Writers are Dreamers

Did you hear something? Like horses hooves? Maybe I was dreaming but I could have sworn I heard a clatter and caught a glimpse of a peddler in his wagon tipping his hat at me. I can be such a dreamer sometimes.

Today I'd like you to meet my friend, Yvonne Beverly Blake. She's a writer, which therefor qualifies her as a dreamer. As a matter of fact, she's had the peddler dream...and named him Zeke.

You see, writers are always dreaming of characters, plots, scenes, etc. We see something in real life and instantly day-dream it into a quick storyline. We let our muse, in the form of our characters, carry conversations in our minds. Trust me...our minds are a scary place to be.

Sometimes we have to stuff these stories away and let them sleep because real life is happening all around us, and ultimately must come first. In Yvonne's case, that included raising eight kids. Yes, I said 8 kids. Being the youngest of six myself, I know her hands were tied. (and probably her dishes dirty, floors sticky, and her hamper always full.) While her dreams may have lay dormant during the child-rearing season of her life, they certainly didn't die.

Cocooned up in her heart, mind and dreams since 1976 was the charming, curious little character, Phoebe. Once Blake-child #8 was sufficiently reared, Phoebe was freed from her dormant stage within Yvonne's dreams and her wings began to flutter. Then another one of Yvonne's dreams began to take shape. The dream to publish a novel.

In her new book, A Home for Phoebe, we find our young orphaned Phoebe being cared for by a protective, resourceful Algonkin woman named Massepa. While surviving on the forest's bounty in colonial New York, they long to belong someplace. To have a home. Through friendship's made with Zeke the peddler, a blind granny, and a blacksmith's family, lessons of faith and forgiveness take hold.

I've been to New York...the city, but the thought of colonial New York and forested New York fascinates me. What a rich, history-filled location to base a novel! 

I also heard rumor that Yvonne will be giving away a free copy of A Home for Phoebe at the end of the month. So, if you leave a comment on this post, your name will be put in the peddler's hat. You might just be the one to have your name drawn and receive your very own copy of this awesome historical fiction.

^^ Click me ^^

Well...I think I hear the clanging of pots and pans on Zeke's peddler wagon preparing to head out, and I'm not dreaming this time. If we sneak on board we'll see where he takes us along the blog tour to help spread the word about Yvonne's new book. Click the picture of Zeke's wagon to learn more info about Yvonne and A Home for Phoebe on April 16th. ---->>>

Psssst....don't forget to comment and have your name put in Zeke's hat!

I Wear the Boxers Around Here

A little flash-fiction-fix for my writing soul today. (Re-worked an older story)

My wife’s smile was way too big for my liking when she walked out the door.

“Hmph, Girl’s Getaway.”  I slumped into the couch, grabbed the remote, and eyed the clock. Just twenty-four hours. Four PM to Four PM…she promised.

“ Mikey peed his pants,” six-year-old Kaitlin announced.

“Just a minute.” I stared at sweaty men running back and forth on the basketball court.

“Daddy,” Mikey called from the bathroom. “I need panties.”

“Ahhrgh!” I jumped to my feet and threw the remote on the couch with a bit more force than necessary. “They aren’t called panties, Little Man.”  I fished around in the top dresser drawer and handed my three-year-old his Batman underoos.

“Waaaaa…waaaaa.”

“Great, Mikey. You woke Gracie.” His sad eyes ridden with the guilt I threw on him didn’t even faze me. I pushed past him to the baby’s room. “Ewww, that’s the nastiest smell ever.”

“Nope, she’s done worser,” Mikey whiffed the air; self-appointed baby poop expert.

“Mommy puts the nasty diapers in the outside garbage,” Kaitlin informed me when I stuffed the offending item into the can under the sink. In my absence, she commandeered the remote and contentedly watched some Disney channel stupidity.

I pulled the diaper out and wrapped it in a plastic grocery bag. “Kaitlin, come take this outside.”

Her mouth dropped open.

I shook the bag. “Now, please.”

“But Mom…”

“Do I look like Mom?”

Plopped back on the couch, I changed the TV back to the game. A sideways glance at the clock made me groan. Five o’clock…seriously? This is going to be the longest twenty-four hours of my life.

“I’m hungry, Daddy.” Mikey stood between me and the TV.

“Move Mikey. Oh man! You made me miss the shot at the buzzer.”

“He missed,” Kaitlin pouted from the other end of the couch. “Game’s over. Can I watch something now?”

“I’m hungry, Daddy,” Mikey persisted.

“Fine,” I tossed the remote at Kaitlin. It hit her shoulder but I pretended not to notice. She sulked and turned the TV off.

I managed to pull together a meal of mac-n-cheese and peanut butter bread. Load ‘em up on carbs. That should fill them up, right? Then I noticed the note on a casserole dish in the fridge with instructions for the meatloaf.

“Now I find this?”

“Mom told you she made dinner.” Kaitlin noticed the red hot burner and smoldering pot holder. “Daddy, look!”

“Cotton pickin’!” Trust me; I wanted to say something way worse than that.

The hours between six and eight ended up being total chaotic mayhem and the kitchen testified to the fact. I did what every good husband does…I turned off the lights and walked away. Four down, twenty to go. Ugh.

~ ~ ~

Meanwhile: 

Amanda raised her hands in passionate worship. Tears flowed freely and soaked the front of her shirt. Her three best friends sat close enough together their hips touched. There’s no personal bubble for this foursome.  Besides…it’s a girl thing.

