An upright piano stood in the front room of our house our whole growing up years. All five kids plunked away on the ivories every once in a while.

One afternoon my littlest sister called us all in to listen to a song she claimed to have invented. At the end of her tune my mother lavished her with applause. Possessed with a sense of duty I informed my sister of the truth she needed to embrace.

“All the songs that have ever been written are all the songs that will ever be written. There are no new songs. That what you just played has probably already been invented by someone else before.”

She began to cry. My mother began to scold.

“That is not true, Angie! New songs are written all the time.”

Knowing the pattern in our home I was most likely made to apologize. If it be necessary, I will apologize again. What a simply stupid thing to say!

Since that display of mean spirited inferiority I have thought about those words.

Depending on the emphasis this phrase can mean very different things.

Every song has been written.

First, on hearing this you could think, “There are no new songs to be written.”

If you hear it differently you could derive from that statement, “All songs have been written in some form: be it on paper, on a vinyl record, on a tape, or simply on the heart.”

When I think that there are millions of books in existence I could defer to the inferiority of yesteryear and talk myself out of writing all together. On the flip side I could embrace the truth that since millions of books have been written and millions of books are yet to be written then I can be a part of those. Why can’t my writings be published alongside the piles of papers yet to be printed?

That is my motivation for writing.

Thank you, Shawn, for inventing your sweet little song and singing in spite of your bullying big sister. You are beautiful!

Jaime Guerrero of Spain was one tough warrior. He was the son of a whore; Señor Guillermo Guerrero was his father. Meanwhile Guillermo’s legal wife had given him other sons, and when they grew up, his wife’s sons threw Jaime out. They told him: “You’re not getting any of our family inheritance—you’re the son of another woman.” So Jaime fled from his brothers and went to live in Portugal. Some riffraff joined him and went around with him.

Have you read the above bible story before? What? Bible story? You ask. Oh yes, the names have been changed as well as the locations, yet relatively same in distance as the original. They story line was untouched.

This is a doctored up cut and paste job from the Message translation (Judges 11). The concept is true to the Hebrew from whence it first was transcribed.

This is not the only instance of earthy adultery seen in the pages of the Bible. On this same page where our tale of “Jaime” is found there is bloodshed, polygamy, human sacrifice, and more sexual sin. We also see the guidance of God, His mercy and people who are wholeheartedly dedicated to His will.

The bible is a fascinating book. When we slow down and really think about the whole situation in any given portion we find true humanity alongside sovereign divinity. People have been people since Adam. Not much in our nature has changed.

As a writer I have been grappling with a question of content. It would seem that nothing is hidden in the stories of the bible heroes. Noah got drunk. David slept around and committed premeditated murder. Peter was a turn coat. The list could go on. As a storyteller, mainly in the fiction realm, how does this affect me? My question is:

As a Christian writer what licence do I have in the themes I choose to include in my stories?

For much of my younger life I was a gullible literalist. Things were very black and white. It thrilled me to be able to proclaim fearlessly and foolishly things as “right” and “wrong”. As the hairs on my head have started to gray I have begun to see the beauty in the shades of life lying in the in-between. I have to fight the urge to slap labels on things, especially in the very public creative expression arena.  There is truth to the notion that some things are neither “right” nor “wrong”, per se.

When I read this part of scripture my thoughts went to the characters in the novel I wrote last year. One of the main themes is teenage pregnancy out of wedlock. A twinge in my gut said that this topic is taboo for a Christian writer. Yet there are also elaborate lies and disobedience to parents. Where does one draw the line?

By telling a story true to human nature I do not feel as though I am being irreverent. What are your thoughts on this topic?

Once or twice a year the aunts would gather to finish a quilt and start a new one. It was the quilting weekend. It was magic. For years the cousins were banned from attending. We only wondered what happened when those ladies met as we saw the sewing machine carefully set into the back of the mini-van next to a grocery bag full of yummy snacks. If there were good-bye tears on our chubby kid faces they were brief and wiped away in hopes of much pizza from dad.

Years passed in curiosity.

Then the talk came. My mom asked me if I wanted to go to the quilting weekend. Could all of my adolescent begging have changed their minds? I tried to maintain my composure knowing it was beneath my teenage pride to squeal in sheer delight. I tried. I failed. The extatic jumping up and down accompanied by fast claps, big eyes and a toothy-braces grin was unmatched. Wait a moment, though. There was a catch. Too good to be true; I knew it. My mother told me I could come to the quilting weekend if I promised to one day write a book about it. Head cocked my eyes went to the side in ponderment of the task. Yes, I promised I would do it.

