The Many Times We Come of Age

There is a literary phrase I can't stand.

 "Coming of age." 

 You will hear it in almost every synopsis of a new Children's or Young Adult book. You will read the phrase when famous authors recommend a new book. They always write, "A {insert adjective} and {insert adjective} coming of age story that is sure to inspire generations of children".

Whether it is about a book or a series of books, the main idea behind a "coming of age story" is that the main character "comes of age". She goes through specific trials that mature her, causing her to think and act more like an adult. This can be on a traumatic level, where a child goes through things that would break even an adult, or on a lighter level where the child or teen learns a valuable lesson and sees the world differently through a more enlightened and mature lens. Essentially, coming of age stories are about  growing up.

 But there is something about this phrase that bothers me more than how cliche it has become in the world of books. 


 Is "coming of age" something that really only happens once in a person's life?

~

If my life was a novel. When would I have had my coming of age story?

You could say I came of age when I was 7 and first saw death, the first time I realized fully and personally that this world is broken and awaits Jesus' return for restoration. 

 Maybe it was the year I turned 12. My best friend moved away, my friend's dad died of a cancer, and my own grandfather died unexpectedly. 

 But it could also be my freshman year of college, the first time I was living on my own one thousand miles away from my family.

 See, I can't pick just one "coming of age" story in my life. And maybe we're not supposed to. Because the older I get, the more I realize that I will keep having "coming of age" moments and times.

 I remember being young and thinking that someday when I was an adult I would just know what to do. I assumed that at a certain age I would suddenly know how to fix a leaky faucet, how to soothe a sobbing baby, and ask the right questions in a job interview. City driving would be easy, I would automatically know what fully cooked salmon should look like, and I would always know exactly what I wanted to do with my life.

 But that's not what happens. I am more unsure about the direction my life will take now than when I was in high school. There is always more for me to learn and there always will be. I will never stop learning, from practical life skills, new situations I find myself in, to God constantly having to mold me to be more like Jesus. Even in heaven we will still be learning!

 I am constantly growing up. 

 So how can a "coming of age story" be just one moment, one lesson, one specific time period in a person's life, whether it's a character or a real person? Even for the people with harder stories who have one moment or event they can pin-point as being life changing and maybe when they "came of age", they must also have had moments and times after struggling, wrestling, and dealing with that specific hard time- moments that also grow them and mature them and help them "come of age". 

 I am always growing, always learning, always changing- hopefully with the Holy Spirit inside of me for the better. I am always coming of age. 7. 12. 18. And now 25. I will always have new discoveries, new struggles, new things God is teaching me. 

 We're always growing up.

When I Used to Draw

 I haven't been writing as much of my novel as I've wanted to this past year. Life hasn't slowed down since I graduated from college. 

Full time job.
Family.
Friends.
Church events.
A library full of books.
Big life decisions I need to make.
Tiredness from all of the above.

 You get it. I haven't been writing much. 

 These past few months though, I've been trying to write again. Really write, as in crank out this novel that I've been sitting on in my nest for almost six years. 

 But I feel dry and weary of life and what is in my life. Like my job that often feels meaningless and yet drains me every day. Of the same old routine. Of my student loans that weigh me down. Of dreams and opportunities that always seem to fail. Dreary from the sun that no longer seems to exist.

 How can I write feeling like that?

 I can't. Not really. Unless you want to read a novel that is dull, lifeless, and depressing.

 But I think I found a breakthrough. A breakthrough that started many years ago.

When I Used to Draw  
My writing breakthrough starts with my sister being better at drawing. I loved drawing when I was young. We both did. Books and writing were always more important to me than drawing, but I still loved the feel of the pen in my hands and choosing the colors that filled in the black lines. Until my sister was better.

 Though younger, her drawings were better. Not that I had really practiced. But her artwork shocked our parents. Their mouths in o's, the words "gift" on their lips. They would watch her move her pencil in awe and admired her work like they never admired mine. Not even my stories evoked those emotions from them.

 So I stopped drawing my shameful pictures. And I focused on writing, which had been my first love anyway.

 I don't regret focusing on writing. It is what I love most in the realm of art and always will be. I just wish I hadn't given up drawing.

