I Was Made for This - M. Laycock

I was made for this - to "write it on a tablet for them, inscribe it on a scroll, that for the days to come it may be an everlasting witness."

The journey to accomplish that calling began in an attic in my father's house where I wrote short stories and poems for my dolls. They didn't complain so I kept it up. Then, at the age of eleven an aunt gave me a copy of Emily of New Moon by L. M. Montgomery and I realized that you could call yourself a writer. I determined in my heart that someday that's what I would be.

My teachers encouraged me and in grade eleven I saw my name attached to a piece of writing in a book for the first time. But in grade twelve my favourite teacher said, "If you don't have something of value to say, don't you dare write." She would have been horrified to learn that her words made me stop writing for some time.

Although I had received a lot of praise for my writing in school, I had huge self-esteem issues. I did not believe I could possibly have anything of value to say to anyone, so, other than the assignments I had to do for school, I stopped writing.

The root of this low self esteem came from an incident when I was about 8 years old, when I was sexually molested by a neighbour. That one incident coloured everything that happened in my life. It became the pivot on which everything else turned and affected how I saw myself and my world. It even affected how I saw God. Because of that one dark incident I believed that I could not be accepted or loved by anyone, most especially God. I believed I was unworthy and of no value to anyone.

But I went off to university and began to study to be a journalist. I discovered that though I wanted to write, journalism was not for me. I did not have the aggression needed, nor did I believe I could ever be good enough to succeed in that profession, (or any other). So after the second year, I left university and ended up in Alaska, helping some friends build a cabin in the wilderness. I wandered the north, in Alaska and the Yukon and finally settled in Dawson City.

It was there, while surviving -60 degree temperatures, that I sat by my wood stove and began to write my first novel. It was a fantasy about talking ravens and it has never been published, thank goodness - but as the days and weeks went by I was caught up in the story and realized writing was of supreme importance to me. It was my way of escape when I needed one, my way of dealing with the world. When I was lonely, I wrote. When someone hurt me, I wrote. When I believed my life had no purpose, no direction, I wrote. I told myself that everything was okay, that living day to day was the way to go. And I wrote. Of course I never showed any of my writing to anyone else because I believed no one else would want to read it. And I was very unhappy. In fact, though I would not admit it, I was miserable. The writing was only a band-aid, not a solution to the inner emptiness I felt.

But God had a plan and a purpose. I met a young man who was to become my husband. We built a log house on the Klondike River and settled into a lifestyle of self-indulgence until one day when death came and stood on our doorstep. About a month before our wedding my husband’s best friend committed suicide. The day we were married, a neighbour’s baby went missing and was assumed drowned in the river. Then, a few months after our wedding, another friend shot himself and two others died in accidents. Death became a very real presence in our lives.

We tried to escape it but everywhere we went it seemed death had gone before us. As God kept us in turmoil, my husband began asking questions – what’s life all about? What happens when we die? Is there a God? To find the answers, he began meeting with the missionary pastor who had performed our wedding ceremony. Then he decided to start going to church.

I saw this as a potential crisis in my life. I thought I knew all about the “religion game” and I didn’t want any part of it. Deep down I believed I wasn’t good enough for God, so I convinced myself he did not exist. But Spence challenged me to try to articulate what I did believe. Was God some kind of force out there in the galaxies? What was he like? And what did he have to do with me?

One Sunday morning Spence got up and suggested we get ready for church. I told him I was going to visit my friend Brenda who lived 150 miles away - a perfect excuse to not go to church. As I packed to go that morning I came across a small book someone had given me and it fell open to the words, “Why do you resist me, who flows through all things?” I tossed the book to the floor and headed down the road to Mayo. I was determined not to think about spiritual things, but the harder I tried, the more all those questions kept spinning around in my head.

In frustration, I pulled into a lookout spot on the Stewart River and started talking to God. I knew I needed forgiveness. I’d heard enough of the sermons in that tiny mission church to know I had done things in my life that were against God’s law, against the people around me, and even against myself. So I asked God to forgive me. I admitted I was confused and challenged Him to do something to prove He existed. 

Then I thought, this is really crazy. Here I am talking to a God I don’t really believe exists. If he is out there he must think we humans are pretty humorous. Then something happened that is still a mystery to me. I “heard”, though the words were not audible – “Yes, you are humorous but I love you anyway.”

At that point I thought I was going crazy. Now I was hearing voices! So I put my foot down on the accelerator of my truck and literally almost flew to my friend’s house. All we talked about that weekend was spiritual things. But by the time I headed home I had decided I wanted nothing to do with Christianity and I’d just have to hope that Spence’s involvement in church wouldn’t tear our marriage apart.

Sometime later, I woke up one morning and was very ill. Then I sat down and ate a big breakfast. The next day was the same, and the day after that. I confided in a friend that I had "this strange flu." The words "morning sickness" seemed to make sense but I knew it could not be. I had not told anyone, but the first desire of my heart was to have a baby. I think I saw it as yet another way to feel loved and at peace. All my friends were having children and my biological clock was sounding alarms. 

