Author's Posts

  

I spent the majority of the past two days at the Wordsowers Writers Conference in Omaha. The annual gathering draws in writers, editors, agents, and marketers from the local area and even across the country. This year, we had the privilege of hearing from the award-winning author Ronie Kendig. We were also joined once again by such writing experts as Tosca Lee and Alex Marestaing.

A famous proverb from the Bible says, “As iron sharpens iron, so one person sharpens another.” I learned enough during this conference to keep my head spinning for a little while. I was humbled to realize mistakes I’d been making all this time and how I needed to learn from and avoid them in the future. I was also struck by the need to sift through the information overload and consider what practical steps I can take to improve my writing right now (instead of trying to do EVERYTHING all AT ONCE!).

In the midst of it all, I seized multiple opportunities to speak an encouraging word. Several of my co-attendees needed a listening ear and a gentle reminder that they were on the right track, that they should not give up. Others simply needed to hear a word of confirmation about how their heart and soul indeed blesses the world. I was overjoyed when I could share that listening heart and such uplifting words – and watch my response visibly bless the other(s) involved in the conversation.

Many hearts in our world today need both comforting and sharpening. Over the course of this weekend, I was acutely reminded of it. And challenged. Will you join me in considering how you can comfort and sharpen others in your sphere of influence?

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Image result for native american beadwork stock images The Voice of Melody has been released to the great, wide world. Yippee!

My heart was skipping for joy…until it tripped when it saw outstanding typos in this first printing. Ugh. I tried so hard to catch them all. But there they were, large as life. A commonly confused word, a misspelling, a date slightly off. It wounds the writer’s soul in me, like a knife to the gut.

One reader joked that this is how early buyers will know they have a true first edition of the book when I am famous one day. 🙂 And my dad assuaged my frustration with a simple text reply: “Perfection, where art thou?”

Where indeed?

It is the elusive dream I’ve been chasing all my life. The one where I’ll have even a single day without mistakes and I’ll not hurt another soul with my words or actions. And the one where I can say, without a single shred of doubt in my heart or second guessing in my mind, “Yes, this or that is truly very good.” The dream is elusive because it can never be achieved this side of heaven. And my human self must come to terms with that on a daily basis.

One of my colleagues, Irene Harper, listened to me share similar thoughts while we were chatting yesterday. And she told me about a piece of Native American bead-work she’d bought upon which the artist intentionally left one bead of a completely wrong color in an obvious place. This was done so that we would be reminded of the artist’s humanity…and that in it, we would see our own.

A beautiful thought.

Though I can correct them in the next round of printing, those typos still make me cringe a little. But they are also a reminding gift. We are each being refined and restored day by day, and there is mercy to meet us when we need it while we walk an imperfect path through life in a broken world.

(Photo credit: dreamstime.com)

 

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The final post in a four-part series before the release of Kaylene’s first novel on April 17…

 

I’ve never given birth to a child. But I have felt the pangs of labor. 

A book and a baby are alike in some ways. Both are often conceived in love. Both require a long period of incubation and growth in the deepest places of the carrier. And both come forth at last through the most grueling ending – the final hours of blood, sweat, and tears.

Then what are both mother and author left with? A small but magnificent creation. A beautiful gift. And a bundle of potential they want to share with the world.

But this is scary.

For the world will look at the baby and judge it. Some will say it’s cute – and mean it. Some will say it’s nice while privately thinking otherwise. And some will tell the parents (or the child as he/she grows) that their little treasure is no treasure at all.

And the world will look at the book and judge it. Some will say it’s good – and mean it. Some will say it’s okay but quietly complain about elements they don’t like and rate it halfheartedly. And some will tell the author (or everyone else of their acquaintance) that the written creation is a piece of garbage.

I thought the hardest part of writing a novel would be starting. Then I thought the hardest part would be getting over the hump in the middle of the draft. Then finishing the draft. Then getting stuck time and again in the revising process. Then surviving the red pen of the professional editors. Then moving past the rejection of publishers and agents and more publishers. Then working feverishly through the last, crazy edits of the galley…

I was wrong.

I think the hardest part is now. Hours away from the moment my baby will be released to a judging world. Anticipating this moment with great joy because I want to share the story. Yet holding my breath because I can’t control what other people will say about it.

Like a good mother, I know the truth about my baby and will love it, no matter what the world may say. So if there’s anything to be learned from critiques and criticisms, bring ’em on. But in the end, I have told the story I was given to tell. And there is a joy in that no amount of judgement can touch.

 

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 Part Three in a four-part series leading up to the April 17th launch of Kaylene’s first novel!

