AN INTERIOR LIFE JOURNEY by Sheila Webster

 

I declared this as my beach in ancient times.

At the end of a small southern Saskatchewan Lake,

I rest on silent silky sand.

Shorebirds call in twilight,

familiar languages I have heard.

Summer solace.

Often solo I crave 

the cacophony of nature

and silence of man.

The land is owned perhaps

by more than myself.

I don't see it this way,

in my interior life it is mine.

I brave bracken, weeds, old barb wire.

My own fears, 

and interior terrors.

To claim this moment,

of time.

In it,

I am - 

Past, Present and Future

tenses of myself.

The sand

and prairie wind

driven surf

are mine.

They restore my soul.

Like endless grains of sand

I count my daily gratitudes.

Few friendships

are sacred enough to share

this spot, but by firelight

in twilight I have.

Silent we listen

to the echo of ourselves

driven by the desire

for peace and perfection.

so is the interior journey

that feeds 

my writer's soul...

pictures taken June 25, 2021

Spirit Beach exists at the end of a lake

but in name only in my interior life

Fly Away - Sheila Webster

 

Did you ever get surprised by something you wrote? I have…especially lately.  A small personal unusual collaboration opened more doors without me trying. It literally has exploded and I never know where the next opportunity will come from.

It all began by admiring a local artist for their creativity and voice in a music video they had shared. I knew them slightly so I complimented them on it.

For a long time, I had wanted one of my poems turned into a rap song (believe it or not). After some thought and prayer, I got brave and asked if she would look at a poem. 

She agreed! Kendal connected with my poem about domestic violence and before long she had some basic beats, not rap but very catchy.

Kendal thought it was possible to record at a studio for a reasonable price and the rest is history, right down to the day I wanted it launched.

It seemed like a far-fetched dream, like a fantasy.  Now, however, after a month it seems like it has always existed and its audience and presence continue to grow.

Last night Kendal and I were asked to do a closed group hour-long Facebook live. We were to talk about our passion for the subject, the genesis of the poem, and our collaboration.

We come from different lifestyles and spiritual paths but our paths crossed and connected in a surreal way to bring awareness and hope to the issue of domestic violence.

I’m grateful that I stepped out in faith and courage that there was a bigger plan for a piece of my writing that is raw and vulnerable.

I'm grateful for the ability, seeing the opportunity, stepping into a dark space, and bringing some light and hope.

It’s all I ever wanted any of my writing to do. Shine a little bit in dark places.

Thank you, Kendal, Cindy, and Ben for making a dream come true while I blinked. You can hear the song by clicking on "Fly Away" below.

Fly Away (Jasmine's Song)

Co-written by Kendal and Sheila Webster

Sheila often writes on napkins, texts to friends and sometimes notebooks. (Not so much computers etc. as they are in a constant state of not working.) She is passionate about true vulnerability that transforms through any medium and for many causes.

0 Words by Sheila Webster

 0 Words.

 It was difficult to accept that my computer had not saved my blog offering for today. I looked at the bar at the bottom of the word document and realized there was nothing I could do to reclaim the words I had prepared.

Maybe I was just supposed to share something else, something about moments when I had no words for what had just happened.

One of those moments happened this summer, I opened an envelope from someone expecting an encouragement card. What it contained was the exact amount to redeem a costly mistake a friend had made that ended up being charged to me. No number of words could change what happened, it was not worth pursuing for compensation, but God knew.

Opening that card opened me up to a new relationship with the divine and community that listens to God. The card was a picture of a picture of one of my favorite flowers, inside was the exact amount needed, and I had drove by the gentleman at a moment he was wondering how to get it to me. 

No words describe how the divine was already at work in a way I could not see or feel in a very dark moment of life.  As any time the divine reveals love and compassion to us we could write, sing or paint forever about how that gift continued to give warmth and companionship long after it was given.

Silence... by Sheila Webster

 Sometimes it is not the words that mean the most but silence in all the ups and downs of life.

For some time I have had a friend who thought I was helping them.  Turns out perhaps they have helped me more. When I talk they do not edit me or argue. Often their silence is pure affirmation of me as a person.  It has not happened before in this way. 

They may not believe the argument but they always believe me - life changing for me. 

Every evangelical needs an agnostic as a friend to sharpen and hone their beliefs and to help discard absolutely false ones of themselves and the Creator.

