Modern . . . CIA

Modern . . . CIA

When I started writing Yesterday’s Tides, which I’ll be pitching at conference IN FOUR DAYS!!!!, I wanted a cool job for my hero. So naturally, being obsessed with Alias at the time, I thought, “Oo, CIA!” But not an operative. Way too cliche (or something, lol). So instead, I thought I’d make him a computer geek.

In typical me-fashion back then, I didn’t actually, you know, look anything up. I relied on TV and logic and maybe a brief glance at the CIA website. Having just graduated from St. John’s, I had a few interesting tidbits of knowledge–like the fact that a lot of Johnnies got recruited for the analytical prowess. (Not that any suits every approached me . . .) So I figured that was good enough for a rough draft;-)

When I was rewriting last year, I decided I’d better check my logic against facts. I’m glad I did. While not totally off-base in some things, I was dead wrong in others. TV has soooooo led me astray! For starters–Langley, Virginia. You know how when you watch a CIA movie, the little ticker across the bottom always tells you you’re in Langley, VA? WRONG! There is such a town, yes. It’s home to such government agencies as a NASA installation. But the CIA? Nope. The CIA headquarters is right outside D.C. The compound is called Langley. It is not in the town that is a few hours south. Which really threw a kink in my plot!

I also discovered that the CIA isn’t really the glam agency we all think of. Maybe it used to be (maybe), but these days the agency has been pillaged, according to Legacy of Ashes by Tim Weiner. Most senior officers were fired in 2004, and the rest of the best talent was lured away by the Pentagon’s intelligence division.

Wreaks havoc on my plot–my hero was supposed to be in a Company family, one where his parents had both been in it before him, where they’re the best, well established . . . I could salvage that, but I had to account for it. Make them loyal and lucky both.

I discovered another book especially helpful for my hero’s computer geek savvy, but I’ll save that for next week. Gotta get to work memorizing my pitch, you know! While I totally sold my socks on it yesterday when I was hanging out laundry, I think the shorts were unconvinced. Better keep practicing;-)

Remembering 9/11

As I was thinking about which friend to brag on today, I stopped to consider the date and then was amazed to realize it would be 9/11. Amazed, because somehow the date has become like any other over the eight years since our world changed.

It made me think. Got me remembering. I was in class when the planes struck the World Trade Center and had no clue what was going on. As we drove home for lunch, we saw a very strange sight for Annapolis though–two white hazmat vans (strange looking things) rushing onto Rt 50 right in front of us. A curiosity that we ignored until we got home and my MIL called us to tell us to turn on the news.

As we drove back for afternoon classes an hour later, it seemed like a different world. Annapolis was deserted, all the government offices vacated and the Naval Academy on lockdown. Because my college is sandwiched between those two things, police stood at the corners of the college, checking IDs before allowing us to enter. It was a terrifying time. It rewrote reality.

I remember having the thought, “What is relevant now? What matters? These stories I’m working on seem so trivial, but what stories wouldn’t?”

We drove home that weekend, and across every bridge homemade banners stretched declaring “God Bless America.” People had stuck Styrofoam cups into chain link fences to scroll out messages of their patriotism. American flags had sold out.

And now, eight years later, I think most of us have forgotten that again, or have at least shoved it to a convenient place in our minds, one that we don’t have to look at but when we realize the anniversary is upon us.

So every year, I make it a point to pull out the essay I wrote on 9/11, which was published in my hometown paper a week later. It helps me remember–perhaps it will help you, too.

To My Brother, the Stranger

I did not know you. I never met you. If I had seen you, you would have been simply a face in the crowd. My thoughts never touched upon the possibility of your existence.

And yet. . .

And yet when I heard of the tragedy of losing you, you were suddenly my brother, my sister, my best friend. You were the comrade I never had the opportunity to meet, the face I could sketch simply because of how many faces you are. And every time I open my mind, it is to realize anew that you were a person, you were loved, and now you’re gone.

It’s a shock I never expected to feel , a pain no man, woman, or child should ever have to endure. And I did not know you. How much worse must it be for the widows, the orphans, the childless parents, the brotherless sisters that were made on that day? How much worse again for those who yet know nothing about the fate of those dearest to them?

