Telling Stories

So, You Want to Be a Writer...

I often hear that as a writer, I should blog about writing. I confess it's not the first thing I think about. Writing about writing seems hard when I know there are so many others out there who are already doing such a beautiful job. 

But, writing is a huge part of my life. And one of the biggest blessings of this life is this chick right here:

Pardon the grainy photo. iphone + hotel conference room. It's to be expected. 

My agent, Sandra Bishop has done more to shape my writing career than anyone else I know, and I've had the opportunity to hear her speak wisdom into my life on countless occasions. 

I have never regretted it. 

Sometimes I don't like what she says (she doesn't always bring good news...) but I always love the way she says it. Clear, concise wisdom infused into your writing life. And now you can get a little bit of that wisdom for yourself...

(And the best part is, you don't have to travel to a conference to do that...you can sit right there...in your pajamas if you want to...and gain all the wisdom of this brilliant literary agent.) 

Sandra is teaching a course at Writer's Digest & if you're a writer or a wanna-be writer then, yes, you most certainly should take part. 

Sandra tells me she's going to discuss "the importance of keeping your readers in mind while you write as well as the mistaken notion that it's possible to write a cross-over book". In addition, you'll learn why your bio and platform are more important than ever. 

You'll also learn: 

How to watch trends that inform you where your idea may be best received

Common misconceptions about the benefits and risks of writing for one market or the other

Specific tactics authors can employ to help them make a switch between markets easier

The course starts tomorrow and will be 100% worth the time and investment. Check out the Writer's Digest Website for more information on Sandra and this incredible offering. 

So what about you...have you ever considered writing a book?

Do tell. I love to swap dreams. 

                                                                           

Sandra Bishop was invited in 2009 to join MacGregor Literary, an agency consistently listed among the top five dealmakers on Publishers Marketplace. Prior to agenting, Sandra worked in the marketing department of a major CBA publishing company, and made a living as a freelance writer for nearly a decade.

In her second full year as an agent, Sandra defied the lingering cries of the falling economic sky and placed 30 books for publication. In 2010, Sandra enjoyed the honor of being named “Agent of the Year” by ACFW, a national association of authors who specialize in inspirational fiction.

Sandra represents fiction and nonfiction authors in multiple genres and with varying levels of publication background. She is as hard working as she is likeable, and is proud to have helped several of her authors reach milestones early in their literary partnership. Sandra is awaiting membership status in the Association of Authors’ Representatives (AAR).

Sandra is only open to new clients by referral, and unpublished authors via writers conferences.

Don't Cry Over Spilled Icee

(pictures from my swoony trip to Cozy Cottage here in Loveland.)

At the marketing seminar I went to last month in Chicago, one of the things I carried away with me was that as a writer, I create content. That's what I do. 

It's what I do in my job with Webster's Pages. 

It's what I do as a novelist. 

It's what I do as a blogger. 

I create content. 

So when the well runs dry and the content seems mentally unreachable, it leaves me wondering what on earth do I want to say? (Am I the only one?) 

Some days, I'm just lucky to get by. Some days I spill Cherry Icee all over the counter at Target only to have the annoying guy at the cash register shoot me a look like it's my fault he forgot to give me a lid. 

And did YOU know those things poof up like a teased out 80's perm? I had no idea. I filled the cup, set it down and watched it rise. And rise. And rise. 

Dripping and messy, I took it to the counter and swallowed my cherry-covered pride. 

"Can you please help me with this?" I asked the guy. (Who, the last time I was there made a point to tell me that he's the only one who can get those lids on those cups without a problem but it's probably because he's been working there for years. Years, he said. To which I responded, "Huh, maybe they should get new lids.") 

He turned up his nose and set down the big brown box in his arms. "Let me just...get a glove." 

I think he thought he had something to prove because he snapped that lid on in milliseconds and handed it back to me. "There you go."

*smile.* 

I.was.a.sticky.mess. 

He had a glove. 

I pushed the cart one-handed,  holding Sam with my other sticky, red-stained hand while my two older kids trailed behind. We hit the parking lot and were nearly plowed over in traffic. 

I swear these Colorado drivers are INSANE. 

So. What kind of content do I hope to create? 

Apparently the kind that humiliates me and offers no take-away, no value or importance whatsoever. 

Yep. I'm in the business of creating empty content today.

And yes, my hands are still pink. 

