RX: Charisma

Scrubs Fashionista

2008-07-14T15:33:00.000-07:00

Okay, I'm laughing. Have been, ever since I was waiting in line at the Wal Mart fabric counter and spotted a Simplicity Pattern display showing "The Hottest Fashion Trend: Scrubs." Sew your own, save money, be extremely cool. Oh. My. Gosh. All those decades that I lived in scrubs--sometimes 16 hours at a stretch if I pulled a double shift--I was a FASHIONISTA. Who would ever have guessed that? Not anyone who actually saw me. Because, honestly, we're talkin' baggy and shapeless, highwater or trip-worthy pant legs, useless pockets , skimpy sleeves, drawstring waistbands and a traditional color range of blue and green. In hues of : Not-yet-Washed, Faded-into-Oblivion, and Hopelessly-Stained-by-Iodine Soap-and-Leaky-Ballpoint-Pen.

But, Grey's Anatomy has changed all that. And the scrub-makers are cashing in, offering the Grey's inspired, Katherine Heigl "Izzy" collection (after one of the mega-hit show's stars), which "draws inspiration from both runway looks and current lifestyle trends."

Runway?? Scrubs? That's a stretch, unless it counts that nurses run from the moment they hit hospital doors . . . to assess patients, administer medication, assist doctors, explain procedures, comfort both patients and family members, perform CPR, ride on Code 3 ambulance runs, climb aboard helicopter transports, mentor student nurses and paramedics, attend staff meetings . . . and much, much more. Run, yes. Runway looks, trends--hmmm. Not that I didn't try, mind you. For instance:

Vests: I became the Queen of Vests in my ER. Sewed my own (yes, a Simplicity pattern) in prints like: Chili Pepper, Easter Egg, Christmas Package, which (quite practically) reversed to Autumn Harvest, 4th of July flags, and Halloween Pumpkin.

Jumpsuits: while, though cute, were a royal pain to negotiate on a 45-second bathroom break between Code 3 ambulance arrivals. I'm lucky to have survived at all.

Cute-sy socks: A fashion statement which perks up any drab scrub set (and ugly, practical white shoe)--and is also prone to Iodine stains. And has the same bouquet as junior-high gym socks after after a grueling 12-hour shift.

Glamorous hairstyles: Do NOT ask me about my Princess Leia braids. Or the time I foolishly got a spiral perm the night before work. And did an impression of The Bride of Frankenstein for a subsequent humiliating and endless shift.

Custom scrub top: Silk-screened from an incredible sketch of our entire Methodist Hospital ER staff. Day shift, PM's, Night Shift. Friends and teammates (wacky, loyal, incredibly skilled and compassionate) front and back, on this one-of-a-kind scrub top. A weird and amazing idea. A salute to people who touched countless lives. And the only article of scrub clothes I've ever kept.

So, scrubs as fashion? I'm not sure I'm going to agree with that. I've worked in them, worn them during a bank robbery (another don't-ask situation), slept in them, laughed in them, cried in them, prayed in them . . . lived in them for most of my adult life. Fashion, nah. Clothing worn by some of the most amazing and compassionate warriors I've ever known? Robes of angels? You betcha.

Here's to the genuine everyday Scrub Fashionistas--set a trend, my honored comrades, we need you!

Speak Medical?

2008-07-07T13:04:00.000-07:00

As I prepare to sit down and start revisions on THE HEALER'S HEART, I'm going over the suggestions/comments/questions from my Tyndale House editors. One comment that made this author's heart go pitter patter with glee (and a distinct measure of relief) was something like: "Ooh, yes. Give us more medical scenes--we love those."

The editors were referring to action scenes that are set in my fictitious Gold Rush ER and depict events like: the aftermath of a propane explosion at a daycare, cardiac arrest of a 60-year old teacher, a toddler's critical asthma attack, and treatment of a nurse nearly killed in an auto accident. Plus a few "walk-ons" by a tattooed drunk with wounds from a broken bottle brawl, a two-year old with a blue plastic Lego stuck up her nose . . . you know, the usual. Wait. I should qualify that: Usual for ME. Because I lived in scrubs for over 30 years, and the hospital--the ER--was my second home. A home with iodine-stained flooring, inhumane flourescent lights, bad coffee, sirens, screams, shouts, nervous laughter, truly funky smells, moments of serious danger . . . and where the primary language spoken is Medical. Sometimes with foreign accents, granted, but still Medical. In fact, I speak, write, and even sometimes still dream in this curious language.

Which presented an interesting dilemma when I first decided to use my medical background in my novels. (The old "write what you know deal.") The heroine in my comic mystery series was an ER nurse. So I faced the challenge (beyond planting clues and planning murders) of giving my readers factual medical details--and jargon--without committing either of two ugly sins: 1) getting too technical and "losing" my readers in confusing medical detail, or 2) talking "down" to my readers by assuming they know nothing. Which isn't fair to them, and makes my characters sound like folks you wouldn't trust with your appendix. ("Hey, Darcy, hand me the thingamajig to fix her whatchamacallit, wouldya?")

Thank goodness for TV.

With the huge popularity of shows like ER, Grey's Anatomy, House, Scrubs, and now Hopkins, (not to mention the CSIs in all their gory glory--yipe!), viewers (and readers) have become quite medically savvy. I might even go so far as to say, they pretty much speak Medical.

Just to be sure, I always run my work (including and especially the medical scenes) by my critique partner Nancy Herriman. She's a fabulously *talented writer *and very educated woman, yet still a layperson when it comes to medical things. Even better, she rarely watches TV. So she's a perfect "test" for my medical scenes. She'll tell me where I need a bit of clarification ("Why is that oxygen percentage worrisome--what's the normal range?" "Do we need to know the sizes of all those needles?").

This is why I was very happy that my two editors had "no problem at all" understanding the medical scenes in THE HEALER'S HEART.

So now it's your turn. Try your hand at this Medical Trivia Quiz.

1) What is meant by, "Get a line in"?
2) By, "I'm going to have to tube him"?
3) What is Code Three?
4) How do scrub pants fasten: zipper, elastic, drawstring, snaps, velcro?
5) What is the thread used for stitching a wound called? What's it made out of?
6) Do ERs really have the local pizza delivery on Speed Dial?

How'd you do? Easy? Confusing? Never even thought of that? Well, my goal with The Shift in Faith Series is not only to entertain my readers--but educate them as well. Not only in medical lingo, but with an "inside glimpse" into the white-jacket (and sometimes white-knuckle, trust me) world of emergency medicine. And also, into the hearts of those people who answer the call to serve in these professions. As you may recall, I began my writing career after a near fatal accident that landed me as a patient in my own ER: I've been on BOTH sides of the stethoscope. So I know how much we need these dedicated people! Am I recruiting? Sure. It's an incredible way to serve your fellow man and your God. I don't regret for a single moment--even those scary, sad, and frustrating moments--my decades long career as a nurse. Plus, now I have endless quirky and heartwarming stories. A win-win all round.

