“Why do you keep coming back?” Sandra asked as we walked to the chapel.
“To the Festival?” 
“Yes, why do you come back time after time?”
I said something about the content, maybe. I actually don’t remember what I told Sandra, but I kept thinking about her question. [Read more...]
Each Wednesday (or thereabouts) I’ve been recording a Curiosity Journal to recap the previous week using these tag words: reading, playing, learning, reacting and writing.
:::
As I mentioned on Tuesday, the Mother Letters e-book is now on sale. [Read more...]
Memories of the Festival of Faith & Writing are beginning to dim, and you’re probably losing interest in my April literary adventure.
But before memories fade altogether, I thought I’d share the last of my notes from a panel discussion featuring Luci Shaw, James Schaap, and Robert Siegel (and no, he is not Robert Siegel, co-host of NPR’s “All Things Considered; this is Robert Siegel the poet).
Forgive me for offering only tidbits; I scribbled as fast as I could with pen on paper. I did my best to keep up by means of antiquated technology (all the while coveting those attendees tapping away on netbooks and Macs), and these are the nuggets I scratched onto the page: [Read more...]
The Festival is over. I’ve returned home to laundry and lunches. I’ve also typed e-mails with numerous typos due to the blur of fatigue. Dare I continue the story even though the fun is fading into quotidian reality? I’ll try…let’s see how it goes.
After Eugene Peterson’s talk on Friday, my anonymous friend headed off to visit a friend while Leslie Leyland Fields and I walked across campus toward the chapel. I wanted to see Kate DiCamillo, author of Because of Winn Dixie, The Miraculous Journey of Edward Tulane, and The Tale of Despereaux.
I slipped into the room a little late. Kate was in the middle of her message.
She quoted Ray Bradbury, that writing requires risk … that it’s “like jumping off the cliff and building your wings on the way down.”
Kate also read portions of Charlotte’s Web and wove that into her message about writing.
“In Charlotte’s Web,” she said, “what saved the pig? Words.”
She continued with her own thoughts, like: “The sound of a single voice speaking or singing is capable of lifting someone else off the ground.”
On rewriting and editing: “Let the truth that is there reveal itself through the polishing.”
And I have the following on a page by itself. I’m pretty sure it’s from Kate:
“To look well at the world and to look with your heart is our duty as writers and humans.”
When Kate was done, she opened it up to Q&A. My friend Nadyne stood up and thanked Kate so eloquently and passionately that the entire room erupted in applause; Nadyne expressed what we were all thinking with more boldness and love than any of us had the nerve to stand up and say.
Kate was whisked away for a book signing, which the entire room seemed determine to attend.
I’d brought along Because of Winn Dixie, knowing Kate would be there. Then I bought three more books for her to sign as gifts for my kids. Nadyne was a few people in front of me, getting people to snap pictures of her with Kate. Nadyne stuck around to take a picture of Kate with me, and we got all silly and talked Kate into letting us photograph her boots. Nadyne has some fabulous pictures she’s going to share, so I’ll upload those when they arrive.
In the meantime, you’re stuck with my low-quality snapshots. Here I am with Kate DiCamillo:
Here’s Kate’s boot. I was too close and too slow to get both the boot and the rest of Kate, so you’ll have to trust me that it is indeed hers:
After our antics with Kate, Nadyne and another festival friend named Mary invited me to grab some lunch with them. This photo was taken on a different day, but this is Mary:
I went to Luci Shaw’s afternoon session.
She said so many great things–poets do that, you know. I only wrote down a few:
“We need translators…writers, especially poets, are translators.”
And she said she always has with her “something to write on, something to write with, and an open mind.”
After Luci, I attended a session with Thomas Lynch. I got to sit right next to Ann Voskamp.
He told stories of some old ladies who would stir up discussions on Sunday afternoons at his family’s “festival of faith and language.”
He said, “Every time I think I’ve learned something new, it turns out it was something old I’d learned by listening to two old ladies talking at our family festival of faith and language.”
And, “There’s a thin line between the sublime and the ridiculous…between that which makes us laugh instead of cry…between the way things are and the way they ought to be…between our will and the will of God.”
Thomas Lynch said he was named after a famous doubter from the Bible, who got famous for asking questions. “It’s as if he wondered if Christ is really one of us?…did it really hurt?…did He live through the same kind of suffering as us?”
He said, “Want to learn about life? Change diapers…for the young AND for the old.”
And, “What relates us to Calvary is not the rays of sunlight bursting forth, but the suffering.”
After that session, Ann V. and I wandered toward the book area and saw our friend L.L. Barkat’s book Stone Crossings nicely positioned on the Inter-Varsity Press table. The last Festival is where I met L.L. for the first time other than when our words and gravatars would intersect in a blogger’s comment section. Seeing her book brought a big grin, and a little heartbreak that she wasn’t at the Festival this year:
We also ran into Lisa Samson:
I was able to thank Lisa on behalf of my daughters (a tween and two teens), who discovered the Hollywood Nobody book series and loved the quirky heroine and her search for self.
