Happy New Year

Happy New Year!

2012 has arrived and I am pleased to have arrived with it -- alive and well. My wishes go out to each of you, that you will have an awesome 2012 and that your every goal will come to fruition.

My goal in 2012 is to see "Dear Mom and Dad, Please Send Money," published and in your hands. That's my goal and my prayer.

I have just finished a full editing of all 425 pages with Literary Agent, Sue Clark.  I will take those 425 pages with me to Mexico and fix every dot, comma, gerund (whatever that is) and adverb that she has marked.

When I return from Mexico in mid-March she will do another read-through start to finish -- this time looking for any needed content change.  I will make those changes I agree with and then the manuscript goes off to an agent or publisher.

I am both excited and nervous. Yes, nervous. What if the reader doesn't like my story? Then what? What if, after all this time and effort, the book flops?  That is a fear every writer has had at least once and maybe lots and lots of times.  More so for the "newbe" writer like me.

Well, that may happen. I can't control that --  beyond doing my very, very best in what I have written. I will leave the rest of it in God's hands (and yours).  My memoir is God's story as much as mine.

I am reading a very good book called, "Messy Spirituality -- God's Annoying Love for Imperfect People," by Michael Yaconelli.  His book describes my journey with Jesus -- Messy. Imperfect. Always Struggling. Wanting to do right, and not always succeeding. He, through his words, has reminded me that it's okay to not be perfect.  We can't be perfect. My Memoir has lots of my imperfections in it.  Jesus loves me anyway...will you?

Question: Do you struggle, thinking you have to be perfect or more perfect, or always get it right?

Have a Child, Plant a tree, Write a book

Have a Child, Plant a tree, Write a book

Earlier this week, I stopped by to visit my friend Chato here in Barra de Navidad. His family took care of my sister Marsha when she and her family became ill while visiting Barra back in 1966. Chato wasn’t home so I sat at the kitchen table and visited with his wife, Marta. We chatted and drank cold coconut milk.

Marta comes from the city of Colima which is some two hours from Barra. She is one of eight children. When Marta was young, her mother told her, “Make your mark on the world. Have a child, plant a tree and write a book.” Her mother had only a first grade education, but taught herself to read and write. She didn’t write an official “book,” but she did write letters to her children for each momentous event in their lives. After her death, one of the children gathered her letters from each of the siblings and bound them into a book. In a sense then, Marta’s mother had posthumously created a “book” and fulfilled the last of her adage. She had born eight children, had planted many trees on their land and had written a book.

Marta’s mother’s words touched me.

Have a child. To that I would add --“or adopt a child, or mentor a child.” I believe her mother would agree with those additions.

Plant a tree. Lord knows we need more trees in this world. They are life sustaining and produce the air we breathe. They soothe the soul. They give shade and provide a resting place for birds and small animals. They provide grandeur for us to look at and enjoy.

Write a book. Don’t we all have a story to tell? It could be as simple as keeping a journal, writing a blog, treasuring a shoe box full of love letters, or looking at cards given to us by family and friends. Expressing ourselves through writing is a joy.

For days I have thought about these wise words. They have caused me to look at my own life and take inventory. Will I have left any of these “marks?”

Have a child. I am grateful for my four children; five counting Ana Cecilia who I adopted in Costa Rica many years ago. And the young girls I mentored at the House of Hope in Costa Rica became mine as well. I am grateful to God for allowing me to “have a child” -- in fact, many of them.

Plant a tree. Hank and I have planted twelve palm trees at my home here in Mexico. They have grown tall and strong and I frequently admire them from the hammock in our back yard. They bring me a sense of peace and tropical tranquility.

Write a book. I am putting the finishing touches on Dear Mom and Dad, Please Send Money, my first book. I pray God opens a way for the book to be published so that some of my memories can be shared with family and friends.

Comments: What are your thoughts on the statement, “Make your mark on the world: have a child, plant a tree and write a book?”

Barra de Navidad, Jalisco, Mexico

Today I am writing from Barra de Navidad, Jalisco, Mexico.  I'm taking a few weeks off from my writing/editing journey and relaxing in this little piece of paradise on the Happy Coast of Mexico.  I built a home here several years ago and feel blessed to have such an awesome place to come to during those months of the year when California is experiencing rain, ice and cold.

I first came to Barra de Navidad at the age of 17.  My family has a connection here.  Below is an excerpt about Barra de Navidad from my upcoming book, Dear Mom and Dad, Please Send Money.

“Why do you and your family have such a strong connection to Barra de Navidad?” my friend, Bing asked.     

Bing, his roommate Steve and I were traveling along the Pacific Coast of Mexico on our way to Barra to meet up with my parents.  I reached forward to turn up the air conditioner, sat back and shared our family story.               