So, on to those revisions. And . . . study up, folks. The next Medical Trivia Quiz is harder.

Answers:
1) Start an IV 2) place an endotracheal tube (breathing tube down the throat to aid breathing)
3) Refers to an ambulance displaying lights and sirens, denoting a life and death emergency
4) draw string 5) suture; usually nylon 6) Absolutely--and Chinese, Baskin Robbins, Starbucks, Krispy Kreme . . .

Team Huddle

2008-07-02T06:30:00.000-07:00

So yesterday was one of those big moments in the life of a book . . . a first official meeting between author and editors. A three-way conference call between the Chicago area and South Central Texas--to discuss book revisions. I like thinking of this as a Team Huddle. Because, of course, that's what it takes to produce a book, a team effort. Writer, agent, editors, publisher, contract folks, marketing, sales, cover designers, printers . . . and even more. But when I picked up the phone in my office yesterday afternoon, I was concerned with only one basic truth--they'd read The Healer's Heart. And I was going to hear what they thought of it. Can you spell ANGST? Let's put it this way:

If you're a Top Chef fan, picture the judging team all tasting your Macadamia Nut Gazpacho with Pan Roasted Fish. And then think of that scene in the movie "Big," where Tom Hanks tastes the caviar, makes a face, spits it into his napkin . . . and then frantically scrapes the remaining bits off his tongue. Yes, these things DO all go through an author's mind. Okay, now I've mixed my metaphors into sports goulash, but I think you get the picture of the importance of this conference call.

And (drum roll)--I'm very pleased to say--no one had to scrape their tongues after reading my book! In fact, they really liked it. And, best of all, the editors were both enthusiastic and helpful in brainstorming additions/clarifications that will make this medical drama even more exciting. An author's dream: editors who "get" your work and want to lend their expertise to take it to an even higher level. And, speaking of expertise, the third person on the conference call (besides acquiring editor Jan Stob and moi) was Tyndale editor Lorie Popp. She's edited books for the bestselling megastars like Karen Kingsbury and Angela Hunt, and . . . she'll be editing my book! Trust me, the rise of goose bumps nearly lifted me out of my office chair. I'm honored.

So, the Team Huddle was great. The end result was that I got some awesome suggestions to tinker with on revisions--a new title being mulled over--a warm welcome, an awesome new editor . . . and a strong sense that this new publishing "home" is right where God wants me. Priceless.

Oh, if you're trying to figure out who's playing me in the team photo above, that would be number 5 without a doubt. The one with dust on her back pockets (from sliding in well ahead of deadline)--and a teeny smudge of Macadamia Gazpacho on her jersey.

Go Team!

Wildcat Freshman

2008-06-25T13:02:00.000-07:00

I have received word that I am now officially a WILDCAT!

What . . . ? Em . . . no, that does not have anything to do with my last post about my driving mishap (But thank you for your concern). By WILDCAT, I'm referring to the sports team of Weber State University. Wait . . . now it sounds like I've been recruited to play football. Scratch all that and let me start over:

I've enrolled in a course at Weber State University in Ogden Utah. The welcome letter called me a Freshman. Which made me double over laughing, since: a) it's been a whole lotta years since I was a freshman anywhere, and b) I plan to attend my class in . . . my jammies. Since it's ONLINE. If I can manage to navigate the cyber classroom that is. That remains to be seen, but I am excited! Because the class I'm taking will be a big help to my writing research. It's called: "Critical Incident Stress Management." A refresher for the extended course I took a few years back for certification as a Peer Counselor for Critical Incident Stress. The course description, sounds like this:

"An initial pilot course provides an ongoing update in the fields of critical incident response, crisis intervention, and disaster mental health. These fields are in constant flux, evolving with every major disaster. Every week the headlines reflect terrorism, natural disasters, and fears of pandemics. New information comes out regularly. It is, therefore, necessary to keep those who must meet these challenges abreast of important changes as they occur. These updates can be an important medium to provide access to the latest trends, theories, and practices."

Frankly, it gives me goosebumps. Because my Shift in Faith medical drama series for Tyndale House is based upon such pulse-pounding occurances . . . and the lives of the heroic rescuers who throw themselves heartfirst into the action. The Healer's Heart begins in the aftermath of a propane explosion at a local daycare, and I'm already scrubbed in on the opening disaster of Heart's Hazard: a widespread toxic chemical exposure in a small, coastal town.

In addition to the online course, I've also re-newed my membership in the International Critical Incident Stress Foundation--an amazing organization whose mission is to "mitigate critical incident stress and assist all of those affected by work related stress, disasters, and other traumatic events."

Okay, I realize this all sounds a little heavy. But don't worry: my biggest personal stress right now . . . is how I'm going to see the cyber blackboard through the slits of the very cool paper mache mask featured in the image above. Frankly, it pinched a bit while I was prancing around my dorm room.

GO WILDCATS!

A GodStop

2008-06-23T11:14:00.000-07:00

Umm . . . I got a speeding ticket today. Only the second-ever ticket in my 37 years of driving. I mention that record, hoping it shows I'm not habitually prone to rubber-burning Dukes of Hazzard car stunts. In fact, I tend to be a real "rules," person--check my pillows: every one has its "do not remove under penalty of law" tag. And, heaven knows, as an ER nurse I saw WAY too many tragic results from traffic accidents.

But then, I did deserve this speeding ticket. Evidenced by the fact that when I spotted the city police car parked along the freeway access road, I immediately felt that gut-level "uh oh" feeling. Followed by the discreet braking symptom, and then the hopeful bargaining self-talk symptom ( "that nice young officer's pulling out behind you just to be sure you're driving safely . . . because you remind him of his wonderful and saintly mother . . . ) combined with the one eyeball on the rearview mirror symptom, which all slid right into . . . the flashing blue light Moment of Truth. Busted!

The officer began by politely asking,"Do you have a reason for exceeding the speed limit?"

"No, sir," I responded. And quickly added, "And I'm glad you're doing this--people drive too fast around here." Except that I never quite believed I was one of those "people." Now I have proof in writing.

As the officer handed me back my license (along with the ticket), he said, "Have a safe day."

So, I slunk slowly home--very slowly--and confessed to hubby that I'd just received a traffic citation while speeding home from . . . Bible study. Seriously.

