Writing Fiction with Purpose by Mary Folkerts

There’s a story burning in my gut; a story of familial pain, with cycles and circles of regret that pop up like perennial weeds, where flowers intended to bloom. It’s a story of how one generation's closet sins cast looming shadows over the next generation and generations to come, until someone steps up and says, “No more!”

Closet sins are challenging to write about, thus, they remain in the closet, stuffed in like the proverbial pink elephant that will eventually bust the hinges. It’s easier to broach difficult topics through storytelling, where, though the story isn’t factual, the reader can still relate to and learn from the character’s struggles.

I haven’t started writing this story, even though it’s been brewing for a while. There may be a few reasons for that, one being that it’s been some time since I’ve written fiction. The last few years, I have been writing poetry and devotionals, and it’s easy to just stay with the familiar. But I am challenging myself to delve into the fictional genre and see what comes of the process!

I love to read fictional stories that inspire and inform me in meaningful ways, and one such series, written by Sharon Garlough Brown, is “The Sensible Shoes Series.” It’s these books that gave me the idea to write about generational sin and its effect on families. There are so many people walking around broken, and their brokenness bleeds into the next generation. I would love to shed more light on this challenging topic, and to create a story that would be not only an interesting read, but also one where the reader could say, “Yes! I have felt this pain too! This cycle will end with me!”

Mary Folkerts is mom to four kids and wife to a farmer, living on the southern prairies of Alberta, where the skies are large and the sunsets stunning. She is a Proverbs 31 ministries COMPEL Writers Training member involved in church ministries and music. Mary’s blog aims to encourage and inspire women and advocate for those with Down Syndrome, as their youngest child introduced them to this extraordinary new world. For more inspiration, check out Joy in the Small Things https://maryfolkerts.com/ or connect on Instagram https://www.instagram.com/maryfolkerts/

Exploring a New Writing Direction by Adriana Marella-Wolfe

 

Please welcome InScribe member Adriana Marella-Wolfe today as our Guest Blogger on InScribe Writers Online.

How do I explore in a new direction with split themes or dual timelines? A split time novel must have multiple storylines in more than one time period. I am trying two time periods since I am a beginner. Dual timelines can be linear that bridges two time periods which bridges time and space.

Past publications in historical/contemporary fiction, poetry, and spiritual stories lead me to the next level. I am a late bloomer in writing. My spiritual fiction, Mystia, has been on pause. Plans to revive it are in the works. Resources navigate my path.

What have I done so far? I have self-published two spiritual books: A Time for God and A Time for Prayer; anthologies with Wascana Writers; newspaper articles in The Leader Post, Regina Sun, and North Battleford Optimist; magazine articles such as "Sisters of Charity" in FellowScript, Wascana Writers (freelance), and Saskatchewan Writers' Guild. My vision expands to a place where God uses my characters and me as instruments to connect with the reader.

What do I think will work for me? With my research at the Sherwood Village Library, the librarian finds two resources. First, one book online which I ordered—A Split in Time: How to Write Dual Timeline, Split Time, and Time-Slip Fiction by Melanie Dobson and Morgan Tarpley Smith, 2020. Three specific styles: staccato, sandwich, or sectional are recommendations. To me, staccato style is snapshots. Sandwich style is two in the present and one in the past, or the other way. Sectionals are the long version. My first attempt uses staccato and sectional. I will try staccato to refresh and add suspense. It helps me steer dual timelines.

With this resource, chapters are aligned with an ABA pattern. Present to past to present is my first try. I will weave them together. I need to reedit again to make it come alive for the reader.

The second resource from the library is The Memory House by Rachel Hauck, 2019. A split time theme and romance patterned contemporary, then historical. This book is on the way.

My InScribe writing group, with Sharon Hamilton and Sharon Heagy, aid me to identify where my spiritual fiction fits. Sharon Hamilton describes my work for Early Readers ages 5-10. She sent me to Canadian Society of Children's Authors, Illustrators and Performers (CANSCAIP). These resources have rebalanced my writing and business with positive critiques.

Illustrations are my next task. Choices are black or white, colourized, both, or none. At the conference, a cover illustration will sell a book in three seconds. I need the help of an illustrator, hopefully MaryAnn Ward to visualize my novel.

How do I incorporate business in writing? My home-based business, People of the Archangel Publications, is where I self-publish, copyedit, retreats/workshops, and author with craft/trade shows. I implement my tools into rural and urban areas booked by the librarian with the Saskatchewan Writers' Guild. God Moments is one of them by contract work.

People need to feed the spiritual side. My priest hires me to do a spiritual retreat, “From the Desert to the Promised Land” is another one of them. Biblical growth heals the wounds.

 
Social media and advertising are avenues to explore. Using the internet is new to me, since I am a people person. Instagram is the venue I use to keep track of views, followers, and promote my business. Advertisements through parish bulletins, word of mouth, and craft/trade shows are icebreakers for me. CANSCAIP was a godsend for me. I met other authors in the same field. It helped me with marketing ideas and writing a formula/synopsis for my spiritual fiction. I did not meet anyone who writes with dual timelines.

My adventure through the craft and business of writing is a teeter-totter. I will pray to God for the words to be an instrument to readers.