I thank God everyday they arrived during this last turbulent season to remind me of who God made me to be and that I may be a dishevelled mess one day but it isn’t a permanent state. The next day without explanation I will be amazing. It doesn’t matter i can be like Saskatchewan weather 32 degrees one day and snow on the horizon that evening. It doesn’t mean anything is deeply flawed in me. 

Their silent encouragement and occasional words have brought out a stable acceptance that I am not just ok...I have moments of amazing and it’s all good.

In turn I have been able to edit the things in my life that hindered me from being my best. (Throwing off all that encumbers echoes loudly here)

We never know what slaves we have been to our stuff, loyalties, false notions of low self worth (no matter how deeply those lies have been branded on our fragile hearts) until we are set free from them by the truth.  It doesn’t matter who speaks that truth, God uses whatever or whomever we will listen to.

I will miss them when they go as our friendship is not a permanent fixture. The impact of their silence, their few words, their looks and the mutual enjoyment of creation how ever is empowering and endearing. Loads of laughter, challenging circumstances, crazy adventures and heap loads of room and forgiveness have created an internal cohesive space I no longer want to leave.

Thank God for friends of all faith and walks of life. 

--

Sheila Webster

ECHO OF THE EONS OF INSCRIBE by Sheila Webster

This will be more fragments of thought than a coherent piece, so don't be shocked! I have made it to look a little like the old carbon copies from the beginning of time in the ancient annals of of InScribe (formerly ACWF). Within it you made find references to people unknown to you. 

Today's InScribe looks very different but it stands on the shoulders of many who have come before us... 

Do You Know The Way? ...to San Jose? by Sheila Webster

Which Way Do We Go?

Directions are an important part of life and many songs have been written about direction such as, “Do you know the way to Santa Jose?” to the  “We Three Kings of Orient Are.” Humans are always following something or looking for direction.

There are those that go their own way as outlined in the early Fleetwood Mac song “You Can Go Your Own Way.” Others may realize that going back to the beginning brings some clarity as in Steve Bells’ pop-folksy trans-seasonal classic, “Turn it Around.” There are a multitude of other ‘directional songs over the decades and centuries.

The first picture in this blog was taken this past week at a camp I have loved for two decades.  I love that it tells newcomers where they can find the important things in life - the beach; a shower or a sanctuary for their soul. Sounds like some good self care!

The latter picture in my directional set was also taken this past week at a drive-through live nativity scene - I think I loved the picture more than the experience as it took me back in memory to my time kicking around the hills of Bethlehem, Jerusalem and Nazareth. 

The drive through experience became an excruciating forty minute wait in a long line of restriction bound citizens who longed for a glimpse of Christmas past and connection.  Ten minutes in I wished I could ‘turn it around,’ but the bumper to bumper sightseers prohibited such an exodus.

The din in my car was reaching epic proportions from my sometimes rude little rabble-rousers and quickly took the joy out of showing  them the sight.  Although the requisite “awe” over the live nativity and follow up “can we pet them” inserted itself, soon the anticipated bloodied noses from sibling rivalry exploded in my backseat. It was a bizarre ride to the end as sweet Christmas music contrasted the scene in my car. As we left the parking lot briefly I opened my drivers window so the parking lot ushers could shove a long pole laden with a handmade wire star tree ornament and a holiday card. They looked slightly shocked at the wailing emitted through the cracked open window and my terse thank you. I am absolutely positive they would pray for my salvation.

Life is a moment by moment course of action, we are all headed in a direction, often following someone, sometimes we even want to exit and do our own thing.  The message of 2000 years ago is even more poignant today as we all feel a darkness close to us and long for a star to guide us. We crave our tribes to travel with through the darkness to find hope underneath that guiding light.  

In whatever direction you are headed this season be assured there are other travellers looking for the hope at the end of the destination who may need your words, your song or your unique perspective on the journey.

Sheila Webster

DEEP IN DIVERSE by Sheila Webster

This past January my years verse was James 1:2-5.  For me it is more of a life verse.  It became very apt though for all of us.

There are always moments of madness and moments of meditation, reflection and processing on the events.

From the death of a grandchild to the birth of two, 

death of relative

to the moving of one son and impending marriage of another 

and the daily needs of my home. 

Life propels us into an uncertain future. But there is always wisdom and hope to be found when we seek it.