My mom, Jill, at the end of 2009

This time the quilting weekend was going to be at my aunt’s house in Iowa. They took turns. I found out that cooking was an activity that was prohibited from such sacred rituals. If they weren’t snacking they went out to eat. So I got to go with them.

A huge menu sat in my lap. It was so tall I couldn’t see over the top. The spin and point trick should work fine here. Good thing I did because one of those oh-so-juicy conversations had begun to pick up speed and I didn’t want to miss one word.

“When I am old I shall wear purple,” my adoring aunt announced. Since then I have discovered that this is the title of a book and a poem. When I heard these words my little brain went searching for a clever interjection to the conversation that I had missed out on up until then. It was only the good natured graces of my aunt that saved me in this moment from utter humiliation by validating my thoughts with a civilized conversation. Now, when I think back on this she was probably just talking about the book and it makes me blush.

“Why don’t you wear purple now?” was my smart question.

“That is a good question,” my aunt said after exchanging a few snickers with her sisters.

“Well, I just think that if you really want to wear something then you shouldn’t worry about what other people think and you should just wear it,” I reasoned.

The conversation was rescued by some kind of change in topic, but the thought stayed with me: one day I will be old. I didn’t consider my aunts or mother to be old. They were the coolest most wonderful women in my life at that time. Not many ladies have matched them since that impressionable era.

For a number of reasons my memories have drifted back to the quilting weekend days more frequently as of late. I have especially been thinking about that realization that one day I will be old.

My dad's mom, Grandma Houtz, Spring of 2007

So, I have started something new. When I was about seven years old I started praying for my future husband. This continued on through my whole school carreer. I prayed about every aspect that came to mind. Now that thoughts of aging have become more present I have begun noticing how people treat the elderly. I have begun praying for when I am old. Just as the prayers from a seven year old’s lips are superficial yet sincere my prayers now are fairly basic yet still very heart felt. I pray people are kind to me. I pray that my life is still purposeful. I pray that am happy. I pray that people are patient with me. I pray that if I do get loony I am not lonely so that people can laugh with me, or cry with me. I pray that God shines through me in all that I do.

As the prayers are happening the promised story will be brewing.

In the next few days there will be many winners crossing the finish line as they log in their word counts. The idea was 50,000 words in 30 days. I am happy to report that I did it!

Wow-ee.

I feel it is necessary to add that the novel now needs a ton of work. Editing galore, scenes needing tweaking, and much weighing of words await me in the coming months. I look forward to going back and adding the shading, darkening the color here and there and defining the lines to make them jump out and grab you as you read.

It was especially surprising that the characters took the story for unexpected twists and turns. I had to trust them. There were a few spots where I wasn’t too sure they knew where they were going, but they got back on track soon enough. It really seemed to take on a life of its own. That was very surprising to me.

I am considering posting a couple more excerpts in the coming week. For now I am just content for you to know that I finished. Yes!

During the month of November I am writing a novel called ‘Chapped’. With two weeks to go I am safely past the half way point and feeling very good about the flow. Current word count is 27,628 words of the final goal of 50,000 words.

To read the first excerpt you can click here: Chapped Excerpt First Week

Please bear in mind that this is a first draft and very rough. I value your input as I understand that the creative process is enriched by community. Feel free to comment below.

- o -

The Longburrows had long been known for their hard working contribution to the community. Industrious and of strong genes they were admired for being able to accomplish much. This tendency to work hard and work well ran strong in Brooke’s blood. Her pragmatism dictated that there must always be a project in her hands. Dexterity in sowing , knitting and crochet had been cultivated by her able mother. Brooke began to gather the items she would need for the projects she wanted to work on while at her Grandmother’s house for the coming months. The saying about idle hands being the Devil’s playground had crossed her mind a few times.

She mused wondering about her condition and the validity of that saying. She wondered if some might think that her idleness that night might have given the Devil a moment to play on her. She knew that might be what some might think. Then she wondered how something so miraculous and wonderful could be considered a work of the malicious evil of all evils. Then she mused that the act itself could not be described as idle in the least bit. Moreover it was an active act. Thus, she reasoned, that anyone who might assume this was a point of weakness that the Devil preyed upon was sorely mistaken. Still, there was that tinge of regret that had begun to sprout once again. She stared at it from all sides and had a hard time coming to understand why the goodness growing inside her could be the result of something that caused such a gnawing sense of guilt.

