Ready. Set. Go!
July 29, 1989
Pappaw bent over
and reached for his toes, his fingers didn’t quite touch his loafers. I
repeated the gesture though I knew nothing of its purpose, I just hoped it’d
make me run faster than the year before when he beat me by a country mile. I
think he was exaggerating cuz the miles in gym class seemed a lot bigger than
my backyard. But maybe a country mile was smaller than a gym class mile. Maybe
a country mile fit in between the mossy maple tree we stood under and the rickety
wood fence opposite us. Whether it did or didn’t was of little importance, as
long as I won. As long as I touched that termite tunneled fence post first. As
long as I got the answer he promised.
“I’m
gonna beat you by a gym class mile,” I said bending my legs, my toes against
the invisible starting line.
“Is
that right?” He pulled up his dress pants like he was preparin’ to cross a
creek, flashing white cotton socks. “I hope so, but I gotta tell ya, I ain’t
gonna let you beat me. You gotta earn it.”
“Yeah.
Yeah.” I gestured dismissively. “Let’s do this. My birthday cake is waitin’.”
And
the thrill of victory would make it taste that much sweeter.
“Okie-Dokie.”
He said bending his knock knees like mine. “Mammaw, you got the start.”
Mammaw
sat under the shade of the porch awning with Dad, fanning herself with a floral
print church fan like she was one of the Chinese ladies in a Kung Fu movie.
“Aren’t
you a little too old for this foolishness?” she said.
“The
boy and I got a wager. When he beats me, I’ll tell him the----
-----Yeah.
Yeah,” she said. “We know. I just don’t want you gettin’ yourself hurt.”
“I
survived two years in a Vietcong prison camp, a little race with my grandson
ain’t gonna do me in. Now if you wouldn’t mind.”
“Fine,
but I ain’t payin for the funeral,” she said before raising her hand. “Ready…”
I
pulled in a breath.
“Set…”
I
crouched low like a cat.
“Go!”
I
launched myself forward, kickin up grass with my bare feet. I was off to a good
start, a gym class mile a head of the old man at the halfway point before his
shadow crossed over mine as he passed me. I strove to catch up, but before long
he was outta reach of me and my shadow. When I made it to the post, he was
leanin’ against it, his chest heavin’.
“You’ve
gotten better, boy,” he said. “But you’re not there yet. You gave it a good
effort though.”
I
kicked at a bare spot in the grass with my toe. “It ain’t matter none, I didn’t
win.”
He
nodded, then produced a handkerchief from a back pocket and used it to dab the
sweat off his forehead. “Tell you what, since you gave it such a good effort,
that you think didn’t matter none, I’ll tell you---
---The
secret to life?” I blurted out.
“No.
You only get that once you beat me. But because you gave it such a good effort
and you didn’t quit once I reached the post like last year, I’ll tell you what
it ain’t.”
“Like
a…clue!” I said.
“Yep.
‘Spose so. Like a clue.”
“Okay!”
I said, clappin’ my hands. “Tell me. Tell me. Tell me.”
Pappaw
bent down on a knee so his cloudless blue eyes met mine. “Boy, the secret to
life ain’t about gettin’ a good start.”
He
stood, a rusty crane lumbering to life.
“That’s
it?” I said, my brow crinkled. “That’s my clue?”
He
chuckled but said no more as he headed for the back porch. I stood for a
moment, pondering what it ain’t until Mom came through the screen door carrying
my birthday cake. My frustration faded away and I ran toward the porch.
There
were seven candles burning for me.
July 29, 1992
“Looks
like Clinton’s gonna win the nomination,” my daddy said. “I’m sure you got
somethin’ to say about that, don’t you, Pa.”
I
cupped my chin with my hand and sighed. Yeah.
More boring president stuff.
“Not right now, he don’t,”
Mammaw said. “I have to hear what he and his VFW buddies have to say about it
all the time.”
“You
been goin’ down to the Legion with Pa?” Dad said.
“No,
he brings it home with him.”
“Good.
I was worried you finally got a taste for cheap beer and took a likin’ to it.”
“I
just may, if I have to hear any more politics at my grandson’s birthday party.”
