Why Writing with Kids Isn't So Bad

By Abbey Downey

As a mom of two young kids (ages five and three), it’s safe to assume I’ll hear the same question every time I mention I’m also a writer. “How do you make time to write with kids at home?”

Honestly, it’s a reasonable question. Kids take a lot of our time and mental resources, don’t they? And, even if you can get them playing peacefully without you, a mom knows those minutes won’t last as long as she hopes.

“He hit me!”

“She took my toy!”

“Can I have a snack?”

“I have to go potty. Now!”

"Look, I deleted Mom's entire manuscript with one click!"

But here’s what most people don’t realize: having my kids around actually makes my writing better. In spite of the interruptions, the constant questions, and the frequent potty/refereeing/feeding breaks. 

Here’s what I mean:

   They make me more creative.

Have you ever just listened to a kid playing imaginary games? They’re hilarious! My oh-so-dramatic daughter frequently ends sessions of playing Barbies with someone getting hurt and going to the hospital. My son likes to make his superheroes face off against the bad guys. All of their games involve dramatic conflict. Also, since I write fiction, I can give young characters some of my kids’ funniest quirks!

They force me to use my time wisely.

I love the way another author recently responded to the question of how moms find time to write. She laughingly replied that nap time is her friend, but then went on to say that somehow, God always provides the time. Isn’t that just like our God? He calls us to write and He provides what we need to accomplish that. But this is where I struggle: I have to get off Twitter and use the snippets of time I do have, especially when there are kids around with all their various needs. If I want to get any writing in, I have to plan my day and stick to it.

They make me get out and experience the world.

I’m an introvert. Even if you aren’t, as people who work in a rather solitary profession, it’s easy for writers to get wrapped up in our words and forget that there’s a whole, real world right in front of us. And that world provides endless inspiration! My kids require things like being picked up from school, getting food to make into meals, trips to the library, and hours spent eavesdropping on—I mean, accidentally overhearing—conversations during sports practices. All wonderful places to gather ideas that I would miss if I holed up all the time in my house.

"Hmm....I think this story would be better with a few
random letters sprinkled in."

They remind me to always include God.

As they all do, my kids ask questions. So many questions. My five-year-old is very much trying to make sense of how things fit into the world and his questions usually revolve around how things work together. When we get into a line of questions, often it will circle around to how God fits into the subject. Where’s God when kids are at school? How does Jesus eat if He’s invisible? It’s a great reminder that God is in everything we do. No matter the market or genre, there’s always a way to include God in our words and in our writing process.

Have you faced a challenge in your writing that turned out to hide blessings? I’d love to hear about it in the comments!

Abbey Downey never expected her love for writing to turn into a career, but she’s thankful for the chance to write inspirational romance as Mollie Campbell. A life-long Midwestern girl, Abbey lives in Central Indiana, where her family has roots back to the 1840s. She couldn’t be happier spending her days putting words on paper and hanging out with her husband, two kids, and a rather enthusiastic beagle.

You can check out Abbey's books at www.molliecampbell.com

Photos from pixabay.com

Where Are the FUNCTIONAL Families ? by Linda Sammaritan

Remember those good old TV shows from the Fifties? Andy Griffith, Leave It to Beaver, The Lone Ranger, and a host of others? Today’s viewers say, “Boring. No conflict. Not enough action.”

Excuse me? While superheroes didn’t bounce out of the sky and smash a city to individual cinder blocks, the characters in those programs faced real problems and taught children how to solve them. In many family comedies, Dads led their wives and children through a jungle of moral decisions. The parents, as a team, guided their children toward wisdom, unlike many of the buffoons in today’s sitcoms.

Take Eddie Haskell, a problem that never stopped. Wally and the Beaver didn’t like him, but they treated him with grace. Their parents told them to, they obeyed, and further conflict was averted. At least, until Eddie tried something else, and the cycle repeated.

Or Opie Taylor, Andy Griffith’s son. I remember an episode where he had to choose: prepare to fight the bully for what was right, or join the crowd to do wrong. Thanks to his father’s consistent example, Opie chose to stand for righteousness.

Dennis the Menace entertained us with his inept efforts to be helpful, and his generous heart taught children like me to love our neighbors. His parents were often at a loss as to how to handle what Dennis might get into next, but they always explained to their son how he might have done things differently with less disastrous results.

Even westerns taught Judeo Christian morality. In The Rifleman, a father taught his son right and wrong and to use violence as a last resort to save other lives. The Lone Ranger never looked for credit for his good deeds. The rescued asked, “Who was that masked man?” as he rode into the sunset. Lessons in humility.

