Arkansas (You Run Deep In Me)

by Robison Wells

I'm leaving in a few moments to head to The Natural State, The Land of Opportunity, The Bear State, The Wonder State, and The Razorback State. What's that you say? How could I be visiting all of those states at once? Because they're all the same magical place! I know!

Here are some clues: the state beverage is milk, the state musical instrument is the fiddle, the state soil is the Stuttgart Soil Series, and the South Arkansas Vine Ripe Pink Tomato is both the state fruit and state vegetable! I know!

Anyway, I don't have time to blog today, because I'm apparently doing something very important that won't let me pause for five minutes to write a decent blog. So, instead, here's a song from the Broadway musical Big River:

Arkansas, Arkansas
I lust love ole Arkansas
Love my ma, love my pa
But I just love ole Arkansas
Well, I ain't never traveled much
But someday when the money's such
I'd like to see the world and all
And take a run through Arkansas

I'd like to get my picture took
And put in it my memory book
And someday hang it on my wall
To say that I'd seen Arkansas

Arkansas, Arkansas
I lust love ole Arkansas
Love my ma, love my pa
But I just love ole Arkansas

Grandpa he has always good
I'd play horsey on his foot
He'd tell me when I'd get tall
We'd both go see Arkansas
Arkansas, Arkansas
I lust love ole Arkansas
Love my ma, love my pa
But I just love ole Arkansas

Arkansas, Arkansas
I lust love ole Arkansas
Love my ma, love my pa
But I just love ole Arkansas
I just love ole Arkansas

I'll be back next week. Or will I?

Storm Clouds

Yesterday, I was having a conversation with a friend about silver linings. With the economy the way it is, book sales—along with almost all other sales—taking a beating, and lots of gloom and doom on the news, it’s easy to get depressed and start thinking that this is a crazy time to publish a book, or write a new manuscript, or look for a job, or whatever it is that you know you should be doing, but feel too down to even try. We both agreed that in retrospect, some of our best opportunities came as the silver lining on otherwise dark stormy clouds.

I guess the timing of the conversation was pretty appropriate, because today, about an hour after I came into work, my boss entered my office and closed the door. We chatted for a few minutes about how he wasn’t feeling too great, and stress of the economy, etc. Finally, he kind of sat back in his chair, and said, “I didn’t come here to talk about me.”

Ahhhh. Suddenly the dime dropped. This was that conversation. I have to admit, I was not expecting this at all. We’d just had layoffs, and the management assured us they were the only layoffs planned. Apparently this was not planned. (Hey, I know how that goes. In fact a couple of our best kids were . . .) Anyway, back to my point. He was coming in to tell me that I was being let go the end of this week.

I guess he was surprised that I wasn’t angry, or didn’t burst into tears or something, because after I told him I understood, he said, “Wow. You’re taking this a lot better than I am.” In fact I’m pretty sure he thought someone had given me advance notice. They hadn’t. And I admit, it took me a while to digest the information. But the thing is, what’s the point in getting upset? They have their business to run. I have my business to run. Hopefully the two are in sync. But sometimes they aren’t. And when they aren’t, one of us has to make a change. That’s what they were doing.

After letting my sales team know about the change, I took the rest of the afternoon off to get my thoughts together. I called my wife, and said, “Well, Honey, the good news is, I have a lot more time to write.” She picked up on that pretty quick.

Once we talked things out, we realized this might be one of those blessings in disguise. The good news is that over the last couple of months we’ve paid off both of our cars and all of our credit cards. Only a week ago, we finished refinancing our house. And we’ve got a little money in the bank, which hasn’t always been the case. And I get my first royalty on Farworld in January. So we aren’t going to starve any time soon.

But even more than that. I’ve really felt for the last few months like I needed to spend more time on my writing, and marketing my books. Yes the economy is tough, but as I wrote about a few weeks back, people are still buying books. They are being more picky, but they are still buying. I just need to make sure that it is my books they are buying. I also have several projects I need to finish up. Farworld Book Two of course. But also a regional mystery series I write, that I am far overdue on. I also have a couple of other projects I’m really excited about. One about a boy who gets turned into a zombie and another about a boy who is afraid of everything, who discovers he is a facilitator—a person who talks monsters out of their fears.

