I've pretty much decided to scrap my original plan to pursue publishing through a traditional publishing house and just go the self-pub route. I haven't made the final decision yet, but will plan to pray and think about it over the week.
A friend of mine from college introduced me to a published author friend of hers who is a member of an online group for Christian "indie" authors. Today, I was accepted into the group and already I feel like I've gleaned some very helpful advice. In fact, I'm currently speaking with a professional editor about editing my manuscript. I suspect that once I have heard back from her and have made the necessary improvements, and or corrections, it'll be time to upload my baby to Createspace.
I'm excited to say I could have some big news SOON!
2/22/2014
2/20/2014
They Passed
After three months, I finally heard back from the publishing company. They've decided not to publish my manuscript. It's not what they're looking for at this time, apparently.
I'm not gonna lie---I'm totally disappointed about it. And a little stunned, too. Especially considering the list of requirements they gave me that most other publishing houses follow.
Here are the general requirements, if I decide to pursue another company:
1. A brief author biography, including an explanation of your spiritual walk and background, and any previous published writings.
2. A one-page summary or synopsis.
3. A detailed table of contents including paragraph summaries for each chapter (non-fiction).
4. The introduction and at least two sample chapters.
5. The manuscript word count (actual or projected).
6. A description of your intended audience, how you envision those readers responding to your message, and how you would see us reaching your audience.
7. A one-page overview of competitive titles on the market (books that are similar to or might be compared to yours).
8. A listing of potential endorsers for the book.
What in the world does this mean? And here's where my ignorance in how things work in the publishing world shows. Am I paying for the privilege to have my work published by a big name publishing house? If so, I get to keep most of the profits, right? (Somehow I doubt that.) So if I'm doing my own advertising, lining up people who will pay for the cost of publishing, and finding a target niche, what in the world is the benefit of going this route? If I'm doing all of this, I might as well self-publish.
Does it mean that I need to have people recommending my work? As a brand new author, how is this possible? I have had the privilege of "meeting" some great authors online in various online forums, but I don't know them personally. I certainly wouldn't feel like I could ask them to lend their name--their already published name--to something that may or may not have success.
Manuscripts should be neatly typed and double-spaced on white, letter-sized paper. Grammar, style, and punctuation should follow normal English usage. We use The Chicago Manual of Style (University of Chicago Press) for matters needing clarification.
Granted, I realize even the grammar nazi makes mistakes. But when I sent in my manuscript, I'd edited the thing to DEATH. Several other people had even helped in this process. And what in the world is the Chicago Manual of Style? Good grief, are there new grammar rules that I haven't learned about?!
Okay, I've got to end here before I just get angry. And I'm trying not to be. I'm thankful I at least had the opportunity to say someone in the publishing world has actually read my manuscript. But honestly? All of this makes self-publishing look pretty darn good.
I also know that regardless of how my novel is eventually published, I'm going to have to toughen up quite a bit--not everyone will like it. Am I going to bristle and sulk (or cry) over every bad review? Hope not.
I've got some more research and praying to do.
Edited: After further reflection, I came to the conclusion that most of my blue comments were just plain churlish. The woman who sent the email doesn't deserve that from me; she was friendliness itself. So, I decided to delete all but the above two comments, mainly because they are legitimate questions I have. I certainly wouldn't want to turn away any potential publishers just because of a moment of anger and frustration. (Yes, I'm still upset about it. Naturally. But that's no excuse to go off on a rant, even if it is my own personal blog.)
I'm not gonna lie---I'm totally disappointed about it. And a little stunned, too. Especially considering the list of requirements they gave me that most other publishing houses follow.
Here are the general requirements, if I decide to pursue another company:
1. A brief author biography, including an explanation of your spiritual walk and background, and any previous published writings.
2. A one-page summary or synopsis.
3. A detailed table of contents including paragraph summaries for each chapter (non-fiction).
4. The introduction and at least two sample chapters.
5. The manuscript word count (actual or projected).
6. A description of your intended audience, how you envision those readers responding to your message, and how you would see us reaching your audience.
7. A one-page overview of competitive titles on the market (books that are similar to or might be compared to yours).
8. A listing of potential endorsers for the book.
What in the world does this mean? And here's where my ignorance in how things work in the publishing world shows. Am I paying for the privilege to have my work published by a big name publishing house? If so, I get to keep most of the profits, right? (Somehow I doubt that.) So if I'm doing my own advertising, lining up people who will pay for the cost of publishing, and finding a target niche, what in the world is the benefit of going this route? If I'm doing all of this, I might as well self-publish.
