Permission To Be Here . . . For Now

The other day, I had the colossal nerve to think there are a couple of lines in my current novel that aren't too shabby. This morning, I cracked open Water For Elephants. Incredible, captivating writing, spectacular voice, charming wit, depth & heart.

Wow. After an hour I put it down – I had to get ready for work. Part of me couldn't put it down; part of me couldn't read any more. It's a beautifully crafted, engrossing reminder that my writing sucks.

I nearly broke the mouse punching the close button on my always-open novel document. Then I took a deep breath and heard a little voice saying that NO ONE expects my first novel to be as good as Sara Gruen's third (?) and a NYT bestseller at that.

No one but Camille.

I like---no, love a bar set so high my nose bleeds just squinting to see it. I love an impossible challenge when it comes to writing well. Sara sets the bar high, and I like that. But somewhere in all this straining, bleeding and reaching, I guess I need to look at where I am now and give myself permission to be HERE.

For now.

Habakkuk 2:3 says:
For the vision is yet for an appointed time and it hastens to the end [fulfillment]; it will not deceive or disappoint. Though it tarry, wait [earnestly] for it, because it will surely come; it will not be behindhand on its appointed day. (Amplified)

I will be patient and wait for the day my writing is at its best, but I will wait in earnest---pursuing excellence, writing, studying, honing, reading, listening, receiving instruction and correction and advice, working harder every day to reach that bar.

And I will keep reminding myself that it's okay to be here (while pinching my nostrils and pressing an ice pack to my forehead).

Just wanted to share that. Best of God's blessings to you...wherever you "are."

Camille

Farewell, Our Indian Daughter

Mercy will return home to India this week after spending a year enduring the warped humor and affectionate teasing of The Eide Family. Technically, we were her 'host family', but it seems strange to call it hosting - she's become one of us. Poor kid. Thankfully, Mercy is a very intelligent, fun-loving, easy going girl. She's quick to get a joke and laughs easily when teased or burped on, which is a daily occurence with a brother like Ben around. Especially when she makes her excellent Indian Curry.

We will miss her and her affectionate, bubbly personality, her positive outlook on life, and most of all - besides her cooking - we will miss her laugh. It's sort of a blended laugh/giggle, starts low and rises into a cute little chatter that reminds me of the chipmunks who laugh at Smudge, our fat bunny.

We don't know if we will get to see Mercy in India, or if we'll see her back in the States one day pursuing a career in medicine; we hope to, Lord willing. But one thing we do know: She accepted Christ as her Savior and was baptized while she was here in America, so we will see her again, if not here, then in heaven. Where the curry won't cause heartburn, and where no matter how much raw garlic Ben eats, he won't be able to burp on Mercy. He'll have to find some other way to torment her.

Bring Out The Blarney Stone, It's Election Year

Shane, my missionary son, visited THE Blarney castle housing the famous Blarney stone. Shane writes:

It's Blarny Castle in County Cork, about a four hour drive away. It's on the west coast of Ireland. There's a stone at the top of the castle that, according to tradition, you're supposed to kiss. It'll give you 'the gift of gab.' Apparently, that's where you become a very tactful and witty speaker. Winston Churchill kissed it and look how he ended up. I didn't kiss it. I figured I didn't need the gift of gab. (~Shane Eide, Missionary & Novelist)

So I did a great deal of follow up research which took about 2.3 google seconds. The Wise and Almost All-Knowing Wikipedia offers this list of fascinating theories involving the stone:

* the Stone was the stone that Jacob used as a pillow, and was brought to Ireland by the prophet Jeremiah
* the Stone was the pillow used by St. Columba of Iona on his deathbed
* the Stone was the Stone of Ezel, which David hid behind on Jonathan's advice, while fleeing from King Saul, and may have been brought back to Ireland during the Crusades
* the Stone was the rock that Moses struck with his staff to produce water for the Israelites during their flight from Egypt

* in Ireland, the Stone was known as the Lia Fail or "Stone of Destiny", part of the king's throne, with mysterious powers
* the stone's powers were revealed to the McCarthys by a witch who had been saved from drowning

A couple more mildly interesting items to note:

1. According to common legend, the stone is believed to be half of the Stone of Scone which originally belonged to Scotland. Scottish Kings were crowned over the stone because it was believed to have special powers. One story says an old woman cast a spell on the stone to reward a king who saved her from drowning. Kissing the stone while under the spell gave the king the ability to talk sweetly. He was able to talk anyone into doing things. The stone was given to Cormac McCarthy by Robert the Bruce in 1314 in return for his support in a battle. Queen Elizabeth I wanted the Irish chiefs to agree to hold their own lands under title from her. Cormac Teige McCarthy, the Lord of Blarney, handled her every Royal wish with clever promises keeping loyalty to the Queen without "giving in." Elizabeth proclaimed that McCarthy was giving her "a lot of Blarney." This is how the story began that if you kiss the blarney stone you will also be able to make clever promises.

2. Apparently, the stone inspired this wee poem:

"There is a stone that whoever kisses,

Oh! he never misses to grow eloquent

'Tis he may clamber to a lady's chamber,
Or become a member of parliament."

~ Francis Sylvester Mahony, who may have actually kissed the stone before he penned this verse.
3. Rumor has it that locals are known to 'relieve' themselves on it. I'm glad to hear my son decided against puckering up to it. Smart lad.

So those who seek the gift of gab may ---with a little gymnastic effort ---kiss the stone.

Now here is where I'm confused. Some define the gift of gab as eloquence or skill at flattery. I always thought the "gift of gab" was the ability to talk much and say little. Maybe it's the same thing?

Shane Sent Me A Castle . . .

. . . Which is almost as cool as my husband buying me a Harley. #1 Son sent some photos, but no details. I'll have to find out what it is we're looking at and post it later. He said Blarny Castle, but I always thought Blarny was something people say when they don't really know what they're talking about.

Isn't this lovely, though?

I am pressing/nagging him to swim on over next door and scope out Scotland for me, especially the mid-lowland area where my novel is partially set. Do you think I can get him to do it?

Robin Jones Gunn Book Giveaway

All right, Robin Jones Gunn fans---she has a new Sisterchicks book just released May 20 and she's having a book giveaway. Hop on board if you want a chance to win a copy of "Sisterchicks Go Brit!"

Robin, I hope you send the Sisterchicks to north to Scotland next. Or better yet, send ME!

Go to http://www.robingunn.com/ for details.

My Son Arrived In Ireland

Our son Shane arrived in Gorey, county Wexford yesterday - or the day before - I get jet lag just trying to wrap my head around the time difference. He'll be spending about 6 months there working in the church he helped plant two years ago.

He'll be visiting the Blarny Castle in Cork today, so I'll do the mom thing and get photos from him that I can post here. He saw lots of castles when he lived there before, but didn't get any photos. I guess everyone in Ireland has a castle in their backyard, so there's really nothing novel about it, the same way everyone in Texas has a pool, or everyone in Hollywood has a plastic surgeon.

Pray for the Agape International Church: Shane, Pastor David and others serving in this church would like to develop a solid youth group and leadership for the church before they return to the States in the Fall. They have a heart for youth of Gorey.

And speaking of love, Shane was greeted by two unexpected roomates. He was under the impression he wouldn't be sharing a room, but discovered both beds occupied when he went in to get some sleep. Hamsters. One on each bed. And by the sound of it, not in cages. Shane told us he was able to clear away the wood chips and get some sleep. I hope allergies won't keep the roomies from getting along. Especially the hamsters.

Me & My New Ride

Here's my bike. I'll have to figure out how to upload the idle.

THIS is one growling beast of a hog.

So is the bike. :)

Oh Happy Day!

Imagine my surprise when my darling stud of husband of nearly 25 years pulled me out of my writing cave last Sunday in my writing attire including bare feet, and escorted me out the front door. With a silly big grin.


He wanted to show me somethin. But I heard that deep throated V-Twin cruiser rumble and felt the ground pulsate before I rounded the corner of the garage and saw it.


That's right. A Harley. My husband thought I'd dreamed and whined about wanting one long enough. That or he just really loves me and knows this chick gets WAY more excited about an idle you can hear for miles, shiny chrome and black leather than some stuffy old jewelry.