Everything the speaker shared touched Amanda to the core. After an extended time of prayer, puffy-eyed and naked of make-up; the girls stopped at the store and loaded up on chocolate, Chunky Monkey, and diet Pepsi. Heaven forbid they drink sugary soda.

“If we’re ever going to wake up for the morning session, we better go to sleep.” One of the girls pointed to the clock. They were shocked to see it was two in the morning.

Amanda curled up close to her best friend in the middle of the Queen-sized bed.  They whispered and giggled long after the other pair snored softly. One day was all she had and she was going to enjoy every moment. The last time she saw the clock before she drifted off, it was four AM.

“Twelve more hours,” Amanda yawned.

~ ~ ~

Back at home:

I rolled over and was greeted by bright-eyed Mikey.

“Can we have pancakes?”

“Do you have any idea how little I slept without your mom here?”

“And bacon?”

“Guess not,” I groaned and rolled out of bed.

“Your panties are twisted, Daddy.”

“Boxers, Mikey. I wear boxers. You wear underwear. Gracie wears diapers. Mommy and Kaitlin wear panties.”

“Why?”

“Never mind.” I grabbed my phone when it vibrated and read the text while I stumbled out to the kitchen: Love you so much. Being refreshed and blessed.  “Well goody for you.” Sarcasm dripped from my lips.

I ignored the kitchen disaster I fully planned to leave for Amanda, and it only got worse by the time I finished my pancake efforts.  

My phone vibrated off the table with several messages at once. Enticed by the sudden steamy texts from Amanda, I set aside my bruised ego and cleaned like a maniac and prepared for my wife's arrival home. 

That day I discovered my hidden househusband and I’m not too proud to say: Girl’s Getaway changed my life.

This is it

So much has happened in the last few months...okay, the past couple or four years. It would overwhelm me to even try to tell it all. There has been one central truth God whispered to me a few months back and I have allowed it to melt into the crevices of my very being. To truly try to live by it. When we were able to take my mom to church for the first time in 4 1/2 months, her Sunday School class opened with an old chorus and triggered said previously whispered message: This is the Day.

When people ask how I'm doing, I simply say, "I'm taking it one day at a time." Like I have any choice, right? But it is the truth.

This is the day that the Lord has made. I will rejoice and be glad in it. (Psalm 118:24)

A couple months ago I made a new friend. Rhonda was one of Mom's home care nurses and we were instantly bonded by the blood of Christ, and that makes us sisters.

I had the joy of attending church with Rhonda and heard her share a powerful testimony message. Other than a plastic baby-doll in the pew quickly discarded by her toddler-mama, I was the only one of fair complexion in the room and I gotta tell ya, in Rhonda's church you don't just sit stoically and listen. No Ma'am! It was a stomping, shouting, dancing, hanky waving, hallelujah happenin' and Rhonda brought it that night!

Rhonda's message keyed in on the Great I Am. With tremendous zeal, the name I Am was shouted, praised, thanked, and rejoiced in. But when they said it, it sounded more like "I AaaaaaaM!" One point in her message grabbed my attention. Rhonda reminded us that if the Great I Am had told his children before they left Egypt they would wander in the wilderness, do you think they would have left? (and the congregation shouted: NO!)

Seriously, it got me to thinking. If I knew what the past four years held for me ahead of time would I have trusted enough to "leave Egypt"? If I know what the next four years will hold for me, will I be afraid to step into my future?

The way we kept repeating and emphasizing I AM solidified who HE IS. The day that I heard the I Am whisper to me the familiar verse from the Psalmist, He emphasized it in a way I'd never read or sang it.

This is the day that I have made. Be glad and rejoice in it.

This is...it. Not tomorrow or the next day. This is it. Rejoice in this one day and let tomorrow come tomorrow. And when it does come then it will be it. The one you rejoice in. Not yesterday. Not tomorrow. But today. Because it is the day. 

Go ahead, ask me how I am doing. My answer will be: I'm living one day at a time and addressing what God has for me in this day because for right now...this is it and I'm rejoicing in it. For reals. 

Guide me in your truth and teach me for you are God and my Savior [I Am], and my hope is in you ALL DAY LONG. Psalm 25:5

From Mom's Pen

Since coming to live and take care of my mom, I've slowly been deep cleaning various areas of her house. I guess I inspired her to do the same. Today she went through a couple drawers full of old letters, cards, and notes. Below is a poem she unburied that she wrote when I was a child about our dogs. I'm seeing where my writing genes must have come from and can't help but wonder what would have happened if she thought to pursue her little writing hobby.

***

Daisy & Ginger

Ginger is our little dog,

She really is quite something.

Always rolling all around, 

With her tail a thumping.

She eats her meals sitting down,

And lays down when she's drinking.

There never was a lazier dog

Around here, I've been thinking.

She rolls over on her back,

To have her stomach rubbed.

There's just one thing she doesn't like,

And that's to have it scrubbed.

Her mother's name is Daisy Mae,

Her hair is long and wavy.

She looks at Ginger as if to say,

"I think that you are crazy."

They sneak on Rick and Gordon's beds,

To take a little rest.

They shouldn't sleep there at all you know,

But it's the place that they like best.

We love them both, these little dogs,

And think they are the most.

If you could see what they are like,

You would know just why we boast.

~ Pat Cowan