Nine Steps to Perfect Gnocchi: A Holiday Tradition

When you move your family across the country, you realize you have to start new traditions this time of year. You can't jaunt off to Grammy's house for turkey on Thanksgiving. You can't trek out the tree farm for a freshly cut Christmas tree. Ok, we never did that actually. 

We have an artificial tree and I light lots of Evergreen candles. Yum. 

But some traditions we were able to carry with us...

Thursday, we had dinner at the house of some of our new Colorado friends. Adam works with two of the guys and I've had the good fortune to get to know three of the girls who were there. I can't tell you how welcome we felt. Like we belonged there...and for a family without family in town, it was the best blessing of all. 

Friday, we wanted to try our hand at cooking (mainly so we'd have leftovers...) and the only thing the kids really cared about was one dish. 

Gnocchi ala Adam.

(Photo from Wikipedia. I couldn't get mine to turn out.) 

Adam started making this for our family years ago, but as the kids have gotten older, he now employs their help. 

Given Sophia's fascination with The Food Network, it's a great little project for all of them. 

Even little hobbits love to help. 

Making gnocchi IS time consuming, but it's more like a fun family project and the results are delicious, so once in awhile, it's totally worth it. 

So, let's break it down. 

Step one: Peel potatoes (we did 5 lbs. of red potatoes but that's because that's what was in the pantry.) 

Step two: Bring large pot of salted water to a boil. Add potatoes. Boil till they're "fork tender." (New phrases I'm adding to my vocabulary.) 

Step three: Drain, cool and then mash those suckers. Add some butter. Live a little. 

Ok, now is where it gets fun. You may have to eyeball this next part: 

Step four: Add flour (gluten free for Hobbits) and an egg and mash (knead?) together until a dough forms. 

(Don't you love the handprints in Sam's flour?) 

Step 5: Tape a sheet of wax paper onto the table and flour it. (Gluten free for Hobbits.) 

Step 6: (This is the fun one) roll the dough into snakes on the floured surface.

This is where the kids LOVE to help out. (Our potatoes were chilling in the fridge while we went to see a movie, by the way. You don't want them too hot.) 

Step Seven: Cut into one inch pieces.

Ethan was cutting them too small so we called his "Gnocchi Nubs." 

But for the most part, they turned out okay. Sam didn't cut his own. And he didn't sit down the entire time. 

I think it thought it was Play-dough. 

Anyway. Now, you've got plates full of these guys:

So you can move on...

Step Eight: Bring a pot of salted water to a boil. Drop the gnocchi in and let cook 3-5 minutes (or until they rise to the top). 

Step Nine: Drain and Serve!

(Gnocchi is often served with marinara saunce, but we love it buttered with parmesan cheese. I bet you could just slather on some gravy and call it a day if you wanted to. That'd be the healthiest thing.) 

Anyway, there is one tradition (thanks to my husband) that we brought with us in our move. 

And I don't see it changing anytime soon!

Hope you had a wonderful Thanksgiving. 

And for That, I am Grateful...

At present, my children are upstairs doing cannonballs off the couch and onto the floor right above me, which is, let's face it, the most annoying thing ever. 

But they're healthy. And they're happy. And sometimes their giggles far outweigh their screams. 

For that, I am grateful. 

Today I got some not-so-great news that should have me worked up (and if you give me another day, it might)...

But throughout the last year or so, I've learned that trusting God means relying on him even when things aren't going my way...

And for that, I am grateful. 

In this moment, my husband is conked out because he stayed up late working on a freelance project because he knew we'd need the extra money to go home at Christmas. And while that means I'm on bedtime duty alone and he'll probably be snoring just as I'm trying to fall asleep, it also means I'm married to a man who loves his family enough to sacrifice his own needs...

And for that, I am grateful. 

(Even when he does THIS in public...)

Right now, I should be reading the galley to my novel because I only get one more chance to catch any goofs I might've made, and while I'm the world's slowest reader and I have no idea how I'm going to get it done in time...

I have a debut novel releasing in February. 

And for that, I am grateful. 

I've spent the entire day in my chair (with the exception of the few stretching exercises my dad ordered me to do) and yes, my back is aching...

But I have a day job that I love, working with an amazing group of people who create all day long and are really encouraging to each other...

And for that, I am grateful. 

And I'll be in Colorado on Thanksgiving, not home in Illinois, sharing a huge meal with the family I love and miss so very much. 

But I'll be with good friends--new friends--and starting new traditions and not counting calories...

And for that, I am grateful. 

This week, I am celebrating thanksgiving even in the moments I don't feel thankful...because life is full of moments worth remembering. 

