Reminder from 2019

September is Suicide Prevention Month. However, the holidays are coming, and they are brutal. People feel alone, left out, separate from the happy world around them. Many are faced with horrific memories. The family drunk who now had a reason to drink even more. The molester who reminded the abused that they were naughty not nice, and they better be nice or Santa would forget them. The abuser who trashed the decorations for spite. The family member who had to have everything, the parties, the cookies, the dinners, the church services, the service, the need to be involved in everything, regardless of age appropriateness, time, or finances. The family member who always managed to make the holidays all about them. The well-meaning people who loaded on guilt.

The handsy relative that everyone knows is too handsy, but they must be invited to Thanksgiving dinner. Because it’s the holidays. The nasty neighbor that must be included in the party, and one must never call them out on their nastiness because it would ruin the party. The inappropriate gift that must be graciously accepted or the good mood would be ruined. The slights. The invitations that never arrive. The invitations that are ignored. The tragedies created by irresponsible strangers in their effort to celebrate.

Adding to the nightmares, the world has created an impossible standard. Movies, TV shows, commercials, store windows, and more all depict the perfect parties, the perfect gifts, the perfect decorations, the perfect emotions, all required…demanded in order to have the perfect holiday.

Perfection. They keep using that word. I don’t think it means what they think it means.

Here’s the thing: God’s definition of perfection is not our definition of perfection. For the record: God’s definition is the only one that matters.

I know I struggle with the holidays. I’ve had my falls into the darkness, feeling like I’ll never escape, never see light again. I think I’ll do better this year, but I know I have to let go of what I envision. I love decorations. My parents saw them as clutter. Parties are not on my list of favorite things to do…I don’t think it would make the list at all. I love the presents under the tree, but again, my parents have always talked about the evils of materialism.

For me: Gifts are not about materialism. Mindless, spending money to spend money is materialism. Asking someone what they’d like and giving them what they wanted is not materialism. We’re allowed to want things, things that make us smile, things that make us enjoy life a little more, things that make life a little easier.

God gives us gifts, every day, every hour, every breath. He gives us each an every breath. God delights in blessing us. He encourages us to follow His lead and give good gifts.

Life is an awesome gift. It’s also a gift to not be taken lightly.

Taking care of my body, or at least learning how, is my gift to God for His gift of a body to me. God’s circular that way. You can never give Him more than He gives you.

The power of gift giving is an opportunity to see someone through God’s eyes. Do some people mindlessly give gifts? Definitely. However, when a gift is given with God in mind, the gift is multiplied in ways you may never see, at least not in this life.

The desire to be winked out of existence has faded into the past, mostly. Times still occur when weariness begs for a rest not of this world. I remind myself of Job, Paul, and others who’ve endured faithfully. I’m practicing: When the wish to quit blares front and center I listen to “Even If” by MercyMe and sing to myself, over and over, “It is well with my soul.” I’m astonished and inspired by how those simple words ease the troublesome thoughts.

God doesn’t hate us for our failings. He understands. Our failings are why Jesus Christ came to earth. Jesus understands everything, to a depth we never will. He was betrayed by a friend. He was betrayed by church leaders. He was betrayed by his countrymen. He knows what it is to stand alone. He knows what it is to be weary. He knows what it is to not want to go forward. He asked God to change the circumstances. He also submitted to God: “Not my will but Thine.”

Part of the difficulty of struggling with suicidal thoughts is that there’s the feeling one is completely alone. Sometimes, it’s about not wanting to pass on abuse. Sometimes, it feels like no other way exists, especially when one has been stuck for a long time.

And then the holidays come along, all cheerful and merry and bright, and it feels like an affront, a betrayal, hopeless. It’s difficult to see that the holidays offer the opportunity to create something new, different, and maybe even wonderful. I think I’ll give it a try, this year. I’m not sure how I’m going to go about it, but now I’m thinking about it. I think perhaps this would be a good question for my Daily Devotional time. Lord, how do I make the holidays a season of blessing instead of a time of mourning?