Finding Hollywood Nobody (Book 2)
Romancing Hollywood Nobody (Book 3)
Here’s a photo of the two Anns with Lisa (hey, check it out—no ink on my lip!):
Ann V. and I had the fun of dinner with the team from David C. Cook, and I finally got to meet my editor, Susan Tjaden, in person!
Susan was the one who insisted I cut the manuscript down, down, down. She even plucked out an entire chapter.
And she was right on all counts. Not So Fast is a much better book because of her.
But I digress.
Ann V. and I drove back to campus and ran into several people, including Anita Lustrea of Moody Radio’s Midday Connection.
Meeting Anita marks one of the last interactions of the day.
The next day was Saturday.
The day I suspect I annoyed a portion of the Chrysostom Society, people I’d been waiting to meet for 14 years.
The day of the spilled root beer.
The day the Festival ended, and I was hit with a wave of melancholy.
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Visit NotSoFastBook.com to learn more about Ann’s book.
Friday morning, Leslie Leyland Fields and I made plans to connect during the morning coffee hour. She was running a little late, so as I stood around the refreshment area, I spotted Keri Wyatt Kent. I explained that I’m chronicling my time at the Festival in photos, so she kindly posed with me.
She said she was here with some writer friends. Late Friday night I encountered Keri with Tracey Bianchi who wrote Green Mama (the woman who remembered my book The Contemplative Mom). It was then I discovered she was one of Keri’s writer friends. In that same evening encounter, I met another of Keri’s friends, Shayne Moore, who has a book coming out entitled Global Soccer Mom. She had a really cute elevator pitch, but the details escape me at the moment.
Besides, I’m getting ahead of myself. The Keri-Tracey-Shayne meeting didn’t happen until late Friday evening, and I’ve only gotten as far as Friday morning. Leslie hasn’t even shown up yet!
I drifted from Keri, who was enjoying coffee with a friend, and spotted Jim Schmotzer again, sitting by the fireplace reading a book. I plopped down next to him and hoped he didn’t mind. He was waiting to talk with Bob Hudson, of Zondervan publishing, whom he knew. I glanced in the direction Jim was indicating, and Bob was chatting with a friend of mine! I didn’t know she was at the conference and hadn’t seen her yet. In the past, she’s preferred to remain anonymous online, so to respect her privacy I’ll show you her face but leave off her name.
You can see Jim in the background talking with Bob.
Just about then, Leslie arrived.
She immediately spotted a Wheaton professor she wanted to talk with named Brett Foster.
We all enjoyed a brief conversation about Wheaton and writing, and then Leslie walked with my anonymous friend and me to a session with Eugene Peterson speaking on “Poet and Pastor on Patmos.”
A few Peterson quotes:
“John was told, ‘Write on a scroll what you see,‘ not what you know or have figured out.”
And “write in a way that invites participation.”
Also, he told the story about a puppy who wasn’t well trained … it couldn’t sit or stay, but one thing it did very well. As soon as the puppy heard “Fetch!”, it would race off to catch a Frisbee or a stick or a ball. The puppy would enthusiastically return with it and offer it up.
Peterson said he was like that puppy. He heard “Fetch!”
That’s a little, teeny-tiny bit how I feel at this moment. I went to this Festival and as I type up this part of the review, I feel like I, too, heard “Fetch!”
And now I have the privilege of bringing back to you a few thoughts and interactions so that they aren’t mine alone, but yours, too.
There’s more to Friday, but because it’s late, I think I’ll stop here.
I’ve left a slobbery tennis ball lying at your feet.
Perhaps tomorrow I’ll bring back a stick.
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Some random documentation of my trip to the Festival of Faith & Writing begins with this evidence of my crossing the state line.
Calvin College’s campus is colorful.
Ran into my friend Stacy Morgan the very first thing. I registered, slipped my name tag on, set my bag down next to a chair, flipped through the packet, looked up and saw Stacy sitting on the couch next to me.
Didn’t take a picture then, but made sure I got one later. Stacy is in the midst of a year-long project called “Never Enough Sundays.”
After the first session, I spotted Ann Voskamp of Holy Experience. Slipped down the row where she was sitting and squealed a little when I hugged her.
Until I ran into Eileen Button, I was meeting people while sporting that stylish slash of ink on my upper lip that you see in the above photo if you look close. Thankfully, Eileen alerted me to it and cleaned me up. We agreed, however, that if ever there was an event at which an inked face was acceptable, it was a writers’ festival.
I didn’t get a shot of Eileen that time, so I’ll just sneak in the photo I took of her two years ago, so you know what she looks like (Eileen’s on the left; another festival friend, Nadyne Parr, is on the right):
I ran into the bold and delightful Nadyne several times.