“Well
if you ever do,” Pappaw said. “I gotta few recommendations.”
Mammaw
slapped him playfully on the arm. Pappaw laughed, his belly jiggglin. I didn’t
see what was so funny.
I
reached over and pulled on Pappaw’s sleeve, interrupting his laughter. “Is it
time yet?”
“Depends.
You 10 yet?”
“I
turned 10 at 12:37 today.”
“Good,”
he said with a wink. “I won’t feel so bad about beatin’ a 10 year old.”
“I
slipped last year,” I said.
“And
the year before that?” he asked.
I
shrugged. “I still had short little legs, my legs had grown at least a foot
since then.”
It sure felt like it since Mom seemed to be
draggin’ me to K-Mart all the time to get new jeans.
“Those
sound like excuses and you know what I say about them.”
“Excuses
are like butt holes,” I repeated. “Everyone has em and they all----“
“---Pappaw!”
Mammaw said. “I can’t believe you taught him that.”
Pappaw
raised his palms, a guilty smirk on his face. “I’d make an excuse, but…”
Mammaw
shot him a glare from across the table.
He
stood and gestured. “Come on, boy, let’s have this race before I get us into
any more trouble.”
We
reached the shade of the maple tree and took our positions at the invisible
starting line.
“You
remember the last clues I gave ya?” Pappaw asked.
“The
secret to life ain’t about gettin’ a good start.”
He
nodded.
“The
secret to life ain’t about the toys you own, even the ones you get for your
birthday.”
“Go
on.”
“The
secret to life ain’t little league baseball----wait. Are you making them up as
you go?”
Last
year I was sure I was gonna win because I led my little league team in stolen
bases and I said as much before we started.
“Beat
me in this race and you’ll find out.”
I
rubbed my knuckles and dug my feet into the turf.
Pappaw
gave Mammaw the cue and she gave us the start. “Ready. Set. Go!”
I
bolted from the shade of the old maple, sure of every step, but Pappaw was
right there with me, pullin’ away as we neared the post. He slapped it first,
then with hands on his hips, leaned back and let out a howl.
“Woo-Wee!
Still got it!” he said between breaths. “You almost got me, but I still got
it.”
I
glanced back toward the maple. I didn’t slip. No stinky butt-hole excuses this
year.
“All
right,” I said, disappointed. “Let me hear another made up clue.”
“I
never said they’re made up. I just said you’d find out if you beat me.”
“Okay.
Just give me the clue.”
He
peered up at the sky for a moment, tappin’ his chin. “Hmmm…the secret to life…the
secret to life ain’t about whose in office.”
“The
Principal’s office?”
He
chuckled. “No. The President.”
“Oh.”
Even more boring.
He
reached down and jostled my hair. “Now come on.”
“Pappaw,”
I said after we started walkin’, “if I was runnin’ for president, would you
vote for me?”
“Sure
would, boy,” he replied. “And ya know
why?”
“Why?”
“Because you
wouldn’t make excuses.”
July 29, 1994
She
leaned over the side of the play-pen and bounced a fluffy bunny in the air
while my baby sister giggled and clapped.
I
huffed out a frustrated breath. “She ain’t even watchin’.”
My
new baby sister was a star and like everyone else, Emily had been caught in her
gravitational pull.
Pappaw
twisted his body from left to right and back again. “You sure you want her to
watch this? What happens if I beat ya?”
I
shrugged. “Don’t matter anyway. She’s just a girl. I don’t know why I even invited
her to my birthday party.”
Maybe
because she was the only person my age who lived on my road. Or because she
dressed as the Pink Power Ranger last
Halloween. Or because her hair smelled like strawberries, and I didn’t mind
that she was taller than me...
Pappaw
arched a gray eyebrow.
“What?”
I said. “I felt bad for her okay. That’s why I invited her.”
“Whatever
you say.” He bent down, his right foot against the invisible starting line.
“You ready?”
I
nodded and took my mark.
Pappaw
gestured to Mammaw. “My beautiful wife. If you would?”
She
raised an arm. “Ready. Set. Go!”