I won’t let the adversary win. I won’t give up. I won’t give in. I make the choice no one can make for me: I choose life, in all its messiness. Praising God in the storm. It is well with my soul.

 

September 11

19 years

9 11

Never forget. Always remember.

Eighteen years ago, I woke at dawn and drove five miles to a property surrounded by subdivisions. If you didn't know it was there, you wouldn't know it was there. A home with a barn, hay shed, covered stalls, tack room, round pen, arena, and divided pastures. My gray Arabian/Appaloosa gelding thrived in the far pasture, with two mares. He didn't always act like a gelding, the silly goose. I grained and groomed him, every morning. It was an awesome way to start the day. The other borders came out in the evening, so I always had the place to myself. It was my time to talk to God. After I finished, I'd drop off my work and pick up more dictation, as a medical transcriptionist.

On this day, one of the other borders showed up. Sometimes she came early to exercise some of the horses. I was headed out, and she asked, "Did you hear about the airplane hitting the Twin Towers?"

Did she have a weird sense of humor? I'd had friends who enjoyed pulling your leg. I never liked it because it tested my trust. My trust was on pretty shaky ground. I didn't like the game. If this was a joke, it was a bad one. Nervous of the punchline, I gave a cautious reply, "No."

She proceeded to assure me that a plane had hit the Twin Towers. I didn't believe her, but asked what kind of plane, thinking a small plane gone of course and having trouble. She didn't know. I was ready to abandon her nonsense and go pick up work. The owner came out and said, "Two planes hit the Twin Towers and one just hit the Pentagon."

Were these two in on some kind of game to make me look like an idiot? The distress on the owner's face slowly registered in my brain. She was serious. This wasn't a joke or a game. Dismay slammed into me. I shut down the careening thoughts because I still had to pick up work.

In my car, I kept the window rolled down. It was hot, but I was hot from taking care of the horse, so what did a little more matter? I turned on the radio. The news blared the same tiny bits of information over and over again. As I drove, I passed other cars with their windows rolled down. I could hear their radios. We were all listening to the same thing. I stopped at the doctor's office and my mentor's, dropping off and picking up work.

One of my friends flew for a national carrier. The last I'd heard, he flew several East Coast routes. Not a single report would state which airlines were involved. I guessed that international carriers were used. I felt guilty for hoping my friend wasn't involved. For the first time, I wished I owned a cellphone.

I arrived home, turned on the television, and called my friend. I expected to reach his cellphone. He picked up. He was alive and grounded on the West Coast. His schedule had changed recently. He was in the airport and just turned on his cellphone and didn't know what was going on, so I filled him in. I was grateful he was safe and felt guilty.

When they announced the plane going down in Pennsylvania, the reporters kept saying they didn't know what happened, no one knew what happened. In my heart, I knew.

I left the television on for three days. Never in my life had I felt so connected to the rest of the world. At the same time, I realized how isolated I was. I had no internet because I didn't want to give anyone that kind of access to my computer. I had few friends, a lot of acquaintances but not many close friends. I realized how short and precious life is. Sam's Club sold a T-shirt with "I will not live in fear." I'd been living in fear my whole life. Funnily enough, I'd lived in Yellowstone, Thailand, and England, despite the gnawing fear instilled by years of abuse. I didn't know how, but I had to change.

I took the blinders off regarding what was happening in the rest of the world... not quite true. I'd lived all over the world and was very aware that if I wanted to know what was happening then I needed to know people there. I'd lost all faith in the media in 1985. They reported "Bloody Monday" in Bangkok. I was there for the military coup that didn't even last a day. Sadly, two people died, a reporter trying to take a photograph from a flagpole and an innocent bystander, passing by in a taxi. While my brother was in Korea, the media reported the horrible riots between students and police, except it was reported as much worse than it was. My brother reported that the biggest problem was being caught by teargas.

Months later, I learned a cousin had breakfast at "Windows on the World" every morning before starting work, except that morning. He was taking his parents to the airport.