But Spence and I had been together for five years by this time and no babies had happened. So we decided to apply to adopt a child and we were told we should have tests done to determine why we had not been able to conceive. So we had done that, at Shaunessy hospital in Vancouver. The doctors told us it was highly unlikely that we would conceive a child together, so we had decided to pursue the adoption process.

But that strange flu did not go away. Then one morning, as I was emptying my stomach I realized that I was indeed pregnant. And at that moment I realized God had indeed done something. He had given me the desire of my heart – a child. She was born on Nov. 30^th, 1982. (do the math - she will be 30 on the 30th of this month. :)

It was about that same time that the pastor in that tiny mission church asked if there was anyone in the congregation who would like to commit his life to Christ. I glanced at Spence but he didn’t move, so I didn’t either. But I started to smile because I realized that I had already done that. When Spence shook Jack’s hand at the door he told him he had decided to “give Jesus a try.” I nodded and said, “yeah, me too.” Jack began to weep. We were both puzzled at that. What was the big deal?

As the days and weeks went by I began to realize what the big deal was. I felt a kind of lightness – a sense of peace and freedom and joy that I had never known could be possible. It was spring time in the Yukon and I wrote this short little poem to try and express it.

            

FIRST YUKON SPRING          

                     Green.

                     Green so fills my eyes

                      I sway

                      with spring

                      a song

                      alive and swelling

                      out of winter grey and white

                      the colour

                      in fields and ditches

                      dances

                      and I wonder

                      was there life

                      before this day?

Everything around me seemed more vibrant, more intense, more full. When I realized that God did indeed love me, I wanted more than ever to know him. Spence felt the same, and we both sought Him in every way we could. Our home became a place of meeting and worship for the believers in that tiny mission church and we began to learn about who we were as Christians and children of God.

The change in our lives was so obvious people began to comment on it. Within two years we found ourselves at Briercrest Bible College where Spence studied to become a pastor. In our last year there I attended a seminar with Carol Kent called Speak Up with Confidence. I only attended because a friend talked me into it but by the time that day was over the Lord had rekindled a burning desire in me to write. 

But how to begin? I knew nothing about manuscript preparation, or submission guidelines or any other essential information that would help me break into print. But God supplied. In the first week in our new home my husband met with the previous pastor of our new church. Pastor Don laid out a long list of responsibilities. He had just stood up to go when he turned back and said, "Oh and I almost forgot, you have to write a weekly column for the paper and it's due tomorrow."

My husband came home with his head swimming, overwhelmed by all the responsibilities, and asked if I could "put something together for the paper." I wrote my first devotional that night, took it down to the editor the next day and was delighted when he said it was fine. That was the beginning of my new column, The Spur, which ran in that paper for eight years and in another for about twelve years. That column developed into three devotional books that have travelled further than I could have dreamed possible.

It wasn't long after that I saw an advertisement for the Alberta Christian Writers' Fellowship, meeting in a small church about an hour's drive from where we lived. I was delighted to learn there was such a thing as a Christian writers' organization. As I attended their conferences and entered their contests my writing improved by leaps and bounds. I learned how to submit my work and began to have success in publishing. The encouragement of those who had been writing for some time was invaluable. I was also given the opportunity to 'give back' by serving on the executive of that organization (now InScribe Christian Writers' Fellowship) for many years.

One of my greatest joys has been to receive letters and emails from readers who have turned their lives over to the Lord after reading something I'd written. It would be all too easy to think it was my inspirational writing that accomplished that but only God can change a heart. I am humbled that he has used my words to accomplish His purposes.

There have been many small steps along the way, all of them leading to God's purpose for my life, to honour and glorify Him through all I do, through all I write.

In his gracious mercy He has allowed me to keep writing, and used my writing to bless others. As my husband once said, it now comes from a place of strength, not weakness, because it flows from a heart that has been changed, a soul that is the home of His Holy Spirit.

Recently He took me on another journey, through the "valley of cancer." It seems outrageous to say it, but this journey has been a gift that has deepened my dependence upon Him and my understanding of true faith, true joy, and it has deepened my writing as well. I look forward to what He intends to do through these new words. (read a sample here)

I don't pretend to assume that my words will be an "everlasting" witness but I know they have already affected the lives of people in pain, people who need to know that God's deep love is for each and every one of us, no matter where we've been or what we've done or what we're going through.

And that is more than enough, because God has made it plain. I was made for this.

****

Abundant Rain, Marcia's devotional ebook for writers of faith is now available for Kindle at Amazon or can be downloaded in any ebook format at Smashwords. 

Visit Marcia's website to learn more about her writing and speaking ministry

And The Winner Is...

Okay, I gotta admit right off the bat – I stole the title of this blog post. Chip McGregor http://www.macgregorliteracy.com/ has a weekly blog that I subscribe to via email, and this title made a very eye-catching subject line in my inbox last week. It was actually for his annual “Bad Poetry Contest,” which is always a lot of fun.