I want the same lessons of goodness in the books I read where characters solve problems in an honorable manner. It’s why I prefer the classics, books that contain intact families who love each other and face conflicts together. I get so tired of the dysfunctional families and missing parents in today’s literature. As an experiment, I went through the archives of my book reviews and checked the family situations in each of the books I’ve featured. I was dismayed by the results:

Dysfunctional Family/Missing Parent  22; Loving, Intact Family 11.

 Even if I discount the handful of books written past 1990, earlier authors also use the lack of a good parent as an integral part of the conflict for the child protagonist.  I love each one of these stories, but I’m saddened by that reality.

Summer of the Swans by Betsy Byars is a case in point. Thirteen-year-old Sara lives with her snarky teenage sister, her little brother Charlie, and their aunt. Their mother died; their dad split. Charlie has unnamed developmental disabilities. Today we might say he’s on the autism spectrum. Sara loves Charlie; she hates his neediness. She hates herself as many young adolescents do. The novel is beautiful and character-driven with a flawed protagonist who finally realizes she loves her brother as he is.

Most of the events in the plot could have been accomplished with a mom and dad still around. Two parents could have struggled together in dealing with Charlie’s eccentricities, and teens in their struggle for independence get in grand funks even when they grow up in wonderful, loving homes.

Strong families are not exempt from ongoing crises. I’m currently writing a fictionalized memoir covering the first five years of my little sister’s life. Our parents enjoyed a solid marriage, and they had to cope with the uncertainties of raising a profoundly deaf child. Heartbreaking events occurred, and comical episodes still made life fun. We were strong. We were together.

This is what I feel called to do in my writing, to glorify God with stories of family who strive together to overcome the obstacles in their path as they journey through life, pilgrims on the way to the Promised Land.

Linda Sammaritan writes realistic fiction, mostly for kids ages ten to fourteen. She is currently working on a middle grade trilogy, World Without Sound, based on her own experiences growing up with a deaf sister.

Linda had always figured she’d teach middle-graders until school authorities presented her with a retirement wheelchair at the overripe age of eighty-five. However, God changed those plans when He gave her a growing passion for writing fiction. In May of 2016, she blew goodbye kisses to her students and dedicated her work hours to learning the craft. She still visits the school and teaches creative writing workshops.

Where Linda can be found on the web: 

www.lindasammaritan.com

 www.scriblerians.com

 www.thescriblerians.wordpress.com

 www.puttingonthenew.

 www.facebook.com/lindasammaritan 

 www.twitter.com/LindaSammaritan

                                           

 

Where Does a Writer Go?

by Rachael Phillips

Are you the kind of writer who can write in a parked SUV until your muddy soccer players (at least, you hope they’re yours) pile onto your seats? Can you outline a novel while sitting in a drive-through line, not bothering to look up when you shift gears to edge ahead? Can you pound out a chapter in a Starbucks invaded by an entire middle school of coffee connoisseurs armed with video games?

Then you, my writing friend, are blessed with qualities of concentration I can only dream of.

In order to write, I need a peaceful place where I can park my creaky frame in a cushy sofa or chair. Desks stifle my creativity. So do real waistbands—elastic, please, or none. I want a room with windows I can open or shut, according to my body’s hot flash weather report, with a view of something green or pretty that doesn’t need watering, trimming, or re-potting. Two cups of real coffee early in the morning are a must, then a large, steaming pot of decaf to warm me throughout a fall or winter day. When temperatures rise, a pitcher of iced tea or water is my constant writing companion.

But most of all, I need quiet—sweet silence or muted small-town noises, enhanced by the audio velvet of classical music.     

I am spoiled because I began my writing career during midlife—after my children had lost their last residue of mom admiration and either rolled eyes or ran screaming when I addressed them. As they left, one by one, for college, I grew accustomed to my everyday quiet writing kingdom, where I can plan my schedule and wear jammies all day, if I so choose.

However, small, not-too-distant rumblings have begun, barely perceptible now, but growing louder with every day … retirement.

My husband’s, not mine.

He is a considerate, supportive spouse, mindful of my need for solitude.

But if he reads, sitting near me, he just has to share passages that excite him.

Deeply spiritual, he loves to discuss what God has been teaching him. In great detail. 

He sneezes. And flushes. He crunches big bowls of mixed nuts and guzzles ice cream my diet-starved soul longs for.

Can it be that I may have to banish my laptop and me to my [gasp!] office?