“My sister, Marsha and her husband Bill discovered the little fishing village in 1966,” I answered. “They set out from Santa Rosa on a year’s travel adventure with Marsha’s three children, and Bill’s teenage son David. Marsha’s kids were young –- the youngest Ronald, was four, Donald six and Ruthie was eight. Bill was looking for a place on the beach in Mexico where he could eventually retire.      

“Before leaving California they looked on a map of Mexico and noticed a small dot off the Pacific Ocean. . .  it was below Puerto Vallarta and above Acapulco. It indicated a town called Barra de Navidad. They didn’t speak Spanish at the time, but knew that Navidad meant Christmas.  Their goal was to reach this Bay of Christmas and spend Christmas there, which they did.                          

 “From what I remember Marsha telling me, they camped on the beach that first year and fell in love with the village, the warm climate and the friendly people. They ended up staying three months.  

“They camped on the beach and made friends in town. Their new friends warned them that Mexican tourists would packed the town during the Easter holidays. So they thought it best to continue their sightseeing around Mexico and return after the two-week holiday. They left Barra in March of 1967.”            

“Did they return after Easter?” Bing wanted to know. He reached for my hand and squeezed it gently before putting his hand back on the steering wheel. I smiled at him, wishing I felt more for him than I did.                  

“Yes, after they traveled to Belize.” I answered.  I took a drink of my mineral water and looked again at the map. Our trip down from Puerto Vallarta had taken us inland and the ocean was only in view every so often as the road curved towards and then back away from the Pacific Ocean. We knew we were traveling south, so we just had to be sure we didn’t miss the turnoff into the town. We came around a curve and found a big dark green road sign with white letters that said, “Melaque” and below Melaque it said, “Barra de Navidad.” We were close.

“Anyway, they stayed in Belize for a while before heading back to Barra. On the way back they got sick –- all of them except Ron, the youngest. They think now it was either the rainwater they filled their water tank with, or it was the cheese they bought in Belize. I remember her telling me they got really, really sick and their eyes turned yellow.”          

“That sounds like hepatitis,” said Bing, being the medical student he was.

“You’re right,” I replied, looking at him and smiling. He had such a great smile and large dark eyes. He was not handsome, but definitely nice to look at with his dark skin and dark brown curly hair. “They saw a doctor in Guadalajara. He told them it was hepatitis. He gave them Vitamin B shots and sold them vials of Vitamin B to take with them. They were about six hours north of Barra so headed there. By then Bill and his son David were too ill to drive so Marsha took over. Then she got sicker and sicker by the mile.”                 

“Did they make it?” the guys wanted to know, now captivated by the story.   

 “Marsha got them into Barra and parked the truck and tent trailer in front of their new friend Chato’s house. They couldn’t take care of themselves. They were deathly ill.”     

“Wow, well obviously they got to a doctor in town and got better,” said Bing.                                         

“Actually, no,” I replied. “The village was too small to have a doctor, but Chato’s mother, Mamacita Oregon, took care of them. They rented a room across the dirt street from Chato’s. There was a bathroom there and a place to hang hammocks in the attached patio. Bill, Marsha and David spent nearly three weeks in hammocks, doing nothing except resting, taking Vitamin B, sucking on hard candy for the sugar and waiting. The kids weren’t as sick and got better sooner.

“That’s a great story,” Bing said.                           

“Yeah, it is. They stayed in the village for another few months, recuperated and then drove back to the States.

“They vowed never to forget Barra and the love and care they received.     And that’s what formed the bond between Barra de Navidad and my family, which endures to this day.”

What Do Golf and Writing Have In Common?

What Do Golf and Writing Have In Common?

I’m totally a new-be at writing.  I didn’t think it was going to be hard.  I’m not so new at golfing, but when I started golfing I didn’t think it was going to be hard.

Wrong on both accounts.

I’ve heard people say, “How hard can golf be?  All you’re doing is hitting a little white ball with a stick on carpet like grass.  All you need to do is get the little ball into a big hole.  How hard is that?

Likewise, I’ve heard people say, “What’s taking you so long to write your book?  All you have to do it get your thoughts down on paper and submit it to a publisher to get it printed.

Ha!

Both golf and writing take time.

There’s a learning curve.

You have to dedicate time and have patience.

You can’t give up when you get frustrated.

You have to want to accomplish your goal and keep at it.

You can hack away at a golf ball and you can hack away at words on a typewriter or computer.  Neither will make you good at what you’re doing.  Lots of people start golfing and/or writing and give up when the going gets tough.

To be a good golfer you have to take lessons, listen to the professionals and practice.

To be a good writer you have to take classes, listen to the professionals and practice.

I’m doing both.  My golf game has improved over time.  My writing has improved over time.

When I get tired of golfing, I write.

When I get tired of writing, I golf.