 Graphic Novels
Then in college I took a graphic novels literature class. I wasn't thrilled about this class, just intrigued, curious, and needing those three easy credits.  With rare exceptions like Peanuts or Calvin and Hobbes, I felt that comic books were for children and lazy adults who never tried to read a real book and had to rely on pictures of superhero drama for their so called literature. (Savage, I know). 

 I never imagined what I would discover in that class. I discovered that in some ways I was right, (which I hope to talk about in a future blog post) but I was also terribly wrong. I discovered that I loved graphic novels. 

 And I was horrified when my professor announced we would be making our own journal comics. My head again filled with the images of my sister's drawings compared to mine. But my professor insisted he didn't care if we drew stick figures, and my grades were at stake. So I drew stick figures. 

 After the initial shame and shock at my horrible drawings, I began to relax and found that I loved it. I loved writing and drawing about what I was feeling. Though I was frustrated that my pen could not even try to capture the images in my head, I still loved making comics. It was fun. It was a release. It unleashed new things in me. I promised myself that someday I would write a graphic novel, words and pictures by me.

The Breakthrough
 It's now been two years since I took that class. I still read graphic novels. I still plan on making one myself someday. But I'm trying to write again and be creative again. I remember the words flowing out of me and I want that again for my novel in progress.

 And this image appeared  in my head. An image of my main character and a vine attached to her foot. I won't reveal my secret of how that correlates with my novel, but trust me when I say it does. This image made so much sense to me. It made me rejoice. Until I had this thought: How do I turn that image into words? 

 That question turned into more questions and more thoughts, thoughts that made me realize how visual I am. How my stories often don't initially come in words, but pictures that I then translate into words. 

 What if sometimes my thoughts must first be pictures on paper before it can be translated into words?

 I tested my theory during the long car ride back home after spending Thanksgiving in Pennsylvania. I had empty, lined paper and my colored pens that only God knew I would need, and I put on that paper whatever came to me. There were words followed by pictures, and pictures followed by words. The emotion, the feeling, the desire of my character in my head became an image on my paper, and then that image turned into words that sounded like poetry. 

 My breakthrough.

 My pictures are terrible. I drew stick people. I drew the lamest bed you have ever seen. I drew the ocean, and no one but me would know it was even water. But the words that followed those silly pictures, I think, make up for it.

To the Night Writers

 I want to pause time, hide in a log cabin in the mountains, and write my novel. I want to spend three months there and write my novel in one intense swoop with only a mountain breeze and wild flowers for distractions. 

 I think that is what it will take to finish this novel of mine.

 I am about halfway done with my novel, and I have been floating in this halfway point for a while. 

 Forty hours a week at the chocolate factory. Summer in full swing with trails that beg to be walked and mountains I long to climb. Friends to connect with. Books to read. Church activities. A room that looks like a fourteen year old lives there. A car to find and buy.

 I hear stories of writers typing late into the night. And I would. I like writing at night. I am more creative at night. But I would fall asleep at work. And I can never be the person constantly doing and going; it is not me.

 And this novel of mine stays only half done.

 But you make time for what you love.

 So to the night writers, please share your drive. Share your motivation, your energy, the speed in which you write. Share the secrets the night whispers to you that somehow feeds you and lets you still wake up in the morning and go to work at the job that pays the bills.

 God, let me start writing again. Let me make writing into a habit. Let me not give in to my tiredness. Force me to make writing dates at the library. Let my book be written in spite of me.

Grace for the Writer

 Being a writer isn't easy. At least not for me and this is why:

 1. I am the kind of writer who only wants to write when I am inspired- when I have an image burning in my mind that I am dying to put on paper, or when a piece of dialogue comes into my head. This is hard because most of the time I don't feel that inspiration and therefore feel like I am forcing myself to write, leading to feeling stupid that I am a writer who hardly writes.

 2. Most people consider my writing to be more of a hobby. They think it's cool and sound impressed and say that they could never be a writer. But then when I share that I majored in creative writing and hope to make it my career, suddenly, even if they don't say anything, I feel judged at times, like what I want to so is unimportant, I'm being lazy, and that I wasted money on a major that will get me nowhere in the world. 

 3. I consider my writing to be one of the most important things in my life, but no one else in the world seems to acknowledge that. It doesn't seem productive. It doesn't make good money, so sometimes I struggle to think of my writing as worthwhile. 

