Sparrow's Flight

A2Z Take 2: Craft Pretties

2012-01-24T01:18:00.000-08:00

I had a more elaborate idea for my "C" post but didn't end up having time since I'm still focusing on my novel revisions, so I decided to just post some pictures of some of the crafts I've done. I used to do a lot more crafting, but now I'm spending more of my time writing and my increased pain makes some things hard. But I did a lot of embroidery this fall.

Here are a couple greeting cards I designed and made:

I used to be constantly crocheting, mostly baby blankets.

This one was really fuzzy and extra-soft!

close-up of the white squares

And here are some drink coasters I made for holiday gifts this last year. I did the embroidery and then sewed felt on the backs.

Check out more "C" posts at Patternings and click the Take 2 picture below to find out how to join us to write your own blog post for the next letter!

A2Z Take 2: A Chat with Brandilyn Collins

2012-01-16T20:00:00.000-08:00

As a special treat to celebrate B in our A2Z meme, I'm excited to have Brandilyn Collins with us today. She is the Christian author of the popular Seatbelt Suspense® books and is one of my favorite writers.

Brandilyn, thanks so much for joining us.

BC: Amy, nice to be with you and your readers. I’ll do my best to behave (but make no promises).

Haha, thanks! As I mentioned, I love your books and have gained a lot of inspiration from them, especially now as I'm writing a suspense book myself. Your first books, The Bradleyville Series, are contemporary Christian fiction with smaller elements of adventure. What prompted the switch to focus on the suspense genre?

BC: I didn’t really switch genres so much as focus. At the beginning of my career I was writing in both the contemporary and suspense genres. For marketing and branding purposes I needed to choose one genre. Suspense seemed the best choice at the time, due to its sales. I really did mourn losing contemporary for awhile. But choosing a genre was the right thing to do. To this day, I find that having written contemporaries really helps me in my characterization in suspense. (And when I wrote contemporaries, you can see my pull toward suspense in each of them.)

By the way, for those of you out there who don’t like suspense, try reading my Color the Sidewalk for Me. This is the second book in my Bradleyville series, and I think it’s the best in the series. In fact I think it’s one of the best books I’ve written.

The title of that particular book is what first drew me to read your work, actually. It's such a lovely word picture and I enjoyed the story, as well.

I know several other of my blog readers also write suspense. Do you have any advice for those of us writing in that genre?

BC: Well, it’s very hard. I find it way harder than writing contemporary fiction. Suspense has some strong conventions: tighter and tighter trouble for the protagonist, chapter hooks, twists, etc. A good surprising twist is difficult to pull off. I always write on two levels—the surface level of what I want the reader to believe, and the underlying, real level where the truth resides. Often individual sentences must be able to sound correct for both levels. I lead the readers to assume A or B or C (regarding who the bad guy is and the outcome), when the truth is really D or E. Or A and E. Or F and Z. You get the picture. The reader will read a sentence with the assumption in mind. But when the truth is revealed, that reader should be able to go back and relook at the sentence and say—“Ah. That’s how she fooled me.” Calls for some very careful, precise writing.

If you’re going to write suspense, find some good suspense writers you enjoy and read them. Notice how they handle story structure, characterization, twists, chapter hooks, etc. I found when I was learning how to write fiction that my growth came 50% from reading and 50% from writing. Also—don’t forget that no matter how brilliant your premise is, readers will stop reading if they don’t care about your characters. It’s absolutely essential to make your readers empathize with your main character immediately. But without loading up the beginning with a bunch of backstory, which only slows the plot. And is boring. So there’s a balance. And that’s hard to find.

Sigh. Methinks in my next life I’ll be a rocket scientist. It’s easier.

I've got my work cut out for me! Glad I know some good suspense writers to study from. ;-)

When did you know you were called to be a writer?

BC: I can’t give you a specific date. I come from a family of writers, and I’ve always had the love of drama. In fact, drama was my first major in college, before journalism. I went from creating characters on the stage to creating them on the page. Once I began writing fiction I used what I’d learned through acting to create my characters. I wrote a book that takes seven techniques from the art of method acting and tweaks them for the novelist. It’s called Getting Into Character: Seven Secrets a Novelist Can Learn From Actors. It’s helped a lot of people, which makes me very happy.

I'm one of those people who have been aided by that book—thank you!

You've had bouts with Chronic Lyme Disease yourself. I suffer from Fibromyalgia and ME/CFS and/or Ehlers Danlos Syndrome. Several of my blog followers also have debilitating chronic illnesses. I find it very difficult to find enough creative energy to write when my fatigue is acting up, which is often. Do you have any advice for writing in the midst of the fatigue, pain, and brain fog that comes with these types of conditions?

Brandilyn's novel about Lyme

BC: You can only do what you can do. I’d say push through it as much as possible, but writing is not as important as your health. During my difficult time with Lyme in 2002-2003, I fought to write when I had such terrible brain fog. Amazingly I managed to write about 2/3 of a book. But then I became so sick that I simply had to stop. Had to call my editor and say, “I can’t do this. I have no idea when this book will be done, but I must stop.” And it was the right decision. I simply couldn’t push myself any more. I felt such relief to stop trying.

Do you have any general advice for those of us working on manuscripts or pitching completed ones to agents and publishers?

BC: Keep at it. That’s all I can tell you. Writing is a very, very hard business. Being rejected is very hard. (I know—I worked for 10 years to be published in fiction.) Along the way, if you want to quit—quit. Kick a cabinet or two and walk away. If you’re meant to be a writer, you’ll come back. If not, you’ll find what you are meant to do. I quit, oh, two to three times during that decade I was trying to land my first contract. Did me a world of good. Cleared my head, and by the time I came back I was ready to fight again. Besides—and hear me good now. (Perfect grammar or not.) Once you start being contracted, you can’t walk away. You can’t quit. You have to create, no matter if you’ve got a fever, or your kid is giving you fits, or your creativity is completely gone, or your parent dies, etc. If you’re not yet published, enjoy the ability to write only when you want to. I understand the push to be published. But I do wish I’d better enjoyed the time when I wasn’t. I could have been a lot easier on myself. The process is hard enough, and we writers tend to beat up on ourselves. We’re all a flaky lot, generally. Especially novelists.

I can especially appreciate that advice now as I'm starting to feel the extra stress of having a publisher waiting to read my Reaching Sky manuscript. Speaking of current projects, can you tell us a little about the books you are working on right now?

BC: Right now I’m just starting my 25^th book, called Sidetracked. Another suspense. Last May my novel based on Lyme disease was released—Over the Edge.

On March 1 of this year my next novel is released—Gone to Ground. This is a great story, if I do say so myself. Three women in small-town Mississippi all realize to their horror that they’ve learned the identity of the serial killer who’s murdered six women in their town. And that person is someone very close to them. Each woman must make the difficult choice to bring the man down. But each woman suspects a different man. The book is told in first person from each of the three women—Cherrie Mae, black, 62; Dina, white, 36, and Tully, white, 19. Two races and three generations. Makes for an interesting mix. You can view the character-rich trailer here. I went to Mississippi to audition people for the voices so they’d sound right. And the Cherrie Mae on the video is the real-life Cherrie Mae I interviewed before writing the book (to get the African American dialect right). I ended up using her name for my character with her permission—then her actual voice on the book trailer.

In mid-October my next book will release. Double Blind is about a brain chip implant—gone terribly wrong.

Ah, nothing like making characters suffer.

Those sound exciting! And the trailer must have been fun to make. I'm looking forward to reading them.

Now just for fun, tell us something about you that isn't writing related.

BC: 1. I’m horrible at mechanical things. So bad it’s not funny.

2. I can’t kneel or squat, thanks to the damage Lyme left in my knees. Even after my miraculous healing from Lyme (if you haven’t read that story, please do!), this has continued. Amazingly I can still run my daily miles. So it doesn’t affect me too much.

Thanks, Brandilyn, for being here today!

BC: Thanks for inviting me. By the way, all you readers out there, if we’re not connected on FaceBook, just why not? You’re missing out on Today’s Word. Think how much smarter you could be. You can find me here.

Hop over to FaceBook to join Brandilyn's page and then check out my friends' B blog posts through the Mr. Linky on the bottom of Patty Wysong's blog. See you all next Tuesday.

A2Z Take 2: Antidote for a Neglected Blog

2012-01-09T20:00:00.000-08:00

I took a break from blogging during November and if I'm not careful I could fall back into the very long apart, random blog posting that does not happen more often than it does. But what is the sure antidote for a neglected blog? A meme, of course! My friend Patty Wysong talked us into doing the A 2 Z 4 U & Me meme last year and I managed to post for all 26 letters. It worked so well we decided to do it again this year.

I've got some exciting posts planned, starting next week with an interview with one of my favorite authors, Brandilyn Collins. She kindly answered some questions about writing which I think we'll all benefit from. I think I'll play around with vlogging a little this year, too, and even do some fun story performances and the like.

Drawn by Amanda Morris

For this first post, I'll just give a quick update of the exciting things that have happened since I posted last. I was able to accomplish NaNoWriMo with just barely over 50,000 words. I fought a lot of fatigue that month, so I wasn't completely happy with my shambles of a disorderly manuscript, but I'm hopeful I have some good scenes to work with. A local lady in my area, Amanda Morris, is an artist and participates in NaNo by drawing character sketches for writers. This is one she did of my neglected child character, Renee. Isn't it great?

But for now Voices of the Dark is set aside to finish polishing up last year's novel. Which brings me to the exciting news that a publisher has requested the full manuscript of Reaching Sky! I'm excited to have that confirmation that someone else thinks my story and at least the chapters they saw have potential. I still have some work to do before I'm ready for them to see the whole thing, and the publisher generously gave me some feedback on something specific I can improve before I send it back. Now just to pray for energy to get it done, especially since I started back to work on Monday (even if it is only a couple hours a day).

Another exciting thing that recently happened is that one of my good friends, Jess Capps, finally got an answer to prayer and received a heart transplant. However, things got a little scary as the heart apparently went into shock and took ten days to recover. It was really hard being on the other side of the U.S. and not knowing much about what was going on. I'm praising God now that the heart did start working last week! I'm looking forward to chatting with Jess soon. I've missed her. [Added update as of the morning of Tues the 10th.] Looks like Jess's body is still having a lot of physical hurdles and is struggling. Please keep praying for her!

On New Year's weekend I got to teach my church congregation a song in sign language for our Worship topic. It was so awesome to see the whole church worshiping in ASL together. Many people told me they were amazingly blessed to be able to praise God with their whole body that way.

It's been a great start to 2012. Here's to many more blessings!

Check out more A posts at http://www.pattywysong.com/

Trying out a vlog

2012-01-03T23:21:00.000-08:00

My friend Patty somehow talked a bunch of us into trying a video blog, or vlog. Glutton for punishment that I am, I decided not only to do a vlog but to do two--one in each of my languages. I thought I was going to be all clever and hold up some of the books I've been published in, but when I tried that in a test run, the titles were all backwards. :-\ So yeah, didn't do that. The content in the two videos isn't identical, but they are similar. The lighting isn't great, but hey, you can see me. ;-)

IN ENGLISH:

IN AMERICAN SIGN LANGUAGE:

Check out my friends' vlogs in the Linky at the bottom of Patty's post: http://www.pattywysong.com/2012/01/me-in-terrifying-technicolor.html

M&Ms and Apple Cores

2011-11-18T01:54:00.000-08:00

For years a story has lingered in my mind. I didn't know much of it, but had a picture of a toddler huddled in the corner of a bare room. She was neglected, left to molder there and slowly draw farther and farther into herself. But one young man who passed occasionally through the house would do a small part to reach out to her. He shared his own favorite foods with her--a handful of M&Ms and the core of his partially-eaten apple.

In my mind and planning, that book eventually changed from M&Ms and Apple Cores to Above the Clouds, the sequel to my first novel, Reaching Sky. Then it made another metamorphose to become the sub-plot to my current work in progress, Voices of the Dark. This scene is part of what resulted from that original vision.

Excerpt from Voices of the Dark

“Jasper, I’m the one taking care of the little girl.” Jesse and I sat down and I pulled out the picture of Renee and held it out to the man. “You know her?”

He peered at it, his face so young and innocent, in glaring opposition to the prison jumper he wore. His eyes were dark brown and full of…. It almost looked like empathy.

“Yeah, that’s the boss’s kid.”

“She’s Garth Keane’s daughter? Who is the mother?”

“I dunno.” He shrugged. “I ain’t never heard no mom mentioned. I jest assumed she was either dead or didn’t want nothin’ to do with some crack-head baby.”

“How long have you known the toddler?”

“I been…” he looked away, “hanging around there 'bout a year, I guess. She was always there. She just stayed in the back room, away from everything.”

“Who took care of her?”

He frowned, his eyes boyish and uncertain. “Well, no one, really. She just stayed back there. If she come out in the middle of something the boss would yell at her to git back in.” He leaned forward. “He didn’t want her hurt, you know. Didn’t want the gang guys to mess with her.”

“So Garth loved her? Protected her?” I couldn't make that fit with what I'd seen.

He shifted his weight. “Loved? Well, I dunno. I never really saw him do much else with her.”

“What’s her name?”

He shrugged again. “I never heard her called nothing 'cept girl.”

He didn’t say it like she was a thing. Even in the middle of all the drugs and neglect, for some reason this kid had cared about her, just a little. I could sense that. I could see the title, not “girl” but an almost-name; Gurl.

“But who fed her and all that?”

“I brought her food sometimes. I would give her the core of my apple and once in a while, when the boss was passed out, I’d give her M&Ms. She loved those!” He grinned. “I’d set ‘em down and she’d grab a handful and stuff ‘em in her mouth and then play with the others, grouping them by color, you know? Then eating the rest one by one, a color at a time.”

That was good news. If she could sort things by color then she at least had a basic understanding of categories.

There was one other thing I had to ask. “With all the drugs and everything… Meth tends to…” How did I say it politely?

“Up your sexual drive,” Jesse came to my rescue, if bluntly.

“Yeah.” I tried not to flush. “But the doctor said no one bothered her that way.”

Jasper squirmed. “Well, I think maybe that’s why the boss kept her in the back room. You know, to make sure no one was bothering her. I was pretty much the only one he’d let in there.”

That explained that. So Garth at least had some kind of protective feelings for her. I wished I could talk to him, find out where she’d come from, why he had her in that situation.

“So you never saw the other guys interacting with her?”

“Well,” he squirmed again. “This one guy was sort of eyeing her. She was getting older, you know? That’s why I—” He broke off, his face paling. “I mean, I’m glad she’s safe now, that’s all.”

I made a mental note to mull over that response later.

“But there were plenty of other girls around. I guess that kept her safe too, you know?”

“Other girls?” Jesse broke in again. “Like prostitutes you mean?”

“Yeah, I guess.” He studied his hands like they were suddenly the most important thing in the room.

Something about how he’d said "girls" didn’t set right with me. “Other girls. Like what age?”

“I dunno.” He shifted again, his gaze darting from me to his hands to the floor.

A weight, a premonition, settled on my chest. “Jasper,” I braced a hand on my chair, “this is really important. Were these older girls, like your age? Or were they younger? Lots younger?”

His reply was barely a whisper. “Younger.”

It was just one word, but it hung there, draining every bit of air from the room. And with it, my secure world behind to fall apart.

Joanne is hosting more Friday Fiction stories at An Open Book. Check it out for more great reads!

A 2 Z: Zany Madi

2011-11-15T04:00:00.000-08:00

When I joined FaithWriters in 2005, Lynda Lee Schab was one of the first people to welcome and encourage me. (Back then I called her Ikab, due to a misreading of her all-lowercase username of LSchab.)

Lynda has stayed a few steps ahead of me, paving the way in this writing journey that started with freelance writing of smaller works that led to novels, agents, and publishers. In fact, her first novel, Mind Over Madi, was accepted by a publisher and is coming out in print TODAY!

I was thrilled to get an advance reader copy a few weeks ago, though I will admit that chick lit and romance fiction are near the bottom of my list of preferred genres. But as I expected, Lynda’s writing is stellar and I never once groaned over something too sappy and never got the least bit bored. In fact, I enjoyed the book a lot.

Lynda’s character, zany Madi McCall, grew up in a somewhat dysfunctional home. Now with a family of her own, she is haunted by the fears her mother instilled in her to never, ever trust a man, because all men will cheat eventually. Yet so far her own husband Rich is a patient, Godly guy, and she has gotten to the point where she finally feels like she can trust him.

Then her worst fears are realized. She finds another lady’s lipstick on his collar. Her mother was right! And she recognizes the shade of lipstick, too. Only that sleazy Fawn Witchburn wears dark, almost-brown like that.

Madi orders Rich to leave the house immediately. After all, no explanation can possibly be a good one, right? He packs his bag, leaving Madi to answer the questions of their three kids. She tumbles into despair, the way paved liberally with Edy’s Dibs, her favorite chocolate ice cream dessert. Well, if she’s honest, maybe they are more of a coping mechanism than just a dessert. That and hours of playing Solitary on the computer.

With sometimes-hilarious twists and turns, Madi begins the zany life of a now-single mom to a tween and not just two teens, but twin teens, both in the midst of their own relationship dramas. Then Madi’s best friend calls and somehow manages to convince her that going to their high school reunion is a good idea.

Madi keeps on the go with her kids, her friend, and even a few meetings with a new therapist, resulting in her effectively avoiding God during the busyness. Her therapist reminds her that she is a true princess—a daughter of the King—but Madi sure doesn’t feel very royal. And the extra pounds those Dibs added don’t help.

Plus, it seems like Fawn is showing up everywhere she goes, and things come to a head when a Michigan snowstorm traps them all—the high school reunion goers, Fawn, and even one of the kids’ friends—in the same restaurant for a few hairy hours.

Madi comes face-to-face with “the other woman” and she begins to realize that maybe, just maybe, not everything is how it seemed. Will she find the truth once and for all about her husband? Is her marriage salvageable? Or is her mother right that men can never be trusted?

You’ll have to read the book to find out! Lynda uses lots of humor and wacky characters, mixed with real-to-life situations, as she brings Madi on a journey to accept that she truly is a princess of the Lord. Order a copy today (just in time for Christmas gifts) by clicking here. Find out more about Lynda and her other published works at her website, http://www.lyndaschab.com/.

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As always, check out other "Z" posts in the "From A 2 Z 4 U & Me" meme at http://www.pattywysong.com/. I can't believe we're already to the end of the alphabet! But keep checking back for weekly updates about my novel-in-process and other fun posts.

A 2 Z: Young Treasures

2011-11-07T15:21:00.000-08:00

Yesterday I had the privilege of seeing my oldest niece in her acting debut as an Oompa Loompa in the musical Charlie in the Chocolate Factory. She did a great job! She has a wonderful singing voice, so it was cool that she got to use it and try out acting. I love the Willy Wonka story, so it was extra fun to see the Christian Youth Theater perform it. They were wonderful and the set was impressive.

I'm also focusing on Youth in my NaNo novel, Voices of the Dark, though as the title implies, the book looks at a darker aspect. My main character, Adria Kingston, is doing what she can to fight against child abuse.

Most of us would never dream of hurting a child, and indeed cannot begin to understand what could happen inside a person that they would allow themselves to so seriously abuse a little kid. Yet all around us there are children aching, physically, mentally, and emotionally.

But we do have the power to help. We can be aware of what is happening around us, aware of the children of our neighbors, friends, coworkers, and strangers. Be willing to step forward and do something if we see inappropriate behavior and teach our own children or students how to treat those around us.

Now for a short excerpt from the rough draft of the book. I'm way behind on my word count goal and have been busy and not feeling well at all, so thank you for your continued prayer and encouragement.

From VOICES OF THE DARK

By Amy Michelle Wiley

We passed through the clinic's waiting room and I noticed a man standing near the reception counter. His muscled arm wrapped around a fluffy brown teddy bear. He stepped forward. “Adria Kingston?”

“Yes?” I frowned and put a protective hand on the child’s head.

“I’m Chaplain Jesse Carmichael.” He held out a hand. “I was told Garth Keane’s living relative had been brought here?”

“Garth Keane?” I shook his hand automatically, my mind racing to connect the name with something.

“The man who was shot today.”

“Oh.” I looked down at the child, who once again had her arms hugged around her body, her chin tucked tight against her chest. Garth Keane’s living relative. I tried to wrap my mind around that, connect the tiny child with the bloody body.

The chaplian knelt before her, his tall body folding in on itself. A smile brought out a single dimple in his left cheek and suddenly he looked charming, almost boyish. “Hi. I’m Jesse.” He held out the teddy bear. “Look what I brought you.”

Her gaze remained on the gray carpet.

“His fur is really soft. He gives great hugs, too.”

Her head still didn’t move, but I saw her eyes shift, fastening on the bear.

“Isn’t he silky?” Chaplain Carmichael drew the stuffed animal’s fur across her arm, back and forth. “Here you go. You can have him.”

A tiny hand reached out. Slowly, hesitantly. A pale finger, stained with grime, touched the tan fur.

Her hand snapped back to her chest.

“Wasn’t that soft?” The chaplain didn’t seem phased. “You wanna touch him again?”

This time both hands reached out. She caressed him, her hand trembling. Then she took the bear and pulled him to her chest. A tiny sigh escaped her lips.

I couldn’t help grinning at the man, a stranger though he may be. He looked up at me, his eyes glowing.

“Thank you,” I mouthed. I handed him my business card, but my gaze strayed to the child. She was in my custody now, officially my foster daughter, but I knew so little about her. I knew only that someone hadn’t taken care of her, hadn’t had enough love even to share with a tiny, precious girl.

In their neglect they’d forgotten to feed her, clean her, or even touch her. Was it possible they’d even forgotten to name her?

__________________________

As always, check out more "Y" posts in the "From A 2 Z 4 U & Me" meme at www.pattywysong.com.

A 2 Z: Xacwihlas (The Twining)

2011-10-31T20:00:00.000-07:00

I wrote this story months ago as the third installment of fantasy stories of Kira's Saga. You can read "Kira's Challenge" here and "Lakira's Life" here, but this story is stand-alone enough that you don't need to read the others in order to understand it.

Xacwihlas ("The Twining")

Kira ran a hand down the softness of her gown, her heart soaring as high as the sky that mingled with the blue of her dress. Her little sister and mother fussed around her, but she did not hear their chatter, did not bother with their last-minute fluttering. For she was ready. Ready in her heart, where it mattered most.

Finally they let her free of the encumberments that held her away from him. Away from her love.

She stepped out of the hut. His eyes drew hers like magnets and she latched on. Her heart would burst any moment, exploding to send her careening in wild fragments to the sky, to the heaven that had created this match.

Her feet moved toward him. Faster, faster, she wanted to fly, but her sister traipsing before her forced Kira to slow. The child’s hands move delicately, dancing to music Kira did not hear; her heart sang a song of its own that filled her.

Yet the song was not a solo, for many other melodies flowed into it from around her. Her friend Sylan beamed, and ducked her head shyly toward her own young man. Pazayita’s baby gurgled and reached a chubby hand to brush the silky threads of rainbow colors that drifted about Kira’s head.

Mikot was waiting. Waiting, draped in a soft brown that matched his eyes. They would be the touching of sky and earth, and where they met the sun itself would explode in fiery glory of love. Together they would rise to march across time in a brief arch of history.

She stood before him and now had to open her ears. It was not hard, for her heart already beat in time to the melody of his voice.

“Te etqesia avon Tytagvan Xacwihlas, u tiiy ah.” His promise was beautiful, perfect. “The Creator has granted us union, so I pledge before Him that I will walk beside you through our life, though it bring plenty or famine, safety or danger, strength or weakness.”

Kira’s voice echoed his words, not lessening in the repetition, but strengthening with the union.

The family surrounded them, each holding a ribbon of color. They danced, weaving in and out to create a tent around the couple, formed of individual strands interconnected to form a whole.

Mikot reached out a hand and Kira met it, their fingers intertwining as they spoke in unison. “And so as blessed by the Creator, I will walk with you and only you, as long as breath shall fill my lungs, we shall be one.”

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As always, check out more "X" posts in the "From A 2 Z 4 U & Me" meme starting on Tuesday at www.pattywysong.com. I'm curious to see what my creative friends come up with for this difficult letter!

