Author, Wife, Busy Mom, A Woman after God's Heart.

Tag: amwriting (Page 6 of 6)

The Journey of a Catholic Writer

Writer1

Once in a while an opportunity comes along and as much as it is difficult to convey an emotion of expression, you do it anyway. I learned long ago to take a risk, and leave it all on the table. Because in the end, it’s not what you take with you, it’s what you leave behind – what you did, but most importantly, how you treated others.

It may be April 1st., but it isn’t an April Fools joke. I am proud of my Catholic-Christian faith and I am more than humbled and honored to share my story as a Catholic writer through the Christ for Hope Magazine, which is part of the Diocese of Joliet.

Enjoy the story. I would love your feedback. Please leave a comment.

http://faithdigital.org/joliet/JOL0416/#?page=16

 

Until next time…

Be well. Be safe. Be happy.

 

 

The Spoof on Querying Agents

querying agents

Google, “How to query agents,” “Query agents,” “How to write queries,” and you’ll find over eight million results available. Not to mention the number of books on query writing you can find at your local library.

Querying agents is a tough process. I’m totally for it. Having been rejected years ago, over one hundred times by agents/publishers with my first novel, Love’s Perfect Surrender, and then independently publishing it myself; I value and believe in separating the slush pile from the “diamonds in the rough”.

Writing a book is hard enough. Everyone says they want to write a book, but it takes discipline to weave a storyline, a good storyline. But then, once that is complete, you have to sell your concept to agents/publishers, whom have tastes and desires of their own, and who then must sell your storyline to those who will put it in print.

So you see, I’ve come to the realization that querying agents is like… “speed-dating. The prospects are endless, but the best match can only occur if there is a connection, an attraction to the storyline, and the desire from both parties to commence a long-lasting relationship.”

But, unlike dating, hooking and breaking through to the right agent can be complicated.  It starts with knowing your genre. It used to be that there were only a few genres under Fiction, some include:

  • Westerns
  • Romance
  • Crime
  • Thriller
  • Horror
  • Fantasy
  • Religious
  • Self-Help
  • Erotica
  • Cookbooks
  • Sports

Today, there are sub-genres under practically every genre, such as:

  • Dystopian
  • Apocalyptic
  • Speculative
  • LGBT
  • Inspirational
  • Gothic
  • Paranormal
  • Historical

And what about the categories of writing:

  • Young Adult
  • New Adult
  • Middle-Grade
  • Adult
  • Childrens

And then, there are:

  • Chapter books
  • Picture books
  • Comic books

The lists go on…So, know the genre you’re writing. Click here for a listing of genres.

And then, pay attention to the specific writing requirements from the agents/publishers that you are querying. They can ask for any of the following, and more…

  • First five pages of a manuscript,
  • First ten pages of a manuscript,
  • First three chapters of a manuscript,
  • Synopsis,
  • Full Synopsis (with spoiler) and the first fifty pages,
  • Last three chapters (yes, I’ve seen this),
  • An outline listing all the chapters, including,
  • Chapter descriptions,
  • Your Bio,
  • Audience appeal,
  • Comparable books,
  • Book sales from previous books,
  • And finally, how you plan on marketing your book.

Though, none of this should surprise anyone. It’s what’s needed for the agents to make the right decision on whether to dump your query in a slush pile, or take a chance on your story. It’s cut throat, yes, but there are more books out there than there are people reading them. The market is saturated enough, and there needs to be filters. And, in an age where there are sites that you can post your writings, blogging, and companies that offer self-publishing, we are constantly inundated with words. Lots of words…

So, how does one land an agent?

  • Careful preparation on your end; the writer,
  • Speed-dating – querying the right agents/publishers based on your writings,
  • A good dose of divine intervention.

Here are some other thoughts on the basic ingredients of getting noticed.

  1. Write the story. Not to fit a category or certain topic, but actually write it. From start to finish.
  2. Perfect the story. Hire an editor to have them review, cut it to shreds, and then revise and revise the story.
  3. Create the following:
    • Hook/Logline,
    • Short synopsis,
    • Long synopsis,
    • Book jacket content,
    • Chapter outline,
    • Character Tracking Grid (I do this with all my stories. It’s a listing of character names, their physical looks, and emotional temperaments.),
    • Determine themes within your story, or it may be one theme that resonates throughout.