Have a wonderful holiday...be thankful.

 

 

7 Things You Can Expect When Celebrating a Child's Birthday

Birthdays should always be a big deal, don't you think? 

I mean, you only get one every year, so it needs to be a big deal. But for some reason, when it comes to The Hobbit, it hasn't worked out that way. Perhaps it's because all his friends are named "Sam." 

Coincidence? Methinks not. 

Now that we've been doing this kid-birthday thing for almost eleven years (good lord, we're getting old)...I can say, I've learned a thing or two about The Birthday. 

Here are some tried and true things you can expect when preparing for your next kid-birthday:

1. No matter how posey he is for photos, if the Birthday Boy gets woken up at 6 a.m. by an altogether too-excited older brother, he's NOT going to be fun. 

2. Despite all attempts to buy only gifts you haven't told anyone else to buy, you will get doubles. Your newly four-year-old will handle this with grace and the maturity of a child three times his age. 

"WHAT?! I ALREADY HAVE THIS ONE!"

You'll watch in horror as the box goes flying across the room and the pout spreads across his face. 

"We're working on being thankful." 

Sometimes, you even get duplicate presents while the other person who bought the same gift is standing in the store with you. 

No, really. She was standing beside me while I paid. 

I call her Mom. 

3. Cupcakes are an ideal birthday treat. Everyone gets to pick their own kind...and they're preportioned so you can't eat all the corners and claim that you haven't really had a piece. 

Three of us had pumpkin with cream cheese frosting. 

Others had less tasty flavors. 

Still others simply played with the sandwich skewers and frosting, claiming to be "full"...as if he couldn't bear the thought of forcing down the frosting. I'm still wondering if something happened in the hospital and they gave me the wrong kid. 

Just kidding. 

This one is all mine. 

4. When your husband gets a hold of the camera, you can almost always expect embarrassing shots to pop up that you weren't even aware he was taking. And some that he force-posed you for that turned out ridiculous. 

Feel free to blame him completely. Surely it's his poor photography skills that made you look like a pasty white snowman with straw for hair. 

Perhaps that assessment was too flattering. 

5. Big brother love birthdays. It means they can begin concocting manipulative plans to unarm the birthday child of his new booty. And by "booty", of course I'm speaking as a pirate. 

And not insinuating he wants to steal Sam's butt.

After this weekend, I've nicknamed Ethan "The Hoverer..." because boy, did he ever. I handled it quite well, hollering from the other side of the room "Dude, Ethan, would you let him open them himself?" 

To which Adam responded by pulling Ethan aside and apologizing for the mental state of his frazzled mother:

6. No matter how few people are there...no matter how small the celebration...a four-year-old is happy surrounded by his family and a pile of presents. 

7. Suddenly, as you're tucking your four-year-old baby into bed, it will hit you that he's really, really grown up. 

...and you fight back the desire to get all weepy over it. The fact that you don't really have a baby anymore. You have a little kid. A little kid who is rapidly becoming a big kid. And while he's been your hardest child so far, he's secured a special place in your heart. 

And that's kind of awesome. Just like him. 

Happy Birthday, Samster.

This is My Red Balloon...

Last night, I found myself again, pensive in the wake of another busy day. Things had quieted and the distraction of real life calmed, leaving me to think about today...and what the rest of my family will be doing around 10 a.m. 

Last Thursday, my cousin's little boy passed away. His funeral is this morning, and I'm told that as the funeral procession crosses the bridge in our little hometown, people will gather and release red balloons in his honor. You can read about that story, and Colton's story HERE. 

It's times like this I wish Colorado wasn't so far away from home. 

I have an uncanny ability to detach myself from emotion. When I was studying theatre, I learned how to conjure up emotions to create a character. We'd stand in front of the class and talk about a time we felt rejected...recounting each and every detail under we went "under" so to speak. I do it now, to an extent, as a writer... but in my daily life, I cut myself off. 

But this? This one keeps creeping in. 

Around Christmas time last year, Colton was admitted to the hospital. We were home and actually had just seen him a few days earlier, so we went to the hospital. It's there we began to see the pieces of the story fall together as we stood praying over his limp body. Something had gone terribly wrong. 

And regardless of how close to the situation you are...or how close you are to all the people this directly affects, the pain of it all is palpable. Because the sad fact of the matter is, this didn't have to happen. Someone else decided to mistreat him...someone who was supposed to protect him. 

Instead, she chose to do the exact opposite.