Adriana Marella-Wolfe is a retired teacher, wife, and mom living in Regina, most of her life. Adriana has a Bachelor of Education Degree, University of Regina, Laity - Archdiocese of Regina and People of the Archangel Publications - home-based business as a self-publisher, copyeditor, author with craft/trade shows. Historical/contemporary fiction, poetry and spiritual stories are published in anthologies, newspapers, and magazines. Adriana loves to travel, write, read, knit, and crochet.

The Gardener and the King ~ Valerie Ronald

                                                                               image credit Pixabay

I once was asked to write something for a friend’s eightieth birthday celebration. I struggled to write something meaningful, but nothing I put on paper seemed fitting. My friend was a veteran of World War 2 who suffered for years with the aftereffects of what he experienced, until he accepted Jesus Christ and found the healing and peace he longed for. He became an avid gardener who generously shared his bountiful fruits and vegetables with all those he knew.

Not long before the birthday party, the phrase “all things growing and green” popped into my mind, and I knew what I wanted to do with it. It reminded me of the quaint language of fables or fairy tales, so I wrote an allegorical story about my friend.

An allegory is a simple story in which the characters and events represent a deeper moral or abstract concept. Aesop’s Fables, John Bunyan’s The Pilgrim’s Progress, and the biblical parables told by Jesus, are well-known examples of allegorical stories. I admit that I did not know a lot about allegorical writing, but with God’s help, the elements of the story came together to make a fitting gift reflecting the life of my friend.
 

                                     The Gardener and the King

There once was a king who loved all things growing and green. He would go often into his kingdom to gaze upon meadow grasses rippling in a breeze or walk through a grove of tall, whispering pine trees. He liked to stop by the orchards and vegetable farms to taste their fresh produce and spend time in village flower gardens drinking in the beautiful scents and colours. When he returned to his palace on the hill, he would look out over his fruitful kingdom and with satisfaction proclaim, “It is good.”

One day the king’s son, a brave and noble prince, was riding in the wastelands beyond the borders of his father’s kingdom. Nothing good grew there. It was a brown, desolate place where people lived unhappy lives. His father sent him there often to invite these unhappy people to come live in his kingdom, but they seemed to want to stay in their squalor, so they refused the king’s kindness.

This day, however, the prince did return with a man who had realized how fruitless his life was in the desolate lands and was willing to live under the rule of the kind king. He was given a small field and a cottage. He married a gentle woman from a nearby village, and they made a happy home together. The man wanted to do something to please the ruler who had treated him so kindly, so knowing how much the king liked all things growing and green, he planted a garden. And what a garden it was! In his garden grew tall stalks of tasselled corn, round red tomatoes, earthy brown potatoes, bunches of wine dark grapes, crisp crimson apples, and bright flowers in abundance.

The man became known as the Gardener, and throughout the kingdom gained recognition for sharing his bountiful produce. Every morning during harvest his neighbours would see him going down the lane with his cart heaped high with fresh fruits and vegetables, on his way to share what he had grown with widows and their children, the bedridden and the elderly, and anyone else in need.

In the afternoon he returned to his garden, labouring until twilight, at peace with his hands in the soil. As he worked, he would think of the kind king who had rescued him and brought him into this abundant land, and he would sing a little song of gratitude.

One year the winter rains were sparse, and the king’s land was struck with a terrible drought. There was barely enough water for people to drink, let alone water a garden. The Gardener went out to his dry, dusty garden where nothing grew, wondering sadly what he could do to help all his friends in need. He decided to do his rounds anyway.

Instead of produce, he offered his hands˗˗cutting wood, fixing broken items, visiting with the sick, and helping wherever he saw a need. But each evening he would come home to the barren patch of land that used to be his garden, wondering what the king would say when he passed by and saw no green and growing things.

The day came when the king rode throughout his kingdom to see how his people were faring. He saw the Gardener standing by his empty garden, his head bowed down in sadness

“I’m sorry, my Lord,” he said. “As you can see, I have nothing in my garden to offer you or anyone else.”

The king reached down and lifted the Gardener’s chin so he could look into his eyes.

“This is not the only garden you have sown, my steadfast Gardener. I have been in the village where I have seen the fruits of your labour˗˗widows and their children kept warm with wood you have cut, elders’ homes set right by your repairs, and the sick cheered by your visits. The fruits of your loving spirit are abundant. Well done, good and faithful servant. Because you have been faithful with a little, I will reward you with much.”

Then the king brought the Gardener and his wife to live with him in his palace, and when the drought ended, the Gardener happily tended the royal gardens for many years. Though he was now the King’s Gardener, he still grew vegetables, fruit, and flowers in his own little garden patch in the village, to share with those in need. At each humble house, he told stories about the kindness of the king and his love for his people. And he taught them the song he liked to sing when he gardened, so when the king rode down the village streets he heard joyous voices singing,

King of kindness, king of love,

From your palace high above,

You come down to walk with us,

Laugh with us, grieve with us.

Our hearts grow because we know

We are your children here below.

   

Valerie Ronald writes from an old roll top desk in Portage la Prairie, Manitoba, with her tortoiseshell cat for a muse. A graduate of Langara College School of Journalism, she writes devotionals, fiction and inspirational prose. Her purpose in writing is to encourage others to grow in their spiritual walk. 

Teachers of My Writer’s Voice by Alan Anderson

 

Preamble

Here is my spin on our prompt for July. This is a brief look at how my writer’s voice of today came about through decades. This includes memories of people who helped shape my voice. I call them the teachers of my writer’s voice.