But as I reviewed my options: pay the (BIG) fine, appear in court and contest the ticket (except that I was guilty and I don't lie), or attend traffic school . . . suddenly the bigger truth strikes me. And it was right there, all along, in the officer's departing statement, "Have a safe day." The truth: I was speeding, and instead of getting into an accident where I could have injured somebody, I got a ticket. And, undoubtedly, a lesson I'll remember. A reminder to be safe--to keep other people safe. To be responsible. I'm choosing to consider that a good thing. Even a blessing.

Which makes me sound like that famous young actress who recently( and effusively) thanked the police for arresting her during a drug buy. Insisting they did her a huge favor by keeping her from falling back into a terrible lifestyle. People everywhere (including me, admittedly) thought it was a pretty clever way of "handling things" and "looking good" in a bad situation.

But now, ticket in hand, I'm re-thinking my reaction to her uncharacteristic response. Maybe she did mean that. Maybe she is grateful. Maybe she thought long and hard about what the alternatives could have been. And learned something that will keep her (and her loved ones) safer and more secure.

At Bible study class we're doing Beth Moore's "Believing God". Part of the daily homework is to take a moment at the end of the day and note where you may have seen God working in your life that day. Basically, count your blessings. She calls it a "GodStop." So far I've noted things like finding inspiration during my writing on a particular day, seeing the awesome
Painted Buntings at our backyard feeder, and a recent afternoon of langor spent canoe-ing with my husband on the tranquil, green Guadalupe River.

Today I'm signing up for Traffic School and preparing to pay a hefty fine for my error.

But tonight . . . I'll be listing that speeding ticket as a God Stop. A reminder to slow down, be safe . . . and, always, count my blessings.

Ding Ding . . . Chapter One

2008-06-18T05:32:00.000-07:00

I don't know why, but I love the idea of a woman owning boxing gloves--red ones. The readers of my comic mystery series are SO not surprised by this, of course. Because my heroine in those books, nurse Darcy Cavanaugh, was known to lace up a pair of boxing gloves now and then. Not that she wasn't equally drawn to sparkly shoes and dainty handbags . . . but once in awhile she needed to just punch something. I'm guessing we've all felt that way at times.

I've never owned boxing gloves. Never tried them on. Or even taken a whack at a punching bag. Not that I haven't tackled a few hair-raising sports: sky diving, swimming with stingrays, jumping horses. And as far as martial arts go . . . I have done Tai Chi. Of course that involved a wooden sword and . . . a cute red fan. But boxing, no. And my hubby will attest to the fact that I cannot abide boxing matches on TV--I'd rather watch those foolish people on Fear Factor eat cockroaches. So then, why would I put my fictional heroine in boxing gloves? To give her an outlet, I suppose. An outward--red leather--show of strength, when inside . . . she's feeling a lot like room temperature Jello. Ever been there?

So I'm starting the second book in The Shift in Faith medical drama series. It's tentatively titled, HEART'S HAZARD, and takes place in a fictional oceanside town called Pacific Point. Sand, surf, ocean breezes . . . and a hazardous waste spill that turns this sleepy little town upside down. Nurse Erin Quinn thinks she's escaping the turmoil in her life by moving to Pacific Point, but she's about to wade hip deep into conflict that will change her life. Good thing she's bringing her boxing gloves. She'll need them . . . until she discovers where her real strength lies.

Ding ding . . . round one. Oops, I meant Chapter One.

Kissing Them Goodbye

2008-06-13T08:23:00.000-07:00

Today I sent THE HEALER'S HEART off to my Tyndale editor, and I only let my cursor hover over the "Send" button . . . for ten minutes or so. After opening the attached document about 3 times to check that the formatting hadn't mysteriously morphed into Klingon in Wingding font. Seriously, I think about these things. Because, for an author, submitting a completed manuscript to your editor (especially for the first time) is a LOT like sending your child off to school. Packing his lunch, choosing his clothes, double-knotting his laces, and spitting on a Kleenex to wipe his face one last time--oh c'mon, we've all done that! But really, a completed manuscript feels like precious cargo after you've molded the characters, "listened" to them talk, struggled over theme, lost sleep, thrilled to flashes of brilliant insight and survived (so many) moments of doubt. Months and months of work, from the seed of an idea to a completed work weighing in at some 277 pages or 80-plus thousand words . . . and 4 1/2 pounds of paper . . . it's a wonder I don't have stretch marks!

Before I was published, we would send my manuscripts out to requesting editors via "snail mail." Which meant I'd run off copies at home (burned up 3 printers!) and send them to my agent, along with my biography sheets and author headshots. She would then re-package them into gorgeous burgundy boxes with her agency logo, add a stellar cover letter . . . and mail them out to editors. I once sent NINE manuscripts to her in one box . . . like 45 pounds or so of pages. I had a closet full of specially purchased manuscript boxes, rolls and rolls of strapping tape, sheets of shipping labels, yards of bubble wrap . . . and huge postage expenses write off on my taxes. In comparison with today's "cyber-send," I guess it was harder to physically hand over a manuscript box to the post office or UPS guys. Especially when they laughed at me for kissing it goodbye. Hey, you had to be there to understand. And I'm far more mature and professional now.

So, today it was CLICK-SEND for my newest crew: Nurses Claire Avery, Erin Quinn, Sarah Burke, and Dr. Logan Caldwell . . . along with Smokey the cat, a few speckled chickens, 300,000 daffodils . . . and a mechanical bull. Pulse-pounding medical drama, heart-tugging romance, a few great chuckles . . . and a soul satisfying message of hope. Whirling through cyberspace. No burgundy box, no strapping tape, no bubble wrap.

Do you think Windex will remove the lipstick smudge from my computer monitor?

Tasting Tahoe

2008-06-10T06:23:00.000-07:00

For me, one of the best things about writing is research. And by that, I don't mean cracking dusty tomes in county libraries, or even (in our tech savvy world) surfing the Internet. I'm talkin' about the kind of research that requires me to pack a suitcase, hit the open road (or sky or sea) and TRAVEL. See, touch, hear, feel taste, and smell--use all my senses--to explore locations that appear in my books. I loved telling audiences how I was "forced" to "dress in sequins and do the Chicken Dance in shipboard discos worldwide" to research my cruise mystery series--and it was true. Every port, every lifeboat drill, and . . . every gooey dessert in those books were authenticated by this author. After all, I owe that to my readers, right? You betcha. And now, for my new SHIFT IN FAITH medical drama series, I'll be researching locations in my native Northern California: Gold Country, the Pacific Coast, and San Francisco. Hence this past weekend (for my readers, of course) I grabbed a plane to Reno, Nevada, and then drove through snow-capped Sierra Mountains up some 6,000 feet . . . to research one of the most beautiful places on God's earth: Lake Tahoe. Because two scenes in The Healer's Heart take place there, and I wanted to be certain I had the details exactly right. Here's a snippet of one of those scenes, which takes place at a fictional restaurant, inspired by the fabulous real one pictured above--Sunnyside Lodge on the lake's west shore. After fishing on the Truckee River, heroine Claire Avery and Dr. Logan Caldwell are having lunch:

“See,” she said, settling into the chair opposite Logan and raising palms still damp from washing. “Perfectly respectable. No one would know I . . .” she narrowed her eyes and smirked, “caught the biggest trout of the day.” She laughed at his groan and then glanced around the umbrella-studded deck and at the other patrons, glad she’d been able to freshen her makeup and pick the pine needles out of her hair.

