Time is a Greased Pig

The weather has belatedly changed. I walked in temperatures cold enough for a wool cap, mittens, and a scarf this morning. By the time I got back, my nose ran like a spigot.

I'd forgotten my iPod, and so I let my mind out for recess. I don't know if this is the beginning of a story or an idea for a story, but this is where my mind went when the whistle blew:

Time is a greased pig. The more I try to capture and subdue the wriggling thing, the more unmanageable it becomes.

Up until menarche my life was a cord stretched taut from birth. That cord has unraveled into three frayed strands, the beginning, middle, and end. The beginning is just past my eleventh birthday, and I’m the only girl in the fifth-grade to have boobs and cramps. Being the odd girl in class is not my biggest problem, but it sure doesn’t help.

The middle is three children and a husband who disappears for days at a time. No one must know, especially the children. Oh God, not the children. I’m taking accounting classes with mere babies at the junior college. The girls, and there are several girls in my classes, do not wear a smidgen of makeup. The hair at their scalps is thick with grease. I want to march them all to the bathroom and shove a bottle of Preal into their hands. The classes are my secret. I almost always have a headache in the middle.

The end is Depends, horrific food, and the constant drone of my roommate’s television. I’m sickeningly healthy, except for mild incontinence. I fear I will live forever. Only two of my children are alive, which confounds me. I haven’t lived that part of the middle years, and I’m not sure I want to. If I’m lucky, I will die before I have to know what happened to Debbie. A mother isn’t supposed to have favorites, but in my middle life, Debbie is the oops child who can do no wrong. Even her hair behaves. No one speaks of my husband. That doesn’t mean he’s dead, but he is not here, and that is a huge relief. He would not have made a nice old man.

I’ve only met one other person who lives out his life in parallel acts. I suppose being odd...

Truth and Cookies

We've been planning...

Out of the Garden - Part 16

By Guest Author Wendy Paine Miller
(catch up on the story here)

"I'm weak. Time has worn me down." Losing Don has chiseled the life from me.

Excuses flitted inside my brain like a fly bumping against a porch light. Reasons why the task would prove too difficult. Insurmountable obstacles. Years had stripped away my keen resourcefulness. My memory had faded like century-old ink.

Portals? How? Where? Without a thread of an idea how I might create one, my shoulders drooped and I sank lower on my bed. The Her poked at my leg from where she'd hidden beneath my bedcovers, twisting her facial features to communicate how urgent matters were.

Had I mumbled my fears aloud? Given the Her reason to doubt me? I cupped my hands to my face, then let them collapse against my cheeks, pushing fortitude back into me.

Callan tapped the door open just enough for me to see his frame, to see iPod earbuds dangling around his collarbone like a necklace. "You don't have to make honeycakes," he said. "I just miss your cooking." When my grandson stepped into the bedroom the floorboards groaned beneath his feet. "Why are you hiding out in here?"

"You all should leave now. I'm thinking."

"A dangerous thing to do alone for too long." Callan peered out the bedroom window and smiled upon seeing the gladiolas from the garden.

Of course! That's it! My cheeks tightened into a smile. That was where the best portals could be found. I'll try there first.

"Grandma?"

My head quaked, a familiar ache brimming in my chest. Callan's green eyes glimmered similarly to how Don's used to. I glanced down, ensuring the Her had well concealed herself beneath my rose-colored comforter. "Yes, Callan?"

"What is that?" He pointed to the lump. The Princess Her.

"What?"

A mischievous grin swept across Callan's face. "That glowing thing?" He stabbed his finger in the direction of the raised bedding.

At once the Her emitted a piercing shrill. Her gossamer hair had gotten coiled around a button affixed to my pillowcase. I wiggled the button, to no avail. The Princess shook and yanked, but nothing worked to free her. The Her's strident wails continued.

Callan's eyes dilated. He cocked his head, brows scrunched. "What's that noise?"

Did he see the Her? Hear the Her? Could my ally have been the one I least expected?

Wendy Paine Miller is a long-time friend of Novel Matters. She is the author of The Disappearing Key and her latest release, The Flower Girls.