 I have written before about how much readers as a whole and also as individuals shape a story in the mind of a writer. But today, it’s time for a greatly deserved shout out to another group of people: those who support the writer while he/she goes through the arduous process of carrying the story and delivering it in its final form. This includes (but is not limited to):

++ “Family”

++ Friends

++ Teachers, co-workers, and employers

++ Beta readers and critique providers

++  Helpers in the publishing process

My friends Leo and Fanny (pictured) are just two of the many wonderful people who have supported me during a journey lasting more than two years – from the time I began research work until this month’s publication of The Voice of Melody. I still remember sitting on their sofa (while their sweet dog, Victor Hugo, cuddled at my side for a good behind-the-ears scratching) and telling them about this topic I’d started exploring and the dream I had of writing about it. Their eyes shone with interest, and their words encouraged me to dive into drafting shortly after that visit.

Many friends, family members, and colleagues have helped me to press on when I felt exhausted, discouraged, and rejected. Yet, these were not just a bunch of “yes men” – they were people who were still willing to tell me when I’d made a mistake or when I needed to stop and rest – or when what I was writing or doing was flat-out wrong. And in those ways, they supported me too.

It was a great challenge, upon completing the manuscript, to pen my acknowledgements section. How does one thank a multitude of individuals in just a few pages? The truth is, when a writer has been blessed with as many supportive folks as I have, it can’t be done. I could only name some of the many who have helped to carry me emotionally, mentally, professionally, and spiritually along the way. But though space was limited, I hope every person who’s run by my side for at least a few steps of the long race will sense today how grateful I am for them.

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Part Two in a four-part series leading up to the April launch of Kaylene’s first novel!

 

Today, I take a moment to honor readers. We, the writers, craft our work for you, and simply by being, you help to shape it.

But my recent journey into the deeper grooves of the publishing world – where the heavier discussions about marketing start to take place – have left me scratching my head. Yes, it’s true that many books will appeal to people with certain interests, those who have read work by writers with a similar voice, or those of a particular generation or gender. And I understand the need to focus advertising on one or two groups of people more than others so the writer or publishing team can try to sell as many copies as possible. Finally, I recognize that there are people out there who will only ever enjoy reading one type of book; anything outside of that and they say, “Thanks but no thanks!”

Yet, I believe no one really likes to be pigeon-holed. I think that every reader has a right to say, “I am open to reading a variety of things as long as they are _____ (well-written, intriguing, informative, entertaining, light-hearted, realistic, etc.).” Or “I think it’s okay to mix genres, and I like a good story that integrates a variety (adventure, mystery, romance, sci-fi, historical, fantasy, poetry, etc.) simply because it is a good story.” Or “Just because I usually read fiction, why can’t I also read some good non-fiction every now and then (or the other way around)?” Or “Isn’t it okay for me to read a certain book even though no one in marketing (or the general public) would think of me as the ‘typical’ reader for that kind of book?”

For the sake of business, my marketing plan includes a list of targeted types of readers and my novel has a sort of genre-based label (i.e. historical fiction with a literary, autobiographical flare). But I don’t want to pigeon-hole any of my potential readers. I already have great respect for each person who will read my book – both those who start it but decide to move on to read something else and those who read all the way to the end. And I know ultimately that my work will appeal to any given reader not based solely on what demographic they fit into but because it is a beautiful story about people navigating the journey of the human condition – a journey we can all relate to in one way or another.

 

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Part One in a four-part series leading up to the April launch of Kaylene’s first novel!

Is it fair to judge an actual book by its cover? Whether or not it’s really “fair” when we have never heard of a book or an author before, don’t we all do it?

Gone are the days of plainly-bound books with nothing but a few words embossed on the spine. The pressure is on. As they design a book’s cover, the choices the writer and any publishing team members make will have a definite effect on the answers to these questions:

  • Will a reader browsing books in a store or library or on a website be eager to give the book more than ten seconds of their time based on how the cover catches their eye?
  • Can the reader automatically understand something of what the book is about (style, genre, etc.) based on the cover art?
  • Can the colors, font size and style, pictorial contents, and other design elements convey both directly and subconsciously to the reader everything the writer is trying to communicate in the heartbeat of the story or the central concept of the book’s ideas? And can the expectations raised in the mind of the reader who judges that cover be met fully and honestly every time by what the writer includes on the inner pages?

It looks like a challenging – if not impossible – task. Therefore, during the cover design process for my forthcoming novel (a working concept pictured above), I am filled with gratitude. I am thankful for the team at Concierge Marketing and how they are helping me “say” a huge amount to my potential readers in a fairly simple cover design.

Stay tuned in coming weeks for more news about the availability of The Voice of Melody.

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After church today, both my parents and I were headed to our respective homes to make pots of soup. Later, while I produced mine, I giggled. I knew that when Mom and Dad saw a picture of my pot, they would smile. And that their pot was probably just as full.

You might ask, “Why don’t you all use bigger pots?” Knowing us, we’d fill the next bigger size just as full with more veggies, broth, and meat. This is a case where I can laugh at myself and say, “Well, I come by it naturally. I am my parents’ daughter. Must be in my genes!”