In my life, I've known adults who were abused as children. I've seen the horror played out in the strangest ways, as they try to compensate for what's been done to them, to make sense of a world that betrayed them in such a sad way. In our ministry, I watched our kids like a hawk for any sign that something was amiss. 

But the truth is, you can't always see those kinds of things simply by grazing across the surface. Things like that root themselves in deep and find a way to stay hidden. 

It's like that with evil, isn't it? 

I read in the news yesterday about a pair of teachers who were caught on a recording bullying a special needs student in their class. Later in the day, I saw where a ten-year-old girl hanged herself because she was being made fun of. Another story ran across the screen about a 13-year old who'd been coerced into sending a video of herself taking her clothes off to a boy who said he wouldn't like her anymore if she didn't. 

He then sent the video to everyone in his contact list. 

Who is protecting our children? 

Sometimes, I think we, as parents, try to let our kids figure things out for themselves, almost to a fault. It's important that they do, right? They need to learn how the world works. We hear critics of homeschooling say that those children don't have  a grasp on the way of the world...but I say, do we really want them to?

We stay a little "hands-off" because we're afraid of being that mom. But sometimes, we have to step in and protect them. We have to be the annoying one that says "Look, this happened to my kid and it's not okay with me." 

And more than that, we have to teach our kids that it's okay to tell someone else what is and isn't okay with them. We can't let them sacrifice their own health and well-being for the sake of what someone else. Not like that. 

Today, Ethan came home from school with a story about a boy in his class who's been "bullying" him. I don't know that Ethan knows what that really means, but as he described some of the things going on, his voice stayed steady...and then he got to the part where he said "He told me that if I didn't do that, he wouldn't be my friend anymore." 

His voice shook and his face contorted as that thought registered in his eight-year-old mind...the horror of having that one boy not accept him as a friend was enough to tie his stomach in knots. 

It broke my heart a little. 

I've decided that when it comes to my children, I will err on the side of protecting them at the risk of making myself seem neurotic. I will, like a mama lion, fiercely stand guard around the hearts of the children God has put in my care. 

I can't turn a blind eye. I can't keep quiet. Because these children trust me. Because I"m their mother. 

Protect your children.  Be vigilant and fierce. Be demanding on their behalf. Get in their business. Show them you'll defend them. And if you start to lose it...if you get the urge to kick your child in the chest...get help. 

I don't care what anyone says...they deserve to stay in a bubble for as long as they possibly can. 

Rest in peace, Superman. 

I thank God you are walking, talking, laughing and smiling...sitting on the lap of Jesus. The things you've taught us won't soon be forgotten. 

Please pray for Colton's family today. All of us, near and far, are shocked and saddened by this loss. 

Planning a Book Launch Party

I'm an overthinker. I kind of already know this about myself because my husband has a tendency to point it out. 

This morning, I was trying to find the "best place" to put a muffin in Sophia's backpack so it didn't get crushed on her way to school, thereby ruining her afternoon snack. From across the room I heard him snicker..."Make sure it's the best place."

To which I responded with an eye roll. 

(You would too, if you were me.) 

But this idea that I need to hash and re-hash every single scenario to find the best possible outcome is a bit trying, I have to admit. 

I'm in the process of planning a launch party for my first book. There are lots of blog posts out there with great advice on the best way to do this, but of course, you never really know until you do one yourself.

And I find that I sometimes over-research and it's at that point my brain turns into a stick of dynamite not unlike those used by the Looney Tunes. 

I've never been to a launch party. Which is really a pity given how many authors I know. But planning one is like a whole different thing. There is much to consider. 

What do I feed everyone? 
Who do I invite?
Where do I have it?
And of course, the most important thing...What will I wear?

I find myself re-thinking my high school days and the planning of large events. Like prom. Perhaps I should require fuscia sequined gowns as a prerequisite for getting in to this affair. 

I'm second from the left. 

And yes, that is a banana clip. Why do you ask? 

The other scary tidbit is that we moved recently, and most of my roots are now 15 hours away. So this is what I'm thinking...

I'm going to have the first book launch party in Illinois. 

...and that's about as far as I've gotten. 

I'm considering this place:

Because it inspired the art gallery in my book. 

But there's the big question about hosting the party in a town that I haven't lived in since 1998 versus a town where I spent all of my adult life up until this point. Can I really expect people to drive an hour? 

Do I find a way to do one in my hometown and one in the town where we lived for eleven years? Is that overkill? 

And who will watch my kids while I'm book-launching? 

Surely there's a "best answer" to all of my questions. 