A 2 Z: Wiley Update

2011-10-26T22:54:00.000-07:00

My family moved this week, from a huge house in the country to a small house with a wonky floor plan in the city--not something we wanted, but here we are. We're still in the process of sorting through all the clutter in the old house. It seems rather endless, but we're making slow progress. The cold we're passing around the family isn't helping much.

Can you see the raccoon
print in the foreground?

The good news is that my oldest sister and her family are buying the country house, and the acreage will be perfect for her kids and the rabbits they raise. And while I miss the mountain and foothill view, I'm pleased that at least our new backyard looks into mostly trees with lots of songbirds. We even have raccoons, according to the muddy footprints on the patio door.

I'm enjoying the scenic drive to work, getting to cross the gorgeous Columbia River Gorge everyday, and the added beauty of the fall colors. The eight hours a week interpreting at a community college is just about the right amount for my body.

Other news is that I finally got referred to a real sleep study. It should get set up soon. The specialist wanted to know what my plan is if the study doesn't show anything. Ummm.... not sleep? And isn't that kind of crossing a bridge before we have to? I'm glad he has such confidence that the test will be helpful, ha. But hey, at least he ordered it. I'm praying they'll find something that will help us find a way for me to stay asleep long enough to actually get healing deep sleep.

I didn't meet my goal of having the next draft of Reaching Sky done before November so the next beta readers can look at it while I'm doing NaNoWriMo, but I am entering it in FaithWriters' Page Turner contest and continuing to look for a publisher or agent. I'm really excited about my next book, Voices of the Dark, too, and hoping my health will let me participate fully in NaNoWriMo. Check out my FaceBook author page to hear updates on the book during November.

Next week I'll be taking the written part of the National Interpreter Certification test. It's suppose to be fairly easy (unlike the performance part, which I plan to take in December) and will have questions about Deaf culture, disability laws, and interpreting techniques and ethics.

So, I guess that's the update for this youngest Wiley. :-) As always, find more "W" posts in the "From A 2 Z 4 U & Me" at Patty's blog, Ordinary Lives.

Oh, if you have a blog roll, feel free to add my button that Mari made for me. Just copy the html in the box and you'll get a button like this. Thanks!

A 2 Z: Voices of the Dark

2011-10-17T19:20:00.000-07:00

Can you hear them? The voices echo from the darkness. Pleading. Sobs of young girls, crying for help. They call from the shadows, hidden right behind you. Locked in your neighbor's house. Abused by the people you rub shoulders with everyday. Used like a thing, void of worth.

They cry out, but no one notices. Life moves on around them, leaving them behind in forgotten brutality. We do not hear, do not pause to listen because we do not know they are there. They cry until they can cry no more, all hope, all goodness fled, drowned out by the dirtiness of the suppression smothering them.

Only if we cross paths, if it's our daughter who is stolen, only then do we take note. We listen, we hear them cry, but stand helpless. What can we do? How can one person stand against such a flood of evil? Is it too late? These children have their innocence stripped. They are old now, worn in a way no human should be. Old beyond our imaginings.

But one woman hears. Adria Kingston works as a trauma counselor and stumbled by chance across that line. Life, goodness, worth on one side; death, abuse, and horror on the other side. What can she do? Can she risk everything--her life, her new foster daughter, her innocence--to step across that line?

Once, years before, she'd faced that darkness. That time she'd run away, clapping a hand over her ears, her eyes, to drown out the silent call, the desperate pleading gaze. She had turned away once. Had almost forgotten.

But never again.

This time Adria will face the darkness and win. She'll reach a hand across the line. She will save a life, one girl at a time, and rebuild hope. Adria Kingston is listening to the voices of the dark.

Will you?

_______________________________

Voices of the Dark by Amy Michelle Wiley is coming soon to a bookshelf near you. To get involved today in the fight against human trafficking and sex slavery happening right here in the U.S. and around the world, check out Shared Hope International.

This is the book I'm preparing to write next month for National Novel Writing Month (NaNoWriMo). It's an idea I've had for ages enhanced with a new plot-line about human trafficking. Though the topic is very dark, I have ideas of how I will write it so it is powerful and suspenseful, but not too dark and not explicit at all.

As always, check out more "V" posts in the "From A 2 Z 4 U & Me" meme at Ordinary Lives.

A 2 Z: Unmatched

2011-10-10T18:00:00.000-07:00

My friend and amazing writer, Jan Ackerson, has a flash fiction blog where she posts stories that are each exactly 100 words long. Last month she held a contest inviting people to take one of her stories or a character from a story and expand upon it. I used post 26 for mine. My original title was "Just Like You" but I decided this title would go with the story and make it fit this week's post. Here's my version:

UNMATCHED

By Amy Michelle Wiley

Her skin is a rich chocolate brown. She coos and waves a dark fist at me, her cheeks plumping, almost smiling.

He won’t get to see her first smile.

I look at her, really look for the first time since the funeral. She has his skin, his dark hair that will surely turn into a curly, tangled mess when it gets longer. And his eyes. Hers are still the dark blue of newborns, but I can tell already that they’ll darken. Will they ever hold the same expressions as his? Like that twinkling brightness he would get when I’d done something he found amusing, but didn’t dare laugh aloud at. Or the darkening that let me know he felt my pain, felt my hurt, whatever it might be.

What minor heartaches they were back then. Only weeks ago I had no idea what true pain was. Those twinges were nothing compared to the shattering blow I now know is possible.

I pick the baby up and hold her by the mirror. My face looks shockingly white. Even the dark circles under my eyes are pale compared to the newborn I cradle. She is so much of him. I should feel thankful, happy I have this constant part of the man I lost.

But something selfish in me wants to see myself, too. If I have only him in my thoughts I will drown, lost in the sea of grief. I need something that is both of us, mixed together, making perfection in a tiny bundle that is equally me.

Her face turns up, curious at the mirrored reflections, and I search her features, looking for something in her bone structure, in the shape of her nose, anything. My shoulders slump and I turn away, settling her into the stroller. We leave the house and the cold wind bites through my jacket, a chill seeping all the way to my bones.

I tuck the blanket more tightly around her and walk toward the subway station. My hands and feet move without me, leaving my heart—my soul—far behind.

Someone helps me close the stroller and stow it. I settle on the cold train bench, the baby’s body a warmth against my chest. I notice nothing until a voice breaks through. I look up, focus my eyes, and see a young girl watching me, her body straight and eyes alert.

“Hey.” She points toward us. “That baby looks just like you.”

_____________________________

The baby picture was photographed by Simon Gray and the stroller by Kriss Szkurlatowski .

As always, find more "U" posts in the "From A 2 Z 4 U & Me" meme at www.pattywysong.com and feel free to jump in with your own blog.

A 2 Z: Terping your Thoughts... or "Life as an interpreter"

2011-10-04T19:15:00.000-07:00

Note the solid, dark shirt. We have to
wear tops that contrast with our
hands so the signs can be seen clearly.

Okay, so I'm cheating a little on this letter, but we interpreters do nickname ourselves "terps" (and yes, we're aware that it sounds a lot like "twerp") so I thought I'd Take the opportunity to share a little about my job.

I'm a professional sign language interpreter. I work in college classrooms (but I am not a teacher or a teacher's aide and I don't know braille, just to get the common misunderstandings out of the way first thing). When there is a Deaf student in the class (not "hearing impaired," please), I interpret the lecture and any teacher or student comments into American Sign Language, and I voice into English any of the Deaf person's comments.

They say it takes about seven years to become fluent in a language. I've been playing around with signs since I was young. I studied ASL formally for about seven years, including training to be an interpreter for about four years, and since then have been interpreting professionally for 15 months.

The actual skill of interpreting is, perhaps, harder than it might seem at first thought, especially since sign language is silent and therefore often interpreted simultaneously. We have to hear the message, break it down into ideas/concepts, switch it into the grammar and syntax of the other language, make any cultural adjustments necessary, and produce the thought. All of this has to be done in seconds while still listening or watching to retain the next thing the person is saying. This is one well-known interpreting teacher's diagram of what all has to happen for an accurate interpretation:

Researchers have found that interpreting takes so much brain power that it's most accurate if a person only has to do it in twenty-minute segments. In most settings we work in teams with two interpreters so we can switch off every fifteen to twenty minutes. I find that my body is very happy about the breaks as well as my brain, given my physical limitations. We also have to juggle issues with location in the classroom so we can maintain a sight-line with the client but not block the hearing students from seeing the teacher or blackboard, hold information if our student is looking at notes or diagrams, deal with accents, etc.

Like my determined expression as I'm
showing a pig running away? hehe
ASL is a very visually expressive language.

Okay, I feel like I'm making this out to be the hardest job ever, haha. It's not that bad, though as a student, interpreting seemed impossibly difficult. Something like an idiom that took longer to figure out the meaning could completely derail me. But as I've gained experience I've found that yes, it's always hard work, but it's not so impossibly challenging anymore. And it's actually really, really fun! One hard part for me now is not getting to join the conversation myself, which those of you who know talkative me will find amusing. ;-)

I've always loved words and people and I find languages and cultures fascinating. Interpreting has proved to be the ideal job for me. I love it! It requires the presence and interaction of other humans and I get to use words all day--perfect. My physical limitations mean I can only work a few hours a day, so college interpreting works very well. I interpret about two classes each term and that time is spent alternating between resting (though still staying aware of what's happening so I can help my team if they need it) and gentle movements of signing.

I also volunteer interpret at my church and especially love interpreting music. It's like worshiping with my whole body. You can see a video of me signing "Blessed Be the Name" here.

Speaking of my "team" (another T word!), even though it's only one person, we still call our co-worker a "team" like it's a whole group of people. Funny. Another term is a "feed" which is when the interpreter misses some information and looks to their team to feed it to them.

That's my job in not so much of a nutshell.

As always, check out more "T" blogs in the "From A 2 Z 4 U & Me" meme here www.pattywysong.com

A 2 Z: Safari Snapshots

2011-09-25T04:00:00.000-07:00

A few years ago I read a submission to one of my Peculiar People projects and fell in love with the characters and the writing style. The author was Lisa Mikitarian and that encounter began what became a friendship between us. I still think of her story in that book as the one about the two “small brown boys” finding forgiveness, because that phrase of it has stuck in my mind all these years.

I’m now thrilled to announce that Lisa has had a whole book of her short stories published. I’m proud to take credit for being the one who "discovered" her talent and published her first, and was excited to get a copy of this collection. She weaves the most delightful stories; ones that are powerful because of the truth and real-to-life experiences woven through them all.

Her Safari: Snapshots Along the Way, is focused on women characters in all stages and walks of life. You’re sure to find a story that resonates with your own, as well as getting some chuckles and maybe even tears. She even wrote one character who has fibromyalgia, the same disease I have. The short story format is perfect for reading one before bed each night—though be careful because if you’re like me you’ll stay up late reading “just one more” because they are so engaging.

I read Lisa's book in entirety last month but now as I've skimmed it, looking for my favorite story to share with you, I'm finding quite a number of "favorite" stories. Her book is worth reading several times, apparently. Here's an excerpt from one of the stories, "You Are No Dachshund," about a mom getting a puppy for the family. They've decided that, objectively speaking, a dachshund would be the best choice (though the mom had sort of dreamed of a bigger dog).

But a funny thing happened en route to the breeder, who lived out in a barely populated countryside. Frieda was driving along, minding her own business, when her eye veered off the side of the road, caught by a gigantic cardboard sign outside a ramshackle gas station and convenience store. FREE PUPPIES, it shouted. She pulled into the parking lot, suddenly thirsty. There would be no peeking at the puppies. Under any circumstances.

They called to her from a box next to the cash register, but she ignored them.

Back outside, in the Indian summer air, she found an ultra-smooth bench that appeared to have been a church pew in an earlier life. She sat down and twisted open the Coke she'd just purchased, feeling slightly guilty. Simon didn't approve of carbonated beverages. It burned going down her throat, but she let it. Her pipes weren't going to become corroded from one bottle.

That's when she heard the muffled yelping over the fizzle of her drink.

Read the rest of the story by ordering a copy of Her Safari here. While you're at it, get some for the women on your holiday shopping list, too. And wait, there's more! If you comment on this blog, you will be entered into a drawing to win a $5 Starbucks gift card. The drawing will be held on September 28th. The winner will be announced here, so be sure to check back.

As always, read more "S" posts in the "From A 2 Z 4 U & Me" meme at www.pattywysong.com and feel free to jump in with a post of your own.

A 2 Z: Research

2011-09-19T19:00:00.000-07:00

Research tends to be viewed by writers as either a necessary evil or a wonderful labyrinth of time-consuming knowledge. I fall into the latter category and love all the little facts I pick up doing my searches. One favorite of my own short stories is "Lo Ikwithltchunona, The Cloud-Swallower." The story idea began with a comment in a sermon about a missionary who prayed the rain would hold off until the roof he was building was completed. I typed a few keywords into the search engine and stumbled across a fascinating Native American legend about a stone column in New Mexico.

The Zuni people believed the stone was once a giant named Lo Ikwithltchunona, that is, the Cloud-Swallower. To quote my story, "this giant had once roamed New Mexico, drinking of the clouds that drifted about his head and killing all men he came across. But the gods had grown weary of him and defeated him, tossing him over a cliff where his body turned to stone. Now the clouds dropped rain as the gods pleased."

That wonderful find led to learning about the Zuni's rain dances and native language. Their rich culture lent a backdrop to my story that was so much more wonderful than it would have been if I'd done no research and wrote only the simple story of a Christian missionary praying for no rain.

On the other hand, I've had times when research made me realize my premise was completely implausible. But I've learned even that can be used to my advantage. Indeed, when researching my current novel Reaching Sky I discovered a law was quite different than I'd thought. Instead of completely revamping the story, I let the main character have the same misconception I had--until almost the end of the book where a twist reveals the truth. I think it's strengthened the story and made it more realistic, without a tied up with a bow ending.

Another thing I've learned about research is that many busy professionals are much more willing to take time to answer my research questions than I ever would have expected. Certainly I've sent out some letters that were never answered, but I've been very surprised and pleased at some that were answered.

When researching that same novel, I filled out one of those automated online contact forms on the Washington State's Child Administration page (social services/foster care). I doubted I'd get any answer at all but within a few days I not only got an answer but was given the direct phone number to the woman in charge of the whole administration. She answered the call and spent thirty minutes talking to me, answering questions and giving a wealth of information I hadn't even known to ask for.

Likewise, while writing a historical fiction novella set during WWII in Ravensbruk, a women's concentration camp, I emailed a historian who'd authored of one of the books I was using for research. I asked if she'd be willing to read my rough draft to check for accuracy. She agreed and followed through, giving me feedback on my story.

So don't be afraid to go directly to the source by approaching professionals to ask for research help. Here's a sample of what a letter like that might look like. Note that I didn't just ask for help for myself, but mentioned how it might be beneficial to them, as well.

Dear Sir,
I am an author working on a novel about two foster children. Is there someone in your office who would be willing to take a few minutes to answer some questions about the foster care system in Washington? I would like to ensure the basic facts about the system and the way the children are handled in the book are true-to life. I can communicate through email or telephone, whichever is more convenient. I think the conversation would be of value to the Washington CPS department to help make sure the organization is portrayed accurately to the public, as well as being a help to me.
Thank you for your time,
Amy Michelle Wiley

Now I'm on to researching the next book I plan to write, Voices of the Dark, which is a little more intensive than for the last book. I've already been in contact with someone and gotten some of my initial questions answered, just in time to be able to revise my main character's role accordingly.

Have fun with your own research and as always, check out more "R" posts in the "From A 2 Z 4 U & Me" meme at www.pattywysong.com and feel free to jump in with an "R" post of your own.

A 2 Z: Queen of the Universe! Or not....

2011-09-12T12:00:00.000-07:00

This week is National Invisible Chronic Illness Awareness week about spreading awareness of diseases and conditions like Fibromyalgia, Lupus, Multiple Sclerosis, Myalgic Encephalomyelitis/Chronic Fatigue Syndrome, Chronic Lyme Disease, Rheumatoid Arthritis, Ehlers-Danlos Syndrome and many others. For my "Q" post I'd like to answer some common questions and comments I get about my own life living with invisible chronic illnesses. Feel free to skim or jump to the ones that look the most interesting if you don't have time to read them all. I've included website links to helpful resources, as well.

But you look so normal and healthy! Yes, that's why it's called an "invisible" illness. The most common symptoms of these types of illnesses are things not easily visible like pain, fatigue, and cognitive problems (brain fog).... Please don't assume that if I look normal and if I'm smiling, then that means I'm feeling perfectly awesome.

www.butyoudontlooksick.com

Aren't you too young to have all these health problems? It's actually quite common for many of these conditions to develop in the early twenties, or even younger. Others are genetic issues that are present from birth. It can be difficult for those of us assumed to be in the prime of our lives to be so limited in work and pleasure activities. We often find we have a lifestyle more in common with people of our grandparents' generation than of our own.

www.healkick.com (social networking site for young adults with chronic illnesses)

How do you accomplish so much if you are that sick? Honestly, I feel like there is so much more I want to do that I haven't been able to. Someone (Cori) once said of me that I could take over the world if I wanted--sometimes I jokingly wonder if this is my "handicap" to keep me from dominating the known universe! haha! But to be serious, I do have to spend a majority of every week resting in bed or on my recliner couch. Sometimes I'm able to do writing or other computer-related tasks while resting, by using my laptop on a special bench my dad built to take the heat and pressure off my legs. Other times I'm too worn out to even do that. So I guess my answer would be that my projects get done eventually out of pure determination to keep working at it in the little bits of time when I can.

What controls your symptoms? I have dietary limitations and some prescriptions and supplements that help slightly, but the only thing I've found that significantly decreases my symptoms is getting lots of rest. I can do very little housework or cooking and I work under ten hours a week with lots of breaks.

What's the hardest thing about living with these conditions? I have to consider each and every thing I do carefully to determine how much of my energy it'll use up, how much pain it'll put me in, and how it will affect the things I have to get done later that day or week. This includes everything from the little things like when I take a shower or if I can load the dishwasher, to bigger things like whether I can meet a friend for lunch, attend a church event, or take on another hour of work. I hate having to say no to things I want to do, especially the things that would make a difference in the world like volunteering my time to help others. However, by learning to pace I've been able to lower my pain and brain fog levels considerably, most days.

(The Spoon Story is an analogy to help us understand what it means to pace yourself all day.)

What are some blessings you've found in the midst of everything? My limitations force me to rely on God's strength for everything I do. All my accomplishments are so clearly things I couldn't have done on my own, so all the glory goes to Him. Also, I find that I'm able to have empathy with others and reach out to help people who wouldn't otherwise have let me if I was a normal healthy person.

Why hasn't God healed you? I believe God can and does perform miraculous healings. However, God has never promised that He will always heal us physically. In fact, just the opposite. The Bible is clear that while we are on this sinful world, we will have suffering. For now I've heard a clear "no" or at least "not yet" when I've asked for healing. I rejoice in the knowledge that in heaven I will experience a perfect body and in the mean time I know God is using my challenges for His glory.

(My Journey is the answer God gave me to my "Why?")

Have you tried _______ (this special diet, these supplements/vitamins, this exercise program, this treatment, or this medication)? My friend was CURED by doing that! Yes. I've tried pretty much everything. I have to live with this disease every day, so am very invested in keeping up on all the research, theories, and other patients' experiences. Every person's body responds differently, so what may significantly help one person could do nothing or even harm another.

I see you walking around and talking animatedly at church or the writing conference or other gatherings. How do you have so much energy to do those things? I am a bubbly and happy person and my disease does not remove my personality, so I still can seem bubbly and excited even if I'm not feeling well. Also, I'm able to do a lot more for a brief time than I can do for an extended time. Adrenaline and saved-up rest can get me through a few hours or weekend doing pretty well. I then crash at home for anywhere from several hours to several days or weeks. I've also learned little tricks like bringing a little pillow to support my back, parking near the door (handicapped spaces) if I have to carry anything, not carrying a purse, and not standing for too long.

What exactly are your conditions? I've been diagnosed with Fibromyalgia, a heart condition, frequent subluxation (joints partially dislocating), Chronic Fatigue Syndrome, Raynaud's (circulation disorder), IBS, and a vision processing disorder, plus all the things that go with those like insomnia, allergies, digestion problems, muscle weakness, and low blood pressure, etc, etc. That's an awfully long list of things to go randomly wrong and I'm now convinced that I actually have Ehlers-Danlos Syndrome III. It's a genetic connective tissue disorder that can affect your muscles, joints, skin, and organs, and would explain pretty much every single one of my symptoms all from that single disease. I'm working on finding a specialist to confirm the "maybe" diagnoses I've gotten so far.

Sometimes you refer to your limitations as an illness and sometimes as a disability. Why? What I have is an illness but what I am is disabled. Changing my thought process over to thinking of myself as disabled was a huge step for me in accepting my disease. To me, the word "illness" means something that has an eventual end (either by getting well or by passing away). I found myself putting my life on hold, waiting to do this or that "until I'm all better." When I came to realize that I likely will never be "all better," I grieved for my dreams that were gone, and then eventually I had to get up and go on with the life I have, making new dreams or adjusting old ones. A disability is something that will be there forever, but that can be overcome to some extent. For me, labeling myself as disabled gives me permission to learn to live the life I've been given to the fullest extent possible.

I am so thankful for the internet that allows me to be so much more connected to the world than I can be just physically. Thank you to each of you who support me prayerfully and with encouragement through this journey of life. Please remember as you interact with the rest of the world that some of the reactions or actions you wonder about in others may be because they, too, have an invisible illness causing a problem you can't see. Feel free to ask me questions any time!

Check out the other "Q" posts in the "From A 2 Z 4 U & Me" meme in the link at the bottom of http://www.pattywysong.com/2011/09/cued-for-q.html

A 2 Z: Peculiar People

2011-09-05T20:00:00.000-07:00

White Planet cast members who attended the first
FaithWriters Conference in 2007

In 2005 it occurred to me that one way to get very strong fictional characters with clearly different voices would be to have a different writer focusing on each one. Now, much of my life I've come up with fantastical ideas for fun and involved projects, but had a difficult time persuading my friends to go along with it. Once I got connected with online writing groups, I suddenly had an abundance of friends who were not only as wacky and creative as I, but more than willing to jump into crazy projects.

Thus we started Chat-A-Book and Assignment to White Planet 8069. A handful of us made up a fictional character for ourselves and I laid out a basic outline of the opening part of a story. Then we met weekly in a private chat room and "acted" out a story, ad lib. We wrote actions and dialogue for our characters with the setting allowing for real-time reactions and realistic conversations. The storytelling spanned seven months.

It was so much fun! The transcripts, now called Secrets of the Ice, are set aside, waiting for me to transform them into a screenplay and/or radio drama. But that initial project was successful enough for me to continue trying out similar things.

Thus it was that at some point during those months I decided to make an official organization and dubbed it Peculiar People. The name was perfect. We all know writers are, indeed, a little peculiar. This group's goals were even more peculiar than most. Plus, we were Christians, and as such are called to be a little different from the world. Titus 2:13-14 says in the King James Version that we should be "looking for that blessed hope, and the glorious appearing of the great God and our Savior Jesus Christ; who gave Himself for us, that He might redeem us from all iniquity, and purify unto Himself a peculiar people, zealous of good works."

Since then I've had nearly one hundred writers and artists from at least eight different countries jump on board to submit entries to books. Each project has been unique and written in a slightly different format. I'm still playing with what works most effectively.

Two books are published and available to buy in print and e-book versions. Struggle Creek is a small town mystery. Each chapter is written by a different author and told from the view-point of a different town member, yet the whole thing ties together to tell a consecutive story.

Delivered is a collection of fictional short stories about postcards sent throughout the world saying, "Let me pray for you." Each story is about someone who found a card and how letting a stranger pray for them impacted their life.

The orphan plane project is in progress right now. This story is a twist on the real-life orphan trains in the 1800s that sent children from inner-cities to find safer homes in the west. Our book is set in the future and the children are being sent to live on a space station. Each section is about a different one of the children or workers. The rough draft of that book is almost one-third of the way done.

drawn by
Mid Stutsman

Also in progress is the Heirloom Chronicles book, I Will Be Found, a collection of novellas that follow a fictional wooden box carved by Jesus as it's passed down through history. The book starts in Jesus' time and ends with a futuristic story set in 2020. The rough draft is completed and waiting for us to get back to critiquing and editing.