Later, with windblown hair (but an ink-free lip), I met up with Jim Schmotzer, an HCB-network member who organized a get-together.
Turns out only the two of us got together, but that was fun. He knows Eugene Peterson, so we walked to that session.
One quote from Eugene that I scribbled down was what he said when talking about the state of the church (the American church in particular). He is convinced that flaws and all, sin and all, the church today is Christ’s Church, and apparently “the Holy Spirit doesn’t seem to mind being embarrassed.” He added that the American church is all pragmatic, asking questions like “How do we do church?” He thinks we should scrap that question and instead ask, “How can I enter into what God is doing here?” Instead of criticizing or being angry with people, we could ask, “How do I embrace the church God gave me?”
After the session, Jim chatted with him.
(My apologies to Jim for a less-than-flattering angle.)
Jim and I met up with Anne Lang Bundy, also an HCB-network member (note the glimpse of Eugene Peterson in the background).
I saw my friend Don Pape, who was kind enough to pose for a quick snapshot.
In the evening, my friends from Calvin, Bill and Judy Vriesema, took me out to eat at a fabulous Lebanese restaurant. Dinner: hummus for an appetizer with a sweet potato and quinoa burger as the main course.
Yum.
Wally Lamb spoke in the evening. No photos. I just listened.
After Wally’s session, I slipped over to see Stacy at her table. While we were chatting, someone turned around to join our discussion. Her name is Tracey Bianchi. I didn’t snap her photo, but you can see her at her website, which has a blog. She’s a new author whose book Green Mama: The Guilt-Free Guide to Helping You and Your Kids Save the Planet was just released in March.
Tracey looked at my name tag. “‘Ann Kroeker.’ Are you the author of The Contemplative Mom?”
“Yes, I am!”
“I have that book–someone gave it to me when I had my first child!”
What a delightful surprise, to be recognized and appreciated for the work produced all those years ago! And she kindly handed me a copy of Green Mama, so I was pleased to hand her a copy of Not So Fast.
That was Thursday.
Friday’s update will come later…
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One major revelation I walked away with from the Festival is my need to improve my note-taking skills.
I have only sparse, sketchy sentence fragments to work with. Normally I record interviews and messages so that I can review them later, but the organizers didn’t allow it.
So my final notes are from Katherine Paterson’s closing session. She said a few things that stood out to me as poetic or inspiring, but I barely took down a complete sentence.
Her topic was beauty.
Here’s a spattering of words on my page of notes:
Beauty
Integrity/perfection
harmony
brilliance
Simplicity–nothing superfluous
harmony
pleasing symmetry
brilliance–clarity, shed some light on the human experience
Hold onto your pencils, folks–coming up: a complete sentence or two, though even they maintain some mystery by being plucked from context. Also, you may find my parenthetical note puzzling:
Beauty is born of play (psychologically healthy).
Love and work achieve integration by creating.
…confusion of good with immobility.
Moral education by itself is not beautiful enough.
The Bible doesn’t shy away from truth-telling (through stories). In the truth-telling, there is great beauty.
Children need to be nourished on beauty as much as the four major food groups.
She read from one of her books in which one of the characters, an immigrant mother, was speaking about their children’s need for beauty in the classroom–that she wanted their beautiful children to benefit from the beauty of Puccini, say, or Michelangelo as part of their education. The novel’s character cried out about the need for beauty.
I don’t know that I agreed with all that Paterson presented, and it’s unfair to draw conclusions from these few notes scratched out during a 40-minute message in which she defined and developed the topic. But I wonder if you agree that we need beauty?
Do you feel that our children need to be nourished on beauty?
If so, what kind of beauty?
Do you do anything proactively to bring beauty into their lives?
I marvel at the details several people have retained from their time at the Festival of Faith & Writing. They managed to capture every sight, sound, gesture, outfit, tone of voice, and numerous precise quotations in their notebooks and journals. Or perhaps they simply have a better memory. Some people are like that. I remember reading The Seven Storey Mountain and thinking, “How in the world does he remember the color of the wallpaper in a room he was in at age seven?” Same with Sting’s memoir. He drudged up all kinds of sensory detail from his childhood. Do they make it up, take good notes, or have a photographic memory?
Well, I don’t like making things up unless it’s truly fiction…apparently I take terrible notes….and I don’t have a photographic memory.
So my recollections at this point are sketchy at best.
If you want more details–if you want to feel as if you were there–visit the following blogs:
L.L. Barkat’s ”Seedlings in Stone” (at the bottom of this post, she lists the previous few that highlight earlier days at the festival, as well…and there’s an extremely flattering description of me that I shall cherish for all my days…that is, if I remember to write it down).
Llama Mama was there, too. She reflects on the experience here, here, and here.
