My Mattress

Many years ago, my dad promised me that I could have his bedroom suite when I graduated college, dressers, bed, mattress, etc.  The furniture was stored in a garage, and alas, the mice got to the mattress.  But my dad and stepmother didn't want me to be without, so they gave me an air mattress to use until I could buy a real one.

Well, let me tell you -- I have never slept so well as I do when I am sleeping on my air mattress!  I can inflate it to the max, and it is firm, but it still gives enough that every pressure point has ceased to exist.  It cushions so well!  I can sleep for four hours before I wake up to turn over, and it is good rest, complete rest, rejuvenating rest.    I don't always get that with a "real" mattress.  This morning I fairly bounded out of bed, well rested and ready to go.

I have a friend who sleeps in a hammock.  She swears by it.  If she feels about her hammock the way I feel about my air mattress, I completely understand!

(If this post seems like a non-sequiter, it is because I was elsewhere for three weeks.  Now I am back home, and I didn't realize how much I missed my air mattress until I had it back!)

the end

The End has come.  I knew it would.  I wanted to postpone it as long as humanly possible, but I felt compelled to hurry it along with my bad habits.  A paradox, I know.

No, I am not dying.

I am talking about The End of the list of Ian Rutledge novels by author Charles Todd.  I found the first of the series -- shared by a friend who had yet to read it -- only four weeks ago.  These mystery novels are so well written and exciting and thought provoking and engaging that I can't stop reading them.  Each is over 300 pages long, and I am not a fast reader, but, just to give you an idea, I got two of them out of the library on Friday and returned them both this morning, Monday.  Now I am on the Last One.

I sniffle a bit.  I want to make it last, but alas, I can't put it down, except long enough to write about it!  It is even better than Brother Cadfael, which I found and devoured last summer.  What makes this series so good? 

Ian Rutledge is a real character, meaning he has flaws as well as good points.  He has a consistent enemy, a nemesis that follows him in each book, not a new one each time, reminscent of Superheroes and their Archenemies.  The difference is Hamish MacLeod is only in his head.  Which makes things quite interesting.  What else?  The descriptions allow me to see the English scenes in my mind without clogging up the page, which means words are used to a premium, not wasted.  Something I need to remember, as my descriptions have bordered on Dickensian, and people have not meant it as a compliment!  In addition to flaws and descriptions, these mystery novels give me enough clues that I think I could figure it out, although I am always surprised at the end.  Even in this Second to the Last One that I read, just yesterday, the story began with Todd telling the reader who did it -- I knew by page 5 who it was!  But Ian Rutledge didn't know, and I found myself wondering right along with him until the end.

So why am I going on and on about this?  Because, again, I want to try my hand at a mystery novel.  I think I have a character and a set-up.  Molly is a newspaper writer whose fiance was murdered in their small town.  The police are doing what they can, but let's face it, these small town cops don't have the experience, so she takes the case herself.  Which of course gets her in trouble with the local chief (her nemesis) and possibly threatens her life.  Her fiance is a character in the book, in flashbacks, etc.  This, too, will follow her through a series. 

Hey, if I am going to get it in my head to write one mystery, why can't I tell myself it will be a series.  Every good writer has to have an active imagination, after all...

Hungry

Self-discipline has never been one of my strengths.  Too often, insignificant pastimes overshadow what should be vital.  "Vital" -- as in "check the patient's vital signs" -- those indications of life, the signs that without which we are considered dead.  "Vital" -- as in "water and food are vital to survival."  These things we cannot do without.

Yet there is another hunger.  Well, many actually: a hunger for companionship, acceptance, love, success, fame. 

It is my hunger for God that I want to address.

My hunger for God falls under the category of self-discipline, not because there is a daily or weekly or lifetime list that must be completed in order for me to know God, but because it is a relationship.  And like any relationship, it must be cultivated. 