Does it mean that I need to have people recommending my work? As a brand new author, how is this possible? I have had the privilege of "meeting" some great authors online in various online forums, but I don't know them personally. I certainly wouldn't feel like I could ask them to lend their name--their already published name--to something that may or may not have success.
Manuscripts should be neatly typed and double-spaced on white, letter-sized paper. Grammar, style, and punctuation should follow normal English usage. We use The Chicago Manual of Style (University of Chicago Press) for matters needing clarification.
Granted, I realize even the grammar nazi makes mistakes. But when I sent in my manuscript, I'd edited the thing to DEATH. Several other people had even helped in this process. And what in the world is the Chicago Manual of Style? Good grief, are there new grammar rules that I haven't learned about?!
Okay, I've got to end here before I just get angry. And I'm trying not to be. I'm thankful I at least had the opportunity to say someone in the publishing world has actually read my manuscript. But honestly? All of this makes self-publishing look pretty darn good.
I also know that regardless of how my novel is eventually published, I'm going to have to toughen up quite a bit--not everyone will like it. Am I going to bristle and sulk (or cry) over every bad review? Hope not.
I've got some more research and praying to do.
Edited: After further reflection, I came to the conclusion that most of my blue comments were just plain churlish. The woman who sent the email doesn't deserve that from me; she was friendliness itself. So, I decided to delete all but the above two comments, mainly because they are legitimate questions I have. I certainly wouldn't want to turn away any potential publishers just because of a moment of anger and frustration. (Yes, I'm still upset about it. Naturally. But that's no excuse to go off on a rant, even if it is my own personal blog.)
2/13/2014
More Than One Kind of Love
Tomorrow we celebrate Valentine's Day, a day that has long been marketed as a day for lovers. The day of amour. We are bombarded with commercials selling flowers, chocolates, jewelry, etc, all things guaranteed to romance that special someone you love.
And we ladies in particular wallow in it. I must admit that Valentine's Day has held a special place in my heart for a long time--17 years to be exact. It was on February 14, 1997 that my husband asked me to be his bride. And of course, his proposal was wildly romantic. A dozen sweetheart roses. Cards. A teddy bear. He even rented a tux to wear to our college's Valentine's Day banquet, an event I had helped to plan. Following the candle-light dinner and entertainment, we drove to Lake Red Rock, the exact sight of our second date....the night we officially became a couple (please don't read into that anything more than the fact that, after our date, he asked me to be his girlfriend. That's it. There was nothing sordid about that night). We sat at a picnic table overlooking the dam and spillway; he lit some candles, produced some sparkling cider and champagne flutes, and wrapped us in a big blanket to help us keep warm. After playing a couple of "our songs" on a little radio he'd also brought along, he got down on one knee--in the SNOW--and asked me to marry him. Of course I cried (but anyone who knows me knows that it doesn't take much for me to cry) and hastily, excitedly said yes. It was all so special and very romantic.
But during the years prior to meeting Troy, Valentine's Day was anything but wonderful. It was a day I loathed to a great degree. After all, nothing can make you feel more alone than being constantly reminded that you don't have anyone special in your life.
To the widows, divorced individuals, or never marrieds, I imagine Valentine's Day feels like a super secret club they aren't allowed to participate in. They can stand at the gate and see how great things look, but they're not welcome to enter.
Here in Mexico, however, I was reminded that Valentine's Day is not just about romantic love. Tomorrow throughout the country, we will celebrate--not Valentine's Day--but "Día de Amor y Amistad", literally translated "Day of Love and Friendship". This is a game changer that includes everyone.
By celebrating the day of love and friendship, we recognize that there is more kind of love out there than just romantic love. Sure, romantic love feels great and is something that everyone longs for. But it's not the only, nor do I believe it's even the most important love there is.
The Greeks have several classifications of love. Everyone is familiar with romantic love--or eros. It is the passionate love we feel for our husbands, wives, boyfriends, or girlfriends. It is based solely on emotion, omitting all reason. I tend to believe it is also a more selfish kind of love.
The second type of love is philia. It is a mental type of love that is usually between friends. There isn't anything romantic or passionate about this love. We feel loyalty and appreciation for our friends in a give-and-take relationship. Philia love is typically not selfish in nature.
Storge is the love parents feel for their children. In a healthy parent-child relationship, it closely resembles the last type of love, agape love.
Finally, the highest form of love, I believe, is agape love. This love is completely selfless and seeks the well-being and happiness of another without expecting anything in return. This is the love of God toward His creation--as we're reminded in John 3:16 - "For God so loved the earth that He gave His only Son, that whosoever believes in Him shall not perish but have everlasting life." God gave us the freedom to choose--to love and serve Him....or not. We are encouraged throughout the Pauline epistles especially to seek--with God's help--to love each other in this way. The best marriages are ones where the husbands and wives have moved past eros and have encompassed agape love toward each other. Each one seeking to build up and encourage each other without expecting anything in return. Selfless, not always insisting upon having one's own way.
