Tonight I open the first draft, and begin the rewrite.  I’ve ignored it for about 6 weeks, giving myself a break from the schedule of 3,000 words per day.  It was fun writing my novel, and I was elated when I wrapped up the last chapter.  However, I was also tired.  And when I’m tired, I don’t need to attempt a rewrite.

So I’m excited, and yet I’m a little nervous, too.  I mean, this is like performing surgery, you know?  I’m operating on my own baby here.  It’s a “measure twice, cut once” kind of situation.  I want to make it the best novel of all, but I’m concerned I will cut out the wrong parts, and make it less than what it is now.

Yet, every first draft must be rewritten to be great.  First drafts, in and of themselves, are pretty much junk.  Yet, the excitement of writing a novel causes a writer to have a high level of loyalty to what’s been written.  So it is with agony that I take out the scalpel and begin to edit, carve, pare, thin, do all those things that must be done.

It reminds me of how Mr. Miagi taught the Karate Kid to shape the bonsai tree.  To achieve the tree you see in your mind, you have to cut it a certain way.  Oh sure, you could just allow it to grow like every other tree, but then it wouldn’t have the personality it could have, being trimmed correctly.

It’s what the Lord does with our lives, too.  Pruning, so we can be better than we are now.  Pruning can hurt so much!  But it is so needful.  Cutting us back, here and there, and getting rid of the “suckers,” the things that diminish our hearts and our lives.  I want the Lord to work on me, pruning my life where needed, so my life can really shine for Him.  And I want my novel to really shine as well.  So, even though it’s a scary process (am I gonna do this correctly?) and it’s going to hurt to say “bye-bye” to some of the things I’ve written, I know it’s necessary.  I don’t need any “suckers” – dragging, boring sections of fluff – stealing the life from this story I’ve been blessed to write.

So, here goes, my friends.  I’m approaching my “bonsai” novel tonight, looking for its hidden beauty.  One chapter, or “branch,” at a time.

Wish me well!

It really was supposed to be just that.

But I got slammed in the head with a horrible headache.  The kind where you can’t bend over without it causing you to scream in pain.

I won’t give the nitty gritty details, but it hurts something awful.

So, no writing today.  Except for this blog post.

Phooey.

Instead of writing today, I want to direct you to the blog of a great author.  His name is Paul Spite, and he’s just published a book called The Power of a Pawn.  You can read his blog here, and peruse some of the excerpts of his book.  But better than that, you can purchase his book here, at Smashwords.  I promise you will love the book.  It’s a I-can’t-put-this-down-until-I-know-what-happens kind of book.

So, until tomorrow, my writing friends.  And I hope your head doesn’t hurt near as badly as mine.

I get the feeling someone is tapping me on the shoulder, saying, “You know, you really should write something on your blog.”

Does your conscious ever clear its throat, and give you… the look?

Well, mine did.

So I’m writing.  Even if it’s not perfect.  Even if it’s not in standard format.  Even if it’s not planned and diagrammed and full of wit and wisdom.

Because if I don’t write something, this blog is going to dry up and blow away.

I’ve finished my most recent National Novel Writing Month challenge, and ended up with a really good first draft.  Now I have to go back and fill in more description in each of the scenes.  Make it so real the reader will feel he’s sitting right in the middle of the action.

That’s my focus for the next month: build the first draft into a first-rate novel.  I’ll keep you posted on how it goes.

GO:

I thought this issue had been taken care of, over 12 years ago.

But here, in the most unexpected way, it rears its ugly head again.

And I tense, and my heart aches, for our older son, who can’t believe what his ears have just heard.

“The devil’s a liar!” he whispers into my ear.

“Yes, son..  He is.”  I whisper back as the cardiologist comes into the room.

Today, 10 days after our meeting with the cardiologist, our older son goes in for a cardiac MRI.  And I stand in faith, believing that even thought this has come up, once again, totally unexpected, God will bring us through this situation with my son’s heart, just like He did when our son was four days less 1-year-old, and going in for surgery to repair a hole that was the size of a nickel.

God always knows the unexpected.  And He knows how to handle what we call “unexpected.”

Still, I ask for prayer from everyone I know.

because I know the devices of the enemy.

So even though I’m standing in faith…

I draw my Sword.

“For the weapons of our warfare are not carnal, but mighty through God to the pulling down of strongholds.”

STOP.

It’s a fun thing to do, to write for five minutes without worrying if it’s spelled write or wroded just right…. see there?  Just made a mistake, and I’m not going back to correct it, even if it’s not part of the five minutes of writing for Five Minute Friday.

The topic for today is “Beyond.”  So here’s my take on the topic (I almost typed “carpet.”  Where did that come from!?)

GO.

I stand on the beach, and look out at the blue sky above, and the blue ocean beneath, and my gaze fizes on where they meet.

Beyond what I can see, there are other worlds.