Chip’s email preceded an email announcement of the winners of the Novice Writing Contest http://www.thewordguild.com/ and that was shortly followed by the announcement of the shortlist of winners for the Canadian Christian Writing Awards http://www.canadianchristianwritingawards.com/ .

So what do you think about contests?
And how do you feel in general about winning and losing?
Do you think competition is a good thing – a Christian thing?

I’ve been on both sides of the contest arena – both as a judge and as a contestant. And I honestly don’t know which one is more difficult – or more rewarding.

It’s a very difficult thing to make a decision that you know will affect someone’s future in a profound way. As so many judges say, I too often lament, “They are all winners. All of them deserve a prize.” And I want to say to all the writers: “Don’t give up! Keep on writing!”

I’ve also won awards in previous years and been shortlisted several times. And I wonder why some of my books and articles are chosen over others. And how does this affect my life as a writer – as a follower of Christ?

Simply put, it doesn’t.

Winning or losing on this earthly stage is “small potatoes” compared to winning or losing on the heavenly stage. And what keeps me going day by day and minute by minute as an author is not whether I’ve won or lost an award or had a book proposal accepted or rejected. It can’t be – or I’d go crazy! Because the life of an author, perhaps more than any other vocation, is a constant mix of rejections and acclamations.

For those of you who didn’t win the Novice Writing Contest and who were not shortlisted for the Canadian Writing Awards, I want to tell you to “hang in there” – to not give up. And to tell you that it never really does get easier. There will always be rejections of one sort or another mixed in amongst the acclamations. And as an author, you just really have to “go with the flow.” And keep remembering why you chose to pick up a pen in the first place.

You have a story. It is a story that only you can tell. No other author, no matter how famous, can do the job that you are being asked to do. Tell your story. Listen to those around you who offer advice. Pay attention to the judges, the editors and the book reviewers. But don’t allow their opinions to cause you to throw up your hands and quit.
The number one characteristic of a successful author is not talent but perseverance. Don’t give up!


Dorene Meyer
http://www.dorenemeyer.com/

Author of The Little Ones

Shortlisted for Canadian Writing Awards: General Readership
Shortlisted for Canadian Writing Awards: Independently Published Fiction
Shortlisted for Canadian Writing Awards: Mystery/Suspense

Author of Jasmine
Now in book stores across Canada

Both books distributed by Word Alive Press http://www.wordalivepress.ca/.

Available also on Amazon http://www.amazon.com/ and http://www.barnesandnoble.com/ (key in title of book and publisher: Word Alive Press).

Where do I stand? - Payne

Where do I stand with my work-in-progress novel, Shelter from the Storm?

First, I started with longhand, writing in a three-ring spiral binder. Then, I typed it all into the computer and continued to write my chapters on the screen. I sent chapter by chapter to The Word Guild’s online critique forum, ReVision, and received helpful feedback. I brought chapters to my monthly writer’s group, The Writer’s Crucible, for editing and critiquing help. I took a few days and sat with an editor to work on the copy to ensure that each word was exactly what it should be. I gave the manuscript to three different readers for their thoughts. I read the entire novel out loud.

I felt it was ready for the Best New Author contest. I printed it, filled out the proper paperwork, and hand-delivered it. I kissed it goodbye and prayed that it would make it on the short-list at the very least.

It didn’t make the short list.

I shelved it.

It’s been a year since I submitted to the contest. I am finally ready to return to the editing stage. I plan to take it one chapter at a time and add more humour to make it a more enjoyable read, especially since the subject matter is heady. I plan to play with the romance between Heather and Dr. Mott.

But in doing so, I realize that I must change my prologue or maybe even cut it out entirely. Ouch. A prologue must contribute to the plot. It has to reveal significant, relevant facts, to supply information that is vital to the understanding of the plot. It needs to set the novel in motion with a strong, usually emotion-charged event; at the same time, it needs to create an immediate affinity towards the protagonist.

Let’s have a look:

Prologue

“Caitlin. Caitlin!” I called. I looked down the beach; no little girls. I scanned the bushes. No little girls. I ran towards the playground. “Caitlin! Caity-Cat! Caitlin!” I stood under the monkey bars and eyed the play centre. No Caitlin. I looked over to the swings. No Caitlin. My hands began to sweat. My heart pounded in my chest.
I ran towards the parking lot, screaming her name all the way. She wasn’t there. Where was she? Dear God, don’t let anything happen to my daughter!
Across Lake Simcoe, I could see the clouds had grown tall and billowy. Thunderclouds. They had rolled in swiftly. They blocked out the sun. Goosebumps rippled over my flesh.
I bolted across the small baseball diamond toward the concession stand. Closed. No one there. “Caitlin!” My voice broke in panic. I turned back towards the lake. The water looked dark blue, almost black. The wind blew loose garbage over the beach. I heard the sound of wheels scraping along the pavement. A young man, rollerblading along the path, slowed down. “You looking for someone?”
“Yes, yes. My daughter. I can’t find Caitlin. Have you seen a little red-head?”
“About so high?” He held his hand at his hip.
“Yes!”
“Is that her over there?” he asked and pointed towards the bathrooms. “Caitlin!” Relief flooded my body. “Thank you. Thank you. Yes, that’s her.” I hurried to my daughter. Kneeling on one knee in front of her, I grabbed her shoulders. “Oh, Caitlin.” I didn’t know whether to hug her or scold her. “You scared me half to death!” I pulled her close. “Don’t ever, ever do that again.”
Caitlin’s eyes filled with tears. “I’m sorry, Mommy.”
I stood and picked her up, her freckled legs straddling my hips. I hid my face in her thick hair and breathed in the smell of sunscreen and lake water. “Oh, no Caitlin. It’s okay. Mommy didn’t know where you were. I’m sorry for yelling. I was so scared you were gone. Don’t ever leave Mommy.”
I whimpered as I carried her back to our beach blanket. “I don’t know what I’d do if you ever got hurt.”
***