So, a question for you...what would it take to get you out on a February evening for a book launch party? Chocolate? Fairy Dust? A fuscia sequined gown? 

Or perhaps just a banana clip?

A Hero Among Us

I'm going to be honest. Veteran's Day has never been a big holiday in my mind. For me, it's come and gone quickly over the years, leaving me wrapped up and selfish in my own little world. 

As the daughter of a Vietnam Vet, I didn't get a lot of the war talk that maybe other people did. My dad is quiet to begin with, but on the subject of the war, he's always been a little like a lockbox. 

Except for the occasional moment where the floodgates open and I hear the stories, stories that are often being told to my husband...and I always feel like I should be taking notes because I know that is a world I will never understand. 

The truth is, I've grown up not having any idea what it was like for my dad and the other men and women who fought in that particular war. This weekend, I got a tiny peek inside how damaging it was for them--to go to a foreign country to fight on the behalf of our nation--and to be welcomed home as outcasts. 

Can you imagine seeing a soldier in the airport and spitting on him, knowing he'd spent the last year away from his family in Iraq or Afghanistan? My dad wasn't drafted--he went willingly. He felt it was his duty. When so many were fleeing to Canada, my dad stepped up. 

It's just the kind of man he is. 

Well, this weekend, finally, he received a bit of thanks for his efforts over there all those years ago. I am so thankful I was able to go home and be there for this unique and memorable occasion...

My uncle is Illinois State Senator Tim Bivins, and he had the great idea to have his campaign fundraiser on Veteran's Day. He also had the great idea to replace the missing medals my dad had earned in Vietnam...among them, two purple hearts. 

While my mom thought they'd managed to keep the whole thing a secret from my dad, he is one smart cookie...and somehow let her believe she was a good liar. 

She's not. At all.

But she was determined not to say anything, because she was afraid (as we all were) that if he found out ahead of time, he'd refuse to go. Thankfully, he played along. And while I know he isn't comfortable being singled out...I also know how much he appreciated this gesture. 

(Despite his veiled threat to my uncle while receiving the medals...)

The crowd stood and applauded for the sacrifice my dad had made, and while he pointed out there were many, many others who had made similar sacrifices, it was such a huge blessing to be there to see them recognize his. No matter how out of place it made him feel. 

Finally, after too many years, we were able to give my dad the recognition he'd deserved all those years ago. How special that I could be there when Don Manzullo listed off each medal, each injury, each accomplishment. The sharpshooter award. An award for being one of those crazy guys who jumps out of planes. Awards that now hang behind glass in a place of prominence...like they always should have. 

(My uncle John, Uncle Tim, my mom & dad)

I think for the first time, I got a true sense of the life my dad had lived before any of us were ever born. And it made me thankful. Thankful that I live in this country. Thankful that I am free. And especially...thankful to be the daughter of this man, who, even without the medals, has always been a hero to me. 

Top Five Reasons to Date Your Spouse

The other night, Adam and I had the chance to go on a much-needed night out without children. Otherwise known as a date. Complete with dinner, a movie and a darn awesome babysitter. It was heavenly. 

(I have the cutest husband.) 

 We were seated at a booth in the bar and after about ten minutes, another couple was seated behind us. Let's just say they were...ahem...very affectionate. I'm all for affection, but at the table of a restaurant? 

It started me thinking, which is always dangerous, about how typically, married folks (I just said folks...I think I just aged myself 15 years) don't publicly grope each other. We may not even hold hands. We're so comfortable with each other that it's second nature to settle into that laid back, nonchalant relationship we've grown to love like the soft, fraying quilt hanging over the arm of the couch. 

While you're not likely to find me participating in heavy petting at a restaurant (especially at a tall table...these two were talented...) perhaps there's something to be said for dating your spouse. So I've made a list. 

The Top Five Reasons to Date Your Spouse. 

I know you've already got your pen and paper out. Ann Landers has nothing on me in the advice-giving department. 

Ann Landers? 

But truly... if you think of your marriage like something precious you can hold in your hand, it needs a little care...some spit-shine...every now and then. Here's why it's good to make a point to date your (hot) spouse.

Reason #1: You're more than Roommates.

It's so easy to fall into this weird disjointed roommate type of relationship when you're married. You harp on his inability to put the lid back on the peanut better. He throws the pile of clothes you've oh-so-neatly (translation: not neatly at all) draped (translation: thrown) over the end of the bed into a heap on the floor. 

