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 |   Exploring the future through the present. One day at a time. |
| Nothing God creates is a waste. That includes the people who enter your life, for good or ill. Even the ill we endure is never wasted, because it gives us an opportunity to learn and grow. So says someone who's not endured many ill relationships in her life. Sure, there have been a few with almost deadly consequences, but those are mere hiccups compared to what others have gone through. I met a gal a few months ago at my church. I was thrilled to meet her -- another writer! Finally, someone else who's also writing from a Christian perspective. Julianna is writing her life story -- and reading only three sections up to the 4th grade, it's a doozy. How she survived, and even thrived is nothing short of a miracle. When I first met her, I saw a quiet, unassuming confidence and contagious joy. I never would have guessed she hated herself growing up, and was abused in ways I can't describe even with the 18+ rating on this here blog. "I'm not a writer," she said once. "God's merely telling me to write my story." Not a writer. Ha! Anyone who can tell a story simultaneously passionate yet with clinical precision, and at the same time describe what a young girl experienced without interjecting adult understanding, that's a gift only God can give. It must take a tremendous amount of strength to revisit all those memories as well. I don't know if I could do it, but then again, God never asks us to do something without giving us the means to accomplish it. Why did God place her in my path? No idea, but I'm not going to question it. I have an opportunity to learn about a life foreign to mine, yet be able to understand and even empathize with it. I get to see God's handiwork in a damaged soul. Now it's your turn. Either as a comment here, or in your blog, describe to me a person who entered your life that left an indelible mark -- for good or ill. |
| Yesterday I noticed a boy about 3-4 years old helping our neighbors plant a garden. I went over with Thomas so they could play together. Thomas was shy at first (he's entered a shy phase), but the other boy was quite patient with him. He kept telling Thomas not to dig in certain areas, because he didn't want the already planted seeds dug up. He shared his little shovel and invited Thomas to play with his little dump truck. What simultaneously irritated and tickled me was the boy kept calling Thomas a girl. It didn't matter how many times I said Thomas was a boy, either. That's when I realized Thomas needed a haircut. Yikes! It's not the best picture I have of his hair, but you can definitely tell it's long and curly: Invalid Photo #1019955 If you look closely, you'll see a bruise on his left cheek. The day before, for an unknown reason Thomas took off running (as best a toddler can do) straight toward a dining room chair. The chair won. Thomas tripped and his cheek hit the edge of the chair. His little head snapped back so hard, I wondered if he didn't whiplash himself at the same time. It's a good thing God made kids so flexible and resilient. Oi. Tonight I decided Thomas needed another haircut (his fifth; can you believe it? He's only 16 months old!). I don't want more people thinking he's a girl, plus it likely tickled his ears, and his eyes were about to disappear in bangs. He balked for a few seconds when I wrapped the hair-cutting drape around him, but with "Spongebob Squarepants" on the television and me giving him my car keys, he sat relatively still, and didn't mind when I moved his head all about to trim the back and around the ears. Now he looks like a boy (he's pointing a slotted spoon at me and chewing on a bite of bagel with peanut butter): Invalid Photo #1019956 |
| Bill passed away last night. I don't know the particulars, but I'm sure he merely went to sleep and didn't wake up. I hope to go that way, although the months of knowing it could be any minute I don't necessarily want. Then again, I have no choice or control over how I leave this world. I just hope its way, way, way into the future. At least 40 years. Anyway, the funeral isn't until the 23rd. I think they planned it that way so members of the family can plan the trip. Many of them live all across the US from Washington DC to Arizona and from Texas to Michigan. It'll also give Dave and I plenty of time to clean our house. I'm sure we'll be hosting at least two of his brothers and their family so they don't have to pay for hotel rooms. I spent the last two hours cleaning my computer area. Yeah, it was that bad. I think I swept up four pounds of dust bunnies and dog hair, and Dave took three trips to the garbage. Plus I found a few things I lost, such as a writer's devotional, small containers Thomas likes to play with and a few of his toys. Only eight more rooms to go. Yea. Thanks, Bill (go ahead and laugh. He'd appreciate the joke). I'm so grateful we were able to spend time with him before he left. I'll bet he's fishing with Jesus right now. |
