Writer’s groups abound online…so why another one? As I searched for a group for myself, I came up empty. I’m in the process of rejoining ACFW and am a current member of The Writer’s View. I also read several author blogs. All these groups teach and encourage me but something is still missing. I’m an independent author. That means I publish my own work (at this point via print on demand or POD).

Many of my writing needs are similar to those of traditionally published authors and some are very different. My writing time is divided in half. 50% of the time I market (yes, this comes first) and 50% of the time I write. As a traditionally published author my time was split 75% writing (the order was different as well) and 25% marketing. I need to spend time with writers in the same marketing boat.

Indy authors also have to spend time together to find ways to change the stigma we often face. We must be intentionally excellent writers, marketers, and exceptional editors and cover designers. (or know who to hire)

We need to discuss the pros and cons of each form of independent publishing. I also believe we must be the first ones to support each other in the following ways:

-offer critiques in an online small group setting
-review each other’s work on our own websites
-purchase each other’s work when it’s something we truly enjoy and want to own
-cheer each other on in the difficult times
-share writing and marketing resources
-provide accountability in excellence…with loads of TLC we can never let each other slip in this category…if we do the stigma stays and belongs to all of us

So…if you’re a Christian writer or a writer who’s a Christian and you’re looking for a group like this, please check out www.gettingitwrite.net

This group is in the infancy stage so there are needs as far as leadership positions and critique group facilitators. If this is an area you’re interested in, please let me know at joywriter@charter.net

Together…we can write what matters most and get it published. There is absolutely no shame in choosing independent publishing. There are publishing choices and this is one of them.

I’ve done it…I’ve started a time of reading outside my norm. I mentioned to my mom I was going to read Frankenstein. She asked why. I told my husband he asked the same thing.

If you’re wondering here’s the real answer. My friend Julie is getting her college degree and in a literary class she found this book life-changing. I was intrigued and a bit afraid. I know the power of the written word. I take God at His word when He says the Word of God is a two-edged sword. Because we take words into our minds and hearts I also wondered if I could be influenced by what might be evil. Then I worried the book might be gory. Rest assured…it is not. CSI is much more graphic. The author shows how Victor Frankenstein studied life by studying the dying and the dead. I watched a documentary on this years ago, and this is how it was done. However, even here she leaves more to the imagination than she reveals.

All I had to go on before reading this book were the old horror movies I used to love to watch. Oh…and the TV show The Munsters. And I look at the end of my bed right this minute and realize that the air-cast I’m wearing on my broken ankle reminds me of Herman Munster’s boots! Now that’s funny.

I’m reading the Longman Cultural Edition edited by Susan J. Wolfson. She opens the book with some history on author Mary Shelley and helped me understand some of the folks who say she could not have written the book but that her husband did and put her name on it. I’ve discovered there are two writing voices present in the novel. Mary gave the manuscript to her husband to edit freely and he did. You can feel the switch before the editor gives you the details. I sense a freedom in her “voice” and a holding back in his. I read some his history as well and I’m not convinced that Percy would have put Mary’s name on anything he wrote…he seemed to have a very large ego and although he might have considered himself “enlightened” and quite open minded – I also think he was a womanizer but would not have accepted the same behavior from his wife. So for all of his liberal beliefs he was a bit of a chauvinist. Using her name on his work would not have been in his character. I’m not a feminist by any stretch of the imagination but the man didn’t impress me.

I love the rich use of language in this book. The author uses emotion and description and has no qualms about telling instead of showing and it works. She doesn’t wear me out and instead I linger over the sentences and paragraphs.

From the get go the story is sad. (so is the Lion King so that is still done) You sense a melancholy in Victor Frankenstein even as you are shown his deep desire to know where life comes from and his intense drive to possess that power. As a believer I grieved his journey away from God’s Truth toward man’s theories. Because Mary Shelley wrote so much truth from her own life and times into the manuscript I wondered if those were her beliefs.

I’ve enjoyed the narrator’s voice of Victor Frankenstein and I am liking the voice of the creature in Volume Two. Funny thing…he’s so articulate – even more so than Victor. I sense a tenderness in Mary Shelley for the monster that in all truth, she created on the pages of her novel. I feel for the poor beast as well. And at times I wonder how much like him I might really be. (and when I look at where they removed 33 stitches from my leg I can’t help but remember the old movies scars on the monster’s skin…) Rejection is a sad and lonely place. If it is total…it is devastating. If we allow ourselves to live there permanently we could all become monsters ruled by the evil one himself.