My Teachers: Those who lit the torch to light my way and who are the ink of my pen.

My Mum and Dad

Mum and Dad were my first teachers. They helped me learn about life and were the first to introduce me to the love of Almighty God.

With the passing of time and decades after my parents immigrated with my siblings and I to Canada, I remember them like two strong Scottish fir trees. I have always considered my mum as my model for life. She lived a quiet life devoted to her family and to the Lord Jesus Christ. My dad taught me a strong work ethic, emphasizing hard work to support one’s family. He also had a strong devotion to God and to serving his church.

Miss Gordon

I was born in Scotland and lived there until my parents decided to immigrate to Canada in 1964. Miss Gordon goes down in my memory as my all-time favourite schoolteacher. She taught me for only one year when I was nine years old, but I never forgot her. Miss Gordon noticed I enjoyed my English subjects. She encouraged me in this. I credit her for my endeavours to focus on writing at an early age.

Gerry

Gerry was a boy I knew in elementary school when I started school in Canada in September 1964. I have brief and distant memories of his freckled face, and red, dishevelled hair. I also remember he was always happy because he smiled a lot. We were pals for a brief space in time.

One day at lunch, I went to visit Gerry. He had been ill and off school for a few days, and I missed hanging around with him. I knocked on the door of his house and his dad answered. I asked him how Gerry was feeling. He told me Gerry was in hospital and not well. A few days later, Gerry died from his illness. I can remember thinking, “but he was only a kid. He was my age. How could he be dead?”

Rosemary

Rosemary was a girl I knew in my first year in high school. She was the person people say could light up a room. She always smiled when she chatted with me and laughed a lot. I enjoyed being around her.

My childhood relationship with Rosemary was a brief one like my relationship with Gerry. My attraction to her was innocent, but she was one I loved being with. The last time I saw her, she laughed and giggled about something. Oh my, how I loved her giggles!

Like Gerry, Rosemary also missed school a lot. One day, as our school day began, our teacher came into the classroom. He asked all my classmates to sit at our desks. He then informed us Rosemary had died. Her cause of death was leukemia. I remember her giggling face to this day.

Their Memories

I think of my parents every day. They ignited a bright light in me to help me shine for decades. I have remembered Miss Gordon, Rosemary, and Gerry for sixty years. They are among those who lit a fire of life in me. The memories of them all nurture my “voice,” as my life as a writer continues.

 

 

Alan lives in a small village called Deroche, British Columbia, with his wife, Terry, and their poodle, Charlie. He enjoys walking on the dike near his home with trees all around and where he finds inspiration to write. He occasionally writes articles for FellowScript Magazine and is a regular contributor to the InScribe Christian Writers’ Fellowship blog. Alan’s website and blog is https://scarredjoy.ca.

Always Exploring by Lorilee Guenter

 

The guidebook sits open on my table. I mark places on a map, make notes, and dream of what I will experience. The list of opportunities grows. I sit and consider my options.

My notebook lays open, waiting for words. The ideas come in bits and bobs. Will it be a poem, a short story, an essay or something else? A dictionary sits nearby accompanied by a thesaurus in case I need to locate a missing word. The opportunities are many, the time is short.

In life and in writing, I am an explorer. I study and plan, then at some point I toss the plans and jump in. I have tried to stick to just one thing among the many available options. It does not work. I have preferred vacation destinations and writing styles. However, I also have a deep desire to try different things.

My curiosity has led me to declare that I am allergic to boredom. This unfortunately has led to many unfinished projects. I tried them. Some I didn't enjoy them enough to complete them. Others I started but before I finished them I was enticed by new opportunities. Is this a character flaw to be overcome or is it a character trait I need to recognise and work with?

In a world of specialists, the generalist stands out. For years I chaffed at the advice to pick a niche and excel at it. It reminds me of the advice when travelling rough rural roads: choose your rut wisely, you'll be in it for miles. I don't want to find myself in a rut that saps the vibrancy from life. Therefore, I remain a generalist. In doing so, I remain curious and engaged in a variety of activities.

Last month I wrote about my varied reading habits and how they spill over into my writing. When I read this month's theme, my first thought was: I can't write to that? What style can I research and try? Instead of trying another new thing this month, I rebelled. Instead, I paused to consider what I have learned as I've tried various styles and genres over the years.

Lesson 1: Some things will be junk. They belong in the recycle bin. This does not mean they were a failure. They were opportunities to experiment and learn. Take the lessons learned and let the rest go. I have found that a favourite line or character may get recycled into another piece of writing where they work better.

Lesson 2: Some styles are hard. This could mean it is not an appropriate style for me (or you) at this time. I never rule out returning to try again. I would love to write a mystery. I have three attempts started. Each of them was abandoned because of difficulties I don't have the ability (or inclination) to overcome at this time. I reserve the right to return to them at anytime.

Lesson 3: Sometimes I am compelled to write in a style I do not enjoy. When God prompts, it is good to trust and follow His leading. I fought with the repeated claim, "I don't write memoir." The more I fought, the more I had creative block. Once I said yes, the ideas returned and the words flowed.

Lesson 4: All writing helps improve skill. Sometimes I "warm up" my writing muscles with short exercises in different styles and genres. Poetry is a great change of pace while I work on a novel. It forces me to consider the picture my words are drawing for the reader. 