 4. I have doubts. I doubt that I will ever finish my novel, that I will ever be able to make money from my writing. I worry that though I don't regret studying creative writing, I will now spend the next ten years paying for that decision by working at random jobs to pay for loans.

 But that's where my writing group has been such a blessing to me. I have been blessed with two friends that I made in college that are as serious about their writing as I am, and we have formed an informal writing group. Currently, we report to each other every so often on how we are doing with our writing and we offer each other advice and mostly encouragement. A few weeks ago I shared how I was struggling with my writing lately, especially with starting my part time job, and something one of my friends wrote to me has stuck with me. He said, "You must give yourself grace during this time of transitioning into your job."

 Grace for my writing? Strangely, I have never thought of that. But of course I need to give myself grace. As I am adjusting to my new job, it may take a while to figure things out, establish new patterns, and get back to normal. I need to give myself grace just like Jesus has given me grace for all of my sins.

 And then I realized that I need to give myself grace for all other aspects of my writing, too. There are many times I need to push myself and make myself write even when I don't want to. I need to ignore people who think my major in college was a bad decision. I need to trust God and faithfully do what I believe He has called me to do. But I need to also give myself grace for the times when I do struggle, when I do doubt, when I can't make time to write, when no words are pouring out of me because that happens to every writer. 

 So if you are a writer, give yourself grace just as our Father in Heaven gives us grace. 

Exploring- Need Your Feedback!

I have always viewed this blog in two ways:

1. A way to share my thoughts and life with people.

2. A way to consistently write.

 I haven't run out of "ideas" for this blog. I mostly write about my life and what God has been teaching me, and as long as I am living, there will always be something to write about.


 But I want to know what you would like to read. What you would like to know. What you would like for me to share. I am not a person that believes in writing about what is popular or what will make money. Generally, I will write what I want, and I truly believe that is what produces the best writing.

 But I can also be selfish. I am considering exploring more with this blog, so what would YOU like to read about?

 Writing? The life of a writer? Life after college? Book reviews? Poetry? Photography?

 Please let me know in the comments what you would like to read about!

Watching the Stars

  

 Growing up, I was the strange child that always answered the question "What do you want to be when you grow up?" the same way with, "I am going to be a mother and author."

 I was the freshman in high school that already declared herself as a creative writing major when college was still four years away.

 I was the sophomore in college that got annoyed with the amount of people asking me if I had switched that creative writing major yet.

 I am the senior graduating in a month with a creative writing degree that has no regrets.


 There was never a doubt about pursuing creative writing in high school, or college, and now that graduation is approaching, it is still what I want to do. I didn't over spiritualize it, wondering if this is what God truly wanted me to do. I didn't take God out of the picture, either. Starting in eigth grade, I knew my writing would be to glorify God, to proclaim the gospel to beleivers and un-beleivers. I would pursue a degree and publication, and God would either grant those things to me or not.    
 
So this is my question for myself:

  Why have I always pursued my writing and nothing else?

 That friend who seems distant and I long to reconnect with- why do I not ask to eat lunch with her?

 That guy I like- why do I feel the need to avoid him instead of talking to him?

 This area of Michigan- why am I not trying to figure out a way to stay?

 I don't remember when my views on God's will became flawed, but I remember when I realized they were. A few months ago I read Kevin DeYoung's book Just Do Something, and I was waiting for God to give me some miraculous sign or obvious answer to big, life decisions I would soon have to make. I was waiting for an amazing and random job offer, or for the stars to spell out which state God wanted me to choose. Though God can work that way, He usually doesn't. DeYoung writes that generally, unless what we are thinking of doing goes against God's Word, we should just do it. 

 But I am not a natural doer. I am not good at initiating anything.

 However, my mom recently told me, "You can't make a mistake. You are not going to mess up God's plan." 

 I recently initiated re-connecting with my friend, and it has been wonderful. I wonder if she had been waiting for me to do so.

 I am praying. I am seaking God's council. But there comes a point when I need to just do something, when I need to stop watching the stars for a sign and do something. I pray He will give me the strength to do that, just as I have done for writing. I pray I will know when to watch and wait, and when to do.

 Do you have any big decisions to make soon? 

How has God been faithful to you during this time?