Although there are biblical references throughout the book, the characters and, perhaps the author, lean heavily on other philosophies we so often think are modern. We are an arrogant society.

I’m finding the book hard to put down but at times I must.

I’m moved as a writer to consider using words … more words not less. Not just to have more words on the page but to use beautiful words that evoke emotion. Every now and then Dean Koontz’s writing will stop me in my reading tracks with words so beautiful I want to read them again and again. (okay, now maybe you’re wondering why a woman who reads Koontz would be afraid of Frankenstein – which is really far more tame…because Frankenstein has such a reputation!)

Readers are in a hurry these days – I’m guilty of the same thing. There are so many books to read and I only have so much time. As a writer I must write to meet my readers needs…right? So what’s wrong with lingering over a book because the words are rich? I wonder if I can inspire readers to feel that way and I confess: I want to! Not just to write more words…no way. That’s a waste of everyone’s time including mine. But to have a reader enjoy the words the way they might a delicious dessert they just want to keep tasting…what writer wouldn’t love that?

So I’m learning that as a reader I love words. As a writer, I’m reminded words are the tools that tell our stories. They can be rich and full and many if done right. I don’t have to fear using them and I don’t have to hurry the reader along with fewer words so they can move on to the next book hardly remembering what they just read.

The story gets sadder and no where does the author use the characters to excuse evil. Instead she uses them to reveal it. While evil is always horrible I don’t feel like I’m reading a horror story. If that changes, I’ll let you know.

I do remember in one old Frankenstein movie the villagers had come to kill the monster and I knew he was innocent. I cried out to the TV that he didn’t do it…they didn’t listen and I had to get up and turn the thing off. (yes, this was way before remote controls!) I could not watch them kill an innocent monster! I can still see their torches burning…their anger motivated by fear and the fear motivated by impending death on the monster’s face. He wasn’t guilty but he had to pay. He was the most likely suspect. I also wonder if they were driven by a need to rid the world of an ugly creature. Or at least one deemed ugly by them. We are at times frightened by what we define as ugly. Was there no beauty in the monster…did no one ever take the time to see his heart? Okay…I’m hooked on the story and attached to the monster. At times I’m a bit frustrated with Victor Frankenstein…I appreciate his remorse but am also worn out by his selfishness and lack of responsibility…it cost poor Justine her life!

Sometimes it takes awhile for things to settle in and become my reality. I’m not dense. It’s just that when something feels far away or tentative I’d rather not be disappointed so I wait before I think about it too much.

Where we’re moving there’s a gazebo…the one pictured above is not it. (Ours is dark brown and in need of some repairs) However, my gazebo has an electrical outlet.

To some that might be no big deal. To a writer with a laptop it’s huge!

So…this summer about the time I’m learning to walk on both legs again, I should be able to strap on my laptop backpack and grab my cane…and sit in our gazebo and write!

I’ve sat in the gazebo already and noticed the electrical source…but because moving was so far away I didn’t let what that might really mean to me sink in. We’ve been so focused on the house renovations and now me healing enough to get moved in. As that day approaches, I’m letting myself think about the things I’ll get to do when I live there.

I will get to write in my gazebo.

Gracie stepped into our tattered gazebo and said, “This is where the princesses live!”

Hey sweet girl…this is also where they write!

My doctors, nurses, PT folks, and friends who’ve broken bones told me, “You’ll improve a little bit every day.” Most days I am. I’m also learning getting better a little every day involves letting go of things that made me feel secure.

First I had to leave that tiny corner in the hospital. I didn’t like that corner…but it was a cocoon from the real world as I recovered. When we pulled out of St Mary’s Hospital panic raced through me. The world was brighter and bigger and angrier and in a bigger hurry than I remembered. (I had a window in the hospital but the only moving things I saw were the birds and the Mayo helicopters as they landed) I’d come to despise that room…but suddenly wanted it back. Instead we drove farther away and back into my real life world.

Then I knew I needed to let go of the narcotic pain meds I was on. I was no longer comfortable or safe in that fuzzy world. I wanted to be me again even if it hurt. Withdrawal wasn’t as bad as I expected and neither was the pain. I realized the wanting of the drugs was a letting go of the security that I wouldn’t hurt…or if I did…I wouldn’t care! Most of the pain I feel now is the healing kind where the incision itches and even the bones seem to!