We'll be celebrating our 25th this summer. On the road. If I can figure out a way to get him a matching one. Maybe I'll sell the NOVEL I'm cramming to finish and I can buy him one too.


Thanks, honey. You ROCK!!

Friday Shoppers vs Saturday Shoppers

I shop for groceries weekly, have to, that’s how the buck rolls. And with a husband and 4 young adult children (16-22) in the house, I’d face mutiny if I didn’t provide a steady supply of food. Of course, the worst they (the big kids, that is) can do is go on strike, which would look pretty much the same as it does now, or abandon ship, which I think is actually the point.

Before becoming a serious writer, I used to grocery shop on Friday mornings, my day off from the day job. But as a writer trying to put out a decent word count, I discovered Fridays offer me a priceless sanctuary: 8 hours of empty house. You can’t buy that, not even with homemade cinnamon rolls. Which I should have known would backfire. duh.

So I’ve started shopping on Saturdays. What a culture shock! I’ve repented of taking my Friday co-shoppers for granted.

On Fridays, I used to pass other single, swift shoppers with carts they’ve also made sure roll straight BEFORE they loaded up, lists in hand, good walking shoes on their feet and a goal in their eyes. These people know what they want, how much they want to spend and how many other stops they can make before the ice cream melts. They bag their groceries quickly, pay and disappear.

Saturdays, when the determined Friday shoppers are doing something productive, I am in the store with co-dependent couples and entire families who obviously don’t drink coffee or anything else that might shake them violently from their stupor and who:

1) don’t realize that the rules of the road could be of benefit in a grocery aisle,

2) don’t seem to notice that there are people waiting on either side of their ‘what do we want for dinner, everyone?’ logjam in the center of an aisle,

3) don’t move at any measurable speed,

4) just discovered there are choices of prices, sizes and brands and pull up a chair to ponder the differences,

5) move slower than a submission in a slush pile,

6) loudly discuss the drama in their lives for everyone else to hear,

7) bring tired, hungry, bored children to the store and ignore the amount of noise they make and where they crawl, stand, sit, play or poop,

8) wait until ALL their groceries have been rung up and paid for before they start bagging them,

9) stare at their cart full of bagged groceries and wonder how they’ll carry all this stuff on the bus home.

Haven’t these people heard of being proactive? Prepared?

Caffeinated?

I marvel at the couples who need to do their shopping together, as though they can’t make a decision, push a cart, or bag it up on their own. And who wait until Saturday, wasting an entire day doomp-de-doomping at a leisurely pace in a place where I want spend no more of my life than is critical to my survival.

Such a waste of time. Isn’t it? Or do some people actually enjoy being together no matter how much they block the aisles? Maybe they just know how to relax. Maybe they really LIKE spending an entire Saturday hanging out in a grocery store together. Maybe I should start bringing my husband and our gang with me to the store.

Maybe . . . then we could discuss our lives and our drama with each other instead of penciling it in on my list of things to do . . .

Back to the Shire from Mt Hermon

I’m back from Mount Hermon, back to my ordinary world, but, like Frodo, things in the Shire will never be the same.

This conference blessed me in many ways. I connected with people I needed to meet in person, made new friends, learned, gave and received encouragement, laughed, and wept in awe of God's grace.

And then there was that other thing I did not expect.

I won’t go into story mode (this is a blog, not a novel) with the details; I’ll just say that I went to Mt Hermon fully intending to keep my novel to myself and be the late-blooming, knowledge-hungry sponge that I am. I'm not sure how I ended up having my novel requested in full by one house and in part by another two. And I don't know how I ended up sitting next to The Snowflake Guy (also known as the Supreme Dictator for Life) on the flight home and discussing the potential of my work, which he actually mentioned on his blog.

Even though I received manuscript requests and encouraging feedback that I'm still not entirely convinced wasn't a sleep-deprivation induced hallucination, the grand take-away from Mt Hermon---besides the AWESOME Christian writerly people I got to meet in person---was the call to be more than a novelist; to be a communicator. (No keynoter said it; it just came on the breath of one small voice.) I don’t know what variety of forms this will take, but I am excited to see what God will do.

I also came home with a need to finish my novel quickly and very, very, very well.

And I will. And you will want to read it, because you would like an intelligent, faith inspiring love story.