Once or twice the thoughtful girl tried to broach the subject with her mother. She was a good enough woman and had done the best she knew how to raise her little girl. Now when crisis had struck she went into survival mode. Everything was calculated and mechanical. Even her desire to avoid all appearances of evil required that much care be taken to act as if nothing was wrong around the help and especially around her husband. The smiles came at all the right times. The work did not slow in the house. There were no lapses in the routines of social calls and entertaining. It was life as normal, as far as anyone passing by could ascertain. So when her curious daughter came with well mulled over questions she was ready with a premeditated response designed to cut the conversation as quickly as possible without upsetting her daughter.

Brooke would start in with a simple, or at least what seemed simple to her, question.

“Mother, when I am at Grandmother’s house will you come to visit me from time to time?”

The mother and daughter had a cool relationship, yet spent much time together keeping their hands busy or fulfilling social duties. Brenda knew that her daughter would have an inclination to want her to be there with her for part of this ordeal, as she saw it. Yet, for her plan to succeed this could not happen. The situation must be handled in a sterile environment far away from the peaceful little home she had created. No, she could not participate.

“Brooke, dear, mother told you. You will be with your Grandmother Adelaide. She is a sweet lady who is easily agitated by much company. For the good of us all it is best if I not ruffle her nest any more than it has to be. In addition to that, we can’t leave your father alone, now can we? Who would keep this place running if the both of us were gone at the same time? I am handling it dear. I told you. Don’t you worry; you will be fine with your dear old Grandmother. I am handling it all, Brooke, dear. Now peal those last two apples and then you may go lie down. I am sure you are needing to rest by this time.”

The two would then stand silently side by side finishing their task. In this case the task was peeling some apples for a pie they were making. Brooke understood the dismissing tone in her mother’s voice. She had received her answer and knew that she must not bother any more. Though, other questions, deeper questions, had replaced the one first in line.

(c) Angie Washington 2009

On November 1st I began writing ‘Chapped’. Unless inspiration strikes I plan on taking the weekends off from this creative project. Gives the story time to stew and brings the flavors out. My goal is an average of 12,500 words a week for four weeks. At the end of this first week I have 13,179 words logged.

I have decided to share some excerpts as I go. The technique I am using of writing fast and furious to get the story out of me and recorded somewhere dictates that I will be doing some major editing after the month of November is done. I work well like that. Very rarely does the first stroke remain when I am sketching; it will be the same for this book. The idea that is in my mind will be shaped and formed, added to and taken away from until I have a finished product that I am content with displaying for others. That being said, there is a chance that the excerpts I share will be tweaked and possibly even removed from the actual book.

PLEASE feel free to comment honestly and openly. I am well aware of the importance of corporal contribution in the creative process.

Without further ado:

Her cheeks blazed, warmed with anticipation. Wind whipped them raw in the top-down convertible. The neatness of her golden ponytail began to come undone. A hair-do was not going to be the only thing undone that brisk February night. She pulled a tiny mirror out of her purse and glanced at it. Pleased with what she saw yet wanting to ensure a perfect night she pinched her high, glowing cheek bones once again. Mirror still in hand she let her big blue eyes give a side long glance at the driver. Her 15 year old heart did flips. The blinking dashboard lights were the only thing that illuminated his dark features on that backwoods road leading up to Inspiration Point. His coal waves atop his firm brow flew around the chiseled jawline. He caught her glance. The half way dimpled grin sent goosebumps down her spine. His foot pressed heavy on the gas pedal.

The couple arrived at the cliff’s edge. The tiny Virginia town sparkled under the light of a full moon. Finishing a thrilling ride up the hill through the winding woods signaled the start of a new thrill. A sunset escape and uncommonly warm weather for that time of the year made for a fun joy ride in the new 1975 Chevrolet Caprice convertible. Now that the darkness had set in other things were on the mind. The boy worked to pull up the cover.

(c) Angie Washington 2009

There are moments when inspiration levels are high. I liken it unto an adrenaline rush. Creativity flows and beautiful things happen. This is distinct from when I just doodle and peck to get through the dry times.

There are certain stimuli that evoke this inspiration high. It is different for everyone, I am sure. Here is a list of my “Inspiration To Go” when I need a boost. There are four groups: places, audio, books and shows.