I realize that I developed my prologue as a tool to give hints about what’s to come later in the plot – to foreshadow. I believe this chapter sets the novel in motion and gives hint to what is going to happen later in the story.
But if I want to change the tone of my entire novel, then I must change the tone of my prologue. There is obviously no hint of humour in this. There is no hint of romance.
I can either take out the prologue or change it to reflect the new tone of the novel. What would you do?

Kimberley Payne
http://www.kimberleypayne.com/

Casting All Your Care Upon Him - Meyer

When my kids were young, we sometimes listened to “Patch, the Pirate” tapes. One of the songs was about a wart hog who always worried and every time he started to worry about something, he would get another “worry-wart”. It was a cute little song that has stuck in my head all these years – along with a hundred other crazy kids’ songs like “The Cat Came Back” and “Another Fancy Dinner by My Mother” (CARAMEL BROCCOLI!!)

Usually the wart hog song pops into my head when I’m worrying about something – which, my husband would tell you is just about all the time! Actually, I think I’ve taken worrying to a new (I won’t say “higher”) level. I don’t just worry about my own problems. I worry about people who live half a world away and I worry about my neighbour next door. I worry about my kids (of course I do!) and now I’ve added in their wives and their families – and of course, my grandkids.
I worry about the town, the province, the country, the world.
I worry about the dog – Is he happy? Is he hungry? Is he bored?
I worry about the birds – Will they still eat the birdseed even though it’s wet from the rain? If I forget to feed them, will they go somewhere else or die of starvation?

Of course, as a writer, there are always a thousand things to worry about. Will the publisher accept my book? If they do, will I like the final product? If I do, will my reader like it? And if my readers like this book, will they like the next one – and the next?
Today, I was checking for some copyright information on a recently published book of mine and I started skimming through the first chapter. I was horrified – had I actually unleashed this book on the world? Worry gnawed away inside of me. Even with super-great endorsements and letters from people who have enjoyed the book, I still worry constantly about those who might hate it – who might hate me.

And I need to remind myself again – and again – and again to cast all my cares upon Him because He cares for me. This verse from the Bible (1 Peter 5:7) is about God. God cares for me. The God of the universe cares for me! And… he cares about the birds (see Matthew 10:29 and N.J.'s post from yesterday!). He cares about the dog (sorry, no verse for that but I figure if he cares about birds, he cares about dogs, too). He for sure cares about my kids and grandkids – and the people who live half a world away!

And because He cares, I don’t have to worry. Repeat after me, all you worriers out there (you know who you are): I don’t have to worry.

"Cast all your cares upon Him, for He cares for you." 1 Peter 5:7

Dorene Meyer
Writing about how much God cares for each one of us – Deep Waters (for adults), Colin’s Choice (teens) and Get Lost! (kid’s chapter book) all set in the fictional First Nations community of Rabbit Lake. Available at your local bookstore or directly from the author at http://www.dorenemeyer.com/

Coming Apart for Awhile vs Just Coming Apart - Smith Meyer

We had a lovely trip from Ontario to Alberta and back. Four and a half weeks of seeing the beauty of our beautiful country in its many-splendoured diversity. We had time for reminiscence, for visiting family and friends and even for finishing up Not Far from the Tree, the sequel to Not Easily Broken. We arrived home on six o’clock Friday night.
Less than an hour later we got a phone call to let us know a very dear friend had been diagnosed with stage four breast cancer. Ten minutes after another call informed us another dear friend had been found to have a mass on a kidney. By 930 the Saturday morning I was in a meeting trying to support a young husband whose second wife’s breast cancer has now has returned to her bones and liver. They have four young girls ages 7-14. They have carried the lead in the ministry for which this committee had gathered and we had some hard issues with which to deal. In the next six days, there was a speaking engagement, four more committee meetings, with more hard issues to be discussed and dealt with as creatively and with as much discretion as possible.

Tucked in somewhere amidst the trauma and heavies were the pockets of joy: deciding on a cover design which included some precious parts of people dear to me, hearing the positive comments from my sharing at the speaking engagement, the positive testimony from those who are facing such difficulties. But those seemed so brief and small compared to the grave and weighty difficulties of the week.