These are for you to develop and polish. Later, you will have it ready to hand off when the agent/publisher requests it. Take your time, and…

  1. Study query writing, and write the best query you can.
  2. Research agents/publishers carefully. Review their submission guidelines. Send only to those that are compatible with your writing. Gosh, be selective. Don’t waste your time on those that will reject you right off the bat because you didn’t follow the guidelines.
  3. Rejection letters will come…Don’t let that deter you…Never give up.

As for me, I haven’t found my match/Romeo agent yet, but I continue querying. Below, is a sample of my query letter for my second novel, Make it Right; Make it Matter.

Take a read. Leave a comment. I would love your feedback.

____________________________________________________

Dear Mr./Ms. Agent/Publisher (Name of the agent),

I found your agency name through (This is important. Let the agent know where you found his/her agent information). According to your agency, I see you’re actively seeking Women’s fiction. Let me introduce you to my 83,000 word novel, Make it Right; Make it Matter. An alcohol-addicted mother of two who is spiraling in guilt and resentment; she must surrender, forgiving her past so not to jeopardize her future.

THE “MINI” SYNOPSIS

Thirty-six-year-old Amanda Reynolds thought she was happily married. She has a sweet, loving, successful husband, Ryan, two beautiful daughters, Emily and Rose, and a perfect, manicured home in a quaint suburb of Chicago. However, deep inside, Amanda is harboring a secret, a past no one knows about, with the help of alcohol and crave-producing foods. On one Memorial Day, as she watched a float carrying local Marines from their tour of duty in Iraq, buried memories come flooding back, memories of being abandoned by her mother, Louise, and witnessing the death of her older brother, Joshua. This causes Amanda to go on an alcoholic binge after being sober for four years. When she awakens later in a hospital and learns she drank herself into a stupor in front of her children, Amanda realizes she has to get clean once and for all, leaving Chicago in an attempt to slay the demons that have plagued her for so many years.

AUDIENCE APPEAL

Make it Right; Make it Matter will appeal to fans of Billy Coffey’s, “Snow Day”, David Baldacci’s, “Christmas Story”, Elizabeth Gilbert’s, “Eat, Pray, Love”, and the movie, “It’s a Wonderful Life”.

PREVIOUS PROMOTIONAL ACCOMPLISHMENTS

My first novel, Love’s Perfect Surrender, a Christian romance was published in May of 2014. The novel and ebook are available through Amazon and Barnes and Noble. Ebook only via Smashwords and Kobo.  My book appears on the shelves of six local libraries. I recently earned a 5 Star rating from ReadersFavorite.com. Click here for the latest review of the novel.

 WHAT I’M WORKING ON NOW

I will be independently publishing a middle-grade, short-story, fantasy fairytale, Petrella, the Gillian Princess, this summer. Click here and scroll down for a review of the book. I am a member of the Chicago Writers Association and a critique group called the Schaumburg Scribes .

Thank you for considering Make it Right; Make it Matter. I have included…(list the items requested per agent specification, i.e., in the body of the email, or in a separate document). I look forward to hearing from you should you decide Make it Right; Make it Matter is a story that is right for (add the name of the agency).

Sincerely,

Chiara Talluto

Author of “Love’s Perfect Surrender

An Affair with Words

affairwwords

No, I haven’t cheated on my husband. Well, maybe a short rendezvous.

What? You say.

Okay, I’ll admit it. I’ve had an affair—not with “whom,” but with “what”.

NOTE: Read at your own discretion.

Words. Yes, you’ve read correctly. I’ll say it again… Words. An affair with letters that consumed me, excited me, and then tore me to pieces. This all comes about because a few weeks ago, I finally finished editing and re-editing my second novel, Make it Right; Make it Matter. Eliminating almost 1, 700 words in the 83,000 word manuscript. Like a roller coaster, I returned, again and again. Frightened and nervous in the beginning; but elated and satisfied of the results at the end.