For instance, this summer I was looking forward to seeing a cousin that I have literally not seen in over 25 years.  We have reconnected via Facebook, and that is wonderful.  Unfortunately, she cannot come.  However, while still in the anticipatory phase, I wondered what we would talk about.  When you have not had a relationship for decades, when that person has no idea about all the liitle nuances and important affairs of your life, where do you begin?  Especially when you do not have an infinite number of days to learn about each other.  I think, in most cases, we would share the basic, surface happenings.  Although related by blood, we are still strangers.  One does not tell strangers one's deepest thoughts and feelings.  Unless one is a guest on an afternoon talk show!

When I spend too much time reading my books, watching TV, even enjoying friends, instead of spending time in prayer and reading His Word, my relationship with God becomes like that distance and time divided relationship with my cousin.  I want to sit down and talk to Him, but what do I say?  I have not shared my thoughts and feelings with God for days, weeks, and I feel stuck on the surface.

Praise God, that He knows even what I don't say!  Unlike that cousin who knows nothing about me, God knows everything that has gone before, and everything that will come after, and He is simply waiting.

Now, perhaps you are wondering why I titled this "Hungry."  I notice I am hungry only when I attempt that first bite.  I have been starving, and I didn't even know it.  Now that I have tasted that the Lord is good, I want more!  I am hungry for Him!

Mississippi

Bayous, Beige, and Boatloads

My trip to Mississippi in five words or less!  Now, let me expand....

We were on the Gulf Coast, in Pascagoula.  One of our hosts told us that MS has two crops: cotton and pine trees.  I didn't see any cotton, but I did see pine trees.  It was unexpected.  Conifers are cold weather dwellers, although for all that, it is probably because of a lack of rain that they do better in a colder climate.  There is not much rain in MS, so I've been told.  That doesn't mean, however, that there is a lack of water.  In addition to the Gulf of Mexico, there are bayous and rivers, tall grass waving above the water, alligators hiding along the edge.  The same host mentioned above took us in his boat up the Pascagoula River, and what fun!  And I expecially enjoyed watching the approaching thunderheads on our way back to the marina.  (Although I am very glad we weren't on the water when the storm hit!)

The team with whom I went to Mississippi was assigned the job of painting the inside of a house.  Many homes have been repaired since Katrina hit in 2005, but some are still in the process.  We had the priviledge of helping Jimmy and Peggy, wonderful people!  The water level reached almost to the ceiling of their ranch home.  The home is now on 16-foot stilts, and the inside is beige.  All beige.  We painted seven rooms and three hallways, and each one is the same shade of beige.

I have to mention here that before I went on this trip, I didn't know what to expect.  I did not know what God would have for me to do.  But painting aparently is within my ability set.  And, actually, God has shown me through this, and through a hard but necessary conversation with a dear friend, that I am capable of more than I think I am.  This R.A. has been kicking my butt the past six months, but perhaps I have been too passive and given it the prime opportunity for the foot of RA to contact my posterior.  I am taking this as a personal challenge to try before I say I can't, to be grateful for each thing I can do, and to pray through the things I can't.  It will be my own serenity prayer.

And boatloads -- of food, that is!  Southern hospitality is never complete without more food than you could possibly eat.  And sooooooo good!  And if the sweet tea is any good, a spoon will stand up in your glass!

Mysteries

When it comes to reading, I like a variety of genres.  I enjoy adolescent fiction, historical fiction, non-fiction about various topics, and murder mysteries.  I enjoy the can-I-figure-it-out-before-they-tell-me reaction to murder mysteries.  Over the years I have found several authors I like and stick with them, and the murder mystery genre lends itself to series writing, so there are usually seemingly endless numbers of their books on the shelves.

I have often thought about writing a mystery novel.  But I don't know how to go about it.  Is it best to start with an outline? List all of my suspects and evidence and work backwards? Start with a character and let that character take over, as so often happens with my writing?

I have an idea bubbling in my head.  The main character is a news reporter, and the mystery is the murder of her fiance.  She is not connected with the police department in any way, but she feels compelled to seek justice for her dead fiance.

I don't know...just one of many ideas floating around up in space.  I can't possibly get them all on paper!