By following Thursday I felt completely snowed under. Everywhere I turned, I saw something I needed to do, something that had been waiting too long, something I neglected, and it all seemed very important. I don’t think I am unique in having a host of UFOs (UnFinished Objects) , but whenever I begin to feel overwhelmed or overburdened, those UFOs raise their heads and glare at me with their evil, beady eyes and scream “You procrastinating failure!”

At this period of our lives, we have two homes, an hour apart from each other. Since our marriage in 2005, we have had enough medical problems that we haven’t decided which of our houses to keep and which to let go. Some have wondered how we do it and why. Friday morning as we left one for the other, I still felt heavy and overloaded I wondered how I was going to accomplish everything for which I was responsible. As we drove the familiar route and the picturesque countryside, we passed harvested fields, dairy cows grazing , black-eyed susans,mums and other fall blooms in aradiant explosion of diverse colours, the tension melted away. By the time we reached our destination, I wondered what was so important for me to be doing? By that evening, I had done the immediate necessities and asked God to just feed me the tasks as they need to be done. I went to bed and slept well.

Sometimes, leaving the scene of frenetic activity and taking time to breathe and pray gives a different perspective!

Ruth Smith Meyer http://www.ruthsmithmeyer.com/
Not Easily Broken, Word Alive Press . Coming soon: Not Far from the Tree

Lonely at the Top - Wegner

I’ve always heard it’s lonely at the top. I wouldn’t know simply because I’m not sure where “the top” is and besides, no matter where it turns out to be, I’m not there.
I’ve also heard that writing is a lonely life. Now that’s closer to where I am and if I didn’t believe it before, any doubts have vanished.
Loneliness doesn’t come easy for me. My childhood nickname, Windy Lindy, indicated my love of words - and wordiness - even back then. Teen activities included teaching Sunday School, school dramas and the debating team. As an adult I thrived on the company of others. Married for forty years to the quietest person I’ve ever known, I’ve had to compromise on social activities but that didn’t mean I lost my zest for a roomful of energetic people. Gregarious. Sociable. Fun loving. Those words described me; reflexive, withdrawn and introverted did not. But that transition is happening and as difficult as it has been, the seeming permanency of my loneliness is dawning on me.
As easy as it would be to blame it solely on the writing, I have coming to the conclusion that God Himself is drawing me from a life of dependency on the approval of others to a place of quiet surrender to His will. He’s created a thirst so deep that nothing but fellowship with Him can fully quench it. He’s creating such a longing for His glory that my innate competitiveness has been tempered by the sense of the exclusiveness of His majesty. While there’s still enough “carnality” in me that I refused to enter this year’s contest for fear that I would come in second - again - there’s a new peace in realizing that He’s not done with me.
I still love to be with people of like mind and I look forward with anticipation to the upcoming writers’ conference but inside, there’s a core of solitude that I’m slowly learning to treasure. Quivering on the altar, I’m comforted by the assurance that my sacrifice has been accepted.
“Lord, turn my loneliness into aloneness with You. Turn my sense of loss into tender compassion for those who have been stripped of the barest of life’s essentials. May new thoughts, formed in my newly-stilled mind, pour forth in praise and honour to You.”
Having said all that, I haven’t lost my ability to celebrate and I can hardly wait for June 12!
Linda Wegner

Nine Years Later - Wegner

Officially Easter is over but this week I can’t help reflecting on the first time I wrote a “resurrection” article. It happened in the spring of 1999 and it marked the beginning of a weekly syndicated column that continues to reach an unknown number of readers. Only a couple of hospital admissions have interrupted my perfect record.

On that nine-year-ago morning my husband and I had taken our customary walk to town. While he waited on the sidewalk outside, I opened the mailbox and discovered a new publication in our mail box. The paper, Estevan Lifestyles, had just been launched and, I noted, it was being distributed in neighbouring communities (that’s what we were). Even better, it was free.

As a newly minted writer, I’d been covering community and farm events for Carlyle Observer. I looked this new paper over and decided to submit an article - after all, if this opportunity would bring as much personal enjoyment and fulfillment as did the Observer assignments, it definitely was worth risking rejection. Drawing on the one writers’ conference I’d attended, I reviewed overlapping readership, one time rights, and simultaneous submission information. Then, I started writing.

It took days to complete that first piece. If memory serves me correctly, it consisted of about 300 words, 15 hours of intense perspiration and nearly a dozen discarded hard copies. My nervousness in submitting the piece was matched only by the jubilation I felt when it was accepted. I’m amazed that nine years later my readership has expanded to include other Saskatchewan weeklies, a few websites, and an ever growing email distribution list. Not in my wildest dreams could I have known that writing would become our primary source of income.

