A 2 Z: Zany Madi

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/.

________________
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

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?

© 2011 Amy Michelle Wiley

__________________________

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)

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.”

_________________________________

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

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!


<center><p><a href="http://www.sparrowsflight10.blogspot.com/ " target="_blank"><img border="0" alt="sparrowsflight" src="http://i154.photobucket.com/albums/s265/yomamarita/button-11-1.jpg " /></a></p></center>

A 2 Z: Voices of the Dark

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

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"

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: 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.”



___________________________________
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
_________________________________

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.