I found the following piece of writing encouragement on Literary Agent, Rachelle Gardner’s blog last week. 

We can, as writers, still count on Flaubert to urge us onward, to show us that what we’re doing is worth the blood, sweat, and tears. Once, when Oscar Wilde was asked what he had done that day, he said, “I was working on the proof of one of my poems all the morning, and took out a comma. In the afternoon I put it back again.”

http://www.rachellegardner.com/

What is your most frustrating experience with writing or golfing? Let me know, by leaving a comment.

It Was

“It was”

It was a dark and stormy night. . .

It was mid-October and the autumn leaves were falling. . .

It was hard. . .

It was tough being a fat teenager. . .

How many times have you communicated a feeling, thought or event with “It was?”
I didn’t think much about those two little words until Sue Clark, my “Book Doctor,” started editing my manuscript -- Dear Mom and Dad, Please Send Money.

            “'Was’ is a form of the 'to be' verb, the weakest verb in the English language," she informed me.  "Verbs are action words.  As readers, we can see someone ‘jump.’  We can't see 'is' or 'was'.  I want you to find every 'It was' statement in your manuscript and change the sentence to convey the same meaning using an action verb.  By the way, you can't see an 'it,' either." 
           Thank God for the computer.  I clicked on the “Edit” option in MS Word and then clicked on “Find.”  In the “find what” screen I entered “It was,” and let the computer show me if I had one or two of those little It was’s.

            My trusty computer found over 500!   

            For the last few weeks I have, with painstaking care, searched for and changed hundreds of “It Was” words.  

            “It was October, 1973” became, “In October, 1973…”

            “It was an era of mixed-relationships. . .” became, “Mixed-relationships were common in the 1960, hippy era. . .”

            I haven’t changed them all, but I’m working on it.

Now, let’s fast forward to earlier this week. I sat, content, in my bedroom rocking chair reading the Bible, The New Living Translation. I turned to the Book of John, Chapter 10, enjoying the story of The Good Shepherd and His Sheep. “It was now winter, and Jesus was in Jerusalem,” Verse 22 said.

“It was?” Wow, somebody writes like me, I thought.

A few minutes later, the same two little words jumped out again, this time in Chapter 11, Verse 55: “It was now almost time for the Jewish Passover celebration. . .”

So, I asked myself, should I continue the It Was Search, Find, and Replace Exercise for my manuscript -- or should I sit back and say, “If it was is good enough for the Bible, it’s good enough for me?”

            What do you think? 

I am honored to be working with Sue Clark in the manuscript analysis process. Check her out at:  http://www.suejclark.com/index2.aspx

Where Is God?

      Those of you who know me, know I am a Christian. I'm proud to be a Christian.  I wasn't always a believer. In fact, for many years I walked a road that was as far away from God and Christianity as I could get.  But one day, my life crashed and I wanted to die to escape my pain and the shame of my actions.  
      The following is a short excerpt from Dear Mom and Dad, Please Send Money, followed by a God-centered opinion expressed by CBS presenter, Ben Stein, that I feel is worth reading.   
 

From Dear Mom and Dad, Please Send Money:  

     "I watched a young man walk into the waves to cool off and my thoughts turned to death.                     

     Wouldn’t it be easier just to walk out into the ocean and keep walking and then swim and swim until I finally drowned? Wouldn’t it feel better to just die and silence the accusing voices in my head? And the desperation in my heart?

     At that moment, I cried out inside, God if you’re real...show me.        

     As my heart cried out to God, begging Him, daring Him to show me His existence, I heard guitar music and young people singing. A group of eight hippie-looking kids walked down the beach in our direction. A dark haired man and a smiling young woman wearing a long skirt and a colorful peasant blouse, sat down on the sand next to me. The young man smiled and said, “Let me tell you about Jesus.  I resisted...I didn't like Jesus People.”              

The following was written by Ben Stein and recited by him on CBS Sunday Morning Commentary.

My confession:
"I am a Jew, and every single one of my ancestors was Jewish. And it does not bother me even a little bit when people call those beautiful lit up, bejeweled trees, Christmas trees. I don't feel threatened. I don't feel discriminated against. That's what they are, Christmas trees.

It doesn't bother me a bit when people say, 'Merry Christmas' to me. I don't think they are slighting me or getting ready to put me in a ghetto. In fact, I kind of like it. It shows that we are all brothers and sisters celebrating this happy time of year. It doesn't bother me at all that there is a manger scene on display at a key intersection near my beach house in Malibu . If people want a creche, it's just as fine with me as is the Menorah a few hundred yards away.

I don't like getting pushed around for being a Jew, and I don't think Christians like getting pushed around for being Christians. I think people who believe in God are sick and tired of getting pushed around, period. I have no idea where the concept came from, that America is an explicitly atheist country. I can't find it in the Constitution and I don't like it being shoved down my throat.