A LAYETTE - Sheila Webster

When you are fostering, you usually don’t have much time to make up your mind if you are taking a particular child.  Especially on a Friday if there is an emergency and all the homes are filled. 

I always tried to do the best I could to lessen the anxiety of a new child in what was a terrifying situation for them.  Even when home circumstances were difficult for them, they naturally are bonded to their biological parent and very fearful.

I had more than enough time to think though when I was asked to take a sixteen-year-old pregnant girl.  She had many challenges before she found out she was pregnant, and currently was an angry smoker who was quitting everything else cold-turkey.

When the worker phoned and asked, I said no.  Actually more like NO!

The worker continued, “She had turned herself into us after having run away for the last year. She asked us not to find a foster home, but a mother.”  As hard as I tried, I couldn’t forget that phrase.  I told the rest of the family what we had been asked and why I had said no.  We agreed it probably wasn’t our skill set with so many kids already.

However  my biological daughter Hannah, who was 13 at the time, came to the breakfast table one morning.  “Mom I dreamt that girl died within a week if we don’t take her – we need to.”  I felt trapped as this daughter was the one who always had an uncanny intuition.  She begged; I reluctantly said I would meet her.

It was gloomy out when I picked her up. She had on a couple of hoodies and an attitude that was palatable.  I also detected fear of rejection and sheer terror on her part.  We went for a long drive to chat about her, her life and what she wanted.  I wouldn’t say she was endearing, but she was incredibly vulnerable and honest, in a way.

Our family prayed about it and said we would TRY, but couldn’t promise anything.  As we prepared for the day she would move in, I was impressed with the old-fashioned notion of a layette - not for her baby, but for her.  It was something that I felt torn about as I wasn’t as brave as people gave me credit for, and I wasn’t seasoned at dealing with rejection by a teen, (although I am now!) 

However, I couldn’t shake the idea.

I perused the aisles of the closest department store wondering what a layette for a sixteen-year-old would look like. I chose a bath towel, some pajamas, sheets and a comforter.  I then felt impressed to ask her if she wanted to choose a paint color for her room.  I was way out of my comfort zone as the kids usually had to share a room, and I had never offered that for another kid.  

Reluctantly, she agreed to help paint and chose a blue color.  As we painted, I prayed since it was hard to know what she was thinking.

The first day she lived with us was a disaster, despite my hope that there would be a honeymoon period as there was with some kids.  I told her the rules and what she had to do that the other teens in our home did.  I wouldn’t waver and she balked and took off down the street.  I was frustrated and felt distress, but took off after her praying and muttering as I went.

“Wait, let’s talk.” As she turned I could see she was angry but holding back tears.  I immediately relented on my hard and fast rules and said, “Hey, you know what? I didn’t accommodate the fact you are pregnant even though you are a teenager.  Let’s figure out what would work together.”

She turned around and came back home.  For the past 15+ years I have been her mom, and her now five boys’ grandma.  Never was I her foster parent.

THEMES OF MY TRIBE - Sheila Webster

I have a tribe it is actually called The Tribal Unit and they affectionately call me “Leader of the Pack.” (At least I’ve never questioned that the title is an affectionate one!) I asked the tribe recently what themes overarched my life.  I was surprised at the robust response.

Some of the categories made me ruefully question the legacy I am leaving, sunburns from rebellious acts being one!

Sunsets and car rides,

Sunburns from rebellious acts;

Campfires and burn barrels;

Grace and redemption;

Searching for my tribe;

Empowering others through poetry and prose;

Characteristic and predictable spontaniety;

Painting as coping;

Loving the unloved

and trusting for provision.

Life, I have found, is to be lived and that would explain the diversity of themes in my life, and I would add one – perseverance through trials. What should we as writers do with the lives we have lived except write and share the triumph in the tragedy, or just the sheer volume of sadness a tragedy dictates? Whether it is in the prose or poetry it is the artists and writers, as well as the inventors that leave a lasting legacy.

Inventions however seem static in comparison to the poetry and prose. In high school I remember the flat statistics about inventions but still mull over things read or said in Social or English classes. The verses to songs from grade ten English float through my mind on occasion and I wonder if we were right about their meaning. 

The joy and horror of having Shakespeare explained and then wondering again if any of us would ever write something that would still be read hundreds of years later.

