Surprised by Stones

My spouse wiped crumbs off the cafe table and spilled the fateful words. "You're doing lots of great things, but I think you should write. It's your gift. I think you should make it your focus."

I was stunned. My spouse is not the type to tell me what to do. But, here it was, plain as the pepper on our egg and cheese. Somebody down here thought I should rearrange my life—open it up to a gift that had been quietly lounging in a speaking ministry; a gift that had done time in ad writing for baby wipes, air fresheners, and color film; a gift I had mostly put away for some vague and non-threatening future.

It's probably better that I didn't know what was coming. I wiped the egg and cheese off my bottom lip and agreed. "Okay, I'll put a bio together. I'll print my talks. We can get some advice." In my heart, I had a plan. I would launch a writing career step by baby step. In ten years, I would write a book.

But, somebody up there had other ideas. That's the way I see it. Because one year after the egg and cheese, I had a contract and a daunting task (write twenty-three chapters of a memoir/spiritual musing hybrid book!). It was shocking and not a little scary. My lifetime of writing had shifted from the slow track to the fast track.

pass the bio and samples to a publishing connection, for some feedback and professional advice
forget about the possibilities of a book for about ten years—sigh of relief (and a twinge of disappointment). With fifteen years of writing experience, I was still considered a publishing newbie, my publishing connection kindly observed. (Somehow, writing for baby wipes didn't mean anything compared to writing articles for Christianity Today.)
go to Mt. Hermon Christian writer's conference—the publishing connection said this is a good thing for aspiring writers to do
write a book proposal. My spouse insisted that if we were going to spend money on the conference, I should bring a proposal. I said, "What do you think? That a book idea just pops into someone's head?" Okay, so I was wrong, as I admit I sometimes am. The book idea popped into my head the next day.
submit the proposal to two publishers, who requested it at the conference
also submit the proposal to my original publishing connection, with much embarrassment because I was still a newbie—an author I met at Mt. Hermon urged me to
revise the proposal, at the request of an editor who began to fall in love with my idea
wait and wait and wait and wait—you get the idea
sign on the dotted line and write the book

That was then. This is now. The book is finished—if you can call waiting for editorial feedback finished.

Right now, the work is called Secrets in Stone. Part memoir and part spiritual musing, it mingles hard memory with grace, tremulous dreams with inspiration, temptations and failures with invitations to change and hope. Really, it is full of surprises. But, perhaps one could expect that from a book that claims,

This is from the first chapter, where you find out how God sneaked into the house of an atheist and a Catholic-gone-bad. You also discover how He ruined some perfectly good leather and the promise of orange macaroni and cheese.

Though there are some humorous moments, every chapter begins with an evocative memory including—you guessed it—some image of stones. Here's an example from the chapter Tossed Treasure: living with messmakers...

Tiny stones, half-polished into gems, lie scattered over choked crab grass and pitted earth. The rock tumbler sprawls, mouth agape, sand spit over red plastic, cord pointing to the sky, as if in accusation. I follow the trajectory my mangled toy must have traveled from the guest room window...a dirty glass you can peer through, see mud-mottled floor that once was home to puppy survivors—those who convinced my step-father they were strong and needn't suffer drowning in a burlap sack, be dragged beneath pond algae and placid sky, by the weight of a spare cement block. Through that streaked window, you can see, too, paneled walls that crowd to strangle memories of a plain woman he lived with many months, while he returned to my mother only for a pressed white shirt, venison and mashed potatoes, and the curve of her flannel nightgown...

Actually, I don't know if I'll get to keep this vignette, or if my chapter titles will stay intact. Editors have a way of asking writers to change things. No matter. These are some of my favorite chapter titles as they stand right now...

Okay, enough about Secrets. What you should know is that landing a contract for this book, a wee bit early, has influenced my advice to fellow aspiring writers...

Choose your friends carefully. It doesn't hurt to have people in your life who are brave enough to tell you what to do. And, next time you go out for breakfast, order the egg and cheese. It seemed to work for me.

Print Article	Request Reprint Permission	Close Window
Please be kind. Give credit if you quote.

Print Article	Request Reprint Permission	Close Window
Please be kind. Give credit if you quote.