Starting with this post, Julana at “Life in the Slow Lane” will walk you through in remarkable detail the Festival experience including several sessions that I missed. I would have had to record the sessions to say so much about them. I need to get me some memory pills to boost my retention. I’ll make salmon for dinner tonight…more Omega-3s. Anyway, here’s what she recalled about Mary Gordon’s plenary address. Then she went to hear Luci Shaw, whom I missed, except now I feel like I was there. Then it was Mary Karr whom, again, I missed but feel that I lived vicariously through Julana’s memoir. And then, her experience of “The Reckoning,” a film presentation.
Claudia Mair Burney, who is busy with her own fiction projects, wrote one post–one very poignant post–about Franz Wright.
I may dig for others who are reflecting on their days at the Festival. But I thought I would amuse you with the sketchiest of sketchy notes that I scribbled out.
Honestly, I seem to have gleaned only sentence fragments with little to no context.
From Mary Gordon’s session that officially opened the festival (her words with quotation marks; my simple responses without):
“A person of faith lives in the possibility of possibility.” I wrote it down to think about. Kathleen Norris repeated the same idea in her session later.
Gordon also said that she feels that one of the most compelling passages in Scripture is the plea, “Lord, I believe; help my unbelief!”
Also, she said that “some things are only understood when pondered…We must look and think, and look and think, and look and think.”
How many people take time to look and think, and continue to look and think, and then look and think yet again?
That’s a lot of looking.
And thinking.
I want to look more, and think more, and Lord willing, truly comprehend.
That’s all. Gordon spoke for, oh, maybe 40 minutes, and that’s all I managed to write down.
Phyllis Tickle and Kathleen Norris both presented ideas that took some time to develop. Tickle talked about “Writing as Catechesis.” I think she was surprised when, after speaking, she asked, “You’ve all been catechized, haven’t you?”
Silence.
“What? How many of you have been catechized?”
Hardly a hand went up.
I wasn’t formally catechized, and I wondered how I would have responded to it, if I had been. She talked about how it was “in” her from her youth.
She used an extended analogy of how we as writers each morning pray–at least we’d better pray–and then go through the closet into a type of Narnia, entering something like an Eastern market with lots of colorful stalls where we’ll do our shopping for the day. We take a big basket and visit the various sellers making our selections–a metaphor here, and a strong verb there, and maybe something to boost our plotline over at the far stall. And then we squeeze back through the closet–through the knothole, she called it–with our full basket, hoping that we will be able to put it all together to prepare a palatable meal. Those of us who write as Christians are constantly in the process of saying, This stuff that I’ve brought back, does it fit with Truth? If it does, I must use it, for I worship a God who is Truth. If not, I must leave it out.
I like that idea of heading out each morning having prayed and asked the Lord to guide me into all Truth and then “shop” for the words and metaphors I need.
She said much more, but I didn’t capture it. Sorry. She’s so engaging and lively, I just got caught up in the discussion and stopped writing.
In another session, Scott Cairns and Kathleen Norris sat down to have a conversation. Here are snippets:
Norris: “When I found the monastery and started having personal retreats, I remember saying to one of the brothers, ‘Where have you been all my life?’ And the Benedictines can honestly say, ‘We’ve been here 1500 years…where have you been?”
Funny monk.
She described her experience of stumbling into the monastery as the opposite of blind luck. “I think of it as ‘blind grace,’” she said.
“In a world that changes so fast, there is stability in the morning and evening prayers,” she said. “It’s reassuring to know that they (the monks) did it yesterday, they’re doing it today, and they’ll do it again tomorrow.”
She also said, “The world is so narcissistic, but living and praying in community, the monastics know that it’s not about them.”
Norris, when responding to a question about the “theology of space,” said that Manhatten taught her about humanity. “There, I realized that if God loves all these people, I guess I have to, too.”
Dakota taught her about Creation, raw and bold.
She’s learning about caregiving for her mom in Honolulu.
And in the monastery, she says that the guest room offers a silence that “sinks into your bones. In that silence, you can really begin to see what to do next with your life…in that silence, possibilities open up…the scattered person becomes able to be quiet and be whole.”
She said that a documentary film about Trappist monks called “Into Great Silence” does a great job giving the viewer an idea of what life in a monastery is like.
I had to laugh at myself. When she said the title of the film, this is what I heard:
“Integrate Silence.”
It made enough sense that my mind didn’t question it. I just wrote it down. Then, because the girl to my left kept looking at my page, I glanced at hers and saw what she had written: “Into Great Silence.”
Oh.
Embarrassed, I scribbled out “Integrate Silence” and wrote the correct title in the middle of the page and drew a rectangle around it.
I wish I remember the question that preceded this answer from Scott Cairns:
“Be a praying people. Developing a rule of prayer, a habit of prayer, will protect you from all manner of delusion. If not, we’re doomed to error.”
And then Norris said, “I’m least faithful when I’m anxious or fearful.” It was tied in with the discussion on prayer, so I would assume that prayer is key for her to trust in the Lord and thus be more faithful to Him.