A number of my friends lost family and friends.

Every year, I watch again the news of that day. I read the stories of those involved. I pray for those still suffering. I've attended a local 9-11 memorial. I wasn't in New York City. I didn't lose anyone I knew. The world changed and so did I. I'd spent my life not looking at the ugliness of the Holocaust. Now, I look at the Holocaust and 9-11. I read books, watch movies and documentaries, listen to the stories, visit sites. I will not turn a blind eye. Pretending evil doesn't exist or sweeping it under the carpet doesn't make it go away. Evil comes in many forms, sometimes enticing, sometimes intriguing, sometimes unexpected but too often invited. I pray I have the courage to stand and face it instead of cowering or turning away. God doesn't require that I fight every evil in the world only what I find in my little corner of the world.

What Do I Write?

Perhaps this is long overdue. I've spent a great deal of time endeavoring to find an "elevator pitch." The idea is to create something you could say to an agent or editor that would interest them in your book if you managed to hop on an elevator at the same time, such as at a convention.

I read my first romance novel when I was 19 years old. I read avidly for years, but I missed the faith aspect. Christian romances were difficult to find, at the time. To be honest, I wasn't impressed with them when I could find them.

I found a few authors I loved, Janette Oke and Elizabeth Mansfield. Mansfield didn't write Christian, but she did write clean Regency romances. As much as I enjoyed them, I had trouble identifying with the characters.

Christian romances were so...clean. I'm an abuse survivor. My life's messy.

I quit reading romances for a number of years. Picking up a romance novel after so many years was like finding an old friend. As I read, I wished there were a little more faith in God.

As I struggled to decide where I wanted to take my own stories, I drifted closer and closer to Christian romances. I knew it would be an uncomfortable fit, but less uncomfortable than attempting to cut my faith from the stories in my heart.

I checked the parameters of writing Christian romance and ran into trouble right off. Heroes and heroines are required to be honest. It's all right if they tell lies before they fully embrace Christianity and even to tell the occasional white lie if there's a good enough reason.

Among other things, abuse survivors lie. Lying is a necessary survival tool.

I accepted Jesus as my Lord and Savior at an early age, long before the abuse ended.

I was in my 40s before I realized how much I lied.

There were the every day lies that most people tell: How are you? "Fine." Not fine at all, but I wasn't willing to explain.

Then there were the lies I didn't even know I was telling: Everything from, "If I were more patient, more understanding, less judgmental, everything would be good," to "I'm stupid," "I'm useless," "I'm not lovable." Delving into those lies unearths an endless supply.

I think denial was probably the most common lie I didn't recognize.

My lying did not exclude me from growing in faith, but it was a stumbling block.

I wanted stories that reflected the journey of abuse survivors, the fight for self, the fight for the truth, the fight to be healthy. The ultimate adventure of finding healing for self and finding someone with whom to share the quest for love of self, sweetheart, and God.

I chose to write the Christian romances I wanted to read. Being Christian isn't about a life of sweetness and nice; choosing Jesus promises hope.

The weakest flame is still stronger than the dark.

Holidays...

Joy or stress?

Are you ready for Thanksgiving?

Sometimes it's anticipated and sometimes it's dreaded, depending on your experience. For those looking forward to it, I hope it's all you envision. For those dreading it, plan something special for you, including an exit strategy if necessary. 

Remember you are of worth and God loves you. He never promised to spare you difficulties in life, but He has promised to never abandon you. Granted, there are times when it's difficult to recognize He's near.

May you be blessed.

Mixed feelings...

Part of me rejoices and fearfully trembles as I step onto this path I've chosen to accept is laid for me. I believe it is God inspired. I'll follow it wherever it leads, checking in with God on a regular basis, all day long every day.

Part of me struggles to rejoice in light of the tragedy at the DC Navy Yard. I pray for the victims' families. My heart tells me the victims are safely in God's hands.

There are only two choices: Trust God or not.

I choose to trust God. It isn't always easy. God is strong enough for me to lean harder.

