Category Archives: Books and other Soul Food

The author’s confession part 2:

She never intended to write Christian Women’s Fiction – or Christian anything. She wanted to write mainstream fiction. She wanted to be able to use some words she was not allowed to use in Christian fiction. She wanted to explore some concepts, some doubts, some gray areas that were not allowed by Christian publishers. She wanted be frank about sex and frank about challenges – to be a normal writer, not someone with an evangelistic agenda or a one-size-fits all Band-Aid. True, the writer is advised to “write what you know,” and she did know Christian women’s fiction. She grew up on it. She knew it all too well. She wanted something more. There was an emptiness. She wanted something that was not as cliché as the man always being right because he was a man, nor as trendy as being comically wrong because he was a man. She wanted a story where women were neither subservient or stupid, rebellious or dependent – unless they wanted to be -where the story didn’t end just because the heroine got married. She knew better. The troubles were only beginning when the heroine married. She also knew something about seminary life and the unrelenting grind of an impoverished marriage. So, she wrote a story about a woman married to a seminary student. By and by, she had opportunity to pitch the first five chapters to a bona fide literary agent. And the agent told her his publisher wouldn’t even look at it with a title like that. Apparently there is something inherently sinister or ghoulish about a cemetery and therefore evil or occult about the two words, “wife” and “cemetery,” coupled together. But the author didn’t feel that way. She knows it is customary to consider several title choices for a work in progress, but in this case, there was one title and only one that would work for the plot. Another agent didn’t like the timeframe crucial to the climax. She knows, how well she knows, that you must often give up the lines you most cherish in order to move forward. In this case, giving up title and timeframe is to give up the entire story. And so, she has written a very unconventional love story, chock full of scripture and seminary speak, and religious thought and tragedy and the triumph of Providence or Fate or Destiny or the Universe or God by whatever name you call him or her. And who will it offend? Only the most hard-hearted of biblical legalists; the ones who fault her for not having an agenda.

She never, never intended to write Christian Women’s Fiction

The Cemetery Wives will release on Amazon as an ebook before the end of November, 2020

The book cover will look something like this. The cover, also will be released from the artist by the end of November.

The Author’s Confession Part 1

She never intended to write children’s fiction. No. It had never occurred to her. When she first became enamored with writing (along about the eighth grade) she wrote what was in her heart. She did this via short paragraphs – expanded captions for photos. She revealed herself and her thoughts through her perspective on the photos. What were the individuals in the photos thinking? Her thoughts, of course. In high school, she wrote teenage romances. She wrote the kinds of stories she wanted to read. Mostly, she wrote stories that came from her journal – the things she dreamed would happen to her: high-school sweethearts, first and life-long love. 

Once she exited high school, writing consisted of 12-page tomes to her sister-in-law or newsletters for every company she worked for. Experts still admonished beginning writers to write what you know! Experts also recommended taking classes or workshops in writing. Going to workshops was out of the question. She was raising young children. The only course available to her was via Institute of Children’s Literature-by correspondence – snail mail. She took it. She completed assignments. She garnered both praise and criticism. She finished a children’s book. She had it printed and crudely bound and gave it to her family members for Christmas. But she never meant to write a children’s book. A few years later, she attended college. The college accepted her credits from the writing institute but they still wanted tuition – imagine that! She entered a writing contest for children’s books. In addition to publication, the grand and only prize of $10,000 would have funded her final two years of college. The publisher canceled the contest. By 2009 she had invested so much time in research and editing that she published the book independently. She believed in the content. The Pancake Cat was rereleased in 2020 with an all new cover and is receiving more than double the attention previously afforded. But she never intended to write children’s fiction.

cherryodelbergbooks.com

Wherein Life is a Beach

Let me tell you a story; Let me spin you a yarn; Let me relate how my life has been going; And you can write back and share yours!

I’ve been patient and impatient; Happy and sad; But mostly my life has been fabulous; When I remember not to dwell on the bad.

My box of books finally arrived! Originally printed in 2009, The Pancake Cat was rereleased June 24, 2020 with an all new cover featuring the artwork of Andrea Shellabarger. Four new illustrations grace the inside chapters along with content updates.