Lesson 5: As with everything in life, God is the source of all that is good. When I partner with Him, I will learn the lesson He is teaching me. I will know when to push through obstacles and when to put a piece away temporarily or permanently. He is editing my life as He informs my thoughts and helps me hone my skills. If I try to do things on my own, I fail.

Lorilee Guenter is a Saskatoon based artist and writer. Her writing stems from the many questions she finds herself pondering and from the things she observes on her wanderings. She believes both her curiosity and her creativity are gifts from God.

Two Llamas and A Horse - Gloria Guest

Two Llamas and a Horse were grazing out in the field on a bright and sunny day, when the first Llama spotted their owner getting into his pick up truck. "I wonder where he goes everyday?" he mumbled through his mouthful of grass. "Me too," said the second Llama. "I wonder where he goes?" Horse watched their owner leaving the yard and driving up over the hill. "He always comes back with something. But never anything for us," he said in his most whinnying, whiny voice. "Ya," said the second Llama, shaking his hair out of his eyes, "He never has anything for us."

Yes, that is my attempt at the beginning of a children's story for this month's blog prompt on trying a new genre. It's actually based on the two llamas and a horse that my son had out on his farm. For years it was two Llamas and two Horses, and they didn't really mix with one another. But when the one horse died, I was amazed to notice that the two Llamas took the lone horse into their company. I always wondered at their camaraderie and thought it would make a good children's story, but all I had was the title: Two Llamas and A Horse. Even though I received my certificate years ago from the Institute for Writing For Children & Teenagers, I never really pursued the genre much after that. During the course I wrote quite a number of various stories, with the only one I recall being about a blue parrot in a pet store and its interactions with the customers who came in, in particular a curious little girl who befriended him. I don't remember much else, including the plot. I don't remember my instructor's remarks but I do recall not feeling very satisfied with the story at the time.

But over the years, writing for children has always sat on a back shelf in my mind. I particularly think of it when I recall how much I loved reading as a child and some of my favorite books such as, Curious George (written and illustrated by Margret and H.A. Rey), Charlotte's Web (written by E.B. White and illustrated by Garth Williams) and so many more children's books that ushered me into the love of reading. With Charlotte's Web I am continuously amazed how the author took something as simple as a pig (Wilbur) and a spider (Charlotte); and told such a fascinating tale. Yet even though it's a simple concept, the story actually deals with some real-life, heavier concepts such as the true definition of friendship and what sacrifice can really mean. That's the thing about writing a successful children's book; it can look simple; but it's really not. It requires the ability to get down to eye-level with your young reader so as not to talk down to them, while at the same time giving them something to reach for and grow into. It also requires an astute understanding of the language of children for the age you are trying to reach, yet not too overly simplified and not too far above them. Children do need to learn new and bigger words, and the context of a story is the perfect place to teach them, yet you need a well measured approach. A child's story book is actually a masterpiece of precision along with frivolity; a child's playground mixed in with a sprinkle of knowledge. It's an exercise of fantasy and whimsy and even gibberish intertwined while also offering them a long and soulful drink to expand their curiosity. It's an energetic undertaking which is perhaps why I shy away from it.

Fantasy, in particular, feels very left wing for my brain. I'm not sure why. Maybe I don't like the blurred lines with reality or perhaps it feels too nonsensical for my realistic mind. But children love fantasy so it never hurts to learn to write in that genre if you are going to write a children's book. Even a line or two of fantastical nonsense can keep them giggling. Come to think of it, the story The Wonky Donkey (written by Craig Smith, illustrator Katz Cowley), fits the Children's Literature/Fantasy genre quite well. I laughed and laughed my way through that ridiculous, crazy story while reading it to my granddaughter. She laughed too but perhaps also at her silly grandmother. Maybe that joyful experience is why my heart turned towards the thought of a children's book and fantasy for this month's blog post. Perhaps my Two Llamas and a Horse need to do something 'Wonky'.

Horse continued staring at the hill, where their owner had now disappeared over. "Well I'm not waiting anymore to find out," he said and ended it with his loudest neigh. "Let's go." "Ya," said the second Llama, "Let's go!" Giving yet another shake of his head to get the hair out of his eyes. First Llama looked up lazily from his grazing. "Really? You're both nuts." "We're All nuts," said Second Llama, "because you started it." "Awww sheesh," said First Llama, as he moved slowly to follow Horse who was already at the gate. "Hold on, Horse," he said, "I know just what to do to break us out of here. "Come on Second Llama, we'll need your help." With that, the Two Llamas and A Horse backed up and took their hardest charge at the gate, that had needed a bit of fixing awhile ago. Llama One had a very surprised look on his face. Llama Two still couldn't see through his hair, and Horse had his ears pinned back in excitement. It was finally going to happen. He would finally find out what was over that hill. They all looked at each other and then back at the fence and then......"Charge!" yelled Llama One. "Ya Charge!" Llama Two repeated. "Ok then," yelled Horse, "Charge!" And so they did.

Gloria writes and blogs from small town Saskatchewan near the very farm where Two Llamas and A Horse lived their best lives. Sadly Horse is the last survivor of the trio but the Two Llamas live on in his memories. Gloria usually writes Memoir, Creative Non-Fiction, Devotional, Poetry, and the occasional fiction. She is more than open to some feedback on what she considers her poor attempt at a Children's Story.