Just
as she said go, Emily turned around to face me. Our eyes met and I froze. Her
dimpled cheeks and the way the light played on her strawberry smellin’ hair…
-----Crap
in a trap! Pappaw was half-way there!
Breaking
out of my trance, I took off like a cat chasin’ a mouse. Pappaw for his part
didn’t look back, he just pumped those knock knees and pointy elbows like they
was pistons. He neared the fence post. I dove to beat him, extendin’ my arm
like I was Stretch Armstrong.
Apparently I didn’t have enough gooey syrup in me because my reach wasn’t long
enough and Pappaw smacked the fence post first while all I got for it was face
full of grass and dirt.
Spitting
out a clump of turf, I climbed to my feet and glanced over at Emily. She was
laughin’.
Pappaw, hands on
his thighs, bent over fighting for breath.
“Now…that…was….a
fun race,” he said. “Woo-Wee.”
I
clenched my jaw. “No it wasn’t. I lost again.”
“You
can still have fun even when you lose,” he said.
“Not
when there’s a girl watchin’.”
Pappaw
glanced over at her then back at me. “I thought you only invited her cuz you
felt bad for her.”
“I…I….” I peered
down at my feet.
“Tell you what, boy.
The Secret to life ain’t about girls.”
“What about
Mammaw?”
“What about her?”
“You love her?”
“Do June bugs like
it when you leave the porch light on?”
Yes. Of course
they do, but I didn’t say anything.
Pappaw
straightened himself and pulled out the old handkerchief. “You want my advice.
I say you dust yourself off and go tell that girl what you think of her.”
“I
thought you said the secret of life ain’t about girls.”
“It
ain’t,” he said before winking. “Most of the time.”
I
flashed a nervous smile as I dusted myself off, before swallowing hard and
heading in her direction.
July 23, 1996
The
rain dripped off the porch awning, forming unsteady prison bars of water. I sat
at the edge of my bed, the crumpled up letter in my hands, part of the ink
smudged, blurring some of the words.
The
bedroom door creaked open and I barely noticed.
“What
you up to?” Pappaw asked.
“I’m…ummm…”
I dropped the note to my side on the bed. “I’m just gettin’ ready to watch some
TV.”
“On
such a wonderful day like this?” He gestured toward the window.
“Really
Pappaw?”
“What?
Rain doesn’t have to put a damper on your day.”
It
wasn’t the rain puttin’ a damper on my day. Pappaw must’ve noticed. He frowned
as he lowered himself onto the bed next to me.
“I
know you’re hurtin’, boy. I know.”
Did
the whole world know? Had Mom and Dad told everyone? Was it on the news?
This just in, local boy, dumped by his
girlfriend two days before his 13th birthday. My stomach knotted
up.
“I’m fine, Pappaw. I’m
fine.”
Pappaw
placed a hand on my knee. His bony fingers seemed thinner than usual.
“I
know what’ll cheer you up. Beating your pappaw in a race.”
I
looked over at him. “You serious?”
“Yeah.
Why wouldn’t I be? The rain will give your young legs an advantage. Maybe
you’ll finally beat me.”
I
blew out a long breath and peered down at my note.
“I’m
too old to be racin’ you.”
Too
old to wanna play Power Rangers. Too
old for Marco Polo at the pool. Too old to build forts out of blankets. Too old
to be actin’ like a kid.
“You’re too old?” Pappaw laughed. “That’s
the funniest things I heard all year.”
“It’s
true. It’s time I grow up. It’s time I start actin’-acting like an adult.”
“You
have your whole life to be actin’
like an adult. Enjoy being a kid.”
If
only Emily felt the same way he did. I
need someone more mature. The blurry words, right where my tears had hit ‘em.
“Come
on,” Pappaw said, pushing himself up off the bed. “I’m tired of carryin’ this
secret around.”
I
remained sitting, the blurry words repeating in my head.
Pappaw
extended his hand toward me, but I gently pushed it down. “I’m sorry, Pappaw. I
don’t really feel like racing.”
A
glimmer of sadness passed over the old man’s face, his sky blues eyes clouding’
up. “Okay,” he said with a nod. “But if you change your mind. You know where to
find me.”