I may ask, "Why?" if my purpose is to seek understanding not change God's will. There are some things that cannot be understood without accepting evil exists in this world.

My comfort is in knowing God is in control.

I derive great comfort from my sister's question: If God heals us the moment He touches us, does it really matter if we are broken? The brokenness is only a small moment in the Eternities. Perhaps the most difficult thing of all is hanging on when all appears lost and accepting that God's plan to save frequently does not come easy or swift or in a way we expect.

Building trust is like building any other muscle; you must tear it down a little in order for it to come back stronger. Keeping holding to trust in God. He is ever faithful.

9-11 Never Forget

From FB:

Reflecting...

It's been raining here. I don't know why rain encourages me toward introspection, but it does. I consider what I've accomplished but more the direction I want to head.

I have four books published. I have two more books in varying stages of preparing to be published. Unexpected Possibilities, book 3 of the Endless Possibilities series, comes out October 21. Saving Lisa, book 3 of The Silver Locket Sisterhood series, comes out December 21. A free read, Impossibilities, is coming out sometime.

I'm working on the next books due.

New ideas are bubbling like hot chocolate. It's fun.

I need to learn how to use my time more wisely, create routines, allow the stories to escape. To be honest, they drive me nuts sitting in my head. :-)

End of April...

Where does the time go?

I keep a homemade calender beside my desk noting the month books are due to the publisher in red and when they are published in purple. It started with April, last year. My fourth book will be published this May.

Looking back over this year, would I change anything?

I've made a lot of changes in many different areas of my life. Some changes are complete, but most are a work in progress, with a lot of work left to accomplish.

Would I go back?

Never!

There is only forward. Sometimes, it's unsettling not knowing where the future leads, but it's less unsettling knowing God will be with me every step of the way, even when I become wrapped up in my worries and concerns and forget He is there, waiting for me to remember and reach for Him.

Every once in a while, it's good to step back, look back and look forward, and catch my breath and thank God for His love and patience and guiding hand.

From Yes... to No...

It is never easy when a long-time favorite author changes their style of writing to the point where I move them from the Yes List to the No List. I've lost a friend. No choice. Granted it makes time for a new author, but it's still sad when we've spent so many hours together. It's even difficult to go back and re-read old favorites without the shadow of the knowledge of the change.

What does it take to be moved?

Changing from writing healthy characters to writing the stereotypical stupid romance characters.

Really.

What does this mean to me?

The heroine is a prima donna witch, and the hero is a dumb jerk. Okay, that's taking it to an extreme, but wander too close to those stereotypes and I'm done.

Heroine example: She's always harping about her favorite cause. She requires him to change to fit her. She puts others in danger to prove she's tough enough. You know the one: She decides to investigate her brother's murder by a drug dealer who isn't put away. She doesn't like gun or violence. Yes, this creates automatic conflict, but it's also a recipe for disaster unless you use author created magic fairy dust.

Hero example: He's beyond alpha male; he's narcissistic. He loathes himself for being a good fighter, but doesn't change his profession. He needs her to show him the error of his ways because he isn't smart enough to figure it out.

I really dislike couples who will die without the other. I mean the ones who declare their life is over without the other.

Why do I feel this way?

This kind of "love" reminds me of a parasite.

Is that really what you want to say about the love you shared? It's nothing without their physical presence? Grow a backbone. Miss them? Yes. Go through a period of mourning? Yes. Show the world what that kind of love means to you, not merely ashes but beauty beyond imaging.
Healthy love encourages growth, strength, empowerment.

I'm not particularly good at this. I'm an abuse survivor. I freely confess I'm messed up in a lot of ways, but I refuse to stay stuck.

I admit it: I read romance novels to help me understand better the male/female connection. It's especially why I look for writers who write reasonably healthy characters. I know unhealthy. I've lived it. I recognize it when I see it. I don't know healthy. Sometimes it isn't about the whole book being healthy; instead, I'll find an idea, concept, or single character that makes me think: "I want to be like that!"