| 7:30 am, I received a phone call from Judy, Dave's uncle's girlfriend. Five years ago Uncle Bill received a double-lung transplant. Not soon after he met Judy, and they've been together ever since. Because her first husband died from a similar lung disease, she knows how to take care of Bill, and has been doing a fantastic job. A few months ago, Bill had to return to Saint Louis, Missouri, because his lungs were giving out. They told him they could do no more. They sent him home to die. We've been trying to see Bill for the last three weeks, but because of his compromised immune system (due to immune-suppression drugs) and Dave and Thomas suffering from colds, we couldn't make it. Judy called this morning because Bill took a turn for the worst. "At this point," Judy said, "that you have a cold won't make any difference." In other words, Bill won't live long enough to catch a cold. Seeing a once active man in both mind and body reduced to a shivering, unable to walk but a few steps, and not enough brain power to keep up with the simplest conversation was, in a word, rough. Watching Judy take care of him with a simultaneous firm and gentle hand left me in awe, and my respect for her only increased. That she could do this once with her husband had to be tough enough, but to choose to do it again and not lose her patience and sanity says a lot about her heart and love for Bill. I don't know if I could do it. I pray I never find out. What I found almost funny (in a sad, ironic way) is when we ate lunch. Judy fed Bill as I fed Thomas, and our technique was exactly the same. We had to break off bites easy to chew and swallow, offer up a drink now and then (Thomas with a sippy cup, and Bill with a travel bottle and straw), and wipe their face. Here we sat, one life just beginning and another near it's end, and -- emotions aside -- each was treated the same way. I won't offer prayers of healing for Bill -- at least not physical healing. I know it's not going to happen. Mostly I want his frustration to end, for that was evident when he was able to speak and interact. He knows how weak he is, and can't do anything about it. Judy said right before we left, "When the end comes, he will simply fall asleep and stop breathing." When that moment arrives, I pray Bill sleeps well. |
| Do not, I repeat, DO NOT try to install a new hard drive a Macintosh iBook G4 laptop all by yourself. I consider myself technically savvy (as most of you know). The laptop my mom gave me worked for a few days then every time I booted up, I received nothing but a gray screen. When I tried to reload the operating system, it showed no hard drive was installed. Solution: buy a new hard drive. I searched on eBay and found a new one for a mere $45. Cool. After I ordered it, I internet-searched for installation instructions. That was also easy to find, but after scrolling through 17 pages of instructions, I began to wonder if I made a mistake. I thought about taking it to Geek Squad to install it, but decided against it. I wanted to resell the laptop on eBay, and considering what the computer is worth, I wouldn't make any money going that route. By the time the hard drive arrived, I had studied the instructions enough I felt confident I could do it. Two hours and 30+ screws removed (no exaggeration there), I had the old hard drive removed. Yippee. I noticed then I didn't have the proper tool to remove the four screws on the old drive. Now what? I carefully packed up the disassembled computer and frightening assortment of screws, and internet searched again for the appropriate screwdriver, with the intent of driving to Lowe's the next day. Tonight, with all the right tools, I spent five minutes installing the new drive, and the next two hours reassembling the laptop. I got all the way done, but the mouse button was stuck. I tried to fix it by again taking the darned thing apart, and ended up breaking a piece of the case off. I further destroyed the computer to remove the new drive with the intent of returning it. There's a 30 day money-back guarantee on the thing, so I'll only be out the shipping. I happily threw all the screws and broken machine in the garbage. Five minutes later, I took it back out, and salvaged the screen, keyboard, battery and power cord. I figured if I sold those and the program CDs on eBay, I'll make about $40. Basically I'll break even money-wise. As for the rest, I learned to never - ever - take apart an old Macintosh laptop unless I want to destroy it. So, anyone need used iBook G4 laptop parts? |
| A quicky today. I've spent most of my free time editing a novel for another Christian science fiction author, and a friend who's writing nonfiction. I forgot not only how much fun editing can be, but how much I learn in the process. I get to study a person's voice, how their mind works, and what drives them and their writing. By critiquing other writers - regardless of chosen genre - I simultaneously edit my own work. I keep a notebook beside me as I edit, so I can write down my ideas and changes before I forget them. I know how to fix the first three chapters. My main character changes too quickly, while at the same time the story doesn't move fast enough. I've known about the problems for a long time now, but the solutions eluded me until now. Yea! This entry is also a bragging moment. Fellow friend and writer wrote a review on "A Reason to Hope." Before you think the review isn't honest or fair because she's a friend, I assure you she would not have written the review if she didn't think my book was worth it. For one, I didn't even ask for it. Don't take my word for it, though. You can read her thoughts here: http://karabucreations.blogspot.com/2009/04/reason-to-hope.html Thanks bunches karabu! |
