It’s conference time! And I’m heading out dark and early this morning to head to St. Louis for the ACFW Conference, where I’ll be representing WhiteFire Publishing.
If you’re going to be there, be sure to stop in and say hi! I’m presenting a Spotlight On session tonight and taking appointments Friday and Saturday.
Looking forward to visiting with everyone…and to having meals put before me, LOL.
I’ll be back on Monday!
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| View of McDowell Hall from Back Campus |
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| This is from the SJC website…but it’s also pretty much one of my bookcases |
Last week, my family had the joy of vacationing in Hatteras, on the southern tip of the Outer Banks of North Carolina, as far south as one can go before needing a ferry to continue. We basked in the sun. We played in the waves. We relaxed.
And we collected seashells.
The kids had been looking forward to that part for weeks. When family asked them what they wanted to do on vacation, their answers were: (1) play mini-golf, (2) get Sweet Frog frozen yogurt, and (3) collect seashells.
One small catch–the beach by our house had virtually no shells. For the first few days, they collected about 5. And at least two of those came from the strip of rocks and shells beside our condo rather than the beach, LOL. On Wednesday night, a few had washed to shore, and as we were out hunting ghost crabs, the kids grabbed up all the shells they could find. Very few were what I would deem keepable, but they were the only ones we’d seen, so…
Then on Thursday, we got an off-road driving permit and took the Jeep out onto Buxton point, behind the Hatteras lighthouse. This sandy peninsula was populated by other 4x4s, surrounded by blue-green water…and littered with big, beautiful shells. Eureka!
Now, I’ve been collecting shells for a lot of years…but always had limited space for bringing them home. So I had to come up with criteria for what I kept and what I left. For me it usually comes down to color and shape. I’m a sucker for pinks and purples. And for whole, unbroken shells. I like the kinds that have swirling patterns. And the ultimate find, of course, is a conch.
My kids though…they would pick up the ugliest, weirdest looking things! Ones I would have tossed back in a heartbeat they clung to with fierce determination.
The broken ones. (But Mommy, look at the cool pattern it makes along the break!)
The common ones. (I can use it as a shovel!)
The ugly ones. (But look, it has fossils in it!)
The ones just like the other twenty they already kept. (Oh cool, now it’s a collection!)
At first I tried to reason with them, to impose my logic. (Ha! LOL) And on some, we had no disagreement, like the perfect little conch we found on Friday, our second day at the point. Or the ones with holes that Xoe can turn into necklaces.
But those others…
As I walked the sand, as I kept my eye out for what I deemed the perfect shell, I stopped arguing with the kids. Let them pick whatever they wanted right then–but we’d have to sort through them before we left. No way could we take all those buckets- and bags-full home! There wasn’t room in our Jeep.
And yet, as I walked the sand, I knew I wouldn’t have the heart to take away the shells they loved, just because I didn’t see the beauty in them. In fact, the more I saw the mangled shells they chose, the more I loved those kids.
Because they see beauty where I saw scars.
They see purpose where I see brokenness.
They see what it looked like whole where I see the jagged edge left behind.
They see potential where I see hopelessness.
They marvel at the size where I screw up my nose at the color.
They are so, so much closer to looking at things through God’s eyes than I am.
Because let’s face it–we’re not the pretty, perfect seashells. We’re the broken ones. The scarred ones. The mangled ones. The shattered ones. The ugly ones. We’re the ones discerning eyes would pass over. We’re the ones perfection has long ago left behind.
And God loves us. Not despite our flaws, but because each crack, each track of worm-eating, each place where the sand has rubbed us raw…those are part of us. Part of what makes us who we are. Part of what God loves. He can see the whole, unbroken creation we are in potential…but he can also see the way he can use us in our brokenness. Because of our brokenness.
Yes, we came home with buckets and bags of seashells. And to be honest, I still shake my head at some of them.
But I’m glad. I’m so glad my kids picked up the ones I never would have. Because it proves that their eyes, their hearts, their imaginations go far beyond what I can see. And I thank the Lord that he’s given them a bit of his vision. Because if they can find the beauty in this…
…then I know they also see the beauty in us. Just like our Father.
Okay, so I’m not technically at the lighthouse right this moment. Unless you happen to be reading this when we, in fact, are. But you wouldn’t know that. And neither would I…
The point being, I’m on vacation! Woot! Much-needed and much-anticipated. So no blogging this week. I’m too busy getting sunburnt (yes, I’m wearing sunblock. But I’m still getting burnt, because apparently I only have to think about sunshine to get burnt…), building sandcastles, and reading.
See you back here next week!
I admit it–I don’t read for pleasure as much as I used to. Mostly because during the school year, I spend so many hours a day reading to my kids, writing, and editing that by the end of the day, my eyes and brain say, “Nope, we’re done. Stare at the television or go to sleep. Those are your choices.”