What's the main reason for moving from Yes to No?

Their books bring me down instead of lifting me up.

It's time to mourn the loss, let go, get over them, and find someone better.

11 years later...

Eleven years ago, yesterday, the world changed...

I promised myself I would change.

I did.

I discovered my emotions and made friends with them.

I discovered the community of Lord of the Rings fans.

I discovered amazing new friends.

I discovered writing.

I discovered how difficult it was to stop lying, especially to myself.

What have I accomplished in 11 years?

God blessed me with guidance and gentle chastisement so I could recognize the lies in my life and stop lying.

God blessed me with amazing friends and a huge support system.

God blessed me with courage to pursue writing.

Peace with myself.

Abundant love.

Dreams realized.

Six years...

I think I may take a little time off, for the next few days. Of course, knowing me, it won't last long. I'm a chatterbox. You might not know that upon first meeting me, as I tend to start out pretty quiet, observing, but once I'm comfortable watch out.

Six years ago, this month, my 17-1/2 year old dog went home. I still miss her. I'm still in mourning.

Every year, I acknowledge the day and try to soldier on. This year, I just can't.

This year, maybe it's the excitement of being published, and I'm afraid of being happy.

Actually, I wish she were here to share it. She was there when it all started. She put up with the writing into the wee hours of the morning because I couldn't turn off the story.

Arthur, the dog in A Promise of Possibilities, was actually created with my furry baby as the model.

Maybe, this year, I finally feel like I don't have to pretend like everything is okay when it isn't. I want a peaceful, orderly room, but then I'm all too aware of her absence.

She won't care if the book is a success or a failure. She didn't care if I was fat or skinny, pretty or ugly, rich or poor, famous or anonymous. She didn't care what an emotional moron I was or how damaged I was or how scarred. She only cared that I fed her, played with her, cuddled her when she wanted it, and took her outside when she needed. When I felt the least lovable, she still thought I was. She created the game to let me know when she wasn't cross with me anymore and allowed me to use the same method to let her know when I wasn't cross anymore.

This was our last professional picture. It's more than ten years old. She's wasn't particularly friendly, being incredibly shy, but she was as sweet as a summer day is long.

It's Friday...

Ladyhawke is the first time I saw a Friesian, and I fell for Goliath. God blessed me with a gray Arab/Appaloosa. I'm not complaining, because I'd never really believed I'd own a horse. So many dreams in my life had been shattered by the time he showed up. I figured it was God reminding me to never stop dreaming because sometimes they do come true in the most unexpected ways.

We were together five years. I learned a lot from him. He's been gone ten years now, and I still cry for missing him.

Growing up I always wanted to go horseback riding. When I found myself with a horse with back problems, I discovered what mattered most: I was honored he gifted me with his trust, and simply being with him was more than enough.

Winston Churchill rightly said, "There's something about the outside of a horse that's good for the inside of a man."

I found this Friesian on a free-photo site, which I hope was legitimate. It's a crazy world we live in.

Enjoy the day.

Time to reflect...

There are several things going on in my life right now.

I'm about to have my first book published. Whoohoo! Exciting and scary.

I want to become physically healthier. This requires I lose more weight. I'm not an advocate of extreme anything. I'm not comfortable at my current weight. I dislike struggling with things like bending over to tie my shoes. I want to be healthy.

In order to lose weight, I have to change the way I think about my eating habits. The rules for losing weight - eat less and exercise more - are clear in my mind. Being allergic to bran requires I adapt my eating. What everyone else considers healthy isn't for me, like whole grains.

Using my food allergies as an excuse for not becoming healthy is no longer acceptable. I may have been born this way, but God has a way for me to work within the natural laws to become my best self. Hopefully, I've reached the point where I'll no longer stand in my own way.

The new adventure starts today.

"You must take personal responsibility. You cannot change the circumstances, the seasons, or the wind, but you can change yourself" - Jim Rohn

Other writers inspire me...