I’ve also had to let go of Jon a little bit. Last Saturday he was able to be gone from me for 6 hours. At first he stayed beside me. Drugged, weak, and scared of what was ahead, I needed him nearby. The drugs are gone. The weakness is better. And I still am not sure what is ahead of me…but I know Who does and I’m more confident in Him now than when I was on drugs. So Jon is getting time to go to work and to do the things he wants to on the other house to get it ready for us to live in. He doesn’t express relief at this but as I let go of his comforting and secure presence a little bit more each day…I’m relieved for him.

The doctor and physical therapist encouraged me to take off my cast from time to time and exercise the ankle. My internal response was, “Hey boys the thing is broken!” My eyes must have conveyed the message I didn’t say out loud. My doc said that moving the ankle right now is a good thing…his reasons were much more professional but I can’t remember what they were…just that I had to take off my cast (another security measure) and move the injured joint – immobility had become a strange kind of security too – if I didn’t move it, I couldn’t hurt it. I realized somewhere as the doc talked that immobility was a false security – one I could not afford to hang on to if I want to hike the hills on the land we bought. You better believe I’m flexing that ankle daily!

Ten days ago I let go of my stitches. Progress for sure…but a little bit of my security went with them…they were holding my skin together. For me, this seemed huge. There were 33 stitches in the two incisions. Then, a new security measure was added – steri-strips. Last night they came off. I’m not sure why I was so afraid there would be gaps in the healing – there aren’t. The stitches and steri-strips did their jobs and it’s time to move on.

I took a risk professionally in these last months and actually made it official today. I re-released my novel Rain Dance. Being independently published is risky but it’s where God has asked me to go. Writing a book on abortion and infertility is risky…but again, it was God’s idea – I just said yes. Building a website all about it is risky because readers might think that’s all I write about and let’s be honest, we’re all a little sick of the pro-life battle and the subject of abortion. Yet, part of my call is to minister to those I can’t see and reach in person and this website can do that. A new cover that represents the emptiness in me is risky…but it was the only right choice. Even the title was risky – there are folks who are devout believers who don’t understand using the word dance at all. But that’s the subject of another blog – check it out at the Heart of Writing.

With Rain Dance I often feel like I’m standing out in the wind and rain alone. Now I’m out there on one leg! Then I realize…the Lord releases the wind out of His storehouses…so even that can’t touch me without Him knowing…and the rain – it’s a healing rain. The kind that comes from saying yes to God and no to my fears.

I’m learning a valuable lesson. When we let go of real or assumed securities, we reach out for something else. These days, for me, I’ve found a place to hang on in Psalm 40 and Proverbs 8. I’m holding on to these two passages and Beth Moore’s book, “Get Out of that Pit”. I have to tell you though…the Scriptures are where I need to be…and so is the book although it is stepping on every sore spot in my heart. I believe that’s so good – God showing me areas He wants cleaned up in my life (He calls the pit a place of mud and mire!). Beth (a former pit-dweller herself) is speaking so real, I can hear her while I read. I’m normally a fast reader and would have finished this book in two or three days. I’m on week three…because some things just can’t be hurried…like some of the other stuff God is asking me to let go of. I can be a “stiff-necked” woman. So…tell me…when did this pit get so stinking comfortable? Or is it just that it’s familiar? See what God’s up to here? I hope you read the book and join me…because a pit is no place for a child of the King to be dwelling!

I’m also learning another valuable lesson in these risky places…that not all security measures have to be let go of. I have cards and emails from people all over praying for me. I need those prayers! (so does Jon!) I can cover myself up with the Word of God which is the best security blanket in all the world. Cards and emails sent with love get read again and again…because I want to dwell in that love and be so covered in it I just can’t help spreading it around. When I wonder about the call to write and publish Rain Dance I go to the stack of letters from readers confirming the call and the obedience. They don’t build my ego…I usually cry over the pain shared and the victory reached. And thank God I get to be part of His plan for these women. I don’t leave them confident in me…I leave them confident that the One who began a good work in me – and them - will accomplish it.