If you are interested in being a part of PeP, I will add you to the mailing list to be updated about future projects. Send an email to: contact (at) peculiarpeoplebooks (dot) com

Hmmmm, once again I managed to write a ginormous post. Sorry. As always, check out more "P" blog posts in the "From A 2 Z 4 U & Me" meme at www.pattywysong.com.

A 2 Z: Orphan Opportunities

2011-08-29T18:00:00.001-07:00

The other day I was talking about a project and a friend asked me, “Is that the book about the orphans?” The question gave me pause because I suddenly realized that phrase could describe every one of my current writing projects: Peculiar People’s orphan plane project, “I Will Dance”—my section of PeP’s Heirloom Chronicles book, and my solo novel, Reaching Sky.

I’d never realized I was so obsessed with orphans until that moment, and discovered upon reflection that a number of my other past or future writing projects also include parentless children. At first it seems an odd topic for me to be focused on, because I have such a strong and loving family myself. But perhaps that’s exactly why—my heart goes out to those who do not have that support I’m blessed to have.

Thinking back, I realize my heart has always been drawn toward orphaned children and I often dreamed that when I was an adult I would go to Mexico to work in an orphanage as well as possibly adopting children of my own. Though my health will likely prevent that particular mission field, I find that at times I now work with children who, though they technically have parents, are often separated from them by a language and cultural barrier caused by the child’s deafness and the parents’ unwillingness or lack of knowledge to bridge that gap.

As I’m now pitching my novel (and its continuing Elements of Light series focused on foster children) to an agent, I’m thinking about ways to promote those books and the orphan plane project. I’m praying about whether or not God is calling me to become more involved in advocacy for the foster care system in the U.S. and the world-wide orphanages and adoption systems, including their strengths and weaknesses. It would possibly mean volunteer and research time, which would require a gift of my energy—a limited and cherished commodity and therefore a serious decision.

I’d love prayer and advice. I want to wait to see if this is something God is calling me to do rather than just something that would make sense from a promotional viewpoint that has the added benefit of something that would aid society. It could even mean speaking engagements and perhaps a partnership with existing organizations that minister to foster children locally and orphan children globally.

I will only move forward if I’m confident this is indeed a calling from God, but sometimes it can be hard to know if I’m hearing Him or just my own brain talking. Thanks for your prayers and feedback!

A 2 Z: Novels past and pres—hey, look! an idea!

2011-08-22T20:00:00.000-07:00

I could cover all three of the next weeks’ blogs in one slam dunk post about Novels about Orphans by Peculiar People but I’d rather spread those all out, so this week I’ll talk about my novels, past and present.

My first novel was Marissa, a historical fiction book I started as a teen and got about 10,000 words into. That’s my longest uncompleted work. It is about a young girl in 1854 who stays with a neighbor family while her mother goes to care for her parents who are battling Scarlet Fever.

Ironically, a few years later I actually came down with Scarlet Fever myself. These days they call it “strep throat with a scarletina rash” and it’s easily treated with antibiotics, but let me tell you, that was a horrible three days! I was literally writhing in pain every time I had to attempt to swallow.

But back to the point. Here is a clip from that story, exactly as I left it in 1998. (you should have heard me snickering and snorting as I looked for cute excerpts)

"I'm so glad you all are coming over! I know we'll have so much fun! We always do." Tanya smiled at Marissa and then gasped. "Caroline Thoger! Don't lean over the side of the wagon like that. You'll fall out."

"No I won't," protested little Carrie. "Du wagon weels looks neat tun'n wound an wound like that, when you looks at dem fwom du back. An du gwound movin by so fast."

"Well, you still can't hang over the edge like that." Insisted Tanya. "You mite fall out."

Since then I’ve opened a menagerie of documents that each contain anywhere from three pages to three chapters of a novel (and that's not counting all the short story starts). I get ideas faster than I can write them and that's resulted in...well, nothing. I guess I’m a bit ADD when it comes to writing and I get distracted by the next shiny idea before I’ve hardly started the last one. It took NaNoWriMo to keep me focused for long enough to actually write a whole rough draft—and that was only because it was over in four weeks!

In a file from 1998 I have a couple thousand words of a period piece, Changes in a Family, about a stuck-up rich family. Also in that year I wrote about some kids who got locked in a school bathroom over the weekend. Then there was the story from 1997, about a kids’ club, that got a whole page and a half dedicated to it. Another file from ’98 contains exactly fifteen words.

In 2003 I have files for a book about a girl with amnesia and a story about a cowgirl whose far-away aunt sends her porcelain dolls for her birthday every year until they finally meet and find a way to bridge the gap between the frilly aunt and horse-loving girl. Another file is called The Shimmer and begins a sci-fi futuristic story that is still high on my list of books to be written soon.

A file from 2005 contains notes and scenes from a story that eventually became Reaching Sky, the one novel I have completed to date. There I also found My Real Father from 2005 about a girl whose biological father suddenly came back into her life when she was fifteen. Her adopted father who raised her is Deaf. This is the opening scene:

The imaginary enemy agent hot on her trail, Adriana braked her bike hard and skidded around the corner. Leaning over her handlebar she raced the last few feet until she reached the safety of her driveway.

She screamed and swerved to miss the strange man standing in the middle of her driveway. Sticking a foot out, she managed to keep from toppling to the ground and gaped at the man, debating whether or not she should run.

Finally she managed to gasp, “Did you need something?”

The man smiled—or was it a smirk? “Yes. You’re Adriana, I presume?”

OK, this was freaking her out. How did he know her name? She climbed off the bike, keeping it between them. “Uh, yeah.”

A file from 2006 contains three chapters of a fantasy book, Beyond the Valley, about two boys on a quest to find a fabled treasure, as well as Threads of Pain, a novel about a young girl needing a kidney transplant.

One file simply has a list of fifteen book ideas or titles, some the same as the above stories. One of those is Reaching Sky and another is my completed novella, “I Will Dance,” which will be published in the Peculiar People's Heirloom Chronicles anthology.

Now that I’ve actually finished a book and a novella, I firmly believe I can keep myself focused and continue that trend. That list also shows M&Ms and Apple Cores, which has now become Above the Clouds and part of the Elements of Light series. I plan to write the rough draft during this year's NaNoWriMo. Over the next several years, once I've completed the third and final book (a new idea) in that series, I hope to write Threads of Pain and then start the Shimmer series.

I'd love you all to help hold me accountable and keep me focused!

A 2 Z: Me!

2011-08-18T00:31:00.000-07:00

I had planned to write about myself for the "M" post in this meme and didn't even realize it would fall on my birthday. How perfect! :-) First of all I'll mention that I posted my "L" one late due to being busy with the FaithWriters' Conference, but it's there now so you can look down at the next post for the second part of Kira's story.

Starting at a very young age I had a love for words, a passion for people and stories, and an imagination to match. Before I could even form written words with a pen myself, I dictated stories to my mom, who wrote them down and let me illustrate them. Those early stories were all about the escapades of Amy and Jamie—me and my imaginary twin sister.

I began developing my own fictional language at the age of twelve, with the help of my best friends Megan and Jeff. Eventually I created a culture to match it, and someday will write the novels set on that Island of Enelee.

Yet as easy as language and stories came to me inside my head, writing it out on paper or reading it off paper was a surprising challenge that first manifested itself when it came time for me to learn to read. Eventually we discovered I have a visual processing disorder—my eyes don't work quite right with each other or send quite the right signals to my brain. I had to have extensive therapy and training before I was able to comfortably do common tasks, and it's rather a miracle that today I am successful at writing and at interpreting a visual language.

I'm the youngest of three girls—a surprise baby trailing behind the older two by several years. My mom was an only child and taught us that siblings and family were something to be cherished, so the three of us have always been close friends.

Maybe the rest of "me" is best told by some pictures.

My sisters and friends and I loved playing outside in the creek,
ponds, and woods. We were very much tomboys and were often seen
climbing trees, playing with snakes and frogs, and digging in the mud.

But I was also a frilly girl and loved
dress up and tea parties with my girl friends.

When I was seventeen, my next-oldest sister
and I started figure skating. We took lessons,
competed, became informal mentors to the
younger regular skaters, and eventually
were assistant teachers to the beginning
levels. When I had to stop skating due to
expenses and increasing health issues,
I could do one of the lowest sit spins at the
rink (though my lay back was awful) and
could land all my single jumps. I was
working on my axel and double sal cow.
In this pic we were The Lone Ranger
and Tonto (me) for a special skating event.

A few years ago I got to go to Australia to stay
with FaithWriter Chrissy Siggee for a month.

In 2010, I graduated from a sign
language interpreting program
and now work as a professional
interpreter in churches and at a college.

In 2007, I became assistant
coordinator and emcee for the
first FaithWriters Conference.

Last year and this year I also had the privilege
of teaching a workshop at the FW conference.

Today on my 29th birthday I'm feeling pretty content. So far I've had a great life and God has accomplished some cool things through me. I have a college degree and a job I love, have had short stories and articles published nearly seventy times, have a completed novel, several group books published through my collaborative fiction organization, and as mentioned, am an emcee and presenter at an international writing conference. Plus I'm an aunt to three beautiful girls and have been to at least seven different countries besides the U.S.

That's not bad for just under thirty years of life!

My hopes for this next year are that I'll get:
- increasing answers to my health issues (though I've come to accept my health itself likely won't improve much)
- Reaching Sky accepted by a traditional publisher
- a rough draft of Above the Clouds written
- at least a start on putting together The Master's Touch: then and now, an anthology of my Biblical fiction and current event fiction short stories
- my national interpreting certification written and performance tests taken and passed

I think that's a pretty good list for now. Thanks for all your love, support, and prayers this year. As always, check out links to more "M" posts in the "From A 2 Z 4 U & Me" meme at www.pattywysong.com and feel free to jump right in if you're a blogger who would like to join us.

A 2 Z: Lekira's Life (Kira's Challenge part 2)

2011-08-14T21:19:00.000-07:00

Kira faced the rising sun with a straight back, her heart singing, soaring as high as the laita that swooped above her. She packed her things quickly, chattering to Qee the whole time.

“After five days in the jungle without any human contact, I’ll bet you’ll be glad when I have my own kind to talk to, instead of gabbing your ear off.”

The behki snorted and Kira laughed. She tied her bag and turned her attention to Qee’s fur. Plucking a small branch off the soft-wooded lenter tree, she worked the broken end until it splayed wide in a fan of thin fibers. She drew it through Qee’s coat, working out tangles and dirt.

“We’ll come into the village as champions, Qee, not bedraggled survivors. I left a girl and will come back a woman.” Her mind filled with the thought of her beloved Mikot’s face, shining with pride.

Qee nudged her and she shook her head. “Zoned out on you, did I?” She giggled, but put her hands back to work.

“Now for my hair.” She loosened her dark locks from the rawhide band. “Should I keep it down or brai—”

A scream pierced the air.

Kira reached for Qee, her throat tightening. For a moment she thought it was the wildcat, healed and returning for revenge. But when the cry came again, it sounded more human, almost like a cry for help.

One of the other challengers, perhaps? Injured and calling for help? No, they were all in different parts of the jungle.

She rushed to secure her pack on the behki’s back and took his forelock. “Shhh, Qee, lewah.”

The animal obediently followed and she crept in the direction the cries had originated, both of them stepping carefully, silently. Another scream came, this time a deep moan quite nearby. Kira paused, catching the urgent words that followed. “Oh, please, Creator, send someone to help.”

“Ssssss.” She motioned for Qee to stay put and crept forward to peer through the bushes. A woman lay in the dirt, her great mound of a belly contracting in childbirth. Sweat dampened her dark forehead.

“Oh, please, someone help.” Her words dropped to a murmur and Kira strained to understand the woman's heavy accent.

Kira pulled back, leaning against Qee. She would forfeit the challenge if she joined up with another human. Besides, she knew little about helping birth a child. Surely she would just make things worse.

“Creator, please, send someone.”

The words clung to Kira, pulling her, prodding her. She sighed. “Yes, Creator. I’m coming.” She looked up at the sky for a moment, pale clouds peering between the leaves. If she could do even one small thing toward brining another life safely into this world, it was worth the challenge.

Worth waiting another year? Worth the chance of Mikot choosing someone else?

No. She could not think of that now. Think only of the moment.

She bustled into the clearing. “I’m here to help.” She laid her pack down and took the woman’s grimy hand. “What’s your name? What should I do?”

A tear welled out of the woman’s eye. “He heard. Thank you.” She gripped Kira’s hand. “I’m Lasia. Please, boil some water and sterilize a knife.” Lasia motioned toward a bucket, then bent forward again in a contraction. “Hurry!”

Kira called for Qee and they hurried to the river and back, gathering brushwood along the way. Within minutes she had the pot over a small fire and was kneeling again beside Lasia.

“Why are you out here alone? Where is your family?” Kira didn’t add that the woman was also within the boundaries of Kira’s tribe.

“My behki spooked and ran. I was afraid if I fell off I would hurt the child.” Her hand went to her belly, rubbing, caressing. “Somehow I clung on until he quieted, but by then I had no idea where I was and then this baby announced it was coming whether I was ready or not.”

She grabbed at Kira’s hand, moaning again. Kira braced with her, fearing the small bones in her own hand would break with the pressure before Lasia finally relaxed again.

“What are you doing out here, a child alone?”

Kira straightened. “I am no longer a child.” Well, she would have been no longer one. “I’m proving my readiness for adult life and a family.”

“Ah,” Lasia nodded. “My people have this tradition, too, but it is only the boys who brave the elements alone.” Her gaze meandered around the clearing, resting briefly on Qee before turning back to Kira. “Yet your way has wisdom. Do not we women brave the jungle nearly as much as the men, plus with our children to care for?”

She cried out again, this time longer. Something was wrong. Kira could see it by the way she moved, the way her stomach contracted but did not shift the baby. She saw it in her eyes, in the short breaths that puffed from her mouth.

Closing her eyes, Kira let a prayer rise to the Creator. It was a prayer with no words, for He saw the situation and knew it better than she.

When she opened them, Lasia was watching. “So what must we do?”

Kira's hands moved almost before she knew they would, finding places on her abdomen. The touch calmed her as the girl massaged, fingers probing to feel the baby within.

“It’s a breach birth, I think.” Kira pushed at the baby’s rear through the stomach muscle, turning it, turning ever so gradually. Another contraction hit and she paused, wiping Lasia's forehead with a cloth until it was done and she moved to once again began urging the baby.

Then it happened. The baby kicked and rolled the rest of the way into place, Lasia’s belly bulging with a tiny elbow before falling calm.

The next contraction eased the child forward and within minutes Kira was grabbing for the slippery bundle. A cry rent the air. Kira laughed. A baby girl, safe in her hands. Trembling, she placed her on Lasia’s chest and for a moment their eyes met before dampness clouded Kira's vision.

“Thank You, Creator. You have brought yet another of Your creations into this world.”

It was the next day before it seemed safe to move Lasia. She and the baby rode on Qee and Kira strode beside him, her shoulders back. She had done the right thing; she didn’t regret that. But a part of her stomach clenched tighter and tighter as they neared my home.

Then they were there, stepping into the path of the village.

“She’s come! Kira’s back!” A little boy dropped his hemp ball and charged down the road ahead of them, screaming at the top of his lungs. People rushed out, exclaiming over Kira, over the strange woman and baby.

Her eyes searched only for one person. Kira found him in only a moment and in an instant all her fears were relieved.

“Kira!” Mikot grasped my hands. “I feared the worst.”

Her brave man’s eyes were wet. He was crying over her. Crying over Kira!

“I had to help Lasia.” Her words trembled, though she tried hard to be strong. The very words condemned her. Failed her from the challenge.

His eyes turned to Lasia. He tugged down the blanket swaddle and smiled at the wrinkled face of the newborn.

Then he turned back to Kira. “What beauty you have done. What honor to help such a life into this world.”

Her heart trembled, nearly stopped. What a man she had. She had chosen well. He would wait, she knew it. Next year they would wed.

Mikot left her for a moment to murmur with the tribal councilman. She held my tears in check, focusing just on the baby. The beautiful baby.

But then Mikot returned and grabbed her hand, held it high in the air. He turned to address the entire village. “Kira was willing to give up her challenge in order to help another, yet in that she has proven herself stronger than ever. Welcome our newest woman, Kira.”

Kira’s family yelled approval, stomping their feet.

Mikot reached around her to offer a hand to Lasia, lowering her gently to the ground. “Your child, what have you named her?” His finger trailed along the baby’s tiny foot.

“I name her in honor of my newest friend who guided her into this world.” Lasia’s voice rose to be heard above all the villagers. Rose to let all the world know. “I call her Lekira.”

___________________________________
This post is late and hastily-written due to the FaithWriters' conference that was in Michigan this weekend. It was an awesome time and though I'm coming back in a lot of pain and with a cold, it was worth it. Wonderful time!

Check out more "L" posts in the A 2 Z 4 U & Me meme at http://www.pattywysong.com/.

A 2 Z: Kira's Challenge (part 1)

2011-08-01T22:00:00.000-07:00

Kira gripped her hand tighter under the behki’s forelock and whispered into her mount’s ear. “Are you ready, Qee?” The animal tensed in response and they leaned forward as one. Kira’s eyes searched the horizon, watching for the first gleam of the sun.

She dared glance away for a second, meeting Sylan’s gaze. She flashed a smile at her friend. “You’ll pass this time, I know you will.”

The older girl shifted on her own behki. “I hope so. But it’s you who will be the top champion this year, I can feel it. Besides,” she tipped her head knowingly toward a young man in the crowd behind them, “it’s you who has someone waiting for your return.”

Kira couldn’t help but throw a glance behind her.

Steady brown eyes met hers and her stomach flip-flopped. She spun back to the front, her cheeks warming. Please, Creator, give me Your strength. Kira must pass. If she did not—another stolen glance moved her head, unbidden—would he wait a whole year for her to try again? Or would he find someone else, someone stronger and able to take on the task of marriage and family?

Mikot's eyes shone and his back straightened. His unspoken message filled her heart. He believed in her. Loved her. Waited for her.

It was that which gave her courage when the sun finally did send it’s first ray over the field. She didn’t even have to kick Qee. He felt her energy release and they bolted forward. Kira threw back her head and yelled, so full of sudden joy and confidence that she could not contain it.

Sylan laughed and screamed beside her, the excitement contagious, and Kira heard other cries from the other challengers as they sped off, each headed for a different direction of the compass.

The behki’s long legs lengthened out to full stride and Kira lay over his neck, wind slipping by with little resistance. Time seemed suspended as they streaked over the prairie, becoming one with the fluid motion of the air.

All too soon they reached the forest, and Qee was forced to slow as his paws picked a silent way through the brush. Kira leaned forward and whispered in his ear. “Caspyu, Qee.”

He lifted his head and sniffed, ears pricking forward as though they could help guide him toward the smell of water. He adjusted his course and by the time the sun was peaking through the leaves directly overhead he’d found a creek.

She made camp there, beside the gentle waters. Then, with a pat on Qee’s neck, she slipped back into the trees to search for berries and game. She’d nearly filled a pouch with rich tingna berries when a noise made her pause.

No, it wasn’t a noise. It was lack of noise. She held her breath, eyes darting among the trees for the silent birds, then down to the trails, watching for any tell-tale movement among the brush.

She saw nothing.

Her breath had returned to normal and she was reaching again toward the bush when a harsh caw from a japo rent the air. It was a single note, urgent, warning. Kira’s chest tightened.

The she heard it. Kshhhhh, kshhhhh, ksha.

The air itself froze, refusing to enter her lungs. Her blood pooled and ears rushed. It was only the memory of Mikot’s eyes that gave her strength enough to reach to her waist. Her fingers trembled, but untied her slingshot by rote. A stone already nestled in its pouch.

She waited. Listened. Dared not move.

The feline erupted from the bushes. Time slowed as it dove toward Kira in a perfect arch, “Kshhhhh” gurgling from its throat, seeping out through its white fangs.

Kira released the sling by instinct. The stone whisked through the air and hit squarely between its yellow eyes. The cat tumbled to the ground, mid-pounce.

It was far from dead.

The black beast shook its massive head. Yellow eyes narrowed, fastened on Kira, looking at her, through her. It hissed again, the sound wrapping around Kira’s throat, tightening, pulling. No! She sucked in a breath and yanked out her small sword, the blade glinting. She and the cat circled, watching each other’s every move.

The cat reacted first. A paw darted out, blood-red claws flashing.

Kira met it with her blade. The cat’s yowl filled the forest. The girl used the animal’s pain, used the pause to slash out herself. The blade hit flesh, biting deep into its shoulder. This scream was louder, angry. Defeated.

With a rustle of brush, the animal was gone, leaving only a smear of blood on steal to prove it was more than a dream. Kira knelt in the grass, feeling the comforting firmness of the earth below her.

“Thank You, Creator.” She raised her head toward the heavens, breathing great droughts of air.

Her first challenge was won.

Kira's Challenge © Amy Michelle Wiley 2011

Photos from www.sxc.hu
_________________________________

I whipped this up just for fun, but always appreciate any feedback on my writing you might have. Look for the second part next week for my "L" post. As usual, check http://www.pattywysong.com/ for more bloggers posting in the "From U 2 Z 4 U & Me" meme, and feel free to join us if you're a blogger.

A 2 Z: Joy to be counted

2011-07-26T07:00:00.000-07:00

A few years ago I was driving to college, stressed and late. I'd slept through my alarm and then dragged myself from bed feeling ill and aching all over. No, I didn't have the flu, just my normal health issues acting up. I left the house late and in a hurry, forgetting my homework, only to get stuck waiting for the bridge to come down after it stopped traffic to let a tall boat through.

I was mentally rehearsing the tale of all my unfortunate events when I was struck with a thought (or perhaps hit upside the head by the Holy Spirit?)... I had a choice: I could keep bemoaning my troubles, or I could choose to move on and be happy today.

It's a tough choice. Let's face it, sometimes we like wallowing in our misfortunes. Who's up for a pity party?! Certainly any given day we have plenty of things to find fault with. We've all heard the verse from James, "Count it all joy, my brothers, when you meet trials of various kinds," but how do we do that, and why?

Not to say it's wrong to tell a friend what's troubling you, or laugh about mishaps, but it is wrong to live with an attitude of "woe is me" or get so caught up with life that we forget to be thankful. Ultimately it comes down to a choice we have to make.

Are we willing to be Pollyannas and look for the glad things in life? Are we able to acknowledge that God is good even when life seems bad? Can we call out to God for help and ask Him for joy, even in difficult times?

Looking at the rest of the passage in James helps give reason for what seems like a backwards response. "Count it all joy, my [sisters], when you meet trials of various kinds, knowing that the testing of your faith produces endurance. And let endurance have its perfect result, so that you may be perfect and complete, lacking in nothing." Some versions say "...that you may be mature and complete...."

Here are some of the things I can count as joy:

+ I am a writer, with exciting stories always in my head to entertain me, and sometimes on paper to entertain others. (I got the 2nd draft of my novel Reaching Sky done this week! and my collaborative Peculiar People's orphan train book is almost done with the first section)

+ I have a job I love that helps others and that allows me to work with people, words, languages, and cultures—all my passions. I work in education, always learning, and in churches, helping spread the gospel.

+ That I am not completely confined to bed or home.

+ I have wonderful support and love from my family and great friends.

+ I have been able to use my experiences with my disabilities to encourage and help others.

+ I can see my endurance growing, always bringing me a little closer to the perfect maturity that will be completed when I get my new body in the New Jerusalem.

What about you? What are you joyful for?

Little Amy finding joy in a ball

Joy in a snow angel

A 2 Z: I Am From...

2011-07-18T22:46:00.000-07:00

I am from trails weaving through the trees, from ponds of Koi, and blanket forts. I am from sailing hand-painted boats down the “Mississippi,” riding the Up-Down Cherry Tree, and catching frogs and snakes outside before tea parties and dress up inside.

I am a country girl.