I think as long as we only focus on the emotional kind of love, we set ourselves up for problems. We don't always feel that wildly romantic emotional high that we did upon first meeting our spouses or significant others. It takes more than just passionate love to make a relationship last. And when we completely romanticize all types of love--forgetting that the close bond we can have with our friends is also a form of love, we do ourselves and them a great disservice. As I've said before, not everything in life is about sex.
Tomorrow, I encourage you to be mushy with your husband or wife. That's never a bad thing. But let's not discount all of the other meaningful relationships in your life. Be sure to let your close friends and family members know that you love and care about them as well. Remind them that they are a special part of your life and deserve to be celebrated tomorrow, too.
After all, by celebrating the "Day of Love and Friendship", we further confirm that there is indeed more than one kind of love--and they are all worth celebrating.
And we ladies in particular wallow in it. I must admit that Valentine's Day has held a special place in my heart for a long time--17 years to be exact. It was on February 14, 1997 that my husband asked me to be his bride. And of course, his proposal was wildly romantic. A dozen sweetheart roses. Cards. A teddy bear. He even rented a tux to wear to our college's Valentine's Day banquet, an event I had helped to plan. Following the candle-light dinner and entertainment, we drove to Lake Red Rock, the exact sight of our second date....the night we officially became a couple (please don't read into that anything more than the fact that, after our date, he asked me to be his girlfriend. That's it. There was nothing sordid about that night). We sat at a picnic table overlooking the dam and spillway; he lit some candles, produced some sparkling cider and champagne flutes, and wrapped us in a big blanket to help us keep warm. After playing a couple of "our songs" on a little radio he'd also brought along, he got down on one knee--in the SNOW--and asked me to marry him. Of course I cried (but anyone who knows me knows that it doesn't take much for me to cry) and hastily, excitedly said yes. It was all so special and very romantic.
But during the years prior to meeting Troy, Valentine's Day was anything but wonderful. It was a day I loathed to a great degree. After all, nothing can make you feel more alone than being constantly reminded that you don't have anyone special in your life.
To the widows, divorced individuals, or never marrieds, I imagine Valentine's Day feels like a super secret club they aren't allowed to participate in. They can stand at the gate and see how great things look, but they're not welcome to enter.
Here in Mexico, however, I was reminded that Valentine's Day is not just about romantic love. Tomorrow throughout the country, we will celebrate--not Valentine's Day--but "Día de Amor y Amistad", literally translated "Day of Love and Friendship". This is a game changer that includes everyone.
By celebrating the day of love and friendship, we recognize that there is more kind of love out there than just romantic love. Sure, romantic love feels great and is something that everyone longs for. But it's not the only, nor do I believe it's even the most important love there is.
The Greeks have several classifications of love. Everyone is familiar with romantic love--or eros. It is the passionate love we feel for our husbands, wives, boyfriends, or girlfriends. It is based solely on emotion, omitting all reason. I tend to believe it is also a more selfish kind of love.
The second type of love is philia. It is a mental type of love that is usually between friends. There isn't anything romantic or passionate about this love. We feel loyalty and appreciation for our friends in a give-and-take relationship. Philia love is typically not selfish in nature.
Storge is the love parents feel for their children. In a healthy parent-child relationship, it closely resembles the last type of love, agape love.
Finally, the highest form of love, I believe, is agape love. This love is completely selfless and seeks the well-being and happiness of another without expecting anything in return. This is the love of God toward His creation--as we're reminded in John 3:16 - "For God so loved the earth that He gave His only Son, that whosoever believes in Him shall not perish but have everlasting life." God gave us the freedom to choose--to love and serve Him....or not. We are encouraged throughout the Pauline epistles especially to seek--with God's help--to love each other in this way. The best marriages are ones where the husbands and wives have moved past eros and have encompassed agape love toward each other. Each one seeking to build up and encourage each other without expecting anything in return. Selfless, not always insisting upon having one's own way.
I think as long as we only focus on the emotional kind of love, we set ourselves up for problems. We don't always feel that wildly romantic emotional high that we did upon first meeting our spouses or significant others. It takes more than just passionate love to make a relationship last. And when we completely romanticize all types of love--forgetting that the close bond we can have with our friends is also a form of love, we do ourselves and them a great disservice. As I've said before, not everything in life is about sex.