“Okay,
pappaw.”
He
paused in the doorway and turned around. “I want ya to remember somethin’. There are no tears in the rain.”
With
that he left, pulling the door shut behind him. I turned and peered out my
window at the broken stump where the old maple tree once stood.
July 20, 1997
I
settled into my seat behind Mammaw who sobbed into the arms of my aunt Ruthie.
Next to me, Mom dabbed tears from her eyes with a tissue while my sister,
curled up in her lap, played with a beanie baby. The large crowd that had
gathered, Pappaw’s younger brother who drove up from Florida, his church folk,
his old work buddies and his friends from the VFW, quieted down as my dad
approached the small podium next to the open casket. So many people around me
were crying, I had yet to shed a tear.
“Good
afternoon,” Dad began, his red swollen eyes in paradox to the gentle smile he
wore as he adjusted the microphone. “When my Pa was in hospice he asked me to
speak for him at his funeral. I reluctantly agreed…because I knew what to say,
because he’d already told me. You see on my fifth or sixth birthday, Pa said that
he knew the secret to life. That he’d found it while in a Vietcong Prison camp.
At that age, I thought it must be real good if King Kong was guarding it, so I asked him to tell me. He told me he
would, once I beat him in a foot race. As you know, he was spry and I’m not
exactly light of foot, so I didn’t beat him until my 15th birthday.
But when I did, true to his word, he told me.”
My
mind conjured up the broken stump in the corner of my backyard, a knot of
regret formed in my stomach.
“Panting
under the summer heat, Pa said, ‘the secret to life ain’t your diploma, or a
college degree. It ain’t your career or the money you’ll make from it. It ain’t
even the pretty girl you’ll marry someday or the house you’ll fill with
children…The secret to life is that on this side of eternity, the only races worth runnin’ are the ones that have an
end.’”
The
termite tunneled fence post bloomed on the surface of my mind. The knot in my
stomach tightened.
“I
think…” Dad continued, “I think I stared at him in confusion for a good long
minute until he said, ‘boy, one day you’ll be a man and you’ll feel the tug at
your heart for more. More money, more prestige. But I want ya to remember
somethin’, that’s a race you can’t win because it don’t end. More is never
enough.’”
Dad paused to
regain the grip on his composure. “Knowing a bit about what he’d experienced
in war, I said to him then, ‘You found that in a prison camp?’ His face when
stone rigid for a moment before he chuckled and replied, ‘I was a nobody in
that camp, all I had left belonged to a race that had an end. And that’s when I
learned it. The bad stuff, the pain of heartbreak, the ache of failure, the
loneliness we sometimes feel, is all part of the race that has an end, the race
worth runnin’.”
The
knot in my stomach verged on tearing in half. The pain he talked about. I felt
it. Like something been torn from me.
There was more, right? The secret to life
couldn’t only be pain. There had to be more…right?
My
dad peered down at me for a moment, then continued, “I had the same look I see
on my own son’s face. How can the race worth runnin’ have so much bad stuff? So
much disappointment, pain and hurt? Well I asked him.”
I
closed my eyes, pinched them shut, a dam holding back the tears and Pappaw
appeared speaking to me his reply.
“Because
the bad stuff won’t last forever and the good stuff, the things that make you
smile, they’re just a preview of what happens when your time in this world is over. When the race is finished and all that's left on this side of things is the memory of it. Catching your first fish, holding that girl’s hand, your son finally
beatin’ ya in a foot race..."
The
knot in my stomach----a violin string, vibrated, sang in tune with his words. My
heart pounded in my chest as my body began to tremble, like I would shatter if
I didn’t get it out. As my dad instructed everyone to bow their heads to pray
with him, I snuck out of my seat and headed for the exit. Stepping out into a
wet afternoon, I let the dam break. Teary eyed, I peered up at the rainy sky.
“I’m
sorry, pappaw. I’m sorry.”
As
the rain pelted my face, hiding my tears, I knew his reply.
“There
are no tears in the rain.”
Today
“You
promise you’ll tell me?” he asks.
“Yep,”
I say. “But I ain’t gonna let you beat me. You gotta earn it.”