Challenge Given by Carol Harrison

When I began writing, I only wrote non-fiction memoir style stories and one book. It became my comfort zone. I had no intention of branching out into other genres. Then one of my grandsons challenged me to try and write fiction – any type. He didn’t give up on checking on me. I decided to accept his challenge and attempt to write a fiction book. I did it.

Now I had two genres to play around with and I thought that would be the end of the story. I would work on the craft, learn what I could, and hopefully continue to improve. Then one of my granddaughters challenged me to attend a poetry writing workshop with her at our local library. I went with her and discovered we wouldn’t just learn about poetry but be expected to write some. I didn’t think I could fulfill this part of the challenge but what do you do but try as a grandchild waits for you to step up and keep trying.

Now maybe my family could be satisfied with the diversity of my writing. I continued to attempt more poetry, write several fiction books, as well as more memoir style stories and devotionals. I thought that should be an acceptable range.

But before my husband passed away he threw out several challenges. One was a memoir style story. Okay. I had written that genre before. But the other one would be new. He challenged me to write a Love Inspired style romance novel.

I enjoy the light reading of this style of books and had read many of them over the years. Now with Brian’s challenge fresh in my mind, I signed out stories from the library and curled up to read for pleasure and for research. I went to the guidelines for writing and submitting these stories and studied them carefully. I joined the Facebook group Write for Harlequin and found feedback from others who were published and those, like me, who might try and one day have a Love Inspired book. The writing guidelines provided the accepted formula they are looking for in each book, the word count, and the types of stories they are seeking.

Could I actually attempt this? Should I accept the challenge thrown out to me? I must admit to wanting to forget the challenge and yet it kept coming up in conversation. I started a story and finished a few chapters before getting stuck. I researched some more and came back to write a little more. It wasn’t as easy as it sounded and I put it away just before my husband passed away. I must admit it sits on my computer, unfinished. I haven’t looked at it in two years. Maybe it’s long enough to see it with fresh eyes. Will it ever get further than sitting on my computer? It depends on what the finished product is like, whether I choose to submit it or not. For now it is a venture into a new genre I had never written in before. Maybe this blog post theme will push me to go back to the waiting story and see where I’m at with it. Challenges can be good for a person. It moves them out of their comfort zone. I know it has me over the years.

Carol Harrison loves to do the reading more than writing in a different genre. Yet the research aspect of the reading is great fun. Her favourite chair at her home in Saskatoon begs for someone to curl up with a good book, a fun story, or something to make a person think. 
 

Redemption Writing by Sharon Heagy

 

My new muse who sits above my desk. (I love bears)

Wow. What a challenge this month's prompt has been, at least for me. I decided to try writing some flash fiction as it is something I have tried only once. For those who may not have discovered the world of flash fiction it is a short piece, often a narrative, which still has character and plot development. They can be anywhere from 6 to 1000 words. When I took a gander to remind myself of what constituted flash fiction, I found out there are all kinds of labels for the craft. There is the six-word story, the 280 character story, also known as twitterature, the dribble which contains 50 words and is also known as the minisaga, the drabble, a.k.a. microfiction with 100 words, sudden fiction which can be composed of up to 750 words, flash fiction up to 1000 words and microstory. Some of you may be familiar with the story "The Gift of the Magi" by O. Henry. It is considered a piece of flash fiction and not just a short story. It appears some writing form definitions may cross over with this style of writing. When I had first tried this genre I found it to be inspiring. This time not so much.

My first foray into the world of flash fiction was the story of a young couple whose child was in the hospital. The wife had fled into the park across the street from the medical centre thinking her child was dying when in reality the doctors had made a mistake. The husband, learning of the error, searches for his wife and finally gives her the good news and they head back into the hospital. It was a story of breaking hearts and sorrow that turned into a story of hope and encouragement.

The second story began with a young girl living in the Yukon who dreams of a glamorous life beyond the bush. She wants to be considered a one of a kind rarity. Someone special. But her dreams are interrupted by the reality of survival as her mother reminds her she needs to get out and pick berries to be canned before the early snows come. They need to get all the food they can because game is scarce that year. The girl leaves with a couple of buckets to get both berries and various mushrooms which are growing in abundance near her home. The story was going to end with her being eaten by a grizzly which would fulfill her dream of being a rarity as there are very, very few instances where bears of any kind have eaten human beings. I stopped in the middle of the story.  It was a tale so dark and grim and it kind of shocked me, even though my sense of humour is not always light. I thought of people who might read this story. There was no redemption, no hope, nothing to lighten the heart or bring a healing balm. I put down my pen, closed my folder and walked away upset. 

Feeling I had no fodder for my contribution to the blog, I began aimlessly scrolling around the internet. That's when I came across this quotation: "The difference between a good writer and a great one isn't raw talent. It's the willingness to tear their own work apart and stitch it back together - better, stronger and a little less embarrassing." (Sabyasachi Roy - The Art of Rewriting: Where Good Writing Goes to Die (and Get Resurrected)  I've never read this volume on writing but now I'm curious. This quotation, however, quickened my heart and planted a spark. Not that I am a great writer, but I do have the ability to re-work the story, change the direction and outcome and try again as I ask God for help. 

That's the plan. To try again. To redeem a grim tale into a beacon of hope.