This is part of living together, but it's not the fun part. Getting out and reconnecting. That's the good stuff. Just make a rule that you can't talk about housework on your date. (One of you is bound to fall asleep...or worse, dart out the bathroom window ala "bad-blind-date" from your single days.) 

Reason #2: Routine is a killer.

It's so easy to fall into a routine...every night looks the same:

• He gtes home, recharges alone for 20 minutes while I try to keep the kids occupied. 
• I  throw together some weird concoction of a dinner. 
• Everyone eats. 
• We shuffle the kids through their bedtime routine. 
• We trade off chores for the next day like two old people playing gin. 
• We sit on the couch and watch TV. 
• The end.

I don't have to tell you, this isn't great for a marriage. Mix it up! Get out of the house (I'm preaching to myself). Let someone else cook for you and break that routine. Routine is a GREAT marriage killer. Fer reals.

Reason #3: It reminds you why you love each other. 

We may not be the couple at the tall table, but sitting in a booth across from Adam, listening to what's on his mind and then sharing what's on mine...I remember all the things I love about this man. When he comes out of the bathroom and says "I really don't feel 36." I realize I don't feel 35. Maybe because we just had a date that took us back ten years? 

Reason #4: It gives you a chance to trade in your "Mom Jeans"...

Please don't tell me you're really wearing mom jeans. If you are, friend. Let's talk. 

Just kidding. I'm not criticizing considering that I rarely wear anything but yoga pants. And therein lies the problem. I recently asked Adam if he would still love me if I just "let myself go..." something worth asking considering the amount of Halloween candy I've consumed this week. 

And the fact that I'm not wearing make-up nearly as often. 

Or pants with a waistband. 

The truth is, sometimes it's okay to not be a mom. To let your husband see you as a woman. Paint it up a little, ladies. Let your inner hottie out. 

Reason #5: Children suck the life out of you.

Often, our conversations go like this. 

Adam: So, I was walking up the stairs when...

Ethan: Hey, dad, do you want to see what I built?

Adam: In a minute, Ethan, I'm talking to Mommy. (back to me) So, I was walking up the stairs...

Ethan: But it's really cool, Dad. You have to come see...

Adam: Right, I will. But let me finish talking to Mommy first. (back to me) So, I was walking up the stairs...

Ethan starts bouncing and flailing his arm, motioning in the direction of his room...where "what he built" is waiting. 

Adam: Ethan, really? (Ethan walks away in a huff. Adam takes a breath and turns back to me.) Anyway, as I was saying...

Sam (full on, ready to play): Daddy! You can't get me!

It's at this point we both get up and go away. We'll talk about it later. A date ensures that the only one interrupting you will be your waiter...and that's only because he wants to do things for you, so it's a complete 180. 

It doesn't have to be fancy (though that would be fun) or expensive (we often opt for "couch dates" where we're employing the same tactics only in the comfort of our elastic waistbanded pants), but a date every now and then will sprinkle some life back into your marriage. 

And we could all use a little life-sprinkling now and then, don't you think? 

So tell me...when was the last time you dated your spouse? How do you keep your marriage from getting as stale as the month-old crackers in my cupboard?

Fort Collins, Colorado/Rockford, Illinois Portrait Photographer

This fall, we had our family photos taken. For the first time since before Sam was born. Our last one was taken by my sister one Christmas and was a total fluke. And Ethan had wild and crazy toddler hair that stuck straight up like Cameron Diaz's in "There's Something About Mary." 

Ew. Who else just got a little grossed out? 

Anyway, this year, I knew, what with our new life and our new town, it was time to capture the moment again. This morning I got the trusty password to my online gallery thanks to the photographer of my dreams, Lyndsey Lewis. 

That's Lyndsey Lewis of LyndseyLew Photography. 

(I put that sentence in there so I could link you to her and you could schedule her for your own family shots.)

On "set" she's super fun:

So fun, in fact, that when she heard me clicking behind her, she yelled "Hey, what you taking pictures of?! That's illegal!" And I threw my camera back in my bag. 

Girl means business. 

The bottom line is, when looking for family photos, you want someone who captures your style. Who will listen when you say, "I love candid shots. I also love posed shots that aren't like Olan Mills. I want to hang these on my wall and feel like it's artwork." 

Search through websites and blogs until you find a photographer that's capturing people the way you want to be captured. For me that meant, capturing real life. In several of our shots, Sam is the only one not smiling (like in the first photo.) This is real, folks. 

This is my life. 

And Lyndsey caught it. 

