Plots Need Tension

I just finished writing my fourth novel. It was tough-going at first. I had the story laid out in my head but couldn't seem to get a handle on how to proceed. I Want to Go Home is about a middle-class family living in James City County, Virginia, a family that eventually ends up homeless. I knew I wanted Abby, the teenager of the Jordan family, to be the protagonist, but I couldn't decide whether to express the narrative from her teenage perspective or as a memoir, told by the adult Abby. As always, my critique group helped me decide the best approach, and soon the words began to flow. 

Something funny happened, too. The group members became so invested in my characters that they kept trying to rescue my family. I was trying to create tension by introducing hardships to make the Jordans homeless—that was the premise, after all. But my fellow writers were so empathetic that they kept suggesting resources and strategies to prevent homelessness. At every meeting there was another idea as to how I could save the Jordans from their plight.

After a few weeks of these rescue efforts, I had to put my foot down (metaphorically, of course). "Listen," I said. "I know you want to help this family. You can't bear to have them lose their house and most of their possessions. It's painful when the father dies, leaving insurmountable medical bills. It's sad when they're forced to live in a tiny, smelly motel room. It’s heart-breaking to follow the mother’s descent into alcoholism. It's even harder to let Abby make bad decisions that lead to her and her little brothers living in their car, and traveling to Washington, D.C. only to find no shelters available. I appreciate how much you care about them, but you need to let them fail so the journey can begin."

Once I promised my colleagues a happy ending, they relaxed and allowed the story to unfold. Yes, it's a journey of pain and struggle—an engaging plot needs tension—but it ends in triumph with a lot of discovery, love, and growth along the way. 

Cindy L. Freeman is the author of Diary in the Attic, Unrevealed (recently re-written; second edition to be released soon) and The Dark Room (Don't let the title scare you; it has a happy ending).

Cooperative Mentoring

I stopped blogging for a year or so to work on a new novel. The working title is I Want to Go Home. I hope it'll be finished in time for publication this year.

Now, my publisher, Jeanne Johansen of High Tide Publications, is encouraging (translation: compelling) her authors to write a weekly blog. Why? She says it connects us with our readers, allowing them to get to know us. Well, that's what I'm afraid of. Like many authors, I'm an introvert. We introverts prefer to "keep ourselves to ourselves" as the Brits say. The fear is that if you get to know me, you won't like what you see. It's called vulnerability and it's scary. But, I have been given an assignment and I must be a conscientious student.

So, here goes. Last year, I joined a critique group. Talk about scary! Talk about vulnerability! Imagine taking your precious baby, the fruit of your womb, into a room of eight-or-so other parents who have also brought their babies . . . for the purpose of finding every flaw and pointing it out to the others.

Already you're feeling insecure because you don't trust your parenting skills. You've only been parenting for a short time and you feel ill-prepared. If truth be told, you feel like an imposter. You're sure someone will notice (and point out) your baby's big ears or crooked smile. Someone else will draw attention to how your baby has gas because of the way you're holding her. Another might suggest that you should be breastfeeding instead of bottle-feeding and if you're bottle-feeding, you're using the wrong formula. Someone will try to change your style of parenting because you're telling, not showing your love or because your baby will surely not become a successful adult unless you develop her character.

Yes, we criticize each other's "babies," but it's not personal and it's not vicious--okay, sometimes it's a little vicious. Each of us brings to the group a unique perspective, arising from varying life experiences. We try to shed light on each other's writing, whether it be simple aspects like grammar, punctuation, or spelling, or more in-depth issues of character profile, plot development, or point of view.

Why are we willing to submit ourselves and our literary "babies" to this criticism? The purpose of our comments is to help each other improve our writing skills and succeed as authors. That's what Jeanne refers to as cross collateralization. See, Jeanne? I was listening. It's what I would call cooperative mentoring. It means that when one of us succeeds, we all succeed. I like that.

Cindy L. Freeman is the author of Diary in the Attic, Unrevealed (recently re-written; second edition to be released soon) and The Dark Room (Don't let the title scare you; it has a happy ending). Tune in next week for a sneak preview of I Want to Go Home.

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Let the Holidays Begin!

