tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-47830748538523074712024-03-05T03:57:17.004-08:00The Writer's WellspringJennifer E. Lindsayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06168765929321104438noreply@blogger.comBlogger120125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4783074853852307471.post-69937295598481402292013-03-29T06:48:00.002-07:002013-03-29T06:49:11.278-07:00A Final Note to my Writer's Wellspring Friends<!--[if gte mso 9]><xml>
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<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
My dear friends,</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I want to thank you for walking with me through the various
stages of our writing lives together these past couple of years. When I wrote
my first blog post for the Writer’s Wellspring in <a href="http://writerswellspring.blogspot.com/2011/03/welcome-to-writers-wellspring.html" target="_blank">March 2011</a> I had no idea how
many people would visit and connect with me as a result. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
While I had hoped I would be posting more often here this
year. That simply has not been the case. But on the bright side, I have been
given the opportunity to spend my mornings working as an aid to elementary-age
children who need a little extra help with reading and writing. I’m also
studying for my Chiropractic Assistant license and have been hired part time at
a local clinic. On top of that, it is my hope to return to Uganda at some point
again this year.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Needless to say, my writing time has become very limited. As
I am unsure of how often I’d be able to post, I’ve made the difficult decision
to put the Writer’s Wellspring on an indefinite hiatus. I will, however, leave
the blog up for those who still wish to look back on previous posting.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
For those interested in keeping tabs on what’s happening in
my life writing-wise or otherwise, you can connect with me via <a href="https://twitter.com/jelindsay" target="_blank">Twitter</a> or
<a href="https://www.facebook.com/pages/Jennifer-E-Lindsay/213050232039393" target="_blank">Facebook</a>.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Thank you again for your support the past two years. This
has been an incredible learning experience for me, and I look forward to
whatever new lessons are in store for me in the days ahead.</div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Until we meet again, I wish you all the best in your writing and in your personal lives. God bless!</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Jen</div>
<!--EndFragment-->Jennifer E. Lindsayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06168765929321104438noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4783074853852307471.post-22378415187555816312013-03-11T06:00:00.000-07:002013-03-11T06:00:10.317-07:00A Day to Pay Homage to the Makers of our Coffee
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjIcRJSiOsVtRjx9lWGH1BIIZEN2HByIkORq_3aeNqJoSqAMkqvmZIxdPnPxDAgBTDMPtzP0zKeQSJJK6SxpJzrGv8DnVji5TvbXqQTZwSEXL50-smffDxheYYfHrbDX_0b2lZeUfAG-jEs/s1600/Coffee-Cups.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="298" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjIcRJSiOsVtRjx9lWGH1BIIZEN2HByIkORq_3aeNqJoSqAMkqvmZIxdPnPxDAgBTDMPtzP0zKeQSJJK6SxpJzrGv8DnVji5TvbXqQTZwSEXL50-smffDxheYYfHrbDX_0b2lZeUfAG-jEs/s400/Coffee-Cups.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="color: orange;">A little love (and a lot of extra chocolate) go a long way in making any day better.<br />©2013 JELindsay</span></i><br /></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
This past week I was hit with (what I’d like to think is) a
marvelous idea. Random idea generation isn’t all that uncommon for me. I ask myself “What If?” all the time. But
this time my “What If” is a little bit different. And it was spurred on by a
cup of coffee.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<h2>
<span style="color: orange;">As writers, one of the things we tend to talk about a
lot is coffee. </span></h2>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
We need it to function, to awaken our muse. We drink it in the
morning. We drink it in the afternoon. We drink it far too late at night and
then wonder why we can’t sleep. (Of course we blame a new astounding idea for
that!)</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
But there is one thing we don’t tweet about all that often.
We don’t tweet about the people who go the extra mile when they brew our
precious elixir of life. Our baristas.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Now it’s possible you stand in as your own barista and keep
that coffee pot full yourself, but I’m a well-known face at more than one
place. My favorite haunt is <a href="http://www.roguecoffeeroasters.com/" target="_blank">Rogue Roasters</a> in Grants Pass. It’s a small family-owned shop
that roasts its own beans right in the store and showcases a new local artist on
the first Friday of each month. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
It’s here that the baristas know me well enough they’ll come
across the room to give me a bear hug when I first walk in. It’s here that I’m
teased about my predictability in what I order every Tuesday afternoon. And
it’s here that a special drink was invented for me on a day I couldn’t figure
out what I wanted because I was far too frazzled by the challenges life presented me with that particular day.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
My baristas make me smile. They make me laugh. And they inspire me
each time I see them. As often as I thank them, I feel like there’s something
more I can do to express my appreciation for the work they do. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<h2>
<span style="color: orange;">So today I’d
like to propose a new holiday: Barista Appreciation Day.</span></h2>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
On <span style="color: orange;"><u>Friday, April 5th</u></span>, I intend to make an extra effort to
thank those who get up extremely early or stay up extremely late to make sure I’m
alert throughout my day. I’d like to invite my fellow coffee connoisseurs to do
the same. Whether it be a card, a flower, or maybe a little extra tip, do
something to honor, appreciate, and encourage those who remain cheerful in what
can be a very demanding and sometimes thankless job.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
It’s because of people like baristas that our lives are a
little better each day, and for that I am incredibly thankful. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<!--EndFragment-->Jennifer E. Lindsayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06168765929321104438noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4783074853852307471.post-27264765541782800002013-03-04T07:27:00.000-08:002013-03-04T07:27:18.320-08:00A New Way to Track Your Growth as a Writer
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-1PY_HkVz9yFVIub6_0_H_eT_lSiIfARr9tdm8h10pdTb4GxYXe7wAPNpUCMCsgHS0S6a1hYxFIegVY6AvFLEt5eIcqeEm5drd6A94X5TNGtkNf8iIFH_sFhzfojaYpgpbls_AxhPPO3z/s1600/The-Writers-File.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="239" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-1PY_HkVz9yFVIub6_0_H_eT_lSiIfARr9tdm8h10pdTb4GxYXe7wAPNpUCMCsgHS0S6a1hYxFIegVY6AvFLEt5eIcqeEm5drd6A94X5TNGtkNf8iIFH_sFhzfojaYpgpbls_AxhPPO3z/s320/The-Writers-File.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: orange;">It doesn't matter if you wrote today or not. You are a writer.<br />It's time to start living like one.<br /> ©2013 JELindsay</span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
You just glanced at your calendar and realized once again
that your resolution to write 2,000 words a day has turned into praying you can
reach 2,000 words this month. Who knew life could be so inconsiderate of your
writing time?</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Or perhaps, like me, you get so fixated on reaching a
certain number that the words stop coming. The daily quota that was intended to
encourage you to reach a goal has now become a 20-pound stone in the stomach
instead.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<h2>
<span style="color: orange;">Numbers, letters, and I have never mixed well (just ask my
old algebra teacher), so this year I decided on a different approach to track my progress. I call
it, “The Writer’s File.”</span></h2>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
At the end of each day, I open up the Top Secret Document on
my laptop. I type in the date and add an entry that looks similar to this:<br />
<!--[if !supportLineBreakNewLine]--><br />
<!--[endif]--></div>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
March 2, 2013 — Today, I am a writer. I developed character sketches for two of my secondary characters who will ultimately play
larger roles in my protagonist’s life, and discovered what they have to do with
each other. I also posted a <a href="http://writerswellspring.blogspot.com/2013/03/james-scott-bells-latest-novel-keeps.html" target="_blank">review of Jim’s newest book</a>. Today, I fulfilled
my purpose as a writer. Tomorrow I will do the same.</blockquote>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<h2>
<span style="color: orange;">No matter how I spent my day (even the days I chose not to
write), each entry begins and ends with the exact same words, and each entry is
limited to 3 or 4 sentences. This serves three purposes:</span></h2>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
1) The first sentence affirms that I am a writer now, not
that I will be a writer someday<span style="color: orange;">.</span> It encourages me to keep at it even when I don’t want to.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
2) The short entries give me a concise record (sans
emotions) of daily accomplishments and ideas. This gives me something more
tangible to look back at on days when I’m stuck or I feel like a failure.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
3) The last sentence puts my mind to rest when it’s time to
sleep. It’s a reminder that, as hard as I try, there will always be something
left undone. I did my best today and tomorrow (Lord willing) I’ll have the
opportunity to do so again.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<o:p><br /></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
So if the words aren’t adding up for you this year, it’s not
too late to try a new approach. However you choose to track your progress just
remember one thing: You are a writer. Get out there and fulfill your purpose!</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<!--EndFragment-->Jennifer E. Lindsayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06168765929321104438noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4783074853852307471.post-80951791977404405632013-03-02T08:37:00.000-08:002013-03-02T08:37:30.456-08:00James Scott Bell's latest novel keeps you hanging on and begging for more!<!--[if gte mso 9]><xml>
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<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhAlmzZg6rnRP5YNpxI7beH8WrgoUskb1jO7o0BSf0Hm3WS0geBBovz8e1ocTXx_poCzPBLmUiBTaXS2kmS-mmZ5OQcKHnHjQcBMs91zdg8tT_Zurrgwxw3XXhyfqizqeVVQXMmumUGVMoN/s1600/dont-leave-me-cover.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhAlmzZg6rnRP5YNpxI7beH8WrgoUskb1jO7o0BSf0Hm3WS0geBBovz8e1ocTXx_poCzPBLmUiBTaXS2kmS-mmZ5OQcKHnHjQcBMs91zdg8tT_Zurrgwxw3XXhyfqizqeVVQXMmumUGVMoN/s320/dont-leave-me-cover.jpg" width="203" /></a></div>
When Chuck Samson left for Afghanistan he was a man in love. He returned home broken to a marriage that would never be reconciled, a mother who no longer recognizes him, and to a brother who depends on him as much now as he did when they were children. Then came the morning he collided with “the Mad Russian,” making his already difficult life impossible.</div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Now on the run and attempting to clear his name in a murder investigation, Chuck must try to put together his jumbled memories from a war he was never supposed to return from and face the shadowy horrors that have haunted him every day since — all while protecting his autistic brother Stan whose greatest fear is that one day Chuck will leave him.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
From the very first line of the very first paragraph, readers are set right in the middle of the chaos that is soon to become Chuck’s life. As with much of Jim’s work, <i>Don’t Leave Me</i> is set in the quick pace of the Los Angeles backdrop. The story twists and turns through trumped up charges, mysterious phone calls, abduction, gunfights, and a brief encounter with a hippie playwright — and the story does so without missing a beat as it speeds its way to the explosive conclusion.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
One of the most enjoyable aspects of <i>Don’t Leave Me</i> is the
multiple viewpoints. Although the bulk of the story is presented through
protagonist Chuck Sampson’s eyes, we are also given the opportunity to
experience the world through Stan’s unique perspective, as well as gain the
insights of a homicide detective, a school principal, and a couple of very
unsavory drug lords. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
True to his form, Bell creates a realistic and believable
world, includes plenty of trans-generational pop culture references, and has just
the right mix of humor to add a little spice to the tang of suspense. Even
better, <i>Don’t Leave Me</i> is a story that I enjoyed reading just as much the
