My week started on Saturday, with an email saying I needed to be in a conference call on swine flu on Sunday at 11 a.m. That was a problem -- because I was ushering at church on Sunday. It worked only because I got off the call when it was time to collect the offering, did the plate thing, and then hurried back to the call.
I stood outside the church with my cell phone, listening to a discussion of my company's response to the swine flu situation while watching families walk into the church on a spectacular if rather windy spring day. I'm listening to a report on illnesses and deaths in Mexico while watching mothers and fathers with little girls in Sunday dresses and little boys trying to pretend they weren't in dress slacks and shirts. It was a mental and emotional disconnect.
So I became part of the preparedness and response team. You learn a lot about people in a crisis, and the people I'm working with are incredible. Sunday was a 10-hour work day. Monday went a little longer -- I was drafting communication documents at 10 Monday night. Tuesday was intense but more like a normal day -- I got home on time and even got my hair cut. If you want to see a little bit of what we've been up do, you can read this story in the St. Louis Business Journal or see this section of my company's web site that my web and intranet teams put together. You can't believe what great people I have on my team.
So, not much time for reading or writing (my own writing, that is). On Saturday, I finished Tony Dungy's Quiet Strength and am now reading something that I won't disclose the name or author of. It falls into the serial Christian chick lit category (and yes, I have the category right). I bought it to see what this genre was all about. The writing is actually decent; the plot is tedious (at least for a non-chick); the characters stop just shy of stereotyped. As I read, I can see dozens of ways to make it better.
But right now, it is pure escapsim, and it's something like therapy when you're trying to deal with a situation like swine flu.
Wednesday, April 29, 2009
Sunday, April 26, 2009
Books from Childhood
My wife found me in the basement this morning. Instead of getting ready for church, I was looking through a shelf of old childhood books, trying to remember who wrote the Trixie Belden books. Yes, I could have gone to Amazon.com or Wikipedia, but with the computer off, it was quicker to go the memories-in-the-basement route. At least that's what I told myself (my wife knew better).
Trixie Belden and the Secret of the Mansion is the very first book I can remember buying. I think I was 6 or 7 years old; the book was a little beyond my age group but I was one of those early readers. I bought it it for 59 cents at the local TG&Y dimestore, rode home on my bike and dove into the book.
The book had everything a kid could want. An old deserted mansion, a tomboy heroine with a rich best friend, a lost teenaged boy living on his own, a little brother who gets bitten by a copperhead, a mystery -- it didn't get much better than that. I read all of the Trixie Belden books published at the time, perhaps seven or eight books in all. (The series got reinvented a few years ago, and there are a lot more volumes than there were in the 1950s and early 1960s.)
From Trixie Belden, I graduated to the Hardy Boys. I liked Trixie Belden, but I loved the Hardy Boys stories. I read them all, starting with The Tower Treasure. These weren't the modern updates but reprints of the originals from the 1920s and 1930s, and included such incomprehensible words as "roadster." I had the complete set, and made the mistake of leaving them at my mother's house until it was too late -- she told me how fast they sold at a garage sale. But I picked up a few along the way at used book stores, and they're down in the basement, too, right near Trixie.
So are some books from the old Scholastic Book Service. A book club through school! And every month! Forget homework. I'd bring home the paper flyer with all the books being offered and pore over it. My choices were eclectic -- mysteries like The Mystery in Old Quebec; funny stories like Triple Trouble for Rupert; and occasionally even books that were obviously for girls, like Understood Betsy (a city girl is sent to live with relatives on a New England farm; I learned where maple syrup comes from).
One of these Scholastic books was called Ready-Made Family. It's the story of three children -- Hetty, Peter and Rosemary -- who are orphaned and adopted by a childless couple. Hetty needs braces and has all of the insecurities of a young girl; Peter's a born troublemaker (a lot of the tension of the book is about Hetty's fears that Peter will be sent back to the orphanage); and Rosemary, the sweet and pretty youngest of the three, is the one everyone falls in love with. I still remember feeling terrified when Peter breaks a window of the house next door, owned by a crotchety old man; I knew this kid was going to be back at the orphanage in no time. This is one book I didn't find in my basement (probably another garage sale), but wish I had. It rates as one of my childhood favorites. Obviously, since I remember the main characters and the plot.
