May 23, 2015 |
I’ve learned a lot in the past month of writers conferences–connecting, sharing, making goals and taking inventory.
One of the things I’m most proud of is to tell others of the great support I receive on a regular basis from so many people. Family, friends, church people, writers groups, readers. . .
I want to give back. I want to move forward.
To start, I’ve lowered the price on The Unemployment Cookbook, Kindle Edition to just $0.99. Always. This isn’t a one-time deal, or a sale. This is the new, regular, always price. Just $0.99. You can either click on the link above or the photo below to be taken to Amazon and get your own copy.
The Unemployment Cookbook, Kindle Edition
It’s just one of the ways I’m saying “thanks” for all of you who do so much for me.
Be blessed, be fed, be good!
And Frankly, My Dear . . . that’s all she wrote!
May 23, 2015 |
There’s Nothing Like Coming Home. . .
North Carolina is full of rocking chairs and a Mayberry-esque lifestyle. There are rocking chairs in the airports, and there are rocking chairs in the restaurants. In the restaurants, people! I ain’t making this stuff up.
North Carolina Rocking Chairs are Everywhere!
I want to live there. I want to drink more sweet tea and say “y’all” and “honey, sugar” to strangers and call my friends “Sweet Potato” and rock on a front porch as the rain patters down. I want to live in Blue Ridge.
Unfortunately, Blue Ridge is an event, not a place. Well, it’s both, but when it’s not an event, it can get kind of lonely. Kind of, this-hallway-belongs-in-Stephen-King’s-The-Shining lonely (thanks for that thought process, Beckie).
Which could be pretty hard on This Girl who fills the love-tank with social interaction. I do not care (said with my newly adopted Southe’n accent) I do not care if you are male, female, black, white, cat, dog (scratch that. I care. I don’t like dogs). . . my point is, people is people, people! And when you’re in a place surrounded not only by people, but by people who understand, who help, who encourage, who laugh, cry, scream, giggle, play games, eat dinner . . . People who get you. . . how can it not be home?
In my life, I have felt alone, abandoned, worthless, a failure, confused, out of place, neglected, misunderstood, incomplete.
When I set foot on Ridgecrest, those insecurities left me. Completely, for six whole days, I was pushed smack-dab into what I can only describe as an immersion program for Christian writers.
Attending Blue Ridge wasn’t about making new friends.
It was about finding family I didn’t know I had.
Is it no surprise how I cried from loneliness when the plane landed in Las Vegas? Or when I thought of Sweet Cara and how it will be a year before I see my new sister again? Or (better), when I claim my place into this family of God’s children?
I’m sitting in my recliner at Bedford Manor now. Everything’s the way I left it. The cats are dozing. The house is quiet. But my soul is restless.
I long to go back to Blue Ridge. To find my own little parcel of land and put a rocking chair on it and say, “This is mine! This corner of the world, these people, this experience. . . This is mine.”
But I also long to stay here. To work at making Bedford Manor my home for as long as the Lord wants me to. I’m ready to get moving for the Lord, but that doesn’t mean I have to move.
In fact, through Blue Ridge, He has called me to be a spring in the desert. [Isaiah 43:19]. And I’m ready to do that, because that’s what He’s asking.
![My Little Plot of Desert, Where I Will Be a Spring [Isaiah 43:19]](https://i0.wp.com/franklymydearmojo.com/wp-content/uploads/2015/05/IMG_7809.jpg?resize=584%2C778)
My Little Plot of Desert, Where I Will Be a Spring [Isaiah 43:19]
I am about to do a new thing;
now it springs forth, do you not perceive it?
I will make a way in the wilderness
and rivers in the desert.
[Isaiah 43:19, NRSV]
I imagine as the days take me further from my first Blue Ridge experience, this painful longing to go back will lesson, but only for a short time. Because then I’ll be filled with the drive to return next year, and this desire will push me to do all I can to accomplish that goal. I’ll work harder than I have at becoming the writer and speaker He has made me to be.
I’m okay with this kind of pain: The pain that pushes me forward, the longing that makes me reach beyond myself.
I am not perfect. But at Blue Ridge, I am perfectly me.
I can’t wait to go back, and move forward.
And Frankly, My Dear . . . that’s all she wrote!
You may also enjoy reading:
And They Say Getting There is Half the Fun . . .
My Two-Inch Peacock
Stop Fighting and Be Still.
May 18, 2015 |
Thank you, Mary Thompson, for urging my return back to California. If I could stay here, surrounded by these amazing people, I would. But once the conference is over and the halls are empty, I’ll return to Catford Manor and the High Desert.
There is only one other attendee who came as far as Beckie and I did to attend this conference. She came from Washington State.
#BRMCWC
New people are amazing. I have friended and been friended by more like-minded souls than I knew existed. So many are my favorites. So many are saying, “I need a friend like you!” and I’m honored and blessed and humbled and intimidated and flying high and feeling like the most successful trapeze artist ever. I feel free and safe all at the same time.
Tonight I’m particularly blessed by Cara, a young woman who adopted me as her big sister. And Alycia and Edie who are on faculty. And Jeremiah and Alex who stay up late playing games. And so many, many more. This feels like an acceptance speech. And it is, sort of. An acceptance of who I really am, who they’re letting me be.
Today I told Aaron, “This place is like the Willy Wonka Factory for Writers. And I’m after the Glass Elevator.” It brings out the best in us, for us.
Writers are a distinct group of professionals who choose to help each other succeed however possible.
My battery is getting low and the charger’s on the other side of the room, and my legs are somewhat angry at me for doing so much walking. . . so tonight will have to be another photo essay until I write a longer post tomorrow.
Ridgecrest, NC – view from my hotel lobby.
Lip Balm From Beckie, because we love cats and she’s nice enough to share.
Me and Alycia Morales. People say this photo makes us look like sisters so we’re going with that.
These stairs are the reason I’m losing weight and walking funny. They are my necessary nemesis.
BRMCWC Notebook
Today I learned about freelance editing (thanks, “Sis”!) and Social Media (I’m doing it right already!), and why and how to enter contests.
Tomorrow (Tuesday) is more advanced editing and media, followed by three faculty one-on-one’s. I’ll be speaking with an agent, publicist, and editor.
Followed by the Genre Night Procession. I get to dress up as my Genre. I’m not sure I can pull off a desperate New Orleans transplant but I’m gonna try.
One last photo. This one takes the cake. This guy here? Reminds me so much of my Uncle Roger who I speak of, whose logo I manipulated for my own New Inklings Press logo, whose sense of humor and care for us “young ‘uns” is comparable. His name is Ron, but I can’t stop calling him Roger.
Ron, The Replacement Roger
Oh, and the blog post title? When it’s late and you’re around a group of tired writers, these are the things we come up with to nibble on.
And Frankly, My Dear . . . that’s all she wrote!
![My Little Plot of Desert, Where I Will Be a Spring [Isaiah 43:19]](https://i0.wp.com/franklymydearmojo.com/wp-content/uploads/2015/05/IMG_7809.jpg)