Beyond what I can see, there are other peoples.

Beyond what I can see, there are good things, and bad things, happy things and sad things, fun things and dangerous things, all happening in worlds beyond, all happening to peoples beyond.

And it makes me think of how I can’t see my future, just like I can’t see what lies beyond that horizon.

But I know One who can see all those things, beyond my limited vision.

He knows what will happen next week, tomorrow, in the next hour, during my next breath.

He knows all, and He sees all, and He watches over all.

“Take no thought for tomorrow, for tomorrow has issues of its own.” (my paraphrase)  “Sufficient to the day is the trouble thereof.”

When I am more concerned about what lies beyond my limited vision, I miss what is all around me.

So I take my eyes off the horizon, though it’s fun to think of what exists way out there, and I turn to look at what is ever present around me: the sand, the surf, the shells, the seaweed, the sandpipers running from the water while they hunt for food, the seagulls overhead, the pelicans resting on the waters surface.

If we would stop focusing so much on what lies beyond, we would find there is so much beauty within our present situation.

STOP.

So that’s my take on “Beyond.”  If you would like to join in the fun, visit The Gypsy Mama.  And read the rest of her posts, too.  She’s written some excellent thoughts.

And when I talk about it, people say my eyes light up, and my tone of voice changes.  It’s easy to see that I love this place.

Remember the old song by Otis Redding, “Sitting on the Dock of the Bay”?

“I’m Sitting on the Dock of the Bay

Watching the tide roll away.

Ooo, I’m just sitting on the dock of the bay

Wasting time.”

Well, is sitting really just a waste of time?

I know what you’re thinking.  Well, it depends!

But in this world today, I challenge you to consider:  have we developed a mindset that says all sitting is wrong?  That all sitting is just a waste of time?

Sitting on this dock, with nothing to do but look at the beauty around me, I am reminded to be still, to just sit, and… think.

Yes, but I have so much to do.

No, sit and think.

Yes, but the world is demanding my attention!

No, sit and think.

But in the world today, split-second decisions get rewarded!  Time waits for no man!  The situation is here now!  It’s all happening now!  I must act now!

No.  Sit. And Think.  Or just Sit.

Be still… and know that I am GOD.

I love this place.  Because on this dock, I can push the world away.  I can get alone with my thoughts.  I can listen to the birds in the trees – the birds God is mindful of, whose feathers are counted one by one by one – and I can gaze into the heavens, and watch the clouds go by, if there are clouds that day.

And I can see this

and this

and in the evening, I can see thisand this.

And in the early morning, I can see this

And I can hear the voice of God calling to me, saying, Come closer.

She had a sister called Mary, who was seated at the Lord’s feet, listening to His word.  But Martha was distracted in her preparations… . But the Lord answered and said to her, “Martha, Martha, you are worried and bothered about so many things; but only one thing is necessary… .”

Hurricane Irene was trudging up the coast of North Carolina, and would soon be in Virginia and headed to all points north/northeast.

We were experiencing the inland edge of the storm.  And as I watched the clouds go whooshing across the sky, it made me think: we equate “living on the edge” with taking great risks, but can we look at it another way?

What would “livin’ on the edge” be in terms of the Christian life, if we compared a hurricane to the situations in the world?  It wouldn’t be a life full of risk; no, it would be far different.  Livin’ on the edge would be a place where you might feel some of the turbulence of the world around you, but you certainly wouldn’t feel much.  Livin’ on the edge means you might feel some rain, but then again, you might not.  You might see some dark clouds, and you would know something’s going on somewhere, but you would be so far removed that you would be unaffected.

You’d be living a safe life, which is not what Jesus lived at all.

He stepped into the storms of life, and took command of those storms.  He addressed the raging winds and the crashing waves in the lives of people around him, and he sometimes did it forcefully.  But he always did it with love and compassion toward the hurting, and never judgment.

I don’t want to live “on the edge” as a Christian, opting for safe and secure, when I know people are being swept away by relentless winds of adversity that tear at their souls, or they are drowning in seas of sorrow.  How is God glorified when I stand idly by on the sidelines, and say, “Glad it’s not me in that mess!”

The church has been “evacuated” from the storms of the world for far too long.  We need to move away from the edge and get closer to the storm’s path, so we can rescue those whose lives are being devastated.

What are ways you can quit living on the edge of life, and move in closer to the danger zone?  And what are the things we need to remember to do, as we step into the storms of life?  Would love to hear your thoughts on this.

I had to take lots of deep breaths when my older son moved into his college dorm, and we left him there.  Deep breaths to keep from crying my eyes out.  Deep breaths, as I reminded myself, “It’s okay.  He’s going to be okay. Really.  Stop worrying!”

Deep breaths for the next few days, as I adjusted to the silence in the house (our younger son is not near so talkative or boistrous).

Now, 9 months later, I find myself taking deep breaths again!