Thinking about how full my pot of soup ended up being reminded me of a verse from the Old Testament: “But if I say, ‘I will not mention his word or speak anymore in his name,’ his word is in my heart like a fire, a fire shut up in my bones. I am weary of holding it in; indeed, I cannot.” (Jeremiah 20:9)

Some days, I ache with the longing to tell others about the goodness of God: His love and His truth. The desire to do so is SO full inside of me. But I know this is not natural in me – it is a gift of God, reflecting the beauty of His saving grace that has made all the difference in my life. And when I remember this, I can smile and say, “Well, I come by it supernaturally. I am my Father’s daughter. It’s in my bones – and it will not be held there.”

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We all have multiple roles to play in life – and therefore multiple parts of what we think of as our own personal identity. Who or what are we? Son or daughter. Perhaps a parent or grandparent, a spouse or a significant other. Likely a boss, employee, student, or volunteer. Adult or child. Neighbor. Citizen of a particular country. And so on.

St. Paul, in the midst of his famous definition of love, reminded us that, “…Now we know in part, but then we will know fully – even as we are fully known” (1 Corinthians 13:12). The truth is, most days of living on this earth provide me with a very limited scope of who I really am, of the potential God has placed in me and how much He loves me, and of who He is making me to be so that I can love other people with His heart.

I have recently started studying the book of First John more fully and am blown away with the seemingly simple yet incredibly complex truths held there. Today, trying to wrap my mind around the lavish love God has for me and each one of His children while we grace the planet for a blip of eternity led me to write the following acrostic. I pray it will bless you and help you glimpse a fuller picture of your identity within this moment.

In cosmic finger-spinning was I woven,

Divine imagination’s product, made for a purpose both

Eternal and momentary,

Never – not for a moment –

Taken for granted, forgotten, purposeless, less than lavishly loved,

Intended to reach the end

Triumphant over fear and death while

Years of Heaven’s calendar spin on without end.

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A few weeks ago, I was inspired to write something for current and former members of our armed forces and the family/friends who love them and worry about their safety, especially during times of deployment. The result is a song, actually, as it can be sung to the tune “Song for Rich” written by Michael W. Smith (music available at: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=cdJFSUkOw2U). Or it can simply be read as a prayer with thoughts of blessing for a serviceman or servicewoman who is in need of God’s strength, mercy, and protection.

May the Lord bless and light your way
Lead each step you take
Give you strength throughout your journey
Guide each choice you make

May His power sustain your frame
And His truth, your heart
May His hope that lives inside you
Drive away the dark

In His name, you’ve naught to fear
You will pass each test
Till His wings surround your form
And you lay down to rest

You will find Jesus at your side
Shielding you from harm
Guarding constant in the night
His peace: your warmth

May you always keep your faith
May His grace increase
And extend to cover sin,
Any shame release

May His Spirit refine your thoughts,
Cause your trust to grow,
Till you’ve carried out your mission
And He carries you home

I share this today with hope that it may speak to any heart in need of blessing – and to show my gratitude to those who work hard and give up so much to serve and defend. Your sacrifice can never be sufficiently repaid and will always be held, invaluable, in the hearts of those who cherish what is good and right.

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One of the saddest memories from my early childhood is centered around a sweet puppy named Spinky. I was playing with him near the front stoop when my dad and brother came home, and Spinky got so excited at their return that he ran out to meet them. But Spinky, being all paws and ears, tripped in his running and rolled under the car’s tires.

I was shocked and very sad. Our family gathered in the living room to talk about what had happened. And I watched my father cry for the first time I can remember. At that moment, I realize now, I never harbored any question or thought of anger toward my father, such as, “Why did you kill our puppy?” or “How could you let this happen?” His tears just melted my heart, and I cried both for the loss of Spinky and for my dad’s sorrow.

Last night, I was praying for all the people across our country deeply affected by the Parkland school shooting, and I thought of both this family memory and a song called “God Weeps Too” by a singer named Eli. The chorus says: God weeps too, God weeps too // Though we question Him for all that we go through // Still it helps me believe and my pain it does relieve // When I think that God weeps too.

In the face of senseless tragedy brought on by the darkest angles of free will, it is easy for us to question and doubt and scream in our anguish – and to go about our lives in fear of what may await us around the next bend. I am not judging any of us for having these very natural responses. But if, even in the midst of the pain and the wrestling, I think of the tears in God’s own eyes and the breaking of His giant heart, it will often mute my questions and cool my ire.

For God’s heart beats for – and breaks for – each of the innocent victims and their families. But it also beats for and breaks for the young man who chose to kill. Because from the moment that each of those people were conceived – and even in the infinity before – God knew each name and each heart. And He has always loved them. He loves them still.

And the deeper we love, the more we hurt when those we love make bad choices.

So when we cry out in anguish, asking God if He sees us, I think sometimes it seems like He’s silent because He’s just nodding when all the tears rolling down His face have choked off His words for a little while.

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