So, why do I put myself through this? The euphoria of creating something out of nothing is what drives me to continually perfect my craft.

It’s like this. A photographer takes a picture. This particular photograph has the potential of invoking thousands of images in one’s mind. On the other hand, a writer weaves a compelling story, taking that individual on an imaginative journey conjuring all sorts of emotions.

In an age of social media, however, where most everything is “words”. Sometimes, too many words numb our sensation to really feel. So don’t cheat.

Whether you Tango or do the Cha-Cha dance, speak truth in words, and carefully review what you wish to express because words are a “universal” visual means of communication.

Until next time…

Be well. Be safe. Be happy.

A Brave New Year

A brave new year.

A brave new year.

 

I’ve spent the first week of this month pondering my New Year’s resolution. Honestly, I haven’t had a resolution in God knows how long. I don’t keep them and it always ends up not reflecting what I intended at the time I made the resolution.

Two years ago, I incorporated a “New Word” of the year. Everyone was doing it and so I tried it too. You know what happened? Nothing. Six months later, I forgot the “Word”.

“Resolutions” and “Word of the Year” don’t work for me.

On recent afternoon while on Christmas break, my daughters begged me to go outside. They were bored of staying in. It was a cold day, so we bundled up and headed out. They wanted to romp around and make snow angels as well as play explorers on a mission. As I observed my kids, it dawned on me—my wish for 2016. They were living in the moment, exploring their surroundings, solving made-up problems, braving each step ahead of them with a curiosity to reach an intended goal—the other side of the driveway without getting eaten up by giant polar bears.

By taking one step at a time using a jump rope, two shovels, and one pail, they were deliberate and intentional with their decision-making process. Their comments and responses to my questions as to the “whys” and “how” they were going to make it to the other side—alive and not frozen in the deep snow where wolves and vultures would come and suck out their blood, was amazing. Children are so keen on finding simple solutions to difficult tasks.

Each of our so called “resolutions” and “one word(s)” should include all of what they experienced…for our whole year and every year after. It’s a lifestyle and mindset change. Taking a risk, and living the life of an adventurer because you just never know when wolves and vultures will deter you…

The Rainbow in the Clouds

www.chiaratalluto.com

www.chiaratalluto.com

“A joy that has been hidden will always resurface.”

Even before she stepped off the bus, I noticed her downcast eyes and slumped shoulders. The brown-eyed, double-hair-braided little girl trudged on the cold, wet sidewalk dragging her pink-colored UGGs.

I treaded cautiously toward my seven-year-old. My heart in a worry. She had either gotten into a fight with another child at school, or didn’t pass her spelling test that she was scheduled to have earlier in the day.

I exhaled loudly and met her at front of our house ready to embrace her with a loving mother’s hug, hoping to wash whatever she was feeling away. After all, it was my job to carry the sunshine even on those gloomy days.

However, before I even had a chance to open my arms, she jumped into me, tears streaming down her cheeks.

“She’s gone, Mommy. She’s gone,” she cried.

I was caught off guard. Who? “Who’s gone? What happened?”

Sniffling, she looked up at me. “Oh, Mommy. I told you already. Why don’t you listen to me when I talk?” She stomped away toward our door and turned. “Melissa, that’s who. She moved.”

The screen door slammed behind her. I straightened just as my neighbor walked on by with his daughter. He smiled. A look that said he understood. He had two daughters of his own and he often recounted the drama in their household.

“Rough day, eh?”

I nodded. “Apparently.”

I went in and looked for her. She lay face down on top of her bed. I settled quietly on the edge of her comforter. Not sure what to say, but remembering several weeks ago when my daughter had mentioned that her best friend, Melissa, was going to be moving. Not just moving across town, but out-of-state, and out of the country. For good. I brushed it off then. The little girl lived in our neighborhood, our girls played together most days. I spoke with the parents, her father, on a regular basis at the bus stop. Surely he would have mentioned something. I scratched my head. There was no For Sale sign outside their home, either.

I leaned over and encircled my arms around my baby’s tiny frame. “Can you tell me what happened?” I whispered in her ear.

She sat up and rubbed her eyes. “Melissa wasn’t on the bus this morning.”

