I just typed ‘The End’ on the first draft.

Now I feel strangely bereft.

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I don’t need to compare myself with anyone else.

They’re not me. I’m me.

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Writing a book


It might be a teensy bit obvious that I love writing.

As a child, writing stories came easily. They didn’t have to make sense to anyone other than me. As an adult, writing a book is different. In an earlier post, I mentioned that the Day Project was undergoing an upheaval. Black Rose is going to be rewritten under a different title, and it’s going to be the second in a series.

Writing the first book is taking a fair amount of patience and a serious amount of trust and guidance. But I am seriously enjoying the process. I’ve prayed for guidance every time before writing, and every time I seem to get it.

Designing the front cover and marketing the book, however, is going to take a LOT of patience.

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Understanding Gwendolen


Two years ago (yikes) I read Daniel Deronda and was immediately caught by the character Gwendolen Harleth. She deeply intrigued me from the very first page – which was the whole point in the first place.

It was pretty easy to get a good grasp on her character in the beginning. She is beautiful (and knows it), arrogant, selfish, spoiled, vain…and for some reason, I understood her completely. I understood her frustration with Deronda and her wish to know him better, her resentment at being judged by him and longing for his approval at the same time, her desire for a better life and her uncertainty as to how to go about it. She is flawed and she’s realistic.

Maybe that’s what makes her so compelling.

I’m not sure what the fact that I identified with her says about me.

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I read once that if you really want to get a grasp of someone’s personality, just ask about their mother.

In church today, we were told to discuss amongst ourselves what might be the more ‘feminine’ qualities of God, since the Bible compares him to a mother at times. I came up with the idea that Jesus is the Lion of Judah, but in the wild it’s the lioness who cares for the cubs. She’s fierce, nurturing, protective and tender – and in nature, she’s one of the best parents out there. Sounds like God, doesn’t it?

As for my own mother…I wouldn’t change her for anyone. I’m so glad God gave her to me.

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It snowed badly where I am the week before last. My colleague and I were sent home on Wednesday morning because it would be dangerous for us if the snow continued (we get the ferry across a river to work).

There’s only so much work from home you can do.

When I walked into work on Monday, I saw the crocuses and daffodils had survived. A flower is amazingly resilient.

Now, suddenly, it’s starting to behave like spring. And it’s beautiful.

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Worlds Await


I’ve been writing since I was four or five. They were only small stories with pictures to accompany them, stories that wouldn’t have made sense to anyone else but me. As the years passed, the stories became more solid and they needed to make sense to other people. But to write, all I needed to do was imagine.

Writers can conjure amazing things with their imaginations. They create worlds for readers to wander around in and fall in love with, and even though you only spend a certain amount of time there they stay with you, and they’re always waiting for you.

All you have to do is open a book.

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