F2K Again...

Philippians 4:13 “I can do all things through him who strengthens me.”

F2K Again…

Well friends, I decided to take the beloved F2K again. That’s the six-week Creative Writing Course that I used to mentor for many years and I allowed it to fall to the wayside. I still carry the knowledge, who am I kidding, it changed my writing life, and much of my entire life, completely.

As many of my writing friends are taking the course again because we love it so much, I decided this year of all years, I NEEDED this course to ground me.  The learning, the camaraderie, the fun and the lasting friendships are worth the course alone. The reason I’m taking it this year? I need to focus on something other than this stinkin’ disease.

I’ve been in a nonfiction group at WVU writing nonfiction, meaning my true-life tale, so when I signed up for F2K, short for Fiction2000, I had every intention of writing nonfiction. Then I thought about it after my first lesson, this has to be fiction; then out of nowhere, my day was spent writing an amazing fictional tale with my true life story weaved within every sentence.

I wanted the story to be about faith, hope, and love in the midst of turmoil. It’s all about weathering the storm with an illness in tow. Intertwining every word would take some skill, skill I know many of my friends have but I never felt that I was that good of a writer to pull it off. To actually write a fictional tale that could hold its own weight. Telling my story through the eyes of a character. I should also say I know I'm a good writer but I believe all writers lack the intense confidence in their work.

I may eventually post the work on here, my blog, but right now it is too raw and unedited. After it gets perfected, sent out to a few places, I may eventually put the story on here. Unless of course, you’re in my class, you’ll see the tale firsthand. Please don’t give me any suggestions on the story as I’m still weaving the threads. The story is already complete, I’m just in the editing stages, so no advice will be helpful at this point to shape my tale, but thank you. This is my gem.

I believe that everything happens for a reason and in its time. Anyone who has ever read my work knows me virtually or personally knows that about me. Recently, some things have been happening that I know are from Him. Like F2K happening at this precise time, the story unfolding like a blanket at a picnic, and in essence finding a source for my healing.

First let me say, I never buy into conspiracy theories and never get easily swayed by supposed prophetic events and this weekend was no different. This is the weekend 9 24 17 that the world was going to end (again) because a scripture lined up with the signs. I haven’t lived that long on this planet but I know, the prophecy never ends, it’s been going on for a millennium.
While everyone is out trying to make sense of these ‘prophetic’ words looking at every sign and wonder, conjuring up fear in themselves and their families, me, I’m looking for signs that pertain to me.

Ephesians 4:14 (KJV) "That we henceforth be no more children, tossed to and fro, and carried about with every wind of doctrine, by the sleight of men, and cunning craftiness, whereby they lie in wait to deceive;"

I’m finding them in hope. Hope in each new day I wake and see another day. Hope in finding pleasure that each week of food shopping has everything there to sustain me. I look for natural healing remedies and I have hope that they’ll surface and they have been. I will take legal and illegal measures to heal and if they come to my door, what am I supposed to do, turn the opportunity away? I take everything God sends my way as a sign of my full healing, so when F2k came along, to me, it was a sign to continue my healing journey via words. 

My story is about Faith, a happy-go-lucky blonde out in the cool autumn temps climbing her happy tree to rest on a limb so as to watch the world below go on while she escapes the turmoil. She hears a commotion and to her surprise from the world inside the Immune System below the gangs of the village are at war with one another. The SeaCells and the BloodCells are busy destroying all that was created. Faith sits up and takes notice, a wake-up call so to speak.... 

I’m not saying much more because my story unravels in a pretty methodic way exhibiting an illness that is taking over a body and the miraculous healing that eventually takes place for all of the world to see. What will be the cure that saves her life?

Let me just say, if you think a miraculous healing takes place in the blink of an eye, you’re pretty naïve in understanding the way the Lord works. When Sara cried out to God for a child, was she instantly pregnant? If I remember correctly, she had to wait years and when she felt defeated in her plea, she became pregnant. But then again we have the bleeding woman who touched Jesus' robe and the bleeding stopped, immediately!