Cairns told a story about traveling to Mount Athos with his Greek Orthodox priest. A man came rushing up to them and asked the priest, “Do you know Jesus Christ as your personal Lord and Savior?”
The priest paused. “No,” he said. ”I like to share Him!”
Those are snippets, and only snippets, that I preserved on the pages of a cheap, red, spiral notebook.
I’ll continue tapping out a few others in my next post…that is, if I’m not boring you.
If you prefer that I move on from literary snippets to other blog-worthy topics, I can show you a lovely photo essay I put together that will be my first ever (and probably only) cute shoe post. Oh, yes; I kid you not. I acquired a pair of tan-and-navy slipper-style spring shoes not long ago. You can judge the shoes’ cuteness, as they embark on a spring tour of our front yard.
Oh, how I love to skip around in the possibility of possibility!
From looking and thinking (and looking and thinking) to cute shoes, blogging offers up a blank template every morning, allowing us to dwell daily in the possibility of possibility.
No one was around when my friend dropped me off at home yesterday after the long drive from Grand Rapids. My family was at a soccer match. The house was empty.
I dropped my suitcase not far from the back door.
Got a drink of water.
Climbed up the stairs to my bedroom.
Flipped back the covers (The Belgian Wonder had made the bed, people–am I not blessed?) and flopped onto the bed.
I slept.
When I awoke an hour later, I wondered, Was the Festival of Faith & Writing just a dream?
As I threw a load of laundry in the washer and scrubbed the bathroom sinks, I thought about the people I met.
Except for my actual acquaintances and friends–Brent Bill, L., and Jim Poole, for example–I doubt if the people in the photos that I posted yesterday will remember me personally. They were simply gracious enough to pose for a snapshot with an admiring fan. Elizabeth Berg probably didn’t even realize I was leaning next to her. She was appropriately focused on the person whose book she was signing. She may have been trying to ignore me!
The festival high is fading even more this morning, as I was jolted into reentry by a clogged toilet. Nothing as raw and humbling as a clogged toilet to yank a person back to real life. Plunging will ground you.
Real life. Where macaroni-and-cheese is dished up, pans are rinsed, and outside, pops of yellow dot the spring-greening yard–I came home to spot the first dandelions of the season.
Here, in real life, is where The Boy leaped out of the car, rushed to me, threw out his arms and squeezed me, leaning firmly against my legs for a full minute-and-a-half.
Real life is where stories of soccer matches won…and lost…are told and retold. It’s where birthday parties are planned. Where little boys sing bedtime songs with their mothers, and say, “It’s good to be with you again.”
I’m home.
And it feels like this is all I have left from three days of literary bliss:
This stack represents the tiniest fraction of authors who were there. These are only the books that I own or happen to have checked out of the library before I left.
Working my way from the bottom of this stack up, I have to assume that Francine Rivers has flown home to California to keep working on whatever book she’s on. Kathleen Norris, whom I couldn’t bring myself to do anything silly around, has likely returned to South Dakota or maybe to New York, to work out the final details on the galleys of her forthcoming book or speak somewhere. Elizabeth Berg is on a mind-boggling book tour, with almost nonstop appearances across the nation. Deb Rienstra, a Calvin professor, may be teaching writing students this morning with renewed enthusiasm for pouring vision into them of writing as art. Phyllis Tickle, according to her website, is at this very moment–even as I type–speaking at The Associated Press Annual Meeting, giving the Keynote Address during their luncheon in Dallas, Texas. Claudia, though she wasn’t a speaker at the Festival (but I had her book to place on the stack) is probably working on the novel she described to us when we were sitting in the comfy chairs. L.L. Barkat (also not a speaker, but I have her book) appears to be back home, processing her experiences and posting them on her blog. And finally, Cindy Crosby, I would assume, is back home being contemplative, finishing up a book she mentioned she was working on.
And I’m plunging the toilet.
On Mondays, I host Monday FunDay, a carnival dedicated to swapping simple, amusing–maybe even silly–everyday ways you enjoy good, clean fun. I do this so that we don’t all wallow in that “rainy days and Mondays” quagmire.
To participate in Monday FunDay, just post a story, idea, or explanation at your blog of how you and/or your family has livened up Mondays (or any day).
Then link up via Mr. Linky below (if you don’t have a blog, simply explain your idea in the comments) and we’ll collect all the ideas in one place. Again, please remember: ideas must be squeaky-clean, family-friendly fun.
First, here’s Ann’s Family-Friendly, Post-Festival Monday Fun idea this week:
Do Something Creative Every Day
Shauna Niequist, the perky young author I met on the first day, read an essay from her book Cold Tangerines. In it, she said, “Do something creative every day.”
Sometimes it’s good to have someone say this to us. We can say it to ourselves, “I am going to wake up and do something creative today.” But sometimes it’s more effective to hear it from an outside source. It seems more urgent, more important and valuable. When someone else insists, “Do something creative every day,” the investment of time and energy seems worth it. We can take the risk. We can act on it. We can make a list of things we love to do–dance, sing, paint, write–and go do it.