With the resurgence of music from my high school era amongst my younger children I watch bemused as they tell me I don’t know what it means or see them roll their eyes as they patiently explain what is so great about the beats. Their experience of something so entwined with my graduate year is mind blowing. Do the songs I lived have any connection to them and the culture they exist in?

Recently I read a horrible history fact on a writer and inventor I previously admired. What I read so sickened me I cannot imagine ever reading anything by them again. Should I feel that way? I am not sure as I know we all as humans have a seemlier side whether we admit or not, moments that we perhaps we would prefer not to be identified as a personal life theme.

I remember one sunburn, maybe not rebellious, but on the day of my grade 12 graduation. My best friend was not attending the celebrations and though it both angered and puzzled me I wanted to do something with her. We decided to tube down the river, without any real idea how long it would take. There were no cell phones and I don’t even know if waterproof watches existed except for divers. It was risky perhaps but off we set.

The river was slow; the day was hot as we meandered our way to some rapids just before the last bridge. I suppose no one was more shocked than my date when he arrived spiffy and dressed a couple minutes after I dragged myself out of the river. I opened the door bedraggled, sunburnt, weeds in my hair and obviously in cutoffs and a tank top. Being a handsome and kind pastor’s son, he coughed and said he was sorry he must have the wrong time or day.

"Not!" I said, and informed him I would be a minute and literally was about seven…showered, blow-dried, curled, makeup and dressed. We had a wonderful time and I didn’t regret any of it.

Those moments are as important and life giving to me as grace and redemption. Maybe there should always be diversity in the themes of our life so that we can live life abundantly! What do you think Tribe?

CRACKS, CRACKPOTS & CHARCUTERIE by Sheila Webster, MA

I have a friend who is part pied piper, magician and musician. We are different in many ways but the same in the ethereal elements of the arts. His wife is a phenomenal artist as well, but at times I believe she struggles less with the cracks of crackpots than we do.

He is a master foodie, using art to make food dance in your imagination and mouth. A couple years ago they flew me out to their home in BC and it was a turning point in my life. From the time the wheels of the plane touched down in Kelowna to the moment I drove away in a car I was returning to its native Saskatchewan for them, we talked, ate, argued and thrived.

It was a complete experience of friendship, food, elements, nature and moments I still unwrap in memory to cherish. Their chalet nestled in the ski town of Rossland was breathtaking in the morning mists adding an otherworld cloak to my days there. The shrouds of fresh air, the scenery, the camaraderie amidst their children’s call, calamities, hugs and hilarities all layered themselves in sensory heaven.

Memories of late evenings by their ever-burning fire or early mornings as the baby babbled and played surrounded by the protective fence to keep the young dogs at bay. One morning I was greeted by mounds of waffles artfully layered with fruit, cream, slivered almonds, a drizzle of syrup and made with a passion for life were paired with strong coffee. Forever this one shared breakfast raised the bar for my idea of morning sustenance.

Thanksgiving evening, they had to slip out for a private family gathering but left me with the visual and taste-able art of a chacuterie board; paired carefully with a drink was thoughtful and inclusive though we were separated for the evening. The warmth of their family oozing through the ordinary and the tantalizing feeling of being included wholly without reservation was humbling.

My friend can make a song out of anything and it becomes so lyrical and haunting. His bathroom transforms late at night into a recording studio, so as not to wake his small tribe and sweetly sleeping wife. The light scent of clean children still lingering while the mists of the steam still are drying on the mirror and shower doors. An errant candle still dances to the melodies. Run little darlin…hurry fast..time to come home… his fingers deftly make the strings sing the songs themselves words measured out with the tunes for perfection.

His creative mind captures things and makes them into reality. At times he will capture the moment in a photo and send it to me as never-ending evidence that his family embraces life differently and sees art all around, natural and potential. This particular picture he has used a pressure washer to etch out a map of the world in simple flaked paint and cement. 

This type of free spirit has always connected with mine, a child in the wind only feeling alive in the creative moments of life. 

He inspires me because he has captured the cracks in his over busy days and full life to seem like a crackpot to some but in reality, a magician, musician and life artist. The proof is not only in the pictures, charcuterie, songs and poetry but the laughter of this pied-pipers children and friends.

Sheila Webster is a writer, certified counsellor & coach, and editor of FellowScript Magazine.        She has been writing most of her life.