When I first got home, my stomach was still a little in knots. But the more my wonderful wife and I talked, the more we realized that we may have been pushed out the door a little sooner than we planned, but this is what we’ve both wanted to do. At least for the next few months, I will be a fulltime writer. I will be able to focus on nothing but writing and marketing. I can do what I love, and get paid for it. Will it last? I probably won’t know that until sometime around late January. At that point, if I have to go back to work for a while longer I will. But rather than stress, I plan on enjoying the next couple of months. If things work out, I am a fulltime writer as of this Saturday. But even if they don’t, I am still a fulltime writer as of this Saturday. I may just have to take a little break from being a full time writer, later in the year.

So here are just a few of the things I plan on enjoying during that time. Eight plus hours of writing, without feeling like I am neglecting my family, my job, or my yard. (Thank goodness for snow.) Speaking of snow; watching the snow fall without worrying about how bad it will be to drive to work in it. And for that matter driving an hour and back to work every day. Responding to e-mails and postings from my friends and readers the same day. Finishing writing two books and getting well into a third by Christmas. Being here when my boys come home from school. Enjoying my daughter’s plans for getting married in the spring. And finally, doing what I want to do. Not what someone else wants me to do.

I guess when my boss asked me why I didn’t look more upset when he told me I was being fired, I should have answered. “Monday, you’ll be driving to a job. Monday, I’ll be doing one of the things I love most in the world. Thanks!”

Thanks goodness for dark clouds, and the silver linings that come with them.

Comparing Yourself to Others

by Sariah S. Wilson

Unless you're some sort of highly evolved person (or, on the flip side, a complete egomaniac), the likelihood exists that you've compared yourself with someone else.

And most likely you somehow came up short.

I find this to be particularly true among LDS women - Sister Clean has a perfect, immaculate home, Sister Children has the most well-behaved kids, Sister President is the best leader ever and so inspiring!

It is a natural tendency to admire/envy traits in others that we do not necessarily possess.

Even those who stood in the presence of the Savior couldn't help but compare themselves to those around them. Peter seemed to wonder a bit jealously why John would get to stay until the Lord returned and Peter wouldn't.

And as I'm in the midst of preparing my Sunday School lesson for tomorrow and I'm reading 3 Nephi 28, for the first time it sort of hit me how a comparison seemed to happen there. The nine disciples ask the Lord if they can return to heaven speedily after finishing their work. The Lord grants them this request, and as a bonus, tells them the age that they will die. (Which on a side note, I've been wondering how this would affect my life if I knew the exact age that I would die. How would that alter/not alter my choices? Would I feel hopeless or would I feel that I needed to hurry and get everything done before the end? Knowing myself it would most likely be procrastination until the end, which is probably part of the reason why the Lord doesn't tell me.)

The three disciples that are left "durst not" tell the Lord what they want. They feel sorrow for their desires.

Why? Is it because they heard the requests of the disciples who went before them and then felt that their request somehow paled in comparison? Where the other disciples wanted to speedily return to their Savior, these three wanted to delay being reunited with Him?

The problem is that when you're dealing with an omniscient being, there's not really such a thing as keeping something secret.

The Lord praises their desire, and even calls them "more blessed." I wonder if they felt a little silly at that point for not speaking up, if they felt foolish for harboring whatever thoughts made them secretly sorrow.

The things I've noticed when you compare yourself to someone else is that nine times out of ten, you compare their strengths to your weakness. People don't typically say, "Brother Presentation is a great speaker, but I'm a pretty good writer." Instead you say, "Brother Presentation is a great speaker, and I'm so terrible at giving talks. I hate having to follow him because I feel so stupid!"

I don't know if it's an issue of humility, that we fear becoming too prideful in acknowledging our talents and accomplishments, or if it is a modesty issue, or whether it's the belief that since we're continually progressing and should always be striving, even our best is never good enough.

So, I'm here to say stop it. Just stop it. There will always be people better than you at things, but you know what? There will always be people who are worse at those same things than you are.

When you find yourself throwing a pity party and saying, "I'll never be as good as..." You're probably right. But so what? Nobody's asking you to be like anybody else. We've only been asked to be our best possible selves. Whatever or whoever that may be, and it's up to us to figure that out.

I mean, I highly doubt you'll be getting your judgment and the Lord's going to sigh and say, "Too bad you didn't keep your house as well as Sister Clean. I know you kept the commandments and did service and went to church and tried to live the best life you could, but you just didn't measure up in that house cleaning thing. Sorry."

You only have to worry about being the best you.

I Fear I'm Going, Going, Gone

by Kerry Blair

There are things about this Church the missionaries don’t tell you. This is a good thing.

