To Wake, Perchance to Dream

Famed New Yorker humorist James Thurber was an incorrigible daydreamer. His wife disturbed his reverie at cocktail parties on more than one occasion by spitting out an expletive and commanding him to "stop writing." Fortunately, he didn't, and we got some of his funniest stories as a result.

My wife Judy is an accomplished daydreamer, too. She hates to shop for groceries, so when I go into Kroger's to pick up a couple of items after work, she prefers to stay in the car. It's not unusual for her to open the conversation when I return with something like,

"See that broad-shouldered fellow in the red plaid shirt and cowboy boots? He was abducted from the banker's family when he was a child and they refused to pay a ransom so they never saw him again. The story came out years later, when he married that mousy woman in the gray flannel coat, who proved to be his sister. Her parents died long before she met him, and they'd spent her inheritance trying to find him..."

I'll never lack for a good plot while we have these parking-lot moments!

One other thing about Judy: When she turns out the bedroom light, she'll often roll over and say, "Tell me a story!" That flustered me until I began to cultivate the art of daydreaming. If she asks me now, my first thought is, What people did I see today? And what might be their stories?

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Joe Allison and his wife, Judy, live in Anderson IN, where Joe serves as Editorial Director of Discipleship Resources & Curriculum for Warner Press, Inc. Joe has several nonfiction books in print, including Swords and Whetstones: A Guide to Christian Bible Study Resources. He's currently writing a trilogy of Christian historical novels set in the Great Depression.

Visit Joe's blog at http://southernmtns.wordpress.com

The Faster I Go, The Behinder I Get! by JoAnn Durgin

Ever heard the expression, “The faster I go, the behinder I get?” That’s how I feel sometimes. I’ll admit in the last year, I’ve started to feel older, physically as well as in other ways. Granted, my schedule is full and active and I’m still able to get most of what I’d like accomplished each day. . .except for the one thing I want to do most. Write. As recently as three years ago, I could stay up until almost 2:00 a.m. every morning writing or editing (I could tell time by the old television comedies that kept me company). Now, I need at least five hours sleep or I can’t function in my rather demanding, full-time day job. Well, I can function, but certainly not as well as when I have more sleep. I’m also craving more vegetables, trying to get more exercise and being more faithful in taking a daily vitamin supplement. I’ve finally started to face the fact I need to give my body what it needs in order to stay healthy and function better in all phases of my life, including my writing.

I’ve also lost a few friends my age in the past year or so. I’m in my 50s, not my 80s. These losses have also brought home the hard truth that my life as I know it will one day cease to exist. Of course, knowing where my future lies in an eternity with the Lord is an unbelievable comfort, and I can’t even imagine living without that hope I have in a risen Savior. But I also understand each book I write could potentially be the last one. I’m not being morbid, just realistic. Simply put, our written words need to count. Whether it’s in an e-mail, in a blog post or in a book, we never know what seeds we might plant or how our characters or stories might impact or affect someone’s life for Christ.

Recently, I’ve seen something interesting happen with my books. I’ve had a few women on Goodreads rate my books—with varying results—who’ve never read a Christian book before. Let me qualify that statement. Women whose favorite books are, well, decidedly not inspirational in a Christian way and, quite frankly, fall under the “smut” category. You know the books I mean. At first, I was shocked and wondered, “How on earth did they find my books?” One woman said, “Your books were the first Christian books I ever wanted to read.” Another said, “I wanted to believe a man like the hero in your book existed.” One more said, “The covers are really pretty and made me want to read them.”

My first reaction to one especially low rating from one such reader was to get a little steamed. But then, as He always does and for which I’m so grateful, the Lord got hold of me. I searched my heart and He helped me see the truth. Why am I writing? For myself? For good reviews? What’s my purpose in writing these books? Yes, it’s my overwhelming passion to write, and I’m blessed to be able to do what I love. However, I can admit the joy would be drained from me if I couldn’t weave spiritual truths into my books. What would be the point? To me, they’d be empty words.

I’ve often heard it said that if you take the spiritual components out of a romance and it can stand on its own, then it’s not a Christian romance. My books would absolutely fall apart without those elements. There are some who believe you can’t draw readers who aren’t believers to read a faith-based book. I disagree, in large part because of my own experience as an author. My books are clearly labeled as Christian romance and the descriptions also label them as such. Granted, I don’t have non-believers in droves rushing to buy my books, but they’re not “watered down” in terms of a strong Christian message. Redemption, grace and forgiveness are huge themes I always touch on in one way or another in my writing.

The bottom line? If I’ve touched one reader with a spiritual truth she might remember somewhere in the pathway of her life, then I’ll have done my job. The way I look at it, we have a responsibility to share our faith, as the Lord commands, and what a joy it is!

