Giving Back

Dear Readers,

I must apologize for being off the radar for several months. After attending the conference to which I clumsily pay homage below, I was guided to restructure many facets of my blog. This was a time-consuming but beneficial exercise, and I thank you for your patience. And now, without further ado...

To whom much is given, much is required.

Much was given me this past summer; now much must be given back.

I was privileged - and I do mean privileged - to attend the Greater Philadelphia Christian Writers Conference from July 30  through August 2, 2014. Though I'm blown away by the generosity of spirit shown me by writers, editors and agents situated on varying points along the "success continuum" (which I put in quotes because our heavenly father does not impress as easily as this silly world does), I'm absolutely flabbergasted by my Lord's graciousness to this would-be scribing servant.

Marlene Bagnull, the "backbone" of the conference, is as delightful in person as she comes across in cyberspace. Her frequent lapses into public prayer during meetings remind one and all of the real reason she puts together these grueling, growth inspiring seminars. More than once during the program, I said to myself that this was as much a retreat as a "how-to" symposium. Without her "arms" and "legs" - cleverly disguised as behind-the-scenes individuals who do the grunt work of scheduling, registering and weaving loose ends together - she readily admits the whole program would be a disaster. I'm resisting the urge to name-drop any further, because I doubt it would glorify the one who really made this happen. Suffice it to say, there was credit aplenty to share.

On another note, let me state that dollars don't get pried easily from my hands. In my younger days, I would've called myself cheap (which really resulted from a fear I didn't realize I had that I'd better protect what was "mine" or be left with nothing). At this point, I'd say I'm a careful spender and hopefully good steward of the resources with which I've been entrusted. Notwithstanding, I found myself led to part with mammon during the course of the conference. I contributed to missionary collections, for one thing, which supported people whose callings seemed heartfelt and causes, contagious. In addition, I couldn't help but linger at book tables and scoop up a few titles from authors whose hands had shaken mine during the conference. As I articulated to a fellow conferee, it seems reasonable that if I'm going to enter into the writing industry, it makes sense I should invest in it. There was no shortage, by the way, of folks giving their materials and services away for free. It's just that I felt a prompting to return to these selfless scribblers a bit of the bounty they so selflessly showered on me. 

Now it's back to the grunt work of editing and sending manuscripts, as well as taking up my novel, Belabored, where I left off before all this busy-ness began. Belabored is a labor of love, one I believe my heavenly father has commissioned me to write. I covet your prayers as I strive to fulfill the goals He sets for me, and leave off the ones that bring Him no glory.

Complete the Work!

"And in this I give advice: It is to your advantage not only to be doing what you began and were desiring to do a year ago; but now you also must complete the doing of it; that as there was a readiness to desire it, so there also may be a completion out of what you have. For if there is first a willing mind, it is accepted according to what one has, and not according to what he does not have." 

2 Corinthians 8:10-12

I came across this passage recently as I was preparing for an upcoming writers' conference. Paul's words spoke to me when I first read them, and they're speaking to me now. I've made a lot of progress in getting ready for the event and could even say I'm at a stopping point, if I want to be. However, since I still have over a week, why not use the time to the maximum so as to have the widest net to cast, so to speak? 

There was a time in my life when I was governed by procrastination and fear. Those time-wasting devils haven't left my life completely (as evidenced by the video-fest I allowed myself last night when I could've been doing x number of more important things), but by the grace of God, they are far less prominent than they once were. I've learned that tomorrow is a nebulous, unpromised concept that may or may not a) happen or b) be available for things I ought to have done today. So now I to try to hit the ground running as soon as the final bell rings for school "vacations" and the like. I put that word in quotes because for years my definition of vacation was simply the absence of schedule and structure - in short, an excuse to fritter away time and God-given talent. 

There is certainly a need to turn off one's mind and leave off responsibilities occasionally. My problem was (and might be again, unless I take care), every bit of down time became the occasion. I'm reminded of a funny story my father once told. Upon voicing concern to his only living brother about his continuing to smoke despite serious health concerns, my uncle replied that he only smoked occasionally. Dad retorted that he smoked every time they were together, to which Uncle Irv quipped, "That's the occasion!"

My prayer continues to be that God would show me the schedule and priorities for each day, regardless of whether every moment is predetermined by outside forces, or if long stretches of time present themselves. I desire to not only begin projects He guides me to, but also to work diligently and steadfastly unto completion.

For more like this, check out: Reflections by Thea: To Whom Shall We Go?

Reflections by Thea: Awake!

Paradox

I'm a speck in the face of eternity, and at the same time, I hold infinite value.

I'm having loads of trouble preparing for a writers' conference at the end of this month. This is the first such venue I've joined, and it has me biting my nails. 

Like most things in my life, I'm trying to give it my best. In school, I always went for the A. At work, I strive for exemplary evaluations. In this case, I'm literally driving myself crazy trying to create the perfect book proposal. My anxiety is compounded by the fact that there are scads of information on the conference website as to how to "do it right" and the web at large is crawling with paths to literary success. 

Aaaaahhhhh!!!!!!

I sip from my Louisa May Alcott mug (purchased for me by my son and sister at the author's home in Concord, Massachusetts) to give me inspiration. She was the first writer whose work spoke to me, and I've read countless biographies detailing her impoverished roots and slow rise to fame. I don't think I'm looking for fame, I tell myself, but I do have an important message and an able pen, both gifts from God, and both needing an audience. I compare my "resume" with the conference coordinator's sample, and laugh at the vastness of difference between our accomplishments. She's written six books and contributed to over 100 periodicals; I've had exactly three articles published, and that's counting one for an Al Anon newsletter. Not exactly a publisher's dream.

So I turn my attention to Anne Frank and Corrie ten Boom, both unlikely authors whose works were born out of bitter experience. The former didn't live to see her diary in print, and surely never imagined millions would read and relate to her adolescent scribblings. She did, however, have the temerity to assert that she wanted to go on living even after her death. The latter appealed to a postwar generation looking for redemptive value in an arguably Godless period of human history. Can my story find its market, as theirs did, despite the madness of modern day publishing?

I cringe at the word "marketing." It sounds like just what it is: commercialism. Publishing is an industry, and industries live or die based on sales. Like J.D. Salinger and Harper Lee (dare I place myself in such distinguished company?), I prefer a low profile, but privacy doesn't bring in revenue. So I reluctantly promise to shamelessly promote my books, even to the extent of turning cartwheels in Times Square. Will my other responsibilities allow me to keep such a commitment, assuming I muster the nerve to follow through?

Which brings me to my original point. This is not about me, any more than it was about Frank or ten Boom. This is about a message, a dispatch. Neither of the books I'm peddling (there's that concept again) came out of my head; I'm just not that clever. Both arrived unbidden, in the midst of my daily grind, and more or less constipated my brain till they were - ahem - released. Am I brazen enough to suppose the God of the universe desires to use my voice to convey one or two of His thoughts? 

Why not? He used Moses' staff and Peter's boat . Why not my keyboard? I may be made of dust, but the One who made me is formed from the stuff of eternity. If, as the Bible attests, the Holy Spirit resides in this flawed body of mine, doesn't that impart to said body a derived pricelessness?

So, like I said, I may be a speck, but this speck has an essential purpose. What foolishness to allow comparisons and obstacles to overshadow the work the Almighty has called me to do.

I think He can handle a little thing like a writers' conference.