second time.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i>Don’t Leave Me</i>, is currently available in digital form for
<a href="http://www.amazon.com/Dont-Leave-Me-ebook/dp/B00B8D7WCW/ref=sr_1_1?s=digital-text&ie=UTF8&qid=1362241828&sr=1-1&keywords=don%27t+leave+me" target="_blank">Kindle</a> and <a href="http://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/dont-leave-me-james-scott-bell/1114274118?ean=2940015949278" target="_blank">Nook</a> Readers and Apps. As of this writing, a print edition had not
been announced. But if it is, I’ll be one of the first in line to add it to my
real-life bookshelf.<br />
<br />
<br />
<i><span style="color: orange;">Note: </span>I had the privilege of reading an earlier version of the book last summer while Jim was still working through the final edits, so it was especially fun for me going from reading a draft with lots of notes and questions in the margin to reading the fully finished novel complete with revisions that addressed those very concerns. As a newer writer, it was encouraging for me to see that a more experienced writer still goes through the same processes and struggles as I do. Seeing the polished work only encouraged me to keep moving forward with my own fiction writing.</i><br />
<div>
<br /></div>
</div>
<!--EndFragment-->Jennifer E. Lindsayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06168765929321104438noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4783074853852307471.post-79049504981074444972013-02-13T08:06:00.000-08:002013-02-13T08:06:37.472-08:00How writers put personal feelings to work<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhfcuoOnVoBd3WRYZDjheqWA6TNEyergoW6ukZdmTymiITSwzQ_aYilDVJF5U6sQjvV1BkkLllrPS9Z9sKqrocSXdPQz_WleuQMbtVb813n011XBRHCO0j4VhFfUEgnl0cHwqbTGihUmExr/s1600/Comedy-Tragedy.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="316" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhfcuoOnVoBd3WRYZDjheqWA6TNEyergoW6ukZdmTymiITSwzQ_aYilDVJF5U6sQjvV1BkkLllrPS9Z9sKqrocSXdPQz_WleuQMbtVb813n011XBRHCO0j4VhFfUEgnl0cHwqbTGihUmExr/s400/Comedy-Tragedy.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="color: orange;">As writers we have the option of using our daily, <br />often chaotic, emotional range to our advantage.<br />Image courtesy of SXC.hu ©2005 je1196.</span></i></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
How is your writing going this week? Is your current project still exciting, or is it causing you intense anguish? Is the work moving forward, or have found yourself stumped and at standstill?<br />
<br />
How are you doing this week? Are you proudly declaring yourself a writer or do you secretly fear being outed as a "fraud" because you haven't had a moment to devote to the craft?<br />
<br />
As writers, it's common to feel an entire range of emotions regarding our writing and ourselves — sometimes several times in a single hour! But that emotional roller coaster doesn't have to be a curse. In fact, it can be a blessing.<br />
<br />
<h2>
<span style="color: orange;">Human feelings are complex, but the emotions we experience are universal. That's what makes the characters we love so much so relatable.</span></h2>
<br />
Feeling the arm-hair-raising thrill of anticipation? I'm sure there's a chapter in your book where one or more of your characters feels the same way. Take that excitement and work it into a scene.<br />
<br />
Are you being pulled down into the darkness by the invisible weight of fear? One or more of your characters should feel that often. Time to tap into that boiling stomach acid and pour it out onto the page.<br />
<br />
Uncertainty? Concern? Happiness? Heartache? Whatever describes your current state of mind, put it to use. Don't think about how pretty the words sound, don't worry about form or grammar. Just get it out and set those words aside in a special file for later. That way you don't have to wrack your brain trying to convey feelings that may be contrary to your own later on.<br />
<br />
<h2>
<span style="color: orange;">Franz Kafka once said, "Don't bend; don't water it down; don't try to make it logical; don't edit your soul according to the fashion. Rather follow your obsessions mercilessly." </span></h2>
<br />
He may have been speaking about writing in general, but the same is true of conveying emotions. We were created to feel intently, so let your characters (and your readers) feel what they are intended to feel. After all, the best stories are the ones in which we as readers believe that whatever is at stake for the characters is going to affect our personal lives as well.<br />
<br />
<span style="color: orange;"><i>By the way, I honestly do wonder...how </i><b>are</b><i> you doing this week? Feel free to share in the comments below.</i></span><br />
<br />Jennifer E. Lindsayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06168765929321104438noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4783074853852307471.post-76202823127183666172013-02-11T11:06:00.005-08:002013-02-11T11:18:39.416-08:00Out with the Monday Panic and in with a week of Peace of Mind
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Photo Courtesy of sxc.com ©2009 O_m.</i></td></tr>
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<div class="MsoNormal">
"The more we are prodded the lazier we get, and the
less capable of the effort of will which should carry us to, and nearly carry
us through, our tasks." — Charlotte Mason {Vol. 3, p. 39-40}</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
It's Monday, which means my mind is full of all the tasks I
have to accomplish this week as well as a nagging reminder of all I failed to
finish last week. In many ways, Mondays are the hardest to get started because
it seems that there is just too much to do in too short of time.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
In fact, "The List" was in the forefront of my
mind all morning as I was trying to get through my early morning routine. As
usual I found myself distracted and then chastising myself for my
lack of work effort. I don't have a single person telling me what I have to do
right now — except for me — and I've discovered the more I try to motivate
myself the more frustrated I've become of late. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<h2>
<span style="color: orange;">Rather than being productive, every glance at the clock
reminds me just how much time I've wasted in a pointless internal struggle.</span></h2>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
This is a serious problem.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
So it was a blessing to see <a href="http://www.amblesideonline.org/WhatIsCM.shtml" target="_blank"><span style="color: orange;"><span style="text-decoration: none;">Charlotte Mason's</span> </span></a>quote
posted on my mother's Facebook page this morning. For those not familiar
with this incredible woman, she was a champion for improving the education of
British children in the late 19th through early 20th century. She is also a
hero to many homeschoolers. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Charlotte was also my mother's inspiration as she raised us.
Much of my love of learning stems from what my mother learned through
Charlotte's methods. In seeing the above quote, I was reminded of the most
important lesson I learned at my mother's feet: </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<h2>
<span style="color: orange;">Focus on one thing at a time. Give it your full attention
and when the prescribed time is up move on to the next task. Do not worry
about what came before and what comes after. Just focus on what you need to do
in this particular moment.</span></h2>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
As soon as I read Charlotte's quote it seemed as if a huge
weight came off my shoulders. It's so easy to forget that I don't have to
tackle an entire mountain in one go. The work is done a shovelful at a time.
With each shovel emptied, I'm one step closer to finishing my work.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I don't know what your week looks like. Perhaps you're far
better organized than I am and have a system in place that works wonderfully
for you. But if your Monday is starting out like mine with a sense of
overwhelming doom, take heart in knowing you aren't facing your battle alone.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Mom always made me work in 15 minute increments when I was
younger. It taught me to focus and it allowed me to move onto something else
(even if it wasn't completely finished) about the time my attention started to
wane. I learned later on it was an attention building exercise that also
improved memory retention. (Which would explain why I've gone from
remembering everything to forgetting what I was trying to say only moments
ago.)</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I figure if it worked then, it would work now. So instead of
allowing my inner slave driver to goad me and make me feel worthless and lazy because I can't do everything at once,
I'm going to tackle today — and the rest of this week — one moment at a time.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Happy Monday to you all, my friends! May this week bring you
a sense of joy and accomplishment as well!</div>
<!--EndFragment--><br />
Jennifer E. Lindsayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06168765929321104438noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4783074853852307471.post-52184632001275800922013-02-05T06:00:00.000-08:002013-02-05T08:31:20.389-08:00Four Ways to Cut the Insanity out of Your Writing Life<!--[if gte mso 9]><xml>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEikwZGJF6Am0lg1hocKDakeCpaqV8y9PmJw7Be1-9JD6Qj53NF5C5z0dCdeuwqXgEn4ByhJuXDTgxQ-tGJPWeIzJ5JV5TbH-p3mHO8wET8FQF2Id-duXfMyzTyY3DMZT8W9sToaLK5GwsQV/s1600/Scissors_Cutting.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEikwZGJF6Am0lg1hocKDakeCpaqV8y9PmJw7Be1-9JD6Qj53NF5C5z0dCdeuwqXgEn4ByhJuXDTgxQ-tGJPWeIzJ5JV5TbH-p3mHO8wET8FQF2Id-duXfMyzTyY3DMZT8W9sToaLK5GwsQV/s400/Scissors_Cutting.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Photo Courtesy of SXC. ©2006 Muresan113</i></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
Thanks to our technologically rich environment, it’s become
increasingly easier to find information over the years, especially in terms of
how to write well. No longer are we limited to books such as <i>Strunk & White’s Elements of Style</i>
or magazines such as <i><a href="http://www.writersdigest.com/" target="_blank">Writer’s Digest</a>.</i>
Now we have libraries full of books claiming to teach the secrets of writing,
blogs that offer daily tips and leads, and conferences that are bursting at the
seams with all the latest How-To’s. You don’t even have to leave your office to attend the
seminars anymore.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<h2>
<span style="color: orange;">As a writer, it’s easy to get lost in all of that
information and, as a result, become overwhelmed.</span></h2>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I, myself, have noticed I spend more of my writing time
“studying” how to write than actually writing. Another large chunk of time is
spent engaging in activities to “build my platform.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
In his introduction to <i>Revising
and Self-Editing</i>, <a href="http://www.jamesscottbell.com/styled-7/index.html" target="_blank">James Scott Bell</a> shares a story of attempting to
learn golf. He bought books, he listened to tapes, and nearly chucked his clubs
into the dumpster. Then he met a well-respected teacher that showed him what
he’d been missing all along. In putting all of his focus into technique, Jim
had overlooked the feel for the game. The same, Jim writes, can be true of writers.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
In focusing on doing everything “right” we forget the feel
of writing. We lose sight of the joy of creating and miss what we set out to
do: Write. And if we don’t enjoy our labor, why would anyone who comes up behind us
and reads over our shoulder?</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<h2>
<span style="color: orange;">So how do we cut some of the insanity we</span><span style="color: orange;">’</span><span style="color: orange;">ve introduced into our writing lives?</span><span style="color: orange;"> </span></h2>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<h2>
<span style="color: orange;">1. Trust our instincts. </span></h2>
<div class="MsoNormal">
We’ve done the exercises, read the
books, and sat through the seminars. We have the tools and the capability. It’s
time to put them to use.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<h2>
<span style="color: orange;">2. Be intentional. </span></h2>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Our writing time needs to be about being
creative and enjoying that process (and all the challenges that go along with
it). If a question arises in how to handle a certain issue, make a note and move
on. Use some free time later to brush up on the subject.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<h2>
<span style="color: orange;">3. Take a Social Media break. </span></h2>
<div class="MsoNormal">
We don’t have to read every
article posted, nor do we need to update our feeds with witty comments, random
questions, or inspirational photos every couple of hours. The world can and
will survive without our constant digital input.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<h2>
<span style="color: orange;">4. Re-read the book that first inspired you to be a writer.</span></h2>
<div class="MsoNormal">
By revisiting the story we can recapture some of those memories and feelings.