Out of the Garden - Part 15

By guest author Sara Davison (catch up on the story here)

Whether or not there was a budding Fae among them, I needed to get rid of my family. Margaret considered my weekly trip to the podiatrist about as much excitement as my temperamental blood pressure could handle. She was unlikely to encourage me on my quest to find a portal to another world. 

And Peta, she could see far too much of the unseen for my liking. She always had. An icy breeze shivered across my bare arms and I pushed to my aching feet with a groan. Sweeping aside the white lace curtains, I stared at the tightly closed window. 

I spun around and studied the princess. I hadn’t noticed until that moment how pale her skin was, how sunken her eyes. Not a breeze, then. It was coming for her. Had maybe crossed over already. I scooped up the shoebox and dumped the green shoes onto the bed.

The small blue cushion I pressed between my knees to keep my hips from aching at night was soft and fit perfectly into the box. “Here, Your Highness. Lie down. You need to rest.”

I lowered my hand to the bed and she lifted her chin and stepped gracefully onto my palm. Even from an arm’s length away, I heard the slight rattle in her chest as she drew in a breath. 

I laid her down gently and watched, my stomach tightening, as she curled onto her side. Her wounded wing drooped across her back like a shriveled leaf that could be wrenched from the tree at the slightest autumn wind. 

I had hoped to make honeycakes for Callan before everyone left, but there was no time. One way or another, I had to get rid of every last houseguest and make sure they really were gone.

Then our journey could begin.   

Sara Davison lives in central Ontario with her husband Michael and three children. Her favourite activities are drinking coffee - a running theme throughout her suspense novels - and making stuff up.

Out of the Garden - Part 6

Read the story from the beginning here.

Part 6 by Megan Sayer

Peta’s words winded me like a blow to the chest. I breathed deeply, holding the summer air in my lungs until my heart regained its rhythm, then breathed out slowly in a low, guttural sigh.

A hundred thoughts fought like dogs within me—Tea leaves on the floor. The dustpan. Pantry. Focus. Breathe.

Surely the fragile creature in a shoebox needed me more than ancient history needed reviving, but what to do? The clock ticked its wordless seconds, and through the window came the hum of idle chatter from the garden. I felt my shoulders relax; the guests were settled. I found the broom, swept the spill.

Breathed.

Margaret doesn’t eat sugar. How could I forget?

I hunted through my china cabinet for a saucer that once belonged to my—our—grandmother and twizzled some honey into it for the tray.

Breathe.

Margaret had been on a sugar-free diet for two months, and raved about weight loss and health benefits, about the natural healing properties in good organic…

Neachtar.

Honey is made from nectar. Could it help the Her? I rummaged quickly and rescued an old jar lid from the back of the pantry, just the size to cradle a teaspoon of honey. Surely just enough time…

Gentle laughter sounded outside, overlaid by the sharp, biting laugh of Peta. Her parting words pricked my soul again, an aftershock of memory.

Just don’t forget what you are.

“I know exactly what I am!”

A cough sounded behind me. I hadn’t heard the screen door open.

“Mom sent me to check you were okay.” My granddaughter’s bored expression had been replaced by curiosity. Her eyes flicked to the honey in my hand.

“So what are you then, Gran?”

Megan Sayer is a long-time friend of Novel Matters. Given that she lives in Tasmania, Australia, it's surprising that 5 out of 6 of us have met her in person and have fallen in love with her. She says she's addicted to fiction, which doesn't surprise us one bit, especially now that we've seen her writing. She's also a wife and mum (speaking Australian!) of 3 beautiful children. You can read more from Megan on her blog at MeganSayer.com and get to know her on FaceBook. She's finished one novel and is working on a second.

Thank you, Megan!

Name That Author Contest--Day Three!

As the time to celebrate Immanuel draws closer, we pray your hearts of full of wondrous anticipation. God is with us!

We are very, very grateful for all you add to the Novel Matters blog. The conversations we've had here have deepened our faith and set our resolves to craft beautiful fiction. It's time to celebrate that relationship with a contest.

If you've been with us since Monday, you know how this works. If not, read on. You still have plenty of chances to add your name to the drawings. All you need to know about contest rules, prizes, and that excerpt you've been waiting for can be found here:

All six of us have works in progress no one has read, except for a select few and certainly our mothers. You've been reading our posts for three years now, so we figure you must be getting familiar with our voices. How about our fictional voices?