A while ago, I posted about digging up and dusting off long-lost creative interests. Perhaps that post, “How the Cuckoo Found Its Voice,” will inspire you to pull out some old cross-stitch kit or tap out a little tune on the dusty piano keys.
Or perhaps some words from Shauna will inspire you. I found this lengthy passage typed out on someone else’s blog (thanks, Ashley, whoever you are, for sharing this excerpt):
Art slips past our brains straight into our bellies. It weaves itself into our thoughts and feelings and the open spaces in our souls, and it allows us to live more and say more and feel more. Great art says the things we wished someone would say out loud, the things we wish we could say out loud.
It matters, art does, so deeply. It’s one of the noblest things, because it can make us better, and one of the scariest things, because it comes from such a deep place inside of us. There’s nothing scarier than that moment when you sing the song for the very first time, for your roommate or your wife, or when you let someone see the painting, and there are a few very long silent moments when they haven’t yet said what they think of it, and in those few moments, time stops and you quit painting, you quit singing forever, in your head, because it’s so fearful and vulnerable, and then someone says, essentially, thank you and keep going, and your breath releases, and you take back everything you said in your head about never painting again, about never singing again, and at least for that moment, you feel like you did what you came to do, in a cosmic, very big sense.
I know that life is busy and hard, and that there’s crushing pressure to just settle down and get a real job and khaki pants and a haircut. But don’t. Please don’t. Please keep believing that life can be better, brighter, broader, because of the art that you make. Please keep demonstrating the courage that it takes to swim upstream in a world that prefers putting away for retirement to putting pen to paper, that chooses practicality over poetry, that values you more for going to the gym than going to the deepest places in your soul. Please keep making art for people like me, people who need the magic and imagination and honesty of great art to make the day-to-day world a little more bearable.
And if, for whatever reason, you’ve stopped — stopped believing in your voice, stopped fighting to find the time — start today. Do that. Do something creative every day, even if you work in a cubicle, even if you have a newborn, even if someone told you a long time ago that you’re not an artist, or you can’t sing, or you have nothing to say. Those people are bad people, and liars, and we hope they develop adult-onset acne really bad. Everyone has something to say. Everyone. Because everyone, every person was made by God, in the image of God. If he is a creator, and in fact he is, then we are creators, and no one, not a bad seventh grade English teacher or a harsh critic or jealous competitor, can take that away from you.
So to all the secret writers, late-night painters, would-be singers, lapsed and scared artists of every stripe, dig out your paintbrush, or your flute, or your dancing shoes. Pull out your camera or your computer or your pottery wheel. Today, tonight, after the kids are in bed or when your homework is done, or instead of one more video game or magazine, create something, anything.
Pick up a needle and thread, and stitch together something particular and honest and beautiful, because we need it. I need it.
Thank you, and keep going.
Do something creative today. Not only might it be fun, but your efforts make the world, as Shauna says, a little “better, brighter, broader.”
Do something creative today, this Monday, and all week.
Every day.
Instructions for the WordPress Mr. Linky (which is different than the ones you’ll see on WFMW and other Typepad or Blogspot blogs):
1. Write your post. Type up your Monday FunDay edition and post it at your blog.
2. Come back to this post and click on Mr. Linky. A window will pop up.
3. Type in your name (or blog name) and if you like, you can include a short “teaser” for your idea in parenthesis. Something like this:
Ann K (do something creative)
3. Paste in your url. Below the spot for your name, there’s another for the url of your own post. Copy the url for your own Monday FunDay and paste it in (including the http:// part of it).
4. Press Enter. That’s it! It should be saved by Mr. Linky.
5. Link back. Please link back to my blog here. It’s nice for people to find their way to home base and see all the fun.
To see what others have posted, click on Mr. Linky and pay a visit to the fun bloggers who have joined in!
It’s fun to have fun, but you have to know how!
[Check out previous Monday FunDays]
As I stepped into the room where Phyllis Tickle was speaking, our eyes met and, in her words later, “I jumped! Did you see me jump?”
She remembered. She remembered the transatlantic flight we shared in 2005, and the descent that led to my child’s airsickness. She remembered The Belgian Wonder and I mopping up vomit as the plane landed. She remembered handing me a paper towel, and how, when I turned around to thank the kind stranger, I realized it was her and exclaimed, “You’re Phyllis Tickle!” She remembered saying, “Why, yes, I am! You look familiar…how do I know you?” I explained that I met her at a writing event, and I reminded her of something stupid I said, and she remembered that, too.
And she remembered how I introduced The Belgian Wonder to her, and how he thoughtfully didn’t extend his vomit-y hand to shake hers. She remembered how I totally abandoned him to the cleanup to continue talking with Phyllis and find out why she was on the same flight from Belgium. I was so focused on my kids for the six- or seven-hour flight that I never bothered to turn around. She was one row behind me the entire time.