Sometimes we need to wait on the Lord, for in His timing, and our patience, we receive the blessed event. I don’t go looking for healing I allow it to fall into my lap, see it for what it is and become blessed by receiving the healing taking place. I give all glory to God because alone, I can do nothing. F2K has been a blessing and a healing point in my life. The course keeps me on course to where it is I’m supposed to be and do what I’m supposed to do at a precise timing in the Lord’s plan. Yeah, I’m weird and get all of that from one little writing course. 

Praise be to God!

John 15:5 “I am the vine, ye are the branches: He that abideth in me, and I in him, the same bringeth forth much fruit: for without me ye can do nothing.”

A True Christmas Tale - poem by Joni!

 Job 10:12 “Thou hast granted me life and favour, and thy visitation hate preserved my spirit.”

A True Christmas Tale

 A tale was told one Christmas eve,

Tis' better to give than to receive.

But I have no gift, my pockets bare,

I am but a poet, my poem I'll share.

I rose from my bed on Christmas day,

The sun was peeking down where I lay.

I crept down the stairs so I could see,

Had Santa left gifts under my tree?

I wasn't surprised, left unamazed,

I stood at my empty tree and gazed.

No gifts to give, my heart did ache,

But I would go on for Christmas' sake.

I threw on my clothes, rushed out the door,

Just what is all this excitement for?

I have no gifts to give to thee,

No presents were left beneath my tree.

So how can Christmas be happy and gay?

What is the secret that makes this day?

I swung open the door, to my surprise,

My family was sitting before my eyes.

Greetings exchanged, hugs of embrace,

Smiles that lit the entire place.

"We're glad you're here, accept this gift.

Maybe then your spirits will lift."

I saw in their eyes a special glow,

That sunk my heart, and let me know,

That they were giving with deepest love,

For God had signaled from above.

The spirit of Christmas is a radiant gleam,

That shines through the soul, in a warming beam.

I have felt that warmth throughout the year,

By spreading laughter, joy, and cheer.

But a chosen day was set aside,

For all of our arms to open wide.

So the gift I give has no ribbons or bows,

I'll give you peace that warms and glows.

I'll tell you I love you, I'll make you smile,

I'll see that your visit was worth the while.

I returned to my house, I plugged in my tree,

There sat a star gazing down at me.

I looked at the star with wondrous sight,

For God had appeared that Christmas night.

I was given the secret of Christmas eve,

Tis' better to give, than to receive.

Author’s note: I wrote this when I was 18

But it is still one of my most favorite Christmas

Poems that I wrote! May it go down in His-tor-y!

Merry Christmas to all

And to all a good night! 

Poetry Sunday ~ A True Christmas Story

Written in 1984 by me. Still holds true to this day! This was my gift to the family.

 Job 10: 12 Thou hast granted me life and favour, and thy visitation hath preserved my spirit.

 A True Christmas Story

A tale was told one Christmas eve,
Tis' better to give than to receive.
But I have no gift, my pockets bare,
I am but a poet, my poem I'll share.
I rose from my bed on Christmas day,
The sun was peeking down where I lay.
I crept down the stairs so I could see,
Had Santa left gifts under my tree?
I wasn't surprised, left unamazed,
I stood at my empty tree and gazed.
No gifts to give, my heart did ache,
But I would go on for Christmas' sake.
I threw on my clothes, rushed out the door,
Just what is all this excitement for?
I have no gifts to give to thee,
No presents were left beneath my tree.
So how can Christmas be happy and gay?
What is the secret that makes this day?
I swung open the door, to my surprise,
My family was sitting before my eyes.
Greetings exchanged, hugs of embrace,
Smiles that lit the entire place.
"We're glad you're here, accept this gift.
Maybe then your spirits will lift."
I saw in their eyes a special glow,