Books can be powerful things.
Oh, that author's name. According to the title pages, the author of the first few Trixie Belden books was Julie Campbell, and then Kathryn Kenny.
Trixie Belden and the Secret of the Mansion is the very first book I can remember buying. I think I was 6 or 7 years old; the book was a little beyond my age group but I was one of those early readers. I bought it it for 59 cents at the local TG&Y dimestore, rode home on my bike and dove into the book.
The book had everything a kid could want. An old deserted mansion, a tomboy heroine with a rich best friend, a lost teenaged boy living on his own, a little brother who gets bitten by a copperhead, a mystery -- it didn't get much better than that. I read all of the Trixie Belden books published at the time, perhaps seven or eight books in all. (The series got reinvented a few years ago, and there are a lot more volumes than there were in the 1950s and early 1960s.)
From Trixie Belden, I graduated to the Hardy Boys. I liked Trixie Belden, but I loved the Hardy Boys stories. I read them all, starting with The Tower Treasure. These weren't the modern updates but reprints of the originals from the 1920s and 1930s, and included such incomprehensible words as "roadster." I had the complete set, and made the mistake of leaving them at my mother's house until it was too late -- she told me how fast they sold at a garage sale. But I picked up a few along the way at used book stores, and they're down in the basement, too, right near Trixie.
So are some books from the old Scholastic Book Service. A book club through school! And every month! Forget homework. I'd bring home the paper flyer with all the books being offered and pore over it. My choices were eclectic -- mysteries like The Mystery in Old Quebec; funny stories like Triple Trouble for Rupert; and occasionally even books that were obviously for girls, like Understood Betsy (a city girl is sent to live with relatives on a New England farm; I learned where maple syrup comes from).
One of these Scholastic books was called Ready-Made Family. It's the story of three children -- Hetty, Peter and Rosemary -- who are orphaned and adopted by a childless couple. Hetty needs braces and has all of the insecurities of a young girl; Peter's a born troublemaker (a lot of the tension of the book is about Hetty's fears that Peter will be sent back to the orphanage); and Rosemary, the sweet and pretty youngest of the three, is the one everyone falls in love with. I still remember feeling terrified when Peter breaks a window of the house next door, owned by a crotchety old man; I knew this kid was going to be back at the orphanage in no time. This is one book I didn't find in my basement (probably another garage sale), but wish I had. It rates as one of my childhood favorites. Obviously, since I remember the main characters and the plot.
Books can be powerful things.
Oh, that author's name. According to the title pages, the author of the first few Trixie Belden books was Julie Campbell, and then Kathryn Kenny.
Friday, April 24, 2009
A Long Week
It's been a long, busy week, and I haven't read too much since finishing Adam Blumer's Fatal Illusions on Tuesday. I've been easing into Tony Dungy's Quiet Strength and the followup book, Uncommon, for a project at work, interestingly enough. And I say "easing" because I don't normally read sports memoirs or autobiographies. Dungy has a good co-author with Nathan Whitaker -- both books read easily and well. (I'm just not a big pro football fan.)
I've focused a lot of time this week on editing the text of a major addition to our corporate web site (a multi-media history) and working on a presentation for a talk I'm giving in New York in May. And there have been the usual crises, upsets, issues and meetings that seem to fill up a work week far too fast and way too much -- the tyranny of the urgent at the expense of the important.
Outside of work, I've been turning my attention to a new writing project, or more precisely, a major rewrite of a relatively new project. It's hard, because I'm tearing away a lot of scaffolding and all kinds of things have started to collapse. But I'm pleased with the result so far. Something better is emerging from the wreckage.
I've also been learning some needed lessons about the publishing business. Some illusions that needed to go are finally gone. Publishing is what it is, a business like any other. I had some romanticized notions about some aspects of the business, mostly centered on my love of books and stories, and my faith. It's good, if painful, for those notions to die a timely death. I still love books and stories, and always will, but my illusions about the business needed to get jettisoned.
As painful as it's been, it's also had a positive effect of opening up broader possibilities. I'd been focused on one segment of the business, thinking it was my best fit and looking askance at other segments. Once my illusions were gone, I began to see I'd been limiting myself. If publishing is indeed publishing, I'm free to explore possibilities across the business, and not only focus on one kind of publisher or another.