Places – When I get myself to these places and out of my regular surroundings inspiration abounds.

• House of Dreams Orphanage
• Tunari National Park
• Driving
• Botanical Gardens
• Columbus Plaza

Audio – Audio learning is not my specialty. Usually I need silence while I create, but to spark the inspiration these are things I listen to. My hands must be occupied for it to “work” like washing dishes, baking, cooking, etc.

• Regina Spektor
• Coldplay
• Leeland
• B.Z. preaching

Books – There are so many beloved authors sitting on my shelves. Usually I am absorbed in what I read. This is a list of things I can pick up for a short amount of time then put them back down and move on revved up.

• C.S. Lewis
• Dickens
• Louisa May Alcott
• Spanish – English Dictionary
• Professional photography compilations

Shows – This is my favorite. My tactile learning style thrives on being able to see, hear, and feel the story all at the same time. The corporal creative energy that is poured into making a show astounds and inspired me. Live performance is the most energizing; I do what I can with what I have at hand which is mostly movies.

• Theater / Plays / Operas / Top notch concerts (Oh, how I miss access to a quality theater!)
• Pushing Daisies
• Chicago
• Away We Go
• Brothers Bloom
• Far and Away
• Penelope
• Chronicles of Narnia movies
• Count of Monte Cristo (2002)
• Mr. Magorium’s Wonder Emporium
• Romeo and Juliet (1996)
• The Beautiful Country
• Inkheart
• Millions

What inspires you?

Columbus Plaza at Night

And now is that time. November 1st is Sunday. That is when the writing begins. The fact that my computer went kaput is not going to deter me; we’ll get it fixed. The fact that there are mountains we are climbing in the ministry will not deter me; we’ll make it through. I am so ready for this.

What excites me even more about this is that I am not going it alone.  Aside from the thousands of NaNoWriMo participants world wide I know four people, personally, that will be writing a book at this time.

• Shawn Smith – My youngest sister. Yeah!
• Becky Gomez – My dear friend since high school. She is a published author.
• Mike Bradley – Connected to our ministry through prayer. We keep in touch on Facebook.
• Tyson Malo – A fellow missionary here in Cochabamba, Bolivia.

There is still time to join. Let me know if you do so we can keep in touch through the process next month.

Do you want to know what I’ll be writing about? As the writing progresses I will be sharing excerpts. For now you get to know the title: Chapped.

The outline is written. I know where I am going with it. Some time this week I will settle on a name for my heroine. Fun stuff!

Stephanie from The Red Clay Diaries recently found out about my Oz book collection. She had some on her shelf and wanted to give them to me. As a matter of fact she had 17 that she wanted to give me. Wow! A group of people were coming from Missouri. So she shipped the books from where she lives in the Atlanta area to them. They packed them in their luggage and delivered them into my hands last week. For books that talk of great journeys and adventure I think it is only suitable that they should arrive to me in such a round about way.

I began collecting Oz books when my first daughter was a baby. I read them aloud to her as we cuddled. More than once she fell asleep to tales of talking lions and romps down the yellow brick road. Now she adores the books in a new way since she can read them on her own.

Thank you so much SSBBBFF! (That is my nickname for Steph.)

The story behind the Royal Oz Historian, as Frank L. Baum referred to himself, is one of eccentricity. I own one biography and would like to get my hands on the film made about his life starring John Ritter.

An interesting bit of trivia is that Baum is not the only one recognized as a valid author of Oz books. He was where the idea originated. After him a few other authors took the liberty to write about this wonderful land. There are forty authentic titles. Below is the list. The titles in green are the ones I own. Someday I would love to own a full first editions set. Until then I will be perfectly contented in a state of rapture with my dear Oz books.

Here is the complete list of the Famous Forty Oz books (often shortened to the FF) — the ones that most Oz fans agree are true Oz — along with their authors and dates of publication.