The really cool thing is that we both live out here in Northern Colorado, but Lyndsey's mom lives in Rockford, Illinois, which has been my hometown for all of my adult life. (Even weirder is that her extended family lives in Dixon, Illinois which is where my parents live and where I grew up... we have relatives that went to high school together. Small world takes on a whole new meaning!) 

That means, you Rockford friends can set up shoots with her too because twice a year, she heads out there to capture your glorious faces. 

Family is really important to me. This little tribe surrounding me...these are my people. My whole reason for waking up.

These people. And coffee. 

It's what I live for.

And scrolling through all these photos that show how special they are, it literally choked me up. There's something about moments captured in a beautiful, visual way. 

I think I'm choking myself up again. Darn it. 

Do yourself a favor...if you don't already have great shots of your family...make a point to catch some. 100% worth the investment. 

So, question for you...when was the last time you
had a family photo taken? 

The Cover of My Debut Novel: A Sweethaven Summer

I know it's rare for a writer to be tongue-tied...or would it be finger-tied? But I guess I sort of am. 

I finally get to share with you the cover of my debut novel. 

My heart is racing just thinking about posting this...but I'm beyond thrilled at what the design team at Guideposts/Summerside has done with my cover. They took everything in my head and created an image that absolutely conveys the feeling of my novel. 

So. Lest I ruin it with my senseless drivel...I'll shut up and share!

The cover of my debut novel, A Sweethaven Summer

In this moment, I have no words. Only emotions. Only the feeling that I am beyond blessed. That I have been surrounded by amazing people. That I am the luckiest girl on earth. That more than anything I want to make God smile. 

This book is the product of hours and hours of hard work by so many people...and I cannot believe it's almost in my hot little hands! 

February 1st!!

Writing a novel has been a dream of mine for a long time...so, I want to know ...
what big dreams are you tackling right now?
I would so love to believe along with you that they will come true.

Because I believe they can.  

Do you?

Writing Weekend With Macgregor Literary

I'm still recovering from being in Chicago last weekend. A super quick, jam-packed trip where the crack team at Macgregor Literary Agency took one whole day to school us on marketing. 

My head is still spinning. 

And I drank a lot of coffee on an empty stomach this morning, so basically I'm like Beetlejuice on crack over here. 

(Side note: I read on the plane they're working on making Beetlejuice 2! I'd be down with that!)

The highlights were definitely seeing writing friends, which just inspires you... being around people who let you go off about the characters in your head is instantly comforting, as opposed to living with a man who wants you to kill someone in every chapter. 

We've both come to the conclusion he's not my "target audience." 

Clearly. 

But as the release of A Sweethaven Summer fast approaches, I find myself overwhelmed with this bubbling excitement. I always wanted to do this, but I never thought I really would...and I think the first time I hold that book in my hands, I may implode. 

I'm practicing for that moment now...

(Post-airplane weariness has set in.) 

I'm on this wild, crazy journey, and God's given me the best partners in crime along the way...not the least of which is this fearless agent, Sandra Bishop:

...to whom I owe so much. 

It's starting to sink in. I'm an author. A real, live writer. 

And no...I can't stop smiling about that!

Training a Daughter Not to Have an Eating Disorder...

...When you've had one ever since you can remember...

Gosh, I'm trying not to project my body issues onto my daughter. 

I think she's stunning. And beautiful. And a little snotty, but mostly good-hearted. And this week was incredibly eye-opening for me. 

Sophia has this performing arts thing going on. She's got some great natural talent when it comes to singing and acting...of course she has a lot to learn, but the passion is there. And she's good. 

She has dang vibrato. She teaches herself songs on the piano. I could never do any of that. So, we enrolled her in dance last summer because I can tell you from experience that performers can only benefit from having some dance training...

And she picks it up fairly quickly. 

But she hates it. The summer classes were fine, but from the second she started this fall, there has been nothing but tears and complaining. It's horrible. Wednesday morning brings with it the hovering dread of 5 o'clock. It's gotten to the point where I don't even remember why we were doing this. 

It's important to finish what you start. That's the lesson we wanted her to learn. That and the fact that even though you have a modicum of natural talent, there's still SO much to learn...and no one learns by being lazy. 

Instead, all we've taught her is that dance is something she has to do, whether she likes it or not. 

So, after posting on Facebook about my revelation that maybe forcing this on her was a bad idea, I got a wealth of knowledge from other moms and even people who'd been there as kids...and it started to make so much sense to me to pull her out...to let her study an instrument and voice and pursue the performing thing in another way...