The marina restaurant, a favorite with both locals and tourists, was casually upscale with men and women sporting trendy resort wear and sunglasses no doubt worth half a nurse’s biweekly paycheck. A jazz combo, bass thrumming deep, played at the edge of the deck its music blending with the patrons’ soft laughter, tinkling glassware and the crisp flutter of sails in the marina below. In the distance the majestic Sierra Mountains, many peaks still white with snow, seemed to rise from the glassy blue surface of the lake itself. Claire closed her eyes for a moment and let the sun warm her face. This was not her typical day, for sure. She opened her eyes as Logan spoke.

“So what would you be doing right now if you weren’t here, humbling me with your fishing prowess?”

Claire laughed. “Huge, important things. Like buying Smokey a catnip toy. The one that looks like Jiminy Cricket. That might get him to purr.” She frowned. “The poor cat had a raccoon scare.”

Though I spent many summers at Lake Tahoe and ate at this particular restaurant countless times, it had been a dozen years since I'd last been there and I was eager to see if I'd captured the imagery on paper correctly. Overall I was pleased, except that I'd missed two key details: first, the tangy scent of the oil-based preservative on the wood decking of the lake's piers. That one struck me the moment I walked out onto Sunnside's marina-view deck, and (as scents often do) brought back a host of memories--swims in the icy water, lying on those fragrant, sun-warmed piers and slathering on Sea & Ski lotion. And the other (how could I have forgotten?) was the taste of Sunnyside's famous battered and crispy-fried zucchini sticks drenched in ranch dressing. Which, of course (for my readers) I had to try again--zucchini sticks, not the icy swim! My dedication doesn't go as far as hypothermia.

But, for me, that's what research is all about--getting the details right so I can put my readers into the scene, make them see it, touch it, smell it, hear it . . . even taste it. So that someone in, say, Indianapolis or Chicago--who may have never seen the Sierra Mountains--will be suddenly looking out at the blue of Tahoe, smelling pines (and the wood decking), feeling the brisk alpine breeze across sun-pink shoulders, and . . . tasting a fried zucchini stick.

Pass that ranch dressing, wouldya?

Fabulous Read

2008-06-04T05:00:00.000-07:00

I had to let you know about this fabulous book--I finally got it away from my husband so I could finish reading it. We'd basically played tug-of-war with the book since our recent flight to California. Pretty funny antic on a crowded SouthWest Airline flight, since hubby and I each like to sit on the aisle and generally end up sort of kitty-corner across from each other. So we'd each read a chapter, then hand it across to the other, trying not to get tangled up in the peanut-serving duty of our flight attendant crew. But way worth the aerobatics, since this book is that GOOD. Here's the blurb from Amazon:

A dangerous, homeless drifter who grew up picking cotton in virtual slavery.
An upscale art dealer accustomed to the world of Armani and Chanel.
A gutsy woman with a stubborn dream.
A story so incredible no novelist would dare dream it.
It begins outside a burning plantation hut in Louisiana . . . and an East Texas honky-tonk . . . and, without a doubt, in the heart of God. It unfolds in a Hollywood hacienda . . . an upscale New York gallery . . . a downtown dumpster . . . a Texas ranch.
Gritty with pain and betrayal and brutality, this true story also shines with an unexpected, life-changing love.

Only truth could be this goose-bumpy terrific and heart-tugging. It's wonderfully written, beautifully honest, both funny and hanky-worthy and--most of all--truly inspiring. I highly recommend it.

On the home front, I'm "polishing up" the last few pages of THE HEALER'S HEART in readiness to send it off early to my new editor, Jan Stob, at Tyndale House who has an awesome reputation and--no surprise--is nominated for Editor of the Year by the members of the American Christian Fiction Writers organization My agent, Natasha Kern, is also up for Agent of the Year--ask me how GREAT it is to be a writer under the wings of talented women like these! Trust me, I'm still pinching myself--and counting my blessings.

Go get Same Kind of Different As Me and let me know how you liked it.

Meanwhile, back to the keyboard with HEALER'S HEART . . . almost to the finish line.

Heart Deep

2008-05-28T09:43:00.000-07:00

Today I re-newed my California State Nursing License--online. Didn't realize I could do it that way, until I read the small print. So . . . click, 85-dollar Cha-Ching, and I'm good to go for another 2 years. "Inactive" status, of course, because I now live in Texas and haven't actively practiced in the past four years. Ever since I traded my stethoscope and scrubs for a computer keyboard and . . . um . . . jammies? Hey, cut me some slack--sometimes I start writing at 5:30 AM, that's before hospital day shift even starts! Some folks might (legitimately) ask, "So why re-new your license if you don't live in California, and you aren't actively employed as a nurse? Why not just let it go? Save yourself 85 bucks?" Good question. And my answer would be something like . . . "Because I AM a nurse." And I'd probably stretch a little taller, square my shoulders, lift my chin, blink a few times--and smile. Yeah, man, I AM a nurse. Heart-deep.

It's hard to remember a time when I wasn't a nurse. I mean, I was a nurse before I was a wife, a nurse before I was a mother, a nurse before I was a blonde . . . whoops. Anyway, lots of memories, lots of years joggin' down those ER corridors, climbin' into the back of ambulances, pressing a stethoscope to patients' chests. In honor of that, here are a few random tidbits from Nurse Candy:

Favorite scrubs: Home-sewn chili-pepper print vs. Iguana print. So hard to choose . . .

Surprise gift from a patient: Naming their baby "Candy."

Memorable cases: family of seven upchucking venison stew into vintage Tupperware vs. Snakebite Victim . . . who brought the live snake to the ER in a box. (Let's make Mikey do it.)

Most memorable case: Me, as a patient in my own ER. After the equestrian accident that launched me into the dirt, broke more than a few bones (including my neck), changed my life--and restored my faith. (The subject of my first published work: "By Accident," an inspirational essay in NYT bestselling Chicken Soup for the Nurse's Soul).

Best line from child patient (pointing at my hard-earned nurse's cap) "Why do you wear that pirate hat, lady?"