I’m from sisters who are best friends, imaginary worlds and elaborate games that made chores more fun (if more slow). From homeschooling around the kitchen table, playing otter in the pool, and reading all night in the crack of light from the hall. I’m from flaky pie crusts, “cream-ice,” and eating whole bags of chocolate chips.

I am from Squires chutzpah and Wiley faith that God will provide. From searching out the Bible to find out what I believe and lively debates about what might be. I am from pioneers and missionaries, medical anomalies and miracle-believers, Bible studies and elder-run churches.

I am from “keeping to the left,” laughing until we cry and our faces turn purple, and Dutch Blitz late into the night. I am from “my husband sent me for this light,” nonsense poems, se cayo, and singing while we work. I am from reading aloud with all the voices, from word games, and spontaneous adventures.

I am from Squires irony, Wiley jokes, White stubbornness, and Rubesh music. From Ecuadorian llama rugs, wood-smoke hugs, crochet lessons, and twenty cousins.

I am from falling stars seen from sleeping bags spread in the grass, from inseparable best-friends, and litters of cuddly kittens. From a 100-acre farm, custom-made houses, and learning responsibility from rabbit hutches full of fluffy Angoras.

I am from dancing in the rain, hiking in the hills, fishing in the rivers, and gazing at the mountains. I am from keeping on when it’s tough, triumphing when it’s impossible, and refusing to quit.

I am Me.

________________

This exercise is based on a poem by George Ella Lyon called "Where I'm From." I got it from my sister at Purple Puzzle Place. You can find a template to help you write your own here.

For more "I" posts in the "From A 2 Z 4 U & Me" meme, check out Patty Wysong's Mr. Linky at the bottom of her post.

A 2 Z: Hallelujah Hands

2011-07-11T08:00:00.000-07:00

My second language is a manual one, American Sign Language, and my profession is interpreting. Obviously, my hands are very important to me. I use them to chat with Deaf friends, to pass on the good news from a sermon at church, and to earn money. I love to sing and sign at the same time, worshiping God with my whole body.

Last week Dot Amos, a photographer and one of my mom's best friends from college, came over to play with some ideas I had to try to capture some movement pictures of me signing. They turned out beautifully! With some of them, like the heart one, she got the movement on her camera with a slow shutter speed. Others, like hallelujah, we took a series of still shots and I put them together with a photo program (I used six different pictures to make that one one). Enjoy!

Heart

Imagine!

Hallelujah

Heaven

For more "H" blog posts from people doing the "From A 2 Z 4 U & Me" meme, check out http://www.pattywysong.com/. If you're a blogger, feel free to jump in and join us!

A 2 Z: Grandparents

2011-07-04T17:04:00.000-07:00

I entered a room filled with dolls and crafts, my young eyes taking in each treasure as my Great-Grandmother pulled me close for a hug. She held out her traditional gift—a sort of face made with yarn woven into plastic mesh. I pressed my fingers into the corner of its cheeks and the mouth opened wide, showing a Hershey Kiss nestled inside. She loved to make all kinds of things, especially putting together dolls and making fun outfits. One holiday my sisters and I each got a handmade clown doll, complete with a different bright outfit and curly hair.

Eventually Great-Grandma, my maternal grandma's mother, had to move into a care home. We visited each Thursday after piano lessons, hearing stories of my Great-Grandmother's life as a child and then as a mother of ten children during the Depression. Parts of her life were so different, like her memories of being sent to the butcher shop when she was five. But other things remained much the same as today, like men being men just the same then as they are now. She recounted a time when she set a pie to cool on the open oven door, only to have the door fall right off the hinges and smash to the floor with the now-ruined pie. Her husband, my great-grandfather I never had the chance to meet, entered the house about then and surveyed the mess. His response? "Now what did you do that for?" Great-Grandma nearly threw the pie at him.

Oven doors apparently caused a lot of trouble because Great-Grandma also tells a story about a time when she was quite young and she and her siblings came home from school for lunch. Her older sister stepped back into the hot metal oven door that was open. It caught her right behind the knees and she fainted. Their dad scooped her up and laid her on the bed and shooed the rest of the kids back to school. Great-Grandma couldn't figure out why he would send her to school when her sister was laying dead on the bed!

I've always been very close to my maternal grandparents. They live not too far away on a hundred-acre farm that my sisters and I loved to explore. In fact, though they no longer cut lumber or raise cattle, my grandparents are still farming--in their eighties! Every summer as we grew up, us three girls stayed a whole week at the farm. Sometimes each of us had a few days alone, all in turn, and other times all three of us stayed together for a week.

Each Saturday it was Grandpa's turn to cook, and we would wake to the smell of his pancakes on the stove. Grandma taught us how to make her famous flaky pie crust, which she'd learned from her mother. But most of our time was spent outdoors, playing in the woods or barn. Grandpa would let us sit in the bucket of his tractor as he rumbled slowly down the long gravel driveway, and Grandma would point out the edible Sheep's Sorrel and any other plants or birds she could name. One year the three of us girls made a fort out of evergreen branches, and ushered our parents and grandparents in to sit on the bough couch (sorry about that wet mossy spot). Grandpa was quite impressed when the main support logs of the fort withstood a winter storm that took down many a strong tree.

Now my grandparents enjoy my writing and are impatient for my novel to be ready to read. I print out all my blogs and stories to bring to them to read.

As a child I never had the chance to be quite as close to my paternal grandparents since they were missionaries in Mexico and Central America and then retired to California. They came to the States about every four years, whereupon we'd have a huge family reunion, usually at a retreat center on the Oregon Coast. My grandpa loved children (good thing since he had six of his own and twenty grandchildren). I remember him letting us littlest ones sit on his feet while he walked, dragging us along amid much laughter. He would let me sit in his lap and play with his fascinating hands that had touched so many places—and had such interesting stretchy skin!

They moved to my town when I was nearing my teenage years, but sadly my grandpa passed away within a year. I cherish the memory of his children and many of his grandchildren holding hands around his bed and singing his favorite hymns as he slipped into the arms of Jesus. As I grew into adulthood, I became closer to my Grandma Wiley and loved to hear her tell stories. She grew so animated as she recounted tails of her missionary years or of her recent travels around the world. In the last years of her life, she began letting us grandchildren choose gifts from her large collection of tea cups, as if she knew that soon she would go on the ultimate journey Home.

How blessed am I to have Godly and nourishing grandparents as these!

To read more "G" posts for the "From A 2 Z 4 U & Me" check out Mr. Linky at the bottom of Patty's post at http://www.pattywysong.com/.

Also, many of you have given a lot of prayer and encouragement as I deal with my health issues. One of the very few companies that is doing research on my disease is getting the opportunity for a grant if enough people vote for them. Would you take a few minutes to go vote for the chance to find more treatments and answers for me? http://www.vivint.com/givesbackproject/charity/769 Thanks!

A 2 Z: FaithWriter Friends

2011-06-26T12:00:00.000-07:00

In April of 2005 I was coming out of the darkest time of my life. A year and a half of severe germphobia and depression had hit me out of nowhere (though my grandmother's unexpected death may have played a part). My personality is somewhat happy-go-lucky and I'm not one to spend too much energy worrying, so my family and I were dazed by my spiral into OCD so severe I was spending every minute in complete panic and most of my time frantically cleaning or showering.

By God's grace we finally found a medication that fulfilled what my body was lacking and as my brain chemicals slowly righted, I began to look elsewhere to fill my time and thoughts. I found a message board online for one of my family's favorite TV shows, Doc, and began participating in fan fiction. I've considered myself a writer all my life, but this was the first time strangers had seen my work. They loved it.

I decided I wanted to find a place online where I could post other short stories I was working on. A search for Christian writing groups pulled up FaithWriters, but a look at their thousands of members had me convinced I would be lost in the shuffle.

God brought me back there a few days later and I joined and posted a story or two, and found their message boards. Most of all, I also found the weekly writing challenge. Let's just say I wasn't exactly "lost in the shuffle." In fact, in an interview with me a year later Lynda Schab said I "burst into FaithWriters... like a firecracker."

More about that in a minute. First, let me explain that the writing challenge gives a word or phrase prompt and then participants have one week to write something on that topic that is between 150 to 750 words (that's a max of a page and a half). In all of my 23 years of life I'd only finished a handful of stories. Dozens more floated around stuck in my head. A few had managed to leak a few paragraphs out on paper before I was distracted with another idea. The short stories I'd written for school had ended up being pages and pages long.

The first challenge topic I tried was "Thanksgiving." My rough daft was several thousand words. Somehow I managed to cut most of it and find a remnant of the story that still made sense in 750 words. (I later became known as the master surgeon.) I submitted and nervously waited for it to become live anonymously, and then a whole week passed before I'd know the judging results. Comments, those coveted golden boxes, poured in on that and even a few on the other regular stories I'd posted.

That became my first story accepted for publication. I was shocked when I got first place in the beginners level and second place overall. My family had told me I was good at writing, but this was confirmation from strangers! The next week I again placed second. In a time when life was difficult, it was a blessing to have God grant me a talent that made something, at least, come somewhat easy. Over the next two years I entered every single week and my writing grew in leaps and bounds, thanks to the practice and the many FaithWriters who took me under their wings and mentored and critiqued me.

But besides giving me writing help, the people of FaithWriters did even more. They were friends, prayer partners, counsellors, and life-lines. As I continued to crawl out of the dark pit and into a more healthy and functional life, they walked alongside me through emails, instant messaging, the message boards, and even phone calls. They did not judge me, but loved me and guided me and supported me. (Many of you are reading this, so I want to say, "Thank you!" Thank you for allowing God to use you in my life then, and now.)

Now six years later, I still count many individual FaithWriters among my very closest friends. I only enter the challenge occasionally now, as I'm trying to focus on my novel, but the FW community remains a vital part of my life. I have been the assistant conference coordinator for a few years now and last year had the honor of being invited to also teach a workshop. I teach again this year and am even more excited about my topic (how to bring your writing to life).

I've been to a few other Christian writing conferences, but the FaithWriter ones are unique because the people there are already a tight-knit community, to which any newcomers are quickly welcomed. The workshops are mostly taught with in-house speakers--FW members who have experience and skill in specific areas. Between and after the informative sessions, the time is filled with hugs, prayers, laughter and games (in fact, we tend to stay up half the night playing together). Sally Stuart, the famous director of the yearly Christian Writers' Market Guide, spoke at one of our conferences and mentioned how special of a feel this one had in comparison to the many, many others she'd spoken at.

Speaking of the conference, how would YOU like to come? It's in Detroit on August 12th and 13th, and guess what? The Early Bird special has been extended until the end of June. You still have time to sign up! And as well as the conference being extra-special, it's also extra-cheap, and if you find good airfare then the cost of the conference and airplane tickets are comparable to just the workshop costs of other conferences. So, if you're a writer or have always wanted to be a writer, hurry over to www.faithwriters.com/conference.php. See you there!

For more "F" posts from bloggers participating in the "From A 2 Z 4 U and Me" meme, check http://www.pattywysong.com/.

A 2 Z: Eternity

2011-06-21T00:22:00.000-07:00

Eternity. It's a concept that is hard for us to understand while we are stuck in the time-space continuum of life on earth. Yet it's something we long for and dream for.

He has also set eternity in the hearts of men; yet they cannot fathom what God has done from beginning to end. Ecc 3:11b

I see evidence around me that there is a Creator, and feel Him in my soul. I see that there is good and evil in the world, and believe that there is an eternal resting place for both God and Satan. Just as the angels had a choice, so do we humans have a choice of which destination we prefer, heaven or hell.

Each of our actions is a choice, and there is no fence to balance on—it's one side or the other. But we can be assured that if we do choose to accept the forgiveness and purity Jesus's blood offers, then we know with 100% conviction that we can spent eternity with God in heaven.

I love to dream of what it will be like in heaven. I do not picture it as cartoons and movies do, with people sitting on clouds playing a harp. No, I see it as something much more full of life than just that.

Behold, I will create new heavens and a new earth... But be glad and rejoice forever in what I will create, for I will create Jerusalem to be a delight and its people a joy... They will build houses and dwell in them; they will plant vineyards and eat their fruit... Before they call I will answer; while they are still speaking I will hear. (From Isaiah 65.)

I see earth as a dim reflection of heaven. We will worship the glory of God continuously, yet I believe that tending His creation is a form of worship. I plan to have a cocoa orchard and a sugar cane field. Come visit me and enjoy His chocolate!

We are also told we will have new bodies, yet it seems we will have the same soul, the same essence. I see myself as still a storyteller, writing or telling stories that show God's glory and praise His name. I will write of the acts He does among His people and angels. Maybe we'll be able to know of things that happened back on earth, and tell of the ways He cared for His people and touched their lifes in ways they never saw. I'll also write of the things we have yet to learn about Him. For so great and awesome is our God that even an eternity is not enough to know Him truely and completely.

The Bible often mentions that there is a Book of Life and we only will reach heaven if our names are written therein. Names are important to me—I've been known to spend hours pouring over a baby name book just for fun. We see many times that names are also important to God, when He's chosen names or changed names to fit people's personalities or triumphs. I see even in my sisters and I that are personalities kind of go with our name meanings.

I like to think each of us have a unique name that belongs only to our one soul. God, the great God, will stand at the gate of heaven and call out MY name! I will know it instantly because it is me. It is the epitome of everything good He put within me that makes me uniquely Me.

Check out links to my friends' blogs for "E" for the "From A 2 Z 4 U and Me" meme http://www.pattywysong.com/. If you're a blogger, jump right in next week with "F"!

A 2 Z: Dragons!

2011-06-16T19:42:00.000-07:00

My ideas for the "D" week kept coming back to dragons, even though I really don't have that much to say about them. I loved the movie How to Train a Dragon (although Toothless is a stupid name for a dragon, just saying) and as a child I used to run around the house swinging an imaginary sword, yelling, "One, two! One, two! The vorpal blade went snicker-snack! and with his head he went galumping back." (from "Jabberwocky," of course).

Then it occurred to me that each of us have our own dragons we hunt and maybe even slay, everyday. We gain strength, wisdom, and even respect from each of our battles. The Bible tells us to put on the full armor of God everyday, so we're ready to fight our dragons. Besides the ones that come from Satan and his minions, we have the everyday battles each of us face. Some days just getting out of bed is a battle, or going to work, or cleaning the bathroom. Some of the dragons in our lives are sinful ones we must actively seek out with our vorpal blades.

Others of our dragons are ongoing wars, like my health issues. I've been feeling the heat of one sneaky dragon that's not yet diagnosed, but I think I'm very close to finding the lair. I had an MRI last week that was clean, so between that and my symptoms we think we can rule out MS. So that's one cave that is empty.

The next cave to look in is Ehlers-Danlos Syndrome. It's a genetic connective tissue disease—people who have it don't make enough collagen, so it can affect everything: skin, muscles, joints, and organs. It can range from mild to disabling, but doesn't normally affect the length of life, unless there is a rare complication. My family is pretty convinced we have it, and I see a geneticists on Monday, June 20th to check for it. It would explain so much—more than I even realized needed explaining!—my GI and eye problems since birth, and my current heart issues and joint and muscle pain and weakness (which seem more severe than Fibro alone would cause), etc. Getting this diagnoses would mean I'd go from having tons of random separate issues to just two diseases: EDS and Fibromyalgia. That makes much more sense. It would give me peace of mind of knowing exactly what dragon I'm fighting, and would give the doctors more wisdom to know how to go about keeping it at bay as much as possible.

Next week I'm also meeting with two lawyers to decide which to use to get some help fighting the dragon of the government disability aid labyrinth. The next step will be to go before a judge, though I guess that can take a year before it actually happens. If I get enough support from my doctors, which has been a challenge to even get good care much less anything else from them so far, there is a chance the lawyer could get a special review of my case that would expedite things and could get a ruling of disability without even going to the judge. I'm finally starting to find doctors that are willing to at least try to take care of me, so that's a good sign.

I'm so thankful I'm done with interpreting work at the college for the summer, so I can focus on all these other appointments for a few weeks. Then I'm determined to spend much of the summer doing writing projects. I have one short story that just needs a few more tweaks before I send it off to a magazine, and another in the works. My novel, Reaching Sky, isn't coming along as fast as I'd hoped, but I am half-way done with this revision, so am hoping to get it off to some beta readers for feedback before too long.

I'm so thankful for all my family and friends who stand by with prayer and encouragement to help fight my dragons, and for the ever-present strength and peace from the greatest warrior, God. One group I've found is http://www.healkick.com/, a recently-developed online community for young adults with neuro-immune diseases. If you or someone you know deals with that type of dragon, and is under 40, check out this great new website.

What are your dragons? How has God helped you fight them?

As always, check out my friends' A 2 Z 4 U & Me posts for "D" at Patty Wysong's blog.

A 2 Z: Cats and Cavaliers

2011-06-07T00:52:00.000-07:00

My family has almost always had two cats (sometimes more). The first two I remember were presumbed siblings, Twinkle and Shasta. They were abandoned as kittens out in the middle of the country and followed my grandparents' cows back to their barn. The farm was full of wild barn cats, but at some weak moment we grandkids had eliceted a promise that if a tame cat ever showed up, we got to take it home.

I was about five at the time, and distinctly remember sitting on the farmhouse kitchen floor with my two sisters. Our legs were spread out in a three-pointed star to keep the two kittens within reach as we attmepted to make the impossible decision whether to take home the black female with a tiny white star under her chin, or the grey, brown, and black tabby male. (Unfortunately, at the moment I can't find most of our pictures of them.) Mom and Dad had pity on us and finally allowed us to bring both home.

Twinkle was a more typical feline, complete with moodiness and spite. She took pleasure in aiming for my face with her claws whenever my childishness went too far. However, she also liked to cuddle and was known to bow her head in respect during prayer times. Shasta was anything but normal. He would never dream of using his claws on one of his girls, and was even known to jump between us and a big dog or even a scary man.When my oldest sister was being courted, he insisted on chaperoning by sitting between them on the porch swing. He was so tender-hearted that if he came across a mouse nest while he was hunting, he would carefully pick up each baby mouse and carry it to us, alive. Sadly, our attempts at bottle-feeding the infants with cow's milk in an eye dropper usually were not effective for long.

Shasta was the only living thing in the house that Mom would permit to whine for any length of time. She was even know to croon a response to his wails, to the high amusement of us girls. He outlived his sister by many years and lived to the old age of about 18.

We got our only dog when I was about 12. Rebel was a Cavalier King Charles Spaniel, the most gorgeous, brilliant, friendly dog in the whole world. A completely unbiased opinion, to be sure. He learned a lot of tricks, including speak, shout, whisper, and moan. He was almost as good a mouser as the cats and loved to play in our hay fields. He especially loved kids and kittens. Shasta and Twinkle only barely tolerated him, but the cats we got afterwards were best buddies. I remember opening the garage door to find him laying with a half a dozen kittens using him as a matress. He would jump to his feet, sending kittens flying every direction, and look up with manly innocence, "Me, cuddling with kittens? No way!"

Sultana was the first cat we got that was all mine. Tana was slightly unusual...she loved to "fly" by sitting in a box lid and having me zoom her through the air, and she even let me pull her around on a sled in the winter. She was feircly loving of me, and would yowl at the front door every morning until I came out. Then she'd leap into my arms, wrap her paws around my neck, and tuck her head under my chin. She also loved being a mother, and between her and I those were the cuddliest kittens around. Some of them particularly liked water, and one even had her own wading pool at her new home.

After Tana disapeared (much to my heartbreak), I got my current cat, a beautiful silver tabby. She was named Licorice when I got her, even though she doesn't have much black. Sometimes she's Lica (with a long I) but most often she gets called "Amy's cat" or "Baby," due to her tiny size.

Baby is so timid that my sister and I dubbed her Secret Agent Cat, since she was always alert and secretive, slipping from shadow to shadow. She adores feet and would rather be rubbed with a foot than a hand, best of all if she can play with your empty shoe while being stroked with a stocking-foot.

A few years ago a black cat began hanging around. Though actually fairly small in size, his lean, muscled body earned him the name Bagheera. At first he was scared to death of people, but finally overcame his fear enough to come to the front door and cry until we came to make friends. He's obviously been abused at some point, but now a couple of years later is mostly over his jumpiness. Unfortunately he's still not over his firm conviction that cats should most definitely be allowed inside, or that rain is to be despized. Given that Mom doesn't allow cats inside this house and we live in the rainforest of the Great Pacific NorthWet, he spends many misrable hours wailing in the garage. But overall, I still believe he's happier than he'd been at his former house. He's not fond of sitting in laps, but loves leaning against my back and drooling all over my arm.

Check out links to more "C" posts at http://www.pattywysong.com/

From A 2 Z: Be Still

2011-05-31T10:00:00.000-07:00

Several years ago, Mt. St. Helens created quite a stir when she began releasing steam and ash. We were told there was no current danger of another eruption, in fact, the "burps" were the mountain's way of releasing pressure in a much less destructive way. This was exciting for me, who hadn't been quite born yet for the 1980 eruption, but now was able to see plums of steam and ash from my own bedroom window.

My family made the couple of hour drive up to the Johntson Observetory to see the mountian close up. I scurried around taking pictures. It wasn't until we were back in the car headed toward home that I realized... I'd been so busy capturing the moment forever that I'd forgotten to just be still and enjoy the display of God's mighty creation.

I have a distinct memory as a young child of coming accross my mom sitting on the couch with her eyes closed. Now, I understood that she was a busy lady, homeschooling three young girls, taking care of the house, and helping with the home business. She deserved a rest! I leaned against her knees and offered helpfully, "Would you like me to bring you a book?" She smiled. "No, thanks, I'm just resting."

This was where things got puzzling for me. How could she want to just sit there? Even now in my late 20s when I'm so sick and need lots of rest, I rarely do nothing. To me, resting is sleeping, reading, watching a movie, surfing FaceBook, or maybe quietly sitting outdoors to enjoy nature. Thankfully I can usually turn my busy brain off fairly easily when it's time to sleep, but even that is doing something—sleeping! Even my sleep is not calm. Because of my sleep disorder I rarely get the restorative deep sleep, but instead spend my time tossing and turning in light sleep or experiencing vivid dreams in REM sleep.

Be still before the LORD and wait patiently for him; Ps. 37:7a

So it is that one of the negatives of my bubbly personality is that it's difficult for me to just be still before the Lord. This year I've been doing the "read the Bible in a year" program and for the first time in my adulthood I've been succcessful in reading everyday for several months straight. I've always had an easy time praying, singing praises, and chatting with God throughout the day. But just being, just listening and communing, that is more difficult for me.

So this week I'm challenging myself, and challenging you, to set aside some time to just be still with the Lord. Selah.

Be still, and know that I am God; I will be exalted among the nations, I will be exalted in the earth! Ps. 48:10

Check out more B blogs on Patty's blog: http://www.pattywysong.com/

A 2 Z: Acknowledgement and Acceptance

2011-05-26T17:39:00.000-07:00

As I’m sure you’ve noticed, I don’t blog often. I’m not the only blogger with this problem, so recently my friend Patty issued a challenge to her blogging friends called “From A 2 Z for U & Me.” The goal is to write one post a week with a letter of the alphabet as a idea generator. Obviously this week is A. (check out other A posts from the Linky tool on Patty's blog)

My fiction mind immediately thought of a fantasy short story about a young pregnant lady who lives in a culture that expects all first-born children to be given a name starting with A to honor the god of fertility and prosperity, Aath. This woman is learning about another god, whom her friend claims is the only True God. She is torn. If she goes against tradition and turns to this God then she and her baby could be shunned and face starvation, but if she honors the god Aath that turns out to be false, could the consequences be even worse?

I have the first page written and fully intended to have the whole thing finished by now, but alas, my fatigue is flaring at the most inopportune time, as usual. Having a muddled brain that feels doped up on sleep meds (even though it’s been weeks since I’ve had any) is hardly fertile ground to grow fiction.