“I know. I was there. Maybe she was sick.”

“No, Mommy. She wasn’t. She came later. And, she walked in our room with Mr. Gratson (the principal).”

She paused. I caressed her arms.

“Mr. Gratson told the classroom, Melissa was leaving to go out of the country and they were cleaning out her desk.” She huffed. “Mommy, he asked us to hug her and say goodbye. She looked so sad. Why would her Daddy take her out of school?”

I didn’t know what to say. “Well, maybe she’s going on vacation.”

She glared at me. “No. No, she’s not. She left. How many times do I have to tell you? Now, I have no best friend.”

I closed my eyes. Images of the last two years flashed in my mind of their many playtimes. Melissa was a dark-haired, dark skinned, quiet little girl. Her eyes were large, and she always had a smile. Together, the girls enjoyed wonderful dress up games, Barbie playing, and giggles, lots of giggles. My daughter looked like a light had gone out. Her eyes were puffy and swollen. Her whole world had just come crumbling down.

I knew the pain she was feeling. I remembered too when my best friend, Richard, a plump, rosy-cheeked, blondish-haired boy who lived several houses from where I lived, had moved when I was nine. We did everything together. Played cops and robbers, attended the same grammar school, did our communion together. Both parents joked we would get married someday. That summer when he moved, I was completely devastated. In fact, it was long summer.

I stroked her hair out of her eyes, and brushed a tear that was making its way down her face. “I’m sorry, Melissa left. I’m sorry you are sad. I am too. She was a very nice girl.”

Burying her face in my chest, she shook. “Who will be my best friend now?”

I could have easily responded, “Don’t worry, you’ll find more friends.” But, that would have sounded so silly, and so cliché. My daughter didn’t want a solution. She wanted comfort. We all do at some point. Comfort that whatever we are going through will eventually fade. I knew she’d slowly get over this. It would take time. For now, I would let her grieve in her own way.

I sighed. I wish I could keep her little. This was a huge problem for her.

Someday, she’ll be a teenager and the issues much more complicated. As a parent, you wish you could take away all your children’s fears, pains, and sorrows. But, the truth is, you can’t. It is how they learn to deal with the life curves that will come their way.

This world is not easy. There are big problems and small ones. But, I believe they are there to give us hope for a better tomorrow. A piece of innocence to hold onto. A joy that has been hidden will always resurface.

I prayed. Silent thoughts to well-wish Melissa on her new life adventure. A wish for my daughter to savor the wonderful time she had with her friend, and to look for new friends to share one day when she was ready.

I kissed her forehead. “Hey, guess what I saw today?”

She looked up. “What?”

I smiled, recalling the wonderful image. “A rainbow.”

My daughter straightened. “How? It’s been cloudy all day.”

I laughed. “I guess it was God’s way of shedding some color in the midst of today’s dark circles.”

Her frown became a grin. “I like rainbows, Mommy. They bring brightness to the sky.”

I nodded. “Yep. So do I.”

The Thanksgiving Tree Branch

tree_leaves

UPDATED NOVEMBER 23rd, 2020.

I found this post a few days ago. It was written back in 2015. At that time, we didn’t have an uncertain post-presidential election, nor the Covid-19, the deadly virus, and global pandemic sweeping the world. There were other issues then, as there are now.

I realized something though. The issues, the diseases, the uncertainties, and everything that can go wrong in the world, will continue to fail and disappoint. We live in a fallen world. Sin and pain go hand-in-hand. But, also, good and love go hand-in-hand too.

We are all lost to something. Each one has his/her path to walk through. We are in need of a good shaking. We need to wake up and stand for the things that are right and morally just. We need to be true to ourselves, so that we can be true to others. And yes, there is a potential to get hurt, but if we are honest to one another, maybe there is no need to pretend and lie.

Hoping and praying for a happy and healthy Thanksgiving to you all even if your traditions have to be a little smaller this year.

God bless!

______________________________________________________________________________________________________

In a few days most Americans will be sitting down together eating turkey and watching football. Prayers will be said and some will go around the table sharing what they are thankful for.