Oh, sure, they’ll tell you everything they know about the Plan of Salvation. They’ll recite Joseph Smith’s first prayer by heart—and maybe even sing a few bars if you happen to get a BYU music major like I did. You’ll be fully informed of the importance of tithing, and exhorted to give up iced tea and an over-abundance of red meat. But ask them just how many meetings a ward Young Women’s president attends and they’ll suddenly remember a pressing engagement on the other side of town.

There are some things it is better not to know before baptism.

I knew nothing. When I joined the LDS Church as a young adult, I was the only member in my extended family, the only member in my circle of friends, the only member on my block. In fact, I could name exactly one Latter-day Saint—and that was Donny Osmond. Perhaps if I’d moved a little slower, investigated a little more, and taken time to observe Mormons in their natural habitat, I might have thought to look before I leaped into the font. Alas, the testimony was there. All I lacked was any knowledge whatsoever of what I was getting myself into.

Does anybody else ever wonder what Methodists do with all their free time? I try not to dwell on this overmuch, but it has occurred to me that being LDS is as exhausting as it is exhilarating. While the gospel of Jesus Christ is simple, some of us manage to magnify our “discipleships” all out of proportion.

By “some of us” I mean me.

I figure that since joining the Church I have spent fifty full days of my life writing scripts and making costumes for various ward and stake productions. (Oh, wait! Fifty days would only be 1200 hours. You’d better double that number; square it to be sure.) I’ve spent eight or nine days putting up and/or taking down folding tables and chairs. I’ve made enough funeral potatoes and baked enough rolls to invite a small third-world country to a sit-down dinner. If you took all the yarn I’ve used to tie quilts, weave hats, and teach Beehives to crochet and stretched it out while walking backwards . . . I have no idea how far you’d get, but it wouldn’t surprise me at all if you ended up back where you started—at least once.

I try not to dwell upon how important any of those things will be in the grand, eternal scheme of things. Rather, I keep pressing on because . . . well . . . I figure that if you can’t do great things, you should at least try to do the mundane things with great dedication. Right now, the black hole into which I am casting every spare minute of my mortality is a quest to bring to pass Apostle Orson F. Whitney’s prophesy regarding great literature by members of the Church. No, I’m not writing it! (I tried that once and it didn’t exactly work out for me.) I’ve turned my attention instead to encouraging and supporting the rest of you in your quests. (And I mean you, Julie Coulter Bellon!) Specifically, I am trying to run the online Whitney Benefit Auction.

Like baptism, this was my idea. Once again, I had no idea what I was getting myself into. Let’s just say that if I took all of that aforementioned yarn and used it to lash together all of those aforementioned chairs to build a tower from which Robison Wells (in the regrettable absence of Elder Whitney) could preach, it would be easier—and certainly more eye-catching—than this auction.

Where is everybody? We should be doing way better than we are. We’ve got incredible stuff: Autographed books and gifts, valuable editing packages going for a song, designer clothing, home decorating accents, silk ties, massages, handcrafted note cards, food items, fine art, gorgeous jewelry, book publishing packages, children’s clothing, a family photo shoot, and much, much, much, much more. (We have, in fact, several things you can't buy anywhere else.) Fortunately, we have several loyal customers for whom I’m eternally grateful. But, people, Deb and Stephanie can’t buy it all! (Although they do seem rather determined to prove me wrong.)

If you haven’t seen the site lately, you haven’t seen it at all. Several auctions are ending very soon, so I put up more than a dozen new items and services yesterday. I’m putting up a dozen more today—including my own packages of baseball tickets, Hopi jewelry, prickly pear jelly, and an Official Nightshade Ghost-Hunting Kit. (Just where else do you think you’re going to find that?)

So . . . yes, you caught me. For the third or fourth time, my Friday blog is nothing more than a thinly-disguised ad for the Whitney Auction. There are two Fridays left in the month, but I’ll make you a deal—you all go bid your little hearts out for a very, very worthwhile cause, and I’ll promise to change the subject next week. If you’re really good, (and we raise at least $500 this week) I could probably even come up with a celebrity guest blogger!

I'm Not A Writer Anymore

by Julie Coulter Bellon

A few days ago I was sitting on my couch with my baby who was looking up at the ceiling as if she were fascinated by something there. My cat joined us and she also looked up at the ceiling like there was something really cool up there. Since everyone was looking up at the ceiling, I looked up, too, but I didn’t see anything fascinating or cool. Somehow I was missing it.