My
son readies himself next to a young maple tree in my backyard, his toes edged against
the invisible starting line.
I
gesture to my wife. “Give us the start.”
She
raises her hand.
“Ready…Set…Go!”
THE END
I was inspired to write this story after listening to an episode of the "Thinking Out Loud" Podcast by Cameron McAllister and Nathan Rittenhouse of Ravi Zacharias International Ministries (RZIM) entitled "Limitations, Delicacy, and Beauty". Check them out https://www.rzim.org/listen/thinking-out-loud
If you enjoyed this story, please share it with others who might enjoy it. Also, you may like my novel The Truth about Romantic Comedies, a coming-of-age romance about a young couple who set out to determine if romantic cliches and tropes actually help people fall in love. Click Here if Interested :)
Broken Hallelujahs and Bronze Medals
You probably remember the opening lyric of the song
"Hallelujah" written by Leonard Cohen but made famous by Jeff Buckley
and Shrek:
"Well I've heard there was a secret chord that David
played and it pleased the Lord..."
Well, Mr. Cohen, Mr. Buckley and Mr. Shrek, maybe it wasn't
just one chord but all of them. Bear with me here.
In the 1980's biopic film "Chariots of Fire"
Scottish Olympic Gold medalist, Eric Liddel says to his sister, "God made
me for a purpose...but he also made me fast. And when I run, I feel His
pleasure."
 |
| If you don't remember the movie, you probably remember the theme. |
There's a lot of truth in that line. The first time I caught
a fly ball playing centerfield, I thrusted both arms into the air in
celebration and immediately looked for my dad in the stands. He was smiling.
Can you recall a moment from your childhood like that? Do you remember how it
felt?
We all have our own talents or gifts and whether yours is
noticeable like writing music like Leonard Cohen and running fast like Eric
Liddel or something less noticeable (but perhaps more important) like being a
good friend or helping people behind the scenes, the one who created you takes
pleasure in seeing you use those gifts.
You aren't always going to be successful but the amazing
thing is, effort counts. So whatever is you do, try your best at it and
remember this: "Every good gift and every perfect gift is from above, coming
down from the Father of lights with whom there is no variation or shadow due to
change." (James 1:17)
Even broken hallelujahs and bronze medals bring God
pleasure.
It's here! Really here!
The day has finally arrived. It's time for me to push this little birdy out of the nest and see if it can fly.
Soar, little birdy, soar.
Now available!
Click to Purchase
Soar, little birdy, soar.
Now available!
Click to Purchase
Writing Rooms and Super Powers: An interview with author Jennifer Pierce
Jennifer Pierce’s debut romantic suspense, Hidden Danger, is raking in great
reviews on amazon. I had the opportunity to chat with Jennifer about writerly things
including her just released follow up Expecting
Danger.
I know you’re a paralegal by day, has your experiences
in the legal field informed you writing in any way?
Not really. We don’t
handle criminal cases so all of the information relating to crimes and policing
I’ve had to research. My addiction to #LivePD and other cop related shows has
helped the most in that area. I’ve also done a couple Citizen’s Academy in my
area that have helped a lot.
“Bad boys, bad boys, whatcha gonna do? Whatcha gonna do when
they come for you.” Sorry, I loved cop shows back in the day! Speaking of
things we appreciate, what is your favorite aspect of writing?
I love being
creative, putting a story on paper and sharing with the world.
What is your least favorite aspect of writing?
Commas. Anything
grammar related actually. My French grade in high school was always better than
my English grade, if that tells you anything.
LOL! Some people dream of falling forever or drowning, we writers
have nightmares of being chased by misplaced commas. Another aspect of a
writer’s life that has been a hot topic in the twitterverse as of late, are
writing rooms. Do you have a certain place where you write?
After I sold Hidden Danger, I got a desk and set it
up to write. I’m sad to say, it’s currently being used to hold clothes and other
miscellaneous things. I’ve found that I’m able to concentrate and write better
on my lunch break. I don’t know if it’s because there’s nothing there to
distract me or what. I actually write in a notebook when I write and then type
it into a word document while watching TV with the kids.