It is a pain no one should have to gaze on, much less be consumed by. It is a piercing that should quickly tear down all barriers until there is nothing left but a shaken humanity, a resolved people, a united nation. It should induce the best in man when he looks at evil, when he sees the dancing in his enemy’s camps. It should make him realize that the sickness he feels, the death he sees is a presence to be ignored no longer.

I pray that somehow this change in our lives will be used in a way to make us better. I pray that as I walk down the streets of my untouched city I never forget that it could be gone in a moment. I pray that as I pass a stranger I remember to remember that he is not a stranger to someone. I pray that soon all our fears are exhausted and we are left instead with hope. And I pray that we never take for granted the greatness of our nation, lest through our disregard it lose that thing that sets us apart.

I can never say the right words to those who are grieving, because there are no words to be said. I did not know you. I never met you. All I can offer you is the love of a face you have never seen and the prayers of a heart that is reaching across the miles to the strangers it now calls brothers.

May God enfold us in His arms until the terror goes away. May He settle his peace over us until the rivers of tears run dry. May He comfort us until we become victorious. And may we never forget that it is He who will lift us from the mire. Today America has united in common anguish. Tomorrow we will rejoice in justice. And all the world will know that this is a nation that God has blessed and will never forsake. Let us be the first to proclaim that.

Thoughtful About . . . Finding Your Place

With the ACFW Conference in Denver only a week away (woo hoo!), my thoughts have inevitably turned to the dual hope/fear of finding that perfect editor (or not) for the book I’ll be pitching.

Up until two days ago, I didn’t even know what I would pitch. I have a few books that were possibilities, but my agent systematically eliminated them all. “No historicals this year,” followed by “too sophisticated to break in with” followed by “needs work.” I sent her my ocean book, now titled Yesterday’s Tides thanks to y’all, with a cringe. As close as I feel to this book, I groaned at the very thought of getting another “Not the thing” on it. Not to mention it would leave me with nothing to try to sell. So you can imagine my relief and Joy when my agent sent me a series of emails with “One sheet is good. Interesting idea,” “Synopsis is good. I really like how you handle this story,” and “Yes, pitch this one. I’ll have it read by the time you get back, and we’ll make any tweaks necessary before sending it to the editors who request it.” Whew! Step one down.

Now for Step Two: finding an editor who loves this book as much as I (and my critique partners) do. Never a guarantee, obviously. In the two years since my last conference, I have sighed many a time over the fact that the editors out there haven’t jumped at the Victorian series that captured my agent’s attention. You just never know.

But said critique partners have done so much for me. Not just in critiquing my work, but in building me up. Stephanie said once, “You know why you’ll succeed? Because you keep writing new things, looking for that one that’ll break you in. You don’t sit back and wait. You keep coming up with new stuff, better stuff.” The twenty manuscripts on my computer prove the “you keep writing” part, lol. Then Mary said of Yesterday’s Tides that she had a threefold prayer for it: that it would sell soon, that it would be a bestseller, and that it would win a Christy. A dream for everyone, for sure. And it really touched me that Mary believed in this story enough to beseech the Lord for it in such a big way. And then Carole made me preen by saying I was becoming one of her favorite authors–a label she doesn’t give out easily. Could a writer have a better group of friends and encouragers?

On one of my loops, we’ve been talking about that place we all visit sometimes where the not-knowing-where-we’re-going gets so overwhelming. Where the fear outweighs the hope. Where you question your calling, your ability, your everything. Roseanna the Optimist doesn’t often dwell on that, but I wonder. I wonder if the encouraging news I got on two different projects last week will come to anything–and if it’ll come in time for conference. I wonder if all the work I’ve put into other projects will ever amount to anything or if they’ll molder on my computer for all time. I wonder if, when I finally do get published on a national level, I’ll have any readers. I wonder if the re-release of A Stray Drop of Blood will actually sell.

All things I can’t know. Things that could lead to those “Is this where you want me, Lord?” questions. But as I’m getting ready to head to Denver and pitch a project I love and believe in, I’m instead getting excited about what He might have in store. The fact that I will even be pitching this story, when I had assumed it off the table, is enough to excite me. I finished its rewrites a year ago, but everyone kept losing it, forgetting about it . . . it wasn’t it’s time. Now it seems to be. Will that result in the “perfect editor”? I don’t know. But it gives me hope.