However, even if I did have the story finished, I wouldn’t post it here. I’ve been trying to get some of my short stories published in some of the more well-known and well-paying children’s magazines like Cobblestone, Cricket, and Highlights. I’ve gotten several hand-written letters back with my rejection notices, saying that they loved the story and to please send in more—unpublished ones. So I think I will stop posting most of my stories online here or on FaithWriters before sending them in, and see if that helps my stories actually get accepted for publication. Sorry. ;-)

So that leaves me to think of another A theme for this week. Two words that keep coming to mind are acceptance and acknowledgement. I long ago accepted the fact that I’ll have serious health issues the rest of my life. But I’ve had this nagging feeling that something more is wrong than “just” the diagnoses I currently have. I’ve seen several specialists recently and they all agree that I have particularly severe symptoms, but none have any idea why. Maybe it’s just that my body is sensitive, but maybe it is something mysterious hiding in the background.

I’ve been analyzing (another a word!) why it’s important to me to keep digging. Of course there is the obvious reason that if the doctors know exactly what is going on, then they are that much better equipped to help me. But when it comes down to it, most of the things I’m wondering about are not much more easily treated than what I have already.

I’ve been wondering how much my desire for other people’s acknowledgement and acceptance of my limitations plays into this. If I have a disease name that the general public knows is very disabling, then when I say what I have then there is easy acceptance and understanding of my limitations. As it is, my main disease of Fibromyalgia affects everyone so differently that those who have heard of it may have a completely different idea of what it means than how it actually affects my body, and the other people haven’t ever heard of it anyway.

I do think that is only a small part of my desire to keep investigating my body’s dysfunctions, and the most important reason is to be accurately treating what I really have, but it has made me think. How often do we humans look for acknowledgement or acceptance in odd places? The name given my disease and the response that triggers from others does not change what my body is experiencing. The fact that someone else looks at me and sees a normal-looking lady and perhaps sees me do an activity in which I seem to function fine does not mean that I’m not experiencing pain or fatigue, or that even if I function fine then, that I won’t crash for three days after the event.

In the same way, if someone looks at us and thinks we aren’t good enough, or aren’t pretty enough, or aren’t ______ (fill in the blank with whatever inadequacy you struggle with), does it change anything? Our feelings, if we let it, but it does not change who we are inside. That brings two important truths.

The first is that the only acknowledgement and acceptance that really matters is what we get from God. He created us. He knows every weakness, every limitation, every strength, and every skill better than we know it ourselves. And even with that knowledge, He accepts us. He loves and cares about each detail of our lives, about each up and down, each frustration and thrill no matter how minor or major. That is the truth we hang onto, no matter how any misunderstanding person treats us in this world.

The second important thing is that we as Christians should give that acceptance and care to each other. Yes, be brave enough to gently point out sins, but care enough to really know and support each other. Care enough to love no matter what flawed package the other comes wrapped in. Take the time to listen and try to understand what day to day life is like for our brothers and sisters, so that we can support, pray for, and encourage them that much more effectively.

I’m so very grateful to be surrounded by so many people who do put this into practice. As I mentioned in my last post, the church I’ve been at for the last year is amazing, and so often everyone seems to know just what to say and just how to pray for me. That’s because they’ve cared enough to get to know me, and I’ve opened up to let them, and to give support in return. My family and friends are also very supportive.

I will continue to look for answers to my health, because right now I feel that’s being a good steward of my body. On June 9th I have an MRI to help rule out MS. I finally have a primary care doctor, neurologist, and cardiologist who do care and are trying, even if they don’t have all the answers. But I will not look to diagnoses labels for a path to acceptance and understanding from those around me. I don’t need it for that. I already have that in perfect form from my Heavenly Father, and in imperfect but still good form from my family and friends.

And that’s plenty enough.

Talents for the Lord

2011-05-06T14:54:00.000-07:00

A few days ago I was chatting with my nieces and mentioned that I'd written a rough draft of a novel, and was working on editing and rewriting the next draft.

Niece 1: You're allowed to do that?
Me: Yes, all books that have ever been published have been re-written by the author many, many times. I'll bet a lot of books have been rewritten ten times!
Niece 2: Wow, I don't think I'd ever want to be a writer, then.

Her sentiments echoed what I've been thinking for several weeks. Life would be much easier if I wasn't a writer. I could go to work, interpreting a few hours a week, drag myself home, and just be able to rest. No concerns about having enough energy to think of a clever string of words, finding enough brain power to figure out how good or bad an older set of words were....

Yet, I can't stop writing. For short times when I'm especially sick or busy, yes, but the fact remains that God made me a writer. That's part of who I am, deep inside my soul. And a certain energy and satisfaction beyond anything else is created when I do what God has called me and given me the talent to do.

My interpreting work schedule this term has me in more pain than usual, but I've still managed to get a bit done on my writing projects. I tried Script Frenzy this month—trying to write 100 pages of a script in April. I didn't make the goal, only got 49 pages written, but now have a half a screenplay done. Sign Your Love is about a college girl who suddenly finds out she is the only living relative of a half sister she didn't know existed. She must decide whether to take custody of a child who is only six years old—and deaf.

We've also started the writing process on the next Peculiar People book, the orphan plane project. The story is a twist on the real-life orphan trains in the 1800s who sent children from the inner-cities out west, in hopes they'd find a better chance at life. Our book is set in the future and the children are being sent to live on a space station. We have fifteen contributing authors from four different countries. I'm excited to add an additional feature to this book—illustrations! I have about seven artists who will be doing a black and white drawing for each story.

As far as non-writing news goes, last week my church had a women's event with a "Bride of Christ" theme. One of the activities was having a bunch of the young ladies model the older women's wedding dresses. A few months ago one of my grandma's friends called to ask me to model her vintage dress. At her wedding, she wore my Grandma Wiley's veil and my great-aunt was one of the bridesmaids. It was special to be a part of that bit of history. The dress is about sixty-five-years old and was originally a pure white. Though it's hard to tell in this picture, it's now aged to a lovely deep champagne color.

I began attending this church, Evergreen Bible Church, almost a year ago now. At first I was only there temporarily, to fill in for an interpreter who was in the hospital. But I'd been between ministries at my former church and fell in love with this church, so felt the Lord encouraging me to stay. The people are very supportive—not just "Sunday friends" but people who care all during the week. Pastor Toby always takes time to see how I'm doing and feels like "my pastor." It's also a blessing to be able to use my skills in the church's Deaf Ministry. We have a few Deaf people attending, and hope the Lord will grow it more. One thing I especially love is that this isn't a ministry the church decided to start one day, but is something the Lord very clearly started, when a Deaf woman began attending the church before an interpreted service had even been set up.

A couple months ago I had the honor of sharing my testimony with the church about God getting me through the interpreting program despite all my physical limitations making it humanly impossible. Normally I feel comfortable on the stage speaking, but for some reason I was particularly nervous. Perhaps because it was such a personal topic. You can watch my testimony on this YouTube video: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ldVYYaBIau0

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Welcome to Amy's 2011

2011-02-21T00:14:00.000-08:00

I'm still here! I planned to write a post welcoming in the new year, but wanted to see if I got the job I applied for so I could post about that, but then I got the job and was busy, so never got this written. I'm working a few hours a week interpreting at a community college and loving it. It's the best of the education world: I don't have to prepare lectures and grade papers like the teachers, or do homework and take tests like the students, but I still get to hear the lectures and such. The college setting is perfect for me because I can just work one or two classes a day, with a few days off.

As much as I would have liked to start earning a little money right out of school, I'm kinda glad I ended up just interpreting at church and low key places like that for a while. I'm so much more confident in my skills now than I was even in internship last year. I've been blessed with great classes and clients and wonderful interpreter teammates who support me and do what they can to try to help make sure I'm not overdoing it physically. It's hard with my health issues, and I've had some bad days, but I'm enjoying being able to do a little work. Plus, I get paid days off if my clients play hooky, haha.

I also volunteer interpret at my church, Evergreen Bible Church, and work a few times a month at another church. I especially love interpreting the worship music. Signing the songs is like worshiping with my whole body, and many of the congregation (even those who can hear) have taken the time to let me know that I've been a blessing to them.

I haven't kept writing everyday like I'd planned, since the few hours of work take up most of my energy, but I have been able to do a little here and there. I brought the opening chapter of my NaNo novel, Reaching Sky, to the critique group in my area that Randy Ingermanson leads and the group was very pleased with it. Yay! The main problem is that the character voice sounds too feminine, so I'll need to work on that throughout the book.

A few weeks ago I started having worse spells of feeling dizzy, weak, and lightheaded. My doctor didn't have an opening at a time I was available, so they sent me to someone else. That turned out to be planned by God. The doctor listened to my symptoms and looked at my chart and said, "Wow, you have a fascinating array of issues. Who is taking care of you?" I'm like, "Well, not really anyone." He says, "You need to be seeing specialists, and ones who are not just going to check you for one thing and then say you're fine, but ones who like unusual cases and will actually figure out the problem." By now I'm about crying because doctors have been ignoring me for years and this one finally cares. He's retiring soon but is making sure others will be taking care of me.

Two years ago when I first started having tachycardia (abnormally fast heartbeat) the cardiologist I saw was extremely rude and condescending and basically told me I was too young to have any health problems so exercise more and get over it.

This new cardiologist I saw last week was great. He said if my heart keeps going this fast then eventually it'll wear out, so it's important to figure out what's wrong. He wants someone to do more thyroid checks on me but for now started me on a beta blocker and I'm suppose to eat tons of salt and drink water. If he can't find anything to keep my pulse lower and my blood pressure higher, then he'll refer me to an electrophysiologist to look into my heart rhythm and see whether I'll need surgery or not (I'm hoping for a not).

This week I see a rheumatologist. I'm so thankful to finally have competent doctors trying to take care of me, and I pray they'll be able to figure out what my body is doing this time, lol. Then next week I have two appointments to help determine if I'm disabled, so I'm nervous about those, especially since my health is directly affected by my level of activity. I'm not as sick right now because I'm resting a lot and only working a very few hours, so they won't be able to see how bad I get when I'm attempting to work or go to school full-time or even half-time.

So, that's what 2001 is shaping up to look like. Things are never boring around here, that's for sure.
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Chapter Closed

2010-12-11T18:46:00.000-08:00

A chapter of my life has ended, and a new chapter is beginning. This week I took the final for my math class (and did well on it) and now am officially completely done with my degree!

I’ve been doing some regular volunteer interpreting work since I finished the interpreting program, but next month I’ll finally be getting some paid work. I have a freelance job that will give me a few hours a month, and on Wednesday this week I’m going in for a skills assessment at another place to see about getting several hours a week of work. I’m a little nervous about the assessment, of course, but I’m confident I’m a good interpreter, so it shouldn’t be a problem. I would love prayer that it goes well.

Last week I got to assist the interpreter at 1945 Christmas from Home, a live radio drama (like readers theater), so that was a ton of fun. The people at Tapestry Theatre are kind and welcoming and very skilled actors. Maybe someday I’ll get to be a voice actor in one of their shows.

I did get to do some singing with my voice this month, though. I miss being on the worship team at church or in a choir, but have been unsure my body has the stamina to do either thing right now. But recently my church lost all the singers for their Women’s Christmas Party and I got to be one of the fill-ins. It was perfect since it was just one evening with a few songs at the beginning and end of the event. It felt weird to be on the stage using my voice instead of my hands, but was a lot of fun.

Introducing the Novelist, Amy Michelle Wiley

2010-11-30T16:52:00.000-08:00

I have approximately six abandoned novel files in my laptop right now—that’s just from the last five years. None of them go past three or four chapters, and few were abandoned after a mere page and a half. During my childhood I'd started another three or four books, never to complete them, and the number of storylines rattling around in my head is closer to a whopping fifteen.
All my life I've been a writer and aspired to be a novelist. I've started a novel with grand hopes, only to let them fizzle and die as I left it in the dust to pursue yet another novel. So never has that goal been attained.

Until now.

NaNoWriMo, and its support group hundreds of thousands of people strong (plus my own smaller wonderful support group of family and friends), was the kick I needed to get a novel out. I passed the NaNo goal of 50,000 in thirty days on Saturday, four days early, and today on the thirtieth I finished the epilogue and now have a completed rough draft of Reaching Sky. It's a fairly short book at a current 55,783 words, but it is WRITTEN!

I think NaNo worked well for me, despite the rushed time limit and the "no major editing" rule. The story is rough with a lot of holes (like the cat I introduced in one scene, never to mention again... and the fact that I don't mention the main character's name, the weather, or the location in the whole first whole section... etc.) but it's definitely a very viable draft that has some strong parts.

You can read a short story based on the characters here, Eureka in Yreka, to get an idea of the book. My aim is to get this one published through a traditional publisher, so here are my goals for the next year:

Go over the book again right now to add in all the scenes and details I remembered later but didn't have time to go back and put in during the competition.
Let it sit at least a month without so much as a glance or a thought.
Edit it with hopefully somewhat fresh eyes.
Give it to two trusted writer friends to give me lots of constructive feedback.
Write another draft based on that feedback.
Give the new draft to another three or four people—a mix of writers and just readers.
Rewrite it again.
Send it to a professional editor for a polish.
Send it to an agent!
Probably more rewrites for agents and publishers.
Have a publisher accept it! Woo!

Thank you all for your support and encouragement and for believing in me! Keep 'em coming! I can't wait to see what God does this this book, now that He finally got me to actually write it. ;-)
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Cracking the Whip at the Limping Noodle

2010-11-12T12:38:00.000-08:00

When I first joined NaNoWriMo and began planning to write a novel in a month, I started hearing about Week Two. Yes, all in caps like that. It’s An Event. But the thing is, this is one event that didn’t have such a good rap. Week Two is terrible. Week Two is tough. Writers quit during Week Two *cue dramatic music* never to return to their story again.

At the end of week one I was barreling through my story at top speed. Mighty Writer Amy wasn’t going to be daunted by week two, oh no. (Did you note how I trivialized the threat merely by not capitalizing it?) Reaching Sky is a winning novel! Bethany House is going to publish it, and not only that, they are going to offer me a two-book contract for it and the companion novel, M&Ms and Apple Cores. Get ready, week two, here I come!

And then Week Two hit. There were three things I underestimated about Week Two.

1) The middle of a book is hard to write. I know this because I researched it (read, misery loves company). Even best-selling authors feel like giving up during the middle of the book.

2) My handy-dandy outline said “Day five: LA to Yreka, Drive and Talk. Day Six: Arrive in Newport, OR.” Now, maybe you haven’t looked at a map lately, but LA and Newport are almost a whole state apart. And California and Oregon are big states. On top of that, “drive and talk” isn’t exactly a detailed blueprint.

So now I’m stuck in a notoriously Hard to Write Middle, with a very Vague and Fuzzy Outline, right in the midst of Week Two.

3) Added to that is that I’m tired. Not tired of writing, just tired. As in a bit of a Fibromyalgia Fatigue Flare.

So what do I do? I keep writing, of course! I am Mighty Writer Amy, remember? I may now be convinced my novel is as exciting as a limping noodle (no, I don’t mean “limp noodle” or a “wet noodle.” I’m not quite that depressed. A limping noodle is a tiny bit interesting, right?) but I am determined that not even the Three Plagues of Week Two can stop me.

So. It doesn’t.

And just as a treat, here is a teaser from this week’s writing. It comes from near the beginning of the week, back when things were still moving pretty good and not yet limping.

I went back to scanning the cars behind me for that dark blue sedan. It was amazing how many blue cars were out there. I freaked myself out several times, but they always eventually took an exit or pulled ahead or fell behind. I was zoning out when something made me glance beside us.

The squinty-eye man was not behind me. He was beside me. On the other side of my window. Staring right at me.

I yelled. His car kept pace with me and for a second we locked eyes. His were dark and piercing, even with the drooping lid. Sky took a gasping breath.

Gripping the wheel, I fought the impulse to stomp the break or gun the gas. There was a car right on my tail. Getting rear ended would just make us more vulnerable. What if the car behind us was part of it, too?

My heart was going so fast I expected it to give up any second. I’d just die right there, holding the wheel of my truck.

“Sage, do something.” Sky cowered down, but popped up for a little peek.

“Should I take the exit?” There was one only a quarter of a mile up. Would that be safer or scarier? “I don’t know what to do.” I didn’t have much luck keeping the panic out of my voice. Dealing with psychos chasing me was not something I had experience with.

The squinty-eye man made the decision for me. He pulled a half a car length ahead. Then he yanked the wheel. Toward us.

Sky screamed.

I reacted instinctively, jerking the truck away. Then I saw the concrete rail. We were going to die.

Somehow I kept control, slamming on the breaks and straightening out so we were driving down the shoulder. From the corner of my eye I saw the man roll down the car window and reach out a hand that held something black. The bang echoed in my ears. Filling my brain. Overpowering my thoughts.

When I came out of my shock the truck was stopped on the shoulder, only a few feet away from the freeway exit. Someone honked.

Sky. Had he shot Sky?

I turned my head slowly. She was laying flopped over her seatbelt with her head almost on the floor. She didn’t move.

Yes, I'm going to be mean and leave you with a cliff hanger. No, I'm not going to tell you if Sky is dead or alive or injured. If you'll excuse me now, I have a limping noodle I need to get back to.
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Dance in Peace

2010-11-07T15:35:00.000-08:00

During my entire childhood, the families of the Wileys, the Zollers, and the Rauches were almost just extensions of one family. We could all be found gathered at one house or another several times a week, and us kids grew up as close friends. Now that we’re all grown, we don’t see each other as often, but they are still there on my heart, right near the top of my close friends’ list.

The father of the Rauch family, Bill, just passed away a few days ago. He'd successfully battled cancer several times but he was hit with a new one and this time he was gone within six weeks. The memorial service yesterday was a beautiful remembrance of his life. People always say nice things at funerals, but with Bill you knew every word was truth, because he was a rock-solid man, with a life built on The Rock. We'll miss his ready hugs, gentle humor, and quiet wisdom.

One person related that a few days before the end, they went to visit him and he said, "How can I complain about this, when God has given me so many things and such a wonderful life?"

That's a beautiful perspective and one we might all aspire to have when trials come along, whether they be short ones or terminal ones. I may have a chronic illness that requires an awful lot of rest, but during the few hours I can be active I get to be doing my dreams—the dreams God gave me and has fulfilled in me: writing, interpreting, spending time with my family and friends.... I'm thankful for those times and it's important for all of us to remember to cherish those times while we have them.

Speaking of writing dreams, my novel Reaching Sky is coming along nicely. As expected, I've had a couple of days my body didn't allow me to write, but I've been able to make up for it on other days. By the end of the day I'll be a tad beyond today's goal at close to 12,000 words. I've gotten further than on any of my other novel attempts and in a couple of days I will have passed my record for my longest solo writing project.

Here's a short excerpt from the story:

“Hey,” I leaned over to bat playfully at Sky’s arm.

She yelled and cowered, her arm flying up protectively.

We stared at each other for a split second, my mouth gaped, until she shrieked again and pointed to the road. I jerked back into my lane.

She’s scared of me. My own little sister thinks I’m gonna hit her. I waited until my breathing had slowed down before I spoke. “Sky, I’m not going to hurt you. I would never hit you.”

She looked out the window, her fingers clenching a handful of her skirt.

Turning on my blinker, I pulled onto an off ramp and then into the first parking lot I reached. Sky shot glances at me, her eyes red-rimmed.

I put the truck in park and turned so I could face her directly. “No one should ever have hit you.”

She looked down. “Sometimes I talk back.” Her voice dropped. “I don’t always do what he tells me to do.”

I fought the anger. “Sky, look at me.”

It took a minute, but finally she turned. She didn’t quite look me in the eye, but at least in my general direction.

“No one ever has the right to hit you. Ever. No matter what you do, no matter how bad you are, the appropriate punishment should never leave a mark. Never. It wasn’t your fault, Sky.”

She was crying for real now. I hoped they were healing tears. Tears that let go of the guilt for something no child should ever feel guilty about.

I reached out, gently, and took her hand. “I want to promise you something, Sis.”

She glanced at me, didn’t pull her hand away.

“I promise I will never hit you. I will never hurt you.” I said the words slowly. They filled up the car.

Sky nodded. Ever so slightly, she nodded.

I hoped, oh, how I hoped I could be as sure of not hurting her emotionally as I was of not hurting her physically. I knew taking her from that house had been the right thing, but had taking her away? Should I have brought her straight to the social worker and let her investigate?

I looked at her vulnerable face, tears streaking through last night’s makeup. No. I’d done the right thing. And anyway, I’d made a decision and would have to follow through with it. I was her protector now.

Now I think I'll go take a nap. Oh, speaking of that, when it comes time for me to die (which hopefully won't happen for a long time), I hope people don't say, "rest in peace." I've done a whole lot o' resting here on earth! When I get to heaven I'm going to be healthy and full of energy. I hope people say something more like, "Dance in peace, Amy, dance in peace."

Connecting Me

2010-11-02T16:10:00.000-07:00

I often get told how funny I am. Now mind you, if I try to be funny then I only get blank stares or, if it's a text medium like FaceBook, I might get an "Oh, that's too bad. I'll pray for you." But throughout my everyday conversations, periodically someone will burst out laughing and declare how funny I am, leaving me at a complete loss as to why exactly that comment was funny. But no worries, because I like being funny. Certainly I haven't much talent at writing humor, so I'll take all the chuckles I can get from my everyday actions.

A few weeks ago my humor made national headlines. No, not in a newspaper, on a friend's advice blog. In fact, Connecting Now hosted what turned into a rather huge competition between my humor and another lady's comments. Check it out here: Duking it Out Connection Style: LaBuff vs. Wiley. Subsequent posts can be found there as well, with Hold the Phones and Extra! Extra! Read All About It! following the polls and then the final and triumphant win of--well, you'll have to go read it--in The Results Show.

My fame even spread to Canadian comedian Timmy Boyle's blog, Inside Timmy's Mind, with his post The Great Debate.

Today I am once again showing up in the bloggesphere, though this time because of my creativity rather than my humor. My dear friend Joanne Sher just interviewed me about my collaborative fiction group Peculiar People over on her blog, An Open Book. I think I forgot to mention here on my blog that I've just opened up for submissions to the next group book, the orphan plane project, so be sure to check out the details on her blog and on the PeP website. It's going to be a really fun project!

But don't worry, I'm not letting all the fame go to my head. Well, not much anyway. ;-)
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Inaugural NaNo Lessons

2010-11-01T13:23:00.000-07:00

After all the hype and excitement to get going, when it actually hit midnight and I was legally able to start writing Reaching Sky, I felt surprisingly at a loss for a moment. But only a moment, and then I was typing away. I’d decided on this special occasion of my very first NaNoWriMo, I would stay up and get the prologue and first chapter done before going to bed.

It only took me an hour and a half and when I was done I’d already hit my word count goal for the day. In order to win the competition, I have to write about 1,667 words a day, and I’ve already written 1,772 and most of the day is still left! As nervous as I was about being able to write the 50k in a month, I’m secretly harboring a hope that I can complete the whole book in a month, which will hopefully be closer to normal novel length of at least 70k. Of course, now it’s no longer a secret, but you know what? I think I might be able to do it!

Some things I learned on this inaugural experience of mine:

• I forgot to name the bad guys
• It’s harder to turn off the internal editor than I thought
• If my character gets beat up in the first chapter and the book spans only a week, she’s going to have a black eye through the whole book
• As I got into bed feeling satisfied, I realized I’d forgotten to write the one-sentence event—the one the whole book pivots on—into the first chapter
• It only took me an hour and a half to meet the day’s word goal
• Why didn’t I write a book a long time ago??

And now, for a special treat just for you, I will share my opening paragraphs. Keep in mind it’s a hurried rough draft and not yet a polished work.

Prologue:

She chose red. Sky gripped the pencil with white knuckles and drew a sharp line of lightning through the black clouds. She was huddled against the side of the house—the side with no windows—and pushed the pencil so hard the paper almost ripped. The house in her drawing was just a square, much like the plain box-house she leaned against. The real house didn’t have dark clouds hovering over it, not so as a passerby would notice, anyway, but Sky knew they were there, just as sure as they were on her paper.

First Chapter:

I am invisible. I learned that art many years ago, blending with the background to avoid flying fists and boiling words. Now I have used it for a different purpose. I watched, only a week ago, as Mr. Scrivener punched in the password to his safe. He’d thought himself alone in the house, so hadn’t been suspicious or attentive.

That’s the trick, I’ve learned. Always be suspicious and always know what’s around you. But Mr. Scrivener, in all his conniving business schemes, somehow hasn’t learned that well enough.

