The Writer's Torch: Lynnette Bonner

I grew up loving to read, but when it came to writing, I honestly wasn’t that dedicated. I often hear writers say something along the lines of, “I wrote my first story when I was only 8, and I never quit writing after that.” When I hear something like that I think, “Wow, that’s dedication.” I wasn’t like that. Sure I wrote my share of stories growing up, but it was an on again, off again relationship.
I always loved fiction and would read for hours in high school. But I didn’t start writing until about 1993 after my first son was born. Even then, I didn’t seriously pursue the craft until probably 1999. I completed Rocky Mountain Oasis around 2000 and shopped it to several (okay, about a million) publishing houses and agents. If they were in Sally Stuart’s Christian Writer’s Market Guide and said they were looking for historical fiction, they probably got a proposal from me. Then the rejection letters started trickling in. Publishing houses said, “Unfortunately, we find we must decline the opportunity to publish this project.” Agents said, “With great regret, I must pass on this opportunity….” And I began to realize the mountain I was attempting to climb.

Then in late 2001 a small e-book publisher said they wanted to publish the book! I was thrilled. The contract was good and didn’t require me to sign my first born away, so I signed with dollar signs dancing in my head – after all, the internet was booming! Surely my wonderful story would take off and I would soon be known world-wide, right? Well, ahem, I made about 90 cents before the company went out of business a couple months later, and those were sales to my neighbor down the street and my brother, I think.

When the e-book publisher went belly-up, I was back to square one. By that time, I was homeschooling my two oldest kids and had a toddler to boot. Writing got put on the back burner. 2003 ushered in the birth of our daughter and in 2004 we moved from Idaho to Washington. I was still homeschooling and not writing. But through all those years I just kept praying about Rocky Mountain Oasis. I told the Lord the book was in His hands (I’m pretty sure He already knew this.) And that if He had given it to me just to help me through those tough, stressful years, I would try to be content with that. But I kept asking Him to direct my steps where the book was concerned. I specifically remember praying that if the Lord wanted this book to be published He would need to “drop a publisher in my lap” because I didn’t have time to shop it around again.

My mom is also a writer and she called me up one day in early 2007 to tell me about a new publisher on the scene, OakTara. One of her critique partners, Linda Reinhardt, had just gotten a contract with them. I checked them out and they had super simple submission guidelines, so I zipped up my file and fired it off to them. (Problem – their guidelines didn’t call for zipped files.) By December I still hadn’t heard from them – and I thought, “Well, I’ll try sending it to them with the files unzipped. Duh! So at midnight on December 23rd, 2007 I fired off another cover letter with my now almost 8 year old baby attached. They were the only publisher I’d submitted to in 6 years.

Since OakTara’s guidelines at the time said to expect to hear from them within 8 weeks of submission, I pretty much gave up when I hadn’t heard anything by April. Then on June 9th, 2008 I got the email that stopped my heart for a couple beats before it started pounding again like a herd of wild children. (Ooops, horses! I meant horses.) Words cannot describe the thrill of reading, “Rocky Mountain Oasis is precisely the type of novel OakTara is interested in -- quality fiction, from a fresh perspective – and we’d like to offer you the opportunity to join OakTara’s growing stable of authors.” I didn’t come off that high for several days.

As I look back, I can totally see how the Lord brought my right to the publisher that He had planned for me. There is no doubt in my mind. I’m so glad that I just trusted Him and kept putting my journey back into His hands. (Yes, I tried to pull it back a couple times, I’m sure.)

So for other up-and-coming authors out there, let me just encourage you to keep putting your writing journey into the hands of the one who can best shape it. You will never be sorry.

Adventures in Country Living: Dutch Oven Cooking

100 years ago, along the path from the east to the west, came thousands of families traveling in a wagon with less cargo spaces than some refrigerators I've seen. They packed up what little they could tuck into nooks and crannies and set off on the journey of a lifetime. The supplies they packed varied, while some may have valued a prized fiddle or sewing machine, others clung to family portraits and hand-me-down cradles. But what most every family packed, was the key to cooking on the open plains--a Dutch oven.

