Monthly Archives: November 2020

Books and other Soul Food, Character, Fiction is Truth, Goals and Dreams, Write

The author’s confession part 2:

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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.

Books and other Soul Food, Goals and Dreams, Uncategorized, Write

The Author’s Confession Part 1

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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

Character, Emotional Health, Goals and Dreams, Health and Long Life, Hiking and outdoor beauty, Metaphor, River, Spiritual Well Being

River Reprise

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When the Universe speaks, I try to listen. Winter cometh. I offer this reprise:

A Trickle or a Flood, June 7, 2016 She sat on the banks of the muddy San Juan, in the shadow of a bighorn sculpture and watched the river roll away lazily to the Southwest. It made her long for the beach. That is where the river was headed, after all – to join the mighty Colorado at Lake Powell and finally empty into the Pacific Ocean.

But she knew something the river did not yet know; it would never make it to the ocean. It was headed for the beach, but along the way destined to recreate, irrigate, hydrate, relax and refresh millions of people. Somewhere, 50 miles or so short of the Gulf of California, the river would trickle to a stop.

So she pondered this truncation, this travesty, this unavoidable change of plans people foisted on the river and she asked herself, “How are you doing on your own bucket list? Are you headed for the beach? And whether you ever make it to the beach, will you restore and refresh and recreate and relax? How much of you will be absorbed and diverted into the schemes and needs of others? How much of the landscape of your life will you beautify along the way?”

Live. Love. Laugh. Learn. You do not know if your end will be part of a cataclysmic flood or simply trickle away.

San Juan River, Bluff Utah, May 2016

Emotional Health, Health and Long Life

Paddle Your own canoe

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Paddle your own canoe

Goodness knows, the saying and phrase paddle your own canoe has been around a long time. Probably ever since man first hollowed out a log to float upon the water. We are each responsible for our own journey although it is nice to share the load with a partner, a team, a family. Another important thing to remember is not to put your oar in other people’s business. So yes, paddle your own canoe, chart your own course; row, row, row, your boat gently up the stream.

And that is exactly what she did. She launched her kayak for the grand finale float of the season and she paddled upstream. Upstream – even when the river has dwindled to the breadth of a creek – requires that you paddle constantly. No need to paddle frantically, power paddle, or exercise a stoic focus. A gentle stroke is all you need, but you must be consistent and regular. The moment you rest your paddle to fish for your phone, camera or water bottle you will begin a lazy 180 degree turn, a drift toward the riverbank, or a sideways bob down the river.

She moved gently, consistently, without urgency and without pause up the river. An hour took her through four miles of lazy river meanders that equaled 2 miles of straight roadway. Not another soul was on the water. She passed by a preserve trail peopled only by a toddler who pointed and a dad that waved. The Oxbow Preserve Park sported a new boat ramp and a beach empty but for the socially distanced middle-aged couple and their bandanaed dog. The canine seemed eager to be an uninvited passenger so she moved farther toward the other side of the river to appear less attractive. She did not hello them. Bounded on both sides by private property riverbanks she saw two swaybacked horses out to pasture, seven geese a laying that followed her from sand bar to the next sandbar, heckling. From somewhere in the lingering golden leaves of fall she heard the piercing call of a hawk.  Even in a state of near relaxation she learned things. Mesmerized by the autumn beauty, she yet absorbed what the river had to teach.

You will move faster if you launch into the deep. Caution may keep you in shallow water. Nevertheless, choose the deep waters. It is tough going in shallow water. You make less progress in the shallow – even paddling upstream. And it is not one bit safer.

In a meandering river, the laminar will take you only a few yards. No matter where you catch the downward current you cannot rely long term on the energy of someone else. 

If you should get stuck on a sandbar, don’t hesitate to rock the boat – a little or a lot – to get back out where you need to go. 

Have a plan for loading and unloading your vessel. If you look like you know what you are doing, you will attract less outside advice and interference. 

So yes, paddle your own canoe through life. And when it is time to cease paddling for the winter and put the vessel away – keep putting one foot in front of the other, and remember the lessons learned from the last kayak trip of the season.

Emotional Health, Goals and Dreams, Music and Theatre, Spiritual Well Being

The covert bassist

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The Covert Bassist

So. I’ve been learning to pay the bass – for about eight months. No amp. No teacher. Just reading the books and the notes and learning. She is home now. Home from six months of backpacking and back country rangering and so the dance of living in a music house begins again.

I wait until she goes off to noontime martial arts class before I practice my vocal exercises because I don’t want to scream her ears off and I am trying to break through that barrier, to give it more, to be a better, stronger vocalist than I have ever been before. I play piano in the evenings. Often with the door ajar. Piano I have under my belt so it is a good thing to share with the neighbors; not so my siren wailing. Once the door is closed, I woodshed on the guitar. Anytime of day I can play the bass because I don’t have an amp. So really, I can’t play the bass when someone else – like the off-season ranger – is playing mandolin and singing at performance pitch. Actually, who would want to practice bass anyway when you can listen to such heartfelt and talented protest folk tunes coming from the other room. 

Let’s rethink that. Who wouldn’t want to play along to such anthems? Mandolin. Voice. The only logical complement to the sound is bass. Preferably upright bass. But here I am – the mom in the other room with a horizontal bass and no amp. An aspiring bassist who can’t help but move toward the music. So, I head to the kitchen. Two walls and the thickness of a closet between us. 

When she plays, I play. When she falls silent, I fall silent. But I am cloistered around the corner in the kitchen and she doesn’t even know I am there. When she stops to ferret out the next gem of a lyric, I hold my peace. I look around the kitchen to see what is at hand to occupy my time. Sadly, what is at hand is carob chips, a cask of peanut butter, bags of corn chips, a plethora of natural snacks. I’m going to have to move to the other room and confess before I gain 20 pounds. While there’s not too much unusual or interesting about a mom hiding in the pantry and eating herself into obesity; and there may be a little something romantic about a covert bassist; it’s probably time to come out of the closet. I’ve ordered an amp. That way I can plug in the headphones and no one will ever know.