They might not be exactly the same, but they could be enough to kick-start the
enthusiasm and drive to get back to our own work in progress.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<h2>
<i><span style="color: orange;">Your turn: What tips would you add to this list? Add them to
the comment section below!</span></i></h2>
<div>
<i><span style="color: orange;"><br /></span></i></div>
<!--EndFragment-->Jennifer E. Lindsayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06168765929321104438noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4783074853852307471.post-31586647843333534482013-01-24T11:39:00.002-08:002013-01-24T11:39:26.979-08:00Readers Write: Looking for new stories of InspirationWhen I started The Writer's Wellspring in 2011, my hope was to create a place where writers could come to find inspiration rather than tips on how to write. As I've said in previous posts, I've met that goal on some weeks, and others I've been far off the mark.<br />
<br />
One vision I've never seen realized in this blog is an open dialog between me and those who visit this page.<br />
<br />
Each time I sit down to write a new post I ask myself, "What can I say that will encourage or inspire someone else today?" This week, I came up with a blank and I believe that the problem lies in the fact that I've never really asked you what inspires you as a writer.<br />
<br />
Some find motivation in nature, like me, others in music. Some look to their friends and family. Others discover it in the midst an experience. But those are all vague topics.<br />
<br />
<h2>
<span style="color: orange;">Topics don't inspire people, stories do. And I'd love to hear yours. More than that, I'd love to share your stories with other writers.</span></h2>
<br />
So with that said, or rather, written, I'd like to open up The Writer's Wellspring to you, my friends, to share your stories.<br />
<br />
If you have something you've been wanting to share about your writing life but haven't been sure where or how, this is the time and place.<br />
<br />
Your inspirational stories should be no more than 500 words, true, and appropriate for all audiences. I can't offer payment, but you can add the title of guest blogger to your writer's resume. And you keep all right to your piece.<br />
<br />
When submitting, don't forget to send an author pic and bio that includes a link to your own blog or website (if you have one) so that others can get to know you, too!<br />
<br />
I can be reached at <a href="mailto:jennifer.e.lindsay@gmail.com">jennifer.e.lindsay@gmail.com</a>. I can't wait to hear about your adventures!<br />
<br />
—JenJennifer E. Lindsayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06168765929321104438noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4783074853852307471.post-67533111577942642602013-01-21T11:33:00.001-08:002013-01-21T11:41:31.719-08:003 Ways to enjoy the (Writer's) view this Week<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgErdZyGVTqGPzvU4hiwSH8bky6hF-SEzbYfUIJzw1xQVg-6DFHB747QwOuZFqWJ8PJjcH2dAAgqPmCp99LalNF_N2V8sgUDU_xegv9m_ib0b-PeT88wsX8WXCiY1KTGHDz9QVVZsVhBHtO/s1600/bigstock-girl-climbing-on-the-rock-on-s-13812836.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="350" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgErdZyGVTqGPzvU4hiwSH8bky6hF-SEzbYfUIJzw1xQVg-6DFHB747QwOuZFqWJ8PJjcH2dAAgqPmCp99LalNF_N2V8sgUDU_xegv9m_ib0b-PeT88wsX8WXCiY1KTGHDz9QVVZsVhBHtO/s400/bigstock-girl-climbing-on-the-rock-on-s-13812836.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
While looking for an inspirational picture a few months back, I stumbled across an image of a girl rock climbing. I was instantly attracted to the colors and the feeling of accomplishment that the photograph captured, so I paid for a legitimate copy and made it my desktop for several months.</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
Though there are no words, I learned three lessons about writing while staring into the bright orange glow of the summer sunset:</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<span style="color: orange;">1. Writing is a Journey.</span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
You can't call yourself a rock climber if you only think about being one. The same is true of writing. Don't think one day you'll be a writer. Pick up your notebook and be one today. Start small, and work your way up to the harder, higher peaks as you gain confidence and experience.</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<span style="color: orange;">2. Avoid Rock Wall Vision!</span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
Writer's have a bad habit of getting so engrossed in a single project that we forget to look around. When we do, it's like keeping our nose pressed into the rock wall — we see only the work and forget the beauty around us. Be sure to enjoy creation while you create!</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<span style="color: orange;">3. Enjoy the Results of your Labor.</span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
Writing (like rock climbing) is exhausting. It requires focus, strength of character, and drive. Finishing a project is a lot like reaching the mountain peak — one of the greatest feelings is being able to look back from finish to start and say, "I accomplished that!"</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
These three lessons now help get me started each day because they, like the picture, remind me I'm doing something I love. Something that, though always challenging, is ultimately worthwhile.</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
Jennifer E. Lindsayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06168765929321104438noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4783074853852307471.post-38741577385315307582013-01-17T11:13:00.001-08:002013-01-17T11:13:47.871-08:00A Novel Approach to Short Story Writing
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<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiaOUPO7_R9YgGgecUrr-wYkvzi-_6s7E5jOoAA69dxNEYpVOD0n9XGTxogqiNl9WZEZYGVwnQo-0HUHE2bDAfj7S_6IOyPXLcFIc_g2ali0IkeAHIW9hA6m8qD-1RSV3b7ysFEbSxbA_6U/s1600/royalty-free-photo-antique-book-pile.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiaOUPO7_R9YgGgecUrr-wYkvzi-_6s7E5jOoAA69dxNEYpVOD0n9XGTxogqiNl9WZEZYGVwnQo-0HUHE2bDAfj7S_6IOyPXLcFIc_g2ali0IkeAHIW9hA6m8qD-1RSV3b7ysFEbSxbA_6U/s320/royalty-free-photo-antique-book-pile.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A short story is simply a novel in condensed form.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I’ve shared several times before that when I really started
writing the only thing I wanted to do was publish novels. I wanted the big book on
the shelf. In my mind there simply was nothing else to write other than
non-fiction. And I was never going there.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Years have passed. I’ve never published that 300-page tome. But it hasn’t kept me from
continuing to try. In the meantime, I’ve learned the novel isn’t the only way
to go.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Wanting to be a novelist is pretty common among writers.
There is a sense of mystery and adventure to it. We’re readers by nature and we
want to be just like the writers we’ve grown up loving. We want to create a world people will never forget.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
In our rush to publish it’s easy to forget that most of our
heroes started out small, then worked their way up to something bigger. Others
built their entire career around the short story. As a result this medium is often overlooked.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
But that’s beginning to change in both the world of reading and writing.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
</div>
<h2>
<span style="color: orange;">The Weekend Short Story Challenge</span></h2>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
In honor of such literary giants as Charles Dickens,
Edgar Allan Poe, Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, Isaac Assimov, Philip K. Dick, Ray
Bradbury, and so many, many more, I propose a challenge to any who read this
post.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Let’s write (and complete) something small this weekend!</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Like a novel, the story needs a beginning, a middle, and an
end. Start with a hook. End with a punch. And pack in the tension. It can be something completely
original, or you can tell a well-known story from a different angle. Just make it unique.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
For those not familiar with short stories, here are a few
options to choose from:</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="color: orange;">Short: 1,000 – 3,000 words</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="color: orange;">Flash: 1,000 words or less.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="color: orange;">Micro: Less than 300 words.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="color: orange;">Nano: Less than 100 words.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
As an experiment, I chose a Nano Story similar to Hemmingway’s six-word story
<a href="http://www.sixwordstories.net/2008/12/for-sale-baby-shoes-never-used-ernest-hemmingway/" target="_blank">“For Sale.” </a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
Wanted: Six-month puppy seeks loving home. Loves Tag and Hide & Seek. Well trained. Missing her little playmate.</blockquote>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
It’s my first attempt at Nano fiction, and I plan to try my hand at another this weekend. Whether they’re ever published or not, I’ve come to realize short story writing will help me focus on what’s really important when I go back to my novel.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i><b><span style="color: orange;">Want to join me in the challenge? Let me know in the
comment section below. Not your thing, but know someone else who might? Please share a link!</span></b></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i><b><span style="color: orange;"><br /></span></b></i></div>
<!--EndFragment-->Jennifer E. Lindsayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06168765929321104438noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4783074853852307471.post-65260264589085496662013-01-14T03:00:00.000-08:002013-01-14T03:00:07.981-08:00Stoke the fire of imagination: What the Village Blacksmith teaches
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg0Exv5QFUZkkKlO6w6c6d3-zmEQ5aYSkz-5a_OQHuj44BHKUqqTHqhBDog25BCy2iVto3YznWXpPWX8HN23GC8Q_ZyaKBvSdM6lOUBAEW-heW-fqXQl2kKjVeDe9NM8LoqIzmhQ6d6fDxQ/s1600/Blacksmith-and-anvil.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="210" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg0Exv5QFUZkkKlO6w6c6d3-zmEQ5aYSkz-5a_OQHuj44BHKUqqTHqhBDog25BCy2iVto3YznWXpPWX8HN23GC8Q_ZyaKBvSdM6lOUBAEW-heW-fqXQl2kKjVeDe9NM8LoqIzmhQ6d6fDxQ/s320/Blacksmith-and-anvil.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Photo courtesy of stock.xchng. ©2006 Atroszko. </td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<div style="text-align: center;">
Under a spreading Chestnut tree</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
The village smithy stands;</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
The smith, a mighty man is he,</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
With large and sinewy hands;</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
And the muscles in his brawny arms</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Are strong as iron bands.</div>
</blockquote>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“The Village Blacksmith” was my very first encounter with
<a href="http://www.hwlongfellow.org/" target="_blank">Henry Wadsworth Longfellow</a>. I was in third grade and my class was memorizing a
new poem every month for the year. Of all the poems we covered the only other
two I remember are “<a href="http://www.theotherpages.org/poems/field01.html" target="_blank">The Dual</a>” and “<a href="http://home.nyc.gov/html/misc/html/poem/poem1b.html" target="_blank">Keep a Poem inYour Pocket</a>.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
The other poems were fun and easy to learn, but none of them stoked the fires of my
imagination the way that village blacksmith did.<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<h2>
<span style="color: orange;">In eight, six-line stanzas we
are given a vividly detailed story of love won and lost, of a life that
continues on despite the grief, and of the lesson we can take away from one man’s
example.</span></h2>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I’ve always wondered if there really was a spreading
chestnut tree, if a smithy was nestled beneath its branches, and if inside
there worked a dedicated yet gentle man. Was he a friend? Was he an adult in the
place where Longfellow grew up? Or was he a stranger Longfellow noticed in
passing and became as enthralled with as the children?</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Or was the blacksmith just a story after all? A tale cobbled
together from bits and pieces of life experiences.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I was reminded of this poem when a friend quoted from the
last stanza a few days ago, and it’s caused me to ponder those words, the
rhythm, and the purpose ever since.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
As writers many of us dream of creating the next great
novel. We pour hours into plot lines. We fill days hammering out character
descriptions. And we spend weeks honing the description of our fictional world
down to the last popping ember.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<h2>
<span style="color: orange;">In the process it’s easy to forget what a
story is: a snapshot of a specific moment that conveys the essence of
humanity’s greatest joys and sorrows.</span></h2>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I learned a valuable lesson in re-reading my favorite childhood poem
this past week: Anyone can create a world in 500 pages.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
It takes a true artist to capture an entire life in 48
lines.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<!--EndFragment-->Jennifer E. Lindsayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06168765929321104438noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4783074853852307471.post-71906953791783822902013-01-10T11:46:00.003-08:002013-01-11T14:10:16.058-08:00Are your current writing habits causing you to stumble?<!--[if gte mso 9]><xml>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgEeIZWH8UeT8IKEY3e5H27xQnGOU47RuMYH1n8mHd_OrKG-PI5Yp9q6kf61sNacJtk9uxDX9zClV_An0v7u1bIyV5mowpaN61_iOcwntfS86nzUYFXTeMgtvQGQwF0ExHbQmFVtLtFyxWw/s1600/bigstock-Ice-Skating-3214907.jpg" imageanchor="1"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgEeIZWH8UeT8IKEY3e5H27xQnGOU47RuMYH1n8mHd_OrKG-PI5Yp9q6kf61sNacJtk9uxDX9zClV_An0v7u1bIyV5mowpaN61_iOcwntfS86nzUYFXTeMgtvQGQwF0ExHbQmFVtLtFyxWw/s320/bigstock-Ice-Skating-3214907.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
As a little girl I loved watching figure skating. I loved
how effortlessly the skater glided across the ice and pushed into a triple lutz
or spiraled down and up in the <a href="http://figureskating.about.com/od/figureskating12/a/Assorted-Ice-Skating-Terms-Every-Skater-Should-Know.htm" target="_blank">Camel Spin</a>.
I loved the quick jumps to the beat of the music and rhythmic claps of the
spectators. And if they fell, they bounced right back up and kept going.
Nothing phased them. It looked like so much fun.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Some day, I remember thinking, I’m going to be just like
<a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Kristi_Yamaguchi" target="_blank">Kristi Yamaguchi</a>.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
It wasn’t until high school that I finally got my first chance to step
out onto the ice. I’d grown up rollerskating and figured I had the basic mechanics
down. It was basically the same sport, right?</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Not quite, I discovered. The instant my blades touched the
ice my legs scissored outward and I fell. Hard. And I realized just how
unforgiving the ice really is.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
They make it look so easy, I thought of the other skaters
passing me by as I clung to the wall and tried to walk on the ice.