5 Things I Learned from My 500 Words Challenge

  Over Christmas Break, I decided to do something different. I challenged myself to write five hundred words of my novel a day starting the Sunday after Christmas.

  Five hundred words seemed like the right amount. It wasn't an unattainable one thousand words a day. It wasn't fifty words either that I could write without really even thinking. Five hundred words seemed like a good challenge for me without taking over my life or destroying my love of writing, so I went for it, and this is what I learned:

1. Nothing is ever really the same.

 I expected patterns. I assumed that on the days when I was excited to write that I would also love what I had written. And I assumed that on the days when I dragged myself to the Word document my mood would affect my writing and it would be terrible.

 Sometimes that is exactly what happened, but other days it was the opposite. I also had good days where I hated every word I wrote and bad days where I surprised myself and the words flowed out of my like. There is no easy formula to my writing.

2. I need a reward.

 I always tell myself I don't need a reward, but I do. I decided that if I completed this challenge I would buy myself a book, and bought Let Me be a Woman by Elisabeth Elliot. I bought before I finished, which kept me going knowing that I had already bought my reward.

3. Writing is a sacrifice.

   Some days my family was watching a movie at the end of the day, and I couldn't join them until I had written my five hundred words. There were times when I was very tired and wanted to go to bed but I hadn't finished writing. It was a sacrifice that was sometimes hard, but one that I was willing to take. 

4. I either read or write.

   Before I began this challenge, I was constantly reading. When I began writing five hundred words a day, I stopped reading. Then when   I began swallowing books again like I had been fasting, because in a way I was. I think that because writing a novel is such a large endeavor my brain can only handle one story at a time.

 5. I can do it.

   This is the most important thing I learned while doing this challenge. I am not like other writers who can whip up ten or fifteen pages a day. I usually can't get five pages out of me a day. But I can set a writing goal and meet it.

Confessions of a Writer

1. I have wept for my imaginary characters going through hard times.

2. I am sometimes jealous of people who can lead more normal lives and have a restful weekend without thinking about their novel waiting to be written, or have fun at a party without being inundated with a new story idea.

3. Sometimes I wish being a writer had an on and off switch so my brain wouldn't be constantly imagining made-up people's lives.

4. I judge books. Constantly. I judge their covers, their quality of writing, their character development, their plot, their readability, everything.

5. Sometimes I wonder if the smell of books is my addiction instead of coffee.

6. I silently correct people's grammar in my head. I never do it out-loud because that is obnoxious, but I can't help silently recognizing their mistake.

7. I have a love/hate relationship with tutoring writing. Some days I love it and want to help others feel the same wonder I experience when I write. Other days I want to lock the door and put a sign up saying "Go away, it's my turn to write!"

8. Except for clothes, the one inanimate object I covet the most is books. Even when I have a whole stack at home waiting to be read, I want more and more.

9. Sometimes I hate, loathe, detest, and dread writing.

10. But I have never doubted that writing is a huge way God wants me to share Himself and the Gospel. 

Why it is Hard to Write a Novel

 I am trying to write a novel. A novel that has been in my head for a couple of years now and in my heart for many more years.

 So why is it so hard?

 1) I am a person who gets distracted. As I type I remember that I am waiting for a specific email and check to see if it's there. I remember a book I am currently reading and read a chapter. I get bored of my current play list and end up searching for new music on Spotify. My writing is easily forgotten even with good intentions like trying to find music to put me in the right mood for a specific scene.

2) The word novel scares me. I have written short stories, all of which have been planned completely in my head as I write. I write, move things around, copy and paste, and I have a short story. But my novel is a mess in my head. I want a plan. I need an outline, a map to follow. Except I am not a planner when it comes to writing. For some reason I have either convinced myself that to write a good novel I need an outline, or my brain is exploding with too much information, themes, images, and characters.

3) I have other things to do. I long for the day that many published authors dream of: for my job to be a writer. But that day is not now. Sometimes my job as a student entails writing stories, but it is only a part of my homework. Even my job as a writing tutor is about helping others with their writing. Though it helps me become a better writer, it is not helping anything of mine get written.