| No. Not really. I received an email via my website a few days ago: Dear Ms. Marquardt, Our church (Grace Baptist in Wilmington, NC) recently produced its own Easter cantata, with several of our members contributing original music and monologues. We also adapted your monologue "My Forever Stained Hands"  as part of the program. A few paragraphs were shortened, and a few sentences added. The program, which we entitled "Silent No More" was recorded, and we would like to make copies of the DVD available for our church family. We will be making approximately 100 copies, maybe less. We will only charge them for the actual cost of duplicating the DVD. Our church family is about 500-600 people; I currently have a sheet for people to sign up so we only make as many copies as we need. I need to request your permission to make copies (since the monologue belongs to you) and ask if we need to pay you any royalty fees. Please call or email me if you have any questions.Sincerely, Ellen Ayers Music Secretary Grace Baptist Church Surprised only begins to describe my reaction. How did she find me, for one? Plus, I never thought it worthy of a church's Easter program. She told me that her drama director found it here, and Ellen then found my website and contacted me. All I asked for in return was a copy of the DVD, and that my credit includes my website. Who knows if a few of the buyers will visit me, and (staring off into space with a wistful smile) perhaps buy a book or two? Hey, it never hurts to dream. It's what we do, after all. My apologies for not showing my face around here much. I've been catching up on editing some stories I promised now about a month ago, and editing my own work. Plus with summer on its way (going by the calendar and not the weather), I'm super-busy at work and have no time to pop in during the day. My only free time is after Thomas goes to bed, and I want to use that to read, write and edit. Anyone got some time I can borrow (or steal)? I'm fresh out. G'night and I'll see you when I see you! |
| Yesterday Dave and I took Thomas to his 15-month check up. They checked his height, weight, head circumference, eyes and ears. He's entering a shy phase, so he cried and fussed whenever a nurse or the doctor handled him. It didn't help that at the end two nurses and I held him down as they poked each thigh with more vaccinations. Poor fella. Once they gave him a lollipop, the tears stopped like flipping a switch. While we waited, he did enjoy trying to dismantle a small plastic human heart that opened up to show the four chambers. Heck, I thought it was cool! For his height, he's in the 87% for his age at 32.5 inches. He's grown 1.5 inches in the last three months. However, for weight, he's in the 0% at a feathery 18lbs 10oz. He gained a mere 6oz since his last visit. The doctor isn't too concerned, although he told us to keep an eye on it. If he wasn't growing height-wise, not gaining any weight, or progressing slowly in other areas, then the doctor would recommend some testing to start. I'm not concerned. He eats good, and is a typical, active toddler who's happy more often than not. He's a lucky bug with a high metabolism, methinks. I need to take a picture of him in the bathtub, and then you'll see how skinny he is. Plus he's got the cutest little bottom (what toddler doesn't?). |
| "I'm not a writer." or "I'm a wannabe writer." My new pet peeve. I want to smack anyone upside the head who spews that phrase. If you write, you're a writer. Period. If you breathe on purpose, do you say, "I'm a breather?" Me thinketh notteth. I admit I often question my ability as a writer (as many of you know and wanted to smack me around a few times). But lamenting about my lack of talent is not the same as proclaiming I'm not a writer. If I do, please bounce my head against my keyboard, 'kay? Everyone writes, whether it's in a blog, email, letters (anyone remember those?), stories, poems, etc. Still not everyone who writes considers themselves a writer. They write merely to communicate to a friend, relative or colleague. That doesn't necessarily a writer make. One who doodles on a napkin out of boredom doesn't an artist make, either. What then makes a writer? Passion. It's the desire to not only to communicate, but to inspire, engage, entertain, and teach. It's the constant study to improve one's craft, and to reach as many people as possible. Is that what drives you, oh wannabe writer? Do you burn to tell your story? If so, then call yourself a writer, and do so with confidence. |
| On Writers Digest's website is an article about how not to market: http://www.writersdigest.com/article/what-to-avoid-when-marketing-your-writing/ One point talked about how we shouldn't tell people about our writing, but to show them. I decided to dive into serialization of my novella, "A Reason to Hope." Not here though. I have another blog which I will use for that purpose. Monday I will add chapter one, and continue through to the end (thirteen chapters total). You can read the back cover copy and the small incentive to encourage readers now at http://almarquardt.blogspot.com After all, readers read because they receive something in return. It doesn't have to be tangible, but in this case it is. I think it'll be fun. |
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