Shifts worked: All. Day, PM, Nights . . . 12 hour shifts, double shifts (16 hours), overtime shifts, shifts with no sleep, waddling shifts while 8 months pregnant, shifts hobbling on broken toes, and (far more painful) all those shifts struggling with a broken heart and a failing spirit.

Holidays worked: All. New Years, Christmas, Easter, Fourth of July, Thanksgiving . . . and everything in between. (Pass the re-heated hospital cafeteria turkey roll STAT)

Memorable on the job sport: "Basin Ball"--played like badminton, with nurses batting emesis basins at a surgical glove balloon. (Enjoyed best when sleep deprived. )

Best prank on an ER doc: When all the female staff had glittery tee-shirts stenciled with the logo "Norm's Angels" (after Charlie's Angels) and wore them to work on his shift.

Memorable High and Low: Discovering the diamond missing from my engagement ring at the end of a grueling shift--then having it found by a respiratory therapist passing through the department. (Baked him a "Carat Cake" the next day)

Biggest Myth: That nurses protect their hearts by keeping "professional distance." Bunch of hooey--we cry, we bleed (sometimes literally if we don't dodge a bite or a right hook), we CARE. Bet your LIFE on it.

Because nurses are nurses, heart-deep.

And even though I'm "Inactive," as far as my California Nursing License is concerned, you can betcha I'm still actively reaching out to touch lives via my writing. Especially with my new "Shift in Faith" medical drama series for Tyndale House. It's such a great opportunity to give readers an "inside" glimpse into the world of medicine--and a way to honor my fellow nurses still out there in the "trenches."

Which reminds me that the nurse in the image above looks a lot like my heroine Claire Avery in The Healer's Heart--right down to the pink scrubs. It's been great fun creating her character, using the ups and downs of my long career to make her come "alive" on the pages. Trust me, she knows grueling shifts and challenges. I didn't cut her any slack.

But she did find her happy ending. And I'm guessing that a couple of decades from now--whether Claire's still practicing her career or not--she'll still be a nurse, heart-deep. It's far more than the stethoscope around our necks.

So, if I dig out my iguana scrubs . . . anyone up for a little Basin Ball? Your serve.

The To Do List

2008-05-24T14:37:00.000-07:00

How do you like my new business card? It was designed by Kelley Cowan of Iconix and I LOVE the way she added the little apothecary logo for my tagline: RX: Charisma & Contagious Hope. She's done several projects for me in the past (like bookmarks with my cover images), and totally rocks. Iconix is fast, has very economical pricing, and great personal service. I highly recommend them. And having these cards completed is one more task I can check off. Which is so very satisfying, since, well, okay . .

I'll Confess: I'm a List Person. I love lists--making them (always in pencil) and checking items off one-by-one. In truth, I've made lists OF my lists. Grocery lists, gift lists, party planning lists, travel packing lists. My daughter in law (Dr. Wendy) gets the biggest kick out of checking my party lists (on a dry-erase board in my kitchen, red felt tip pen itemizing the entire food prep minutiae, right down to oven temp settings and assigned serving pieces). Sure I make lists because I don't want to forget things, but a large part of my "Listing" likely has to do with a sense of accomplishment and goals met. I'm a planner. I guess it helps me feel secure. Maybe a shrink would say it gives me a sense of control. Maybe that same shrink would try to make some analogy between my less than storybook childhood and a need to control chaos, even extrapolating that into my choice of career--Emergency Department Nurse. Talk about your chaos! But, hey, we're not talkin' psycho babble here, we're talkin' lists. And the point is, that along with the Writing Life, comes a great new opportunity for new lists! So, approximately one year from the launch of THE HEALER'S HEART, here's what's on the To Do list posted above my computer:

Contact RN Magazine (offer interview)

Contact Disaster Preparedness Nurse Methodist Hospital --DONE--

Contact International Critical Incident Stress Foundation--DONE--

Announce Tyndale Contract on "OverBoard" Blog --DONE--

Send out newsletter to readers announce new genre--DONE--

Finish judging the RWA RITA contest--DONE--

Finish first draft of The Healer's Heart--DONE--

Write Dear Reader Letter

Get New Domain for new website--DONE--

Get new author photo--DONE--

Have business cards made--DONE-- (see above!)

Have bookmarks made when bookcover image available

Register for American Christian Fiction Writers Conference Minneapolis

Make new Blog (RX:Charisma)--DONE--

Make lists of review sites--DONE--

Make lists of promotional venues--DONE--

Think of "branding" ideas--DONE--

Have "Faith QD" logo designed--DONE--

Make contacts for author quotes

Talk with LifeWay regarding booksigning op

Plan book launch party

So, as you can see--I'm getting things "DONE". And, because this isn't my first book series, I know VERY well how fast an author has to "tapdance" to keep up with momentum once things get rolling. My first mystery was released several months ahead of schedule and I felt like the mother of a "preemie"--no Pampers and the crib was still unassembled!

It is by no coincidence that nurse Claire Avery, the heroine of THE HEALER'S HEART, is a "List Person"--actually, an Excel Spreadsheet Person, who has planned her new career path with precision. All designed to avoid facing a painful past and to completely avoid future hurt. She's got it all figured out and (she emphatically insists) has "done all the legwork" and left God to "simply give her plans his stamp of approval." Heh heh. Of course, it doesn't work out that way and brings her a truckload of angst, frustration and doubt--trust me. And that's because God has a far better plan for her future." Along with hope, healing--and a love that was nowhere in her plans.

As List Person and author, I loved creating this conflict for my heroine.

And as a woman of faith, I loved sharing the comfort that comes with learning (despite our checklists, spreadsheets and red ink) to "let go and let God"--let him handle the big stuff. It's his job.

Works for me.

Caution: Author Digging

2008-05-21T15:42:00.000-07:00

You may notice that I'm posting late today--that's because I spent the greater part of my morning . . . digging. Dirt. With a shovel and (because we're in a drought and our Texas soil is sunbaked) a good sized pick axe. So that I could plant four new shrubs under the oaks at the front of our house, white salvia, and a couple of purple Mexican Sage, both with blooms that attract both butterflies and hummingbirds. I started with a pre-breakfast trip to the Home Depot garden department, then ate my oatmeal quickly, pulled on some grubby clothes and my sunhat, slathered on the SPF 50, and headed outside. Trust me, between the humidity and the pick-axe swinging, I got my heart-rate zipping along as well as I do at the YMCA. Southern Woman Glow. Lift-chop-shovel, lift-chop-shovel. Fill the hole with water from the hose, suck down some iced green tea, then lift-chop-shovel some more. Digging holes in our rocky, sun-parched soil big enough to comfortably accomodate those tender shrub roots. And all the while imagining hummingbirds and butterflies and a beautiful morning view from my office window, or a slice of late afternoon leisure sitting beside hubby on our shady front porch. And because I'm a writer, I was also thinking about my work on THE HEALER'S HEART. It struck me--somewhere between the woozy humidity and the resounding thunk of the pick axe--that writing this book has required some digging as well.