Tomorrow, I encourage you to be mushy with your husband or wife. That's never a bad thing. But let's not discount all of the other meaningful relationships in your life. Be sure to let your close friends and family members know that you love and care about them as well. Remind them that they are a special part of your life and deserve to be celebrated tomorrow, too.
After all, by celebrating the "Day of Love and Friendship", we further confirm that there is indeed more than one kind of love--and they are all worth celebrating.
1/30/2014
I Need Driving Lessons
Babe, I really think you need to learn to do the airport run.
Once spoken, this simple sentence had the power to strike paralyzing fear into my heart.
Did I mention we live in Mexico City, one of the largest cities in the world? And where there are, apparently, driving rules that only apply to foreigners?
I feel I must preface this post with an admission that I have never been a great driver. It's true that I haven't been pulled over in 15 years. And it's true that I haven't been in an accident with another car in over 20 years. But the absence of traffic violations or accidents does not a good driver make. And I must also acknowledge that Mexicans are in relatively few traffic accidents---at least as far as I've seen.
I think it's because they've grown up with it. Merging from six lanes of traffic into one is normal. An every day occurrence. Muscling your way into a space the size of a toothpick is a piece of cake. Dealing with bus drivers who, because they each own their own bus and are in business for themselves, will whip in and out of traffic WITH ABSOLUTELY NO NOTICE. Circumventing minor mountains known as speed bumps. Motorcyclists who will squeeze into the most infinitesimal spaces possible between a bus and a semi just to get around a slower moving vehicle. And understanding that sticking your arm out the window will almost always guarantee you the lane change you desire where a turn signal may as well be nonexistent.
I, on the other hand, was born in semi-rural Iowa. I learned to drive on roads overlooking cornfields. I had one parallel parking lesson in driver's education (parallel parking is HUGELY popular here) on the day of my 17th birthday. I biffed the orange cones so badly they were a tad misshapen after my lesson. We moved from Iowa to Jackson, a much larger city than the little town we'd previously lived in. There was an interstate that intersected the town and something called a Frontage Road on either side of it. I can't even tell you how terrified I was to drive on either when we first moved there.
But then I got over it.
Yes, there were always times of days I avoided driving--rush hour. Countyline Road at most times of the day (but especially at rush hour and on the weekends leading up to Christmas). And yes, there were the crazies on crotch-rocket motorcycles who would literally pop wheelies at ridiculously high speeds on a crowded interstate.
But it was my normal. For the most part, people stayed in their respective lanes. The buses did not dart into and out of traffic without warning. Speed bumps--especially on the road we lived on--might've been a nice thing to have.
Now here on the other hand...
I have to give myself a little pep talk each and every time I get behind the wheel of the car. There is no such thing as a relaxing drive "just for fun". I have said more than once that if we could afford it, I would gladly hire my own personal chauffeur. Dealing with all of the annoyances other drivers who have either (1) lived here for a long time, or (2) grown up with is enough to ratchet up the stress level. It wouldn't surprise me to learn that my blood pressure skyrockets every time I must drive anywhere. Throw in unannounced construction with lane closures and you may as well shoot me now.
I have agreed to learn the airport run because it's something my husband feels I should do.
But if I'm ever to feel confident about driving, if I'm ever to feel comfortable behind the wheel of the car, it will take a major miracle of God.
That, or driving lessons.
Once spoken, this simple sentence had the power to strike paralyzing fear into my heart.
Did I mention we live in Mexico City, one of the largest cities in the world? And where there are, apparently, driving rules that only apply to foreigners?
I feel I must preface this post with an admission that I have never been a great driver. It's true that I haven't been pulled over in 15 years. And it's true that I haven't been in an accident with another car in over 20 years. But the absence of traffic violations or accidents does not a good driver make. And I must also acknowledge that Mexicans are in relatively few traffic accidents---at least as far as I've seen.
I think it's because they've grown up with it. Merging from six lanes of traffic into one is normal. An every day occurrence. Muscling your way into a space the size of a toothpick is a piece of cake. Dealing with bus drivers who, because they each own their own bus and are in business for themselves, will whip in and out of traffic WITH ABSOLUTELY NO NOTICE. Circumventing minor mountains known as speed bumps. Motorcyclists who will squeeze into the most infinitesimal spaces possible between a bus and a semi just to get around a slower moving vehicle. And understanding that sticking your arm out the window will almost always guarantee you the lane change you desire where a turn signal may as well be nonexistent.
I, on the other hand, was born in semi-rural Iowa. I learned to drive on roads overlooking cornfields. I had one parallel parking lesson in driver's education (parallel parking is HUGELY popular here) on the day of my 17th birthday. I biffed the orange cones so badly they were a tad misshapen after my lesson. We moved from Iowa to Jackson, a much larger city than the little town we'd previously lived in. There was an interstate that intersected the town and something called a Frontage Road on either side of it. I can't even tell you how terrified I was to drive on either when we first moved there.