Imagine standing over a campfire and relishing in the ability to bake breads, cakes and rolls, and cook stews and cobblers. The Dutch oven truly is a remarkable tool.

These are the images that come to mind when I think of a Dutch oven, but Dutch ovens still have their place in the here and now. Our family just got home from two week-long camping trips. And while my washer and dryer are working over time, our Dutch oven is tucked snugly in its home inside our trailer, resting from several weeks of feeding everyone.

The Dutch oven is my husband's baby. He's the campfire man. He can start one in a heartbeat, I've even seen him do it without a flame. He's basically like an over sized boyscout. But he's our resident chef when we go camping and he knows how to whip up more than one crowd pleaser. He pretty much does all the work, and I'm mostly allowed to observe. I think its a guy thing. They love cooking in the great out doors--BBQ's, can of beans tossed into the campfire, fish grilling in tin foil on the side of a stream, it doesn't matter where they are, they were born to cook in the great out doors.

But the guy makes a mean breakfast quiche, he learned it from his brother (who also makes an amazing stew), and when I asked my husband for the recipe so I could blog about it, he stared at me like a dear in headlights with this look like "I can't believe your going to give away my secret." So I'll just blurt out the ingredients, and run like the dickens in the opposite direction: egg, cheese, sausage, bacon, potatos. That's all I'll say, but if you see him, you might be able to work the details out of him, or just bring him camping. He's already had several offers..."um honey, did you pack the tent and the marshmallows, oh and the cast iron guy whose going to feed us like kings?"

So I'll share another recipe and it's as simple as, well, dump cake.
My favorite is blackberry-rhubarb. I like to cut fresh rhubarb from the garden, cook it down for thirty minutes with sugar then freeze it in quart containers, but the beauty about this way-too-easy cobbler is that the fruit combinations are endless.

Dutch Oven Dump Cake:
First, start coals by lighting a fire in a pit or using charcoal.
A 10 or 12 inch Dutch Oven work great. Grease the inside of the oven, or insert a greased foil liner.
Dump in 2-3 cans of pie filling or fruit and 1-2 packages of cake mix (depending on the size of the Dutch oven)
Pour over a stick of melted butter or spread diced butter evenly on top
No need to mix or stir anything!

When working with a fire pit, it helps to use a heat proof glove, like a welding glove and a lid lifter is a must. With the lid on the oven, set it gently on a small bed of hot coals, place more coals on top (more on top than on bottom if you like a nice golden-brown crust)and allow to cook for about 45 minutes, give or take. Rotate the Dutch oven as needed so the sides cook evenly and replace or remove coals as necessary to regulate heat.

This is not an exact science. The rate at which the Dutch oven cooks ranges depending on the amount of coals, heat of the coals, and the weather. The fruit will begin to bubble up and that's good. When the cake is set and as golden as you like, its done. Allow to cool slightly and serve with a scoop of vanilla ice-cream for those people who like runny vanilla ice-cream on their cobbler, but I'm weird, and I like it just the way it is ;)

Happy Homesteading!

A Very Country 4th

We celebrated the Forth of July Country Style. Some dear friends of ours have a lovely farm in the country. Literally, their home is the very last house on a rural dirt road which means they have only one neighbor and the 300 degree view from their back porch of the untouched mountains is stunning.

For most of the day, my son ran around in his bathing suit on the lawn chasing kids both older and younger, squirt gun in hand, water balloons flying past his head like little torpedoes. I don't think the kids stopped for a breather all day, except when it was time to eat. And then, I don't think anyone could have resisted that spread.

The enormous BBQ hauled in on the back of a vehicle was large enough to feed everyone with chicken, ribs and lamb drizzled in the most wonderful homemade BBQ sauces. Pots large enough to hold a couple of youngins held more corn than I have ever seen in one place in my life and with plenty of entrants in the cobbler and pie competition, there were desserts-a-plenty. My dad was eager to join in on the judging and as he walked around the table, sampling the cobblers with his fork, I don't think he could have been happier. The Lemon pie won, but I was too busy nibbling on peach cobbler that had been freshly baked in a dutch oven over a hot fire then topped with hand churned vanilla ice cream, I forgot to nab myself a slice of the winning entry before it vanished.