Now terrified, my eyes were glued to my toes and the moment I started to gain
any sort of momentum I panicked and started wobbling uncontrollably until down I went onto my knees...again and again.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
It took someone who knew what they were doing to come
alongside me, coax me away from the perceived safety of the edge and into the
smooth ice of the center where there were less pits and grooves.<br />
<br />
<h2>
<span style="color: orange;">It turned out the very thing I thought was keeping me safe and moving forward was actually causing me to stumble and fall.</span></h2>
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
With some
gentle, yet firm encouragement I soon found my balance and was completing laps
around the rink on my own.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Twelve years later my skating career is limited to an annual
two-hour experience with a group of friends. Each time I step out I have to
remind myself that skating isn’t easy but the worst thing I can do is worry
about falling. The trick is balance. Keep your chin up, watch ahead of you,
consider your surroundings, and just enjoy the moment.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<h2>
<a href="http://www.goodreads.com/author/show/7799.Nathaniel_Hawthorne" target="_blank">“Easy reading is damn hard writing.”</a></h2>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I think the same is true of writing. After the initial
excitement of becoming a writer wears off, once the first rejections start
arriving in our mailboxes, it’s easy to become disillusioned.<br />
<br />
We read
incredible stories by writers who make it look so easy. We know we have something of value to share, but we discover the
hard way that writing <i>well</i> requires a lot of dedication, patience, and work.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br />
<h2>
<span style="color: orange;">I think it’s time we let go of what we’re comfortable with as writers and explore new territory. </span></h2>
<br />
It could very well be that the confines we’ve found safety in are precisely what has been holding us back. Now, this doesn’t mean we throw out all the rules and all that we’ve learned in the past. I mean it’s time we open ourselves up to branching out and in learning something new. If you write fiction, try your hand at non-fiction. Only write prose? Why not spend a month writing in stanzas?<br />
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Thankfully it’s easier than ever to find a bit of direction
and encouragement from others who have been there before. Whether it’s through a
great book on writing, a cherished mentor, or a friend who has a bit more
experience, there are days we all need a firm yet gentle nudge to get us to let
go of the wall, the crowds, and the most pitted ruts in writing rink to explore that
scary open space where we’ll best have a chance to make our mark.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<h2>
<span style="color: orange;">But first we have to be willing to accept the help.</span></h2>
<br />
I would never have learned how to skate had I insisted on doing it my own way. And I will never become the writer I know I want to be if I think I already know all I need to know and refuse to listen to the advice of others.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Easy reading may be damn hard writing, but it’s also worth
the effort.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I’m sure Mr. Hawthorne would agree.<br />
<br /></div>
<!--EndFragment-->Jennifer E. Lindsayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06168765929321104438noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4783074853852307471.post-26304138347413404102013-01-07T11:32:00.000-08:002013-01-07T11:32:13.114-08:00I am a Writer. Are you?
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgcJ9o-5Xi4pIO5kmjMzpLao6oMZMDI8_NjSET8upA5v3r5pIil4ihBfdXJkPIKf3BkUTuBtI56z-8c9Y5CefxdJbyfCqrtFBN4U9BJxTHceX9XbxgiBRDqOIDfsfJcrshdQXOL4z0LPsbE/s1600/I-am-a-Writer.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="298" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgcJ9o-5Xi4pIO5kmjMzpLao6oMZMDI8_NjSET8upA5v3r5pIil4ihBfdXJkPIKf3BkUTuBtI56z-8c9Y5CefxdJbyfCqrtFBN4U9BJxTHceX9XbxgiBRDqOIDfsfJcrshdQXOL4z0LPsbE/s400/I-am-a-Writer.JPG" width="400" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="color: orange;">I am a writer.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Not an aspiring writer. Not a wanna-be-writer. Not a
“Someday” writer.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I am a writer. Right here. Right now.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Why? Because after years of being told so by others who
believed in me, I decided it was time I started believing it myself. I may not
be able to hold a published book in hand. I may not have gone on any press
junkets to promote my latest project. But I am a writer.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<h2>
<span style="color: orange;">If you’re reading this post, chances are it’s because You
are a Writer, too!</span></h2>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I became a writer at the age of five when I decided I was
going to help my dad write the newsletter for the computer store he was running
at the time. The pages consisted of the same up-and-down scribbles that cartoon
characters have no trouble reading, in fact, it looked exactly like the story my
cousin’s 5-year-old daughter read to me the other night. She’d written it
herself and it was filled with all sorts of danger.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I started legibly writing down songs I knew, stories about my life
(real and imagined), and poems when I entered second and third grade. In fourth
grade I received first prize for a story I wrote for an Arbor Day
Contest. It was my first and only blue ribbon growing up.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Looking back, I’ve always been a writer. I just had a faulty
understanding of the what a writer is.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<h2>
<span style="color: orange;">A writer is someone who writes. Not someone who is published
and famous.</span></h2>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Some of the best writers of all time never found success in
their lifetime. Consider Franz Kafka. His <i>Metamorphosis</i>
is one of the most taught pieces of literature in college now, but when he wrote
it….</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I can’t forget Miss “I am Nobody, Who are You?” Emily Dickenson who had a
few poems published in her lifetime, but the publishers significantly altered
each prior to printing them.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
And then there is the celebrated Jane Austin whose
work had gone on to be one of the more recent entries in the <a href="http://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/pride-and-prejudice-and-zombies-jane-austen/1100214147?ean=9781594743344" target="_blank">Zombie Craze</a>.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Others writers were widely read but died penniless. Edgar
Allen Poe was found wandering drunk, babbling, and in “borrowed” clothes just
before he died in 1849, and the celebrated Herman Melville’s passing was noted by a
single newspaper in which he was referred to as a “long-forgotten author.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Of course, writers aren’t the only one assailed by such a
curse. It’s one of the risks we take when we pursue the life we dream of. But
pursue it I will, just the same. This year I resolve not to be published (as I
have in years past). My goal isn’t to become famous. My purpose is to write.
And to write well. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Recognition is all well and good, but it’s not evenly
remotely possible if the extent of my writing life is limited to thinking that “Someday
I’ll be a writer.” I have to choose to be a writer today. And so, my friend, do you!</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<h2>
<span style="color: orange;">“So let it be written. So let it be done.”</span></h2>
<div>
<span style="color: orange;"><br /></span></div>
<!--EndFragment-->Jennifer E. Lindsayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06168765929321104438noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4783074853852307471.post-87407003827305885092013-01-04T06:00:00.000-08:002013-01-04T09:09:25.346-08:00Writing as a Calling, Offering, or Encouragement: Finding your niche in 2013<!--[if gte mso 9]><xml>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh7n2fGEsEKZAsevErmAx0LUsatCWxRVMmsMO3nKdGS_zNp-tRERaGt3pjgfSGN23JHKkKgSU32SIyYElDIcYMqEwhIDPcNPLpUlwyzfnZmuviUq9QgE34rqKZ-enPnO2IMQFU-EezMywz2/s1600/Crinkled+Paper.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh7n2fGEsEKZAsevErmAx0LUsatCWxRVMmsMO3nKdGS_zNp-tRERaGt3pjgfSGN23JHKkKgSU32SIyYElDIcYMqEwhIDPcNPLpUlwyzfnZmuviUq9QgE34rqKZ-enPnO2IMQFU-EezMywz2/s320/Crinkled+Paper.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Writing can be a calling, an offering, or an encouragement,<br />but if there is no joy in it you may find yourself wondering what the point is.</i></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I read a blog post recently by Book Agent Terry Burns titled
“<a href="http://www.bestsellersociety.com/the-writers-view-question-for-thursday-dec-20th-is-writing-a-calling-an-offering-or-something-else/" target="_blank">Is writing a calling, an offering, or something else?”</a> In it, Terry posited that a calling is a specific project that is confirmed to
the writer in more ways than one. An offering is a gift, something the writer
wants to do out of a labor of love but not one that has necessarily been placed
before her as a specific task to complete.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Then there’s the third category — one that’s equally
important, but perhaps not as specific as a Calling or Offering. Terry referred
to this sort of project as an Encouragement.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
In this case, Terry writes, “It is possible for God to make
it clear that He wants us to use our writing skills for Him, but does not give
us a specific book to write. He leaves that up to us.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
This can be incredibly freeing for a writer, or it can make writing
even more challenging. It all depends on how we choose to look at it. For many of us, we can’t imagine a life in which we
didn’t write, but there are many days we sit in front of the computer and wonder
just what words we should commit to the page. It’s not uncommon to question at some point if being a writer is even what we’re supposed to be doing with our lives.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<h2>
<span style="color: orange;">“Where do I fit in?”</span></h2>
<div class="MsoNormal">
This is a question I found myself asking multiple times during the past year. I always pictured myself as a middle grade writer. The fantasy
I’ve poured so much time and love into remains an incredible passion of
mine but it has yet to catch the heart of the publishing industry despite an
editor showing some interest in it last spring. I keep telling myself I’m going to let it go, but I just can’t bring myself to do that yet.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
For years I thought that book was my calling, my purpose for being a writer. What if perhaps it
was an offering instead? One that taught me invaluable lessons and has done
much to hone my skills as a writer.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
And then there is The Writer’s Wellspring, which
I created to learn how to blog and at the same time to encourage my fellow
writers. I’ll admit I’ve often wondered if I’ve utilized it in
the manner I’m supposed to. There have been so many times I’ve lost track of my
original goal and have gone off in different tangents. During the month of December
I strongly debated discontinuing posting here, but have since decided
otherwise. I just started another blog called <a href="http://jelindsay.wordpress.com/" target="_blank">Jots and Thoughts</a>, which I can use for more personal topics, thus allowing this blog to be what it was intended to be, a place for writers to find fresh inspiration.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<h2>
<span style="color: orange;">What will your writing look like in 2013?</span></h2>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The lesson I took away from Terry’s article is that it’s
okay to write for the sake of writing. Not everything is meant to inspire millions of readers around the globe. Sometimes it’s
enough just to encourage a single soul. Even if that soul is your own.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Writing is a gift. Whether you’re following a calling this
year, presenting an offering, or simply just releasing your thoughts into the
void, writing should also be a joy. It’s too hard a craft to continue on with
if it isn’t.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<!--EndFragment-->Jennifer E. Lindsayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06168765929321104438noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4783074853852307471.post-75784841506596789552012-12-19T03:00:00.000-08:002012-12-19T08:32:17.098-08:00Does your writing pass the 3 tests of métier?<!--[if gte mso 9]><xml>
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<br />
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<i>For me, writing is the only thing that passes the three
tests of métier: (1) when I’m doing it, I don’t feel that I should be doing
something else instead; (2) it produces a sense of accomplishment and, once in
a while, pride; and (3) it’s frightening. — Gloria Steinem</i></blockquote>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj4PkIWIoF9WZDCONCo8hQY7EDIZeg8A6YZhxyExee8q6YTftd6EsCw9TFOyWu_Vg8_LOHPLGNp_5lQUM9bH1UIWR0M7ExsXwFh-9aWgqcpBgdCZD_gmsIAkjYojwsSZch2QC2FmXBsKmuX/s1600/bigstock-Scribble-question-marks-27089033.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj4PkIWIoF9WZDCONCo8hQY7EDIZeg8A6YZhxyExee8q6YTftd6EsCw9TFOyWu_Vg8_LOHPLGNp_5lQUM9bH1UIWR0M7ExsXwFh-9aWgqcpBgdCZD_gmsIAkjYojwsSZch2QC2FmXBsKmuX/s400/bigstock-Scribble-question-marks-27089033.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: orange;">What does writing mean for you?</span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I was looking for my old organic chemistry textbook the
other day and instead found a book I vaguely recall telling myself I would
never look at again once I finished Technical Writing. The book is called <i>Writing with Style</i> by John R. Trimble
and it’s filled with academic conversations about writing that I found only
somewhat interesting during my junior year as an English major.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The above quote was on the first page I turned to and, after
reading it for a third time, I found myself asking two questions. The first was:
What does métier mean? The second
was: How can I add it to a casual conversation this week? </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
So I did what every logophile does when she stumbles across
a new word. I looked it up.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="color: orange;">According to Merriam-Webster, métier means 1) Vocation,
trade. 2) An area of activity in which one excels: forte. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Looking beyond the common definition, I discovered it’s an
old French word that is derived from the vulgar Latin “misterium,” an alteration
of the Latin “ministerium” which means work or ministry.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
All thoughts of sounding sophisticated (and even more odd)
at my next public gathering where immediately cast aside. That one word had
just reminded me of three things about writing. Three things I used to know,
but had somehow lost sight of in the last few months.<br />
<h2>
<span style="color: orange;">Three Definitions of Writing</span></h2>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="color: orange;">1) Writing is a vocation, a trade.</span> We hear this all the time,
but for so many of us it’s still just a hobby. As a result it is
often set aside for something “more important” or is overshadowed by whatever
is captivating our attention most at a given time. The people who really excel
are the ones who stay focused.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="color: orange;">2) Writing is an activity</span>, which by definition requires
action. <span style="color: orange;">It’s also a strength.</span> Writing is a difficult skill to truly master.