Here's how the contest works: On our regular post days (Monday, Wednesday, and Friday) for the next two weeks, we'll be posting a short excerpt from a work in progress, anonymously. That's right, your job is to guess which one of us wrote the passage, just from the sound of our voices. Give us your guess in the comments section. If you guess correctly, your name will be added to the prize drawing.

And what is the wonderful prize? Katy's husband, George, is a gifted sculptor. He has donated a $50 gift certificate toward one of his sculptures. You can see his work here. We can't promise the sculpture will be at your house for Christmas. That would have required much more forethought than six artist types could muster, but we can promise that you'll love George's work. Second and third places will win a hard copy of our cookbook, Novel Tips on Rice: What to Cook When You'd Rather be Writing.

Here are the rules:

1. One guess per post day. (You may play all six days. That's six chances to win a sculpture!)

2. Guesses will be accepted until 9:00 PM Pacific Time the day of the post.

3. Each correct guess wins you one chance in the drawing.

4. The winner will be announced on December 17, 2011.

Here is the third excerpt:

After Mother’s funeral I sat on her bed, fingered the peaks and valleys of her chenille spread and plumped her pillow to lean against the headboard. This was her world. A globe. A jelly glass of sharpened pencils. Bottles and bottles of pills. A tattered tower of crossword puzzles and a dictionary with a broken spine. A tub of Ponds Beauty Cream. Three library books, one with a bookmark only pages from the end. A picture of Papa, me, and the twins. And a Bible swollen with use.

I touched all of these things—balanced a pencil on my finger, smeared cream over my face, spun the globe to run my finger along its worn equator. The Bible crinkled when I picked it up. I fanned the pages to release the smell of ink and old leather. A photograph fell into my lap.

And there she was, my mother, a teenager standing self-consciously in front of an old car. One hand covered her mouth to hide the gap in her teeth, something she’d done even as an adult, but her eyes were smiling. She wasn’t alone in the picture. A small girl, much younger and as fair as butter, hugged Mother’s waist. The little girl’s head tilted back as she laughed. They were salt and pepper, light and dark.

Who is she?

Who is she, indeed? The author, I mean. Who is she? Give your guess in the comments section for a chance to win $50 toward one of George Popa's beautiful sculptures or a cookbook.

Name That Author Contest--Day Two!

Welcome to day two of our Name That Author contest. This is our way of expressing appreciation for all you share with us through the year. We learn so much from you about writing and so much more. Here's the lowdown on the contest:

All six of us have works in progress no one has read, except for a select few and certainly our mothers. You've been reading our posts for three years now, so we figure you must be getting familiar with our voices. How about our fictional voices?

Here's how the contest works: On our regular post days (Monday, Wednesday, and Friday) for the next two weeks, we'll be posting a short excerpt from a work in progress, anonymously. That's right, your job is to guess which one of us wrote the passage, just from the sound of our voices. Give us your guess in the comments section. If you guess correctly, your name will be added to the prize drawing.

And what is the wonderful prize? Katy's husband, George, is a gifted sculptor. He has donated a $50 gift certificate toward one of his sculptures. You can see his work here. We can't promise the sculpture will be at your house for Christmas. That would have required much more forethought than six artist types could muster, but we can promise that you'll love George's work. Second and third places will win a hard copy of our cookbook, Novel Tips on Rice: What to Cook When You'd Rather be Writing.

Here are the rules:

1. One guess per post day. (You may play all six days. That's six chances to win a sculpture!)

2. Guesses will be accepted until 9:00 PM Pacific Time the day of the post.

3. Each correct guess wins you one chance in the drawing.

4. The winner will be announced on December 17, 2011.

Here is the second excerpt:

I carry the wrapped child in front of me, in the crook of my aching arm, his head above his curled feet, as if he were alive. As if he had ever been born, or named, or drew breath, or saw his dying mother’s eyes. As if she had ever seen his.

This is night work, and the mule beside me stumbles in the uneven, now unseen streets that only reveal shadow and character in the light of a doorway, here and there. All around our feet are what people throw away after a spectacle – torn banners, scraps of food, dropped, lost mementos.