Did I say released on June 24? Though the book has been available at Amazon, Barnes Noble and Target since that date – and now even Books A Million, Indie Bound, Powell’s, and Walmart – I did not hold an actual copy in my hands until yesterday, July 31, 2020. Thirty-seven days is the embodiment of line five of that little ditty above: I’ve been patient and impatient.IMG-5595

Patient and impatient I may have been, but I have not been idle. Oh no. During that time I have been working on a fresh new professional website. It’s been coming along swimmingly – and about as fast as running through knee deep water. But then what is life if you can’t feel like you are at the beach? We all like to float away now and then. Anyway, I was running through thigh deep water, spending hours and hours with Youtube tutorials and I added Woo Commerce and opened a web store complete with T-shirts and book bags and books. I have lots of experience selling T-shirts and books so it seemed like a good idea. And then, I fell flat on the beach and was immediately buried in sand and the tide came in and washed over me. The new amateur looking web store completely over wrote the three professional looking pages I had just given six weeks of my wonderful life in the mountains to establish.

I did the only sensible thing a woman in my position can do: I took a fast-thinking hike. In fact, I took several fast thinking hikes. I slept on it for a couple nights. I contemplated retail therapy – I believe a kayak is in my future. My good health and sanity demands I get on the water. And then I called my web host and retrieved the professional pages and dismissed the new experiment. We are not completely starting over. We only have to go back a few paces.

Meanwhile, I finished an eight-minute slideshow – complete with four old hymns piano tracked by myself- for my mother’s upcoming memorial service. And then, the instructor for the virtual choir class I am taking assigned me to re-record some tracks. Apparently I am supposed to sing doot doot doot as opposed to doo doot doot – or, heaven forbid, dooT dooT dooTT.

My Dad is wondering why I don’t come see him more often now that I am retired and COVID is keeping me from a steady job.

Actually, my life is pretty fabulous when I remember to eat right, sleep right, hike, make music and let it go. How about you?

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The Grateful Victim

It was something of a miracle to wake for the ninety-sixth time with a feeling of well-being. Make no mistake; she had moments of sadness and loss – bereavement even; periods of anger and denial. But she soldiered through them like a normal person. Treated them like an acceptable result of life and death. Gone were the days of abject despond and paralyzing fear that used to seize her for no reason when everything was going well. Gone the constant feeling of victimization even in the midst of the best of times. These days gratitude is her trademark. Gratitude on waking. Gratitude on drifting off to sleep – solidly. She abides in Peace. And Love. And Creativity. She knows herself to be a victim of only one thing. She is a victim of God’s perfect timing. Yes. A victim of the unfolding of the Universe. This is not the way she chose for it to go. Her choices were snatched from her hands. All her perfect plans – and she laid many with her God-given analytical brain – were treated as nothing. She is now living in Colorado – the place she longed to be. But she didn’t get here with the pomp and circumstance and grace she intended. She was unceremoniously thrust out of hot Arizona and tossed into Durango without warning on the cusp of COVID-19. Did I say without grace? By all appearances it was not a graceful landing – it was more of an ignominious heap. But it was definitely Grace! Yes. She is a recipient of God’s perfect timing. Orchestrated by a Universe in which she is a miniscule particle. Quarantined in the mountains. Forced to not go to work for eight weeks – to not even sip from the bottle of workaholism. Forced to write and read and make music. Required to engage in no activity save those that were exactly what her soul needed. Prohibited from shopping save for health and nourishment. Absolved of any pressure to socialize the introvert within. Add to that, her mother was dying. She had known it for many months. It was no unnatural or sudden shock. The death of an aging loved one is as expected as paying taxes. These global circumstances, so negative to the entire world, again positioned her in proximity to be there the moment restrictions eased and her mother attained final peace. And for that she is eternally grateful.