How about you? What writing-space issues have you faced, and how did you solve them? 

My Favorite Things

It doesn't take diamonds, or fabulous trips to exotic locations, or anything expensive in terms of worldly possessions to make me happy. Mind you, that's not to discount my travels or my pearl and diamond ring. It's the memories I have, the memories I'm making, and the things I'm looking toward in the future that make me content. And the older I get, the more the concept of simply being content makes me happy. It's not a feeling of "settling," but a feeling of knowing I've run the race and fought the good fight. I'm secure knowing I'm where the Lord wants me at this point in my life. Lest you worry, no, I'm not ill, but with the dawn of this new year, I am perhaps being retrospective. It's not so much the "things" of this life which make me happy or content, of course, but the memories associated with them that give me incredible joy.

What started me thinking along these lines? I bought a Hallmark Christmas ornament at 75% off the other day. It's a replica of the famous "Cheers" sign used in the TV show of the same name. There's a little button on the side, and when pushed, it plays the theme song. It brings a smile every time I hear that song: "Sometimes you wanna go where everybody knows your name, and they're always glad you came..." I'm going to leave it on my desk year-round for when I need a little pick-me-up. Other things that make me smile: the report card with two A+ grades my 15-year-old Asperger's Syndrome-diagnosed son earned in two tough subjects (biology and algebra); my daughter's smile as she finally got her braces (she's 19); the way my husband looked at the photo on my third book and said, "I really love this photo of you." Those are memories I'll always treasure. Other things? Mountain Spring Tide and Downy. Wow, they sure are expensive these days, but they're the best at stain fighting and smelling fantastic, so I spring for them and skimp on other things. The taste of a cake from my favorite bakery or a homemade chocolate chip cookie also make me smile. The sight of the first daffodils of spring pushing their way through the ground hardened by winter's snows, and the scent of honeysuckle on the vine...is there anything quite like them?

When I was a kid, buying three Nancy Drew books with my $5 weekly allowance made me happier than anything (I'm showing my age here, but I'm actually beginning to love and appreciate my current age. It's where the Lord has brought me at this point in my life, and I'm not complaining). Being presented with a doll house made with loving hands by my grandmother and dad filled with me with a sense of pride and family. Going to an antique doll convention with Granny when I was seven and being called "A Living Doll" in a write-up in the Louisville Courier-Journal was exciting. Now, every time I look at that doll, my heart swells with love for my grandmother (the inspiration for Lexa Clarke's Nana in Awakening). She took the doll head I got at that convention (called "Miss Kentucky") and made her into a doll for me, dressing her in a beautiful velvet, beaded dress -- complete with a matching handbag -- and I adored her (still have her, too). Granny always fussed and regretted the doll wasn't "prettier," but to me, she's gorgeous, and is my most prized heirloom from my beloved grandmother.

As a writer, I cherish my book contracts and holding my books in my hands for the first time. There's not much like it. I hope all of you know, or will know, that unique and unbelievable blessing. I always said that even if my books weren't "officially" published, my prayer was that someone reading them (and I had a lot of ladies read the early versions of Awakening) might be somehow touched with the seeds of spiritual truths. You never know how your words might impact someone, so keep writing as He leads you.

What are the things and associated memories that make YOU smile? I'd love to hear, if you'd care to share. Blessings, my friends.

The Unspoken Language of Love (Guest Blog by Kristy Cambron)

Today I have the pleasure of introducing you to Kristy Cambron - Christian wife, mother of two young sons and corporate executive. Kristy has recently joined the ACFW and will be one of my roommates at the conference in St. Louis; if you're there, I hope you'll take the opportunity to meet her. Below is a beautifully-written blog by Kristy about my favorite topic, love. It is posted with her permission. Blessings my friends.

The Unspoken Language (originally posted 5/17/2011)
We attended a wedding this week. As you can imagine, the day was indeed full of laughter and hugs. There was a proud groom, a beaming princess of a bride, and a host of supportive friends and family to fill the chapel. The scene was awash in the usual flash of many cameras. Everywhere you looked and walked and smiled, a happy energy seemed to follow; for something amazing was about to happen. A couple is embarking on the journey of a lifetime, and they're pledging to do it together.

Weddings are a powerful reminder of the beauty that love, friendship, and the promise of a hopeful future bring to a young, wide-eyed couple. I adore the showering down of promise that a wedding brings ...

It was at this wedding that I was reminded of the concept of an unspoken language.