I’m struggling with the current WIP. I’m in the middle where I wonder what in the world I was thinking when I started this whole thing. Yes, I do this with every book I’ve written so far. Once I move past the middle, all the puzzle pieces tumble into place at an astonishing rate.

In the meantime, I need a little inspiration, and I need look no further than my favorite authors, each for different reasons and yet all the same. Their stories have lifted me, brought a smile to my heart, and inspired me to be a better me.

I’ve talked about how Lord of the Rings, the movie, turned my world upside down. For the record, I’d read it years ago, in junior high school. I loved it, but had no one with whom I could share it. Siblings loved it, but the age difference then was noticeable. I found the cartoons tortuous, so left LOTR behind. The movies arrived on the big screen, and Peter Jackson did an admirable job of sharing the story.

The vast majority of my friendships now can be traced back to LOTR in one way or another.

I’d rediscovered my love for reading. (Yes, I took a long break because I couldn’t find anything I felt passionate about.) I’d taken a children’s literature class in college, when I went back, and fell in love with books most people read when they were growing up. I did not. Books like Anne of Green Gables and The Secret Garden.

Along with LOTR came Harry Potter. I was hooked, and discovered I was starved for reading I enjoyed, simply for the joy of someone else’s story. C. S. Lewis said that we read to know we are not alone. I do.

I know there are those who scoff at my love of the romance genre. I’ve been ridiculed that it isn’t real life. No. No it isn’t. That isn’t why I read it. I’m quite familiar with how brutal and tragic real life is sometimes. I don’t need to read about it. I read…I was going to say I read to escape, which is true to a certain extent, but more I read to feed my need for hope. And isn’t that funny considering all my efforts to crush hope in my life so I won’t be disappointed anymore.

I love my own stories, or I wouldn’t write them. What I find interesting is that my writing is easier when I’m reading material that inspires me. When I’m reading a book I find boring or grating because the continuity is off or their facts are wrong my own writing becomes stilted.

I’ve been reading a lot of new authors lately, trying to broaden my perspective. Some books have been permanently deleted from my Kindle, and the authors are on my no list. Some books have been fantastic, and I’ve added a few authors to my must-buy list.

Sneak peak: Tomorrow's guest...Anne Patrick...

Tomorrow, I will be hosting Anne Patrick on my blog. I've never hosted anyone before. I share links to other blogs, but I've never asked someone to come visit. I'm nervous and hope I do a good job.

Of all the writers I could have asked to visit, why did I ask Anne?

When I started writing I couldn't decide which direction to go in my writing. I was writing contemporary and Regency. I read Inspirational, but didn't feel any sense of my own voice in it. My world's messier. My impression was that Inspirational often meant sanitized. I enjoyed it, but I often wished I could read something I related to better.

I was leaning toward writing the traditional contemporary and Regency, but hadn't committed myself because my faith is so much a part of who I am.

What happened?

I read Anne Patrick's Lethal Dreams. She writes sweet suspense romance. It doesn't fall under the edgy category, but it wasn't what I was accustomed to reading in the sweet category. I loved it.

My thanks to Anne for opening a door I didn't even know was there.

Come back tomorrow and meet Anne for yourself, when she answers a few questions and shares a bit of her newest release Fire Creek K.T. Randal Book 1.

http://annepatrick.weebly.com/

Time to regroup...

Manuscript is in. Rested, yesterday. Today, it's back into the fun.

I love writing. I've discovered I don't actually care for creating the original story. It's a painful process. I've spent my whole life trying to not be noticed. Hiding in the hopes of being safe. For the record: Hiding isn't safe. Live and learn.

Writing a story requires I expose to the world my insecurities and fears, my hopes and dreams. Sometimes the world is kind. Sometimes it isn't. I'm taking a terrible risk.

So why do I do it?

Not writing feels like living in a vacuum, devoid of food and water and light. The world is flat and colorless.

God gave me the gift.

Not writing is turning my back on the gift God has given me.

Writing is my way of thanking God for the gift.

What I love about writing: I love everything after the original story is written. Editing is about making the story it's very best.