There are years, years we live through without relief, where nothing happens for us. We are caught in the overwhelming mud of the flood. Bogged down in the Slough of Despond. We are not absolved from the responsibility of our own self-care nor, ironically, of the admonition to give thanks in everything. But let us not fail to acknowledge and be grateful for the miraculous when God steps in and victimizes us with a perfect plan. You can trust the Universe. Rest in that. And be grateful.IMG_4863skysteps

Thriving Solo: Read

I finished a book yesterday, stayed up late reading it actually, but was unsatisfied with the ending. Does a book have to be satisfying to be a good read? To be time well-spent? Can a poorly written book still have a satisfying ending or a great plot?
There is such a wide difference between classics and chic lit; pulp fiction and historical fiction; a gourmet meal and fast food.
So yes, let’s talk about food. What did you have to eat a moment ago? I had two small muffins and a cup of turmeric tea. Earlier, I had oatmeal – my standard, healthy, go-to breakfast for every day of the year. I don’t indulge in muffins very often, but today felt like a great day for baking – you know – cloudy and isolated. Once every few months I have a hotdog, every four or five weeks I may stop for fast food, but generally, I prefer the healthful, hearty and fresh, savory and nutritious.
My eating habits are a pretty good metaphor for my reading habits. A touch of C.S. Lewis; a dollop of Tolkien; an entrée of Jane Austen; a desert of something modern, maybe Gabrielle Zevin, or Doig or Winspear. Once in awhile I’ll snack on short stories. In between, I might pick up an indie book, or simply a cover that appeals to me or a random Christian women’s fiction book. When I find something that satisfies, I’ll look up the author and go back to her or him over and over. Something unsatisfying, on the other hand, begs to be analyzed. Why is it unsatisfying? What might the author have done differently? How would I rewrite the story? Some stories are so downright disappointing they can only serve as encouragement: If they could find a publisher, so can I. Speaking of me; here is my own intensely personal list of books worthy of a reread – over, and over and over.
Pride and Prejudice
Sense and Sensibility
Emma
Persuasion
Any thing else by Jane Austen
The Space Trilogy (Out of the Silent Planet, Perelandra, That Hideous Strength)
Till We Have Faces
Anything else by C.S. Lewis
Jane Eyre, Charlotte Brontë
The Marquis’ Secret, George MacDonald
The Storied Life of A.J. Fikry, Gabrielle Zevin
The Mapping of Love and Death, Jacqueline Winspear
The Guernsey Literary and Potato Peel Pie Society, Shaffer / Barrows
Cordelia Underwood, Van Reid
The Girl in the Glass, Susan Meissner
Those are just the re-reads, the must-have books that I cart around with me from pillar to post for times of necessity – like quarantine.
There are many, many good books out there – books I have borrowed and returned, books I have checked out from the library and returned, books I have purchased, read and passed on to someone else.
A pandemic has necessitated that we shelter in place – go ahead – indulge – READ!

Cherry Odelberg, 2015.  Photo by Kevin Decker
Cherry Odelberg, 2015. Photo by Kevin Decker

The Nature Fix

What could be better than a new book to read? The Nature Fix, by Florence Williams, has fallen into my hands. The subtitle is alluring: Why Nature Makes Us Happier, Healthier, and More Creative.

Who would not want to be happier, healthier, and more creative?

I have long felt conflicted about my love for music and my love for hiking in the great outdoors. Every piano I see; I long to play. Every beautiful nature spot I pass; I long to hike. This conflicted feeling often starts when I introduce myself – or write a bio: If there is anything that comes close to matching Cherry’s passion for music and love for her piano, it is the Colorado Rocky Mountain High that comes from hiking Colorado’s higher elevations. Or do I mean: If there is anything Cherry Odelberg enjoys more than playing piano, it is hiking in the great outdoors.

Truth is, it is hard to have one without the other for me. That’s why my favorite piano about town is in Tropic UT. It is certainly not the tuning or the condition of the piano that makes it my favorite, oh no. I have had the satisfying privilege of playing a perfectly tuned, 9-foot Steinway in a recording studio in Dallas TX. The pianos about town in Ft. Collins are well maintained and welcoming, the art murals exquisite. It is not the zebra stripe painting that draws me to the dilapidated spinet in Tropic, UT. It is the proximity of this piano. It is the fact that I can hike in Bryce Canyon and enjoy a round of piano performance all in the same morning – or afternoon.

