know it was scripted, but you brought it to life. Thanks, Mr. Shatner – you’re far more than your critics will ever admit, and much greater than all of them: they just criticize, you do.

Lots more to do here, but enough for today. Don’t croak, Mel Brooks: you’re on the list next.

Ooopsie. Tow Truck, Please.

No, not for me. But we’ve entered the miserable part of winter where that phrase is uttered more and more on the local roads.

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Why? Well, the picture tells you most of it:

Death banks

Death banks

Once you get past the “Ooooh, pretty” phase of winter, you settle in for accumulations of white poo. The stuff starts to pile up on sidewalks, roadways, and parking lots. There are very few parking lots at this moment where the lines are even remotely visible – white on white. Not even any tar to speak of for roadways on the side streets.

When you add a month of really cold weather on top of snow, you now have piles of the stuff bordering roadways that has taken on the consistency of concrete below the surface layer of an inch or less. That top inch is like crusty sand left behind by the high tide near the ocean. If an unsuspecting (or belligerent/speeding/reckless) motorist hits the verge of the roadway, the tires on that side slow down just like driving into sand. The wheels on the other side continue at speed and the car veers off the roadway – if you’re lucky.

If you’re unlucky, you find that the wonderfully piled snow covers the guard rail and acts as a perfect ramp to launch you into the air and flip your vehicle. Doing that little stunt at 60 miles per hour does not get you a job with Joie Chitwood’s Thrill Show. It usually totals your vehicle and the occupants. Yes, you can get dead from being forced to the shoulder by some jerk. A heavy price to pay for inattention, timing your entry into traffic poorly, or a lack of control.

The point? Please be careful out there folks. That snow by the side of the road is rock hard and can cost you your life. Same goes for pedestrians. We’ve got at least another month (two, but that makes me cringe) to go and I’d like all of you to be here come April.

For my friends in the south – I’m so envious and cold that my teeth hurt.

Introducing Reimagine Haiti

One thing I’ve really enjoyed since starting this blog is the opportunity to promote other authors and social causes. I met Jason and Erika last year when I was on a missions trip to Haiti. I even got to play Santa for Oak, their son. In the past 6 months things have changed for them and they’ve launched a new mission in Haiti called Reimagine Haiti. Over the next year I will be featuring them every-other-week (hopefully) on this blog. I’m still madly in love with Healing Haiti and will alternate posts between the two and the other charities I have run across. I thought the readers would like a little glimpse into some other things from time to time.

Without further ado, I introduce the folks at Reimagine Haiti. All content is theirs, and I claim no credit for what they write. But it is interesting that Matthew 25 keeps popping up in my life…

*************** **************** ******************* ***********

Reimagine Haiti is the brainchild of three long-term missionaries, living and working in Haiti. With 10+ combined years on-the-ground, we concluded the need to REIMAGINE the non-profit concept and create something fresh, unique and innovative. We have entrenched our peppy new organization in the SE region of Belle Anse and pledged to be tenacious advocates of total community advancement! By tossing aside the detrimental practice of hand-outs in favor of galvanizing relationships, we will be a catalyst for change today and lead a renaissance of prosperity and sustainability for the future generations of Haiti.

Thirsty to know more? Intrigued? Just plain confused? Be enlightened in all the usual places.

On the web: www.reimaginehaiti.org

Facebook: facebook.com/Reimaginehaiti

Twitter: @ReimagineHaiti

And of course, our blogs. http://ordainedchaos.blogspot.com/

Today’s blog comes from co-founder (and Zen Master), Erika.

haitiboatkids

(End scene…)

(And now, the excerpt from Erika’s blog…)

when i was thirsty…you gave me a coconut

since moving to haiti, i have learned a lot…a lot.

my views have also changed about a lot….a lot.

one might argue that these go hand-in-hand and i tend to be one of those…”ones.”

…the thing is, ignorance is never an excuse.

over the past two years this passage out of matthew 25 has become more and more foundational, not just to my thinking…but to the very core of who i am….

“i was hungry and you fed me,

i was thirsty and you gave me a drink,

i was homeless and you gave me a room,

i was shivering and you gave me clothes,

i was sick and you stopped to visit,

i was in prison and you came to me.’

….i’m telling the solemn truth: whenever you did one of these things to someone overlooked or ignored, that was me—you did it to me.’ “

i love eugene peterson’s translation in the message for one reason….

there is no real separation between whom jesus is talking to and whom he is talking about…everyone can relate to at least one of the places listed.

all my life i heard this same passage…in various other translations….and they all said, “least of these.”

i don’t believe that the original meaning of the text was at all meant to be what it has turned into…but it essentially has become a term with which christians can express…

judgement.

pity.

self-righteousness.

superiority.

piety.

…and all of those other things that we christians do…to make the rest of the world hate us…and want nothing to do with jesus.

i know…that stings. brush it off…deep down you know it’s true so don’t pretend to be shocked…we all do it and we need to fix it.

when did we, not just as a society, but as the culture of christianity, decide that we have the right or even the ability to determine that one life is more valuable than another…that one life is more useful, or successful, or legitimate?

how many times have each of us been “the least of these?”

i cannot count how many times i have qualified for the title….

but the longer i live in this amazing country…with these amazing people….the more god is teaching me about how he sees humanity…about the value that he puts on each one of us and as a result…

(End scene…)

Find out what happens next at:

http://ordainedchaos.blogspot.com/2014/01/when-i-was-thirstyyou-gave-me-coconut.html

And A Dog Picture To Boot.

I’d like to start the day out with a link to a great blogger, James R. Lileks. I’ve been reading Lileks since the 1980s when we were both students at the University of Minnesota. Over the many years I grew to feel like I knew him personally. Heck, probably ran across him now and again and didn’t even know it at the time.

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I mention him today as his blog post is about the death of his dog, Jasper. In a strange twist of fate I spent my morning writing a chapter about the death of a dog and how it impacted the character. The dog in my book was modeled on my dog Edzell. Over the past few years I read Lilek’s blog and his anticipation of Jasper’s demise. It was similar to what I was witnessing in Edzell’s life. So, I started the day out crying over a dog in a book and finished it with crying over a dog in a blog.

Go take a minute to read James Lileks write about his struggle with the death of Jasper. I know it’s bad form to ship your readers off somewhere else, especially when the writer is that good, but I feel like I owe it to him in solidarity on the loss of his dog. Then come back, below the picture of my friend Edzell, and read some of those traffic tips I promised you yesterday.

James, if you stumble across this, thank you for a beautiful tribute to your friend. The pain lessens with time but the tears threaten to emerge without warning for as long as that memory remains. I’ve got a collection of collars in the garage that I could really do without myself. And I still look for all of their owners on occasion.

My boy, Eddie

My boy, Eddie

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