And so after her talk yesterday, we had a big laugh reconnecting and remembering.
And, of course, cheesy-me, I asked someone to take our photo:
That whole airsickness incident reminds me to take a tip from the world of advertising and marketing: if you want someone to remember you, even bad press is good press. So do something memorable, or don’t feel bad if something memorable happens.
When I was sitting through Phyllis’s presentation, I scribbled a quote that stood out–and it wasn’t even the point of her talk: Some writers “are learning to say very well…nothing.” About the only application that kind of writing might work for is ad copy, she said, or on the Web.
I thought about blogging. I hope to learn to say things very well. But I hope to use any skill I may acquire to say something meaningful, not “nothing.” It’s a good warning; a reminder to merge craft and content, or, to have content with craftsmanship, or something like that. She didn’t say all that–that’s me chewing on her one thought.
The title of her talk was “Writing as Catechesis.” It’s too hard to explain briefly, so I’ll just type out her description from the information packet and let you ponder it:
“Writers of all stripes have claimed to write for discovery, yet religious writers, according to Tickle, write to discover what they believe as well as what they think, making writing the ultimate catechesis.”
After her message, as I waited to go up and get my photo taken, I glanced to my left. Two chairs down from me sat Christian authors Lisa Samson and Claudia Mair Burney!
I recognized them from their blogs. I’d clicked over there from this blog or that blog. Who knows how we arrive at places on this crazy World Wide Web, eh? Anyway, I recognized their faces and names, and decided once again to be a bold attendee. I stuck out my hand and said, “Hi there! I recognize you both from online…would you mind if I took your picture and put it on my blog?”
“Of course not!”
As I introduced myself to Claudia, I mentioned someone that I was pretty sure she knew, Don Pape, and I mentioned that I was working on a book for David C Cook, where Don is Trade Book Publisher, and she said, “Don’s my buddy! And I just came out with a book with David C Cook!” She held it out. It’s called Zora & Nicky: A Novel in Black and White. Then, she handed it to me. “Here,” she said. “I want you to have this.”
“What? No! No, I can buy a copy.”
“No, I want you to have it. Here.” She put it in my hands.
“But…well…Thank you. Thank you so much.”
So congratulations, Claudia, on the book’s release. And thank you again. I can’t wait to read it!
And then I got to talk with Lisa Samson, and she’s a bright, lively, fun author who has written a lot of Christian fiction and just came out with a book called Embrace Me.
Congratulations, Lisa, for the book’s release!
After chatting for a moment or two about publishing, they introduced me to someone else. It turns out that she’s the Executive Director of the Christy Awards, Donna Kehoe. I said hello, chatted about nothing too memorable, nor did anything memorable happen–no kids around to produce vomit–and I think it was Donna who offered to take a picture of Claudia and Lisa that had me in it, too.
Then I excused myself to go get that snapshot with Phyllis.
Later that afternoon I was passing through the little campus hangout, making a beeline for a booth where I planned to unpack my bag and write, and there sat Claudia in a comfy chair, eating some yogurt.
“Ann!” she called out. “Pull up a chair and join us!”
“Oh, no, no, I don’t want to intrude on your gathering. You should feel free to sit here and talk shop.”
“You aren’t intruding–I’m inviting you. And we aren’t going to be talking shop, or if we do, you can hear it, too. Sit down. Pull up that chair.”
So, unsure what the others would think, I set down my bag and pulled up a chair. Then Lisa Samson came over along with Donna Kehoe, and then another author named Cindy Crosby came over. They introduced her to the group as well. They’re all so warm, welcoming, and gracious. The world felt all rosy and soft-focus as I listened to them tell funny stories and explain the plots for their next book projects.
The funny little “small world” thing about Cindy Crosby is that she grew up in the next town over from where I grew up, and her dad owned the Christian bookstore just around the corner from where my mom worked. I used to walk there with just a little bit of change jingling in my pocket. I’d look at all the book titles and study the pamphlets. Every once in a while, I’d buy a little pamphlet, because that would be all I could afford with my change. But one time, I saved up enough to buy my first Bible with my own money. My parents would have bought it for me, but I wanted it to be all my own, and somehow purchasing it must have been key to that in my mind. Cindy’s dad tried to talk me into an NIV or NASB, but I had it in my head that I needed a KJV. I think I was about 12 years old. So I made my final selection: a King James bound with inexpensive burgundy leather. Her dad did succeed in talking me into getting my name stamped on it in gold. I think he understood how personal it was, and convinced me that my name in gold would solidify the deal.
Later, with birthday money from my aunt, and because I was having a little trouble understanding the King James, I bought my second Bible from him–a copy of The Living Bible with a kind of puffy green hardcover binding.