So yes, sometimes I feel conflicted when I choose a hike over a session at the piano. But can I really have one without the other?

I am in league with musical greatness when I love the great outdoors. Beethoven is said to have hugged a linden tree. It is that same consummate composer who reflected, “The woods, the trees and the rocks give man the resonance he needs.”

Ah Beethoven, yes they do. Yes they do.

 

My Hospital, My Church and Daily Meditation

There are places in Colorado where the water comes gushing out of the igneous rock at temperatures exceeding 110 degrees. These spots were well known to the Native Coloradoans: Utes, Arapahoe. For Chief Ouray, the hot springs that issue from high in the mountains at around 8,000 feet were a known place of healing – both physical and spiritual – for decades.

Water is an amazing healing agent. Walking beside it is calming. Swimming is cooling. Soaking in a hot springs, you can absorb all the mineral nutrients and warmth Mother Nature has to offer you. And rain, yes rain washes away the things that are past, maybe things we would like to forget, and carries them on down the river.

I have only recently learned to be a water baby. A variety of factors caused me not to favor swimming in my youth. But when I returned to the high desert of Western Colorado as a middle-aged woman, my favorite get-away was Chief Ouray’s old haunt in Ouray Colorado. I would go there tired and bruised and come away healed. The vapor cave I frequented was once a hospital and it became mine – and sometimes my church – my place of spiritual renewal – because it evoked such peace and gratitude in me.

This summer-in the desert of Arizona- the temperature inside my car clocked 120 degrees. The water bottle in the console was beyond lukewarm, beyond tepid – it was hot enough to pretend I was drinking tea. During a summer like that, it is important to find a beach, walk into the water, and thereby escape the temperatures over ninety or 100, or 110. What is the use of living next to massive Lake Powell if you never venture in the water? For the hottest days of June, July and August, I went to the beach more often than not. Yet, sometimes my habitual swimming and cooling is interrupted by travel or urgent business.

I returned to the lake in the desert the other night. The last time I swam was on a weekend trip to Ouray. It had been nine days. I missed the water. It seems water is a thing I must have daily just like a walk, or meditation, or prayer.

When I was growing up we had everyday clothes and Sunday clothes; workday activities and Sunday activities.

Ouray is my Sunday place, my church. But Lake Powell is my daily maintenance. One is natural and one man made. One is Sunday best and the other is for everyday.

Wade in the Water. 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

A Hike and Write Challenge

She threw down the gauntlet in such a casual way via Facebook private message.  “Why don’t you,” she said, “Write an essay like this about our hike today?” Very well. I love to hike.  I love to write. The only problem is, the example she attached is that of a well-known uncategorical naturalist, wilderness lover and advocate. So what am I supposed to say?  “Move over Edward Abbey, I am here to write poetically about today’s hike with another great old broad – a regular rock toucher – a tree hugger – a lover of dirt in the great outdoors and fastidious, clean, professional detail indoors”

Contemporary that I am, I am no Meloy, Childs or Tempest. In fiction, I write about the philosophical struggles of relationships; girl meets boy, nefarious religion tamed, childhood injustices overcome.  Truth is, the best way to ferret out these bits of philosophical thought and what I really think is to take a hike.  Sometimes a stroll by running water, other times rigorous switchbacks on high desert boulders, and still less frequently, a hike with a friend.

I believe that there are semblances between seemingly disparate ideas if we can stand back and see a larger picture.” Terry Tempest Williams

Very well then, I whole-heartedly agree.  I take up the challenge – daily.

A Tale of Two Books

Birthdays are the best of times when your primary gifters are bibliophiles and the package arrives on your birthday.  My parents will gift me – usually money – since I am known to be picky; but my Brother and Sister-in-law, consummate gift givers, inevitably send a book – as does my cousin.

We are readers, thinkers, cerebral. We trade ideas.  Theirs are stronger. I usually lose.  Except when it is my birthday or Christmas and then I reel in the catch. Not one, but two books this year.  Two books arrived right on the day.