But there’s another reason. It’s because I’ve trained myself so much to be an editor that I can’t read a book without noting what I’d ask the author to change…and that get really, really annoying when I’m just reading for fun, LOL.
Now, the mark of a truly excellent book is when the editor switches off, or at least finds nothing to whine about. That happens, and I love it when it does. But other times…yeah. I recently read a dystopian where the character at one point mentions that in her town, there’s no music. She barely has a concept of what it is. Then a few scenes later, she likens someone’s breathing to a concertina. Um, no. If you don’t know what music is, you aren’t going to think in terms of instruments. Sorry. A first person book that suddenly goes out of POV and tells me what another character is thinking? Shudder. And that historical full of inaccuracies? Ouch.
I guess it’s kinda like a doctor watching a medical show. Or someone in law enforcement watching CSI. They’re going to notice the faults, the things the show gets wrong, and it’s going to ruin it for them. Sadly, that’s how some books are for me these days. It’s one thing to notice all the typos, which I’ve always done. But these days, it’s so much more than that.
But then it makes me wonder.
How can God stand to watch us?? LOL. I mean, He’s got it all right. He knows what He’s doing. He knows the right thing, the wrong thing, the so-so things we could do in each moment, and He sees how often we go the wrong way. How often we miss the mark.
And I can imagine Him in heaven, with his metaphorical red pen, saying, “You know, if you’d just let me give you some advice right here…”
But here’s another thing I’ve learned about editors–you have to let them give you advice. Freelancers you hire, and you can totally choose whether to take their advice or ignore them. When you’ve signed a contract with a publishing house, you kinda have to listen to what they say. Kinda. But you might be surprised at how many authors refuse, and take the cancellation of their contract over giving over control of their story.
What about in our lives? Do we give over control to Him? He, who is the ultimate author? The ultimate editor? Who understands far better than we do where the plots of our lives are going? Who knows what’s relevant and what isn’t? Where our focus should be?
Lord, be my editor. Catch all my errors and help me correct them. Cut out all that fluff I don’t need in my life. Keep my words tight and true to You. Lord, be my editor…and help me to take Your perfect advice.
This marked our first full week of homeschool. And I admit it–I haven’t adjusted yet. I’m still a wee bit frazzled by how much long it’s taking us this year (so far–hopefully it’ll streamline a bit), and what that means in terms of time to do other things. So I figured today, I’d just chat about some random things.
* That homeschool. Yeesh! I forgot how much longer 1st grade takes than Kindergarten. But adding in that extra amount of work for Rowyn…all of which must be hands-on for me at this point…puts another hour or so on my instructional day. I wasn’t prepared for that! But both kids are doing great with their respective work.
However, my brain is back is Edwardian Yorkshire. Because, you see…
* Last Thursday, on my birthday, I got to have an editorial call with my new editor, on The Lost Heiress. Maybe some people wouldn’t want to schedule such a thing for their birthday, but I knew well I’d have fun–and I did. I love talking story. I was emailed seven pages of notes, compiled from three different editors, and we went through them point by point. I had an hour before the call to review them and brainstorm, and oh my gracious. Such fun!
See, as a writer, I’m not a this-is-the-only-way-it-can-happen person. (Most of the time.) I’m constantly daydreaming about what ifs for my stories. Coming up with alternate ways the characters could reach the same places. So when an editor says, “This could be stronger,” I just have to tap on that door of imagination and let the ideas fly. It’s So. Much. Fun for me. =D
So in the week that’s followed, I’ve been spending all the time I can on those revisions. Of course, it being the first week of school, that’s not as much time as I would like…
And…
* I’m adding words! Yikes! LOL. I’m going to have to go back afterward and trim some other parts down, to get that word count back down on target. Not the fun part.
* I need a haircut. I have an appointment for next Thursday, but I have no idea what I want. Right now it’s about 3 inches below my shoulders. I like the length, but I want some life in it. Suggestions??
* My poor cat has had UTI for two months now. She’s been on antibiotics since mid-June. The oral ones made her puke, and the injections don’t seem to be helping. Which means she’s showing me her pain by making messes. I’m about at my wit’s end there…
* I’m making French onion soup tomorrow! Woot!
* And I should probably go take a shower before it’s time for school again. So until next time, there’s the randomness from the brain of Roseanna.
Roseanna M. White is a bestselling, Christy Award winning author who has long claimed that words are the air she breathes. When not writing fiction, she’s homeschooling her two kids, editing, designing book covers, and pretending her house will clean itself. Roseanna is the author of a slew of historical novels that span several continents and thousands of years. Spies and war and mayhem always seem to find their way into her books…to offset her real life, which is blessedly ordinary.