A few hours later, many will join the obsessive price saving shoppers heading to the malls and stores for Black Friday sales. In a blink of an eye, one will go from family gathering to business as usual. Thankfulness forgotten and the frenzy of every day back in stride.

Why is it that we only allow ourselves the minimal hours of gratitude and peace, but spend years incubating in a world filled with greed?

I think (my personal opinion) we’d rather hide behind the masks of our jobs and created busyness instead of letting others see us—the true “us” with our human flaws.

We’re like trees. Leaves colorful and bright on the outside, but underneath we are just branches—bare branches.

The 2015 year has been a tough one. We continue to be racially divided, exposed to cowardly school shootings, saddened and confused by suicides, and made to fear terrorist attacks. The most recent in Paris.

I wonder if we were all just more truthful, honest, and kind to one another, maybe there wouldn’t be so much suffering and we’d see ourselves as we really are – bared branches in need of loving leaves. In need of random acts of kindness, in need of more smiles, more human connection, and more tender words.

Call me naïve, but why is it more difficult to be honorable and kind, than to be rude and hurtful?

It’s time. Where is the real you? Time to let the leaves camouflaging the branches fall to the ground and be blown away.

 

The Cross at the Crossroad

With outstretched arms, it called to me, urging me to fold into its safe and comforting embrace.

“Leave your troubles here,” it whispered.

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If you happen to be driving north on Interstate-57, located along the side of the road, near Effingham, IL, you can’t help but notice a monstrous structure. This awesome man-made sight warrants putting that foot on the brake and slowing down just bit, or pulling over all together because you’ll want to stare at this gleaming white piece of metal glistening high above, almost reaching the clouds. What is this structure? A giant cross. A beautiful, towering, holy mass.

Completed in July 2001 at a cost of over one million dollars, it stands 198 feet high. The cross arm spans 113 feet long. Nearly 34 tons of reinforced steel footings along with 848 cubic yards of concrete make up the foundation. There is almost 181 tons of steel in the structure.

My head whipped around. Looking out my car window, I couldn’t believe how gigantic it was. I suddenly felt very small and could only imagine how much smaller I’d feel if I was standing right next to it. It beckoned me to come closer. I turned my steering wheel toward the side of road along the white line, and braked.

“Leave your troubles here,” it whispered again.

I was in a zone. The only noises vibrating within the confines of my vehicle were country music and unfiltered thoughts spiraling in my brain. I-57 is mesmerizingly mundane, so it’s pretty easy to let your imagination get the best of you. There are two-lanes on each side. Tall trees provide a border to farmlands hidden from view until the next town where it usually opens up to small manufacturing plants, a few businesses, and fast-food restaurants. Until then though, it’s your car, your reflections, and the concrete pavement. The cross took me completely by surprise. I welcomed the distraction.

Whether you are spiritual or religious, it was a surreal site to say the least, even if it was a few minutes. I envisioned the cross bending forward, wrapping its arms around all those who are suffering, and gathering them up in the cavity of its breast. Loving all the people carrying gigantic burdens on their shoulders.

No human is ever without pain, anxiety, or problems on this good earth of ours. It’s called life. When you’re alive, you’re traveled, bumped, and sometimes bruised. It’s in the comfort of others, a simple touch, a smile, and/or chocolate, that can often help soothe a broken spirit.

With one final glance over my shoulder, I accelerated and got on the road again. I did what came naturally to me. I prayed. I prayed for our nation, our leaders, our schools, my neighbors, my friends, my family, and even myself—to stop the momentum of dark words and malicious actions. It was a lot to pray about, but I felt convicted to do so. Did it change anything? I’m not sure. Maybe that one person I was thinking about had a fleeting moment of peace in their chaotic life. If so, I will never know. And that’s okay. It was a release, and I left my own troubles at the foot of that cross.

 

I know who I am. Who are you?

worried child

This is dedicated to all the young girls who have felt they are not good enough.

You are worthy.

You are beautiful.

You are loved.

Loved by the one true God who created you in His self-less image.

On afternoon as I sat in my office staring at a blinking cursor on the computer screen, my eldest, almost seven-year-old daughter approached me.