As everyone enjoyed the meal, a handful of toddler girls waddled about with chubby legs and ribbons in their hair. With watermelon juice still dripping from her chin, my daughter wandered from picnic blanket to picnic blanket, seeing what bites of food the kind folks would offer a doe-eyed, dimple-cheeked one-year-old. Needless to say, I don't think she had any room left in her little tummy by the end of the day.

As the meal came to a close, folks shared patriotic readings, poems and songs and when that was wrapped up, a gaggle of barefooted, sun-tanned kids hopped onto the flat bed truck for a trip down to the creek. I have no idea what they did down there, but when my three-year-old returned, he was wet, a little muddy and very happy. At that moment I figured he'd probably sleep for a week.

Earlier on in the day, names went up on a board in preparation for the shotgun competition. My honey did quite well in the shootout, making it all the way to the semi finals before getting knocked out of the competition. He has the bruise on his shoulder to prove it. His brother took the championship, shooting through four rounds of competition at twenty-five clay pigeons each round. I bet his bruise is bigger :-) Later on, some of the shooters took part in a twenty-one gun salute. My husband and dad were among the few who lined up for the series of shots in front of the garden...it was VERY loud...things you can only pull off in the country ;-)

As the sun sank on the 4th of July, the s'mores sticks came out and by the time the fire was crackling, a group of kids were huddled around the pit with eager hands. With my friend doing graham cracker duty and me on Hershey bar duty, we managed to sandwich those golden (sometimes rather charred) marshmallows up before any kids realized we actually only had 4 skewers. Even so, those too impatient to wait for a skewers, found a stick long enough to satisfy their s'mores cravings (several adults included) Meanwhile, the guitars came out and as we sang songs around the campfires. The littlest ones drifted off to sleep while the older ones were told they could have no more s'mores but if they were still hungry we had plenty of graham crackers and corn on the cob.

I realized just how late it was when my dad got a little droopy eyed, guitar still in hand. We packed up the picnic blankets and loaded up the kids. My dad managed to stay awake in the car, but my children were asleep in the car seats, with sticky stuff still on their faces, before we were out the driveway.

A Soft Answer

I had a bit of a rough day yesterday. So I decided to journal about it...on my blog. And since I can write about Vatever I Vant, I figured why not?

Anywho, yesterday definitely won't be filed away as one of my favorite days of all time. In fact, I got my "feel feels" hurt. Thumb + finger to forehead=loser...that sort of feeling. But seriously, it turned my day into a rotten banana.

For anyone who knows me, I'm rather a tender soul (sniff, sniff) and I take things to heart pretty easily. I could never be a movie star. One bad tabloid picture and I'd be draped over the bed, box of Kleenex in hand and a six pack of Hershey bars...well wrappers, strewn about.

It got better, though. A lot better.

First, I had a ridiculously therapeutic hour of sweating my Nike's off at Jazzercise. (Yeah, I Jazzercise and no, there are no headbands or leotards involved anymore.) In fact, we rocked out to some pretty good dance music. Which brings me to my second point. During a lovely cool down to the sound of Michael Bublé, the thought struck me--"Stop fuming about it."

"What?" I glanced at the other Jazzercisers but knew it was just the voice inside me. "Yeah, it's not going to go away and you certainly have no possession of a time machine, nor do you have any friends smart enough to invent one (no offense, friends), so move on." But really, I didn't know how to move on and with this thought process rolling around in my mind, I realized that I was so busy running away from the sliver in the eyes of others, that I smacked right into the log in my own. It really hurt! So I sat there last night, frozen peas pressed to forehead, thinking about what's really the core of all this.

And that's when I realized the lesson I was meant to learn: Sometimes, even as Christians, we forget to be nice.