As writers, it’s not always easy to believe that those first, tentatively scribed, writings could lead to a vocation or a ministry. Sadly, it’s even harder many non-writers to value what we know to be our gift from God. One of the greatest motivators I’ve ever received was a remark made to me soon after my first articles were published: “Writers are a dime a dozen and you’ll never make it,” this person said and at that moment something exploded in my soul. “I’ll prove you wrong,” I whispered to myself, “the Lord and I will prove you wrong!”

When Zerubbabel and his co-workers began rebuilding the ancient Judean Temple, God had something to say to those who doubted the ability of His servants: “Who [with reason] despises the day of small things?” (Zechariah 4:10)

If God doesn’t, we shouldn’t...and that’s enough to make me sing!

Will Blogs Replace Newspapers and Magazines? - O'Leary

At a number of writers' groups, a real concern is the way newspapers and magazines increasingly want the writer to give up all rights for little or no compensation. That's a real problem for writers who republish their work. For example, my first book, Faith@Science, was entirely republished work, largely from ChristianWeek.

However, I think that blogs are making such a dent in the circulation of print publications that the real question for a writer is how to make money blogging - in which case you may not need to give up any rights. Far from it, you can turn your blog into a book - and then sell your book via the blog, as Canadian blogging queen Kathy Shaidle does.

Here are some thoughts on making money blogging:

1. See if you can get someone to pay you. I get paid to blog at some blogs (Design of Life blog and ID Report). The site sponsors sell books, basically.

There is a natural affinity between non-fiction books and blogging. Authors can use the blog to keep up with news that relates to the topics you write books about. But many book authors or retailers do not have the time. It makes sense to hire the job out to someone who knows the area and writes in an interesting way.

Bear in mind that you will need to agree with the blog's owner about who owns the content you prepare. I make different agreements depending on the type of content.

2. Ask people to donate to your blog. They can do so via PayPal. Kathy Shaidle does that. I don't, but my blogs exist to support my books, and I get royalties.

3. If you blog at Blogger, sign up for Adsense and allow ads on your blog. Blogger's system puts ads on your blog that are relevant to your topics by monitoring key words. Thus, if you wrote about skiing, you'd probably get ads for ski wear. Check my two blogs, The Post-Darwinist (supports By Design or by Chance? )and The Mindful Hack (suppoorts The Spiritual Brain), and see what ads Blogger's software has chosen. Each time I earn over $100, I get a cheque. So far, I've had two of them. No, not a huge amount of money, but why leave money sitting on the table? And as readership grows, the amount tots up faster.

Of course, most blogs, like this one, are a community service. But as blogs increasingly become a major way people get content that they used to buy magazines and newspapers for, we will need to be creative3 in replacing the lost income from print sources

Here are some recent stories I've written at my two blogs, The Post-Darwinist and The Mindful Hack

Insulting Canadianness anyone?

Hate crimes against religions: Wh’s really at risk?

A philosopher faces death via mysticism

Christianity Today features news item on young astronomer denied tenure

What kind of evolution does the Pope support? Is his associate Christoph, Cardinal Schoeborn trying to rehabilitate Teilhard de Chardin?

Toddlers as Neanderthals?: Evolutionary psychology hits the affluent parent set

Fun sendup and straight talk about
evolutionary psychology

Denyse O'Leary

God Before Time - Clemons

One thing I’ve given a bit of thought to lately, is the working of God within time. As any physics teacher will tell you, time is a function of mass, motion and gravity. Time is not a constant. It changes the faster you go, or with the less gravity you have. But mass, motion and gravity are creations of God. He’s not subject to their machinations. God sits outside time, looking in.

Which brings mwe to my subject. I frequently talk to fledging writers who want to know why it takes so long to get published. Many, like myself, truly believe they are called to write. Like me, they expect to earn money at it—it is, after all, a vocation not an avocation. They pray and believe God is going to use their words to change the world, but they write, and write, and send out one proposal after another, and then complain that while they believe they’re doing God’s will, God isn’t answering their prayers, and they start to think about giving up.

It’s a matter of faith, I tell them. You have to believe in spite of what you see.

I try not to leave them with the usual glib answers. I’m sure you’ve heard them all: “Your faith is too weak. If you believed with the faith of a mustard seed you could ask anything and it would be done for you,” or, “Without faith it is impossible to please Him, for to ask anything of God you must first believe He exists and that He rewards those who diligently seek Him.” It’s true, if you pray but you don’t really believe God hears and answers, forgetaboutit.

Or how about this one. “You ask and receive not because you seek to heap it after your own lust.” True again. If you’re praying that you sell enough books to buy a $750,000 house with a Ferrari in the drive and have money left over to pay your bills and take a European vacation, your asking God to provide you with earthly goods when He says we should be storing our treasures in heaven, so again, you’re prayers probably aren’t going to be heard. But I haven’t met anyone doing this.

Then there’s the verse in James that says the prayer of a righteous man avails much. True, you do need to be righteous, at least in the sense that you’re right with God, that you’ve confessed every sin and are truly seeking to do His will.

But what if you’ve practiced all of the above but still feel your prayers haven’t been heard?