“Mommy?”

Caps lock. SHIT. Backspace. Backspace. Backspace. Backspace.

Sitting back, I let her fall into my arms. Stroking her hair, I noticed she wore a long face, and her big, round brown eyes held a reservoir of sadness.

Sighing, I asked. “What’s the matter?”

In a rush of tumbled and twisted words, she blurted. “I was in the bathroom and looked at myself in the mirror. I don’t like the way I look Mommy. I look ugly.”

Huh? Where did this come from? I opened my mouth but nothing came out.

Shaking my head, I finally responded. “Wait. What?”

I was caught off guard. My head was in a whirlwind. The truth was, I was in a self-loathing mood. It was my birthday. Yippy! And I felt like crap. I had been trying to write a blog post for my website for weeks and frankly was having a mental block. What kind of writer am I if I can’t even come up with anything to write?

Plus, I was having one of those summers. Too many family distractions were pulling me away from what I loved to do—writing. I frantically searched my mind for something profound to say and still nothing. I was tired and burnt out, and understood her sadness. Like my blank screen, I had nothing to offer her. Just fear. Fear of my inspiration drying up. Fear of the realization that my first born and her younger sister could be influenced by a world that puts stipulations on everything. From weight, height, hair, etc., and then pollutes their minds, persuading them to think they are not worthy.

It’s heartbreaking to see how things are enfolding in this life, and knowing that you may not have control over them, either. People have become so consumed about the flesh that they don’t look at the heart of a person—the emotional tracker of all humanity. But I am still hopeful. I still pray for that silver-lining of parenthood to help me teach my girls how not to be so worried about what others think.

She repeated, “I’m ugly, Momma.”

Holding her close to my chest, I prayed. What can I tell her God? Please, give me something.

And just like that, coming from our stereo, we heard these words from new Christian Artist, Blanca:

Another voice, another choice To listen to words somebody said Another day, I replay, one too many doubts inside my head Am I strong, beautiful, am I good enough

Do I belong after all, that I’ve said and done Is it real when I feel I don’t measure up Am I loved

I’m runnin’ to the One who knows me Who made every part of me in His hands I’m holdin’ to the One who holds me ‘Cause I know, ’cause I am I know who I am I am sure, I am Yours

Turnin’ down, tunin’ out Every single word that caused me pain Unashamed and unafraid ‘Cause I believe You mean it when You say I am strong, beautiful I am good enough And I belong after all, ’cause of what You’ve done This is real what I feel No one made it up I am loved

I’m runnin’ to the One who knows me Who made every part of me in His hands I’m holdin’ to the One who holds me ‘Cause I know, ’cause I am I know who I am I am sure, I am Yours

Fearfully, wonderfully, perfectly You had made me

I’m runnin’ to the One who knows me Ya-a-ay I’m holdin’ to the One who holds me Holds me holds me-e-e-yay

I’m runnin’ to the One who knows me Who made every part of me in His hands I’m holdin’ to the One who holds me ‘Cause I know, ’cause I am I know who I am I am sure, I am Yours Oh, I am Yours I am sure, I am Yours And I know who I am

I rocked her in my arms to the melody of the music, and when it was over, I said: “I love you and your sister so much. Not because of your messy hair or sauce-stained shirt, or bruised up knees, but because of who you are. And, to whom you are. You are His.”

Wide-eyed, she stared at me. I hugged her closer. As much as my child needed to hear these words, I think I needed to hear them too. No writer is perfect. No writer can write awe-inspiring and profound prose all the time. It takes work. Lots of work. I just know that…. I’m holdin’ to the One who holds me, to guide and direct my steps every day.

Thank you, Blanca for making this song a mantra for those who are lost, and all those who suffer from low self-esteem, as well as casualties of bulimia, anorexia, obesity, and bullying.

Believe in the power of love and encouragement, and then pass it on.

Check out Blanca’s wonderfully, uplifting video here.

The Walt Disney Belief

castlemickey

“All your dreams can come true, if you have the courage to pursue them.”