4) I feel like I am alone in my novel writing. I don't mean I want another writing friend to come over and we sit down together drinking tea and cranking out a certain word count. We would just end up talking anyway. No, I mean support. My family has always believed in my writing. I have a lot of friends that are excited about my future novel and have been so sweet in asking me about it. I even have one special friend who begs for the next installment, who I can always talk things out with and ask her honest opinion. But she's in another state. My family is busy. Sometimes even though I know people care, I need them to look at me and ask, "How's that novel coming?" I need to ask people, "Would this be a natural reaction for this specific character?"

5) I am a perfectionist. When I write I want to sit on my bed, open the Word document, and start typing frantically. And I want those words flying out of my head to be perfect, beautiful, breathtaking, and meaningful. If none of those things happen, I get frustrated, I get annoyed with myself. And I stop writing, or in most cases, trying to write. And that ends any progress on my novel at least for that day and probably the next, and potentially a week, sending me into a small writer's block depression. To put it simply, I want to be the best and I am not.

 That is why writing is hard.

 It is art. It is thinking. It is trying to recall every writing lesson, tip, and technique I have ever been taught and incorporating them into every word while somehow trying to remember the big picture, or in my case, multiple big pictures. It is a lonely hobby and a dream profession. It represents all that I am as I incorporate the Gospel into every story, what I believe God wants me to do. It is hard work that seems unrewarding. It is a college major people think is wrong. It shows me my sins and reveals my faults while at the same showing me Jesus' faithfulness, grace, and mercy.

 It is writing. It is hard. But with God's help, I need to keep going despite the fact that I am only about one eighth of the way done with my novel.

 Because I can't imagine not writing.

 Because I can't imagine Heaven without writing- writing about my Savior.

 P.S. You can read more about my novel in progress here. 

2 Books That Have Changed My Life

 I have always loved reading, especially novels. It is how I discovered the joy I have when 

writing and why I am a creative writing major. Though just like any avid reader it it impossible 

to narrow  my list of favorite books to any number below twenty, there are a few that have 

changed me and I want to share them with you. Please note there may be some spoilers.

The Chosen by Chaim Potok

  If someone had a knife pressed to my throat and I was forced to name my most favorite book in the

entire world, it would be The Chosen, but it wasn't until a few months ago that I figured out why.


 I first read this book my freshman year of high school in my writing and literature class. The Chosen 

is about two Jewish boys living in New York during World War II. When Danny Suanders

accidentally sends a baseball flying into protagonist Rueven Malter's eye, they form a strong

friendship despite their different Jewish sects. Rueven is soon horrified at finding out that Danny's

father is bringing him up in silence. They never talk-- something that hurts Danny deeply, but he is at

peace with, and something Rueven finds hard to forgive.

 A few months ago I had to re-read The Chosen for a class assignment. For the third time I read this

book, and I realized what it meant to me and why it has affected me so much. I feel like I am Danny

and Reb Saunders feeling the pain of the world, grieving for all of the Jews murdered under Hitler.

God has given me a huge amount of empathy. Certain movies and books can leave me in a

depression. A crying friend's tears at the loss of a loved one leaves me in despair. A meeting filled

with tension makes me scared as I feel each person's anger, hurt, or confusion.

 This is the only book I have read that attempts to explain that kind of empathy. It helps me

recognize it as a gift from God and not a curse that people can't understand that makes me feel

miserable at times.

 This may not make sense to you. If so I am sorry. I am trying to convey to you what this book does

for me, and I fear I am failing miserably. But I think the things that mean the most to us are the

hardest to share or put into words, like trying to explain why I love the color blue.


Writing Magic:Creating Stories that Fly by Gail Carson Levine

  I can't remember when I found this book. Maybe it was middle school. Maybe I was a little older. I loved Gail Carson Levine's novels, so I was very excited to find a book she wrote about how to write, especially a book with such an amazing title.

 Though it is written for children, I would still recommend it to anyone who is serious about their writing. Levine weaves together writing lessons and tales from her own life all in a very simplistic and down to earth manner that anyone can understand all taken from her experience in teaching writing classes. She even provides writing classes at the end of each chapter.
 This is what I remember from her book many years later:

"Said is a magical word. Boring maybe, but magical nonetheless. It's magical because it disappears. It becomes invisible" (115). 