… as the living room has been filled up with his “stuff” – all the stuff that came out of his dorm room (where did all this come from, anyway?)

… as the house grows louder, from the game playing and the phone calls and the constant talking

… as my schedule has to readjust because he has ideas and thoughts and plans that must be meshed in with what has become our “regular” routine since he moved into the dorm (can so much change so much in such a little time?  it was ONLY 9 months!)

… as my younger son adjusts back to having another person in the house that takes my attention from him (he hasn’t been “king of the hill” but he’s enjoyed having my undivided attention)

Deep breaths.  Whew!  I didn’t realize that the adjustment would be like this!  I LOVE having him here, but wow… the living room!  the kitchen!  the phone!  the TV!  sounds blaring! constant movement!  talking, talking, talking! 

I’ll enjoy it while I have the time, for soon… I know… he won’t be moving back home from college….

Love you, son.

11:03  STOP

Done!

This has been another Five-Minute Friday, following the pattern set by The Gypsy Mama.  Come and join in on the fun!  Clink this week’s post here, and write your five minute blog post!  The instructions are included on the post.

Have fun!  And take Deep Breaths!    Happy Friday!

Motherhood should come with…

… a sixth sense superpower that lets you know what is going on now, and what is about to happen, in every one of your kids’ lives.

… a database full of knowledge from all the great moms in your life: mom, grandmom, aunt, great aunt, favorite schoolteacher, etc.

… a recipe box that automatically knows what your kids will love, so every meal will be accepted with oo’s and ah’s when they see what you’ve fixed! (instead of “tuna casserole… again??”)  

… time to think and reflect and take in all the wonderful happenings that motherhood brings into one’s life

… instructions manuals, yes, superpowers, yes, and time to think to write this five-minute blurb without someone saying, “Hey.. mom?”  LOL!

Even though this is only a five-minute blurb on motherhood, I could write for days on what motherhood should come with, what it means, how much I love it, and how I would do it again, if given the choice.  it is the greatest gift to me, ever given.

10:39

Okay, for those of you who might now understand the time stamps, I’ve attempted to write only five minutes, as part of The Gypsy Momma’s “Five Minute Friday.”  It’s easy to do, and the rules are here, in her most recent blog post.

So come join in the fun!  Write for five minutes only, and then stop, and don’t worry about typos or nothin’.  Just have fun.

I close my eyes…. and I see…

…clear blue sky with wispy white clouds

…water sparkling as waves lap the bank

…Spanish moss swaying gently in the warm afternoon breeze, hanging from low branches of ancient oaks… age-old sentries…

And I hear…

…oyster shells crackling under my worn out canvas tennis shoes as I walk to the old fishing boat, shoes that have faded over the years, waterlogged and dried out so many times.

…the thunk of the cooler against the bottom of the old metal boat

…the rattle of the fishing rods as I place them beside the cooler

…the plop of the squishy bag of bait on the seat.

The wind blows my hair.  Looking up, I see a white heron extend its wings gracefully, and slowly rise into the air… not a care in the world…. I stand and watch as his strong wings carry him far away… far away… far, far away…

Focused again, I grip the hot metal of the bow, and push the boat off the sandy, crunchy shore, the water’s current beating against the stern, pushing it down stream…  One step, then another step into the muddy, murky bottom of the channel… then into the boat, steadying myself, keeping balance.

Over the calm of the channel, the motor grumbles into life… then…

… I maneuver the boat slowly, past docks and relics of docks, marsh grass, oyster banks, and other boats bouncing lightly on the tiny ripples of water, tugging on their moorings as if to say, “let me come and play!”

Destination found… a wide spot in Woodland Creek… just around the bend from the row of houses that have been resident here for what seems an eternity, holding vigil over the marshlands. Old houses, some with peeling paint, others made of brick, almost all with screened porches and hammocks in the front yards, all that have stories to tell, stories that would fill thousands of books.

The engine sputters to rest, and the boat drifts slowly with the current.  A marsh hen squawks in the distance, then… all is enveloped in a sleepy sun-baked stillness.  Only the occasional surprise of a mullet jumping out of the green-gray water breaks the silence. That… and the lapping of the current against the nearby oyster bank, and the sides of the old boat. 

I pick up the anchor, and heave it into the water, receiving water sprinkles from its splash, and I listen as it gurgles to the bottom.

Anchor set, I turn to the bag of bait, and pull out a shrimp. Peel back the shell to reveal the tasty meat, delight of fish and crab alike. Rod in my lap, I weave the bait onto the hook.

Then, rod in hand, the weight and hook swing just a bit in the gentle breeze. Eying the water, I cast the line…  and hear the whiz of the reel as the weight flies through the air, strikes the water, and sinks below my view…

Perfect.

I set the reel, and settle back, wiggling my wet toes in my soggy old tennis shoes…

This is home. This is life. This is good.