But then I got over it.
Yes, there were always times of days I avoided driving--rush hour. Countyline Road at most times of the day (but especially at rush hour and on the weekends leading up to Christmas). And yes, there were the crazies on crotch-rocket motorcycles who would literally pop wheelies at ridiculously high speeds on a crowded interstate.
But it was my normal. For the most part, people stayed in their respective lanes. The buses did not dart into and out of traffic without warning. Speed bumps--especially on the road we lived on--might've been a nice thing to have.
Now here on the other hand...
I have to give myself a little pep talk each and every time I get behind the wheel of the car. There is no such thing as a relaxing drive "just for fun". I have said more than once that if we could afford it, I would gladly hire my own personal chauffeur. Dealing with all of the annoyances other drivers who have either (1) lived here for a long time, or (2) grown up with is enough to ratchet up the stress level. It wouldn't surprise me to learn that my blood pressure skyrockets every time I must drive anywhere. Throw in unannounced construction with lane closures and you may as well shoot me now.
I have agreed to learn the airport run because it's something my husband feels I should do.
But if I'm ever to feel confident about driving, if I'm ever to feel comfortable behind the wheel of the car, it will take a major miracle of God.
That, or driving lessons.
1/24/2014
Submitted
In October, I talked about an online Christian manuscript submission website. You create a proposal, include the first chapter of your novel with a synopsis, and submit it (for a fee). Publishers and their representatives can review your proposal and, if they like what they see, may contact you about your novel.
Since one publishing company already has my novel under review, I'd held off doing the final submission. Today, I considered asking the website for a refund of my money. After further consideration, however, I decided that it's not necessarily bad to have my eggs in more than one basket. To that end, I filled in the missing sections and submitted it to the website's database.
My money has purchased a period of six months. After that, I'll need to resubmit or else reevaluate what I want to do.
Now, there's nothing left but to wait.
Again.
Since one publishing company already has my novel under review, I'd held off doing the final submission. Today, I considered asking the website for a refund of my money. After further consideration, however, I decided that it's not necessarily bad to have my eggs in more than one basket. To that end, I filled in the missing sections and submitted it to the website's database.
My money has purchased a period of six months. After that, I'll need to resubmit or else reevaluate what I want to do.
Now, there's nothing left but to wait.
Again.
1/16/2014
Nothing More Important
For some reason, today I've been thinking a lot about Troy's years in seminary. We moved from University Park, Iowa to Jackson, MS in August, 2002, all because God called my husband onto further education. Along with our sixteen-month-old son, Clayton, almost 2 1/2 -year-old daughter, Tayler, and our four-year-old black lab, Duke, we schlepped a moving-van full of stuff across multiple states to this new world called Mississippi. And we had no idea what the next four years, in particular, would hold.
After six weeks of living in a one-bedroom town-house (the kids' beds and the only bathroom were all upstairs, Troy and I slept on an air mattress every night in the middle of the living room floor downstairs), we were thrilled to move into a 3-bedroom house a mere block or two from the seminary. I loved that house, despite the fact that it had the old-fashioned floor heating that poor Clayton once burned his little feet on, and a plastic ride-on firetruck's back wheels were almost completely melted down when it accidentally was left over the hot grate.
In order to make ends meet, however, Troy worked part-time at the seminary, pastored a church 40 minutes away, and cleaned an office a couple times a week. I also babysat in our home to make a little extra money. Between his many jobs, actually attending seminary classes (even in the summer), doing homework and studying for those classes, and participating in a weekly prison ministry, it often felt like I was a single parent. Friday nights after the kids went to bed, we'd cuddle on the couch and watch movies together. That was our time together. While he helped with the house and kids as much as he could, working 3 jobs and attending seminary left little available time for him. I mostly ran the house and raised the kids during that time. Even during my subsequent two pregnancies. After the last two babies were born, Troy would get all the feedings until midnight or 1 AM when he'd go to bed (I'd try to be in bed no later than 9 PM), and then I had the night time feedings after 1 AM so he could rest.
There wasn't an equitable division of labor. Troy worked 3 jobs to provide for our family so that I could remain home with the kids. My job, in turn, was to cook, clean, buy groceries, and raise our kids. There were times when I felt like I was missing something by being "just" a stay-at-home wife and mommy. Now that I'm older, I know better.
You moms with little ones in the house--what you are doing is important. Critically important. I'd say it's the most important thing you will ever do. Never let anyone convince you that what you do doesn't matter. Or that because you don't leave the house every day to work in an office and receive a salary means that you're not really working. Oh, we know better, don't we ladies?