Or maybe I can put it another way: where did the idea come from that we should worship celebrities and we aren't allowed to worship God ? I guess that's a sign that I'm getting old, too. But there are a lot of us who are wondering where these celebrities came from and where the America we knew went to.

In light of the many jokes we send to one another for a laugh, this is a little different: This is not intended to be a joke; it's not funny, it's intended to get you thinking.

Billy Graham's daughter was interviewed on the Early Show and Jane Clayson asked her 'How could God let something like this happen?' (regarding Hurricane Katrina).. Anne Graham gave an extremely profound and insightful response. She said, 'I believe God is deeply saddened by this, just as we are, but for years we've been telling God to get out of our schools, to get out of our government and to get out of our lives. And being the gentleman He is, I believe He has calmly backed out. How can we expect God to give us His blessing and His protection if we demand He leave us alone?'

In light of recent events... terrorists attack, school shootings, etc. I think it started when Madeleine Murray O'Hare (she was murdered, her body found a few years ago) complained she didn't want prayer in our schools, and we said OK. Then someone said you better not read the Bible in school. The Bible says thou shalt not kill; thou shalt not steal, and love your neighbor as yourself. And we said OK.

Then Dr. Benjamin Spock said we shouldn't spank our children when they misbehave, because their little personalities would be warped and we might damage their self-esteem (Dr. Spock's son committed suicide). We said an expert should know what he's talking about. And we said okay.

Now we're asking ourselves why our children have no conscience, why they don't know right from wrong, and why it doesn't bother them to kill strangers, their classmates, and themselves.

Probably, if we think about it long and hard enough, we can figure it out. I think it has a great deal to do with 'WE REAP WHAT WE SOW.'

Funny how simple it is for people to trash God and then wonder why the world's going to hell. Funny how we believe what the newspapers say, but question what the Bible says..."

Jim Jones and The People's Temple

In my upcoming memoir, Dear Mom and Dad, Please Send Money, I mention Jim Jones, a man I knew in my youth.  The name "Jim Jones" registers immediately with most people over the age of 30.  Many of the younger set, however, need more explanation.  With a couple of hints they connect Jim Jones with the People's Temple and then with Guyana -- and the light bulb comes on.  The impact of long ago history depends on its relevance to our lives.

Jim Jones was relevant in many people’s lives, including mine.  Back in 1971, my parents, hoping to convince me to leave the controversial Children of God religious commune, encouraged me to meet with Pastor Jones and join The People's Temple.  

Did I?  The answer is revealed in the memoir. 

Below is a quick history lesson, parts of which are excerpts from Dear Mom and Dad, Please Send Money.  

"Redwood Valley is not marked on most maps and yet has a compelling, contemporary history.  Redwood Valley was home to the notorious Jim Jones and The People’s Temple.  I knew Jim Jones as “Mr. Jones,” my substitute English teacher at Ukiah High School.  I remember his charismatic, captivating personality, which inspired students and adults. 

He was the founder and leader of The People's Temple that he built on East Road in our valley.  Jim Jones believed a nuclear holocaust would occur on July 15, 1967, and his research revealed Redwood Valley would be one of the few places in the world likely to survive it.  He predicted the surviving elect would create a new socialist Eden on earth. He intended to be the leader of that select group. 

The holocaust did not happen.  Even so, Jim Jones’ congregation remained faithful and the church membership increased.  He expanded, opening new churches in San Francisco and Los Angeles.

His sphere of influence continued to grow, and he and his congregation were applauded for helping the poorest of the poor –- drug addicts, the homeless, and racial minorities throughout California.

During the 1970s, The People’s Temple purchased and managed at least nine residential care businesses, including my family’s board and care home.  At first, my parents respected his work with the poorest of society; however, in mid 1975, he tried to cheat them out of a portion of their vineyard land and their opinion changed.

Nobody, however, was prepared for what happened after he moved his followers to a remote jungle in British Guyana, called “Jonestown.”  There, on November 18, 1978, Jim Jones, my former teacher, a man who lived in my hometown, ordered the mass suicide of over 900 followers.  Men, women, and children died agonizing deaths.  Some were shot, and others were forced to drink poisoned “Kool aid.”  Most were said to have willingly participated in what was called "revolutionary suicide." 

I heard the news on my car radio.  I pulled the car to the side of the highway and sat there listening in complete shock.  The pictures of death were soon broadcast to the world.  The dead, lying on top of each other, mothers lying face down holding onto their young children, and men holding their wives. 

I lost several of my neighbors that day.  They were good caring people who followed Jim Jones and moved to Guyana to find peace and purpose.  He had promised them life in a Utopia – he delivered death.  It was a sad day for the world, and for all of us from Redwood Valley."