Adventures with Editors

Our Heart of America Christian Writers’ Conference—you shoulda been there! Wow!

Our keynote speaker was Cindy Kenney, one of the great writers of Veggie Tales. What a great speaker; what a great speech! I bought the CD of her speech; the only CD/tape I’ve ever bought at a conference/convention of any kind. Ever. She's now an editor at a Winepress Publishing.

On Friday, I attended her workshop on writing for children. Unfortunately, at lunchtime she had a bad car wreck. “Oh, no!” She had to cancel all her workshops and critiques. You can imagine how that put a damper on things.

And just as bad: at dinner our leader was rushed to the hospital with an apparent heart attack! “Are you serious?!?”

Well, there was good news Friday. Cindy Kenney wasn't hospitalized, but she was so banged up that she couldn’t come back. She went to a relative’s home where she was resting comfortably, but pretty sore.

And our leader did not have a heart attack after all. He was just so exhausted that he couldn’t go much further. He was back by two o’clock Saturday after almost 16 hours of sleep/rest.

The Lord watches over us.

I recently began a childrens book project that has really consumed me. I spent the past month preparing a presentation for Cindy Kenney to critique at the conference. Well, since she was resting comfortably somewhere else I was allowed to present it to two editors from other publications.

The second editor hemmed and hawed and pointed out ways for it not to work, not to sell. Slumping, I wasn’t sure what he wanted. But without warning, he gathered up all my pages and said, “Work on this a little more and when you get it ready, send it to me. I want to present it to committee. I think this could go someplace.” I was blessed and pleased.

But first—the first editor riffled through my pages pretty quick. Was he anxious to get on to the next person? Suddenly he yelled out, “This is fantastic!” My mouth dropped open. “Huh?” Tears welled up. “Honest?” I was speechless.

Editors don’t use superlatives. They don’t say “Fantastic!” Or “nice” Or “beautiful” Or “wonderful.” Or anything like that. Not even “cool.” He continued with some worthy pointers on presentation, formatting and marketing. I think I remember them. I also think “Fantastic!” will float in my mind for the rest of my life. I know I'm floating.

Saturday night after the conference, My First Wife and I went to see our Grandson shine in the production, “West Side Story.” What a kid! Then on Sunday we celebrated our 46th wedding anniversary with family and friends. She keeps on loving me. Life is good. Beautiful, too.

I am still floating. When God opens your windows of blessings, watch out! Because there is no holding them back.

I'm Serious...The Dog Ate My Homework

On Monday, I received one of those delightful royalty checks. Tuesday morning I signed the back of it, filled out a deposit slip for it and then promptly fed both of them through our paper shredder.

It's so much fun to be rich. Why, I've got money to burn...er, shred.

Speaking of getting rich, you can help feed starving children (my grandkids). Just click here to kick-start your Christmas shopping. Spend $25 there and you get free shipping.

I will be enjoying our Heart of America Christian Writers' Conference from now through the end of the week.Anybody wanna come along?

Adventures with a High School Classmate

The other day, My First Wife and I were in the mall when she spied a familiar-looking face walking toward us. (The face wasn’t walking; it was a familiar-looking person.) His head hung, tired-like. He walked slowly with a distinct and heavy limp, cane in hand.

“Izzy? Izzy!” My First Wife shouted. “Izzy Fulible, it’s me: Chancie!”

Izzy looked up, then he lit up when he saw Chancie. “Well, lookee there!” He broke into quite the smile, opened his arms and the two of them shared a hearty hug. “Aren’t you the pretty one! You’re pretty as you ever were. How you doing?”

“Oh, thank you,” she said. “You’re not so bad looking either. How are you?”

“Pretty good. Who’s the lucky guy?” he asked, pointing to me. He stretched out his hand, which I took and shook.

“This is my husband, Paul.”

“Well, I was heading down to get me a cup of joe,” he said. “Can I buy you a cuppa coffee? Got time? We can catch up a little. Jeez! When’s the last time I saw you?”

We began our trek to the food court. The banter between the two heated up, leaving me to tag along. Chancie and Izzy graduated together in Georgia, far from the Heart of America. “How long have you lived here…?” “What kind of work…?” "Kids? Grandkids?" Izzy limped along pretty hard. In the food court, he sat down with a loud, heavy sigh. “Aaaah!”

I got the coffee for all of us and delivered it. Chancie and Izzy were still buzzing. After her first sip of coffee, Chancie asked directly: “Izzy, why the cane? What’s with the limp.”

“Aah, that’s nothing,” he said. “It a hockey injury down here on my ankle. Got it several years ago.”

“Really? I didn’t know you played hockey,” Chancie said. My mind started racing. I like watching hockey when I can catch it on TV. I don’t know all the players, but my mind couldn’t place the name Izzy Fulible.

“It only bothers me when the weather turns cold.”

“Well, that’s too bad,” Chancie said. “How long ago?”

“Oh, it was in during the Stanley Cup playoffs in 1988.”

“Stanley Cup?” I asked. “You played for the Stanley Cup?” I suddenly felt like I was in the presence of greatness. Or at least really coolness.

“Well, in that match," he went on, "I lost a hundred bucks and hurt my ankle when I kicked in my TV screen!”