She went on to explain that using big, fancy verbs like "she exclaimed" or "he interjected" only distracts the reader
 Writing Magic helped me at an early age to recognize good writing as well as embrace my own writing style. I have never been a person with an impressive vocabulary, but I realized that was okay and even good. Not only did Gail Carson Levine encourage me as a beginning writer, but she has helped to make my writing what it is today, teaching a lesson about a magical word that I have never forgotten.

Reclaiming July

 Two months have passed. Two months of summer where I was supposed to take a few classes at my community college and have a full time job to pay for those classes and start paying for my fall tuition. Instead, after about 10 job applications, I am just a part time student who is self employed full time as the world's most prominent worrier.

 Before I left school, I told my friend, "I wish I didn't have to work this summer so I could just write my novel."

 Summer is half over over. I have no job and am running out of places to send my resume. I am afraid there will be no money for last year at college. I am ashamed that I spend my days at home- busy, but home. I hate these feelings of restlessness.

 When I finally came to God with this burden confessing my fear of not making money and my shame at feeling like a failure, it was liked He laughed and said, "Well write." Can God be teaching me to trust Him with my lack of money? Can He be telling me to write as I trust and wait?

 This is the second hard thing that has happened where God's answer to me seems to be writing my novel. Last semester desires surfaced and I begged God for answers. All He said was, I am enough and write. Now, as I try to navigate the shame and fear my unemployment brings, He seems to be saying, Trust me and write. 

 It seems like God has given me a summer to write. Though unfortunately half of the summer I have spent only on homework for classes and worrying about finding a job.

 So with His help, I am hoping to reclaim July. In-between the geography quizzes and photo assignments, I need to be writing my novel.

Distracted by Creativity

                                                                                

 Job applications need my attention. 

 I have homework due tonight.

 But shatters of a poem flash into my head.

My sister and I are cooking dinner..

A thank you note needs to be written.

But the discovery of new music distracts. 

Thousands of words, colors,

Swirling, demanding my focus,

Commanding my thoughts.

God wants me to be productive.

God wants me to delight.

To be Mary or Martha is a choice I often make.

But I think He will allow a stolen moment

to focus my camera lens on a flower,

to scribble flashes of a poem,

to marvel at my reflection and see Him

chasing the butterflies He made,

creating unique and complex personalities.

This distraction permeates my soul.

It is how He helps me 

be distracted by Him.

Today, I Have Abundance

 "God, can I go to an expensive school far away?"

 "Yes, my child. Not through the miraculous million dollar scholarship you dreamed of, but through many small miracles, like summer jobs and the exact amount of money in the account every semester."


 "God, can this school be a place where I find many friends?"

  "Not many. Only a few that will come and go."


 "God, I want to write stories."

 "And today, you shall." 


"God, I have always desired this one specific thing, too precious to name. Can I please have it?"

 And He is silent. 



There are things in my life that God has not given me and may never give me. But today, I will focus on His yes.

 Lately, through many different aspects of my life, God has been telling me to actually begin writing what I hope will become a novel. Even as I start, I have only gotten more encouragement.

 This was my encouragement today:

 My friend didn't know the story I am writing has a theme of sea glass. She didn't know that I need a notebook to journal about my characters, plot, and themes.

 So today I have:

 A merciful God who despite my sin chose me as one of His children and sent His son to die for me.

 A loving God that has given me an opportunity to study at school.

 A kind God who will never leave me though friends come and go.

 A sovereign God  I can trust with answers to questions I do not yet need to know.

 A creative God who at least for now, wants me to write.

Through Him, today, I have abundance.

And Write

   I met Nathan on the plane. He was young enough to still be good looking, but old enough that it would be sketchy to date him—a  bored extrovert who found himself sitting next to a young college student for about an hour and a half. So he talked. With a book in my hand, the subject quickly went from my love of books to my desire to write them.

         

   “Did you know that the lady who wrote Harry Potter wrote the whole book on a napkin?” he asked.

  “The whole book? It wouldn't have fit,” I said.

  “Oh, yeah, the whole book.” He laughs, then hands me a napkin the stewardess gave him for his drink. “Here’s your napkin.” He digs in his backpack. “And here’s a pen. So write your book.”

            

   He teased me about not writing anything on the napkin. He teased me about not planning to get drunk on my twenty-first birthday. He wouldn't take his pen back at the end of the flight. He replied with something like, “You need to write your book with it.”

