A 2 Z: Research

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....

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

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

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!

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!

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)

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.”



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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)

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
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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

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...

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.

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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



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

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!