It's hard to give up those illusions. But like the title of Adam Blumer's book, my illusions could have been fatal to what I'm trying to do. They had to go. But I wish there were some lessons I didn't have to learn.
I've focused a lot of time this week on editing the text of a major addition to our corporate web site (a multi-media history) and working on a presentation for a talk I'm giving in New York in May. And there have been the usual crises, upsets, issues and meetings that seem to fill up a work week far too fast and way too much -- the tyranny of the urgent at the expense of the important.
Outside of work, I've been turning my attention to a new writing project, or more precisely, a major rewrite of a relatively new project. It's hard, because I'm tearing away a lot of scaffolding and all kinds of things have started to collapse. But I'm pleased with the result so far. Something better is emerging from the wreckage.
I've also been learning some needed lessons about the publishing business. Some illusions that needed to go are finally gone. Publishing is what it is, a business like any other. I had some romanticized notions about some aspects of the business, mostly centered on my love of books and stories, and my faith. It's good, if painful, for those notions to die a timely death. I still love books and stories, and always will, but my illusions about the business needed to get jettisoned.
As painful as it's been, it's also had a positive effect of opening up broader possibilities. I'd been focused on one segment of the business, thinking it was my best fit and looking askance at other segments. Once my illusions were gone, I began to see I'd been limiting myself. If publishing is indeed publishing, I'm free to explore possibilities across the business, and not only focus on one kind of publisher or another.
It's hard to give up those illusions. But like the title of Adam Blumer's book, my illusions could have been fatal to what I'm trying to do. They had to go. But I wish there were some lessons I didn't have to learn.
Wednesday, April 22, 2009
Adam Blumer's "Fatal Illusions"
I've posted a review of Adam Blumer's Fatal Illusions on amazon.com. I liked it -- a lot. It scared me silly -- as I said in the review, don't read it right before going to bed -- but I like particularly what the author did with the characters and the plot line.
The characters:
The characters:
- Marc Thayer, a pastor who's been counseling an unstable woman. She stalks him and shoots him.
- Gillian Thayer, Marc's wife, who's grieving the loss of stillborn twins and finds herself growing ever more distant from her husband.
- Stacey James, who shoots Marc in Chicago and stalks him again in Michigan's Upper Peninsula.
- Crystal, the Thayers' daughter, who has a beautiful singing voice and becomes the object of the main stalker in the story, an amateur magician.
- Waydon Owens, the magician, who keeps killing teenaged girls, thinking he's killing the same one over and over again.
- Chuck Riley, a newly retired police detective who's determined to find the serial killer.
Blumer shapes his characters with a deft hand. They're so real you'll recognize them from your neighborhood or church (okay, not the stalker or the serial killer, but you get the point). Even the minor characters are drawn well -- County Sheriff Dendridge, for example, is immediately recognizable, warts and all.
The Thayers, thinking they're in the Upper Peninsula for rest and a sabbatical, instead find themselves stalked and attacked. And they fight back, with Gillian assuming a particularly heroic role.
The author particularly gets the reader inside the minds of the magician and Stacey James -- no easy trick, because Owens' mind is perverted and distorted while James' mind is increasingly unhinged and struggling for sanity. The reader doesn't feel sympathy for either of them, but Blumer has crafted them with understanding.
As events beging to move faster and faster, the reader speeds along the plot line, hoping that this is going to end well but not quite sure what the author is going to surprise you with next. And Blumer does surprise -- remember that the villain here is a magician with an almost cult-like worship of Harry Houdini.
I can't call this great fun, but I can call it a great , suspenseful, read.
Monday, April 20, 2009
Short Update on Critique Groups
A second critique came in a little while ago, and it was similar to the first. Good comments. Encouraging thoughts. Tough but kind. What a blessing to have a group like this.
Also posted a review of Dale Cramer's Bad Ground on Amazon.com. Great story.
Also posted a review of Dale Cramer's Bad Ground on Amazon.com. Great story.
Critique Groups
A few weeks ago, I joined the American Christian Fiction Writers, for the bargain price of $50. The association has everything from an annual conference to regional groups, online courses and critique groups (among a lot of other stuff). I signed up for an online course, joined a regional group, and then applied for a critique group. You usually have to wait for enough members of a critique group to come together, and the site tells you it can take as long as 30 days to get a group going.