That sunk my heart, and let me know,
That they were giving with deepest love,
For God had signaled from above.
The spirit of Christmas is a radiant gleam,
That shines through the soul, in a warming beam.
I have felt that warmth throughout the year,
By spreading laughter, joy, and cheer.
But a chosen day was set aside,
For all our arms to open wide.
So the gift I give has no ribbons or bows,
I'll give you peace that warms and glows.
I'll tell you I love you, I'll make you smile,
I'll see that your visit was worth the while.
I returned to my house, I plugged in my tree,
There sat a star gazing down at me.
I looked at the star with wondrous sight,
For God had appeared that Christmas night.
I was given the secret of Christmas eve,
Tis' better to give, than to receive.

Story to Tell...

Prov.10:20 The tongue of the just is as choice silver: the heart of the wicked is little worth.

As a leader in the world and the writing community, I see something that knits us all together. We all have a story to tell. Even if it was not a dream of ours, or maybe it was and we just got lost along the way (see yesterdays post) we all need to be aware that we have a story to tell and how you write, effectively drawing out emotions in the reader, will either spell success or fail in your journey.

As our story unfolds, heartstrings will be tugged and like a rubber band, it will snap something in the reader. Either a tear will exit the eye and make a beeline for the chin, or maybe a crinkle will appear on the mouth and form a smile. Maybe a fevered pitch will drive a stake right in the heart of your reader, and anger will bubble up to the surface and a scream will bolt out of the mouth. Whatever emotion that is elicited, it will have to come from bringing it home for the reader.

I have met quite a few people that have said, “I’m a writer,” and I know many who are ‘published writers’, I know many who write, but again, it isn’t the story you tell or the perfect sentence structure, it is the emotions that are tied to the story. I don’t care if it is a sci-fi thriller, a Western, or Romance, (I think we all relate to them in some way) or a supernatural thriller, we have to tell the story with the reader in mind. We need to reach them, or we have no story.

Allowing your best friend to say, Good story! Loved it! Really does not tell us how we’ve done in pulling on the heart and making them feel as if they were in a Narnia-like closet, lost among your very words. We need them to express how their heart pined for the star-crossed lovers, we need them to say “I cried when I read about Mary’s death.” Why did they cry? Because you reached into their heart, and touched a cosmic emotion that wriggled the tear ducts and left them feeling pangs of pain.

Is that what we want? Pain? Not necessarily, but we do want to get an emotional reaction. If we just TELL a story, we are not going to get any reaction except maybe, “Well that was nice.” When we take it to the level of a writer, we are going to show them the same story, only they will say, “Wow! That was great! Touched me all over!”  Can you see the difference?

I know a lot of people who read my poetry, who really don’t even like poetry, say things like, “I got it! It touched me! You moved me.” That is what I like to hear.  I wrote my dad a birthday poem (as always) and my mother said, “It was beautiful. I could really feel the emotions in it.” I know I know, it was my mother, but I said, “Did dad cry?” She said, “I don’t know about him, but I sure did!”

YES! I scored! I got a tear out of the reading of my poem. I went back, read what I wrote, and even *I* welled up at the reading of it! Daggone it! Not me. I’m not supposed to cry! But as a writer, even sometimes WE need to cry too at the good writing of our souls. Every one of us has a story to tell!

The Drama of it all...

“A true spiritual aspirant will never be frightened by any circumstances, hence, move on, angel, move on!” ~BJG

***

Oh the drama of it all. I think you’ve gathered by now that I, as a writer, can take a broken nail and spin it into a web of a story. I’m like that. I was at my m-i-l’s the other day, and all she did was ask, “How’s it going out on the farm?” I began my tale with my old treadle sewing machine, placed in some thread and began weaving a delightful tale.