Behind me on the creaking wagon are the remains, what I gather after the spectacle: torn things, fallen, saved, remembered.

When I first began this job, I could do it in the daylight. It was a curiosity to those who saw me, a woman who wore the robes of aristocracy and did the work of a ghoul. Most of those who knew me would not meet my eyes, or if they did, it was with a mixture of disgust and wonder. And later, some of them, with triumph; from behind secure windows, around impassable gates.

The first time I gained permission to bring the bodies back from the killing places, Cordelia began to strategize how to borrow a cart and donkey. Many of our friends still lived and had animals then, and she still had a bit of her father’s money left.

“We’ll need a big wagon,” she calculated, counting without knowing it on her crooked knuckles, imagining that the aftereffects of imperial entertainment would necessitate strong beasts of burden, perhaps several trips with several wagons.

She wasn’t thinking straight, I should have seen that. There is little left when wild lions are finished with a human being.

I lined the wagon with pieces of old goat-hair tents. People bring me the ripped flaps, snagged beckets, unsalvageable vestibules. When my needle cannot resurrect them, they leave the raveling remnants with me.

It's time to guess which of us wrote this passage in the comments section. Good luck!

Novel Matters Celebrates!

When our agents contacted us, just over a year ago, to suggest we come together and team blog, I'd never heard of Bonnie Grove, Patti Hill, or Latayne Scott. At first - can you believe it, with each woman so different? - I had trouble remembering which was which. On our first conference call, we had to state our names every time we talked.

Sharon and Debbie I already knew and loved, and Wendy assured us we would all get along extremely well, and that the blog would be a great way to encourage the reading and writing of up-market fiction. It seemed a smart idea.

How little I knew. This blog - my friendships with these ladies, as well as the opportunity to enter into your reading and writing lives and to invite you into ours, has been an extravagant gift.
Today we are looking back on a great year, and looking forward to an even better 2010.

~

I came to the blogging world kicking and screaming. How in the world did I expect to fit another writing assignment into my already FULL schedule? And honestly, who cared a wit about what I had to say?

Then I met my blogging partners.

Of course, there was room for Debbie, Bonnie, Katy, Sharon,

and Latayne! If my schedule required slicing and dicing--and it did, fine. Anything to make room for these wonderfully talented, gut-splittingly funny, and precious-to-Jesus (and me) ladies.

I need these ladies. They cover for me and teach me things about writing I didn't know I should know. They walk faithfully with the Savior, mimic Him in His love. They pray for me. Encourage me. Love me.

No more kicking and screaming here.

And to all of you who drop by to share, thank you very, VERY much. I've learned so much from you, been challenged to look at writing from a new vantage and been encouraged by your thoughtful observations. You are so generous! I appreciate the precious gift of your time in this world that pulls us all from hither to yon.

As for looking down the road, I'm excited. I have a novel to finish and friendships to cultivate through NovelMatters and SheReads. Coming to this blog on Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays is like opening a present. That's 156 presents in 2010! And I like presents.

Merry Christmas, dear readers! Emmanuel! God is near!

~When I began in the world of publishing I quickly learned I was in over my head. I remember saying to my agent, "I need a mentor." I began praying, and God sent me five godly, gifted women. It is a lavish gift (I comfort myself in the knowledge that God is lavish in His giving and not that I have a particularly astounding deficit that requires the faithful attentions of no less than five women in order to tame it). Not a day has gone by that I have not thanked God for the gift of these amazingly talented, intelligent, women.

The blog itself has been a massive blessing. The community built here (and the numbers are growing) has offered so much more to me than I can ever hope to return into it. Help, laughter, a true sense of belonging - I have found it here with you.

A highlight for me was the Audience with an Agent contest we held this fall. We were blessed to read the hearts and hard work of so many writers. You should have seen the flurry of rejoicing e-mails that flew between the six of us when Sharon told us Wendy requested two manuscripts from the top six. I'm looking forward to the next Audience with an Agent Contest (this time Janet Grant is the reading agent!) to be held VERY soon (get those novels polished!).

I wish you all a Merry Christmas and a healthy, happy, New Year. Peace.

~

Like Patti, I was reticent to enter the world of blogging -- for two reasons. One, I was afraid it would take too much time away from writing -- as if blogging weren't writing!