It’s something a lot of people wish they could do but, like learning to play
the violin is something few ever take the time to really perfect. Those who
know how to write and effectively communicate a message are blessed. It’s a shame and a
waste to ignore that gift.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="color: orange;">3) Writing is a ministry. </span>People read because they’re
looking for something to speak to them. Words
encourage in moments of doubt, strengthen in times of weakness, and bring
passion to seasons of apathy. Words open up new avenues of thought, take us to
places we can’t visit ourselves, and allow us to understand the world
through the eyes of a stranger.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<h2>
<span style="color: orange;">Does my writing pass the test?</span></h2>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
As I sit here I have to ask myself if writing, for me,
passes the three tests of métier. How often does it fully captivate my
attention these days? Do I feel accomplished when I finish a project, and do I
ever feel proud of that work? There’s no doubt that it’s frightening. And I think
that right there is what’s hanging me up right now. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
So now I have one more question I need to find the answer
to. What am I afraid of? Because, for me, it’s time to face that fear.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<!--EndFragment-->Jennifer E. Lindsayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06168765929321104438noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4783074853852307471.post-52706539824162328702012-12-11T12:46:00.000-08:002012-12-11T12:48:13.951-08:00It’s beginning to look a lot like Christmas, but what does that mean to us?<!--[if gte mso 9]><xml>
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<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjBFDx70TSbqF9X7VJkFbDdYwU52AmTQXIKfxPvIve9p0iYJMCNSbBG1atNHeoAt61oaNes5Z_TtO3_TW2aOwOMSbUFfzH6fhUhzMhQW_veqmitK7jwTptiKpKSYtvmbZzZilKJDHBSKCVR/s1600/bigstock-Christmas-tree-vector-eps--25744466.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjBFDx70TSbqF9X7VJkFbDdYwU52AmTQXIKfxPvIve9p0iYJMCNSbBG1atNHeoAt61oaNes5Z_TtO3_TW2aOwOMSbUFfzH6fhUhzMhQW_veqmitK7jwTptiKpKSYtvmbZzZilKJDHBSKCVR/s320/bigstock-Christmas-tree-vector-eps--25744466.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
We’ve survived the biggest sales day of the year. We’ve
shared viral videos of the mayhem and brawls in stores over this year’s “Must
Have” items. Homes are lighting up with festive decorations and food flows both
ways through the door as we gather together to celebrate the season.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<h2>
<span style="color: orange;">It’s both one of the best times of the year and one of the
worst.</span></h2>
<span style="color: red;"><br /></span>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
We hold the end of the year up as a time to gather together
and give thanks, to focus on thoughts of peace on earth and goodwill towards
mankind, but sometimes it seems we’ve forgotten what compassion looks like. And
so much is lost as a result.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
As I walk through the streets of my town, I’m more and more
aware of just how much I’m surrounded by eyes filled with hurt, with a longing
for recognition and a simple word of kindness. And I’m not just speaking of the
homeless. It’s in our nature to crave a gesture from someone that affirms we have
value, that we’re important no matter where our lives have taken us.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<h2>
<span style="color: orange;">The need to know our worth seems especially great this time of year.</span></h2>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Christmas is a season to focus on the needs of others. It’s
a time to reach outside of our comfort zone and into the lives of complete
strangers. It’s a moment in time that allows us to experience deep joy and a
sense of fulfillment that only comes when we freely give of ourselves to others — with no expectation of any reward in return. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The holiday season offers us a moment to say, “Your life
has a purpose and it is valuable.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<h2>
<span style="color: orange;">For me, that’s what the birth of Christ is all about: God
coming to earth to affirm our value.</span></h2>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="color: red;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
It doesn’t matter if he was born in winter, spring, summer, or fall. God, in need of nothing, ruler of all
creation, willing chose to become one of us. He experienced cold, heat, love,
joy, grief, sorrow, pain, rejection, and abandonment by those he counted most
dear. He knew what it meant to be homeless and hungry. To be hated by some and
selfishly used by others.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
He experienced it all, not to satisfy his ego, but because
he simply wanted to know and be known.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The Christmas Story isn’t just about a birth in a stable, a sky filled
with singing angels, and the worship of shepherds and wisemen. Like all the
best stories, it’s a story of sacrificial love — the most powerful “magic” ever
known to humanity. It’s the only kind of love that can battle through the
darkest, coldest night imaginable against the strongest, vilest villain anyone
could think to conjure up and emerge victorious in the light of the morning
sun.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
It’s that type of love story I want to write. Not on paper, but in life. And not just in this season, but in every season beyond.</div>
<!--EndFragment-->Jennifer E. Lindsayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06168765929321104438noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4783074853852307471.post-11058082049787554542012-11-16T10:05:00.000-08:002012-11-16T14:31:13.727-08:00Want to change the world? Start in your neighborhood.<!--[if gte mso 9]><xml>
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<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh-vPYHasq2gwDwHgU1P4ZhZXR2VrfNSG1zpbyxjs_4W1LE4SspIGjHKeqxhBflStm9SyT8VRvNfCwhm1BmGzMFSybKg2q9qtQ9IJcqT7Q3gnDyfMNU7x1oaC9K8emntgpQbEnmZPMCf8mg/s1600/bigstock-paper-people-in-circle-closeup-16346627.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh-vPYHasq2gwDwHgU1P4ZhZXR2VrfNSG1zpbyxjs_4W1LE4SspIGjHKeqxhBflStm9SyT8VRvNfCwhm1BmGzMFSybKg2q9qtQ9IJcqT7Q3gnDyfMNU7x1oaC9K8emntgpQbEnmZPMCf8mg/s400/bigstock-paper-people-in-circle-closeup-16346627.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Is it true that in America there are so many sweets they
line streets and everyone can pick them up and eat them whenever they want
without ever paying?”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The question was posed to me on my last night in Zana by a
girl in her early teens. We had just finished playing our tenth round of Jenga
after eating super together. It took my friend Levi and I a couple of minutes to
explain that yes, in the States there are sweets aplenty—far more than we should eat in a
lifetime—but we do have to pay for them.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
After saying our good byes a short time later, I returned to
my room to finish packing. I found myself still mulling over the girl’s
question. It wasn’t the first put to me regarding the wealth of America, and
though we were getting ready to fly home, it wasn’t the last either.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<h2>
<span style="color: orange;">A matter of perspective</span></h2>
<div class="MsoNormal">
It doesn’t matter who we are, or where we come from. Each of
us is subject to our own perspective. It’s the lens through which we see the
world, and is largely shaped and formed through our own experiences. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Sometimes those perceptions end up being a little cloudy.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
One of the most common misconceptions I discovered while in
Uganda was that in America there are no troubles. We all live in mansions, wear
the latest fashions, hook up with the first beautiful person we see, and drive
the most expensive cars. When many hear “American” they automatically think
“money.” And by money they mean no hardship, no harm, and no heartbreak.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
In America life is perfect.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I won’t argue we have it pretty good here — far better than
many of us realize. But all I have to do is drive down my own road to see that
we also have hardship, harm, and heartbreak just like the rest of the world.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
On the street corner stands an old man. His jacket
threadbare, his greasy hair slicked down by the cold drizzle. He isn’t holding
a sign, but the haunted expression in his eyes cuts me to the core because I’m as
powerless to help him as I was to offer long-term care for the people I met in
Africa.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I don’t know what misfortunes brought him to this place. Was
it a series of poor choices? Has he, like me, been unable to find permanent
work? Is his spirit completely crushed, or is there yet a tiny ember waiting
for a gentle breath to touch it and create a new flame?</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<o:p><br /></o:p></div>
<h2>
<o:p><span style="color: orange;">Coming to a new understanding </span></o:p></h2>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Before I left for Uganda a number of people told me how much
they admired me for giving up time and comfort to share with complete strangers
in another country. My first day in Zana the same thing was said of our group
and I felt a twinge of guilt. At the time, I wasn’t sure why. All I knew was I
didn’t feel that I was making a difficult sacrifice by being there. For me it
was a privilege and an honor.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Now that I’m home and have had time to think, I believe I
figured out what bothered me. We view it as a noble thing to take our charity
across borders, but how often do we carry it across the street? We donate towards
food and education for starving children in third-world nations (and rightfully
so!), but how many in my own community are going to bed with an empty tummy
tonight?</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
While the poor of the world are pitied, so often here in the
US they are scorned. I discovered that for myself at a young age and spent my
entire young life vowing to escape that stigma. It took traveling abroad for me
to realize how backward my thinking has been. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
When asked what the greatest commandment of all was, Jesus responded: “Love the Lord your God with all your heart, with all your soul, and with all of your mind. And love your neighbor as yourself.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<h2>
<span style="color: orange;">Putting that knowledge to work</span></h2>
<div class="MsoNormal">
For too long my perspective has caused me to look overlook the
needs of those nearest to me. Like my sweet-loving teen I’ve seen America as
the place were we have all the means necessary to take care of ourselves
without help from anyone else. We just have to make it happen. Those who don’t
do so bring their misfortunes upon themselves. I’ve learned for myself this
past year, that isn’t always the case.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Rather than being part of the solution, I’ve been part of the problem. And this is something I have to choose to change in myself. What does it matter if I travel the globe aiding others while ignoring those hurting in my own hometown?<br />
<br />
One thing I learned in Uganda was the most valuable gift you could give anyone is your time. Even if I don’t have a spare penny, I do have a smile and a kind word to remind even the poorest drunk that he is a person of value. He is not forgotten. And he is never truly alone.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<!--EndFragment-->Jennifer E. Lindsayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06168765929321104438noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4783074853852307471.post-31663511997989555032012-11-14T12:05:00.000-08:002012-11-14T12:06:02.682-08:00Reflections of a returning traveler<!--[if gte mso 9]><xml>
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<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
I have considered a hundred
different ways to start this post and have rejected every single one of them. Even
now I wonder just what I should say.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
How do I even begin to express the
surprise of being greeted at the airport by what seemed like half of the Sign
of the Dove Congregation and being swept up into hugs by people who were as yet
strangers but would soon become closer than kin? How do I put into words their
generosity as they gathered our baggage from us and carefully led us to the
waiting vehicles with admonitions never to step in front of a moving vehicle
because they don’t always stop for pedestrians?</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
How do I describe the darkness of
that first night as we rocked back and forth up a rutted clay road, shoulder to