You wrote Hidden Danger in a notebook? That’s incredible! You
may have to break out your notebook for this next one. Imagine that the readers
of this blog belong to an alien race who don’t understand verbs and tell us a
little about Expecting Danger. (Just
kidding, the alien race that follow this blog do understand verbs, so feel free
to use them)
Pregnant Kate good.
Kazakov bad.
Jake good.
Kate and Jake good together.
The end.
You nailed it! Great job!
If you see the answer to question number three, you’ll know
why that was hard for me! The official
blurb, complete with verbs is:
Kate has been on the run from the men who killed her husband
and left her for dead—which isn’t easy considering she’s eight months pregnant—but
now they’ve found her. Again. Still reeling from her late husband’s betrayal,
the last thing Kate wants is the help of a handsome stranger.
Security expert, Jacob Jones, is still grieving the loss of
his pregnant wife, and he’s not ready to move on. But when he thwarts an
attempted abduction of the beautiful Kate, he finds himself inexplicably drawn
to her. Despite her reluctance, he’s determined to do whatever it takes to save
her, including giving up his own life.
Kate’s only option is to take a leap of faith and allow
Jacob to help her. But can she trust him to keep her and her unborn baby alive?
Or will he fail her like everyone else in her life?
Sounds intriguing. I’ve read in other interviews you’ve given that you are a
pantser and not a plotter? Did that make writing a sequel (of sorts) more
challenging?
I really didn’t have much trouble writing Expecting Danger
other than trying to remember names and details from Hidden Danger, which I
think even plotters have to deal with. I’m currently working on the third in the
series and am having all kinds of trouble now. Pantsting worked for the first
15,000 words but the remaining 40,000 is causing me troubles.
Without spoiling anything, what scene are you most proud of
in Expecting Danger?
Hmmm. That’s hard. I have two. There’s a scene where Jake
and Kate have dinner with Jake’s sister Maggie and her husband Cody (the main
characters from Hidden Danger). I really love that entire portion, from sitting
at the dinner table to clean up. Jake makes a comment that my daughter laughed
uncontrollably at, and so did my editor. If you wanna know what it is, you’ll
have to read it. 😊
The second is the final scene. A friend of mine told me it
made her cry.
If you can make a reader laugh and cry in the same novel, I
think you’ve done your job. Do you have any advice for any new or young writers
out there?
Don’t give up. Keep writing. Find other writers and get
connected, you’ll be surprised the things you can learn from them.
Final question and my inner geek demands I ask this. Did you
know that Jennifer Pierce is the secret identity of a DC Comics superhero? If
you could have any superpower, what would it be and why?
I didn’t know that until I started Googling myself looking
for reviews on Hidden Danger. My uncle owns a comic book store and is probably
disappointed in me. I’ve failed the family. I think I’d want super speed. I
like to sleep. I could sleep in and still make it to work on time. Plus, it’s
wintertime so if I had super speed that would be less time I’d have to be
outside freezing.
Super speed would be awesome! Thanks for joining me today.
Read on for more about Jennifer Pierce.
Jennifer Pierce currently lives in Arkansas with her husband
and two children. She is a member of American Christian Fiction Writers and
River Valley Writers, where she serves as secretary.
Website: lovereadwriterepeat.wordpress.com
Twitter: twitter.com/JennPierce82
Facebook: Facebook.com/JenniferPierceauthor
Check out Expecting Danger by clicking on the cover.
Baby, it's cold outside! An interview with Canadian author Laurie Wood
In the swirling snow of the Great
White North, there exists an author so earnest, talented and kind that I’m sure
her debut novel, Northern Deception, will be a hit. Fortunately, I had an opportunity to chat with Laurie Wood
where we discussed polar bears, her writing process and the demise of
Nickelback.
Alright, Laurie, let’s get this thing started. What is your deepest darkest secret? Just
kidding! Did you always want to be a writer or was there some other dream that
led to this one?