     For the first time EVER, the presents are bought and wrapped, the house is decorated, and the cards are sent… and there's still a week until Christmas. Maybe this monumental accomplishment is what prompted me to clean out my purse yesterday. Either that, or I was suddenly possessed by demonic forces beyond my control.

     I once read an article claiming that a woman's purse is one of the germiest items you can touch. When you think about the surfaces it has encountered, like shopping carts, public restrooms, restaurants, store counters, chairs that have been sat on, and floors that have been walked on, it's amazing that we women haven't all perished from the Great Purse Plague of the Twenty-first Century.

     A friend gave me my beautiful, leather designer bag a few years ago for my birthday. I'm not one to change purses with seasons or outfits or occasions. No. I intend to use this lovely bag every day for the remainder of my life and bequeath it to my daughter. So, wouldn't you think I would have set up a regular cleaning schedule for said bag?

     Yesterday's second mistake was to pour the contents of my purse onto the bed. Honestly, I didn't know I even owned 24 pens. Could my pen-hoarding habit be the reason my husband has stuck tiny name labels to all his writing utensils?

     In addition to more pens and pencils than one could use in a lifetime, out poured a trove of other treasures. I made a list in case I should decide to hold a yard sale:

• Coupons that expired as far back as 2010;
• Punch-cards from coffee shops and ice cream parlors that are no longer in business; 
• $6.23 in loose change; 
• 3 furry cough drops and a few unidentifiable pills;
• Receipts from places like St. Augustine where we vacationed in 2014; 
• The sunglasses that have been missing since we vacationed in St. Augustine; 
• A wallet stuffed with more of those worthless punch-cards, plus a dollar bill and myriad credit cards in rainbow colors;
• A set of car keys;
• A spare set of car keys, in case I should misplace my purse. Oops;
• A filthy cosmetic bag filled with filthy makeup brushes and containers;
• An earring whose mate I threw out months earlier, positive I'd never see this one again.
• A pile of sand that could keep a small child entertained for hours.    

     Now it was time to wash my purse inside-and-out with disinfecting soap and warm water. This led to my third mistake. I retrieved a clean, white washrag from the linen closet and wiped every nasty surface of my handbag and every article I intended to return to its bottomless abyss. With the deed accomplished... let's just say, that washrag went in the trash can, not the hamper.

My purse and I are ready. Let the holidays begin!

Holiday Perfection

Are you suffering from the contagious disease known as holiday perfection? Yes, I thought so. Much like the flu, this dreaded infection returns every year to ruin our celebrations. Also, like the flu, there are so many strains that it can't be completely eradicated even with an innoculation of "Come on. Really? Christmas was just yesterday!"

Holiday perfection is pervasive and starts with general malaise. We feel it coming as soon as the retail stores display their Christmas decorations in October. Suddenly, our mystique-radar springs into action, telling us--especially us women--that it is up to us to create the perfect holiday for our loved ones.

We must choose the perfect gift for each person in our life and wrap it with glittery paper and a perfectly formed bow. Then, we must place it under the perfectly decorated, perfectly shaped tree in our perfectly adorned (and scented) home that rivals any house in the Better Homes and Gardens Christmas edition. Oh, and don't forget to select the perfect Pandora station to pipe beautiful Christmas music throughout your perfectly decorated rooms.

Of course, our children must each have a new, festive outfit in which to visit Santa, so we can take that perfect holiday photograph. We must plan and execute a perfect dinner, using the good china that must be washed by hand because of the platinum trim we thought was "just perfect" when we registered for our wedding pattern. Fortunately, the table and the mantle are still decorated from that perfect Christmas party we hosted for our work colleagues two days after Thanksgiving.

We must not forget to bake perfect Christmas cookies to give to our friends and neighbors, who, of course, are accomplishing all of these tasks more perfectly than we are, while working full-time, raising children, taking care of pets, keeping a spotless house, volunteering, and taking extra Yoga and Pilates classes to keep up with the extra calories from their perfect holiday celebrations.

Is it any wonder we wear out our imperfect-selves before December 25th and collapse into a coma on December 26th? I blaim the retail industry for fueling this vial contagion that strikes us every winter, starting the day after Halloween.
  