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Waiting for NaNo

2010-10-30T20:54:00.000-07:00

Just one day until NaNoWriMo starts on November 1st! I’ve been working hard on getting everything ready to start my novel. This will be my first try doing the NaNo competition and, assuming I stick to the end (which I intend to do!) my first completed solo novel.

I made a simple outline—hopefully will help me keep from getting stuck but will let me have freedom to let my characters lead. Since my story is about two runaway foster kids, I have their road trip planned with maps printed out for their path from southern California to southwest Washington.

The manager of Washington’s Children’s Administration (foster care system) even took a while to talk to me on the phone for a while, answering my research questions for the book. She was very helpful.

I’ll be posting small excerpts of the book throughout the month, so you all can follow along with my progress, if you like. Here’s my synopsis and a banner I made for fun for the story.

Sage is independent and determined to prove it. After his parents died five years ago, he’s been bounced from one foster home to another, and now at seventeen he is sick of it and ready to be his own master. As he skips town, he stops to say goodbye to his little sister, Sky. But when he sees her bruised and tear-streaked face, he knows he can’t leave her with an abusive foster family and impulsively takes her with him.

Sky is young and scared. Sage isn’t sure if she even remembers what it’s like to have a real family and she definitely doesn’t trust him. She seems to be pulling further and further away. Can he reconnect with her before it’s too late?

As the two escape across the U.S. they begin to realize that it’s not just social services after them, but someone scarier…and deadlier. Will they be able to leave the past behind and find a future together?

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God of the Silly and Impossible

2010-10-10T16:28:00.000-07:00

I just finished the rough draft of I Will Dance, a historical fiction novella for Peculiar People’s Heirloom Chronicles book, I Will be Found. This is story I’ve had in my head since I was a teenager, and we’ve been theoretically working on this book for several years, but somehow I’d never been able to get it out on paper. I finally did it!

Not only did I finish that long-awaited project, but this is the longest solo writing project I’ve actually finished. I’ve always been a little ADD with my writing, and never managed to get much done on a novel before loosing interest and moving on to something else. Each new story idea that pops into my head is "shinier" and more exciting than whatever I'm working on at the moment. I’ve also pretty much only done creative writing when I felt like it. When I was in the creative mood.

This month I made myself write almost every day even if I didn’t feel like it (unless I was really sick—which is fairly often). Some days it was only a couple of paragraphs, and other days it was several pages. And I found that when it’s not flowing all easy and pretty, then writing can actually be work. But sometimes making myself do it will cause the creative flow to come back again.

I know the rough draft will need a lot of work to smooth it out, but I praise God that I finally finished! Do a happy dance with me!

This novella was 13,000 words. In November I’m going to do NaNoWriMo and try to write 50,000 words in thirty days. When I struggled this much to get 13k done, why do I think I can get 50k done? Especially when added to my normal writer struggles with writing block or the “blahs” is a fight with a chronic illness that can leave me nearly non-functional some days. Seems rather silly and impossible, doesn’t it? Well, for one thing, it’s okay if I don’t get the full amount done. It’ll still be more than I would have written otherwise. And for another thing, I happen to have a God who loves silly and impossible conundrums.

It’s true. Look at history. Think of the fortressed city of Jericho that had a huge impassible rock wall around it. What did God ask His people to do? March around it fourteen times. Silly actions to attempt the impossible. But that wall fell down.

Think of a young man with only a sling shot and three stones going against a huge giant in full body armor. Silly and impossible. But Goliath died.

My own life is full of these stories, as well. Think of a young lady with vision-brain connection problems that mean she can’t remember what she’s seen or tell apart things that look similar. God asks her to become fluent in a visual signed language. Silly and impossible? But I am fluent.

Think of a lady entering a interpreting training program that is so difficult and intense that there is about a 20% graduation rate. That lady develops a debilitating chronic illness in the middle of the program. Her even thinking of continuing seems silly and impossible, doesn’t it? And yet, here I am, graduated.

Yes, my God is a God of the silly and impossible. He often requires very hard work and determination on our part, but then He steps in and does a miracle. I believe He gave me the talent and desire to write. Part of my being a good steward of those gifts is for me to…well, to write!

So here I am, once again feeling God pressing me toward the silly, impossible task of writing 50,000 words in the month of November. And I can’t wait. I can’t wait to see how He does it.

The best part about these silly, impossible tasks is that when the silly becomes amazing and the impossible becomes accomplished there is no doubt about Who did it. God gets all the glory.

Lessons from a Beetle

2010-09-30T02:40:00.000-07:00

Today I was in our tiny guest bathroom when a rustling noise and bit of movement startled me. I was relieved to see it was only a little black beetle, minding his own business as he rushed along the floor, blindly hugging the baseboard to ensure he didn’t loose his way. He wasn’t daunted by any debris he passed, clambering quickly over it and continuing on his way.

But then he reached the corner. Hesitation was evident in every bit of his bony little body as he looked this way and that, trying to figure out what he was suppose to do now that his straight way had turned so sharply. Finally he took the plunge and turned the corner, continuing his mad dash along the front wall. But when he reached the second turn, he stopped short. Desperately he searched around, even trying to squeeze under the baseboard in an attempt to get around this block. Eventually he gave up and went back the way he’d come, sure he’d missed a door or passage somewhere along the way.

All he found was the old corner, the twist he’d already overcome. Nothing was left to do but once again backtrack. Again he reached the second corner and searched for a way around it, not knowing that only a few steps beyond it was the doorframe, where he could easily pass under the door to freedom.

Finally he made the choice, and turned the corner into the unknown. Within seconds he’d found the door and, with only a slight hesitation, ran out to the open world.

I had to wonder as I watched this beetle’s journey, how often we look like that to God. He sets us on a path, and as long as things go pretty much straight and as we expect, then we can take the little obstacles that come along. But as soon as the road twists, then we become unsure, wondering if we’ve lost our way or are being led astray. We look for easier ways, and sometimes we even turn around, and backtrack along the lessons He’s already taught us, falling back into the same habits we’ve overcome.

Can we trust that around that next corner, or maybe the one after that, He has a whole world of opportunities just waiting for us?

*beetle picture by Derrick Ditchburn

A Writing Meme

2010-09-20T11:25:00.000-07:00

OK…here’s how this works.

1. Copy and paste the following to the comments and replace my answers with your own.

2. If you have a blog, copy and paste these questions and your answers to your blog.

Here are your questions (and my answers)

What’s your favorite genre of writing? Fiction, especially that which is based on true stories, like Biblical fiction or “ripped from the headlines” fiction.
How often do you get writer’s block? I have an illness that causes a lot of brain fog and fatigue, so I often struggle to write because of that. I never lack for story ideas, though.

How do you fix it? Well, since most of my issues aren’t from regular “writer’s block,” it’s not so easy to fix. Keeping my schedule not too hectic helps. As for traditional writer’s block, I find entering the FaithWriters’ challenge helps get my creative juices flowing so I can work on some of my other projects.

Do you type or write by hand? Type! I only hand write short notes to myself when I’m not at the computer or am doing research.

Do you save everything you write? Yup. I sometimes save some of the various versions of stuff as I’m in the process of shortening or lengthening or revising it, too.

Do you ever go back to an old idea long after you abandoned it? Yes, often. I fact, in November I’ll be doing NaNoWriMo with a storyline a friend and I thought up about four years ago and then never did anything with.

Do you have a constructive critic? Yes, several of them. Joanne Sher, Hanne Moon, and Laury Hubrich are some of them. When I can, I also attend a local critique group led by Randy Ingermanson.

Did you ever write a novel? I have about fifteen novel ideas in my head, but haven’t managed to stick to any of them long enough to finish. When I was a young teen I wrote about a third of a historical fiction book. I’m going to try NaNoWriMo this year and try to actually finish one of these novels. Hold me to it!

What genre would you love to write but haven’t? I’d like to try a true mystery sometime. I actually got first place in the “mystery genre” week of the FW challenge, but it wasn’t a traditional story with a mystery to solve.

What’s one genre you have never written, and probably never will? A mushy romance novel. I do include a little romance in some of my stories, but never mushy and I can’t picture myself doing a book that was solely a romance.

How many writing projects are you working on right now? Actively only working on one—a historical fiction novella for the Heirloom Chronicles project. But mentally I’m working on three others, as well: the next group Peculiar People project, my NaNoWriMo novel, and an anthology of my historical fiction short stories. Of course, I throw in a random blog post or challenge story occasionally, too.

Do you write for a living? Do you want to? I do make a little money sometimes on my writing and especially freelance editing. Eventually I’d like all the income I earn to come from writing and interpreting.

Have you ever written something for a magazine or newspaper? Yes, I’ve been published in a number of magazines, including HopeKeepers magazine for Christians with chronic illnesses and At the Center, a magazine for crisis pregnancy center workers.

Have you ever won an award for your writing? I’ve gotten the Editor’s Choice award in the FaithWriters’ challenge many times, and an anthology I have three stories in won an award from the Military Writers Society of America.

Do you ever write based on your dreams? As in the dreams I have while I’m sleeping? I know I’ve filed away story ideas from at least one dream. I can’t recall any stories I’ve written so far that were directly from a dream. I have weird dreams!

Do you favor happy endings, sad endings, or cliff-hangers? I favor realistic endings. That means they are sometimes sad, but I always include some hope in my endings.

And now it's YOUR turn! Respond below, put your answers on your blog, or both. Enjoy.

Behind the Name: Sparrow

2010-09-15T14:57:00.000-07:00

My friend Mari redesigned my blog for me. Isn’t it lovely?! I thought I’d take the opportunity to explain the meaning behind my nickname Sparrow. There are several Biblical passages that explain that God notices even things like a sparrow, and if He cares about a bird, so much more does He notice and care about the lives of His own children who were created in His image.

So the name Sparrow signifies to me the special love and care God has for every detail of my life. This is comforting, because I know that if something matters to me, even just for a second, then it matters to God. He understands and cares about each minute of my life. That knowledge is also a responsibility, because it means God doesn’t just care about the big picture of my life, but that it’s important that each action, each word, and each thought I have is one that glorifies Him. Of course, I fall short in that goal, but there again is the comfort of knowing that I am holy in God’s eyes because He sees me through the lens of Jesus’ cleansing blood.

Because of that assurance I have in God, I know He will give me the strength to not only go on each day, but to soar. I may have pain, I may have fatigue and frustrations, but ultimately I know that this world is temporary and while I’m here God will use my life for His glory. Sometimes He even shows me glimpses of how He’s doing that, such as when I’m able to encourage someone else with their illness, or when one of my stories touches someone’s life.

Speaking of stories, it looks like the interpreting field is going to be quiet this term (sadly…and that’s a bit of a prayer need, too), so I’m hoping to be able to do a lot of writing. I’m working with a small team of writers on a historical fiction book, Peculiar People’s Heirloom Chronicles project. We’re hoping to get the rough draft done by the end of September. I’m really excited to see what God does with that book. My section is about a young girl in a German concentration camp during WWII. It’s a tough story to write, but one that I think many will be able to identify with. Though we don’t have the same level of torture and depravation as my character, most of us experience times (or lifetimes) of physical or emotional pain and have to grapple with the “why”s.

Then I’m hoping to try NaNoWriMo for the first time. For those who aren’t familiar with it, National Novel Writing Month is a sort of online support group pushing authors to just let go and be creative as they attempt to write a rough draft of a novel in the month of November—that’s right, a novel in one month! I’m not sure if I can write that way, especially with my physical limitations, but I want to at least try. I haven’t managed to stick with a novel long enough to finish it so far, so maybe this will be what I need.

I’ll keep you posted on my progress with both books. I’m planning to actually post on my blog a little more often now that I’m pretty much done with school. So, see you around!

Moving Mountains

2010-09-05T20:57:00.000-07:00

Wow, I didn’t realize it had been quite this long since I’ve written a post. Hope I still have some readers out there! Life is amazing. I graduated from the interpreting program this June, against all odds (only about 15% of students graduate). My friend in the picture, Holly, is one of my Christian classmates and dear friends who has been so supportive. The internship our last term was a great experience and I was blessed with good mentors. I did have some struggles because I ended up with a bit too busy of a schedule (seems pretty much everything is too much for my poor body) but stretched one term of internship hours over two terms and made it through most days. Now I am finishing up a few general education classes for my AAS degree.

Over the summer there isn’t much paid work available, but I’ve been volunteer interpreting regularly at a church. That’s been a blessing for me to be able to minister in that way and to keep getting interpreting practice and experience over the summer. I’m hoping to begin paid interpreting at a community college in a couple of weeks. I really like the supportive atmosphere at that college and I’ll be able to do just a few regular hours of work a week. I’ve also been accepted at a freelance agency and will be able to accept additional work through them during the times I’m feeling better.

My writing career is taking off as well. It can be challenging sometimes because writing takes so much mental creativity and the Fibromyalgia zaps so much of my energy, but as my school schedule is getting quieter I’m able to do a little more writing. My international collaborative fiction group published Delivered the beginning of this year. It’s a beautiful book and well worth getting, if I do say so myself. ;-) It’s available as a paperback or as an eBook on the Peculiar People website, or if you live in my area ask me to buy an autographed copy. PeP is hard at work on the next collaborative book, the Heirloom Chronicles project, and even have an agent who may be interested in seeing the finished manuscript.

I also had the privilege of being asked to speak at the international FaithWriters’ writing conference in Michigan last month. I taught a workshop on self publishing and it was a lot of fun. Despite my fatigue, I was able to speak clearly, and the whole conference had a lot of great info and even better, a lot of wonderful Christian fellowship and support.

My health issues continue to make life a challenge, but God continues to give me the strength to succeed in ways that sometimes seem impossible. One of my friends was just telling me how exciting all the things I’ve accomplished are, and even more exciting because it’s so blatantly clear that it’s not ME who is accomplishing them, but God through me, because there’s no way I could do any of it myself.

Thanks for all the encouragement and support you, my friends and family, have given me. I will do my best to actually keep this blog updated now that I’ve dusted it off again.

Overcome the odds
You don't have a chance
(That’s what faith can do)
When the world says you can’t
It’ll tell you that you can!

I’ve seen dreams that move the mountains,
Hope that doesn’t ever end
Even when the sky is falling.
And I’ve seen miracles just happen,
Silent prayers get answered,
Broken hearts become brand new.
That’s what faith can do!
That's what faith can do!
Even if you fall sometimes
You will have the strength to rise.

Kutless—“What Faith Can Do”

Friday Fiction: Lime-Green Castles

2010-07-01T20:30:00.000-07:00

I will post a real blog update soon, I promise! In the mean time, here's a story for Friday Fiction, a weekly blog event many of my friends participate in. This week it's hosted at Karlene's blog, Homespun Expressions, where you can read other short stories. I've dusted off this old story of mine in honor of Kyron, a seven-year-old who disappeared from my area a few weeks ago. As you read the fiction story, please take a moment to pray for this very real family struggling with the same type of situation.

LIME-GREEN CASTLES

By Amy Michelle Wiley

The lime-green of the sign across the way brings it all back like it was yesterday. I had been sitting on the front porch with a lime popsicle. My hands were itchy from the juice that dribbled down the stick and my feet tapped along with the nameless little tune I hummed.

I can still hear the phone ring, the murmur of my mother’s voice as she answered. Now, the memory of that sound holds so much emotion, but then it was only normal, only another noise in the everyday life that surrounded me.

The footsteps as she walked toward the front door are so clear that even now I almost turn to look behind me. They are the sound of coming uncertainty, of horror, of pain so deep it still twinges.

Mom sat beside me on the wooden steps and it was only after I turned to look at her that I’d felt the first glimmer of what was to come. Her face was grey, twisting in a way I’d never seen. Silence stretched out until it touched the edge of infinity.

The words that finally came out of her mouth shattered my childhood innocence, scattering the pieces so far I’d never be able to entirely put it back together again.

“Mark,” she’d whispered, “your brother’s been…taken.”

For a time I couldn’t breathe. I asked no questions. Perhaps I needed no answers. Facts wouldn’t change the truth. Knowledge wouldn’t make it go away. I knew right then there would be no happy ending. The remains of my popsicle puddled at my feet, pale green liquid against the solid concrete.

The clarity of my memory ends there. The next days, years even, were filled with police questions. Searches for the red pickup that had been seen driving away with my brother. Drawings of the man we’d never before seen. Clues called into the hotline. Minds wracked, trying to remember something, anything that might help.

And always dead ends. Hopes that were dashed to the ground, so often that hope nearly died, laying stagnant at the bottom of our souls.

Yet there was a different kind of hope. It was what kept us alive. What got us up in the mornings, gave us strength to put one foot in front of the other. That hope was our faith. It was the knowledge that wherever Tommy was, wherever Tommy wasn’t, God was, too.

I spent much of those first few years away in my mind, filled with a mixture of memory and fantasies about me and Tommy. Tommy and I. Always they were set in the castle we’d created.

That castle had dominated all the real life play we’d had. I’m not sure when it had first started, but at some point in our late toddler years we’d both become fascinated with medieval times, and our play had become filled with knights, princes, and castles. Eventually the castle had become a staple of all our imaginings, even when we’d gone on to other interests.

By the time of Tommy’s kidnapping, the castle had become something even more solid than that, for it had become a part of heaven, a part of our final life goal, of our relationship with God. We’d spent hours talking about the castle we’d have in heaven, and how we’d walk the halls of our cherished building in the very presence of God. Perhaps we’d even have a pet dragon, and Jesus would teach us to ride horses.

Somehow as I look back, it’s as though I see the castle through lime green glasses. The tapestry patterns are green, and even the stone walls themselves have a faint hue of lime. I know my mental distance caused my parents even more worry, but it was the only way I knew to cope.

At some point during those years, a time long after the police had stopped making daily visits, even after my parents had stopped calling for updates, I overheard a conversation that I think changed all of us.

“Sometimes I pray he’s not still alive.” Mom’s voice was apologetic, tears straining just under the surface. “I hate to feel that. Feel guilty feeling that. But John,” I could picture her leaning closer against his chest, “to think of him in heaven is so much easier than to wonder of the horrors he’s gone through.”

There had been silence for a time, before her voice had continued, so faint I could hardly hear it.

“They keep telling us to go on with our lives, but when I go on I forget to pray. And if he’s still alive, he needs us to pray as hard as we can, every second of the day.” Her voice had broken then, and her sobs had been muffled by Dad pulling her tight.

Dad’s words had come full of pain, but full of something stronger, too. “Ellen, God is there just as much wherever Tommy is, whether in heaven, or on earth. We have to trust Him, honey. We need to go on and follow the path God has given us, and rest in the knowledge that God is big enough, strong enough to take care of Tommy for us.” I heard the soft sound of a kiss, and knew he’d kissed her forehead in the comforting way he had. “It’s time to let go. It’s time to give him completely over to God.”

From then on, I spent less time in the castle, and more time with my family and friends. My grades came back up, and I graduated high school with honors.

Now the three of us sit once again in the police station, Mom and Dad now grey-haired. Through the window the green sign across the way turns in a lopsided circle, advertising The Dragonfly Café.

The police had called last week. A man arrested for another crime had confessed to several murders, they told us. They have locations of bodies. They think Tommy may be one of them.

I don’t know what to feel. After so long of uncertainty, I don’t know what to do with this knowledge.

The policeman comes out now, holding a clear zip lock bag. “The dental records agree,” he tells us. “These are the things they found with him.” He sets the bag on the table gently.

Then I see it. It’s a plastic candy wrapper, marked with that writing I still know so well. I pull it a little closer, instinctively knowing it was meant for me. It’s crinkled and old, but I can just make out the words.

“I’ll be in the castle’s north court, riding horses with Jesus. See you there.”

Hear that? It's the last stone falling...

2009-12-31T19:52:00.000-08:00

I passed the Qualifying Exam for my interpreting program!!! This was no easy feat, mind you. I’ve failed it twice before and last year the passing rate for those who took it was about 15%. It’s totally only because of God that I passed, and I’m very thankful for the prayers and support from my friends and family, too.

For several years now I’ve felt like I was marching around the Jericho wall, knowing this was the path God had for me, but feeling almost silly in light of the huge obstacles I faced. My learning disabilities and health problems seemed focused on making sign language interpreting as difficult as possible, but I’ve just kept walking… or stumbling… on.

Now it finally feels as though the walls have fallen down. Not to say there are no more obstacles, but just that they are more conquerable… or perhaps it’s that I know with God all things in His plan are possible!

The next step is internship. Within a couple of weeks I’ll be assigned internships with skilled interpreters in various college classes that have Deaf students. I’m finally getting to interpret for real, live people! I’ll start out observing the current interpreter, and then will gradually take over until it’s switched, with the mentor observing me interpret.

Also exciting news is that Peculiar People’s next collaborative book is finally published! The completion of Delivered has been a long-time coming because of one delay after another, not the lease of which was me getting Fibromyalgia right in the middle of the project. I was the director and a contributing author of this book. You can check it out here and can buy copies directly from me. Let me know if you want one.

God has definitely blessed me this year. I can’t wait to see what He has in store for next year. I pray each of you have a blessed year. Happy New Year 2010!
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Finding the Pace of Life

2009-10-18T00:25:00.000-07:00

Last week I was chatting with my young nieces about writing and drawing, when one of them commented, “Maybe when you grow up you’ll be a writer.” I had to laugh, but I also still get a little thrill sometimes when I realize, I am all grown up and I am a writer. Last month I got published for something like the fifty-fifth time, and last month I also started working professionally as a freelance editor. Of course, I’ve been doing small editing projects for friends and for PeP for years, but not full-sized manuscripts for strangers for pay!

This term I’m not taking any regular classes—just mock interpreting in one class and doing a Human Development correspondence course, as well as continuing with a little interpreting training with tutors. It’s a quiet schedule that seems just about right for my body, and lets me do occasional writing or editing in the evening.

I feel like my Fibromyalgia is finally as under control as it’s gonna get. My overall fatigue and especially pain levels are a little lower, and the cognitive problems aren’t as severe or as frequent. The only problem is that I’ve discovered in order to keep things that way, I have to limit my active activity time to about three hours a day, most days, with some rest days and lots of naps. So it limits things a lot, but I’d rather have a few hours I can do things well than have almost no good hours like happens when I push myself too hard.

On November 16th I have the next attempt at the Qualifying Exam for my interpreting program. I have to pass it in order to get an internship next term, graduate in the spring, and begin working part time as an interpreter. I feel fairly confident that I have the skills, I just have to pray my body will let me access them. It’s a performance exam, so not really something I can study for—just need to keep practicing.

Today I went to the DeafNation Expo. I took a couple of friends with me, one of whom doesn’t know much sign, so I got to do a bit of interpreting for him. Real life practice is always the best. We saw tons of people we knew at the Expo, so it was a lot of fun.
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When I grow up, I want to be...

2009-08-18T12:18:00.000-07:00

This year God has been teaching me two things: complete dependence on Him, and, in that dependence, how to find true joy. He’s been showing me that we were created to be happy, because in Him is fullness of joy. Here on this earth that joy will never be pure and complete, and we will face many trials and times of suffering, but even in the midst of those times, He will provide joy, if we wait on Him.

This is a bit of the story of my journey. I know it’s long, so if you don’t have time to read it all, please at least read the last part.

I started grieving in the summer of 2007. The loss had come a long time before that, but I’d never fully accepted it.

The life I was grieving was my own.

Each time I waited for test results, waited for a doctor appointment… each time I writhed in pain or was too tired to hardly hold up my own head, I wondered what it would be like to get the news that I was dying. I thought about what it would be like to know I had only a few months to live, or a few years. I hoped it would be long enough to finish a few books, to leave a legacy behind. I planned what I would say to my friends, how I would tell them. I even planned what to write on my blog.

Even more, I thought about how it would be to get the other answer--the one that told me what was wrong and how it would be fixed. I didn’t have to think much about what I would do when I got that answer, because I knew. I’d been planning my life since I was little, dreaming about what I would be when I grew up, just like all kids.

But the thing I didn’t think about was what I would do if neither of those happened. I didn’t think about what would happen if the answer wasn’t death, or really even life, but something in between. How do you plan for something that isn’t a “yes” or a “no”…something that’s not even really a “wait,” but is just, well… an “is.”