Lenten Reflections by Sheila Webster

This day in the Lenten calendar is a little more than halfway through the 2020 Lenten season. How does one feel when they at this point? Are they energized or dreading the next days? Are temptations tempered or taunting at this point? What reflections are made? What sacrifices?

At times when I have fasted, the first three days seem the hardest but further in I feel sharper and more focused. I know not everyone attains that.

This year, while contemplating Lent during this season of my own deep grief, I have wondered a lot about the Garden of Gethsemane and the preparation that came before the dark hours of agony.

Tonight I remembered when I physically visited the Garden outside the old walls of Jerusalem in 1986. I still remember the beauty of the garden in stark contrast to some of its surroundings.

I contemplate the things we do not know from ancient records about the garden. Things like if Jesus and the disciples had gone to the same garden and broke bread together in the bejewelled morning dew, or sat sipping sweet middle eastern tea in the scorching midday, perhaps splitting pomegranates and letting the juice run down their beards as the summer sun slipped like a quarter into a back pocket on the horizon.

And if they did one or all of these things, what did they think of while they participated? Did the times of idle fellowship, earnest conversation and sweet contemplation figure into their later writings? The writings that came after the hours of agony, denial and sacrifice?

Lent is always a season of reflection for me - memories of Israel, thoughts of the ever present Kingdom of God being at hand intermixed with the wonder that the most vulnerable of all - a baby - not an army, aome into the world and changed us one heart at a time.

May that knowledge this Lenten season remind us of our own garden moments and friendships that have brought joy and pain. Those moments which have changed the world around us one heart at a time through our careful recording of the joy and agony of life under the illuminated shadow of the cross.

Spiritual Graffiti - Sheila Webster

This month has been tough on my soul but has spawned a lot of writing despite lack of time.

Our moderator has asked us this month,  “How has God come in and provided refreshment for you? How does He rejuvenate your spirit and/or your writing?”

I reply He does so in the midst of pain with silence, faithful friends, music, sunrises and sunsets. The prayers of others lead us with wisdom to rest.

Some of the most cherished multifaceted  friends I have ever known have come out of the Inscribe family.  Those I have been on the executive with, those I have met online and those I have mentored.

Some of these brave souls have similar trials and questions to those of the Old Testament saints. They persevere with faith through the toughest situations life can throw at them. They leave footprints I can follow in a sudden storm, and I find their words and art like spiritual graffiti on the cyber walls of faith.

In the journey, in the embracing of deep pain, after the triumph they write Gods words that He whispers about those travels and travails.  They rise up and say,  “I have overcome or come through because God gave me the strength.” They are light bearers in the darkness that guide those who follow them.

A couple weeks ago we took some pregnancy pictures of my young daughter after church. There was a warm breeze that day, the sun was shining and her two and a half year old was adorable. She was glowing from health and motherhood and the spontaneous photo shoot became a few moments etched in silver in my mind. 

A few days ago my brave daughter then gave birth to her much anticipated already named son.  His final delivery was even more perfect than her pregnancy.

Ruebens’ fingers and toes and hair were perfect. His little newborn handprint and footprint were so precious as well as his first haircut.

His handmade casket was lovingly toiled over for almost the same amount of hours as she laboured to deliver him. I carefully chose an array of beautiful flowers for his casket spray -wild looking like my daughter and I love to pick in the spring and summer.

In the few days since his death I have written volumes of gratitude to many, penned prose and poetry to remember, to cope, and to preserve the memories like precious jewels.

If you find any of my spiritual graffiti on this cyber wall encouraging, remember to lean in and embrace both the joy and pain deeply. You’ll never regret it or be out of words or refreshment.

Sheila

Perspectives On Trials by Sheila Webster

This church has been one of my favourites to photograph over the last two decades. I fell in love with it because of the architecture, position in the city, and the way the light plays with it throughout the day. 

James 1:2-5NASB2 Consider it all joy, my brethren, when you encounter various [a]trials, 3 knowing that the testing of your faith produces [b]endurance. 4 And let [c]endurance have it's perfect [d]result, so that you may be [e]perfect and complete, lacking in Nothing. 5 But if any of you lacks wisdom, let him ask of God, who gives to all generously and [h]without reproach, and it will be given to him.