Meaning that I found myself digging down deep to make the characters' conflicts seem human and real. And universal enough that a reader would feel the tug of "Oh, yeah, I have SO been there myself." And how exactly does an author do that? By putting some of herself into that character; it's the only way. In effect, then, I have walked in the shoes of all of my characters to some respect. Nurse Sarah Burke, desperate and self-destructive after a painful loss; Claire Avery crippled by doubts of her competence after a horrific trauma, Dr. Logan Caldwell pushing people away,viewing emotion as "weakness," nurse Erin Quinn afraid she'll never trust anyone with her heart. Each of them, in addition, struggles with issues of faith, wanting the peace that comes with knowing they don't face life's challenges alone. I know I've been there--and don't know many folks who haven't at one point or another.

So, yeah, epiphany from one grungy, shovel toting author: Creating human and believable characters is a lot like planting shrubs--you have to dig down deep, bare a few roots. Nuture them along . . . let them grow and blossom.
And, hopefully, they'll attract . . . readers, just like my salvia and sage draw hummingbirds and butterflies.

Note: I have no garden analogy for the activity of that amazing green chameleon watching me work today--tipping his head, climbing to ever higher vantage points, watching my every move. Almost as if it were his assignment to oversee that I dug deeply enough, tossed out all the weeds, avoided rocks, spaced the plantings correctly, and . . . wait.
Editing?

Snip, Tweak--Pass the Shears

2008-05-17T12:03:00.000-07:00

I'm at my very favorite part of the writing process: Revising the work. In this case, a first revision (or "polish") by the author herself: Moi. A second revision--likely more extensive--will be suggested by my new Tyndale editor after I turn in this manuscript. But for right now, I'm having the fun task of re-reading THE HEALER'S HEART page by page as if I hadn't seen it a zillion times before (At dawn in my jammies, in the middle of the night when a plot point called to me, on my laptop in airports, in my dreams . . . and nightmares. Ah, the angst!).

I'm reading it through to see the story flow and the characters come to life. To laugh, get teary-eyed, feel a rush of goosebumps, a pitter patter of my heart, a prickle of suspense . . . and, finally, a satisfying lift of my spirit when the adventure ends. Everything that I want my readers to experience when they turn the pages of THE HEALER'S HEART next summer. And I'm also . . . getting out those pruning shears!

During a first revision, an author not only looks for the things I've mentioned before (eyebrows with lives of their own, "crutch words," consistency in character dialogue), but she must also prune the story so to speak. Cut passages that do little to move the plot forward, snip away wording that might confuse the reader, simplify, focus and--most importantly--be sure that the rule of "Show don't Tell" is followed throughout the work. Meaning that the scenes are shaped by action and dialogue that prove the emotion and conflict, not by long paragraphs that explain why people are doing things.

For instance in the first pages, Dr. Logan Caldwell jogs to the ER ambulance bay, scowling--stethoscope swinging across his chest-- shoves a reporter aside and shouts, "Where are those extra nurses? Call the night shift in early--a double shift's not going to kill anyone. We're working a disaster here!"

(And when nurse Claire Avery thinks, "the man looks like he eats chaos for breakfast," we understand why)

What if, instead, I simply wrote: "Dr. Logan Caldwell hurried to the ambulance entrance, angry because a reporter had arrived and because a disaster had happened and the ER was short staffed." See what I'm saying? Show, don't tell.

And, of course, I'm checking the entire story to be sure that in each scene (approx. 4 per chapter) has a goal. If it doesn't, and therefore doesn't move the story forward (as fast as Dr. Caldwell jogs through the ER) then it gets snipped out. No matter how cleverly I think I may have worded it! Snip, tweak, polish. I re-read the manuscript, making penciled notes. Then review the input my very talented critique partner, Nancy, has given me. And I will likely pencil in those changes as well. Then I'll sit down at the computer and make the changes.

After that, comes a "rest period," where I let the manuscript sit for awhile. So that I can re-read it once again, with fresh eyes. And make any additional changes before I send it off to my editor.

While she's reading it (and making a list of more revisions), I'll be working on the second book in The Shift in Faith Series.

So that's the task at hand. Pass me those pruning shears, wouldya? Do you think this third scene in Chapter Seven . . . looks more like a giraffe or an elephant?

The . . . um . . . END!

2008-05-14T14:29:00.000-07:00

(edit 5/16: I've apparently lost my image link into cyberspace and can't retrieve it--please imagine a fanciful lineup of animals--zebra, pig, gorilla, duck, etc. Now, imagine that in a silly posterior view. Ah, there, now you've got it. Read on--)

I absolutely couldn't resist this image. Plus, it was far more upbeat (if not somewhat more snarky) than the Google clips of deadpan people holding picket signs announcing the end of the world. Doesn't work for me. My tagline, after all, is "RX: Charisma & Contagious Hope." Yes, I am the sort of irritating person who wakes up happy. So these animals are a far cheerier representation of "The End." And, face it, I've been an ER nurse and novelist: zoo atmosphere abounds on both counts! Hence, very familiar territory.

But, I digress. The fact is: I'VE JUST FINISHED THE HEALER'S HEART! Can we hear a big WAHOO, please? Thank you. You guys are great! Now, do you want some stats? Kind of like, you know, birth figures? Height, weight, hours in labor, Apgar score--number of stretch marks? I'm joking of course, but finishing a book is indeed a lot like bringing a baby into the world. Because, as the author, I had to grow and nurture both the characters and the plot, holding them near to my heart, protecting them from The Evil Internal Editor (myself on my less than confident days), carefully feeding the progress (this book prefers sushi and cold pizza) along the way . . . until the day it's complete. Which is today, May 14th 2008.

So, stats. Book length: Twenty chapters plus epilogue--some 85,000 plus words.
And, (without baring any physical proof) I did have a few stretch marks. Because (though I've written five others) this was my first inspirational novel, and I had to dig far deeper--stretch--to learn about the motivation of these particular characters, discover their hopes, dreams, fears . . . their struggles in love . . . and with FAITH. Heady stuff, and very rewarding. I LOVED it! I hope you do too. I can't wait for you to read it. Mark your calendar for June of '09.

So, yes, I've completed the first draft of the first book in my SHIFT IN FAITH medical drama series. A book that nudges "Grey's Anatomy" to "find its soul" (and IMO it has needed to for quite awhile). It feels great. And (though I still have to re-read, and "polish" the manuscript) this author's mind is already spinning onto the sequel--working title "Heart's Hazard,"-- which takes me to the California coast. Sun, sand, and ocean breezes. I'm thinking this book will need clam chowder and sourdough bread for sustenance!