 

It's also one of my prayers for all Inscribe Writers - to be beacons of hope and light as we hone our craft together. You have all been such an encouragement to me, and I am privileged to be witness to your encouragement for all. For that I am forever grateful. God bless.

Sharon Heagy writes from the little town of Rockglen, which is nestled in the hills of southern Saskatchewan. Her kids have flown the coop so she and her husband have retired to town. She writes to inspire and give hope with a chuckle or two along the way.... though maybe not in today's offering. 

Keeping It Fresh by Steph Beth Nickel

 

Writing Writer Notes - Free photo on Pixabay

Sometimes it's hard to keep things fresh. We may lack inspiration and excitement about what we write and/or what we read. Just why is that?

When we discover a process that works for us, we may stick with it—even when it no longer serves us well.

When we settle on our favourite (genre, book format, location to write, etc.), we may become reluctant to try something new.

And as we get older, we may get set in our ways.

One way to keep things fresh and exciting is to continue to explore, no matter how old we get, no matter how set in our ways.

What does this look like practically speaking?

Location. Location. Location.

If possible, I highly encourage exploring new locations. My hubby and I spent three weeks with our eldest and his wife last year. In that time, we visited Scotland, Iceland, and Ireland. Cliché as it may sound, it was the trip of a lifetime.

While a trip across the Pond, or even across the country, may not be possible, checking out local attractions and taking day trips can create happy memories and inspire your writing.

And speaking of writing…

Taking your laptop or notebook to a new location can get your creative juices flowing when the same old-same old weighs you down.

Finding it challenging to write at the time of day you’re used to because of a change in your circumstances? Not only can a change of location benefit your writing, writing at a different time of day can do the same.

Plus, trying your hand at writing something you’ve never written before can stretch your writing muscle.

And remember…

You never have to share that poem that makes you cringe or that fanfiction that makes you shake your head and ask how you could have ever written such drivel.

On the other hand…

You just may find a new passion, one you may eventually share with others or one that you keep to yourself.

What about reading?

There are a plethora of fiction genres and subgenres available and nonfiction books on virtually any topic you can name. Why not branch out and pick up a book you wouldn’t typically be drawn to? And if it turns out you really don’t like it, it’s a-ok to set it aside. Really, it is.

Hardbacks. Paperbacks. eBooks. Audiobooks. Fiction. Nonfiction.

I have volumes in every category on the go at any given moment, but I know I’m an anomaly.

How about you? Do you read only nonfiction paperbacks? Fiction eBooks? A variety of audiobooks? One at a time or so many you have to concentrate intently to keep characters and plotlines from getting confused?

If possible, why not read in a format you aren’t typically drawn to? I find each one has its specific charms.

And maybe read one nonfiction book and one novel at the same time if you’re used to reading a book from beginning to end before going on to the next one.

How do you keep things fresh in the areas of writing and reading?

The Case of the Missing Gun Cabinet Keys; Based on a True Story by Sandra Rafuse

The gun cabinet keys were missing. Bob had looked for them in the safe place where he kept them, but they weren't there and they should have been. He needed to use two of his guns to teach the Hunter Safety course to the registered students in a couple of weeks; the students would handle them one on one (one instructor/one student/one gun) under strict supervision with no ammunition anywhere in sight. Where were the keys?

So began the search: a most unusual occurrence. Anyone who owns guns knows the guns have to be kept locked up in a gun cabinet and the keys put in a safe place somewhere away from the cabinet. Drawers were opened and cleaned out. Floors were thoroughly swept with all the swept-up stuff examined carefully, shelves were searched and items rearranged, pockets were checked, and when all that was done, the process began all over again. How could the keys be missing? They were so important and were never moved from their safe place until they were needed to open the gun cabinet door. Bob was becoming worried that he would have to break open the door and then the gun cabinet would no longer be able to be used. The search went on daily.

It was the middle of the night. The room was dark and I was awake. Lying on my side I stretched out my legs and moved my head higher on the pillow, lifting my eyes to look out the open bedroom door, out into the blackness of the hallway. I was thinking of...what?...nothing. There was only stillness and silence in the room.

Then...'They're on top of the door jamb'. A clear, calm, and peaceful voice spoke in my mind. I knew immediately what the voice was telling me. Raising my blanket and tossing it aside, I carefully and quietly slipped out of bed and stepped out of the bedroom into the hallway. Searching with my eyes through the dimly lit area, I took three steps forward to the doorway of our boys' room. Lifting my right hand to the top of the door frame, I deftly moved my fingers along the top of the wood until they bumped into something hard. I knew what it was...there they were...the missing gun cabinet keys!

The memory of a day a couple of weeks ago came rushing back. I had been planning to clean out a few drawers in a secretary and when I opened the top drawer, I saw the keys lying in a corner.  Knowing they needed to be kept in a safe place while I cleaned, I turned and looked at the nearby door frame to the boys' bedroom.  And what thought came into my mind? The most logical one of course. 'What safer place to put the keys than up on the door jamb?' Right there and then I put them on top and promptly forgot about them until this night.

Oh joy! Just like that, the missing gun cabinet keys were found. The case was closed. I wanted to wake  Bob up right away but I knew he needed his sleep so I let him be. As I lay there, with the keys safely under my pillow, I anticipated the look on his face in the morning when I would tell him they had been found. And I thought about the voice that had spoken to me. I thought of how good God is to be concerned about everything that happens in Bob's and my life. In his own timing, he gives us the answers we are looking for and we are helped.