I am so grateful that I married a man who knew (and knows) how important my presence as mom was (and is) to our kids. He was willing to work multiple jobs at one of the most stressful, exhausting times of his life to make it happen. I also know that not every family can do this. For some families, both parents must work in order to make ends meet or for insurance purposes. Troy worked three jobs, I babysat, and our children had state-issued Medicaid while we went without insurance. It's not for everyone. For you working moms, what you do when you are spending one-on-one time with your children is still the most important thing you'll ever do. Even if you are a pediatric surgeon who saves hundreds of lives in your lifetime.
I'm also thankful that I work for an organization that equally values the mother's role in the home. Even though our kids are all in school during the day, my first priority on the field is that of mom. And so, when my kids are home, I'm "off the clock". However, I'm now able to have a ministry separate from my family and keep my first and most important ministry: that to my family.
Again stay-at-home moms with little ones. I know there are days you don't feel like you are doing anything important. Be patient with yourself. Enjoy this time with your little ones. Have tea parties. Play games. Wrestle. Watch endless hours of "Dora" and "Blue's Clues". Color pictures. Read books. These are all vitally important things. Then, before you know it, your kids will be in school. And unless you are one of the brave souls educating them at home, your daytime hours while they're away will be free for you to pursue other ministries or interests.
Just remember that nothing you have done or will ever do is more important than what you're doing now: being a mommy. And never let anyone---even yourself---convince you otherwise.
After six weeks of living in a one-bedroom town-house (the kids' beds and the only bathroom were all upstairs, Troy and I slept on an air mattress every night in the middle of the living room floor downstairs), we were thrilled to move into a 3-bedroom house a mere block or two from the seminary. I loved that house, despite the fact that it had the old-fashioned floor heating that poor Clayton once burned his little feet on, and a plastic ride-on firetruck's back wheels were almost completely melted down when it accidentally was left over the hot grate.
In order to make ends meet, however, Troy worked part-time at the seminary, pastored a church 40 minutes away, and cleaned an office a couple times a week. I also babysat in our home to make a little extra money. Between his many jobs, actually attending seminary classes (even in the summer), doing homework and studying for those classes, and participating in a weekly prison ministry, it often felt like I was a single parent. Friday nights after the kids went to bed, we'd cuddle on the couch and watch movies together. That was our time together. While he helped with the house and kids as much as he could, working 3 jobs and attending seminary left little available time for him. I mostly ran the house and raised the kids during that time. Even during my subsequent two pregnancies. After the last two babies were born, Troy would get all the feedings until midnight or 1 AM when he'd go to bed (I'd try to be in bed no later than 9 PM), and then I had the night time feedings after 1 AM so he could rest.
There wasn't an equitable division of labor. Troy worked 3 jobs to provide for our family so that I could remain home with the kids. My job, in turn, was to cook, clean, buy groceries, and raise our kids. There were times when I felt like I was missing something by being "just" a stay-at-home wife and mommy. Now that I'm older, I know better.
You moms with little ones in the house--what you are doing is important. Critically important. I'd say it's the most important thing you will ever do. Never let anyone convince you that what you do doesn't matter. Or that because you don't leave the house every day to work in an office and receive a salary means that you're not really working. Oh, we know better, don't we ladies?
I am so grateful that I married a man who knew (and knows) how important my presence as mom was (and is) to our kids. He was willing to work multiple jobs at one of the most stressful, exhausting times of his life to make it happen. I also know that not every family can do this. For some families, both parents must work in order to make ends meet or for insurance purposes. Troy worked three jobs, I babysat, and our children had state-issued Medicaid while we went without insurance. It's not for everyone. For you working moms, what you do when you are spending one-on-one time with your children is still the most important thing you'll ever do. Even if you are a pediatric surgeon who saves hundreds of lives in your lifetime.
I'm also thankful that I work for an organization that equally values the mother's role in the home. Even though our kids are all in school during the day, my first priority on the field is that of mom. And so, when my kids are home, I'm "off the clock". However, I'm now able to have a ministry separate from my family and keep my first and most important ministry: that to my family.
Again stay-at-home moms with little ones. I know there are days you don't feel like you are doing anything important. Be patient with yourself. Enjoy this time with your little ones. Have tea parties. Play games. Wrestle. Watch endless hours of "Dora" and "Blue's Clues". Color pictures. Read books. These are all vitally important things. Then, before you know it, your kids will be in school. And unless you are one of the brave souls educating them at home, your daytime hours while they're away will be free for you to pursue other ministries or interests.