But my friend Ali mentioned something about digging a little deeper...maybe there was something more to this...so last night, I took Sophia shopping with me. Apparently, it's winter and no one has appropriate outerwear, so off we went. 

And as we scooted through Target, she asked me how you find out how much your supposed to weigh when you're ten. 

And just like that, I was a kid again, back in my own dance class and embarrassed to be wearing a leotard. Just like that, I was the tallest (and probably biggest) kid in my class, feeling awkward and out of place in my own skin. 

"Is that what this whole dance thing is about?" 

She shrugged. "The other girls in my class are like *this little*" She put her hand below her chin. She's right too, they are the tiniest girls. 

Because dance isn't really friendly towards girls who aren't tiny. And there's not a lot of sympathy for changing bodies and the awkwardness of not wanting to wear a skin-tight leotard in front of a bunch of smaller people. 

How do I, with all my disordered eating, a former anorexic/bulimic, train up a girl who doesn't see herself as anything but just right? How big a deal do I make of this to help her see that health is the most important thing? How do I encourage her not to let that feeling of being different stop her from being amazing--from going after the things she's so good at? 

And most of all, how do I make sure she knows she is loved...exactly the way she is? 

It's interesting to see your struggles reflecting in the faces of little ones you love so much. And as I talk to her and tell her not to compare herself to other girls...and explain that different is GOOD and it makes us special and unique...I wonder if these are the same words God's spoken to me over and over again...

The same words I have yet to really hear.

How do you teach a child to be exactly the opposite of you?

When Disappointment Moonlights as an Answer to Prayer

In the darkness of night, my house finally quiets and for the first time all day, I can think. It happens fairly regularly, but this time, something seemed different. This time, something in the silence struck me. 

Odd. 

I don't know what it was that sent my mind reeling--perhaps the sight of my children, sleeping soundly and not arguing with me did it. Or maybe just stilling myself to the point where I could hear the words that seemed to play on a continuous loop in my mind. 

Slow down. You're missing it. You won't remember the moments. 

I've been scrapbooking a lot lately--and that helps to solidify my memories. I find that without it, I don't seem to latch on to the moments the way I want to...but when I think back only a few short years ago, it's like my memories come in fits and starts. Like they're buried and it's nearly impossible for me to find them. 

I know why, and it pains me to say it, but it's because I'm just too-darn-busy. 

I fill my days (and my nights) with various projects, many of which I took on long before I got a day job. Every time I finish one thing and get it off my plate, two more things  pop up. I'm not complaining--I LOVE my work. And I love writing. And I love deadlines. 

But now and then, too much of a good thing is still too much. 

And two nights ago, it hit me hard. I went to bed weighed down and heavy, the burden that seems to attach itself to my back following me all night long. I fell asleep praying for reprieve. 

"How, Lord? I'm committed. I've signed contracts. I need to do this work..." 

And I knew I had to suck it up and "get 'er done." 

Because I'm not a quitter.

And because I know superhuman strength is on sale at the Walgreens down the street. 

The next morning, I woke up, did my devotional and found my heart still heavy. I prayed as I went through my morning routine...wanting to find a way to ease the guilt of not seeing my kids enough... of holing away in my office to work on all these projects. Great, wonderful, amazing projects. 

I started my work day by checking my email, and while I can't go into details, I received one that under normal circumstances would've been hugely, hugely disappointing. (I didn't win Publisher's Clearing House. I know. Sad day.) 

But truly, I should've been worried, panicked, fearful. 

But instead, I felt nothing but peace. 

If you know me, you know peace is a costly commodity around here. It doesn't come naturally... which means, I came by it supernaturally. And I knew that in spite of that disappointment, God had just answered my prayer. In spite of not being thrilled by the news I'd gotten, he'd given me exactly what I needed. 

And in the silence that night, I heard him say Trust me.

And I knew that sometimes, what we're looking for comes to us in wrapped in a package that looks a lot like disappointment. Sometimes that thing we've been praying for, it shows up on our doorstep and we turn it away...because it doesn't look the way we thought it would. Or should. 

We forget how much He loves us. 

How much he wants the best for us. We don't realize that if we tune in, we'll find the peace he's given us in preparation for the disappointment. 

This news, this disappointing, sad news...it was a gift. In many ways, the gift I needed. 

And I find myself filled with gratitude. 

Oh, I'm still hoping the news turns around and it's not at all what it seems...but if it doesn't, I've learned to trust that there's a reason for it...

A new face on disappointment. 

And always a reason to be thankful...