Meanwhile--please join me in the I-just-finished-the-book HAPPY DANCE! (Pay no attention to the zebra twirling that pig. They always make fools of themselves).

THE END

Mother's Day Fast Forward

2008-05-11T18:17:00.000-07:00

Today is Mother's Day and, because my kids are long-distance, it was relatively low key around here--church, some perfect-weather gardening, a few home projects . . . and an impromtou visit to Babies R Us. I was hooked from the second I walked in. All those cute little outfits, rows of high chairs, fleecy blankets, bins of pacifiers and teething rings . . . ah, a flashback to baby powder and the never-ending fatigue of new motherhood. It seems like only yesterday my "kids" were in bibs and diapers, not 30 years! So why did I spend part of Mother's Day in a baby store?

Because Vin is coming to visit. Not Vincent, or Vinny . . . Vin. Our first grandson. That blue-eyed cherub in the photo above. One of my four blessings for marrying . . . a Grandpa. Gotta love our God of second chances--who adds dollops of frosting!

I'll never forget the first time the implication of impending grandmotherhood struck me. Hubby and I were newly engaged, and I was helping him entertain his little grandaughter at Christmas, a toddler in velvet dress and white tights. It was the end of a wonderful evening and people were saying their goodbyes. I overheard this sleepy child ask Grandpa, "Where's Grandma?" and assumed she meant her great-grandmother. Much to my fiance's (rascally) glee, he informed me that she was looking for ME. Apparently, in a 2-years old's mind, the woman who bakes cookies and hangs out with Grandpa has to be Grandma! Makes perfect sense . . . and knocked me flat. Trust me, I got teased endlessly for months. And started slathering on a lot more face cream. Next week is our wedding anniversary, and it will be 9 years since I officially assumed that Grandma title. Just over a year ago (on Elvis' birthday) Vin joined the grandkid crew. We couldn't be more delighted. In this unbiased grandmother's eyes, he is beyond precious.

So, since the little guy's coming for his first visit to Texas in a couple of weeks, hubby and I got to spend part of Mother's Day buying a portable crib. And bumper pads, and sheets . . . and a darling comforter appliqued with zoo animals, and . . . The store clerks saw us coming, absolutely.

This was my first Mother's Day without my own mother--she passed away last fall. I spent a lot of time thinking about her, remembering so many wonderful times. Along with a warm collage of memories of mothering my own two children. I loved ending the day by coming home with a crib in our car. It felt like a natural progression.
And speaking of progress, I finished the last full chapter in The Healer's Heart. Only a couple of more pages for an Epilogue and the first draft is complete. Ah, what a great feeling.

Now to write . . . a list. Toys and books, and . . . look out, Grandma's on a mission.

Happy Mother's Day everyone!

The Eyebrow Thing

2008-05-07T05:54:00.000-07:00

Though I still have a few more pages on the original draft of THE HEALER'S HEART, my thoughts are already turning to the next step in this book writing process: "polishing." This is one of my FAVORITE things to do. Printing out a copy, grabbing a cup of tea (or tumbler of iced-tea, depending on the season) and cozying up to re-read the entire manuscript from Chapter One to Chapter Twenty (and Epilogue in this case). Much of the time I'll read it aloud, to get a sense of the flow of both narration and dialogue. Because it's important that characters sound (and act) distinct from one another.

For instance, their individual reactions to stress and irritation: Logan Caldwell might think, "Blast it!", Erin Quinn--our feisty redhead--will likely groan, "Aagh!", heroine Claire Avery will simply lace up her Nikes and hit the nearest running trail . . . while nurse Sarah Burke dives into extra shifts, powered completely by Diet Coke and M&M's. Each different. Consistently different. Claire won't mutter, "aagh" and Logan won't start popping M&M's . . . see what I mean? That's why part of "polishing" is to use the very nifty "Search and Replace" function in my word processing program. I can search a 300 page manuscript for the word "aagh" in mere seconds. Make sure it's only Erin who says that. But it's not the only search I perform. I also search . . . ahem . . . EYEBROWS.

Because body language is important (you can't have your characters stiff as mannequins while they talk) certain amounts of smiling, chuckling, crossing of arms . . . and raising of eyebrows must occur. Problem is, that I seem to have an eyebrow . . . thing. In the course of 20 chapters ( 80-plus scenes of angst, fear, fury, joy) my characters' eyebrows will alternately, "raise," "lift," "arch" "scrunch," and "draw together," in displays of emotion. You probably do that yourselves, with your own brows, right? Thank you. But then, the problem remains that TOO MANY brow gymnastics can get weird. Become, well . . . Groucho Marx. At some point, there is the risk that all dialogue ceases and the book's characters simply stand around mutely wiggling their eyebrows and grimacing . . . don't laugh, I have nightmares about this.

So I search eyebrows and--pardon the pun--pluck them out of my manuscript here and there. It's part of my process. And then I move on to searching my "crutch words," meaning much over-used words like, "just," "actually," "so," "that," "softly," "gently," . . . every writer has his problem words to erase, trust me.

So, actually, over the next few weeks, I'll just be reading The Healer's Heart softly aloud, and gently plucking dozens of scrunching eyebrows and crutch words, so that my new editor won't cringe.

Oops, sorry for that author brow raise--life of their own.

Aw, Mom . . .

2008-05-04T09:14:00.000-07:00

It's a mother's job to humiliate her children--you know the drill:

1)The ol' spitting on a Kleenex and wiping their faces in public trick

2)Doing the Chicken Dance to the radio while driving the carpool

3)Making your kid stop and eat a banana in the middle of an equestrian competition (hey--potassium, heatstroke?)

4)Dressing up as Wonder Woman for the preschool SuperHero party

5)Writing mushy/funny notes on their sack lunch napkins

6)Theme party, after theme party, after theme party . . .

And all those embarrassing photo requests of course. Camera-happy Mom and camera shy kids. "Give me a break, Ma"--and they thought my moving to Texas would accomplish that. Like I don't have a new digital Nikon and . . . Southwest reward miles! Can you say cheese?

So here's a couple of coerced photos from our recent trip to California--my favorite being the grocery store snapshot, where I completely mortified my girls by whipping out my camera and asking the Produce Woman to capture the moment! Made perfect sense to me; it's not every day I get to go Mom and Daughter grocery shopping. It was great fun, and a perfect day. Hubby and I had planned to take them all out to dinner, but the kids suggested cooking a meal together so we could all "hang out" longer . . . and it was (as the commercial says): Priceless. Fresh tomato and basil bruschetta, grilled chicken, corn on the cob, chocolate champagne cake--and lots of laughter and hugs!