Sometimes editing is about correcting mistakes, but more often editing is about finding the right word or phrase to convey the heart.

I love words. I love the English language.

Time to do some editing and creating.

Tolkien called himself a subcreator with God. I like that. God creates and then allows us to share in the process. The choice is mine. I choose to participate. I hope God isn't disappointed. Fortunately, He only asks me to give my best. I'm learning.

Link to Horse Ballet...

This is amazing. I'm sharing it here for me. It's 6-7 minutes.

Horse Ballet or Dressage is a sport unlike any other. My horse was trained to second level Dressage and competed under his previous owner. Dressage takes years of training and requires a horse to respond to the slightest commands. I didn't know much about it. I've been horse crazy all my life, ridden whenever I had the opportunity, but never owned one of the remarkable creatures.

God has His own plans. My horse and I connected when I was his groom. His previous owner felt he would be happier with me. We had five wonderful years together, until his health required I make the unenviable decision pet owners must make. I still miss him.

Back to Dressage. When I first started working with him, we had an ongoing battle because he always drifted to the left. The poor creature came to me, and we had a horrible time learning to communicate. I couldn't understand it why he was being so difficult. I felt so guilty when I finally figured out he was obeying the command I was giving him. Because of badly healed torn ligaments, my right foot twisted out, which meant my right leg perpetually pressed against his side, moving him to the left.

I didn't have the skill to ride him in Dressage, but I exercised him from the ground and watched him put himself through his paces sometimes. Breathtaking.

http://blog.inspirationbygod.net/1539/spectacular-horse-ballet/

I am a writer...

I didn’t know I was about to lose my job. I was told they needed time to implement a new system, and then I’d be working again.

Where was the harm in devoting my new free time to writing while I waited?

I took the advice of the judges and re-wrote my book.

I was informed my job no longer existed.

Time to regroup and review.

I had the time: why not see if I could pursue my writing?

Desert Rose has a mentoring program. I enrolled myself. I received more great feedback.

You know what I learned?

Regarding the first rejection: I wrote a horrible query letter. If I’d received the query letter I’d written back in 2007, I would have rejected me, too.

With help from published writers within Desert Rose, I rewrote about half the book and the query letter, then submitted the query letter, synopsis, and first three chapters.

As the months slipped by, I kept writing.

I received the request for the full manuscript.

More months slipped by, and I kept writing. I also researched publishers including self-publishing. I reached the point where I prayed my manuscript would be rejected because I was beginning to realize the company I chose wasn’t a good fit for my story or for me.

God answers prayers.

I was rejected. I cheered and did a happy dance.

I combed through the story one more time. I talked to my friend Kris Tualla, who has both self-published and published through Desert Breeze, and she suggested Desert Breeze Publishing.

Acceptance! And a contract.

I AM a writer.

Becoming a writer...

…or becoming Laurel Hawkes.

Those who know my history know why I chose a pen name. Laurel Hawkes was a shield to protect me.

I wrote a Christian Regency romance. It was the romance I wanted to read.

I submitted it.

It was rejected.

I was crushed.

I joined the local RWA (Romance Writers of America) chapter, Desert Rose. I enjoyed writing. I enjoyed associating with other writers. I didn’t really believe I’d ever be published. Once a month, I socialized with other people who understood what it was like to live with characters nagging you night and day, taking stories in their own direction or secondary characters demanding stories of their own. Once a month, I talked writing.

Because I’d written a complete story and submitted it to a publisher and been rejected, I qualified for PRO status. Most people didn’t know. This was back in 2007.

My closest friends knew. No one else.

I kept writing, because not writing was not an option.

Being published was something others encouraged me to do. I didn’t really believe it would happen. My stories are a little outside the formula. Not a lot, but enough to be noticeable, and a little less desirable by the mainstream publishers.

In 2009, I entered the rejected story in a contest. It didn’t do particularly well, but the judges gave me some great feedback.

I still didn’t really believe my books would be published. It was a fantasy, nothing more.

In 2011, my work world changed.