shoulder, trying to take in what little I could see by the light of the
headlamps? The blaring music as the Muslims celebrated their holy day? The
armed guard as we pulled into the hotel? The excitement as we explored our
temporary homes, weariness briefly forgotten, and found the perfect bed in
which to rest?</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjs4emIr0onoMylfg6don6uqByK2uqGgaYJk7FGp5klxLF6YTBRvVZX2TXZ_ApdiAzpIDrjTuuQRmttZdVZBihQntMjApovjbjLUdaxHWlDu69FeTYfThaoRo69ofRwOtfMwOL3iV31bs_Y/s1600/UgandanSunrise.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjs4emIr0onoMylfg6don6uqByK2uqGgaYJk7FGp5klxLF6YTBRvVZX2TXZ_ApdiAzpIDrjTuuQRmttZdVZBihQntMjApovjbjLUdaxHWlDu69FeTYfThaoRo69ofRwOtfMwOL3iV31bs_Y/s320/UgandanSunrise.jpg" width="239" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Ugandan Sunrise my first morning.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
How do I paint the wonder of those
first rays of sun pouring over hills densely populated by homes built of
intertwined branches, mud bricks, and tin? How the wide leaves of the palm and
the plantains swayed gently while deep-throated birds I had not yet seen cried
out in a manner similar to a chattering monkey?</div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhje8E6es7bVxH2B0TGYH8eMkmfdJ6u7AGFEfm6gJgFHuaTf2Lgfb36x0qRC8DYpQCtoiF7X-gb-yV5Ary12Gna6NjlygKvG20inOw3d3OxClPuZgD0bX-SeAAnuBJ9EXopSffgOQz7H1_S/s1600/UgandanField.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhje8E6es7bVxH2B0TGYH8eMkmfdJ6u7AGFEfm6gJgFHuaTf2Lgfb36x0qRC8DYpQCtoiF7X-gb-yV5Ary12Gna6NjlygKvG20inOw3d3OxClPuZgD0bX-SeAAnuBJ9EXopSffgOQz7H1_S/s320/UgandanField.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A Ugandan field of maize (corn). Photo by Bruk Marsh.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<o:p> </o:p>How do I capture the metallic
scent of the moisture-laden air and the thickness of the red clay that clung to
my every step, creeping from the soles of my shoes up to my ankles and dotting
my skirts with its stain?</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg87R1O89judbdQZJ_8nq8s5ynY3LpPzyic86Z0l7fjfOPIslnonlasoSTXSKV0ufKX4BJRgOqQd6s4qLAps3EsySxc0UOM5pXzJhoc5xu-ttJsR5kvy4bQSkmYjI3yyRNDtTYho4kqIu0R/s1600/UgandanPrisoner.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg87R1O89judbdQZJ_8nq8s5ynY3LpPzyic86Z0l7fjfOPIslnonlasoSTXSKV0ufKX4BJRgOqQd6s4qLAps3EsySxc0UOM5pXzJhoc5xu-ttJsR5kvy4bQSkmYjI3yyRNDtTYho4kqIu0R/s320/UgandanPrisoner.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A woman prisoner who is also fighting cancer with no treatment. <br />
The vast majority of women in prison are held unjustly, <br />
often as the scapegoat for another. Photo by Bruk Marsh.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="MsoNormal">
How can I convey the countless
conversations I had with men and women from the other side of the globe who
were just as surprised as I was at how similar we are when we look beyond common
perceptions and view each other with the eyes of the soul? Of the shared grief
and joy. The same hopes and dreams.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
How can I express what went
through my mind when a child asked me for a half-empty water bottle to take
home because even when surrounded by water, good water can be hard to come by
for so many? Or when women brought me a plate overflowing with food they’d
carefully spent the day preparing and wondering if what I was being offered was
worth a week of their own refreshment?</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhGp3ku-xPyN8kpQQuWJEWQ0CxawvQt4R23RIWUDbDyNCPddI84fev8fPn1asIjHPA-c-x_ClHF5JbYy0gQwCisxWCLJCRvips-3XHvwVBNbRMd5wjPrSIUeHCozDuyJVmyLcyGlsg9ciaY/s1600/UgandaRainStorm.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="281" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhGp3ku-xPyN8kpQQuWJEWQ0CxawvQt4R23RIWUDbDyNCPddI84fev8fPn1asIjHPA-c-x_ClHF5JbYy0gQwCisxWCLJCRvips-3XHvwVBNbRMd5wjPrSIUeHCozDuyJVmyLcyGlsg9ciaY/s320/UgandaRainStorm.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Storms are sudden and severe. This was after only a few minutes of rain. <br />
Twenty minutes after the storm ended, the water was gone.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="MsoNormal">
And the sounds! The morning and
evening calls to prayer. The way the wind whipped across the countryside,
bringing with it rain and thunder so monstrous in volume one could shout in her
neighbor’s ear and still not be heard. The children shrieking “Muzungu!” and
parading before the cameras, all begging to be seen, to be touched, to be
known.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi1Rdyx8DqVgWtr4teh9riEBefTso65bpvapDp0I1cScVn-Y0e60Fo8HMJCxYp7ZQ5NAz_byX0mhR29_iHfFbg6cbi1d809blf45a6lN1QsjCRWNmwJWpsEBGSXiAoiDmjVFXBQYIh4gG9D/s1600/UgandanOrphanage.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi1Rdyx8DqVgWtr4teh9riEBefTso65bpvapDp0I1cScVn-Y0e60Fo8HMJCxYp7ZQ5NAz_byX0mhR29_iHfFbg6cbi1d809blf45a6lN1QsjCRWNmwJWpsEBGSXiAoiDmjVFXBQYIh4gG9D/s400/UgandanOrphanage.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Afternoon at a Children's home spent playing games and singing songs. Photo by Bruk Marsh.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="MsoNormal">
When people ask me, “What was your favorite part?” how do I pick a single moment? And how do
I tell them that as thankful, blessed, and proud as I am to be American, I feel as if I’m actually a stranger
here and that my home is in that little village in Uganda where I know there
are a score of people anxiously watching for my return?</div>
<!--EndFragment-->Jennifer E. Lindsayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06168765929321104438noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4783074853852307471.post-69713117933633236772012-10-17T09:36:00.000-07:002012-10-17T09:36:06.258-07:00Changing scenery. Changing perspective. <!--[if gte mso 9]><xml>
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<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEglTIjYzG6ffseHkv313l7m2FemXhF2UzGLwx8PDOneBkGI0koqmLCTSEO4uukGZfVZ3ietmKRVHe_BaMhN4PoV6KscOjOdkns1hRpEzLqmjBTpJUaZqdBIsU6jgrr09IsFrjATjiCpAGBj/s1600/bigstock-Grim-Nature-1968863.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="255" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEglTIjYzG6ffseHkv313l7m2FemXhF2UzGLwx8PDOneBkGI0koqmLCTSEO4uukGZfVZ3ietmKRVHe_BaMhN4PoV6KscOjOdkns1hRpEzLqmjBTpJUaZqdBIsU6jgrr09IsFrjATjiCpAGBj/s400/bigstock-Grim-Nature-1968863.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman";">Change has come
again. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman";">Watery gray mist
swirls past my windowpane as trees huddle and are slowly striped of their pride
and glory. No birds dart from their branches this morning, nor do the deer
shelter in the shade.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman";">It’s as if the
natural world has let out a sigh after a long day’s work and is slowly,
carefully disrobing, relaxing, and preparing for a long, well-deserved rest.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman";">Summer is
finished. And so is my time at the lodge. Today I turn in my uniform and pick
up my last paycheck. There will be no more rising before dawn to greet the
bleary-eyed tourist with fresh perked coffee. No more jokes with the cook. No
more laughs with housekeeping.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman";">Unlike the scene
outside my window though I’m not winding down. In fact, I’m ramping up.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman";">Fall is my
favorite time of year for various reasons. While the calendar says a year is
coming to an end, I see it as the beginning. It’s most likely because that’s
when school starts and new lessons are learned, but I like to think the Bilbo,
Frodo, and Sam played a part is shaping that point of view.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<h2>
<span style="color: orange; font-family: "Times New Roman";">The travel bug
is always strongest for me in the fall.</span></h2>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman";">I don’t want to
sit still. I want to climb mountains just to see what’s on the other side of
the valley. I want to drive long distances just so I can smell the earthy perfumes
of new towns. I want to listen to conversations I don’t understand. I want to
touch people I have never known.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman";">This fall I get
to do just that. And I’m going farther than I’ve ever gone before. Uganda.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman";">It had initially
been my intention to blog from there, but after some careful consideration I
decided I’m taking my journal, pens, and a camera. I’m leaving the laptop at
home. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman";">It’s not because
I’m scared of damage or theft, rather it’s because I want to be fully present as I serve
alongside the people there and I can’t do that if I spend half my time planning
what I’m going to write next.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<h2>
<span style="color: orange; font-family: "Times New Roman";">A wise man once
said, “There’s a time and a season for everything… A time to plant and a time
to harvest.”</span></h2>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman";">It’s nearing the
end of our season of harvest here in the States, but there’s plenty of time to
plant a few extra “seeds” of ideas. This time of year, I end up with ideas of
plenty. I look forward to sharing whichever ones end up sprouting when I return
home in mid-November.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-family: Times; mso-bidi-font-size: 16.0pt;">Tenna' ento lye omenta, aa' menealle nauva calen
ar' malta. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-family: Times; mso-bidi-font-size: 16.0pt;">(Until we next meet, may your ways be green and
golden.)</span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman";"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<!--EndFragment-->Jennifer E. Lindsayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06168765929321104438noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4783074853852307471.post-32540523308559901672012-10-13T09:23:00.000-07:002012-10-13T12:28:34.891-07:00Our choice: Rise to greatness or wallow in mediocrity<!--[if gte mso 9]><xml>
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<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<span style="color: orange;">“It is in the nature of man to rise to greatness if
greatness is expected of him.”
—John Steinbeck</span></blockquote>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
These words greet me twice a week as I prepare to push
myself in physical therapy. Though a lot of energy is going into keeping track
of reps, making sure each of my muscles are in proper alignment, and focusing
on breaking past the mental block of anticipated pain, this quote still finds
room to rattle away in my brain; as do all the other inspirational quotes and
pictures of world-famous athletes surrounding me.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
This week I happened to look at my bookshelf after returning
home and realized Steinbeck had it right. Each story I cherish begins with ordinary people who became heroes because they recognized there was something
they had to do, and that the fate of their world depended on it. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Bilbo Baggins chose to join a quest so quickly he forgot his
hat and handkerchief at home. He went head to head with a dragon and lived to
tell of it. His nephew decided to take on the task of destroying the ring Bilbo
“won” in a game of riddles. He lost more than his finger, but more than his life was saved.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Pastor Dedrick Bonhoeffer set aside his life in order to
stand opposed to the evil he saw coming out of the leadership of the Third
Reich. He was executed just before the Allies freed Germany, but his life continues to inspire and the writings he never “perfected” impact countless lives each year.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
And little Hellen Keller learned she didn’t have to have
sight to see or ears to hear. Instead, with a little help from Anne Sullivan, she found a way to live vibrantly rather than
wallow forever in the dungeon of “Life’s not fair.” And our world is a better
place because of it.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Whether real or created, each of the individuals represented
on my shelves captured my attention and admiration because they chose the path
of the impossible, recognizing there was no other way to move forward in their
lives.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
That’s when it occurred to me: If it’s in the nature of man
to rise to greatness when greatness is expected, then the reverse is also true.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<h2>
<span style="color: orange;">It is in our nature to wallow in mediocrity if mediocrity is
all that is required of us. </span></h2>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I’m not sure why it is that way, but so many of us, myself
included, can be trapped into believing we have nothing of value to offer the
world. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
We’re not educated enough. Not attractive enough. Not driven
enough. Not bold enough. Not strong enough….</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
And so like John Watson at the beginning of the BBC pilot of
“Sherlock,” we sit in a chair and sullenly state, “Nothing ever happens to me.”