Just remember that nothing you have done or will ever do is more important than what you're doing now: being a mommy. And never let anyone---even yourself---convince you otherwise.
1/06/2014
'The Roommate' - Prologue
Just like with 'The Reunion', I wanted to post the prologue to the story.
The young woman sat behind the wheel of her car, impatiently watching each worker rush past her red Toyota at the end of the day’s shift. The work week over, they were on their way to hot dinners with their families, the Denver night scene, or to the local watering holes around the university near downtown Cancun. She knew he wouldn’t be among these first workers to leave the sprawling building. No, not an upper level executive like Michael. He would be one of the last to leave.
Finally, as the crowd thinned, she spotted him exiting through a side entrance. Her patience had paid off.
He strolled briskly toward his car, completely unaware that she was close by. Watching. Waiting. She examined him with an appreciative eye as the wind carelessly tossed his immaculately styled hair, her fingers itching to lose themselves in its ebony richness.
His handsome features suddenly drew into a frown and he slowed.
He’d seen her.
She swallowed and stepped out of the car, subconsciously tugging at her skirt and smoothing the low-cut blouse she wore.
“Abi,” he acknowledged icily. “What are you doing here? I thought I’d made it clear that you were never to come here.”
“I’m sorry, Michael. I had to see you--it couldn’t wait.” Why did he have to look so impassive and cold? Why couldn’t he just wrap his arms around her and say how happy he was to see her? And why didn’t his eyes light up the way they had that first night he’d taken her to his bed?
He quickly threw a glance around the parking lot to determine whether or not anyone else was nearby. Assured they were alone, his eyes traveled up and down her body, focusing intently on the creamy skin exposed. Desire shown in their obsidian depths, melting away the displeasure and filling his expression with warmth.
“No, I’m sorry, darling,” he murmured, pulling her tightly against him and nuzzling her neck with his lips. “It’s been a rough day, that’s all.”
She clung to his broad shoulders, tingles of pleasure rippling through her body. He loved her, of course he did. Everything would be okay.
It had to be okay.
A fissure of doubt crept through her and she trembled. If he turned her away after this...
When he forcefully took her mouth with his, all rational thought fled. Temporarily.
She placed a restraining hand against his chest and gently pushed him away from her.
His beautiful eyes crinkled in confusion. “What is it, Abi? Is something wrong?”
“I’m pregnant, Michael.”
A fleeting look of panic shot across his face, then his expression shuttered. He stepped away from her and leaned back against his car, parked next to hers. Arms folded across his chest, he peered down at her with disdain. “Impossible.”
“I assure you it’s not impossible. I am pregnant.”
“It’s not mine,” he stated flatly.
She wheeled backwards in shock, feeling very much as if she’d just been slapped.
“Oh yes. I know all about your artist boyfriend, my dear.”
Tears filled her eyes but she refused to let them fall. Not now. Not in front of him. “You don’t know everything, Michael.”
He didn’t know that once she’d started sleeping with him, she’d broken things off with Devon, who had promptly moved out of the apartment they’d shared. He didn't know that she’d been so in love with him from the very beginning. And he didn't know that the first time she’d seen him walk into the health club where she worked as a receptionist, she’d fallen hard. She’d mistakenly believed it had been the same with him. At least, that’s what he’d implied.
But now... Now she wasn’t sure he’d ever loved her.
His eyes narrowed briefly before he drew himself to his full height. “I think we’re done here. Go home to your boyfriend, Abi.”
Desperation prompted her to speak when she would’ve preferred remaining silent. “I can’t. He knows about us.” He’d know the baby isn’t his, she thought miserably.
“That’s your problem, now isn’t it? I haven’t time or patience for anyone’s castoffs.” Then, he turned and, without a look back, got into his car and drove away.
She stood in the same spot for several minutes, bitter tears raining down her cheeks. Why, oh why had she ever told Devon about her relationship with Michael to begin with? If only she’d kept quiet--he never would’ve left. Never would’ve known the baby she carried wasn’t his. For all his faults, he would’ve stood by her. Helped her through these next tough months.
Disillusionment opened her eyes to who the man she thought she'd loved really was. To what their relationship had really been based on. All those promises he’d made her were only to coax her into bed. Why had she been foolish enough to believe him? He was obviously nothing more than a skirt-chaser. A scoundrel in expensive suits. Still, the betrayal stung. Especially now that it didn’t only affect her.
It also affected her unborn baby.
His baby, whether or not he wished to acknowledge the truth.
It didn’t occur to her that, had she not told Devon the truth about Michael, her betrayal would’ve been far worse than his was now. A shallow woman by nature, she generally only thought of herself and what she could get from life.