Taking risks and letting go are part of the Holy plan. The only thing I’m sure of is that God’s plan is a good one. He said it and I’m going to believe it…even when I can’t see what the plan is. I’m not walking by blind faith here…I’m walking with the all-seeing and all-knowing sovereign God.

So…I’m letting it go (one tiny or big piece at a time) to Him. The sin…the sorrow…the stuff I’ve held onto…all the false securities He’s revealing have to go. Some might call it an internal spring cleaning. Really – it’s just good old letting go time. Letting go of all of it as He reveals it.

Who knew there was so much?

There’s a sweet consistency with God…He sent angels to announce the birth of Jesus to the shepherds…and angels to announce the resurrection of Jesus to the women.

I think the angels words at the tomb have such power…Why do you look for the living among the dead? He is not here…He is risen! (Luke 24: 5 & 6)

Some say this is too good to be true. I believe it’s too good not to be true!

God’s kind of good is beyond our understanding. Even in faith, we’re limited by our human-ness. I want to be good…and sometimes I fail. Even when I’m good…it’s a momentary glimmer of the God kind of goodness. God is good and does not fail.

So a risen Savior…oh – that’s good. God-good.

The tomb is empty! The burial clothes left behind. The spices in the women’s hands – not needed.

I think of those women…they loved Him so much. In their grief they wanted to do one more thing for the man Jesus.

An empty tomb meant one thing…He was not just a man…He was who He said He was…the Son of God!

He is not there…He is alive and well in the hearts of those who believe and are saved.

Now…that’s Good News!

He wore my crown. A crown meant to humiliate Him and cause Him yet more pain.

Although I believe this without question, I’ve never been able to completely grasp the depth of love it took for God to give Himself so we could be fully reconciled to Him.

Sin separated me from Him. Salvation joined me to Him.

Jesus (oh I how I love His Name!) made this joining possible when He allowed the soldiers to nail Him to the cross on a Friday oh so long ago. He was the only qualified sacrifice. God was seeking to restore humans to full relationship with Himself. The price was high. It cost Jesus everything.

Some ask – what’s so good about this Friday? Well, this is the beginning of the weekend that is defined in John 3:16:

For God so loved the world that he gave his one and only Son, that whoever believes in him shall not perish but have eternal life. (NIV)

Yes…this day is Good Friday…when Jesus died to save me. It’s true whether a person chooses to believe it or not. I love the fact that if a person disbelieves…that doesn’t cancel out the truth of God.

I’m amazed by His love and humbled by what this day represents.

Wearing my crown and held to the cross by my nails, Jesus paid the price for my sin.

Today I had x-rays and saw my surgeon. He’s confident everything is coming all very well. I still have a long ways to go…but I’m healing. I still can’t put any weight on the ankle – that’s at least a month away if not two.

Have I told you all I really like my surgeon? I do. I trust him and I take his instructions very seriously. Oh how I want to walk, climb stairs (on my feet), and climb the hills on the land we bought in the country. Oh…and I want to ride our Gold Wing with Jon. My doc tells me in time I’ll do all those things.

It’s been a month since…

…I’ve taken a shower (don’t worry – I’m a faithful sponge bather!)
…Been upstairs or down in my house
…I’ve driven
…Fixed a meal
…Cleaned our house
…Washed a dish or loaded the dishwasher
…Washed or folded a load of clothes
…Or…
…walked on my own two feet.

On the other hand, there are successes…

…I’m off all meds (whew! I hated the narcotics!)
…I’m going to go to PT to learn to climb stairs in a non-weight bearing kind of way
…I’ve packed a few boxes for our move
…I’ve been shown more love by family and friends than I ever knew existed
…People all over are praying for me
…I’m reading Beth Moore’s Get Out of That Pit and am blessed (if you haven’t read it – please do!)
…I got a new notebook and am going to start watching my dream become a goal!

…And…
I might get to move this coming month…!!!

I was telling a friend yesterday (really I was confessing a pride issue) that I’ve always been able to move in and be settled (I mean pictures on the wall and most everything put away) in 4 or 5 days. I think with this move, I will be unpacking a lot slower and can see it taking 4 or 5 months. I think I might have more fun this way. I’ll have time to think about what each treasure or pretty means to me. I can turn on the music and sing out loud (we’re moving to the country) every day. I don’t have to hurry. I can savor the moments. New concept for me. I’m always in such a hurry to be done and on to the next project. Slow and steady is a good pace. I mean it’s really feeling good to have a pace. For 13 days in St Mary’s hospital there wasn’t one. I was at a total stand still.