And two, I wondered what I might have to say on a consistent basis that would be of interest to anyone. And yet, when my wonderful agent Wendy ran the idea by me of participating in a group blog with authors she thought I'd have a lot in common with, the idea was more than intriguing. For me, it was a way to enter the blogosphere without having to carry the ball completely on my own.

A few weeks later when Latayne, Patti, Bonnie, Katy, Debbie and I had our first conference call to begin working out the details, I couldn't believe how much fun we had, how much we laughed, and hit it off. It was -- to quote one of my favorite lines from Sleepless in Seattle -- magic! When several of us met at a writers' retreat, I thought, no, this wasn't magic, this was inspired. A week with the six of us together at Mt. Hermon Christian Writers' Conference only confirmed that.

This has been a wonderful year at Novel Matters, not just with my five compatriots, but with all of you. You're the reason we do this. Your contributions make all the difference. We're looking forward to our affiliation with SheReads in the new year, and pray that we will be a blessing to you, as you are to us.

May God bless you richly, may you have the best Christmas EVER, and a happy, healthy and prosperous New Year. Thank you for hanging with us!

It's been a wonderful year at Novel Matters getting to know Sharon, Katy, Bonnie, Patti and Latayne. They have become much more than friends - they are mentors, confidants and prayer partners. Each brings a wealth of knowledge and experience, and a humble, willing spirit. I feel honored and blessed to be among them.

The highlight for me was the privilege of being together at the Mount Hermon Writer's Conference last spring. It has also been a privilege to be part of the Audience with an Agent contest, to read the heart of writers and hopefully help someone move toward representation.

I wondered initially about the commitment involved in blogging regularly with seasoned bloggers, but we have a great support system in each other. When one is overwhelmed by deadlines and/or family stuff or forgets to post, someone steps forward with the perfect post. God always provides.

But the best thing about Novel Matters has been connecting with so many wonderful writers and readers. Thank you for the opportunity to get to know you better. Merry Christmas, and keep writing in the new year!

Well, I'm bringing up the rear of this discussion because I posted something previously and the internet dog ate my homework. Really. And it was an A+ post.

In it, I described how reticent I have always been to share anything with other readers and writers about the writing process as I've experienced it. Such a thing felt pretentious to me.

But with this unaccustomed exposure here on NovelMatters has come a commensurate feeling of satisfaction when people who comment on this post say, "I feel that way too," or, "That's the way it works with my writing," or (best of all), "here's a suggestion for that."

This marvelous partnership with our brilliant agents and the extraordinary other authors has been a great gift to my life. And instead of you readers being faceless emails or elusive postings elsewhere, you have become real personalities to me.

It takes a village to raise a writer, I guess. And you've raised this one up to great heights of praise to a God who has brought us all together.

Novel Matters and She Reads Partner to Create a Wonderful Reader/Writer Community

We're ringing in the 12 Days of Christmas on Novel Matters. (for full contest rules, click the link.)

"On the fourth day of Christmas my true love gave to me...
four calling birds

I'll send a signed copy of Raising Rain to the person who can find an author's last name in the phrase: FOUR CALLING BIRDS and name a title by that author OR submit a book title with one of the words from the phrase and the author. Submit your entry using the "Contact" button above. See complete details for the contest on the November 23rd post. Good Luck! The winner will be announced on Wednesday, December 2nd.

She Reads and Novel Matters – Bringing Writers and Readers Together

Proverbs 15:22 says, “Without consultation, plans are frustrated,

but with many counselors they succeed.”

That’s collective wisdom.

The authors of Novel Matters (Sharon K. Souza, Debbie Fuller Thomas, Latayne C. Scott, Patti Hill, Kathleen Popa, and Bonnie Grove), together with the authors and brilliant minds behind She Reads (Ariel Allison and Marybeth Whalen) announce a partnership designed to bring writers and readers together in a new, dynamic way.

She Reads blog is all about “Discovering Great Fiction Together.” Their motto is "The proper care and feeding of readers." Since their inception, She Reads has reached out to the reading community and provided a place for discussion, book clubs, events, contests, and arranged ‘close encounters’ for readers and writers to connect. Each quarter, She Reads chooses three “picks” to share with their readership. They are part of Proverbs 31 Ministries – an important and dynamic ministry to and for women.