 

Sandra Rafuse lives in the small town of Rockglen, Saskatchewan with her husband, Bob, a Gordon Setter named Sadie, an old and much loved cat named Kitty, and a Peregrine falcon named Peet. She is a retired teacher and an amateur writer and is enjoying having the opportunity to share what God has been teaching her through all her life experiences very much.

 

 

P.S. It was while I was contemplating which genre I should try to write in this month that I recalled the missing keys situation. 'I'll try and write a short mystery story', I thought to myself. 'Maybe I will become another Agatha Christie'. So I checked out "mystery" on the internet and found out I would need to have a murder take place in the story to make it a real mystery. Oh dear. That wasn't going to happen here. Well, I figured that this was a mystery anyway and decided to go ahead and give it a try. I now have even more admiration and respect for all those great mystery writers out there. Kudos to them!

They Call Me Pastor by Bob Jones

The July prompt invited us to explore a genre we have never written in. Mine is poetry. I researched the various types of poetry: free style, haiku, ode, elegy, epic, ballad, acrostic, sonnet, and limerick to name a few.

Here’s my attempt at my own definition of freestyle poetry.

Being a pastor is not something to which I aspired.
It certainly wasn't a childhood desire.
By nurture, I'm a people person.
By nature, I’m the opposite version.

See a turtle on a fence post?
It didn't get there on its own
someone placed it there alone.
My fence post is a platform
that is not the norm,
of pastoral dare
for people under my care.

My most common connections with people occur
Sundays in the church foyer, which I prefer.

Preaching, teaching, praying, and meetings that are kept short,
Or officiating a wedding, a baby dedication or a celebration of some sort.

My most enduring connections are with people in crisis,
careening through a divorce,
facing debilitating distress,
suddenly bereaved,
with a loved one in need of help,
or diagnosed with a terminal illness,
not knowing where else to turn, who call for help.

We cry together,
struggle together,
pray together,
mourn together,
heal together.

Those circumstances create timeless connections.

We bond because of the shared pain and grace,
and thrive through the things we face.
We become warrior, sisters, brothers,
because our light has not been smothered.

It's easy to pick up a conversation after many months of separation,
renewed connections need no preparation.

Every so often, one of those connections does not stand the test of time.
Or trouble.

Seemingly out of the blue there is a change.

When my leadership,
spiritual insight,
ministry,
vision,
friendship,
are no longer adequate for their,
preference/need/circumstance,

and a close friend/co-worker/congregant
chooses to no longer be an ally,

I have to say,
“Ouch,”
and then,
“Grace and peace to you.”

…and continue to nurture and focus on the people still in my care.

I'd like to say that I have learned not to let such experiences of loss affect me, but I haven’t.

I’ve concluded that pain is the price of caring and vulnerability.
Jesus understood that.

After all,
who was it that experienced the first, “Judas Kiss?”

My pastoral ministry has spanned forty-four years, however in many ways I feel like a rookie.

I suppose that’s good because it means that each day brings new,
challenges,
complexities,
opportunities,
ways of doing things, and
ways of dealing with life.

The newness compels me to lean hard into Jesus.

No two days of ministry are EVER the same.

Variety is the spice of life,
and my pastoral experience is 5-pepper spicy.

There is nothing I would rather be than a pastor,
Even though other careers

To hear someone, someday say
that my life helped saved the day
or inspired them to pursue pastoral
would be my highest commendation.

Til then,
I will keep the faith,
fight the good fight,
run with perseverance,
long for His appearing,
forget what is behind, and
press toward the goal to win the prize for which God has called me.

And there you go. How did I do?

Thank you for reading all the way through.

Exploring Poetry by Sandi Somers

 

First Limerick 

During my second year of teaching, I introduced limericks to my Grade Five class. We studied the rhythm and rhyme scheme. Then before asking each student to try writing one, we composed one together. Chuckles and laughter filled the classroom, and my chest filled with pride for my creative students. I’ve never forgotten it.

 

There was an old car without tires,

Who always ran over those liars.

When the liars got caught,

The car said, “O gosh!

I’ll never be sold to the buyers.” 

                            

There are times I’m inspired by poetry and spin off a well-known (to me) poem. To give a background to the poem below, my InScribe local writers’ group was practising alliteration, onomatopoeia, rhythm, and repetition, using as our model Alfred Noyes’ “The Highwayman” (read it here). One morning, with a sudden inspiration, I began to write my own spin off. I composed half of it in a few minutes, and the rest needed to be thought out carefully day by day. I submitted it to FellowScript, and it was published. You may have read it there. 

The Deadline

 (Apologies to Alfred Noyes’ “The Highwayman”)

 

The moon was a missile of motion

Sailing through starlit skies

And the shaft of light through the window

Shone as I typed through my tears

 

My mind lay bare in the moonlight—       

          Blank and bare in the moonlight

And the blood of my veins in the moonlight

Throbbed at my sweated brow

 

There was pressure at every keystroke

And cross-offs on every dark line

For I couldn’t see through my tears

The direction I should take.

 

Then softly a whisper I listened

And then I heard the Lord say

Look to me for insight

          Watch for me for insight

I’ll inspire you ‘fore midnight

And nothing can bar your way.