1. The Wizard of Oz, originally published as The Wonderful Wizard of Oz (L. Frank Baum, 1900) and also published as The New Wizard of Oz (1903)
2. The Land of Oz, originally published as The Marvelous Land of Oz (L. Frank Baum, 1904)
3. Ozma of Oz (L. Frank Baum, 1907)
4. Dorothy and the Wizard in Oz (L. Frank Baum, 1908)
5. The Road to Oz (L. Frank Baum, 1909)
6. The Emerald City of Oz (L. Frank Baum, 1910)
7. The Patchwork Girl of Oz (L. Frank Baum, 1913)
8. Tik-Tok of Oz (L. Frank Baum, 1914)
9. The Scarecrow of Oz (L. Frank Baum, 1915)
10. Rinkitink in Oz (L. Frank Baum, 1916)
11. The Lost Princess of Oz (L. Frank Baum, 1917)
12. The Tin Woodman of Oz (L. Frank Baum, 1918)
13. The Magic of Oz (L. Frank Baum, 1919)
14. Glinda of Oz (L. Frank Baum, 1920)
15. The Royal Book of Oz (Ruth Plumly Thompson [but originally attributed to L. Frank Baum], 1921)
16. Kabumpo in Oz (Ruth Plumly Thompson, 1922)
17. The Cowardly Lion of Oz (Ruth Plumly Thompson, 1923)
18. Grampa in Oz (Ruth Plumly Thompson, 1924)
19. The Lost King of Oz (Ruth Plumly Thompson, 1925)
20. The Hungry Tiger of Oz (Ruth Plumly Thompson, 1926)
21. The Gnome King of Oz (Ruth Plumly Thompson, 1927)
22. The Giant Horse of Oz (Ruth Plumly Thompson, 1928)
23. Jack Pumpkinhead of Oz (Ruth Plumly Thompson, 1929)
24. The Yellow Knight of Oz (Ruth Plumly Thompson, 1930)
25. Pirates in Oz (Ruth Plumly Thompson, 1931)
26. The Purple Prince of Oz (Ruth Plumly Thompson, 1932)
27. Ojo in Oz (Ruth Plumly Thompson, 1933)
28. Speedy in Oz (Ruth Plumly Thompson, 1934)
29. The Wishing Horse of Oz (Ruth Plumly Thompson, 1935)
30. Captain Salt in Oz (Ruth Plumly Thompson, 1936)
31. Handy Mandy in Oz (Ruth Plumly Thompson, 1937)
32. The Silver Princess in Oz (Ruth Plumly Thompson, 1938)
33. Ozoplaning with the Wizard of Oz (Ruth Plumly Thompson, 1939)
34. The Wonder City of Oz (John R. Neill, 1940)
35. The Scalawagons of Oz (John R. Neill, 1941)
36. Lucky Bucky in Oz (John R. Neill, 1942)
37. The Magical Mimics in Oz (Jack Snow, 1946)
38. The Shaggy Man of Oz (Jack Snow, 1949)
39. The Hidden Valley of Oz (Rachel R. Cosgrove, 1951)
40. Merry Go Round in Oz (Eloise Jarvis McGraw and Lauren McGraw Wagner, 1963)

I have a few more titles that are not on the official list. Also, L. Frank Baum wrote some non-Oz books. I have decided that I am collecting Oz books and books by L. Frank Baum.

Do you have a memory about Oz that you would like to share?

On with the crunchy, munchy, mixed-up life I lead…

• I don’t even know where to start. All my beginnings and endings are mixing together.
• Been working very hard these last few weeks.
• Added a new page to the House of Dreams blog so you can see pics of all the kids we have at any given time. You can see it here: Kid Pics.
• Our missionary friends finalized their adoption here in Cochabamba and brought home their little girl. Yay!
• God has been working on me to grow, and I am feeling it.
• On Saturday I celebrate 24 years since Christ found me. Wow.
• Next week we are hosting good friends from the States. Gonna be good!
• Finished reading the autobiography “Walking from East to West” by Ravi Zacharias. Good read.
• Now reading a fascinating book called “Eternity in their Hearts” by Don Richardson.
• Had a very good meeting with the ladies who help me lead the women at church.
• Wondering when mornings are going to smooth out.
• I know the investment into the changes it would take to make mornings run better but I am kinda feeling like the change bank is broke, or at least running low on funds.
• Found chicha morada in a can at the grocery store.
• Chinese food is good (not as good as Japanese though – wink) especially with a side of great conversation.
• Getting 30 copies took me 30 minutes yesterday.
• Going to the police department today to find out if I have any outstanding crimes.
• Rearranged the hours of the gals who help in the house. Now all the weekdays are covered.
• I know two people who have birthday’s on April fools day. Happy Birthday Aunt Kristy! Happy Birthday Julie!
• Decidedly, I am an outdoors girl.
• Looking for quotes on perserverance or an industrious attitude. Feel free to share.
• Extremely curious to see what points get mentioned in the comments. Thanks for reading!