Instead, she comforted herself by planning her revenge. He’d be sorry. One way or another, she’d make him pay for turning his back on her and their child.
The Roommate
Prologue
The young woman sat behind the wheel of her car, impatiently watching each worker rush past her red Toyota at the end of the day’s shift. The work week over, they were on their way to hot dinners with their families, the Denver night scene, or to the local watering holes around the university near downtown Cancun. She knew he wouldn’t be among these first workers to leave the sprawling building. No, not an upper level executive like Michael. He would be one of the last to leave.
Finally, as the crowd thinned, she spotted him exiting through a side entrance. Her patience had paid off.
He strolled briskly toward his car, completely unaware that she was close by. Watching. Waiting. She examined him with an appreciative eye as the wind carelessly tossed his immaculately styled hair, her fingers itching to lose themselves in its ebony richness.
His handsome features suddenly drew into a frown and he slowed.
He’d seen her.
She swallowed and stepped out of the car, subconsciously tugging at her skirt and smoothing the low-cut blouse she wore.
“Abi,” he acknowledged icily. “What are you doing here? I thought I’d made it clear that you were never to come here.”
“I’m sorry, Michael. I had to see you--it couldn’t wait.” Why did he have to look so impassive and cold? Why couldn’t he just wrap his arms around her and say how happy he was to see her? And why didn’t his eyes light up the way they had that first night he’d taken her to his bed?
He quickly threw a glance around the parking lot to determine whether or not anyone else was nearby. Assured they were alone, his eyes traveled up and down her body, focusing intently on the creamy skin exposed. Desire shown in their obsidian depths, melting away the displeasure and filling his expression with warmth.
“No, I’m sorry, darling,” he murmured, pulling her tightly against him and nuzzling her neck with his lips. “It’s been a rough day, that’s all.”
She clung to his broad shoulders, tingles of pleasure rippling through her body. He loved her, of course he did. Everything would be okay.
It had to be okay.
A fissure of doubt crept through her and she trembled. If he turned her away after this...
When he forcefully took her mouth with his, all rational thought fled. Temporarily.
She placed a restraining hand against his chest and gently pushed him away from her.
His beautiful eyes crinkled in confusion. “What is it, Abi? Is something wrong?”
“I’m pregnant, Michael.”
A fleeting look of panic shot across his face, then his expression shuttered. He stepped away from her and leaned back against his car, parked next to hers. Arms folded across his chest, he peered down at her with disdain. “Impossible.”
“I assure you it’s not impossible. I am pregnant.”
“It’s not mine,” he stated flatly.
She wheeled backwards in shock, feeling very much as if she’d just been slapped.
“Oh yes. I know all about your artist boyfriend, my dear.”
Tears filled her eyes but she refused to let them fall. Not now. Not in front of him. “You don’t know everything, Michael.”
He didn’t know that once she’d started sleeping with him, she’d broken things off with Devon, who had promptly moved out of the apartment they’d shared. He didn't know that she’d been so in love with him from the very beginning. And he didn't know that the first time she’d seen him walk into the health club where she worked as a receptionist, she’d fallen hard. She’d mistakenly believed it had been the same with him. At least, that’s what he’d implied.
But now... Now she wasn’t sure he’d ever loved her.
His eyes narrowed briefly before he drew himself to his full height. “I think we’re done here. Go home to your boyfriend, Abi.”
Desperation prompted her to speak when she would’ve preferred remaining silent. “I can’t. He knows about us.” He’d know the baby isn’t his, she thought miserably.
“That’s your problem, now isn’t it? I haven’t time or patience for anyone’s castoffs.” Then, he turned and, without a look back, got into his car and drove away.
She stood in the same spot for several minutes, bitter tears raining down her cheeks. Why, oh why had she ever told Devon about her relationship with Michael to begin with? If only she’d kept quiet--he never would’ve left. Never would’ve known the baby she carried wasn’t his. For all his faults, he would’ve stood by her. Helped her through these next tough months.
Disillusionment opened her eyes to who the man she thought she'd loved really was. To what their relationship had really been based on. All those promises he’d made her were only to coax her into bed. Why had she been foolish enough to believe him? He was obviously nothing more than a skirt-chaser. A scoundrel in expensive suits. Still, the betrayal stung. Especially now that it didn’t only affect her.
It also affected her unborn baby.
His baby, whether or not he wished to acknowledge the truth.
It didn’t occur to her that, had she not told Devon the truth about Michael, her betrayal would’ve been far worse than his was now. A shallow woman by nature, she generally only thought of herself and what she could get from life.
Instead, she comforted herself by planning her revenge. He’d be sorry. One way or another, she’d make him pay for turning his back on her and their child.
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