 

I whispered a prayer of great thanks

As I swirled words and phrases

T’was only God who had done it

Had given me words that I needed

 

My mind shone with brilliance

My thoughts flew like flickers

And this writer kept writing—

          Writing—writing

I kept writing to the dreaded deadline.

 

And now ere the stroke of midnight

Soft ere the stroke of midnight

The tip of my finger touched “Send”

The submission at last t’was complete.

 

And there you have it. Poetry brings images and vividness to life that sometimes can’t be expressed in prose. Poetry elevates our language. I might say that I was inspired to write a poem, but the psalmist began with these wonderful words: 

 

My heart is stirred by a noble theme as I recite my verses for the king;

my tongue is the pen of a skillful writer. 

Psalm 45:1 (NIV)

 

Sandi Somers writes mostly non-fiction, but has explored fiction, particularly historical and Biblical fiction. Most of her poetry learning has come from poets in her InScribe local writers’ group. 

Image by Tea time reading poetry

No Zombies Here by Brenda J Wood

I started out with cookbooks. They suited my time frame.

Several years went by. I upped my writing game.

Columns in newspapers. Dabbles in low-cal food;

Potato menus yearly for Potato Festival brood.

And then I found my Jesus. Devos then my game;

Because, you all know it. I really wasn’t the same.

Heart-to-Heart, a devo. God, Gluttony & You - Bible study rage.

Others all soon followed as I wrote page on page.

The numbers kept on rising. Two books on grief alone.

Bible studies gathered. All of them my own.

Christmas, children, poetry. I wrote them all, my pets.

The Slightly Murderous Christian - that’s what old age gets.

Books on fat and eating. Cheering You Up on Your Weigh Down.

What’s left? I ask politely, as I write in dressing gown!

What’s left to challenge? On this one you can bet.

I haven’t written horror or Zombies. No, not yet.

Those all die a perfect death. My heart denies them breath.

And do remember friends. Keep writing unto death.

(Top)Image by NietjuhArt from Pixabay

Brenda J Wood has authored more than fifty books. She is a seasoned motivational speaker, who declares the Word of God with wisdom, humour, and common sense.

Confessions of a Flibbertigibbet by Lorrie Orr

 

Explore

This month’s prompt is taken from July 2014, written by Sandi Somers, and asks you to explore, to travel in new directions. Perhaps you tend to write in only one particular genre, or in one particular voice and style for a particular audience.

This month, become an explorer by selecting a genre or a voice/style that you haven’t worked in before (or rarely). Write for a different audience. Do a little research. Then tell us how you saw with new eyes, what you discovered, and if you would consider further writing in this genre.

I married a curious and adventurous explorer, and I've embraced much of his spirit, albeit with more trepidation. We've lived in and visited places that have my heart pounding and my hands sweaty. Our most recent adventure took us along two infamous roads in British Columbia. The portion of Highway 20 (Heckman Pass) known as The Hill descends from 5000 feet to sea level in 10 kilometres. There are no guardrails, up to 18% gradients, hairpin curves, and a very steep drop off the edge. "My life is in your hands," I kept reminding God as we crawled down the road in four-wheel drive-low range. The views at the end of the road, in Bella Coola, were well worth the chewed-off nails.

Exploring can be uncomfortable in any area of life, writing included. And it can be a grand adventure, full of unexpected twists and turns. Jane Austen's words "Indulge your imagination in every possible flight," taken with the idea of writing in different genres, fit my writing persona well. When asked what I write, I have to think for a moment to come up with a concise answer that doesn't make me sound like a flibbertigibbet. My writing life runs the gambit of genres from poetry to fiction to devotionals to nature writing. And I'm currently writing (nearly finished) a memoir. Whew! A children's story or two lurk at the back of my mind, as well.

Writing is a way of exploring my own heart and mind, and a way to communicate with others. Lists keep me organized. Pouring out my heart in written prayer connects me to Jesus. Journaling crystallizes my thinking. I hope that devotionals encourage those who read them. Louise Penny says that she began to write mysteries because that's what she enjoyed reading. That inspired me to begin a mystery of my own, now set aside until the memoir is finished. In my limited experience with fiction, I pray that spiritual truths will be made clear even if the name of Jesus is never written. Nature writing is inspired by the wonders of creation, from the tiniest ladybug to the grandeur of stars moving across a night sky.

I have always been one to try new things; hobbies, recipes, books, and crafts. My interests are varied. Several years ago I read Refuse to Choose: A Revolutionary Program for Doing Everything You Love by Barbara Sher. She groups people into two loose categories, Scanners and Deep Divers. How free I felt after reading that Scanners like me need to do different things, often have multiple careers, and can be involved in parallel fulfilling activities. This is the way God made me. I use my character trait without guilt, but I am careful to make the effort to focus on finishing projects rather than just having many unfinished pieces. Sticking with a project until it's done is important.

As Gerard Manley Hopkins wrote, "The world is charged with the grandeur of God," and although Hopkins was speaking about Nature, God's grandeur includes human minds, created in God's image. I pray that my writing will, in a tiny way, reflect the glory of He who gave me the desire to write.

I will go anywhere, provided it be forward.

David Livingstone

Lorrie Orr writes from her home on Vancouver Island,

from where she accompanies her husband on adventures near and far,

always taking a notebook and a camera along to

record her thoughts and impressions.