Little do we understand that is only true so long as we allow it to be.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Is there an opportunity waiting on your doorstep today? Is a
little choice knocking that has to potential to become a great adventure? Let’s
stop hiding in the pantry chewing on the food of discontentment and mediocrity
and throw the door wide open!</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Yes, the road to greatness is filled with hurdles, hurts,
trials, and disappointments. But there is a payoff at the end. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
On the other hand, the cupboard of mediocrity houses only
discouragement and regret.</div>
<!--EndFragment-->Jennifer E. Lindsayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06168765929321104438noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4783074853852307471.post-45643459062030248372012-09-24T20:10:00.001-07:002012-09-24T20:10:59.835-07:00Eureka! Finding fullness in a moment of emptiness<!--[if gte mso 9]><xml>
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<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">History tells a tale of how the Greek scholar Archimedes was
stymied by the problem of determining if a goldsmith had cheated the king with
a crown made supposedly with only the gold the monarch had provided. Like many of
us, he took his quandary with him into the bath and our understanding of volume
and density changed forever that day.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">I had a similar moment a couple of weeks ago. Although the
situation did involve water, it didn’t take place in the bathtub. And I didn’t
run through the streets naked, yelling at the top of my lungs afterwards. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<h2>
<span style="color: orange;">
The Tale of the Water Pitcher</span></h2>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQXo_qSHx6nAOX2ez5H4LgCjY7eA0ie-Ia_id_GrtQqiLSNhjsR_c3ZsLpi7reNIMVrj-4Niy0R0zLqfzAKF8w94jwEISgyvlbWaDrJPnwULMlywfvISx2r3xN5YdMPCChLk2W82dMuMnw/s1600/bigstock-Pouring-Water--21064949.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQXo_qSHx6nAOX2ez5H4LgCjY7eA0ie-Ia_id_GrtQqiLSNhjsR_c3ZsLpi7reNIMVrj-4Niy0R0zLqfzAKF8w94jwEISgyvlbWaDrJPnwULMlywfvISx2r3xN5YdMPCChLk2W82dMuMnw/s400/bigstock-Pouring-Water--21064949.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">©2011 gjphotography via Bigstock Photo</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">I’ve always liked checklists for the simple reason that I love
crossing things off. It allows me to look back and see all I’ve accomplished in
a day. At the lodge, I cross off the same items every day. One of those items
is filling water goblets and placing them out for the morning guests. I’ve
determined that for every ten glasses I fill maybe one is emptied. The rest go
untouched. Why drink water when you have coffee, tea, and juice available?</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Because of this, I end up dumping out and washing dozens of cups
that have only my fingerprints on them.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">On this particular day I had over thirty guests coming to
breakfast and the pitcher I had been given to use on my first day filled four
glasses at most. Having sprained my knee recently I was acutely aware of how
much walking I was doing refilling water pitchers every morning.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">That’s when I remembered seeing a large stainless steel
pitcher hidden on the back of one of the shelves in the kitchen.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Based on its size I guessed I could fill all of my cups with
only two trips back to the sink and I marveled at my brilliance. Little did I
know I was about to have an object lesson play out before me that has stuck
with me ever since.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">I loaded my tray with the first ten water goblets, filled
them with ice, and then added the water. A glance in my pitcher showed that I
could easily fill another five to ten more, so I set out the glasses, came back
to my station and started again. After filling the next set, I looked in the
pitcher again expecting it would be time to refill it. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">There was still a quarter of a pitcher of water left.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">I was stunned and as I set out my second load I wondered how
many more glasses I was going to get out of that one pitcher.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">One. Two. Three…Seven…Eight…Nine….</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Each time I poured I looked inside to check the water level
and could not believe there was still something inside. And with each filled
glass I became more and more excited.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<h2>
<span style="color: orange;">
It’s in our lowest moments that our biggest blessings are usually found.</span></h2>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">I was reminded of the widow who had only a handful of flour
and a little oil when Elijah approached her and asked for some bread, and how
that handful of food was replenished every day until the end of the famine (1
Kings 17).</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">I recalled another impoverished widow whose sons were about to
be taken from her to cover her debts. Elisha told her to gather as many pots as
she could find then fill them with what oil she had in her one little jar. The
oil didn’t run out until she had filled every single jar, and so her family was
saved (2 Kings 4).</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">And then I remembered a little boy in a crowd of five
thousand who stepped forward to share his two meager fish and five tiny barley
loaves, and whose gift resulted in enough leftovers to fill twelve baskets
(Matthew 14).</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">That’s when it hit me—I was the pitcher.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">I’d been feeling so drained that I wondered how on earth I
could be of any encouragement to others and yet, when I considered the last
year, I realized I had never witnessed so many moments of fullness coming out
of the supposed emptiness in my life.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">And that right there was the catch.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
<h2>
<span style="color: orange; font-family: inherit;">Pitchers don’t fill
themselves. They are filled by a main source so that they in turn can fill
other vessels. </span></h2>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">The same is true of my life. I will never find fulfillment
in myself. I have to tap into the Life Source. It’s from that connection
abundance flows out of my life and into others (John 4:14). </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Like the individuals above, it took a
moment of near emptiness to realize just how incredibly blessed my life really
is. I don’t have to sit waiting for the right opportunity to come around to
make a difference in my world. I can be that difference now. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">I’ve come to the conclusion that if what I write or do each
day affects only one life, the effort is more than worth it. Just as a pitcher
can’t fulfill its purpose by sitting on a shelf, neither can I. And like the
pitcher, I don’t have to be overflowing to fill a single glass. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span>
<h2>
<span style="color: orange; font-family: inherit;">A little bit
goes a long way.</span></h2>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">By the time I’d set out all the water goblets I had enough
left over to fill three more, and still there were a few drops left at the
bottom of that pitcher. I had all I needed for the day, plus some!</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">So there you have it. My Eureka moment won’t go down in
history for changing the world of mathematics, and it may never solve any
global problems, but it did improve my perspective.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">P.S. To this day, I’ve never been able to fill as many water
goblets as I did that morning. But that doesn’t mean I’ve quit trying!</span></div>
<!--EndFragment-->Jennifer E. Lindsayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06168765929321104438noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4783074853852307471.post-87371287389037672952012-09-21T21:26:00.000-07:002012-09-24T20:12:12.013-07:00The Crooked Tree: How one thought touched another's life<!--[if gte mso 9]><xml>
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<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<h2>
<span style="color: orange; font-family: inherit;">How can one little thought touch a stranger's life?</span></h2>
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">The morning was
fresh, the air laden with a rich spice that only the wilderness can offer: an
atmosphere free of oil, soot, and modern-day strife. The coffee perked in
anticipation, waiting to be sipped. French toast begged to be drowned in pure
maple sweetness.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">And the first of
my guests arrived.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">A husband and
wife from Alabama traveling to the Pacific Northwest for the first time in
their life, ready to embark on their inaugural fly fishing expedition on the
Rogue.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">While the rest
of the world slept, we spoke in hushed voices. Over the course of a few
minutes discovered we a couple things in common, one being a love for the
written word. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhzyPQpHoSBPKxq30oCrXatEfA9Ss-giaj501KEGJfen9D7JD_KNe2eP6T9GqKOtepkQ43xgJwYVf0ICO1HxCoggKKHV8e7_BBvnP3tX8w2jdRB_39UMPRmQ23T12wh49syGSbTDx_UWtv8/s1600/TheCrookedTree.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhzyPQpHoSBPKxq30oCrXatEfA9Ss-giaj501KEGJfen9D7JD_KNe2eP6T9GqKOtepkQ43xgJwYVf0ICO1HxCoggKKHV8e7_BBvnP3tX8w2jdRB_39UMPRmQ23T12wh49syGSbTDx_UWtv8/s320/TheCrookedTree.JPG" width="236" /></span></a><span style="font-family: inherit;">Weeks have
passed since then, and I had all but forgotten that pre-dawn chat…<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">…until today when I received notification from the post office that I had a package
waiting. After standing in line a few minutes, the post master brought me a large,
yellow envelope from a Jeff Barganier. The name didn’t register and I walked
back to my car perplexed. Why would a stranger send me something?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">The moment I
slit open the package the dam burst and the memories flooded into place.
(Including the moment he asked if he could have my mailing address to send me a
little something.) In my hands I held a hardbound book with beautiful artwork
on the cover beneath a simple title: <i><a href="http://www.xlibrispublishing.co.uk/bookstore/bookdisplay.aspx?bookid=73625" target="_blank">The Crooked Tree</a></i>.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">The story within
the pages proved to be just as simple, but the take-away was incredibly rich
and powerful.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><i>The Crooked Tree</i> is a tale about a little seedling beside
a stream that initially goes ignored by the entire forest, but as he grows all he
wants is to become as big and mighty as his father, the Hickory on the Hill.
Then comes the storm that knocks the little tree down. Mangled and twisted, he
becomes the butt of all the other trees’ jokes and he despairs of ever having
any value. And that’s when everything changes.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br />
<h2>
<span style="color: orange;">
A thought changes a life when it's nurtured, allowed to mature, and then is released into the world.</span></h2>
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Dave Lambert
once wrote, “Nonfiction communicates truth to the intellect, through logical
thought. Fiction communicates truth to the heart, through emotion.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><i>The Crooked Tree</i> does exactly that. As I turned each page
I felt a stirring inside and tears welled up. I didn’t just identify with the
little tree, for a few minutes I was the little tree. And when I closed the
back cover I felt inspired, ready to tackle every obstacle the world keeps
knocking across my path.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">That’s what
writing should do. Fill the reader with a desire to do more, be more, and then
challenge her not just to <i>want</i> it,
but to <i>act </i>upon that desire.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">So as I sit here
with my laptop after dark, with a panting pup at my feet, the first mug of hot
apple cider of the season by my chair, and a chill autumn breeze playing a mournful
tune in the wind chimes, I find myself feeling incredibly encouraged and immensely
grateful for the day Jeff went for a walk in the woods and discovered something that made him ask the question, “Lord, how did this tree come to be so crooked?”
<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">And even more thankful for the morning I spent with Jeff and his wife by the river. </span><span style="font-family: Times New Roman;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<!--EndFragment-->Jennifer E. Lindsayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06168765929321104438noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4783074853852307471.post-36347803508360322752012-09-04T12:01:00.001-07:002012-09-24T20:12:59.450-07:00Writing advice from a Sports Trainer<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhW5BUBhuJtH5fjPgRj_enrCn404uNuMnAMEY_y-7PuPnpAw6fV5tHPEgExiHYjs_Oj7lPvH6Mf066DRYZSaaNqp5qXwzmBR5LzfKg2pCw2PzAJLgyaKLeLom3dPpJAq-jywi53FRpU0H53/s1600/Athlete2_mmagallan.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhW5BUBhuJtH5fjPgRj_enrCn404uNuMnAMEY_y-7PuPnpAw6fV5tHPEgExiHYjs_Oj7lPvH6Mf066DRYZSaaNqp5qXwzmBR5LzfKg2pCw2PzAJLgyaKLeLom3dPpJAq-jywi53FRpU0H53/s320/Athlete2_mmagallan.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Do what you have to do to eat. But if you want to be a writer you have to write.<br />
Photo ©2008 MMagallan via Stock.Xchng</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
One of the hazards (or perks, depending on how you look at it) of working in the service industry is overhearing bits and pieces of guests' conversations. I've picked up conflicting advice on dating, overheard several heated political debates, and have tried to put out of my mind images from sentences I hope never to hear uttered again.<br />
<br />
Recently a group of a hundred football players came through. They'd just won their first game of the season against one of our local high schools and most of them were spending the day on the river. After splitting my morning between my breakfast duties and driving shuttles I finally had a chance to clean the lodge.<br />
<br />
Usually by this time of day everyone has passed through onto their morning activities and I'm able get through my daily checklist without feeling like I'm underfoot, but on this particular day the sports commentary coming from the TV above the mantlepiece was being ignored by a student who skipped the raft trip and was instead sitting enthralled in the tale of his chaperone.<br />
<br />
I didn't get to hear much, but from what I did I learned that the man came from East St. Louis. Having spent some time volunteering there as part of an after-school program during my freshman year of college I had no trouble setting the scene. And like that part of town, it wasn't pretty. It was, however, incredibly intriguing and I found myself working a little slower as the mentor shared about a life that seemed straight out of a Hollywood film. As I walked away with my cleaning supplies I found myself wondering how he had found himself here in Oregon and what made his life so drastically different from some of his family members.<br />
<br />
Later on while I was preparing the deck for lunch he came out and struck up a conversation with me. It turns out he's a sports trainer and he works with a lot of the players in his community (both amateur and professional). We started out talking about one of the players who was severely injured in the game the night before. While his teammates were trying to enjoy their victory, he was undergoing surgery. As the captain of three different sports (and he's only a junior this year), he's well loved and respected by his peers. According to the trainer, even if the doctor said he'd never play a sport again, this young man would be the one to prove him wrong. But even if he didn't, he'd do all right for himself. He's just that sort of kid.<br />
<br />
There was no mistaking the admiration the trainer had for this young man, and our conversation eventually led into him talking with me about his own journey. By the world's standards he should have been another statistic. Instead he took on the world, put himself through college, started a business that while successful wasn't what he was passionate about, so he sold it and started up his training organization and has never looked back, even when the going was tough. He was living his dream and he couldn't be happier.<br />
<br />
<h2>
<span style="color: orange;">
That's when he asked about me. </span></h2>
<br />
For the first time in my life I boldly said I'm a writer. I told him how it wasn't what I first set out to do when I started college, but it's what I love. We talked about college, about working with youth, and about what I've been doing this past year. I shared a little about my book and my roughly sketched-out plans for the future.<br />
<br />
As I spoke he shook his head and smiled.<br />
<br />
"You know what? You're the real thing," he told me. "Don't stop. You keep writing. Don't let anything or anyone hold you back. Do what you have to do to make ends meet right now, but when you get home you make sure you write."<br />
<br />
I don't know what encouraged me more, the fact that he called me the "Real thing" or that he took the time to have a real conversation with me. I've gotten so used to the superficial chats with guests that I never would have expected such a huge motivational boost from a complete stranger. In my mind I was just a working grunt. In his mind, I was one of his players who just needed a shove in the right direction.<br />
<br />
It was a much needed reminder that my dreams are important, that work doesn't define an individual, and success is rarely what the world describes it as. I'm not the only writer who is working an odd job to put food on the table, so there is no need to feel defensive about it. Unless I use it as an excuse to do anything but write, that is.<br />
<br />
Maybe it was his passion that lent me the gumption I needed. Or maybe he just helped me find my own inner fire again. Whatever the case, it was exactly what I needed when I needed it.<br />
<br />
I'm still exhausted when I get home from work every day, but now I'm grabbing my laptop or notebook and writing my heart out before I pass out.<br />
<br />