Blessings,

JoAnn Durgin

Matthew 5:16

Therefore go and make disciples of all nations, baptizing them in the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit, and teaching them to obey everything I have commanded you. And surely I am with you always, to the very end of the age. Matthew 28: 19-20

Stringing Pearls, Sipping Tea, Peppermints and Jungle Gardenia by JoAnn Durgin

My dear friends, I must apologize because this is a repost. However, it’s near and dear to my heart. I’d like to tell you about my beloved grandmother, a woman who taught me to believe in myself and that--with the Lord’s help--I could do anything. As much as writing fiction is a driving passion at this stage of my life, I adore the opportunity to occasionally write about my “real life.” Granny inspired me, she told me constantly that she loved and believed in me. May you all have someone like that in your life. Many blessings to you. Matthew 5:16

Many of my own life experiences have eventually found their way into a book. As such, I believe they lend a certain depth of realism that resonates with the reader. Both good and bad, bittersweet or joyous, my unique memories have shaped me into the woman I am today. I’d like to share with you some memories of my Granny, my Dad’s mother. I am independent like Granny. My daughter, Chelsea, resembles her physically and I can see my grandmother in my daughter’s smile. Granny taught me to be strong in the face of adversity and follow my dreams. I like to think I inherited some of her creativity and sense of humor, as well as her positivity and optimism.

When I was three, my parents divorced—a still rather uncommon event at that time. As she tells it, my mom was tired of my Dad’s “ridiculous dreams,” including his elaborate plans to build a bomb shelter in the midst of the Cuban Missile Crisis and his proclivity to chain smoke cigarettes. In some ways, I’m not sure he knew how to be a father. But in the quiet ways, he showed us he loved us by building things with his hands, including an elaborate dollhouse for me, complete with working electricity and chandeliers hand-beaded by Granny.

After they divorced, Daddy picked up my older brother and me on alternate weekends and he’d take us to visit Granny (with whom he lived at the time) a few miles away. She lived in an old but well-maintained two-story white house on Utica Pike, a narrow, two-lane road and homes with long, gravel driveways and sweeping front yards dotted with large weeping willow and gorgeous mimosa trees. We’d bake apple pies with fruit we picked in the backyard, string pearls, sip iced tea on the screened-in summer porch. My brother and I played with some of the same toys that belonged to my dad and his two brothers—antique toy soldiers probably worth a small fortune today. We listened to her stories of our grandfather’s and father’s respective stints in the Army and heard many a tale about the great flood of ’37 (the “big one” that destroyed their favorite puppet show theatre). Stories of when the Ohio River froze over and they could slip and slide from Indiana to Kentucky. Tales of the Happy Hunting Grounds, her term for Heaven. Granny smelled of peppermints and Jungle Gardenia. She wore handknitted dresses she made with her increasingly arthritic hands. And she had a stole made from a real fox—head included—that scared us to death.

Some of my sweetest memories are sitting in her front yard, cheering on the Belle of Louisville steamboat as it raced Cincinnati’s Delta Queen on the Ohio River in late April, a week or two before the Kentucky Derby each year. When I was seven, Granny took me to the National Doll Club Convention, held in Louisville that year. I’ll admit I was embarrassed to be dressed up like a doll. Even had a write-up in the local newspaper, “Living Doll Attends Doll Show” featuring a photo of me in the dress she made and my doll with a matching outfit. I’ll never forget the pride in Granny’s voice as she introduced me to her doll club collector friends and bragged about how talented and special I was. She believed in me, and I’ll never forget that.

By this time, Daddy had remarried and, for various reasons, there was a period of time when we didn’t see him—or Granny—as much. Before I knew it, I’d graduated from high school and then college and moved to Dallas, independent and ready to greet the world and make my mark. I saw Granny every time I came home for the holidays and she was spunky and active as ever although she’d finally moved into a retirement center. She was born for a place like that. When she started painting in her 70s or thereabouts, she called herself a “Grandma Moses wannabe.” Granny lived the type of life all of us would wish—rich and full with laughter, faith, family and friends. She had a heart attack at 82, and the Lord kept her around long enough to gather her three boys beside her to tell them she loved them before she made the leap into the Happy Hunting Grounds and onto the next adventure.

Yes, Granny had a very strong influence on the woman I am today, the mother I am today and yes, the writer I am today. If you’ve read my debut novel, Awakening, you might recognize my heroine Lexa’s grandmother, Nana, down to the details of stringing pearls and sipping tea on the summer porch. And yes, even a mention of the Happy Hunting Grounds. She taught me that—with the Lord’s help—I could do whatever I wanted. Dream big. And so I did.

I trust you have a “Granny” in your life, whether in cherished memories or beside you to hold your hand and help you see the best in people and life’s situations, both good and bad.

Sleep well, Granny. I love you dearly, and I’ll see you again one day.

 

 

 

JoAnn Durgin is the author of the popular Lewis Legacy Series (Torn Veil Books). The fourth book in the series, Daydreams, released in late 2012, as well as Meet Me under the Mistletoe, a 2012 Christmas novella (Pelican Group Ventures/White Rose Publishing). She also has a short story, Please, published in I Choose You, a romance anthology (OakTara Publishers). JoAnn lives with her husband, Jim, and their three children in her native southern Indiana. She's an estate administration paralegal in a large Louisville, Kentucky law firm. She’d love to hear from you via her website (www.joanndurgin.com) or at Author JoAnn Durgin on Facebook.