And yet, it’s something we should all be planning for, something we all should know will happen. Because the day will come for all of us when God says, “You don’t get to live according to your plans. You get to live My plans.”

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Once I grew past the stage of wanting to be a pink and purple kitty cat, my childhood dreams for my future never changed a lot. All through my school years I had the same answer to that perpetual question of what I wanted to be when I grew up: A stay-at-home homeschool mom and a missionary, preferably to Mexico. The number of kids I wanted did change, rather drastically. As I matured, I realized my childhood visions of a dozen kids might be just a tad lofty. I adjusted it to the more reasonable number of six, and later even less, saying, “I’d be happy with at least four.”

I’ve always loved kids, and kids have always loved me. My mom calls me “the kid magnet.” Seriously, I can spend a total of 60 seconds with a youngster and the next time he spots me he’ll start screaming, “Amy!!” and jumping up and down excitedly. I pictured myself as the ultimate involved, imaginative Mom, with enough discipline to keep everyone happy, but with lots of adventures and fun. I figured I’d be married in my early twenties, start our family a year or two later, and after everything was settled down several years after that, perhaps be called to the foreign mission field.

You may wonder why writing didn’t play a role in what I wanted to be, and that’s because being a writer has never been something I want to attain someday. It something I am. I’ve always been a writer and I always will be one. A novelist, however, now that’s something I attain to be!

So I went happily through my young life, picturing my adult self as a wife, mom, writer, and missionary. In my senior year of high school, my hopes shifted slightly to accommodate a new love of figure skating, and a growing love of American Sign Language. My next-oldest sister and I began taking ice skating lessons. Though we were comparatively old to be learning that skill, and we both were beginning to struggle with our health, we threw ourselves completely into it and joined the group of “rink rats.” We were on the ice at least four days a week, practicing and soon entering competitions and working as assistant skating teachers. We even got to do some informal mentoring of the younger skaters in our social group.

Now my goals included becoming a figure skating coach, preferably with a lot of Deaf clients. Despite growing pain and fatigue levels, I made it farther than any of the coaches and parents expected. After four years of skating, I was able to do one of the lowest sit spins at the rink (though my camel spin, on the other hand, looked horrid! lol), could land all my single jumps, and was working on my axel and double sal cow jumps. Then, slowly, skating got too expensive and time consuming, and too painful.

Besides, God was drawing me toward another focus. Two summers in a row I attended ASL camp in Tennessee at the Bill Rice Ranch, a Christian Deaf ministry. It was there God began letting me know He had plans for me as a sign language interpreter.

Though I’d been playing around with sign language since elementary school, and more recently pursuing it more strongly, the thought of being an interpreter when I grew up had never crossed my mind. And yet, it fit so perfectly. I love languages, cultures, and people. I have a deep empathy with others, am not shy, and experience little to no stage fright. Perhaps the Deaf and interpreting community was to be my mission field. And though no husband was in sight yet, interpreting was something that could easily be adapted to being a stay at home mom. I could work one or two nights a week while my husband was home with the kids, or I could just accept special assignments like weekend Homeschooling workshops.

Still, if I had not known so clearly that this was the path God wanted for me, I would have given up so many times. The two year interpreter training program is stretching into four years, as I’ve been faced with learning disabilities and visual struggles, and one health problem after another. But there was always the bright future ahead. A future after the training program, when I would finally have a basic set of skills to build on, and I could go conquer the world. Perhaps I would meet the right guy shortly after I was done with school, and I could work as an interpreter for a bit before turning my focus to a family. I would be happy and healthy and my own energetic, happy-go-lucky self as an interpreter, wife, and mom. I could be a missionary here at home, or go work with foreign Deaf missions. And in between all that, I could write all those novels building up in my head.

And then…

Then came that answer, the diagnoses after all the tests and all the doctors. Fibromyalgia. It was a long word, and one I understood too well, since my oldest sister lived it every day. It was the answer that wasn’t a yes and wasn’t a no. It wasn’t death and heaven, and it wasn’t health. Instead, it meant a life of constant pain and fatigue, a life of sudden boughts of cognitive dysfunction, IBS, and innumerable other symptoms. A life with an illness that doesn’t kill you, but yet doesn’t get better or go away.

It meant a life that didn’t match my life. Suddenly my brain doesn’t always work well enough to understand English clearly, much less translate it into a whole second language system. Suddenly I’m so fatigued I can hardly think of any words, much less write amazing fiction stories. My pain levels teeter so high I can hardly load the dishwasher, sign for more than a few minutes, or hold a pen long enough to write a thank you note.

The thought of working full time and then returning home to an evening of housework and socializing suddenly is impossible. Thinking of caring full time for children is overwhelming. Life becomes defined by four letters: PACE. Pacing is the single most important thing to managing my symptoms enough that I can live…at least a little. I must work a little, and rest a lot. Before I do anything, I must think how it will affect me, and if it’s worth it…which is certainly challenged by the fact that how it affects me changes daily or even hourly.

“Why?” I cry out to God. “Why do you give me all these talents, skills, and dreams in one hand, and then fill the other hand with…this? How can I grow up to be the successful person You want me to be, if I’m to be sick, forever?”

Slowly, as I learn to accept my disability and learn how to live life as fully as I can with my limitations, I begin to see. Still, only as in a mirror dimly, but I see in my reflection how God uses my life--not the one I dreamed of, but the one I have--to bring Him glory, to reach people that other life would never have touched, and to trust Him and depend on Him completely.

As I do that, I see bits of those talents He’s given me can still be accessed. I grasp a little energy to write with, and times of less pain to interpret a while. As I learn to pace, those times grow. Perhaps someday I’ll even gain the strength to care for a family. I don’t know what the future holds. But I do know one thing.

God is enough. In Him is fulfillment, and in Him is fullness of joy. Despite this earth, with its emotional and physical pain, we were created to have joy. Though it won’t come completely until we reach heaven, for now it is enough.

Today, on my twenty-seventh birthday, when my life is so different from how I dreamed it, I know what I’m going to be.

When I grow up, I’m going to be happy.

Fulfillment

2009-08-15T19:27:00.001-07:00

The last two weeks have been wonderful, not just because they were fun and exciting and different, but because I was doing what I was created to do. There’s nothing quite as exciting and filling as taking small steps toward fulfilling God’s purpose in our lives.

Two weekends ago I joined my church’s young adult group on a retreat to the beach. This group has been my primary church family for over a year now. I was drawn to them because they are drawn to God. Unlike many youth groups that are focused on who’s going out with whom, or light games, this group is focused on God and on how we can support each other in our pursuit of Him. It’s a great mix of young adult ages, and meets less than five minutes from my house (when you live in the country, that’s pretty remarkable).

The retreat’s theme was glorifying God in our relationships, specifically relationships with our parents, significant others, peers, and God. After each sermon, we had a time in small groups to share what those truths meant personally. In between gatherings, we had time of fellowship, getting to know each other better and just having fun, surrounded by the sand, waves, and skies that delighted in showing off their Creator’s glory.

I had three days at home after the weekend retreat, resting, preparing to leave again, and continuing with my interpreting practice. On Thursday I flew to Detroit for the FaithWriters second writers conference. The flight there was a bit crazy, with several flight changes. I ended up having to fly all the way to Philadelphia and then back to Detroit, arriving about three hours later than planned. I was thankful I’d come in early, giving myself ample time to get there and to rest. I was glad, too, that I’d decided to buy a cane for the occasion. The flight and fatigue amplified my balance problems, so it was nice to have something to hang onto, plus it gave those around me a visual clue that I’m not quite as hardy as my age and appearance would indicate. Airline workers were quick to help with my bags and make sure there were electric carts to take me to my next location within the huge airports.

The conference itself was wonderful, of course. FaithWriters has been my second family for over four years now. The wonderful people there have come along side me through the message boards, instant messages, email, phone and texts, and now FaceBook, not only building my writing skills, but encouraging me physically and spiritually. It’s been an honor to be able to give a little back by helping coordinate the writing conferences every year.

It was great actually getting real hugs (rather than cyber hugs) from dear friends like Shari, Joanne, Laury, and Deb, and meeting many other friends like Josh and Vonnie for the first time. Though we didn’t get much sleep, it was fun to lay awake all night and chat in the dark with my roommate Karlene, getting to know her better. It was good to know Shari, one of my first FW friends, and I haven’t lost our connection. She might as well be a blood sister, the way we can finish each others sentences, and almost unfailingly answer the exact same things on games, or at least know for sure what the other one’s answer was!

There were a few writers there who are close to my age, too. Sara is so bouncy and bubbly and joyful, literally jumping up and down and clapping her hands half of the time. I just wanted to take her home with me. Leah, I actually could take home with me, almost! She also lives in Washington several hours north of me, and we determined that we’ll definitely not wait for the next conference before getting together again. It was sweet how many people would stop me and check to see how I was feeling, or be sure to make sure I had a chair--taking care of me without babying me. The workshops were full of great information, too, and I came home with many ideas for furthering my writing career. After the workshops, we played games late into the night, giving us a chance to get to know each other better. I got a little closer to a few people I hadn’t gotten a chance to know much, like Di, Peej, Allison, and Chely, and so many others. I arrived back home Sunday night, had a day of rest and then, with little time to miss my friends, jumped right into volunteering as a student interpreter for a drama group. On Wednesday I worked a full 8 hour day, and though I was very tired and in pain by the end of it, I made it through that and interpreting the next two half days. The drama was great fun, as that is one of my passions, and nice because it’s scripted and practiced, so easier to interpret (though I had a terrible time finding a teammate to help). I also interpreted for rehearsals and director’s instructions, and found that it wasn’t scary at all, especially in this low risk setting. In fact, I can do this, really do this! Of course I made plenty of mistakes, and learned a lot, but my clients were able to understand the information and interact with each other. It built my confidence a lot, and was a wonderful opportunity. I’ll hopefully get to work with this group again in the future.

I thank all of you who prayed and encouraged me through these busy weeks. It’s a testament to God that my body held up and I was able to accomplish everything. I had to be careful to rest as much as possible (and even skipped one of the writing workshops to lay down) but got through successfully and don’t seem to be crashing now too much. I know it helped that I’ve been able to rest and store up spoons earlier this summer.

Now things are quieter, and I suddenly have more time to miss my FaithWriter friends, and go back to the more boring interpreting homework assignments. At least I get to see my church friends tomorrow, and have plenty of writing projects to keep me busy, when I’m not resting or signing.

Plain. Very Plain. Very plain with nothing on it.

2009-06-11T13:02:00.000-07:00

I have food allergies. A lot of them. My sisters do as well and when my family gets invited to a friend’s house for dinner, our typical response is, “Are you sure? You might want to just invite us over for games or something.” As for eating out, we’ve learned which restaurants are allergy friendly, and which aren’t. Some places are great and will go out of their way to make sure there is tasty food we can eat. Some try to be helpful, but don’t realize to be careful about cross contamination and such (i.e. using utensils that have touched the allergen foods). Then there are the people who are just clueless.

“No, this gravy can’t have milk in it. Duh. It’s brown, not white.”

“You’re allergic to wheat? No problem, this isn’t wheat bread, it’s a white bread.”

These are the places that promise their meat is plain with no spices. Then they bring it out covered with marinade and spices. Turns out, they, themselves, personally didn’t add any spices. The manufacturer may have, but the cook himself didn’t. My sister and I have a rap: “Plain. Very plain. Very plain with nothing on it.” But you have to know what questions to ask to insure that it really, honestly is plain.

Right now my diet is even more restricted than normal because I am in a research study to see the effects on Fibromyalgia of avoiding excitotoxins (additives like MSG, which is often called natural flavors, or artificial flavors and artificial sugars), so I can’t have any processed foods.

Today I went to the doctor’s office to pick up barium packets for the CAT scan I’m having on my abdomen next week. They had told me there would be an ingredient list on the packets, but it only said, “Barium sulfate 2%.” The X-ray front desk lady told me that meant that was all that was in it.

Uh huh. Right. What’s the other 98%? So she agreed to call the electro imaging department. They, too, promised that there was only barium and water in the packets.

“So, there’s no flavorings?”

“Oh, it has a flavor.”

Yeah, last I checked, flavorings had to be made from something. Usually, from nasty stuff like excitotoxins. I finally gave up trying to get info from the doctor’s office (“It’s just barium, really. This is medical stuff. Of course it would never have MSG in it! Definitely not!”). I found a phone number of the manufacturer on the packets of barium. I left a message and they called me back promptly with a list of ingredients. A long list. A list full of natural flavors and artificial flavors and fake sugars. In other words, MSG.

The company worker said they do actually make a barium that is, honestly, just barium, but it has to be special ordered by the doctor’s office. I think I’m gonna go ahead and just drink the poison. By the time I get the CAT scan next week I will have had this weird abdominal pain for eight weeks. We need to find out what’s wrong. So next Wednesday I get to drink three glasses full. Yum!

Voice Acting--the stuff of life!

2009-05-22T00:26:00.001-07:00

Today is the stuff life is made of. I volunteer weekly (when health permits, anyway) at the local state school for Deaf kids, helping out during after school electives. This term I was thrilled to get to work with the elementary drama group. I love acting, I love that age of kids, and I love signing…how much better does it get? (one more better, but I’ll get to that!)

Sometimes it was a little challenging because most of the kids only had a line or two in the skit, meaning at any given time during rehearsal there were about 12 bored little kids waiting for their turn, LOL. But that gave us volunteers something to do (help keep them out of trouble).

Young kids can be a challenge to understand in any language, and many deaf kids get no access to language until they arrive at school--putting them behind. Of course, it’s my second language, so that adds to the challenge. I started volunteering there (off and on) three years ago. It’s exciting to see my progress in receptive skills since then. Now I can understand pretty much everything going on, even overheard conversations (oh my, the little six-year-olds’ are sooo adorable, even when they are mad, haha. ASL is such an expressive language and they take full advantage of it! “If you do that, I’ll cry and cry! I’ll cry a roomfull of tears and drown in them!”).

The grand performance was tonight. On Tuesday near the end of practice we suddenly discovered that, contrary to what we assumed, there would be no voice interpreter for the play. Some of the audience doesn’t know sign, and the students really wanted their hearing guests to be able to understand the play they’d worked so hard on. Guess who got called on? You guessed it--me! Of course, I can’t technically interpret yet, but because we’re working with a script and get to practice with the actors it’s considered “voice acting” instead of interpreting.

I’ve loved reading out loud or doing dramatic readings with all the voices for as long as I can remember, and voice acting for real live people instead of fictional written characters is even better! I’ve had the opportunity to voice act for plays at the school before, and loved it. Though that time I actually got to prep and practice a bunch ahead of time, ha. This time we had a total of one afternoon of rehearsal. I asked a classmate to help me, so we could do the back-and-forth dialog. Of course, I’d seen the play (in bit and pieces) as they’d been learning it, but my classmate hadn’t seen any of it and wasn’t familiar with the kids.

The afternoon rehearsal today was pretty important. Yeah. Well. Both of us ended up stuck in freeway traffic. For almost an hour and a half. Meaning: we completely missed the rehearsal. Boo for forgetting it was Memorial weekend and realizing that meant everyone and their fifteenth cousin would be on the freeway.

Allrighty then. Thank God for a laidback group of people. We were able to at least talk over the script with the assistant director and introduce my classmate to the students and their roles. Then, right before the performance started, the kids went through the play one last time out on the back patio. Phew. We voiced it and worked out a few kinks and were ready to go!

It went marvelously. Of course there were mistakes, mostly things like voicing a line for the king with a high-pitched voice and the queen with a low voice--oops--but overall it went quite well. There’s nothing quite as satisfying as being rewarded with a ripple of laughter from the audience for a line well-acted and well-voiced. The kids did a great job of ad libbing and knowing that "the show must go on" when prop problems showed up, even when the princess (from Princess and the Pea) tumbled right off the tall bed with the air mattresses and covers crashing down on top of her! It rather added to the comic effect of the play.

After our elementary kids’ skit, the high school students did a play (without a voice interpreter). Wow. They did an incredible job with acting and props. It was beautiful.

[OK, survey--and I honestly want to know. I sat down to write a brief post about my day, and it turned into a page-long novel. Do you guys like reading my accounts with lots of details like this, or would you rather have a brief account with just the main info and a few funny anecdotes?]

Hold on Tight--life's a wild ride!

2009-05-13T00:46:00.000-07:00

Life is certainly never boring around here. Let’s see, last blog post I was waiting to hear back from my echo on my heart, right? Thankfully it turned out normal. Most all my symptoms can be explained by Postural Tachycardia, which is annoying but not serious, and more related to the circulatory system then the heart itself.

As I’d hoped, my health started getting a little better this term, now that my school schedule is more sane. I finally got a sleep aid that helped, also (before that, if I was sleeping at all, I was waking up as often as every fifteen minutes). I finished up the study I was doing on the new Fibro med. I’m hoping to be able to stay off a pain med and just have the sleep med. I really don’t like to be on prescription meds at all if I can help it. So, I had about two weeks of things going pretty well.

Then the next thing hit.

I started having a lot of nausea and abdominal pain, different and longer-lasting than what I normally have with IBS (Irritable Bowel Syndrome--goes along with my Fibro). It didn’t feel like a virus or bug to me, so after several days I saw a doctor who decided it seemed to be a bad flare of IBS and gave me a med, with warnings to watch for appendicitis symptoms.

On Wednesday I was feeling sick and out of it with Fibro Fog, but went to school anyway. At least the cognitive problems provide good humor relief, if you let them! To give the rest of us practice interpreting in K-12 classrooms, a classmate was pretending to teach a 1st grade class, teaching shapes. Those who weren’t interpreting were pretending to be the 1st grade students. Some students pretended to answer questions wrong. As for me, haha, I didn’t have to pretend at all! The “teacher” passed out cardboard shapes and asked a question about road sign shapes. I held up a triangle and announced that yield signs were that shape--rectangles! Then when asked to find two squares, the “teacher” looked at what I was holding up and said, “Um, good try, Amy. You’re almost right!” LOL

I was finally feeling better last Thursday morning. I was excited because my Deaf interpreting tutor, James, had time free during my Mock Interpreting class for the first time all school year. (Mock is where a partner and I go to a real college class and interpret, but with only an imaginary Deaf client). I’m loving the class we’re interpreting in, though it’s a challenge, and I like having a real person to interpret for, so I was looking forward to having James be there. My Mock partner is a classmate, sister in Christ, and dear friend, Holly.

Thankfully I got through the class just fine and was headed to lunch with Holly before we met the tutor again to get feedback. We were almost to the cafeteria when pain hit. Bad. Like a knife ripping straight down from my belly button to my groin. For the next hour it hit me every few minutes. Sitting and laying down just made it worse.

I decided I better call my doctor. I knew they’d want to know if I had a fever, so I asked the college librarian if there was a nurse on campus. By that time I was shaking violently and pale and sweating from the pain. She quickly called security (1st aid response). He was cute. I told him I had Fibromyalgia and he looked blank for a minute and then brightened. “Oh, that’s a liver disease, right?” Um, yeah, not so much. I would have giggled if I hadn’t been so sick.

By then it was time to meet James. The stabs were coming a little less frequently, so stubborn me decided I would try to just push through the hour tutoring time so we could get feedback from James while it was still fresh in his mind. James watched me for a minute and then just got up and left. He’s like, “I’m leaving. Holly is driving you to the doctor.”

It’s so cool how I can see God’s hand in even things like this. Besides the timing of being able to finish the Mock class, it “just happened” that Holly was driving to a place a few blocks from my doctor’s office. She lives 45 minutes away in the opposite direction. That doctor looked at me and sent me straight to the ER (Mom came and picked me up).

I wish I could have the ER doctor for my primary care doctor. He actually talked to both mom and I (instead of ignoring one of us like many do) and explained the options and his opinion but let us have the final say without being pushy. They did blood and urine work and then did an ultrasound of my lower abdomen. Thankfully by then I wasn’t in too much pain. I can’t imagine having to go through an ultrasound if pressure caused pain. As it was, it was a little uncomfortable but mostly just interesting. I could see the pictures on a monitor over the gurney. Much of it wasn’t recognizable, but I was able to pick out my appendix and ovaries. The pictures are so curious…it isn’t a clear picture, but looks more like looking at something that has a thin piece of rubber stretched over it. The harder they push on the ultrasound wand, the tighter the rubber is pressed, making the outline of the organ a little more distinct. The pictures suddenly struck me funny and I got the giggles right in the middle of the ultrasound. Twice! I felt so bad because the poor tech lady couldn’t exactly do her job when the abdomen in question was shaking violently from giggles. Certainly that’s one of the few times in my life when I was saying to myself, “Think sad thoughts. Think sad thoughts.” LOL!

The ultrasounds looked normal. Five hours after arriving at the ER and eight hours after the bad pain first hit, I was sent home with only answers of what it wasn’t… The ER doctor said about 50% of the time they never do figure out what causes that kind of pain.

I’m still feeling a bit odd and achy in my lower right abdomen, but thankfully haven’t had any more severe pain. I have a follow up appointment next week. Unfortunately, I picked up a bad cold, probably compliments of the ER, and now have a bad cough. Just in time for mid-terms.
Ah well, such is life. I’m staying in pretty good spirits despite everything. School itself is going okay, other than the health stuff getting in the way. We have three extra interpreting tutors this term, two Deaf and two hearing interpreters, so we’re getting a variety of perspectives. It’s awesome and they are all so helpful and encouraging.

Last week Debbie Roome of Take Root and Write published an interview of me talking about life with an invisible disability. She writes the column “Daring to Love the Disabled.” The interview is here. I’m thankful for the opportunity to help spread awareness. I also have an article coming out soon in HopeNotes, a Christian magazine for people with chronic illnesses, and an interview being published in a book for teens who have Fibro. I’m thankful that God uses my trials to be able to reach out and help others.
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In the land of Uz

2009-03-14T15:19:00.000-07:00

I’ve been waiting for this week for a while, but it didn’t bring the answers I’d hoped for. I had my cardiology appointment on Wednesday and got the results back from my second Qualifying Exam yesterday. I was really hoping to pass the QE, and I feel I have the skills to do so, but because of the cognitive problems caused by my Fibro, I often can’t access those skills. It didn't help that I'd just come down with the flu the night before the test. Well, I improved on the sign to voice section of my QE, and passed it, however I actually got a worse score than before on the voice to sign part. Since we have to pass on both parts to get an official Pass, I won’t be able to get an internship or graduate this year. The next opportunity to take the QE is in nine months (we get four total chances to take it).

I have to admit I’m frustrated and discouraged, but I know God has plans. I can see that it was a very good thing I didn’t pass the first QE (no possible chance I could have made it through this term with the addition of an internship--almost didn’t make it as it is), so I know I may look back on this one and see the reasons I didn’t pass. As it is, I’m hoping that I’ll actually be able to take care of myself sufficiently enough to be higher functioning a greater part of the time. This weekend I realized that for the past two terms I’ve been having to spend nine to twelve hours at school (including driving time) everyday. That’s a crazy schedule even for a healthy person. (Because of the specialized program I’m in, I’ve had no control over my schedule.)

Next term will be a little easier since I won’t have the internship. I have my schedule for that term planned out, hopefully with a good balance of rest and continued practice, but I’m not sure what my plan of action will be for over the summer and next year. I need a few more general ed classes for my AA degree, and I need to continue to focus on my interpreting skills, but I think the main key to my success will be to get healthier, and about the only way I can do that is to rest more so my Fibromyalgia symptoms are lessened. I’m praying for guidance as I figure out where God’s leading me for the next year.

Speaking of health, my cardiologist appointment was…interesting. The guy had a rather condescending attitude and I’m quite sure he thought I was 18 and didn’t bother looking at my chart to see that I’m much older than I look. My impression of him didn’t improve when his response to my sign language interpretation studies was, “Oh, then you must work at the blind school.” (believe it or not, that type of comment actually isn’t unusual… but hello, this was a doctor with how many years of schooling??)

Anyway, the cardiologist declared that all my symptoms were simply because I don’t get enough exercise. However, according to my research, it seems that lack of exercise can’t cause heart irregularities. Exercise might help some heart conditions, but lack of it doesn’t cause them. I will be getting a second opinion, but now that my schedule will be getting a little closer to sane, I’ll go ahead and try to add in swimming a few times a week. I’ve heard it often helps Fibro as well as some heart issues.