Since we began dating, my husband and I have had our own language. This language doesn't pop-up all the time. It's the unspoken words that we choose to say when words are just not enough; I am always and will forever be moved by it. In some of the most meaningful moments of my life, my husband has reached for my hand and in complete quiet, gently tapped my palm three times. This has always meant and will always mean, "I. Love. You."

The bride and groom didn't ask us for marriage advice before they said "I do". I'm grateful for us and for them that they didn't. I might have said that your wedding day should be one of the ultimate highs in life, but watch out - it's not always going to be that way. Marriage isn't easy on the faint of heart or those that get weak in the knees. Marriage takes work. Often, it's a slug-fest. It's a one-way ticket to an ongoing lesson in grace and humility. It's something that you can't ignore, you're required to wholly invest in, and you have to take seriously if you're going to buy the dress and exchange the vows. Sure there's plenty of love and if you chose right, a friendship that can be compared to no other. But it's going to test you both. (How would those words have been received, do you think?)

Ten years out from my own wedding day, I can honestly say that the old comment about hindsight is true; I've learned a lot as I look back now. That's what's so special about the three taps that brushed my palm on the reception dancefloor this weekend. The "I. Love. You." meant more than what the three words say.

The taps literally meant:

• I love you as we walk through joy, but I love you even more when tragedy and loss mark our path. 
• I love you in each step we've taken together, whether right or wrong, hurtful or not. 
• I love you in this moment because of all the moments we've shared, and all those yet to come. 
• I. Love. You. 

My hand felt those taps on our wedding day as we exchanged rings. I will never forget that moment. It reminded me that though the day was perfect, there would be some days ahead that would test us, and that the love we felt then would have to be enough to see it through. Our hands have exchanged those taps at a funeral or two, and I was reminded each time that neither he nor I were standing alone.
I remember several times of quiet when my hand reached out for his, to tap the three words when nothing in particular was going on.

Three taps were exchanged at the birth of our boys, as I walked to join a line of my fellow college graduates, as I left the house one morning to start a new job,
as I cried at the loss of a loved one, as we each said "I'm sorry", as we sat by the hospital bed of our young son ... I.Love.You.

I started thinking this weekend about the words we speak each day of this life we are given. Often, we speak words of kindness, encouragement, and sympathy. While these are all good, they don't go nearly far enough. The simple yet unmistakably powerful three words, I love you, say so much more:

• Love one another as I have loved you. - John 13:34-35 
• For God so loved the world that he gave his one and only Son, that whosoever believeth in him shall not perish but have everlasting life. - John 3:16 
• I have been crucified with Christ and I no longer live, but Christ lives in me. The life I live in the body, I live by faith in the Son of God, who loved me and gave himself for me. - Galatians 2:20 
• Know therefore that the LORD your God is God; he is the faithful God, keeping his covenant of love to a thousand generations of those who love him and keep his commands. - Deuteronomy 7:9 
• I love those who love me, and those who seek me find me. - Proverbs 8:17 

I am moved by the small gestures of life; the ones that carry weight, the ones that hold a depth of meaning beyond the obvious. It is the words of a unspoken language that carry the most weight. I am moved in viewing my own imperfection, sin, failure and an eventual restoration through Him, that Jesus Christ lived this unspoken language of love nothing less than perfectly - and his gesture of love was the greatest that anyone has ever given you and I.

Now read these words again, but as if Jesus has spoken them only to you:

I love you when everything is perfect, but I love you even more when it's not and you follow me. I love you when you're smiling, but I love you even more when you cry to me. I love you when you ask forgiveness, but I love you more when I can give it and you know it's not deserved. I love you as we walk through joy, but I love you even more when tragedy and loss mark our path. I love you in each step you've taken together with me, whether your right or wrong, your hurt or not. I love you in this moment because of all the moments we've shared, and all those yet to come. I. Love. You.

I can almost hear His whisper in those same life-moments that my husband and I walk -I.Love.You. Our relationship with Christ is a two-way street; just like marriage and just like any relationship that has merit, it takes the giving and receiving of a willing heart to say and really mean those three little words. Jesus has already done the difficult task for us - he willingly gave. He gave more than you and I will ever know on this side of eternity.

We have the easy part. There's no risk; all we have to do is receive.

Did I mention that the three taps of I.Love.You. between my husband and I are always followed by four taps from the other person? I think the love that Jesus gave is just waiting for those four taps back from us - I. Love. You. Too.

Visit Kristy at her blog: http://2sonsandparismom.blogspot.com/

(posted with her permissions)