My deepest darkest secret is that my favorite story when I
was a child was Peter Pan, and I always imagined myself as Peter, fighting the
pirates and leading the Lost Boys. No being Wendy for me, sewing on buttons and
telling bedtime stories! Still, I’ve always wanted to be a writer. Always. I
went to college and took what we call in Canada “Radio and Television Arts”
(although I really wanted to go to university to become a journalist) and there
was a lot of writing involved in that program. I didn’t have the luxury of going
to university and had to support myself, so life got in the way and writing
fiction became just a dream. Later, when I was married and home with our two
children, I took up that dream again and wrote a couple of novels. They were
“practice” novels, like everyone does and I loved writing them. And then I
wrote this book which began as just a first chapter and synopsis for a contest
and I banged that off in a day and threw it into the contest. And here we are—it’s
the book which I finally sold.
Cool! What is your favorite aspect of writing?
There are two things I love about writing. I love creating
my characters and their world. Ideas usually come to me in pieces. I might get
a glimpse of a character and his/her issues or them in a particular setting.
And the other thing I absolutely love about writing is doing the research
necessary to bring the piece alive. Because there’s nothing I hate more than
reading a book that’s so generic you can tell the writer did nothing to
research anything about the setting or
who the characters are—I want my readers to learn something from my books and I
want them to come away feeling like they spent time with real people.
I usually have to tell myself to stop researching because
you can go down rabbit holes and waste time. But then, you can always use those
tidbits in another story, or take those ideas and use them somewhere else.
I’ve often heard authors refer to researching for a novel as
a “necessary evil.” It’s interesting that you think the opposite. What then, is
your least favorite aspect of writing?
I suppose those days when the words just seem to be all
drivel and have no spark. We all have those times when everything we write
seems wooden and trite and our story seems like the worst thing we’ve ever
done. For me, that’s around the middle to the three-quarter mark. I’m a
“plotter” so I’ll have outlined and I know where I’m going with my characters
and where the story should be going, but still, it can feel like you’ve just
spent the day writing “the quick brown fox jumped over the lazy dog” about
three thousand times.
On that note, do you have a specific writing routine?
No. Surprise! I wish I could say I have a favorite
Starbucks, or I only write to “Ride of the Valkyries”, or I have to light a
patchouli candle, but the truth is—I’m at my best between 10 a.m. and 2 p.m.
and I’d better get myself in my chair at the dining table and get writing! I
try to get chores and other things done on either end of those hours so I’m
available to my adult children when they get home from work (they have special needs), and also to just use my brain when it’s at its most creative. But as to
having a specific routine, I guess I’m pretty boring! I have taken my laptop
and written in a nearby Starbucks a couple of times when I was on deadline and
had to work Saturdays though because when everyone’s home, our house is too
small to work with everyone ploughing in and out of the dining room.
I would guess that most writing routines aren’t exactly thrilling
so boring is just fine, except in answering this next question. Using the most
beautiful prose you can muster and without using the word “the”, tell us a
little about Northern Deception. Just
kidding, all words are fair game.
Northern Deception was
written for a contest originally and it was looking for stories about Canadian
heroes. They could be in any job, anywhere in Canada or living outside of
Canada, but they had to be Canadian. I thought this was a fabulous challenge!
I’d never written from the male point of view before. Then on the news, we saw
one of those Jumbotron proposals where the poor guy went down on one knee, and
the girl just threw her hands up and ran out of the stands, leaving him high
and dry. I felt so sorry for him! Most writers go into “what if?” mode, and I combined
that aspect of “what if a girl ran out on a marriage proposal without
explaining why?” with “what if she had a horrible secret?” and “what if they
both found each other years later in Canada’s far north?” and then once we’d
been to our local zoo to see our wonderful polar bear exhibit with polar bears
that’ve been rescued from Churchill, Manitoba, it all clicked together. Boom! Both
characters had a reason to be in the far north, and once I came up with her
horrible secret, the story ran on from there.
Intriguing! Without spoiling anything, what is your favorite
scene in Northern Deception?
I’d have to say both
where Kira meets Lukas’s little girl for the first time, and the ending. I
wrote the ending so many ways; it was hard. I wanted it to be perfect. Not
mushy or overdone. I modeled it on my husband’s proposal to me, although we
didn’t have a toddler interrupting the proceedings!