~ Walt Disney

I recently visited Magic Kingdom with my family at DisneyWorld in Orlando, Florida. It was our first trip there. We were excited and wondered how the experience was going to be. We’d seen the “Castle” and watched the Walt Disney documentary on television, but our expectation was from what we had viewed in the comforts of our family room, not live.

Getting into Magic Kingdom was amusing. Never mind the traffic on Hwy 4, once in the park; we were surrounded by a vast parking lot that just continued on as far the eye could see. We found a space two miles away.

From the lot, we took a shuttle bus to the ticket counter, and then climbed aboard a ferryboat across a three-mile stretch of man-made lake surrounded by the hotels on the premise. At the dock, we walked in a single-file through a roped pathway to the security checkpoint, and then strolled to the ticket validation counters.

Going under a tunnel we entered the town square and made it onto Main Street, U.S.A. Suddenly, we were transported to the 1950s. There was an ice cream parlor, an old-fashioned Coca-Cola stand, a town hall building, a theater, diners, and countless little shops along the most well-known street in America.

It was here we observed a parade of all the characters on floats and then stood mesmerized gaping at the “Castle,” where at night a magic show of lights and animation reflected off the enormous structure, followed by a magnificent firework show.

Amidst the crowds and crazed moms with their sweet daughters dressed up as Princess Belle, Tinker Bell, and Anna and Elsa, we managed to see several attractions. There was even a steam train that ran around the whole park, taking passengers to different lands: Adventureland, Frontierland, Tomorrowland.

The lines were long and it was hot out, but we used our time efficiently. Note to self: Wear good walking shoes. A day won’t cut it, either. The park is so large; you need at least two-full days, if not three. We did the two-day pass. It was enough for my children.

What was fascinating to me is that for a brief moment during my experience, I completely forgot everything outside of Magic Kingdom. Its seclusion enveloped me and brought me solace and peace, even though there were some screaming kids and crying infants around. It allowed me to focus on my two girls and participate in their joy and excitement. I was impressed with the organization of how things were run, cleanliness of the rides, and the smiling faces of the staff and characters. If those people were having a bad day, they didn’t show it. Their goal/job was making each and every child smile. Giving them a memory of imagination to remember.

Yes, I know this is not the “real world” and nothing is this perfect. That’s okay. My kids get it. Mr. Disney built a huge enterprise. He was an innovator and creator. The Mickey Mouse cartoon is an icon and is known all over the world. This is a billion-dollar industry, but it doesn’t come cheap when the machinery for the attractions has to run perfectly, all the time.

Walt Disney may have been a savvy business man, but I think deep down inside he was a child at heart, a man who persevered to fulfill a vision where kids and adults could come explore and get lost in a world of magic.

As the last of the fireworks flooded the sky over the beautiful castle in Magic Kingdom, and my girls stared in awe, Mickey Mouse’s voice crooned over the intercom. “If you just believe in your heart, dreams do come true.”

I closed my eyes and grinned. Thank you, Mr. Disney. That is the best piece of encouragement anyone can give a child because the first step in any endeavor is believing it can be accomplished.

 

 

Splintered Wood

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“I am more broken than a piece of splintered wood.”

This is a line from one of my characters, Harvey Huckfinn, in my upcoming novel, Make it Right; Make it Matter. I thought of that line today as I stared at my cedar deck from the kitchen window. It made me realize that wood could be pretty fragile and as it ages it gets worn down and dry—easily splintered.

Day in and day out, I look out to my backyard at the deck. Every year the darn thing needs to be power washed and stained before summer comes. Like me, it’s aging under the climate of our Midwestern weather. It seems sturdy and at times it is, but it is still fragile and desires the love and care for its upkeep and well-being. Harsh words, lack of sleep, bad food, and seductive advertisements all contaminate a body that’s meant to withstand the worldly views in which we live.

Like Harvey, a part-time pastor, he dedicates his life to serving others. He once said, “I often forget I’m human too, and have my share of failures. His shoes are hard to fill, but one must try every day.”

When it is our time to go, we will be just as weathered as the cedar deck. But, if we take the time to power wash our minds and pour good stain on our hearts, it don’t matter what kind of elements are out there. We will be preserved and protected by the Spirit.

 

 

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