         

  Through many different situations, classes, and people, God has been nudging me and sometimes pushing me to write my book. With all of my doubts and excuses, it’s like He’s saying, “Just do it, my child. Use the time and circumstances I have given you, and write.” 

Breathe

  This October I went to my first writing conference. It was such a wonderful time full of wonderful people, workshops, knowledge, and excitement for writing.

  I learned so much from the many workshops I was able to attend, but I think the best was the marketing workshop. I learned that you MUST have a target audience when marketing your book, or anything for that matter. The speaker used Coca-Cola as an example. They used to target their drink to "the new generation", but when they realized older people were buying it too, they switched their slogan to include their other buyers and sales dropped. This is just some of the amazing information I learned.

  My favorite part of the weekend, though, was being surrounded by people who had the same passion as I did: sharing the gospel through writing. Some of were into fiction and others non-fiction. Some were unpublished, a few were already successful writers. But no matter what our specific interest or level of expertise, we could talk to anyone about writing and encourage each other. I have always had a few friends who have shared my love for writing, but never have I been surrounded by so many Christians who want to glorify God through their writing. It is an experience I found at the Breathe Writing Conference that I never want to miss again.

  If you are interested in the Breathe Writing Conference in the Grand Rapids, Michigan area, check out their website! http://breatheconference.com



Kamikaze Karl: A Story

Once upon a time there was a cardinal. He lived on a college campus, and was known as Kamikaze Karl. For you see every spring morning without fail he would greet the new day with a beautiful song and a crash against the windows by the tree. He would rise with the sun and begin attacking a window, though the darkness was still trapped inside the closed curtain and there were sure to be sleeping girls inside. But Kamikaze Karl did not care about the disturbance he was causing nor the growing feelings that girls had for him.

Some girls loved his sweet melodies and thought of him as their friend. Others constantly fantasized his death, imagining all the horrible ways they could murder him. A few of them took great pleasure in shooting a nerf gun at him to try to scare him away. Pictures of owls were taped to the window, music with loud guitar solos was blasted from stereos, and girls waited by the window with text books in hand to thrust into the bird’s face when his beak hit the glass. A Justin Bieber cutout was even borrowed to try to scare Kamikaze Karl, but nothing would stop him.

Many wondered at Karl’s strange behavior. Those that had named him remembered him from years past, and the question remained; why was Karl still here banging against the windows every spring? They all had their hunches. Maybe Karl was trying to get in because he was lonely and wanted friends. Maybe his goal was for everyone to fail all of their classes by interrupting their sleep. Or maybe when he finally got through a window he would kill all of the girls- a red flash of death swooping in and killing the entire dorm. Other more practical girls insisted that the bird was simply mistaking his reflection in the window for another bird that must be attacked.

But what follows is the true story of Kamikaze Karl and why he crashes into windows every spring:

Young Karl loved the idea of settling down on a college campus. He enjoyed the excitement and activity during the day that reminded him of his city home, and his young bride loved the peaceful weekends and the friendly ducks by the pond that made her think of her childhood.

They built their nest in a little tree right next to a window where Karl knew three sweet freshman girls lived. They loved their baby birds even while they were still in their eggs. Karl became obsessed with protecting his eggs. He would sit in the tree a few feet away from the nest and peer intensely at the world surrounding him. When students walked by, he’d chirp a threatening song. He’d chase away even the friendliest birds that got too close to the tree. Karl was so paranoid he would attack his reflection in the window, thinking it was an evil bird that had come for his eggs.

The other birds laughed at his obsession and quickly gave him the name Kamikaze Karl, mocking him as his head pounded into the glass again and again. But Karl ignored them, thinking only of the safety of his family.

After what seemed like an eternity of listening to the other birds torment him, Karl’s baby birds hatched. He had kept them safe.

Now when birds and students call him Kamikaze Karl, he is flattered. It is a reminder of how he didn’t let anyone hurt his eggs. Every spring when it is time to build a nest his kamikaze side comes out, ready to sacrifice his life for his eggs.

If the girls on campus knew Karl’s story maybe they would understand him. Maybe the frightening owl pictures would disappear and the wild rumors would stop. But they will never know his story, and Kamikaze Karl will always be a secret hero.