Novel Matters blog is a community that celebrates the creative process of writing. We explore what matters in novels. We are six published authors – our combined books number 27. We have teamed to build a community populated by authors, writers, hopeful writers, readers, and people interested in the different ways of expressing creativity, language, and ideas.

The partnership between these two groups opens new opportunities for readers and for authors. To paraphrase author Kevin Crossley-Holland, we hope to create a "room with big windows" where readers can come into the lives of published authors who struggle daily with words and authors can partake of the privilege of meeting and sharing with readers.

What the partnership will look like:

Each site of course will maintain its own identity, as a readers' community and a writers' community.

Twice a month, an author from Novel Matters will post on the She Reads blog, giving insight to the creative process, answering reader questions, and revelling in our shared love of books and reading. Yes, Novel Matters is populated with authors, but each author is also an avid reader. We devour books and love to talk about our reading experiences.

Once a month, an author from She Reads will post on Novel Matters – bringing a wealth of insight on how authors can reach readers. This goes beyond marketing tips. The instruction they bring will help authors build trust with readers, and touch their hearts.

She Reads and Novel Matters are dreaming big dreams -- of glimpses into each others' worlds -- a place of community where you Read Novels -- where the She of each of you truly Matters to authors who care about their craft and their readers.

Please welcome Ariel and Marybeth!

~She Reads, Of Course!~

It’s funny how the best friendships are often started over a cup of coffee and a great conversation. Or, in the case of the She Reads Directors, Ariel Allison and Marybeth Whalen, an e-mail that basically said, “Hi, you don’t know me, but we will be friends!” (Ariel’s fault – she’s long been in the habit of plucking her friends at random with a gut feeling and a bold invitation).

Yet even in friendship, there must be commonality and for these two women it boiled down to books (and children – they have ten between the two of them). They love to read, they love to write, and they love to recommend books to others. Over the course of countless sessions of Gmail chat they came to the conclusion that book clubs are rather elusive entities. They are scattered, independent, and numerous. Yet book clubs are the heart of the publishing industry, and the key to reaching readers on a large scale. Thus the idea for an umbrella organization, specifically designed to meet the needs of book clubs and individual readers, was formed.

As a long time member of the Proverbs 31 Ministries speaker team, Marybeth suggested the idea to the organization as a way to expand the reach of their ministry. There are countless women who would never darken the door of a church or attend a Bible study but would go to a book club and discuss a Christian novel. It was only a matter of weeks before Proverbs warmly pulled She Reads into the fold. And here they are, just four months later reaching thousands of readers each month. Dozens of She Reads book clubs have formed, and many existing clubs have come under the She Reads umbrella. Women hunger for novels that matter and for authors that are approachable. She Reads exists to bridge the gap between the two.

So who are these two crazy women who’ve shouldered such a massive undertaking? Just two mommies, befriended by words, and a passion to help the world understand the power of story:

Marybeth Whalen is the wife of Curt and mom of six children. The family lives outside Charlotte, NC. Marybeth is a member of the Proverbs 31 Ministries speaker team and a regular contributor to their daily devotions. She served as general editor of For The Write Reason and The Reason We Speak. She and her husband Curt co-authored Learning To Live Financially Free and her first novel, The Mailbox will be released in June 2010. Marybeth speaks regularly to women's groups and enjoys sharing stories from her daily adventures as a wife, mom, writer, and, most importantly, a follower of God.

You can find her online at www.marybethwhalen.com.

Ariel Allison is first and foremost the wife of Ashley, and mother of London, Parker, Marshall, and Colby. She has a penchant for adrenaline-infused madness such as rock climbing, running marathons, and jumping off bridges – as if raising four pre-school boys were not adventure enough. Her first novel, Eye of the God, released in October 2009, from Abingdon Press. She is the co-author of Daddy Do You Love Me: a Daughter’s Journey of Faith and Restoration, and Jesus: Dead or Alive. When not immersed in a book, changing a diaper, or rescuing her dog from the death-grip of a toddler, you can find Ariel loitering in her little corner of cyberspace at www.arielallison.com. She and her family make their home in Texas, which is, according to her husband, the greatest state in the union.