Do I remember the exact day I started writing?
Of course, not.
Probably because I was so young and I “started” by dictating nonsensical stories to my parents for them to write down until their fingers fell off (not literally).
But I do remember the first “book” that I wrote. My cousin was over for the day and he decided to write a book, so, of course, I had to do the same. (We were about ten/eleven at the time.) My “book” (quotation marks used because the application of the word book to the jumble of words that I wrote is highly subjective 😂) was about two kids thrown back in time. Now, my love of time travel has only increased as time as gone on and that particular story went through MAJOR revisions for a number of years before I finally retired it (
*cough* for now *cough*), but it was about as sophisticated as a Colorado Potato Beetle.
Writing has always been a necessary creative outlet for me. The need to create something – anything – builds up and must be plugged in and drained every so often. Over time, I have needed to find other outlets as well, like other writing forms and video editing.
But, oftentimes, the road leads back to writing. I don’t consider myself a “writer” before anything else. But I love it. I don’t plan to ever become a full-time writer. But I believe I will always write.
To that end, I want to share a little snippet from my upcoming (yes, it’s still coming 🤪) novel, Promised Land. This is a sweet conversation between my MC Talia and her little sister near the beginning of the book.
“Talia?” Fraeda asked without looking up from her skillful knitting. “Tell me the promised land story.”
I had to smile. “You’ve heard that story a hundred times.”
“I want to hear it again.”
I placed the kettle on a hook at the inside edge of the fireplace. Its silver reflected the flames. “A long time ago, Adonai led His people away from a cruel king and into the beautiful land He had for them.”
“A land of milk and honey,” Fraeda finished wistfully. “Talia . . . are we poor?”
“Whatever makes you say a thing like that?”
“Mother said the family she came from was rich. Her father was in business for himself. What did she mean?”
“Mother’s family had more money than we ever have. But that doesn’t make them rich.”
I sat back in my chair. I had to explain this correctly to her – the way Mother would. “Fraeda, if our father had lots and lots of money to spare, if he could own this whole mountain with it, do you think he would live any differently than he does right now?”
She seemed to ponder this for a while. “No. But if we had all that money, couldn’t we buy windows? The pretty glass ones Mother always wanted?”
My throat felt tight. “Yes.”
“But just ’cause we can’t have windows, it doesn’t make us poor?”
“No, Fraeda. There’s poor in money, and there’s poor in spirit. And our father has a generous and caring spirit.”
Fraeda brightened suddenly. “So if Papa would stay in the Barton Mountains even if he was rich, does that mean the mountain is our promised land?”
I clasped her hand in mine. “One of Adonai’s greatest promises is that we can live an abundant life. And these mountains are abundant enough for the lot of us.”
“So they’re just like the promised land?”
I wasn’t sure Adonai’s promised land had blizzards. “Maybe.”
There you have it! Let me know what you think. (Honestly.) 😉