Gasp! No, it's true. And I found myself very, very at fault of that.

I thought over some of the times that I responded in a rather not-so-nice-way towards others and the sting of shame burned hot. I imagined all the people that I had hurt with my words--words spoken in the heat of anger, without thinking or weighing the consequences of how it would make the other person feel.

Now, the bump on my head was really starting to throb and I knew I needed to ask for God's forgiveness. I did, and the best part is that I know he did. Now about the people I've hurt. My motto in a tough situation has often been "Kill 'em with kindness." I don't always heed that advice (obviously), but from now on, I'm going to pin it to my heart as a reminder that a soft answer turns away wrath and a kind word is sometimes just what someone needs.

After the way I felt yesterday, the icky feeling in the pit of my stomach, I realized that I never want to be rude or unkind to anyone again. I don't know if that's actually possible, but then I figured--why not? Isn't that the example that Christ lived out on earth--the one we're supposed to follow?

Besides, it's not as if I witnessed someone running over a basket of newborn kittens. In fact, all those times that I was SOOO offended, weren't really that big of a deal to begin with. I could have shrugged it off, better yet laughed it off, and moved on with kindness towards others. And then of course there's that other golden rule: you can't help what others do, you can only help what you do. Ain't that the truth. I'm going to try, really, really try, to keep Jesus' love as the filter in front of my lips so that I can think BEFORE I speak and treat other's the way I would want to be treated.

Blessings!

Photo credit: Pride and Prejudice, 2005

Book Review: Here Burns My Candle

I am one of those people who eagerly awaited (rather impatiently) Liz Curtis Higgs' most recent Historical novel: Here Burns My Candle. Set in Edinburgh Scotland, 1745, the romantic tale follows the Bible story of Ruth and Naomi.

I would highly recommend this book as it is an important reminder about the value of relationships in our lives, taking the reader beyond the love between a husband and a wife and into the bonds between family. It is a beautiful tale filled with the rich detail of Scotland and bustling Edinburgh.

Following in the path of Liz's previous Scottish Fiction, Here Burns My Candle is well worth the read!

Liz Curtis Higgs

My Writing Playlist

It's the score to the words I write. The symphony behind the pages.


No, you probably wouldn't see Fernando Ortega trapsing around the Blue Ridge Mountains dressed up in hillbilly garb...but that doesn't mean his music doesn't play a roll in the scenes I write, helping me set the mood--sometimes sad, other times dramatic. Whatever the emotion I'm trying to put into my charachters, music plays a huge roll.

I call it my Writing Playlist.

Everything from the rock of Gavin DeGraw and the Fray to the old-time bluegrass of Alison Krauss and Nickle Creek to worship with Casting Crowns and the David Crowder Band.

Whenever I have writer's block (which happens rather often as the mother of two little ones) I throw on my ipod, head out for a walk and let the music transport me to another time and place...away from peanut butter and kiddie pools...to the drama of the worlds I'm trying to create--whether it's an upbeat musical scene or a tense, heart-wrenching goodbye. The music takes me on a mini writer's vacation. One where the scenes play out in my mind like the climax of a movie and suddenly the writer's block vanishes.

The playlist is always evolving. Often I dedicate a particular song to a single charachter. It becomes their theme. When I need to draw that charachter out of my mind and onto the computer, I put on their theme song and I'm instantly swept up in their world, their emotions, their purpose.

Then there are the songs and sounds that are not on my Writer's Playlist but exist within the world around me: a symphony of summer crickets coming out just after sunset, the husky voice of leather-skinned grandfather, the sound of bacon frying in a cast-iron pan. These sounds do not have on and off buttons and cannot be downloaded for a fee at my heart's desire--but exist only in the moment, and it is by the grace of God that He gives us these moments, these glimpses into another world, time and place. A world where our imaginations can run wild.