I opened them hastily and devoured the note. “Happy Birthday, Cherry, Signature was a pleasant surprise to me…Though science wasn’t the the focus, she (Elizabeth Gilbert) had an impressive grasp on the field….Hope the other one is good.  Women at King’s English love it.”

Almost reverently, I opened the cover of The Signature of All Things, and began reading immediately. It was my Friday, so reading irresponsibly was an option. Good thing I had flexible time, because it was a page-turner. I had to agree with my S-I-L, “It pulled me in, pushed me away, called me back…” Deftly written, with succinct word choice, I got just enough character sketch to profoundly understand the players. Fully enlightened with authentic Victorian vocabulary, social customs, sexuality, ideals and intellectual thought, the writer takes an epic anthropological and historical safari through Darwinism, abolitionism, 19th century religion, and nods forward to Freud’s eventual analysis of human relationships.

Next day I met my cousin for lunch. She handed me a gift bag commenting something about the women in her book club and reminding me I could exchange the book if I already had it. I never exchange books, I just gift them on to someone else. I knew I had not read it, but the cover looked vaguely familiar, The Storied Life of A.J. Fikry.

Back in my room I continued my mesmerizing read of Signature.  There were times I wept and times I wanted with everything in me to resist the inexorable magnetism toward penultimate redemption, to hope against hope for a relational ending different than the inevitable.  Abruptly, came a moment of suspense. Page 344 was followed by page 377.  Unannounced cliff-hanger! Idly, I toyed with the idea of turning to the second book. But this would not do.  Signature, is the type of book that stays with you, lives in your head while you go about your work and play.  Nevertheless, I unsheathed the other book. Sure enough, it was twin to the one in the gift bag from my cousin. I switched off the light and fell asleep.

For the next few days, I took a reader’s hiatus.  Summer being the busy season at work, there is not much opportunity for reading once you allow for overtime.

Following work one evening, I grabbed a quick dinner to go and stopped at Barnes Noble intending to find and read the missing 33 pages. There on the bargain shelf – for under $6.00 – was the book I sought. Hearing my story of missing pages, the clerk surmised that was the reason for the crate of hasty discounts.  We checked the pages.  Intact. What is the harm in purchasing a duplicate book? Already, I knew it to be the most well-written book of the decade – though not my favorite.

And that is how there came to be duplicates of two very good reads on my nightstand.
And that is how there came to be duplicates of two very good reads on my nightstand.

Yesterday was a holiday. I opened The Storied Life of A.J. Fikry at 5:00 pm.  I closed it at 11:15 pm.  I am not sorry I own two copies.  One will go on loan immediately.

Have you read these two books?  You should.  Immediately. Which shall I loan you first?

 

Ebony and Ivory -Confiding in the keys

I got a bit historical at the piano the other night.  My roommate, who was baking muffins in the open kitchen just above me, got a glimpse into my very heart, soul and spiritual journey in that moment – ‘tho she may not know it.

Rather than rehearsing through my usual repertoire of folk and pop, performed predominately at nursing homes, I let memory and experiment have free expression.  Using all 88 keys and liberal glissandos, I took my childhood musical memories on a tour into adulthood. I dredged up Sunday school songs, folk songs and a smattering of top 40 – mostly things I had never tried to improvise before.  What came out?

Dormant feelings. Repressed pain and joy. Snippets and pieces, long forgotten and now ruminated on.  Thankfully, my roommate loves piano and overlooks the imperfections – especially when we are both doing common ordinary utilitarian things like baking and practicing.

She hummed along and danced about her work.  We share the same birth year and a similar religious upbringing so most of the melodies were familiar to her. She did, however, pause for a chuckle when I came flourishing down from a rollicking “Do Lord” to a sultry “Imagine.”

No one.  No one knows me so well as my piano. Every now and then my soul is laid bare and then healed – comforted. 30 minutes spent on a wooden bench addressing 88 keys yields more self-awareness than an hour with a therapist who knows me not.