We had a fabulous visit, and are now back in Texas. And tomorrow I'll be back to work, finishing the last few pages of The Healer's Heart. Speaking of that--when I saw my son, I realized for the first time that he looks a LOT like the hero in this new book, Dr. Logan Caldwell. Dark curls, blue eyes, wide shoulders, great smile . . . I guess it shouldn't surprise me since my firstborn IS the hero type. Of course, I told him that. Which apparently is as embarrassing as . . . Chicken Dancing in the carpool.

A mother's work is never done!

Feeling Secure

2008-04-30T08:36:00.000-07:00

I'm traveling this week--hubby needed to do some computer consulting out of state, and I said "let me pack a bag!" That's one of the great things about being a writer--Have Laptop Will Travel. It's a matter of a few seconds to transfer The Healer's Heart manuscript onto a flashdrive (I'm still astounded by those), charge up the laptop batteries, print out our boarding passes--throw some of my travel knits into a bag, water the plants, drop the dog off at the "pet resort," and we're off. New cities, new restaurants . . . fresh towels every morning . . . ah, the open road. Everything went without a hitch until I set off the airport security alarms . . . twice. Birthday watch and bracelet. Bling is highly suspect, it appears. So I got "wanded" and patted down (much to hubby's extreme amusement) and was naturally wearing my adorable jean skirt with at least three decorative metal zippers. So, double pat, double wand--"stand with your right foot out . . . your left foot out, your right arm out, your left arm out . . . " It was all I could do not to start singing the "Hokey Pokey"! Actually, the TSA woman was very polite and gentle and--hey--it's blog material, right?

So right now hubby is off to be Techno Superman, I'm settling in with a cup of coffee and doing some re-reading of The Healer's Heart, beginning at Chapter One. Outside my hotel window there are city sounds; so different from the stillness of my office in Texas. But change is invigorating. That's why I love travel--great new opportunities for people watching, new sunsets for my "collection," hustle, bustle and the quirky camaraderie to be found among travelers. Plus those opportunities to sculpt your biceps by trundling suitcases around, eat airline peanuts . . . get patted down. And it all gets cubbied into a writer's brain--trust me on that. References, to be recalled at some future time . . .

And when I write that airport security scene in some future novel, I'll add a few more zippers to my heroine's skirt, along with a cute mettallic toenail charm . . . and she WILL begin to nervously hum the Hokey Pokey . . . to a security person who has absolutely NO sense of humor, and . . . oh dear, what have I done?

Have I mentioned that I LOVE this job?

Back to reading The Healer's Heart. I really think you're going to enjoy this one, folks.

Golden Tickets & Happily Ever After

2008-04-26T07:00:00.000-07:00

I'm talking about happy endings today and when I was searching Google Images for an appropriate picture to post, all the obvious ones were there: Cinderella and Prince Charming, Snow White, lah-de-dah wedding cakes and countless cheesy photos of beautiful young couples kissing. But the one that jumped out at me was this one from the ending scene of the movie based on Roald Dahl's "Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory." That look of joyous expectation on Gene Wilder's face says it all--he's about to gift a little boy with . . . Happily Ever After.

What makes this moment so wonderfully satisfying, is that it comes after a long struggle on the part of the young hero, Charlie Bucket. He comes from a poor family that must eat cabbage soup every night, works a paper route to bring in what little money they have--and only gets a chocolate bar once a year, on his birthday. Charlie dreams of one day being able to tour a famous chocolate factory--and is stunned when his birthday candy contains the Golden Ticket entering him in a contest to win that very prize. And then, of course, the struggle continues: nasty greedy co-contestants, physical danger and, finally, temptation to trade everything he values most--his family, his principles, his integrity--for a truckload of money . . . and a lifetime supply of chocolate. I won't spoil the ending. If you haven't seen it (the original with Gene Wilder or the newest version starring Johnny Depp) treat yourself!

Right now, I'm finishing up the Happily Ever After for my characters in THE HEALER'S HEART. I can't tell you how good it feels. And how much of a relief. These folks, ER physician Logan Caldwell, Nurses Claire Avery, Erin Quinn and Sarah Burke--and even a one-eared rescue cat named Smokey--went through some very tough times in the preceding 290 pages, trust me. But in the process they've learned some valuable things about each other . . . and themselves. Their happily ever after--their new hope--didn't come easily. Okay, fine, I was a rugged taskmaster and I admit it! But haven't we all waged battles like that? Haven't we all had times of . . . cabbage soup and temptation? Fumbled in darkness for a candle? Haven't we all had those wacky Oompa Loompas singing warning songs to us as they mine the fudge chocolate mountains . . . oops, that was the movie--you gotta see it, folks.

I'm thinking that my Golden Ticket . . . is the chance to bring this new book series to you. To gift my readers with a story of hope. What would your Golden Ticket offer you?

Light Dawns or Vice Versa

2008-04-23T04:37:00.000-07:00

Don't laugh. I used to have one of these gizmos . . . only I think mine actually was shaped like the rising sun. The gist of this "natural alarm clock," is that it mimics dawn, very slowly going from darkness to light--right through your sleeping eyelids. No jangling, buzzing, no radio blaring Hip Hop. No heart-jolting confusion and sudden urge to throw a clock across the room. Oops--did I say that? Seriously, this natural clock--though decidedly weird looking--is pretty ingenious, and it works. We bought ours to use on cruise ships, because the first few times we sailed, we booked the most economical cabins. Translation: Dark and windowless. Remember the Irish passengers in the Titanic movie? Yup. Way down there. It's very disorienting to wake up (jet lagged and in unfamiliar surroundings) and not know if it's day or night. But mostly I bought the natural clock because I'm married to a practical joker, and when I'd sit upright in the bleak, sub-level darkness and mumble, "What time is it?" he would invariably say, "Ten o'clock in the morning--we're late." It was too dark to even find him to smack him.

So instead, I found the Natural Clock--it only cost about the same as an upgrade to an outside cabin.

Nowadays--in my "retirement"--I'm once again rising before dawn. To write. Up at 5:30 in darkness, fixing my Hazelnut coffee and padding on toward my office where my characters await me. For the past 3 weeks they have felt a lot like the Irish in the bilges of Titanic--trapped in the "Dark Moment," while I was merrily entertaining houseguests and bagpipers. But now I'm back, and I'm typing away, helping them move from darkness to epiphany, from "Aha" toward Happily Ever After. Through faith, from darkness to light. Just the same way that . . . right now, the dawn is beginning to seep through my office window here in South Texas. Real light, the promise of a glorious new day. Very fitting for a book based on the theme of HOPE, I'd say.

From darkness into light. I love it.

Outside cabins for everyone!