Adventures Out on the Four-Lane

Would someone please tell me: What is a woman’s yet? A yet. I never heard of a yet.

Was reading the newspaper this morning and ran across this article:

“A woman was shot late last evening by an unknown assailant just a few miles south of Pancake Flats. A passing motorist notified the sheriff’s department after finding the woman unconscious beside the road.

“The woman was first taken to the Pancake Flats Medical Clinic and Coffeeteria, but was quickly transferred to a hospital in The Big City.

“Emergency surgery was performed on the woman, but the bullet remains in her yet."

Adventures with a Sentence

That First Step (or How Not to Write a Sentence)

By Paul Nichols

I was thinking and wondering some redundant thoughts one early afternoon just after lunch about what it must have been like to first step out toward the west; that is, if someone lived in, say, Virginia, and decided to “go west, young man, go west,” what it must have felt like to actually take that first brave step toward the Pacific Ocean (if it was really out there) after spending several weeks, nay, months, preparing, packing, borrowing, buying, bidding fare wells and receiving fare thee wells, and laying awake each night anticipating the journey westward across the Appalachian Mountains and wondering what lay beyond them after crossing them, only to have that anticipation replaced with fear: fear of the unknown—disease, distance, deprivation, despair—fear of the known—Indians, roaring rivers, outlaws, so that sleep never really came, but only weary eyelids that convinced the man (and especially his bride) into thinking he was slumbering, when in reality he was wide awake, mentally crossing the great American continent, committing himself to the monumental task of placing one foot in front of the other for a year—yea, maybe two years—to force himself onward toward the distant sea he longed so much to see and committing himself to forging a new family without roots, while at the same time forgetting the roots and family that lovingly installed him in Virginia with promises of a brave new opportunity to explore, and still knowing he mustn’t forget them nor abandon them—either family: his old and weary ancestors; his new and energetic progeny—for abandonment surely would undercut his dedication to the integrity of his mission, which was to superimpose his solitary will (and his bride’s) over the great forces of nature and earth and time and distance unlike anything ever before undertaken: one man (and his bride) stoically maneuvering across the mountains and the prairies and the desert and still more, but greater, mountains until the sea should stop him, even though knowing he was not the first, he knew he was the first of himself and that terrifying thought would rumble up from his innermost being to challenge the lazy demons who would taunt and tease and tempt him to forego such a mad endeavor; all the while the same terrifying thought urged and prompted and cajoled him to accomplish this unaccomplishable feat (with his bride) so that all of history would record that his one brave step led to the solidification of masses of land that entwined themselves into one great union of diverse races and cultures; of great men who threw down the heavy chains of their oppressors to rise up and take their own brave steps; of great ideas that built things so wondrous that they required over 200 years to incubate; of concepts so great that armies and eras would fawn over them until perfection; of desires so deep that only liberty and freedom were food enough for them; and to delay his first brave step another day longer would impose a hardship upon this beautiful, bountiful land and this great union and upon those great ideas and concepts and desires so heavy that surely the land would teeter and break and fall and crumble before he would ever reach the great sea he so desired to see, and so doom forever the possibility that (with his bride) he would rise up at dawn, which would be his personal dawning, and forever set forth a new order and a brave new mercantile store along a riverbank out west somewhere.

Never take a nap after an enormous lunch.

Adventures in Superlatives

Never in my life have I seen autumn colors like these gracing the Heart of America right now! I must not be the only one, because they're talking about it all over town. Listen to some of the comments I’ve heard to describe our foliage.

Spectacular!

Glorious!

Beautiful!

Unbelievable!

"How can it be so pretty?"
Breathtaking!

Magnificent!

“Glorious and gloriouser!” (“Hee-hee.”)

“I’ve never seen a street that…Holy cow! Look at that tree!"
"Oh, isn’t that beautiful!”

“Have you seen how the sunshine makes them just shimmer?”

“Oh, wow!”

“Look! Look! Look! Over there on the left!”

“Look! Look! Look! Over there on the right!”

"I’m speechless."

“I sure do wish So-and-So could see this...oh, look Hunny!”
Stunning!

Fabulous!

“I love those red Burning Bushes."
"Good grief! That's just amazing!"

“This is the most beautiful fall ever—prettier than the Ozarks.”

Incredible!
Awesome!

"Thank you, Jesus."

I can't help it—I've gotta share a few more pictures. Enjoy.

Even when it's raining, it's beautiful.

 

Two blocks from our house.

 

Ten miles from our house.

 

Our church's parking lot.

 

Along a favorite walking trail.

“For by him all things were created…all things were created by him and for him…And in him all things hold together.”—Col 1:16 – 17

Adventures on a Sunday Afternoon Drive

The Pancake Flats Chamber of Commerce is pounding its chest today! Yessir! Sunday and today are about as purty as they get. Took a drive with My First Wife and a friend yesterday afternoon. Took some pictures, too. While everybody else was wasting their time watching football, we got these pictures. Please note the brilliant blue sky here in the Heart of America. The last photo is our friend's neighbor's porchette.

 

 

 

 

Oh, by the way. I posted a seasonal photo on My Hats Blog. You otta stop by.