Communication

Yesterday when I woke up, my cell phone, which had been charging all night, said, "Low Battery" and then shut off.  Dead.  Completely dead.  (Not just "mostly dead", as a famous movie that I don't particularly like but have still watched umpteen-million times says.)

Cell phone dead and no land line.  (Because who has a land line anymore?)

Cell phone dead and no land line and no internet access in my apartment.  (Borders is my favorite hot-spot.)

What does one do in our society when all of these pieces of technology are kaputz?  Well, obviously I immediately went to purchase a new phone.  But....the SIM card and the battery and all of that were not transferable, so....have to email friends to tell them to give me their phone numbers, because I don't know them by heart.  I mean, my sister is "down down down send".  Was.  Right now she is the top of the list! 

But....I don't have internet, remember?

So I find a friend who lets me use her computer to send such emails and fb messages.

All of that to say this:  In our society of high tech gadgets, we have made the world "smaller".  My pastor just this week mentioned that in his sermon.  Our world has gotten smaller because the other side of the world is not the dark side of the moon -- we can see images and read news and hear what is going on in far off places like Kenya and Bangladesh and Australia.

But which of my neighbors knew that I had no means of communication for a harrowing two hours?  Which of the eight apartment neighbors and the near-by home owners on my street came to my rescue?  Is it their fault? No -- they didn't know.

And that is my point. In our small world, we are able to facebook with friends in Cayman and Tennessee and Virginia, and we seek those relationships and we build those virtual relationships, and we neglect the flesh and blood relationships right next door.  I am as guilty as the next guy.  My neighbors had no idea of my anxiety yesterday because in the four years that I have lived in that apartment I have not once said more than, "Hi."  Literally.  Only one of these people knows my name, and he is a sweet old guy that would help me if I asked. 

A hundred years ago, people came to your rescue because it served them.  They might not have liked you all that much, but if your house was burning, they'd help fight it, if only to prevent their own house from going up in smoke.  But now we have our circles of friends, those people we turn to when we need prayer or support or just someone to hang out with.  Not the people next door usually; we block them out with privacy fences and ADT signs.  We sit in centrally air-conditioned houses at our computers to build relationships with people around the world.

But when I was without communication for two hours, and full of anxiety (OK, wrong and silly as that may be, you give up every gadget you own and tell me how you deal), how was I supposed to ask for a cup of sugar?

Welcome!

Some days writing is a passion for me.  The words are flowing, the idea is there, and I am pleased with what I put on the page.  Other days it is a grind, or it doesn't get done at all.  Perhaps because I am tired, or the idea isn't there, or I allow other things to get in the way.  A good book ususally fits that category!

But reading other people's writing is only part of what makes a good writer.  The other part is to WRITE.  When I was a teenager, my middle school was clearing out the periodicals room (remember actual magazines?) and I took a stack of "Writers".  I read through them, tore out what I wanted to keep, filed them away.  Over the years -- many long years, now -- those filed papers have gotten shuffled, lost, and tossed.  But I still remember one adage: "Writers write, that is all."

My "first" novel has been in the research/write/rewrite stage for nearly a decade now.  My wonderful friend and encourager, a true Barnabas, is going to get tired of encouraging me eventually.  I really have to get on the stick!

My second historical novel is in the research stage.  Perhaps over the summer I can do much of that, talking to the local historical society and whatnot.  The problem is, this story isn't alive for me yet.  The reason I have trouble with editing the first novel is because the characters are so real -- the story is so true -- how do I change it?  It is almost as if they have given me the story, their story, and who am I to say their word choice is confusing or dull? 

Of course, that's just an excuse! :)

I have one story flowing well right now, and I am writing it in long-hand.  I actually prefer that.  I can write, scribble, doodle when a word escapes me, cross out what I don't like, and still read what I crossed out if I decide I like that better.  I often do.  It is a period piece but not historical -- the history is there only as a backdrop, and I make no claims to authenticity.  But the characters are real, and that seems to be what drives me.

Please feel free to leave comments.  But don't be nasty or I will have to block you!