<br />Jennifer E. Lindsayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06168765929321104438noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4783074853852307471.post-50907484488008360402012-08-29T12:22:00.000-07:002012-09-24T20:16:54.653-07:00Life from the Other Side of the Desk<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg0YdHey1Jw4WEdrWDdGvmapoguO5GJuEi43DPKD55CDHnFCKU5OcIhFCfqXXt3U2cetI0V6vPQGzWw9tvol5oxL1HZ2-3FpoFABBW_IhdiQQ-KjdS7WdhvQo4Nj9OB9Il8y37m9C76UWHI/s1600/1136536_10617428.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg0YdHey1Jw4WEdrWDdGvmapoguO5GJuEi43DPKD55CDHnFCKU5OcIhFCfqXXt3U2cetI0V6vPQGzWw9tvol5oxL1HZ2-3FpoFABBW_IhdiQQ-KjdS7WdhvQo4Nj9OB9Il8y37m9C76UWHI/s320/1136536_10617428.jpg" width="306" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Photo ©2009 NKZS via <a href="http://www.sxc.hu/photo/1136536">stock.xchng</a></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><br /></span>
<!--?xml version="1.0" encoding="UTF-8"?-->
<br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">In order to survive for long in this world with any sense of security, you need to work. That's a given. That said, not all jobs are created equal. There are jobs that are seen as glamorous. Jobs that are viewed as ignoble. Work that we strive for. Work that is beneath us. Employment that provides for all our needs. Employment that barely allows us to scrape by.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 0px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 0px; -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: none; -webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; -webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; border-collapse: separate; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; line-height: normal; orphans: 2; text-align: -webkit-auto; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; widows: 2; word-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">There is one constant I've come to recognize about how we view the work we do: with a few exceptions, one way or another, we're always looking for something better. Something that will allow us to do what we want, when we want, how we want.</span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 0px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 0px; -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: none; -webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; -webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; border-collapse: separate; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; line-height: normal; orphans: 2; text-align: -webkit-auto; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; widows: 2; word-spacing: 0px;"><br /></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 0px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 0px; -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: none; -webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; -webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; border-collapse: separate; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; line-height: normal; orphans: 2; text-align: -webkit-auto; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; widows: 2; word-spacing: 0px;">Up until a year ago I spent my days in an editor's chair. I enjoyed the work, but I wasn't always a fan of the content or the long hours it required. Because I worked in the magazine industry my year was planned out 12 months in advance. I lived by the deadline, wished I had more free time at my disposal to write what I wanted, and joked about what it would be like to work a couple "easy" jobs that allowed me to interact more with real people on a daily basis (for the sake of having more material to work with).</span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 0px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 0px; -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: none; -webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; -webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; border-collapse: separate; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; line-height: normal; orphans: 2; text-align: -webkit-auto; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; widows: 2; word-spacing: 0px;"><br /></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 0px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 0px; -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: none; -webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; -webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; border-collapse: separate; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; line-height: normal; orphans: 2; text-align: -webkit-auto; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; widows: 2; word-spacing: 0px;">This year, I've gotten to experience just that. After finding myself unemployed I had plenty of time to write while I looked for full-time employment, which I believed despite depressing job reports wouldn't take long. Nine months later, I'm still looking. In the meantime, I've had the opportunity to work a variety of temporary jobs which were by no means easy, and have opened my eyes to more than I can share in a single blog post. Here are a few highlights and insights:</span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 0px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 0px; -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: none; -webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; -webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; border-collapse: separate; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; line-height: normal; orphans: 2; text-align: -webkit-auto; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; widows: 2; word-spacing: 0px;"><br /></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 0px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 0px; -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: none; -webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; -webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; border-collapse: separate; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; line-height: normal; orphans: 2; text-align: -webkit-auto; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; widows: 2; word-spacing: 0px;">I was a caregiver for two months for a family in which the husband was diagnosed with terminal liver failure the week after his wife was ran over by a Mack Truck (not even kidding!). While his wife was in the hospital undergoing nine weeks of treatments and surgeries to repair the leg tissue damage, I learned how to clean colostomy and catheter bags. I feed and tried to encourage. I fought a losing battle with dangerously high fevers from dusk to dawn. I administered enough meds to tranquilize a blue whale and still could see pain in his features. After he passed and his wife was finally able to return home, I learned how to care for someone still going through skin grafting proceedures. But mostly I was there for company during the long, lonely nights.</span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 0px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 0px; -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: none; -webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; -webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; border-collapse: separate; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; line-height: normal; orphans: 2; text-align: -webkit-auto; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; widows: 2; word-spacing: 0px;"><br /></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 0px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 0px; -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: none; -webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; -webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; border-collapse: separate; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; line-height: normal; orphans: 2; text-align: -webkit-auto; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; widows: 2; word-spacing: 0px;">More recently I've been employed at a local seasonal lodge where I serve breakfast to guests getting ready to take multi-day trips down the wild and scenic Rogue River. I wash dishes, sweep, dust, scrub toilets, wipe down chairs, and show up the next morning before dawn to do it all over again. Before now, I never knew how much one's feet could swell and hurt by the end of an 8-hour shift. I never knew how frustrating it could be to be among people from across the nation and yet be practically invisible. And I never understood the concept of "working to reach the weekend" until now.</span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 0px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 0px; -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: none; -webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; -webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; border-collapse: separate; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; line-height: normal; orphans: 2; text-align: -webkit-auto; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; widows: 2; word-spacing: 0px;"><br /></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 0px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 0px; -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: none; -webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; -webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; border-collapse: separate; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; line-height: normal; orphans: 2; text-align: -webkit-auto; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; widows: 2; word-spacing: 0px;">In all honesty, I doubt I've written any more than I did before. Instead, I've come to realize that it's not my situation that determines whether I write or not. It's my choices. I choose to come home and take a much needed nap. I choose to watch an extra hour of television with a family member or get coffee with a friend. I opt to surf the web instead of focusing on the blinking curser in front of me. And I've come to recognize that the idea of something better will always be just that — an idea — unless I actively work towards my goals. I can complain about my circumstances all I want, but in the end the only one holding me back right now is me.</span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 0px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 0px; -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: none; -webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; -webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; border-collapse: separate; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; line-height: normal; orphans: 2; text-align: -webkit-auto; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; widows: 2; word-spacing: 0px;"><br /></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 0px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 0px; -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: none; -webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; -webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; border-collapse: separate; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; line-height: normal; orphans: 2; text-align: -webkit-auto; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; widows: 2; word-spacing: 0px;">Most importantly, however, like an actress who fully immerses herself in a certain lifestyle in order to better fill a role, I've come out with a better understanding of not just who I am, but of who others are. Each life has value. Each life is vitally important. And each life deserves respect, especially those who work the ignoble jobs.</span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 0px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 0px; -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: none; -webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; -webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; border-collapse: separate; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; line-height: normal; orphans: 2; text-align: -webkit-auto; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; widows: 2; word-spacing: 0px;"><br /></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 0px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 0px; -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: none; -webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; -webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; border-collapse: separate; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; line-height: normal; orphans: 2; text-align: -webkit-auto; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; widows: 2; word-spacing: 0px;">This year's journey may not have been what I initially envisioned it would be, but because of it I can empathize with more of my neighbors instead of just sympathize. Though not perfectly clear, I have a better understanding of certain aspects of life and as a result when I sit down to write I will be able to portray my characters with the integrity and honor they deserve regardless of where society places them on the scale of success.</span></span><br />
<div>
<div>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 0px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 0px; -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: none; -webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; -webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; border-collapse: separate; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: small; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; line-height: normal; orphans: 2; text-align: -webkit-auto; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; widows: 2; word-spacing: 0px;"><br /></span></div>
</div>
Jennifer E. Lindsayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06168765929321104438noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4783074853852307471.post-43595909485782492952012-08-14T06:00:00.000-07:002012-08-14T06:12:09.836-07:003 Reasons Why You Need a Writing Support Team<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh4mPWOSV6dfHNR2zppti4nb_v9p1DdCdwU_HF8_mgQGAzmxwnxBSYsHeO3YlUsRM7wutiWIPOtxUPPQcG_JRMoA8xPHOP9TRBu88Vp-4o9YXNtL9xImIzT68XcAfXmOyVrah6g-vcJ2Ee6/s1600/TwoWritersHammingitup.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh4mPWOSV6dfHNR2zppti4nb_v9p1DdCdwU_HF8_mgQGAzmxwnxBSYsHeO3YlUsRM7wutiWIPOtxUPPQcG_JRMoA8xPHOP9TRBu88Vp-4o9YXNtL9xImIzT68XcAfXmOyVrah6g-vcJ2Ee6/s320/TwoWritersHammingitup.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Having a writing partner doesn't just keep you on track, it's a lot of fun as well!</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<div style="font-family: Arial;">
Last week I wrote about the importance of having a core group of writers to help combat issues with <a href="http://writerswellspring.blogspot.com/2012/08/its-easy-to-forget-as-writers-that-we.html" target="_blank">Writers Isolation</a>. This week I'd like to talk about accountability partners. Whether found in the form of a critique group, a single friend you meet up with regularly for "coffee dates," or through an online forum, I've discovered three vital reasons for having a writing support team:</div>
<div style="font-family: Arial;">
<div>
<br /></div>
<h3>
Having a writing support team keeps you focused</h3>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
I have a mind that wanders worse than a puppy set loose in a 5-acre fenceless field. I stare at the sky. I stare at the grass. I think lots of thoughts. I have lots of ideas I want to do something with, and sometimes I get so wrapped up in the planning stage it kills my productivity. I've written in the past that I found an accountability partner in my friend Xochi; we share in what's happening in nearly every aspect of our lives, but most importantly we know we can safely confide in each other about our writing ups and downs.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
One of the things I love the most about our friendship is that when she reads through my work she's not afraid to lovingly call me out when I meander down a rabbit trail. Without telling me what to do to fix it she'll point out where I got off track, suggest passages to reconsider, and offer up a couple tips that, after I mull them over a bit, get me moving in the right direction again.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<h3>
Having a writing support team keeps you moving forward</h3>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Ultimately, the only person responsible for getting you to sit down and finish what you've started is yourself, but it sure helps to have someone to bounce ideas off of — and when necessary, keep you on task. Xochi and I try to set aside some time every week to bring each other up to speed about what's going on. Her first question to me is always the same: How's the book project coming? How's the blog?<br />
<br /></div>
<div>
We both understand that life gets pretty hectic at times. This past year I've worked a number of odd jobs doing everything from leading a middle school and high school youth group, caregiving, and more recently working the breakfast shift and helping with housekeeping duties at a local river lodge to make ends meet. Xochi's a wife, the mother of a teenaged boy, and a student working towards her Masters. There are days we forget we're both writers as well, and if we want to continue being writers, we have to write.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<h3>
Having a writing support team challenges you as an individual</h3>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
I tend to hover on the more introverted side of the personality spectrum, which unfortunately means I hold back in my writing as well. Xochi is the opposite. Since I've started working with her I've found a new boldness that has gone beyond writing and bled into other aspects of my life as well. It was because of her encouragement that I started looking into the <a href="http://mounthermon.org/adult/professionals/writers-conference" target="_blank">Mount Hermon Christian Writer's Conference</a> last winter (and <a href="http://writerswellspring.blogspot.com/2012/04/writers-conference-and-confirmation.html" target="_blank">thanks to my sister</a>, I was able to attend this past spring). With a little tough love from Xochi (and many others) I stepped out of my comfort zone and pitched my book to both an editor and an agent while I was there. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Later, when I didn't think I had it in me to sit at my desk every day to finish the aforementioned book re-write and proposal for the editor and agent, Xochi was there with little care packages, lots of encouraging words, and when needed, some brutally honest ones as well. I'm still waiting to hear back on my proposals, but Xochi has been keeping me motivated to continue working on new projects (and hold onto my sanity) in the meantime.</div>
<div>
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<i>What does your writing support group look like? And if you haven't found one yet, what prevents you from reaching out to someone? </i></div>
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Jennifer E. Lindsayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06168765929321104438noreply@blogger.com0