That is what is happening in my writing life as well, unfortunately. I submitted a manuscript in March of this year and was really excited about it. It was the story of Tyler, one of the characters in my book All’s Fair, and the events that happen to him while he is in Paris. I loved the story and was anxious to see the follow up to All’s Fair out there. Unfortunately, the committee at my publishing company wasn’t as excited about some aspects of the story and asked me to do a rewrite.

Thankfully it wasn’t a rejection and I didn’t mind doing a rewrite, but the truth is, I submitted the rewrite and they came back with the same thing—an offer of another rewrite. I’ve been offered a rewrite four times if I am counting correctly. It’s like the ceiling. I’m just not seeing what they are or are not seeing.

The problem seems to be the middle of my manuscript. Apparently, everyone loves the beginning and the end, but somehow feel the middle isn’t as great. So I reworked it and reworked it, took suggestions, sent it out to more people that I know who could critique it and help me see what I wasn’t seeing, and then I reworked it again. My reworking twisted the manuscript into a pretzel, but I still liked the story and thought it was good. But guess what? I was offered another rewrite.

So I’m not a writer anymore. I think I’ve officially become a RE-writer.

Being a re-writer is different than being a writer. Parts of it are easier because you have a skeleton of words and plot to work with, but you have to make sure that any changes you make also flow with what is originally there. For instance, I can’t have my main character suddenly understanding all the French that is being spoken around him during a pivotal scene, when in the beginning I mentioned that his French is pretty rusty. Re-writers also have to be careful not to gloss over things that they think they’ve written, but may not really be there because rewriters often forget what has been written and what hasn’t been written, especially when multiple rewrites have been done. But the other problem that re-writers fall into is re-writing the manuscript/scene/characters to death. Re-writers can tweak and fix and manipulate all day, but this is my question---when does a re-writer know that the manuscript is just beyond fixing and should be put to rest, if you know what I mean? At what point are you so sick of the story and the characters and rewriting their story, do you just say enough is enough? I mean, at this point I’ve read that story a good thousand or more times and I’m just not seeing my own mistakes anymore.

It’s like that darned ceiling. I’m looking at it, but not seeing anything.

So do I send it out to more people to help me see the light? Or do I just give up and move on to the next project and chalk up the hundreds of work hours I’ve spent on this as a life lesson? Do I just keep going on forever stuck in a rewrite rut?

Maybe I should look at that ceiling some more before I decide if I truly am a writer or am destined to be a re-writer. I’m obviously either not looking in the right place or I’m not looking hard enough. And I’m open to suggestions if you have any. (For my writing dilemma or for seeing the cool and fascinating thing on my ceiling that everyone can see but me.)

Naming the Baby

by Stephanie Black

When it comes to choosing titles, publishers have the final say. This is fine with me, for a couple of reasons. First, I sometimes have a hard time coming up with even a decent working title for a manuscript. Second, my publisher, Covenant Communications, is generally excellent at titles, so I have a great deal of confidence in them. It’s exciting to wonder what the title of a new book will be. I think the title committee must have magical powers. I look at the excellent titles they come up with and think, “How do they do that?” Maybe I have a very mundane (the word of the week, right, Jeff?) brain when it comes to brainstorming titles. I can think of words or phrases that have to do with the story, but my brain doesn’t often take flight into cleverness or catchiness. (Though I’d like to report that I suggested “Got oil?” as a catchy phrase to write on the invitations to our upcoming Young Women in Excellence meeting, where the Parable of the Ten Virgins will be a focus. Cute, huh? Okay, so maybe it sounds like a slogan for Jiffy Lube, but I’m still kind of pleased with myself).

A good title is a delightful thing. A couple of titles I find particularly effective are the titles of Kerry Blair's Samantha Shade mysteries--Mummy’s the Word and Ghost of a Chance. So fun, and so perfect for the fresh, clever mysteries they represent. I think Sonia O’Brien’s new release, Epicenter, has a good title. It's punchy. Suspenseful. Betsy Brannon Green’s Above and Beyond--great follow-up title to the first book in the series, Hazardous Duty. Gregg Luke’s Do No Harm—great title for a medical thriller. James Dashner’s 13th Reality: Journal of Curious Letters. Intriguing title for a youth fantasy novel. Josi Kilpack’s Her Good Name—that has a nice ring to it.