I suspect my heart issues are actually caused by Postural Orthostatic Tachycardia Syndrome (POTS), which actually isn’t a heart problem, but more of problem with the way the brain communicates with the circulation system. Basically the body has trouble regulating blood circulation, especially when standing, and therefore the brain doesn’t have enough blood. Apparently it’s fairly common for people with Fibro to also have POTS, and unfortunately some of the symptoms are the same. That means if I have it, I’m getting a double dose of debilitating fatigue, cognitive problems, and sleep disorders. Next week I go to my doctor for a prescription sleep med, so I’m hopeful that will help things a little.

*Title from Job 1:1

With Wings

2009-02-21T15:52:00.000-08:00

The time has come. I’ve had four years of hard work, challenging work. There were many times I wondered if I would ever make it this far. Yet, by God’s strength, here I am, facing the Qualifying Exam for my interpreting program. All of the work, sweat, tears, and yes, joy, comes down to twenty minutes. Two ten minute texts for which I must absorb every word, figure out the meaning, translate into another language and culture, and produce smoothly--all while still understanding the next sentence, and the next, never loosing a concept.

If I pass the QE on Monday the 23rd, I’ll be assigned an internship with a few skilled interpreters, and will began working under them as a classroom interpreter. Then I can graduate this spring (though I’ll have to take a few summer general ed. classes to complete my AA degree) and begin working in low-risk settings as an interpreter.

We have four chances to pass the QE. My class took the first one a few months ago. Only one student passed. I almost passed that one and was feeling confident about passing this next one. But God has a way of making sure that every time I start trusting in myself, a reminder comes along that HE is the one my strength comes from--I can’t do it myself. And so it was that I had a bad flare during much of this school term, primarily debilitating fatigue and cognitive problems. I went almost a month with only a few hours of interrupted sleep most nights. I failed a test because my short term memory couldn’t grasp what I was seeing quite long enough to write it down. I was having language production problems, meaning I was walking around saying things like, “Dad, it’s your turn to heat your food up in the dishwasher.” or, “Wheryugn?” And that was just the English chat, my ASL was worse and my interpreting… well, mostly wasn’t.

I’m doing mostly better now, but besides the tests I messed up, I feel like I lost about three weeks of practice time, and maybe even went backwards in skills. So here I am, facing the QE feeling totally unready, but trusting God because He’s already proved that He can do the impossible in my life.

This term hasn’t been all bad, though. In school we are focusing on K-12 classroom interpreting and our last topic in ASL class was interpreting children’s books. We each got to pick a book and then performed the story for our test. I wish all tests could be like that! I love it and had so much fun. I posted a video of it here.

I continue to be encouraged by how God uses my struggles to reach out to others. I was recently interviewed by a researcher from OHSU for a book she’s writing for teens who have Fibromyalgia. Then just last night I was invited to sit on a workshop panel of interpreters with disabilities. The workshop will be this spring and the panel will have a mix of hearing and Deaf interpreters with visible and invisible disabilities. Also this spring, HopeKeeper’s magazine is going to publish an article I wrote shortly after being diagnosed with Fibro.

Oh, I guess I should give an update on my heart, too. I now have a heart monitor, which has proved to be rather noisy and sort of amusing. When I start feeling heart palpitations (which is generally constantly from evening through to the morning, and occasionally all day) I’m supposed to push the button to record my heartbeat. Then the little machine gives off a loud tone with an even louder beep for each beat. Thankfully I can mute it a little by putting a finger over the speaker, but it still distracts my classmates. Then it rings every half an hour until I can get to a phone (can’t use a cell) to transmit the recording. I just lay the receiver of the phone over the monitor and it screams its beep into the phone at four times a faster speed. It often sounds rather like a beeping tea kettle. Somehow I don’t think that’s quite what a heart is supposed to sound like… I see the cardiologist next month. If something is wrong with my heart, I’m sure that’s contributing to my fatigue and sleep problems.

But those who wait on the LORD Shall renew their strength; They shall mount up with wings like eagles, They shall run and not be weary, They shall walk and not faint. (Is. 40:31)

Guinea Pig Me!

2008-12-30T19:04:00.000-08:00

I am now a participant in a research study on a new med for Fibromyalgia, called Reboxetine. It’s supposed to help not only with the pain, but also primarily with energy, FibroFog, and even sleep. I’m excited about both the med and the chance to be able to help other with Fibro by being a part of the study. I have a 75% chance of getting the real deal rather than a placebo.

I finally had my first appointment today with OHSU, whom I’m doing the study through. The snow and ice kept causing my appointment to be postponed and today was the last possible day to join, so I’m happy it worked out. I was there three hours, full of paperwork, lab tests, and a physical exam. Besides the appointments, I’ll have to phone in every day and enter a pain level number for the day.

During the exam, this doctor had me assign a pain level number to each pressure point. o_0 I hate having to pick a number and here I am signing up for 17 weeks of it, ha. As the doctor pushed on the first place on my back, I took a deep breath and said, “Five.” The doctor, standing behind me, commented (in his charming English accent), “You aren’t very remonstrative, are you? Most people say, ‘ouch!’ or cry out.” He didn’t get a gasp from me until a spot where the pain was 8. :-p

I guess I just don’t show my pain much. I’ve always wondered why people around me don’t seem to respond with “are you okay?” or such more often when I’m in a lot of pain. But even my family says they have a hard time telling how much pain I’m in. I guess I have a more internal reaction and hold my breath through severe pain.

One of the routine tests they did today was an ECG. For a while now I’ve been having heart palpitations and thought something seemed a little off, but my doctors just dismissed it so this is the first time anyone has ever tested my heart. Whaddya know, I was right! Turns out I do have an irregular heart beat, though that usually doesn’t cause problems. However, the test also showed a possibility of an enlargement of my right atrial. He said something about it being connected to my Raynaud’s*, but I’ve never heard of Raynaud’s affecting the heart, so I’ll have to find out more about that. I’m going in to my new primary care doctor in two weeks, and they should do an echogram.

I’m excited about being seen by this research doctor who not only is familiar with Fibro but has done extensive research on it. I’m hoping my new regular doctor will be good, too.

*Raynaud’s is a circulation problem in the extremities--mostly the hands. Blood vessels overreact to cold and constrict too much. Typically it only causes minor discomfort and slightly slower healing in that area.

And the wall came a tumblin' down!

2008-12-15T16:15:00.000-08:00

The first term of this year is over and I made it through! Health-wise it was a difficult journey, many days finding me in tears because I was so tired or in so much pain with still too much homework to do. One weekend I went on a short hike with my HomeschoolAlumni.org friends and about landed myself in the urgent care from the pain. Then for about three weeks in the middle of the term I got hit with bad FibroFog (kinda hard to interpret when you can’t remember a word for more than 0.1 second…, and hard to get around when you’re not quite sure what one is suppose to do with the elevator buttons, much less what floor you’re on ;-p ).

BUT! God is so faithful and gave me just enough strength to get through. Thanks for all your prayers. My family and friends were encouraging (and sister-in-Christ classmate Breezy was always ready with a helpful “Amy, you won’t go to hell if you don’t finish your homework.”). My tutor has been so patient, too--he’s a huge part of the reason I’ve made it this far.

As many of you know, I’ve been struggling with my interpreting skills for a few years now. Because of my vision-related learning disabilities and my Fibro, it’s often seemed foolish to keep pushing on against what felt like an unmovable wall. I added a year to the program and voluntarily repeated a few classes in hopes that it would help, but last year it didn’t seem to have made that much difference. Yet I still felt God telling me to keep walking. So I did…just kept marching in silly circles around that Jericho wall, staring at those solid stones, knowing only God could knock them down, and trusting that somehow He would.

And He did!

The end of last term and over the summer I started seeing little cracks in that wall. This year it’s come a tumbling down! My health issues have still been big chunks of rock littering my path, but my interpreting skills have grown in leaps and bounds. Last month we took our first try at the big Qualifying Exam. Most people don’t pass it the first time and I passed the voice part and was fairly close to passing the signing part. I didn’t qualify for the internship yet, but I’m so happy with my score and am confident that I can pass the next one. Just today I got my grades back from all my classes this term and I got all Bs and As. For me that’s particularly amazing.
Now I’ve got three blessed weeks off. I’ll be spending them continuing to practice interpreting, working a little, resting a lot, and finally writing! I’ve so missed writing this term. I’ll be wrapping up the last few details of the latest Peculiar People book, Delivered, and then hopefully getting back to the Heirloom Chronicles.

This month I’m also joining a study at OHSU for a new med for Fibromyalgia. It’s suppose to help with both pain and the FibroFog, so I’m excited about it and am praying I’ll get the real med and not a placebo. I was suppose to have my initial four-hour-long appointment today, but icy roads nixed that plan. Hopefully the roads will clear up sooner than the weather people think, as the longer I wait for my appointment, the longer I’m off pain meds. My family is suppose to head to the beach on Friday, too, and right now the pass is pretty much impassible. At least the snow is pretty on the foothills!
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8 random things about me...

2008-09-16T13:52:00.000-07:00

Lori at Persevere tagged me with this fun MeMe.

Eight Random Facts About Myself:

1. When I was little I had an imaginary twin sister named Jamie.

2. I love to do dramatic readings with all the voices (yes, I hear voices in my head!).

3. When I was young I thought crutches were the coolest thing ever and I hoped I’d break my leg so I got to use them. It started when my older sister had to use crutches and a removable cast for a while. When she recovered, the crutches were returned but the cast stayed and I loved to put it on and hobble around the house.

4. I can mimic whistling songbirds.

5. I can copy pretty much any accent I hear, but the Australian accent is harder for me to keep.

6. I love languages and culture. I started creating a fictional language and culture when I was twelve (someday I’ll write the book that goes with it) and today I’m fluent in two languages (English and American Sign Language) and know a smattering of a third (Spanish).

7. I am easily amused. I generally don’t mind people laughing at me because, hey, what they are laughing about IS funny, haha!

8. I’m a little face blind--that is, I have trouble telling people apart. This means when I’m watching a movie with a lot of characters, I have to keep asking, “Which character is that?” And if it’s a Who Dun It and the face of the bad guy finally pops on the screen, everyone gasps… except me. “Um, which guy was that?”

In real life it means I’m always running up to someone and then as I get close suddenly pretending I was waving widely at the person behind them, because it wasn’t who I thought it was. Or the most embarrassing is when a stranger asks me to save a chair for them and then when someone comes up to use the chair I’m not sure if it’s the person I’m saving it for or if I need to say, “This seat is taken.”

Just this weekend I was at a Deaf event talking to a friend and another lady when I spotted someone across the room and said, “Hey, look! There’s *insert name of well-known interpreter*!” My friend and the other lady looked at the person and looked at me, then looked at each other. My friend says to her, “It’s okay. Amy just gets a little…confused sometimes.” LOL

Now I have to tag eight blogger friends to do this game...
1. Joanne
2. Laury
3. Josh
4. SisJ
5. Purple Kangaroo
6. Jules
7. Jan
8. Kasha Sue

I see friends...

2008-09-13T23:48:00.000-07:00

Yesterday I attended a Deaf gathering at a Starbucks located a few towns to the south of me. It’s a monthly event but I haven’t gone for several months due to other obligation or to pain, so it was nice to go again. Since driving tends to aggravate my pain, and to save gas and have time to chat, I carpooled with my friend from school, Breezy. As always, we had a great chat during the hour drive to and from the gathering, about God and life in general.

We went early for the event and parted ways to meet other friends for dinner, then joined up again at Starbucks. I had dinner with a school friend from my first year in the interpreting program. She also has Fibromyalgia and is a Christian and the two of us leaned on each other a lot in order to get through that year of school. Her young daughters joined us for dinner and we had a lovely time.

Events like that are hard on me physically, but I always enjoy chatting with old friends and making new friends. Getting a chance to use ASL in casual, real-life situations is invaluable, too. I got to meet a couple of students who are entering the interpreting program this year. They seem nice. One of them was very observant and asked me if I was okay (I wasn’t ;-) ) and if I needed to sit down.

He had on a t-shirt that said “Got Candy?” Breezy and I laughed that I needed one like that because I’m infamous for the amount of candy I eat (hey, I can’t do or eat anything else, so why not enjoy my lollies?). They were rolling their eyes at the fact that I stay thin no matter what I eat and he said something about switching bodies. Breezy’s like, “Oh no! No way I’m switching bodies with Amy! Nuh uh!” LOL

Later another interpreter I haven’t seen for a while came in and I discovered that she also has Fibromyalgia. I think she is a Christian, also. She and I had chatted a little in the past, but we really hit it off that night. It’s always fun to find someone who can really understand what we’re going through.

As the night wore on and my pain climbed to more severe levels, a Deaf friend was kind enough to give me a gentle back rub, which helped, some. I think I want to see if I can get my insurance to cover some massage treatments for me.

Leave-taking always takes a long time in the Deaf Community, and as I was making my rounds saying good bye and giving hugs, I thought about how much more freely many of those in the Deaf Community casually offer a platonic “I love you” along with the goodbye hugs and waves. Perhaps some of it has to do with the fact that ASL can so easily incorporate the classic “I love you” sign into a good-bye wave, but I suspect it is even more because of how highly Deaf people cherish friendship and communication--some of them have had so little of either, especially in the past.

I’ve always been one to liberal with hugs and “love ya”s for my female friends, but occasionally in the hearing community I’ve gotten funny reactions--anything from a startled “oh, um, yeah” to “Ohhh, you’re so sweet! You know, people don’t say that often enough--we just assume they know it and we don’t bother taking the time to actually say it.”

But whether we say it, or show it, or both, I’m sure thankful for the love and care of my friends. I’ll definitely be needing a lot of it as I start the challenge of school in a week.

I see friends shaking hands, sayin’, “How do you do?”
They’re really sayin’, “I love you.”
...And I think to myself, what a wonderful world.

from “What a Wonderful World” by George Douglas and George David Weiss

Heroes Among Us

2008-09-11T12:40:00.000-07:00

The cry was faint. Gabriel stopped, holding his breath, hoping, waiting for it to come again. For a minute all he could hear was the mother’s stifled sobs behind him.

“Mama…”

“There!” Gabriel sprinted through the trees. He pushed through a thicket and his feet dropped out from under him. For a second he dangled over the edge of a cliff, clutching at thin sapling. His foot found a root and he pulled himself to safety.

From below, a faint whimper drifted on the wind. Gabriel leaned over the drop-off. A glimpse of pink showed, wrapped around a sharp rock.

“Mandy, honey, stay really still for me, okay?” Gabriel pulled a rope from his pack and looped it around a nearby tree. His first step down the hill sent a volley of rocks tumbling beneath him. The wails of the child increased. Finally he reached the child, who dangled secured only by a loop of her skirt that had caught around a boulder. The steep slope below the girl turned sheer, solid rock plunging another fifty feet to the bottom.

“You’re okay. I’ve got you.”

*snap*

Caleb jumped and almost dropped his book. He scowled and looked around the crowed airport.

*snap*

There it was again. He ran his eyes over the row of waiting travelers across the isle from him, noting the teen biting her already reddened lip, the mother grabbing for her runaway toddler, and--aha--a man studying a crossword puzzle and tapping his pen against his forehead. There it came. His fingers wrapped absentmindedly around the pen’s pocket clip and pulled. *snap*

Caleb picked up the book again.

Gabriel struggled to steady himself in the loose dirt and stones as he reached for the girl without dislodging her. Slowly, slowly…

*snap*

The book came down again and Caleb rolled his eyes. How could such a small sound bother him so much in a noisy, crowded terminal? And how was he supposed to get through college if he was so distracted.

“FL…T 93, BOAR…ING GROUP …. NOW.” The voice over the intercom was loud, but surprisingly muffled.

“Ah, that’s my flight.” Caleb stuffed his book, Real Life Stories of Real Life Heroes, into his carryon. “Guess there’ll be plenty of time to rescue Mandy during the flight.”

He stood in the line of shuffling people. Normal people, going on normal flights. How many of them were heroes? How many of them had risked their lives to save someone else?

Caleb wondered if he’d ever get that opportunity. He could see himself now, racing across the field, stumbling and tripping in the darkness. His ankle twisted beneath him, but he didn’t notice. All that filled his vision was the one gleaming eye of the train as it bore down on a woman who struggled in the middle of the track, her foot stuck in the--

*snap*

The airline worker slapped her clipboard down. “I said boarding pass, please!”

Muttering an apology, Caleb produced his paperwork. He filed onto the plane and found his seat. Middle chair. Figured.

“Hey, I’m Mike.” The man beside him offered a hand. “Where you headed?”

“College.” Caleb grimaced. “Not sure yet if that’s exciting or nasty.”

Mike chuckled. “I’m headed to visit my dad. Not exactly nasty, but he’s not the most fun person to be around. He’s not getting any younger, though, so I figure I’m due him a visit.”

“My dad was a hero.” Caleb bit his lip. He hadn’t meant to say that.

“Oh yeah?” Mike looked at him curiously. He motioned to the book the young man had already pulled from his pack. “You’re into heroes, huh?”

Caleb flushed a little. “Yeah, I guess. Always have been. I loved the superhero comics when I was a kid. Now I’m more into the real thing.”

“I know a hero.” Mike’s eyes lit up. “He was unbelievable. During a big storm he’d go right out in the middle of the water to save people. Most of the time he was quieter about it, though. Helping people who were sick... things like that.”

“I’ve thought about becoming a doctor.” Caleb grinned. “Be a kinda-hero, you know?”

“Yeah.” Mike nodded thoughtfully. “This guy I know does lots of stuff like that. But the funny thing was, people didn’t like him. Got pretty mad at him, actually, and threatened to make him stop.”

“That’s stupid. Why?”

“Hard to say.” The older man leaned back, buckling up as the plane started to taxi. “Maybe they felt guilty they weren’t helping people. Maybe they thought this guy was too much like God and threatened their religion.”

Caleb snorted. “Religions make people do stupid things.”

“That they do.” Mike sighed. “One time they were rioting against him. Things were getting pretty out of control. He was right there in the middle of the crowd and then he just disappeared. Showed up a long ways away. No one had a clue how he did it.”

“Wow.”

“They said he raised people from the dead, walked on water, stuff like that.”

“Just rumors, huh? They made him into a comic book man.” Caleb laughed.

“Maybe.” Mike waited as the plane took off, fighting gravity until it finally broke free and lifted up. “Maybe not.”

“What do you mean, maybe not? Hey, you really knew this guy?”

Mike pursed his lips, then continued the story without answering. “He had even more enemies than any comic book man, that’s for sure. One day they killed him. Just like that. Tortured and killed him because they didn’t like him.”

“Woah.” Caleb twisted to look at the man better. “Where was this?”

“Rome.” Mike rummaged under his seat and produced a tiny black book. “Here’s that ‘comic book’, all about his miracles.”

Caleb took it and flipped it over. “‘New Testament.’ The Bible? Man, you had me going there.”

“Yup. That’s ‘cause it’s all real. I know Him.” Mike tapped his chest. “He’s living right here in my heart. Jesus was one hero, that’s for sure. Still is, actually. How many people do you know who rose from the dead?”

Caleb shook his head. “I’ve never heard anything religious told like that before. That’s whacked.”

“Oh, don’t go making this religious. Jesus wasn’t about religion. He was about being a hero. A real life hero, come to save the world. All He wants in return is faith.”

The book was heavy and comfortable in Caleb’s hand. He flipped through it. “Those stories are in here?”

“Those and lots more. Here, I’ll show you why He came to earth.”

For another half an hour the men leaned over the “book of heroes,” talking about Jesus, and new life. After a while, Mike leaned back. “So, you interested in getting to know that hero? Having him be your friend, too?”

Caleb looked down at the red words in the book, words unlike any he’d heard before. “Yeah, yeah, I think I’d like that.”

Mike talked him through a prayer, but it wasn’t like any prayer Caleb had ever heard. It was more like… well, like talking to a friend.

“Here, you can have the New Testament. I’ll even write your name in it, and the date, so you can remember when you met your Hero.” Mike patted his shirt pocket, looking for a pen.

“Here.” The man on the other side of Caleb leaned over, offering a pen.

“Thanks.” Mike posed the pen over the book. “What’s the date? Eleventh, isn’t it?”

“Yup.” The man turned to Caleb. “I couldn’t help but overhearing the conversation. I’m a Christian, too.” He offered a hand. “By the way, I’m Todd Beamer. Welcome to the family.”

__________________
In memory of all the heroes on Flight 93 on September 11th, 2001. Except for Todd Beamer, all the characters and events in this story are completely fiction.

© 2008 Amy Michelle Wiley
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Summer, come back!

2008-09-03T00:22:00.000-07:00

I can’t believe it’s September. In just three short weeks I’ll be back to school--with 19 credits, yikes. There’s no way I’d ever willingly take on that many with my health the way it is, but since I’m in a specialized program I don’t have much of a choice. If nothing else, it’ll sure force me to rely on God fully--no way I can make it on my own!

Near the end of the term we have the big QE (Qualifying Exam). We have four chances over the next two years to pass it and recieve a certificate of completion for the program. Basically the QE is ensuring that we can actually do a qualified job of interpreting. Most training programs in the US do not have a test like that, meaning anyone who can manage through the college classes with at least a low C is sent into the world to do real live interpreting.

I'm glad we have the QE, but it's rather scary. I asked my tutor yesterday if he thought I had a chance at passing it this year and he said yes! :-) He said he thought I could pass the sign to voice part pretty easily and if I can get my signing speed up then I had a chance at the voice to sign part. My brain just doesn't work like it used to (thanks to the fibro) and sometimes I have trouble thinking fast or talking in English at a normal speed, so it's doubly hard in my second language, even when I'm not trying to interpret. So that's something to work on and pray about.

I’ve been brainstorming to think of little things I can do to make it easier for me to get through each school day… things like getting a disabled parking permit so I don’t have to climb a hill and a set of stairs dragging my backpack in the freezing cold (though I’ve had trouble actually getting the permit), and arranging the schedule as much as possible so I don’t have early morning classes (that will help with sleepiness/brain fog and driving less, since traffic is less later in the day). I meet with the disabilities counselor a few days before school starts, and maybe we can think of some more things. Anyone else have ideas?

This summer didn’t quite go how I’d planned. I’d hoped to have the postcard project critiqued and to the final editor by the end of the term--I haven’t touched it all summer. I had some other projects I wanted to work on, also, and though I did keep up with my signing somewhat, I didn’t do nearly as much daily practice as I’d determined I would.

I feel like I spent half the summer in some doctor’s office or another. But at least that was effective and I now have a diagnoses and some treatments that are helping.

Today I got a new mattress for my birthday present from my parents. My old one was some 11 or 12 years old and not very cushy anymore. Last night Dad and I went to the only place in the US where the three major mattress companies have stores literally side by side (Dad says there’s only one place like that because no one else is that stupid, lol). It sure is handy for the shoppers, though.

Of course, there’s not that much that can be told about a mattress by laying on it for 30 seconds, and by the time I’d walked to the next store it was hard to compare them, but I finally just picked one. It’s nothing really fancy (not gonna pay four digit numbers for a mattress!), but has both support and a bit of a cotton topper to make it soft.

My bedroom is in pretty bad shape, so I had to work at it today so Dad could even bring the new mattress in. I’m one of those people who likes things to be neat and tidy, but not quite enough to actually go to the work to make it that way. I’m pretty organized with certain things like organizing the conference and Peculiar People, but I don’t have any energy left over at the end of the day to worry about a bedroom.

I was actually feeling okay most of the day, so I tacked the bedroom for probably too long. Tonight the frequent bending has me sore and stiff. But there is a wide clean swath through my room (I seriously found almost $20 in loose change laying around!) and a new mattress to look forward to! I’m curious to see how it feels to actually sleep on it. Off I go! Good night.

An Award!

2008-08-28T19:24:00.000-07:00

My new blogger-friend Lori honored me with the Arte y Pico Award. Lori is a lovely Christian lady who also lives with a chronic illness. Thank you, Lori!

I'd like to pass it on to my friend Joanne, who is able to find messages and truths from God in her everyday life, and then passes them on to the rest of us through her blog.