A key to thriving in these circumstances is to ask for wisdom.  Wisdom is not the cliches and cookie cutter answers that are readily available but a deep resonance to the purpose of the trial or circumstance from the Author and finisher of our faith. This does not mean we will know the purpose intimately or at all; wisdom creates a resonance to truth in the circumstance and opens us to the wideness and wildness of God’s overarching story.

As with the church I love to photograph, I can see it, touch it, discuss it, move in, around and through it, but I don’t know it.  I know basically why  it exists - I can find the name of the architect, when it was built, the reason one tower is shorter and a multitude of other facts. 

I do not know, however, how it resonates with God’s larger purposes. It may be a place of worship, or just a lovely building, but that is not the whole, or often even real story. I cannot know how many burdens were cast at the altar inside or even on the steps in front. I cannot find the hidden soul records of inner transformation, nor the fountains of forgiveness freely flowing from those so transformed. I do not see the struggling saint or sinner sing in glorious release of inner burdens as the light plays on the stained glass at sunrise or set. I am not privy to the answers to prayers prayed over the decades of its use.

The same with our trials. We may see them, feel them, walk around them, stumble over them and even ignore them or question, "Why me?" But we do not see them from the perspective of wisdom's walk through them. We must understand the mystery of our trials and how the wisdom granted our feeble selves transforms those who witness our perseverance, our victories, our faithfulness and even our relationships with our fallings.

As you journey through 2020, ask for wisdom in valleys and peaks; for a different perspective. We encounter so many things as we journey through life that we have no clue how to handle or even why we must handle them. Depending on the circumstances or trial our responses can vary from deep shame in a dark valley to unbridled elation of a scaled peak that seemed impossible in the beginning.

Unfinished Projects - Sheila Webster

Ephesians 2:10 - For we are His workmanship, created in Christ Jesus for good works, which God prepared beforehand so that we would walk in them.

About 2006 or 2007 I started to write a manuscript about my simple view of spirituality in a book format.  However, one of those life tsunamis took place and much of my writing and life became jetsam on scattered shores of memory.  Never the same again and I didn’t know what happened to that manuscript along with much of my other writing.

In 2011, while visiting my former childhood pastor, several provinces away, he asked me if I had ever published the manuscript.  I was stunned as I had forgotten about it and became ashamed in a way that it was another broken thread of life.

He laughed at me, which seemed like an entirely inappropriate response for what I was feeling.  Upon going to his office he returned with my unfinished manuscript in hand!

“You emailed it to me for my comments on whether it was doctrinally accurate and not condemning of people or situations! “  He seemed to think this should have been obvious to me.

I didn’t know what to do, except that if God had preserved this piece while hundreds had been lost, I must finish it.

Finishing the last few pages was monumental because I was now a different person, No longer the same name or family structure.  God gave me the grace, the faltering words and the funds to complete it.  A Simple Spirituality was published within the next eighteen months.  Many people have told me how my simple faith and perseverance through difficult situations described in the book have encouraged them to return to faith or increased their faith and forgiveness in situations.

Another unfinished project resurrected itself this year.  I was having what I thought was a simple conversation with a friend about something.  It reminded me of something I had written almost two decades ago that also had been lost during that difficult time.

My friend was so intrigued by the story she asked a literary periodical if they would be interested in it!  She then nonchalantly told me they wanted it and to hurry and rewrite it for them.  I had never considered it, as it was a difficult piece.

Rewrite it I did, even though it came out from a different character’s perspective and with different details but a similar ending which was the most salient part.

I have heard several sermons lately about our calling being without repentance – as Christians those good works prepared beforehand by God, in Christ, through the help of the Holy Spirit.

What pieces do you need to dust off, resurrect, pray over or write?  For all of us the process can be challenging but comes down to a number of simple spiritual and practical disciplines.

1.     Pray

2.     Put your hand to the work.

3.     Persevere

4.     Edit

5.     Publish

In the end, whether on earth or later we will hear the words – “well done good and faithful servant.”

The Business End Of Writing by Bob Jones

When you write your final sentence for a blog or a book, your work is half done.

The other half is in making sure people know you wrote something - something that is worth reading.

Writing should be read.

The number of people who view my posts, comment or share what I write is important to me.

The numbers aren’t a validation of my writing, but they do let me know that what I write is read. The comments let me know what is appreciated. The shares tell me that readers are happy to associate my content with their network.

Struggling With The Business End Of Writing?

Writing a book was my hallelujah goal.