Some titles make the genre or topic of the book very clear. If you see a title like The Cereal Murders or Dying for Chocolate (both mysteries by Diane Mott Davidson) and you can pretty well guess that these are light mysteries involving food. Anna Buttimore Jones’ Easterfield--can't you just see the women in 19th century dress and taste the romance in the air?

Some titles don't make genre quite as clear--unless you see the cover of the book or the name of the author. The titles Let Me Call You Sweetheart or Loves Music, Loves to Dance aren’t exactly dripping menace—until you see Mary Higgins Clark’s name on the cover, and words that would have been friendly and fun in any other context instantly become creepy. Stephen King’s publisher could call one of his books Puppies and Sunshine and everyone would shudder (what’s going to happen to those poor puppies?).

I was excited to hear from my editor about the title they are considering for my new manuscript. I already figured they wouldn’t go with the working title, Picture Perfect (thanks again, Melanie J.!) since when I was up at Seagull Book not too long ago, what should I see on the bookstore shelf but a book Covenant published a while back entitled . . . Picture Perfect. Instead, it looks like the title will be The Devil You Know. I'm happy. I find the title pleasingly creepy, which suits the book (though I would like to assure romance fans that this book does have kissing in it :)

Fui Vakapuna, Where Art Thou?

by Robison Wells

Erin and I went to the BYU-San Diego State football game on Saturday, and it was a bittersweet event. It was the final home game of the season, which also means that it was the final BYU game that we'll ever attend as students. (Unless I decide to come back for a PhD, which would cause my wife to shoot me in the head. So, probably no football then, either.)

Way back in the day--probably seven years ago--we had season tickets in the alumni section, which was nice because we didn't have to stand up the entire game, but also sad because we had to sit with grumpy old people. These were the kinds of folks who are best described as codgers and coots, and who were still leery of that upstart kid Lavell Edwards and wished we could go back to the good old days of Tommy Hudspeth. The old man sitting behind us would refer to all the players by their first names, and generally leave the game during the third quarter, regardless of the score, so he could beat traffic. But, at least we got to sit down.

Now we're in the student section, which is considerably louder, and considerably standier, and with considerably more flirting going on. And, you can rest assured that when you're surrounded by a bunch of freshmen who are hepped up on adrenalin, testosterone, and face paint, the flirting isn't exactly romantic.

The guys who sit behind us certainly aren't in any danger of romance, however. It's a trio of nerds (that's a technical term) who are skinny and pasty and probably have gained all their knowledge of sports from John Madden Football on the Super Nintendo. (Not the new version, but the old 1988 version, where there were only six players on the field, and they all looked like little yellow blobs.) These guys have provided us with color commentary for the entire season, and Erin and I have been growing progressively more amused.

The conversations between these guys have three major themes: first, everything that happens in the game was a major failure on the part of BYU. If BYU runs the ball up the middle, the Trio will angrily complain that they should have passed. If BYU passed, then they should have run. Even if BYU threw a long pass and got fifty yards on the play, the Trio will indignantly declare that if BYU players knew how to actually make a block or break a tackle, they'd have gotten a touchdown. In other words, the Trio is a trio of idiocy.

The second major topic of conversation is the runningback Fui Vakapuna--specifically, how every play would be better if Fui was involved. (For those of you who are unaware, Fui was a star during his sophomore year, consistently being awesome until he hurt his ankle. But, for the last couple years, he's been second string, and he's kind of sucked.) But, to listen to the Trio, Fui should touch the ball on every play.

Third, the Trio thinks that they could do everything better, and often discuss how much they'd like to be on the coaching staff. (Because pasty, sun-starved nerds make great football coaches?)

So, this last week's game was against San Diego, which was a team no one was really concerned about, and the crowd was considerably quieter than usual. Consequently, we could hear every moronic word uttered by the Trio--and we discovered that they were even funnier than we had previously thought.

For crying out loud, the BAND came on at halftime, and the Trio complained that the BAND wasn't any good. And the band was even catering to nerds! They played music from video games, even forming a field-wide tetris game, with groups of band members acting as falling pieces. And the Trio still hated it!

"Maybe if they'd played the soundtrack to DragonForce," said Nerd A. "Then I'd have some respect for them."

"No doubt," said Nerd B.

Anyway, the band finished up with a tribute to Guitar Hero, and they had a guy come out and play electric guitar. The Trio declared: "Listen to that--he's not even playing it clean!"

Erin leaned over to me and said "Fui could have played it clean."

Then we exchanged a solemn look, taking in the gravity of the situation. One day, Fui will save us all.