Well maybe the missing ingredient is time. We don’t work on God’s clock. My pastor, Rod Hembree, recently put it this way: “Sometimes we pray, and God starts to answer, but we interrupt Him mid-sentence.” In other words, God may be right in the middle of working out the answer to our prayers, when we give up.

If you don’t think it’s true consider this: just about every old testament saint, all those we learned about in Sunday School, waited years for the promise of God to be fulfilled in their lives.

Abraham was told he would have a son, but he was ninety before it finally happened. As a boy Joseph was told his bothers would bow down to him, but before he saw it come to pass he had to endure slavery and imprisonment for at least twenty years. God preserved Moses’ life from his birth but he was eighty years old when he was finally called to lead the children of Israel. David was a young man when he was selected by God to be King over Israel, but even after slaying Goliath he had to endure many years of being chased by Saul before God actually fulfilled the promise.

The problem is we become impatient with God. We want our prayers answered now, not sometime in the future. God, on the other hand, sits outside time. He sees the end from the beginning. He already knows how and when He’ll answer our prayers. For Him, it’s a matter of patiently putting up with our impatience until He knows we’re ready.

Is a limited view of time the missing ingredient in our faith formula? I don’t know, but I can say that we do well when we remember it’s not about us, it’s about Him: for it is God who works in you to will and to act according to His good purpose. Philippians 2:13

Keith Clemons
www.clemonsbooks.com

I Am Not Called to be a Christian Writer - Hall

The journey I have been on for the past couple of years has led me to come to that rather startling pronouncement. Three years ago our church went through Rick Warren's 40 Days of Purpose using his book The Purpose Driven Life - which you have heard of, I am sure.

The book surprised me. It asked probing questions. It changed my thinking about a lot of things. If I could be so bold, I could say that it changed my life. One of its more astonishing pronouncements was that we have no other calling than to worship God. None. I balked at that at first. Naturally I did. I am a Christian writer. It's what I do. and yes, I argued, it's a 'calling'. And besides, it's cool to tell people that I'm called to be a Christian writer.

And then God led me through some very difficult times. Even my very writing, it seemed, was in jeopardy. I began to realize that Rick Warren might be right. If suddenly I could no long write, God could cast me aside as useless trash if my only calling was to be a Christian writer. I began to learn that maybe, just maybe, I'm supposed to worship God, and that is it. My writing, my vocation, is unimportant compared to my relationship with God.

Now, suddenly I am hearing that message everywhere. A small group I'm involved in is studying Larry Crabb's Soul Talk. He refers to C.S. Lewis' First Things and Second Things. The First Thing is worship of God. Second things are everything else - families, jobs, artistic abilities, hobbies and even the good things we do for others.

My husband and I listen to the sermons of Dr. Tim Keller (See http://redeemer.com). He talks about Good Things and Ultimate Things. A Good Thing would be my writing. The Ultimate Thing is my relationship with God. He argues that if we make idols of Good Things, we miss The Ultimate Thing.


Look at Job. In one day, he lost all of his Second Things, his Good Things, but learned that God could be trusted, that God was the only person who could be trusted. God was a First Thing.

Yes, I will continue to write. It's what I do best. It's what I enjoy. But it's no longer my "Calling": I'm trying to give that to God.

(The picture at the side is my husband, Rik, sitting in Einstein's lap, taken on a recent trip to Washington DC.)

Linda Hall
www.writerhall.com

A Double Blessing - Mann

My first grandchild is being married this month. This event has stirred my thoughts. What does a Grandma give her granddaughter and name-sake for a wedding present? Something that will last forever? Or perhaps money that she can spend or choose to save? Maybe an heirloom or a piece of jewellery that has been in the family?

I began to think about making her something with my hands. I used to sew—perhaps I could make a quilt. I became quite excited about this, which later took me to the fabric shop. Colours, textures, diagrams and patterns darkened my passion creating an almost impossible maze. Yet, I persevered and began to choose shades that enhanced each other. The clerk suggested a reversible quilt that I could do on the sewing machine. This sounded perfect as I didn’t have the room to set up quilting frames, nor did I have the time or knowledge to quilt. I went home that day with a large yellow bag filled with countless fabrics, eager to cut and piece together the blocks to shape a chocolate-shaded queen size quilt, “with just the right colour of orange, Gran.”

As I cut the quilt bat, placed the coloured triangles in place and continued to build the blocks with the assorted colours, I began to think how much this exercise was like writing. Every block represented a well-chosen word. The strip of cloth framing the quilt block reminded me of phrases and statements that connect thoughts, taking the reader further into the plot. After laying the blocks out on a large surface, it was easy to see when an overused colour was in the wrong place distorting the imagery. How often does that happen in writing where a favourite word or concept becomes over-kill? The colour and strength of thread carefully woven through the large piece of handiwork is not unlike the importance of vision and passion that holds a long effort of writing together.