When I signed the agreement to publish my first book I knew that marketing was the next step. Marketing was the harder half of hallelujah and surprisingly, it was also the more fulfilling half.

Publishing “Ornament” brought my story to readers.

Promoting “Ornament” brought the readers to me.

My advice to you? Marketing is your business and your blessing. The business end of writing will be a bigger blessing to you than the writing. I met incredible people marketing my book.

Four Unforgetable Encounters

A Nurse

She is an RN at the hospital where Kristen, the young lady my book is about, was cared for in the last days of her life. Nurse Karoline contacted me requesting ten copies of my book. We met at the hospital in ward 7. As I signed each book she told me she was giving them as Christmas presents to the nurses who had cared for Kristen. “Kristen’s life and death left a huge impact on the staff. They were impressed by Kristen’s and her family’s faith. As nurses we look after hundreds if not thousands of people through the years, but she is one patient that is not forgotten.”

The Stranger

A woman who had never met Kristen purchased a copy of “Ornament.” She was so taken by the content that she ordered fifty-five more copies to give away to her business associates. She drove two hours to meet me and have me sign the books on the night of my book launch. Wow.

The Six Year Old Superhero

Mabel Tooke is a six year old diagnosed with leukemia. She became Edmonton’s superhero through the Children’s Wish Foundation. When the evil “Mysterio” kidnapped the Edmonton Oilers’ captain, “Spider Mabel” was called upon to save the day. And save the day she did, freeing Captain Ference and delivering Edmonton from evil. 

A few days before Christmas, Spider Mabel was a special guest at the Jubilee Auditorium where I was signing books. Mabel’s smile is her real secret power. She had me at hello. Her parents insisted on purchasing a book because all the proceeds go to a trust fund for Kristen’s sons. Autographing Mabel’s book was my early Christmas present.

The Established Author

Marty Chan is one of Edmonton’s most well known, if not one of the city’s most well loved authors. He made time from his focused schedule to meet with me at a Starbucks and offer some pointers on how to market a book. Marty had recently hosted a book launch on Halloween where he dressed up like “The Cat in the Hat” much to the enjoyment of his readers. It was through Marty that I got the opportunity for a book signing at Audrey’s Books in the historic MacLean Block. I want to be like Marty when I grow up as an author.

God’s Open Doors

God opened numerous doors for me through marketing. He brought me in contact with Sheila Webster of Inscribe Writers. Sheila put me in touch with Tracy Krauss who asked me to guest post on this blog. The blog has connected me with inspiring Alberta authors.

I met the unforgettable Sarah E. Ball through promoting “Ornament.” Sarah introduced me to her readers through a guest post on her blog “Virtuous Woman Exposed.”

Dez Melenka of CTV called me for an interview about “Ornament.” She ended up producing a six-minute prime time News feature that can’t be watched without tearing up. Amanda Anderson of CTV and Moira Brown of 100 Huntley Street also featured “Ornament” on their shows. Each feature caught the attention of people who purchased the book.

On a ministry trip to Toronto I was introduced to a woman who was given the book to read. She heard I was in town and sought me out to autograph her copy. She apologized for being an agnostic, but she loved the story. We talked about Kristen’s faith. A prayer I had written in the book could be her first step to experience the same kind of faith that Kristen had. Could she take that step? Yes.

Opportunities

I employed the following opportunities to market my book:

1. A well publicized, “official” book launch.

2. Book signings in bookstores, our church and public libraries.

3. Book readings in schools.

4. Book reviews in newspapers, on blogsites and online book distributors like Chapters, Amazon, and Christianbook.com

5. A Facebook community page where people could post their comments.

6. Public events associated with the content of my book such as the Edmonton Singing Christmas Tree and Christmas gift sales.

7. Media interviews.

8. Television features.

9. Newspaper interviews.

10. Book exchanges.

11. Author meet-ups.

12. Book endorsements.

13. Prayer

All of the above helped make “Ornament” the #2 non-fiction best-selling book in Edmonton.

Writing worth reading is worth marketing.

Make marketing your business and it will be your blessing.

Robert (Bob) W. Jones is a recovering perfectionist, who collects Coca-Cola memorabilia and drinks Iced Tea. His office walls are adorned with his sons’ framed football jerseys, and his library shelves, with soul food. He writes to inspire people to be real, grow an authentic faith in Jesus, enjoy healthy relationships and discover their life purpose.