The Writer's Torch: Elizabeth Wiens

My name is Elizabeth Wiens, and I’ve been married to my wonderful husband, Gary, for twenty-three years. Together we have four daughters, so I’m sure my husband is looking forward to the day when he can welcome a few young gentlemen into the family. Most of our married life, we have been involved in full-time ministry, raising our own support as home missionaries. For sixteen years we served in children’s ministry with Child Evangelism Fellowship, and the last two years we’ve been working with GoodSeed Canada. We have been blessed to be able to involve our daughters in ministry from the time they were little, serving together as a family.

For as long as I can remember, I have always loved to read. I love the way talented authors have the ability to draw a reader into their fictional world and make their characters come to life. I start to feel that the characters are my friends, as I live their adventure. Story is a powerful tool. It not only entertains, but has the ability to affect the reader with its underlying message. Jesus often used stories to teach. I love stories that challenge me to think more deeply about my life and attitudes. Books that challenge me to live a more godly life are a blessing. They convict and encourage me long after the last page is turned and the book is returned to the shelf.

Years ago, as a young mother, I began writing stories with my twin sister. We developed a love for creating characters and transforming our experiences into stories. Many hours were spent huddled over a notebook, which we passed back and forth trying to capture just the right words to express our thoughts. That was the beginning, and I’ve loved working to convey a message through the written word ever since.

As my girls reached school age, my family embarked on a new adventure, one that we have come to feel passionate about—the adventure of homeschooling. We have now been homeschooling for fourteen years, and I wouldn’t trade those years for anything. It was not always an easy journey, and the decision to train up our children at home challenged my husband and me in many ways. Having gone through the public system ourselves, we had to rethink our whole approach to education and God’s plan for our family. Gary and I came to realize the vast difference between a secular education, and one that is founded on Scripture and presents a biblical worldview. The more we studied Scripture and tried to apply its principles to our family, the more we realized how much we had bought into the world’s thinking. It has been quite the journey, one I felt compelled to share with others.

And so my writing began again, and Bringing Them Home started to take shape. However, I did not merely want to write an entertaining story. For the story to have purpose, it must challenge others as I have been challenged. Woven through the lives of my fictional characters, I wanted to include a definite message for Christian parents. I strongly believe that God has given parents the responsibility to raise their children for Him, and it needs to be intentional. As such, it is my desire to encourage parents who read my story to prayerfully consider how their children are being educated and to realize that no education is neutral. A child's education, and the environment in which they are educated, will play a large role in shaping their worldview—whether biblical or unbiblical. It is also my desire to help others understand what homeschooling is about, and to encourage homeschooling families in the spiritual mentorship of their children. That was the message I felt compelled to share.

Now the fun part—the development of my characters, the Knight family. Cassy and David Knight have four children who started out in the public school system. Through a series of events and much prayer, they decide to bring them home, though Cassy feels very uncertain about taking on this new role of teacher for her children. Especially for her 8-year-old son, Jeremy, who hates school. Bringing Them Home follows the Knight family through the many adjustments encountered in their first year of homeschooling and all the surprises along the way.

As a writer, I get very involved in my characters’ lives. I think that is natural, as writers spend so much time getting to know their characters as they try to develop each one’s personality. Each member of the Knight family became dear to me as I struggled through their experiences alongside them. Sometimes they developed a mind of their own and they surprised me with what popped out of their mouths. That’s the fun part—when my characters unexpectedly make me laugh or cry. I can especially relate to the Knight family, because their journey reflects so much of my own.

When I finished Bringing Them Home, I knew my story could not end there. That was just the beginning of the Knight’s journey into homeschooling, I had to tell the end. That is why I have gone on to write a sequel, which follows the Knight family in homeschooling through the teen years and courtship. As For Me and My House reflects our current journey, one which has led us counter to our culture as we seek to honor God as a family.

As far as my writing “career”, I don’t know where it will take me. That is in God’s hands. I don’t feel a need to become a best-selling author, or to write a pile of books in my lifetime. When I feel God moving me to write something He has given me a vision for, I write, and it’s up to Him to do with it as He will. I seek only to honor God with my life, and to encourage others to do the same.

Visit Elizabeth and learn more about Bringing Them Home at her website:

www.elizabethwiens.com