Tomorrow Gracie is coming for a visit. I’m so lonely for her! It will be very different for her…she’ll be at Grandma & Grandpa’s as much as she is here … maybe more. I think that’s a very good thing. They will get so many sweet and tender moments with our dear girl! I will get some too. We’ll load her computer programs on my laptop and set up a TV here so we can watch together. We’ll eat lunch together and Uncle will take her for walks. All three of us will color and put puzzles together. Uncle will also take her out to the Apple House (that’s what she calls the house in the country) so she can see all the things that have happened since she was here last time in Feb. She’ll be so glad to see it’s almost ready for us.

And I’m going to work hard on the stairs. I haven’t seen so many of the things done to the other house…my kitchen is done and I can hardly wait to see all the components together. Believe it or not…I can hardly wait to wash some dishes and sweep that floor!

So…I’m celebrating progress and have hope that in July I can be riding with the wind in my hair…and maybe putting weight on my healing leg.

And I continue to think…this is the season we celebrate Jesus. Although I’ve chosen to be very open with you about my journey and some of it may seem very negative…I love the Lord Jesus with all my heart. He is my all in all!

I love saying this about my God…

He lives!!!

There’s an old song (I think Neil Diamond sang it?)…I’ve looked at love from both sides now…well, I can now say I’ve been on both sides of the bed.

I’ve stood beside more than a few hospital beds. It started when I was a little girl and would go visit my Grandma Joy. She ministered to the sick, the house bound, and the nursing homes regularly.(not as part of a church ministry – this was her personal ministry in the Name of Jesus)

When I stayed with her, I went a long. We dressed up for those poor folks and Grandma carried her Bible under her arm. For many years she lived right across the street from the Worthington hospital. It was a short trip but we didn’t hurry home. She’d visit those she knew and would ask the nurses if they knew of anyone who needed a visit so strangers were part of the experience. I was never sure when we were in a stranger’s room – Grandma found out their names and walked in just like she did when a friend rested in the bed. She treated them all the same. She read the Word of God with authority and then prayed with confidence in God’s will.

Over the years I’ve spent time bedside with people I dearly love (including my Grandma Joy and both my parents) and strangers. It’s always a privilege to get a call or email that someone I don’t know is in Rochester for medical care and they’d appreciate a visit. Grandma taught me well – you stay long enough for them to let you know how they are…you offer a verse of encouragement, a short prayer, and you leave with the promise that you will return. Sometimes I wonder if God has let her know I’ve sort of continued her ministry in a much smaller way. Or maybe He’s going to let me tell her when we’re together again. Or maybe…it just doesn’t matter when you’re in the presence of Jesus.

With family, I’ve spent hours and even whole nights beside the ones I love who’ve been sick.

I know for sure…that’s the easy side of the bed.

The other side of the bed is where I’ve now experienced pain and a whole lot of humbling. You cannot do the bedpan thing with a whole lot of dignity left. I wanted to be a good patient – one that didn’t take up too much nursing time. I didn’t want to be needy. I confess…at times I was so needy I cried. The pain was so intense and sometimes the drugs I was on weren’t doing it. So, I’d push the nurse’s call button. They’d roll me over and give me a back rub. It still hurt. I’d lay still for awhile then it would become overwhelming again. I was on a boatload of drugs and couldn’t understand why it still hurt. They assured me the pain and need for care was normal – that’s why I was in the hospital. Still I apologized and detested my needy state.

In the two weeks I was there, I got to wash my hair once. At home, I wash my hair daily. I was a mess when friends and family visited. I could only pretend it didn’t matter…but it did. That’s one place pride took a huge hit. I’m not gorgeous on a good day…on a greasy hair day…well, that was just disgusting.

I’m home but still spending time in bed. My body is healing and that takes a lot out of me. I’m still more needy than I want to be. I get to wash my hair every day now…but I need Jon’s help.

I’ll be glad when my time on this side of the bed is over.

Of course, there is the powerful lesson learned on this side of the bed. I had limited compassion for the folks I visited or stayed with before. My understanding has grown by leaps and bounds. I know when I visit someone in the hospital the next time a deeper compassion and mercy will flow from my heart. It will be the real McCoy…because now I’ve been on the other side of the bed.