I have put the squares together showing the quilt in all its glory. And I marvel how often important dreams start with little things. And reversible? Yes, it ends up that in the end I have two quilts, two different colour concepts, back to back. I agree that this was very ambitious for me at a time when I was busy with family illness, church leadership and writing. Yet, I inserted stitches into the cloth with prayer, placing the colours side-by-side asking for peace and love within this marriage. Working with so many colours, I soon realized how forgiving the pattern was to my mistakes - again a perfect image of a good marriage.

The droning sound of my 40-year-old Elna sewing machine motor reminded me that my granddaughter would have noisy and overbearing life-problems not unlike those I’ve had through fifty years of marriage. The push and pull of moving a 1400 piece quilt through the arm of the sewing machine illustrated how awkward some situations would be, creating their own tension.

And I smile as I think of this reversible quilt. Two sided! One for her and one for him. But they have to be together to enjoy this benefit. Most of all, I thought of how this quilt would be the mantle, the covering of God’s love – perhaps a double blessing.


Donna Mann
Author of WinterGrief: a personal response to grief and Aggie's Storms, the story of a girl who grew up to become the first woman elected to Canadian Parliament.

http://www.homestead.com/the_meadows/mann.html

Mentor to Many - Meyer

Recently I was awarded a mentor position in the 2008 Sheldon Oberman Emerging Writers’ Mentor Program here in Manitoba. But even before I received this news, I had been thinking a lot recently about the topic of mentoring.

It came up about a month ago at a book event where someone was telling me about their writing journey. She talked about a course she had taken with the late Carol Shields and how this renowned Manitoba author had influenced her writing career. Then she asked me if I had a writing mentor. A name immediately popped into my head but I quickly dismissed the idea. It seemed too bold of me to assume that I had a mentoring relationship with the author that had come to my mind.

But the more I thought about it, the more I realized that this was probably the best way to describe the influence this person has had on my life.

It has been uncanny at times. I always seem to be a few steps behind her like a distant echo. It’s not an intentional following but some common passions and personality quirks seem to be leading us inexorably down a similar path. There are differences, of course, but many startling similarities also.

At my lowest moments when I was ready to throw in the towel, she was coincidentally there also, ready with a patient but no-nonsense approach, enabling me to forget the self-pity and get back to work, doing what I most love to do - write.

Recently, Chip MacGregor addressed the topic of writing mentors in his weekly blog. He said, “A mentor is someone who is a bit further down the path from yourself – with more experience in the field, so as to give you some wise advice and direction, especially when you are trying to grow or are faced with a major decision.” Yes, I think I do have a mentor, after all.

So as you celebrate your 60th birthday and I my 50th (there’s that distant echo again), I want to thank you N. J. Lindquist for being a mentor to me.

I know there are many others who have also benefited from your wise counsel and leadership, many who have been helped along their writing journey, who have been mentored by you. So perhaps it would be fitting for me to thank you on behalf of those countless other writers who would not be where they were today if it were not for N. J. Lindquist.

Thank you!

Dorene Meyer

www.dorenemeyer.com

Everything is Going According to Plan - Meyer

The writer’s life is unpredictable. When you “go to work” each day, there is no clear job description or list of duties to follow. There is no boss telling you what to do; no board of directors overseeing your efforts.

As a follower of Christ, I do look to Someone for direction. I pray each day that He will guide me to make the right choices in my work day.
Sometimes, though, I fret. I worry. And on occasion, it could more accurately be described as full blown panic.

I prayerfully plan out the day, the week, the year. I set goals and march bravely towards them. But things don’t always go as planned.

There is one manuscript that I have been longing to see in print for five years now. I have prayed earnestly that Deep Waters would be published as I believe it will be an encouragement and help to many people. Why doesn’t the Lord answer my prayer?

As I reflect on the past five years, I see that was has happened has been very good. It hasn’t been anything like what I would have planned or even dreamed of. But it has been very good.
Recently, the Lord has been assuring me that: “Everything is going according to plan.” His plan of course; not mine.

If Deep Waters had been published five years ago, I might not have pursued journalism. If it had been published four years ago, I likely never would have taken the time to teach writing classes. If Deep Waters had been published three years ago, I wouldn’t have worked at getting my young adult novel, Colin’s Choice, published. If I'd had a contract to publish Deep Waters two years ago, I would probably not have taken a position as editor of Indian Life or published my children’s book, Get Lost! If Deep Waters had been published a year ago, I would not have continued to teach writing and would have missed out on the wonderful opportunity of meeting all those great people and editing three anthologies of Winnipeg authors. I would have missed out on so much!

The past two weeks have been filled with wonderful things that I could never have imagined five years ago. I had a book signing at Book Expo, an interview with Drew Marshall and I received my second book award from The Word Guild Canadian Writing Awards. I was on faculty at Write! Canada and on a writer’s panel at The Family Christian Bookstore, sitting alongside authors: Keith Clemons, N. J. Lindquist, Denyse O’Leary and Ray Wiseman.

Will Deep Waters be published this year – or does God have yet something else for me that I could not even begin to imagine?
One thing I do know – things will continue to go according to plan.

Jer 29:11 (NIV) "For I know the plans I have for you," declares the Lord, "plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you hope and a future."