So, what can we do to fight against holiday perfection? I have three words of advice for all of us, myself included, who fall victim to this insidious ailment year after year: get. over. it! The mystique is not real. All those magazine celebrities that promise to help you create a perfect holiday meal/aura/outfit/mantle/hairdo/wreath? They have a staff! They are not one person trying to be all things to all people. Furthermore, they don't care about you and your exhaustion. They care about selling you a magical image and a lot of stuff.

When did we forget that Jesus, the King of Kings, was born in a plain old stable (a cave, actually), surrounded by smelly animals? There were no decorations, no sparkling trees, or cookies baking in the oven. And the gifts were for Him, not for each other. It is His birthday we celebrate, not ours. As royalty, Jesus could have chosen a life of ease and comfort, instead He chose to live in poverty and simplicity.

Only Christ's incarnation can fill the emptiness of our imperfect hearts, and heal the disease of holiday perfection. We need not over-achieve to receive His love. It is a free gift to all who accept it. Merry Christmas!

        

Beauty for Ashes

Yesterday was emotionally charged, not because of who lost the national election, but because of who won. My first reaction was to shed tears of grief and disbelief that so many of my fellow Americans would even consider electing such a person to lead our country and represent us to the world. Based on what I had seen and heard in the media, there could not have been a more despicable choice. But now that it's over and I've been forced to accept what I cannot change, I turn to God and ask not, "How could you let this happen," but "where do we go from here?"

The answer is clear.  "Go to your knees. Trust Me to indwell and inspire what seems like a hopeless situation."  I've heard this same mandate many times throughout life. Undoubtedly, I will hear it again and again before resting in my eternal home. Countless times in the past, God has created "beauty for ashes" in my life, and I trust God to bring beauty out of the ashes of my beloved country.

The entire, tedious political campaign was built upon lies, dramatics, ugliness, and greed from both sides. It wore us down as a nation, but it got us talking and thinking and becoming involved.  It also reminded us to express our hard-won freedom by voting, to question the establishment, and most importantly, to pray. This election has made Americans care again, and that can't be a bad thing.

Today, I realize my tears were not only tears of sadness, but of judgment. Judgment based on outward behavior. But I'm reminded it is not up to me or any other human to judge a person's heart, despite the gross inappropriateness of that person's actions. I am reminded that hearts--even those we perceive as evil--can grow and be transformed. "For all have sinned and come short of the glory of God." That "all" includes: Democrats, Republicans, Independents, Christians, Jews, Muslims, blacks, whites, me, you . . . ALL. But all of us sinners are loved by the God who created us.

As I move through the next four years, I will pray without ceasing. I will stay as informed and vigilant as possible, despite the media's manipulation of truth. Most importantly, I will place my hope in the ultimate authority of my true King and Ruler, Jesus Christ.

From My Window

From My Window

Pink-tinged clouds dance among the tree tops,

Fading to white as daylight dawns.

Beyond the transparent wall 

 A feathered warbler chirps its cheerful greeting.

Orange leaves tumble silently to the ground,

Swirling like so many helicopter blades.

Soon the trees will bare their weathered arms

In preparation for winter sleep.

God speaks, but only to those who stop and listen,

“Peace be with you, my child.  Go forth into this new day." 

Feel, Deal, Heal

I used to be the Queen of Denial--get it? Queen of the Nile/Queen of Denial? Just a little play on words. Okay, if I have to explain it, it's not so funny. Seriously, though, I used to be really good at not-feeling. Sadly, I thought not-feeling was a sign of strength. 

"Don't cry. People will think you're weak."

"I'm not angry. After all, I'm a Christian. Christians forgive and forget."

"I'm not discouraged or depressed. I'm happy. If I keep affirming that I'm happy, it will be true. Right?"
  
Affirmations are important, for sure, but shutting down or burying our emotions is not healthy. I would go so far as to say denial of our feelings can make us not only emotionally unhealthy, but physically ill, as well. Shaming others about their emotions can make them physically ill. By expressing the truth of how we feel and dealing with the reason we feel as we do, we can finally arrive at a healthy emotional place where we no longer fault or resent others for their limitations and choices.

Just as God created the physical parts of us, He created the emotional parts. If we deny our negative feelings, they don't go away. Rather, they fester and grow until they have eaten away at our very souls. An important part of healing damaged emotions is to acknowledge them (feel) and sit with them (deal). Only then can we begin to let go of them (heal) and move on with our lives.