Remember When . . . You Wouldn’t Say “Wouldn’t”?

English is so weird. Ever notice that? I mean, I love the language–ask anyone. I take such great Joy from the intricacies and foibles of mechanics and syntax that my critique partners fondly refer to me as the Grammar Nazi. (At least, I assume it’s fondly . . . 😉

One of the things I love about English is our ability to affect the formality of our speech by using contractions. So far as I can tell, we’ve been so pretty much since English became English. So if you’re writing a historical novel, contract away! Fear them not! Shakespeare did it, so you can too.

Other languages, though, don’t often do this. They elide, but only when two vowels would otherwise be side by side, making pronunciation difficult. That’s never optional–it’s just done. So how, you gotta wonder, do speakers of other languages adjust formality?

I discovered the answer to this when I was writing my Biblical fiction, A Stray Drop of Blood. (See, historical. I’m getting around to it, I promise!) Since my characters would have been speaking Ancient Greek, which I happen to have studied for two years (yes, I’m a nerd–but a COOL one!), I wanted to reflect the beauty of that language with my English. Talk about a challenge!

In Greek, word order doesn’t matter a whit for the most part. It’s all about the endings of words and the words themselves. Obviously, I can’t do that in English. But what I can do is arrange my words, choose my words, in a way that forces me to convey my meaning in a Greek way. I chose to do this by using NO contractions in my novel. Definitely a challenge. It’s not the kind of thing anyone notices until I tell them, but it sets a mood, paints a picture of the place and time. I’m having a lot of fun rereading the original and seeing how I pulled this off. I’m still remarkably pleased with the results (to toot my own horn;-)

Of course, the writing of it was sometimes comical. I had to get into a Greek Zone. I’d edit my own thoughts when writing. You know, like, “He said he’d–no he would–go.” But then I’d forget to leave that zone and would try to edit thoughts for regular conversation too. I’d be sitting in class, trying to formulate an answer to the conversation, and think, “He’d–no, he would–no, HE’D!” My friends all thought this very amusing.

I’m really enjoying getting back into the Greek Zone as I’m working on this. And I hope y’all do too, because over the next little while, as I gear up for the release of the new and improved paperback A Stray Drop of Blood, I’m going to be sharing all the fun stuff about Ancient Jerusalem and Rome.

So slip into a comfy tunic, grab your favorite stola (you married women out there), find a scroll and a handy quill, and settle in. It’s gonna be fun!

Story Time . . . with Dr. Seuss

Story Time . . . with Dr. Seuss

I know, I know, this isn’t my usual idea of “story time.” But as I’ve been reading different books to my daughter and noting which get my 18-month-old son’s attention, it’s got me on yet another Dr. Seuss kick. So why not share? LOL.

Last summer I bought Xoe a huge “collection” book of Dr. Seuss stories, and she immediately latched onto “What Was I Scared Of?” Although she calls it “Green Pants.” For good reason, but it’s still cute. While we were going through the great travail of potty training, we read this story so many times that I STILL have it memorized.

As a writer, I find children’s books very interesting. They don’t follow the rules we’re encouraged to observe in fiction-for-adults, and wouldn’t work if they did. The writing is often what would be deemed terrible by adult standards. But they work because they appeal to their readership and, in the case of Dr. Seuss, capture the imagination with fabulous rhyme and rhythm.

In my opinion, the mark of a good rhyming poem of story is the one that gets stuck in your head not in words, but in cadence. When you go around going “Du du du du du DUM; dunna dun uh, du dum du dah.” (Okay, really pathetic attempt there, LOL, but you get the idea.) The kids pick up on it just like we do, and it helps them remember the words, learn about rhyming, and improve their vocabulary. Last summer we were reciting “Green Pants” in the car, and when I forgot the next line, Xoe would give me a prompt. It was great.

I love Dr. Seuss books because the grab my kids’ attention and hold on. They entertain, they educate, and they spur their imagination. When my youngest, who will not sit still for ANY book, stops to listen to the fun sound of a Dr. Seuss, when my daughter recites it with me, when I pause after a line to say, “Wow, that’s brilliant,” then you know you have a winner. Dr. Seuss will forever remain one of my favorites, and I’m loving the excuse to rediscover his work with my kids.