Anyway, I took a terrible, terrible self-snapped shot of Cindy and me, but I’m including it because Cindy looks okay. I’m the one who looks terrible, and I’m okay with that:
Apparently, I am so tired, I’ve decided to take a nap on Cindy’s shoulder.
Or, rather, I need a little coaching in how to take self-snappers.
Anyway, Cindy is author of several books, including By Willoway Brook. She doesn’t have a website, but you can do an Amazon search on her name to pull up her titles.
I lunched with L.L. Barkat, who wrote the newly released Stone Crossings (Congratulations again!), and we had a great conversation about writing and blogging.
“I wish there were some fun way to get a picture of us together that I could post on my blog,” I said, “that would still respect your privacy.”
And then, as we shifted our feet, inspiration hit her.
“I know!”
And that was the only moment during the festival that I regretted wearing my sensible walking shoes. Mine are on the left, and I can see now that they are probably far, far too sensible…scuffed…worn…a disgrace…unsightly and unstylish.
Okay, maybe they aren’t that bad.
Then again, maybe they are.
People, if you ever meet L.L. Barkat, pray that you shined your shoes that morning. This is her new thing. I ran into her later, and she said she got a nice shot of her shoes next to Ed Gilbreath’s.
I said one time that my blog might never be popular, because I’ve never once written about cute shoes.
Now that you’ve actually seen my shoes, I’m certain that I’ve just secured my mama blogosphere death sentence.
Sigh.
Any recommendations on a fairly comfortable pair of stylish black shoes I might shop for when I return home?
Here’s a shot of my new friend L., who wishes to remain unnamed, when we were sitting in an auditorium waiting for Yann Martel to speak. He’s the author of Life of Pi and maintains a blog called “What is Stephen Harper Reading.” He explains the reason for the blog and what he does here.
Then I met two charming festival attendees–Eileen Button and Nadyne Parr–at Elizabeth Berg’s lecture.
We ended up walking together to Elizabeth’s book signing, so I just stood in line with them in order to continue the conversation. I didn’t have a book of Elizabeth’s for her to sign, but I thought it might be fun to get a picture, because I was just thinking of you all so much and wanting to share everything with you. Really.
So there I was at the table, and her sweet husband said, “No flash,” because Elizabeth has an eye condition. So we turned off the flash, and Nadyne snapped this picture that will prove to the world what an intimate friendship I’ve forged with Elizabeth Berg.
You can see for yourself the rich interaction we were enjoying and what a surprising connection we made in such a short time.
Right. Well.
I had two more favorite moments. One was when I ran into a dear friend at the very end of the conference, just before heading to Katherine Paterson’s lecture. I was with Nadyne, and she snapped this picture of my happy reunion with Jim Poole.
In addition to being very tall, my friend Jim is a talented actor, video producer, and writer, but he will be most familiar to you as the voice of Scooter in the VeggieTales productions. That’s the vegetable with the Scottish brogue. We have a sing-along CD with “I Can Be Your Friend” on it, and I always jump in and sing along with Jim, imitating his accent, “Aye, that’s why we’ve got feelin’s that are verrrry (roll the “r”) much the same!”
Too bad I didn’t run into Jim sooner, as he managed to get himself known by several of the “names” at the event–he’s endearing and easy to know, so one of his new BFFs (Scott Cairns, maybe or Jeffrey Overstreet) invited him to the evening reception where all the authors were sipping colas and eating hors d’oeuvres. Before I ran into Jim, I peeked and saw them all mingling. It was a grown-up-writers’ party to which I was not invited…but…apparently Jim could have gotten me in.
Life just didn’t time out quite right, however, and I wasn’t able to nibble triangles of chicken quesadilla next to Kathleen Norris and Scott Cairns. I wouldn’t have known what to say anyway. I would have been tongue tied, and if I managed to think of something to say, I would have said it with tortilla blobs stuck in my teeth.
Memorable.
My other favorite moment happened this afternoon. Ever since I saw the comment from Monica at Paper Bridges (formerly “Books Are My Friends”) that she wished she could sit in on a session with Rob Bell, I had this idea…I wasn’t sure if I should try it. I mean, I knew it would be goofy and borderline junior-highish. I waffled.
Then I just did it.
I walked up to Rob after his session. “Hi, I’m Ann Kroeker,” I said, holding out my hand to shake his. “I really enjoyed your talk just now (he said thanks), but what I wanted to ask is a favor. A friend of mine couldn’t be here, but really wanted to see you most of all. And so I was just wondering if I could get a picture of you with this and put it on my blog.”
He grinned really big, nodded, took the piece of paper, and I snapped this:
And this, my friends, is an example not only of how to do something so memorable so that you might be remembered for your silliness, but also of why you want to make friends with a blogger. You never know when she’ll be thinking of you.
Blogger: Pursuing a Christ-centered, creative, curious, slightly quirky, slow-down life and sharing it with you, post after post. (Home of Food on Fridays).
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