Mine took less than a week. There are six of us, one of whom serves as facilitator. We're from all over the country, with varying ages, experience levels and writing subjects. Never having participated in a critique group before, I had to ask what kind of response was expected (I think we all signed up for the "tough but kind" category). The facilitator sent some general guidelines, which were helpful.
I sent my six-page selection to the group yesterday. I was third into the barrel, the facilitator having volunteered to go first. And this group is almost exactly the kind of readers I'm writing for.
For someone who has faced down a gaggle of reporters with microphones shoved in my face, and on more than one occasion, my heart was in my throat. I tried not to think about it at work today. Fat chance.
So I got home, sat in front of my computer and stared at the list of 53 email messages waiting for me. One was from a member of the critique group. I went through all of my other emails before I opened that one. I clicked, downloaded the critique, and started reading.
She had some suggestions. Some were changes in phrasing that I wouldn't do, but a number of her suggestions were right on. And she included reasons for the comments, which were really helpful.
Yeah, I've got four more to go, but this was both tough and kind, thoughtful and encouraging. I smiled.
Mine took less than a week. There are six of us, one of whom serves as facilitator. We're from all over the country, with varying ages, experience levels and writing subjects. Never having participated in a critique group before, I had to ask what kind of response was expected (I think we all signed up for the "tough but kind" category). The facilitator sent some general guidelines, which were helpful.
I sent my six-page selection to the group yesterday. I was third into the barrel, the facilitator having volunteered to go first. And this group is almost exactly the kind of readers I'm writing for.
For someone who has faced down a gaggle of reporters with microphones shoved in my face, and on more than one occasion, my heart was in my throat. I tried not to think about it at work today. Fat chance.
So I got home, sat in front of my computer and stared at the list of 53 email messages waiting for me. One was from a member of the critique group. I went through all of my other emails before I opened that one. I clicked, downloaded the critique, and started reading.
She had some suggestions. Some were changes in phrasing that I wouldn't do, but a number of her suggestions were right on. And she included reasons for the comments, which were really helpful.
Yeah, I've got four more to go, but this was both tough and kind, thoughtful and encouraging. I smiled.
Saturday, April 18, 2009
Stories in Real Life
This Saturday morning, I spent two hours at my church, listening to the Rev. Scotty Smith of Christ Community Church in Franklin, Tenn. Rev. Smith is visiting our church this weekend as the main speaker for Mission Sunday.
I was part of a group of church elders, deacons, pastors and staff who had the opportunity to listen to Rev. Smith speak about leaders as the main mission field and chief repenters in the church. I sipped my coffee and listened.
He told stories about his life and his walk. Quiet stories. Powerful stories. Familiar stories. As he talked, I began to recognize my own stories. Then I began to notice others quietly and unobtrusively wiping tears from their eyes. Like I was. After a while I gave up and let the tears go.
He's written several books, like The Reign of Grace: The Delights and Demands of God's Love and Objects of His Affection: Coming Alive to the Compelling Love of God. He's also written books with singer/songwriters Michael Card and Steven Curtis Chapman.
He was Rev. Smith before he began to talk. He was Scotty by the time he finished. And I was shattered. I felt the brokenness in my life, and how God uses it for His own purposes. And how he heals it. What Scotty said and how he said it was a pointed reminder to me of how important stories are in our lives. In my life.
I was part of a group of church elders, deacons, pastors and staff who had the opportunity to listen to Rev. Smith speak about leaders as the main mission field and chief repenters in the church. I sipped my coffee and listened.
He told stories about his life and his walk. Quiet stories. Powerful stories. Familiar stories. As he talked, I began to recognize my own stories. Then I began to notice others quietly and unobtrusively wiping tears from their eyes. Like I was. After a while I gave up and let the tears go.
He's written several books, like The Reign of Grace: The Delights and Demands of God's Love and Objects of His Affection: Coming Alive to the Compelling Love of God. He's also written books with singer/songwriters Michael Card and Steven Curtis Chapman.
He was Rev. Smith before he began to talk. He was Scotty by the time he finished. And I was shattered. I felt the brokenness in my life, and how God uses it for His own purposes. And how he heals it. What Scotty said and how he said it was a pointed reminder to me of how important stories are in our lives. In my life.
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