Polar Bears are probably my favorite species of bear,
besides gummy bears, and I know that they are featured prominently in Northern Deception, how much research
went to accurately portraying them? Since you like researching, I’m going to guess
a lot.
I did a TON of
research, and it was all enjoyable. I got verified facts, and some written
studies from our own Assiniboine Park Zoo here in Winnipeg where we have six
rescued polar bears who were either orphaned up north or who didn’t do well in
human/bear encounters and needed to be relocated. And I reached out to Polar
Bear International as well. One of the fun things I was able to do on my
website and with my newsletter subscribers in mid-October into November was to
hook up with the link to the Polar Bear webcam that goes live in Churchill. You
can watch them on the tundra, and as that’s the same time period I set Northern Deception in, I think that garnered
a lot of interest in the book.
Do you have any advice for any new or young writers out
there?
Yes! Take some respected
writing classes either online or through your local college. Learn your craft.
There are writing associations out there like American Christian Fiction
Writers, Romance Writers of America, and they run writing courses. You can Google
great writing teachers like Michael Hauge, K.M. Weiland, Margie Lawson, Laura
Drake, for a few names, and they all teach writing courses online. Put money into learning how to write and don’t
just throw your first efforts up for sale on Amazon or at a publisher. Writing
takes practice and we’re all learning with every book we write. It’s a
wonderful journey and we will never reach our final destination. I think that’s
the fun of it!
Final question and I’d be remiss if I didn’t ask this. How
do you and your fellow Canadians feel about the rock band Nickelback. I ask
because here in the States, they went from being cool to a comment section punchline
and I’m not sure why.
I’m a HUGE Nickelback fan! Love them, love them, love them,
although I’m not a fan of how Chad treated his wife Avril when she came down
with Lyme disease and their marriage fell apart. However, how did they go from
being “cool” to being a “punchline” is easy—the muck and mire of social media.
They’re a perfect example of how a mob can form on social media and gossip
takes off and before you know it, a career is tanked. James 3:6 tells us: “And
among all the parts of the body, the tongue is a flame of fire. It is a whole
world of wickedness, corrupting your entire body. It can set your whole life on
fire, for it is set on fire by hell itself.”
We all know that what goes out on social media is out there forever.
Even we Christians need to remind ourselves of that from time to time. And not
just about social media, but in our daily interactions with each other. Gossip
will kill a church faster than anything. But, the short answer to your question
is: Canadians love our boys from Alberta and social media mobbing is what
killed off their career. And I always felt sorry about it.
I appreciate the wisdom and it’s good to hear that
Nickelback still has some support out there. I’ve enjoyed this interview immensely.
Thanks for joining me.
Thanks so much for hosting me today, Sean, and for putting a
little twist on your questions!
Find out more about Laurie and Northern Deception below.
Reunions can be deadly.
After a savage attack in
university, Kira Summers fled to the safety of northern Canada and her work as
a polar bear scientist. But when her whistleblower brother dies in a mysterious
car crash, she must return home to bury him and pack his belongings. Unaware
she’s carrying explosive evidence someone’s willing to kill for, she has no
choice but to rely on the one person she never thought she’d see again.
Lukas Tanner, a widowed
single father of a special needs toddler, moved to Churchill five years ago. As
the proud owner of Guiding Star Enterprises, a wilderness tour company, he and
his daughter lead a simple life. But when Kira comes crashing back into his
world, he realizes God has other plans. Now, Lukas and Kira must confront a
merciless killer as their past and present collide in a deadly race—a race they
must win if they have any hope of a future together.
About the Author:
Laurie Wood is a military
wife who’s lived across Canada and visited six of its ten provinces. She and
her husband have raised two wonderful children with Down Syndrome to adulthood,
and their son and daughter are a wonderful blessing to their lives. Over the
years, Laurie’s books have finaled in prestigious contests such as the Daphne
du Maurier (twice), the TARA, the Jasmine, and the Genesis. Her family lives in
central Canada with a menagerie of rescue dogs and cats. If the house were
bigger, no doubt they’d have more.
Website: https://www.lauriewoodauthor.com
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