Instead of the simple answer, “Great, life is great.” I began, “Well the potato harvesting began roaring onto the fields with machines I’ve never seen in my life. I loved the way they swept the field and one by one an army-full of semi trucks carried away the plump juicy potatoes. And we have an Elk, living in the woods, whom I named Eli thinking it was a male last year, but when I heard the baby by it’s side I realized, Eli, was Eliza, still named Eli for short.

I went on as I always do. “You wouldn’t believe the images out there, wild turkeys walking up the road, Black-eyed Susan’s galloping over every open space, and the turkeys being grown for their shipment into slaughter. Yes siree, life out there on that farm is pretty awesome.”

I add drama to every thing in my life and as my followers more than likely can tell, I speak truth, I just have a tendency to color my world. It is like my brain is a living thesaurus, and believe you me if I can’t think of the right word, I’ll dig to find it.

That is what writing is all about. You weave a colorful story, embellish the truth a bit, not too much so it is a very believable story, but paint it just so the reader becomes a part of the fabric. He/she becomes so engrossed in the flow of every word, the stroke of every key, a part of the very scene, that they jump into the fantasy that you’ve created for them.

Rose Madder by Stephen King was like that. It started off, an abused woman who lived in fear, and one day she just woke up and walked away, fearing for her life, but she did it! She made a new life for herself too, but wouldn’t you know it, her hubby found her, as all abusive husbands do and what happened is... you’ll have to read it and find out. 

She bought a picture and somehow Mr. King painted many levels of the canvas for us, the reader. A story in a story if you will. That is what I strive to do in my life. I try to paint a picture of myself, a portrait for you to glance at. Then I embellish it by wearing jeans, fixing my hair all nice and applying makeup, but never really hiding the true me underneath.

In my words you may find the drama, but underneath it all, you will see the true me shining through. And know that deep down, the true me is a writer, through and through.

Growth is the only evidence of life. ~John Henry Newman, Apologia pro vita sua, 1864

Flashback Friday

Psalm 79:13 So we thy people and sheep of thy pasture will give thee thanks for ever: we will shew forth thy praise to all generations.
***

Flashback to a day in your past of peace and harmony. What? You can’t remember any? Well let me tell you... I can’t think of any either. ha ha

A flashback in the story is the one place where you will connect with your reader. Either they will relate to an incident or be blown away by the illusion. But we need the flashback so the reader will become one with the character. We can’t overload our work with flashbacks or we’ll lose the reader. They’ll get bored stiff if your character lives too much in the past.

We need to move on and by showing flashbacks and the here and now we can show how the character has moved forward in life. Fiction is a lot like real life and this is where you will drink your knowledge from the pool of reality. Sure we’ll embellish our fictional tale but if we’ve had no experience in such an event then we need to dig into the pond of research.

I like the non-fiction tales also. This is where we drink from our fountain of the past. Your past may be haunting, it may be a testament or it may just be like the guy next doors. Whatever the case there is a story there somewhere.

I myself have a strong testimony to my faith, but I think I might bore you stiff with it, so I won’t go there. The road of drugs and alcohol, the drowning in the abyss, the saving hand reaching down for me to pull me from the depths of hell, the death, the dying, the defeat all wrapped up in one life. Maybe Friday's will be my stories in flashback form? *wink*

When I read or hear others stories, I think mine was way off the boards of the norm and it comes across as fiction. But the flashbacks continue, the memories soar, the past haunts and the future awaits. The one thing I have is my Father in heaven’s arms wrapped around me, consoling me all the way, comforting me and carrying me.

I like for people to feel Him themselves because my words are just that, words. I won’t preach, I will only be a presence...hence the terminology Angel...always...godspeed.

Flashback...there was a time I floated in the midst of all encompassing love, soaring to heights forever unseen. In a display of arcs and wondrous colors, there I was immersed in the rippling waves of the universe only to find in an instant I could breathe air. My birth, oh what a glorious day.

Remember the flashback in a story. It will take the reader places, trust me.