| Date: April 2nd, 2004 Place: Mount Hermon, California Event: Mount Hermon Christian Writers Conference Significance: The Day My Life Turned On A Dime Herein lies my tale, as captured on my blog (that has since gone the way of the dinosaur). These entries are from my posts dated February 3rd to March 15th, 2005. |
my Mount Hermon adventures
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My Mount Hermon Adventures Part 1
I just registered for the 2005 Mount Hermon Christian Writers Conference. It's so strange. And
amazing and wild. It hasn't even been a year. Right now the galleys for Wounded Healer are
sitting on my desk, ready to go back to Zondervan. Tomorrow I'll finish the first revisions for
Warrior's Heart and send that to my content editor. The day after that, I'll start writing Book Three
of the Homeland Heroes Series. (It's due May 1st, so maybe I should get going on that, huh.)
And it hasn't even been a year.
I haven't titled this post yet. Maybe this should be My Mount Hermon Adventures Part 1. Last year
at this time I still had two months to wait until the conference began. So it's only been 10 months
since Karen Ball at Zondervan Publishers turned my world inside out on April 2nd, 2004. Four
hours after I arrived at Mount Hermon. Seven years after I had first written the story. Four years
after I had burned everything that had anything to do with my writing.
All in the Lord God's perfect timing. All in His perfect plan.
To be continued . . .
My Mount Hermon Adventures Part 2
Last year, when I received the brochure for the Mount Hermon Christian Writers Conference, I
threw it in the garbage. Too expensive. Too much time to take off work. Couldn't afford it. The
brochure sat in my garbage the rest of that night.
But I knew the MHCWC was one of, if not the best Christian writers conference in the world. If
there was any hope for my brand-new little editorial services business to amount to anything, I
needed to go and be seen by the crowd at MH. The question that nagged me was, "Can you afford
not to go?"
I took that brochure back out of the garbage and gave it a further look-see. In other words, I looked
past the dollar signs. I saw a host of cool people I wanted to meet and learn from. I saw a host of
cool classes I needed to take. And I saw an opportunity that seemed too good to be true. I could
submit a mini-proposal for my novel in advance to not one, but two aquisition editors from major
houses. Tyndale would be there. Harvest House. WaterBrook. RiverOak. WestBow. Bethany
House. Broadman and Holman. Baker/Revell. And Zondervan. Senior Acquisition Editors were
willing to lay their eyes directly on my stuff.
Well, hey. I know a deal when I see one.
Needless to say, I registered for the conference. I submitted my two proposals. I told my boss I
needed to take ten days off work. Told my checking account to hang in there. Told my car to be
ready, 'cause I wasn't planning on flying the 700 miles to Mount Hermon. And then, I sat back and
waited for April.
To be continued . . .
My Mount Hermon Adventures Part 3
Another cool thing about the 2004 MHCWC that I noticed in the brochure that I pulled back out of
the garbage was that they were offering an advanced-level fiction mentoring/critique session as a
comprehensive tract, led by novelist Gayle Roper. The plan was for all those who wanted to
attend this tract to send their stuff to the rest of the group in advance, and then everyone would read
a nice-sized chunk of everyone else's stuff and would be prepared to comment on it at the
conference. It worked out that everyone would receive almost 45 minutes of intense
critique/feedback from everyone else in the group.
Finally. This was how it should be done.
I quickly signed up for the tract, then soon began receiving everyone else's stuff. In the weeks
leading up to the conference, I critiqued and line-edited twelve novel excerpts . . . and had a great
time doing it. Seemed like my decision to start my own editorial services business was a good
one. I actually enjoyed it! Whew!
Finally. The day came for me to pack my wee car and head south. For logistics' sake, I'll tell you
that I live on the Oregon coast and drive an '85 Honda CRX that has over 200,000 miles on it.
Anyway, when that day came, armed with a bazillion I'll read it! Editorial Services brochures, the
stack of critiqued excerpts, my Bible, credit card, and various munchies for the trip, I pointed my
wee car south and headed for Santa Cruz, California. The one thing I did not take with me was
expectation. I honestly headed south without one clue as what to expect. Didn't even give it a
thought, really. All I knew for sure was that I was long overdue for a road trip.
This road trip turned out to be the most amazing road trip of my life.
To be continued . . .
My Mount Hermon Adventures Part 4
March 31st, 2004. Heading south on Highway 101, I'm sure I had a goofy grin on my face. There's
just something about getting away from the house, from work, from the everyday routine, and hitting
the road. On this day, the road I traveled just happened to skirt the Pacific ocean, offering
magnificent vistas of surf and sand. It's also a familiar road for me, and heading south that day, I
savored each small town along the way: Depoe Bay, Newport, Seal Rock, Waldport, Yachats . . . I
stopped in my hometown (gorgeous Florence, Oregon. Go Siuslaw Vikings!) and saw a good
friend. I told her I was heading south for a conference. Told her I had submitted my novel to two
editors, and if I heard anything promising, I'd stop in on the way home and let her know.
She said that sounded like a plan.
Continuing on, the trip could not have been more perfect. The sun glowed in a brilliant blue sky,
my car ran perfectly, I felt great, the munchies tasted great—Coos Bay, Bandon, Gold Beach,
Brookings, Crescent City, Eureka. I gawked at the scenery and talked with my Heavenly Father the
entire way. Had an absolute blast.
And then it started to get dark.
To be continued . . .
My Mount Hermon Adventures Part 5
So it's getting dark, see . . .
I'm cruising through Eureka thinking about whether or not I should stop for the night but I keep right
on cruising . . . right on out of town. No problem. My plan was to spend the night in Leggett
anyway, then when the sun arose on April Fool's Day, I'd head west on Highway 1 and do some
really serious sightseeing. I had traveled the northern leg of Highway 1 from Leggett to Fort Bragg
before, at night, driving my then-employer's brand-spankin'-new Lexus LS 430 sedan. Talk about a
fun trip. But this time I wanted to see the splendor with the sun up.
Well, I had completely forgotten that there was absolutely NOTHING in Leggett, California.
Sorry, Leggettians, but you could sure use a Motel 6. So, without options, I headed west on
Highway 1 again at night and traversed the splendorous terrain all the way to Fort Bragg with only
the moon to guide me. But what an amazing moon it was. What a trip. I mean, hey. With a little
sports-car-wannabe like mine and plenty of high-beam notice to announce approaching vehicles,
we, that is, my wee car and I, treated the adventure like any wannabe Richard Petty would.
We carooooozed. And had a flat out rockin' good time.
Arrived in Fort Bragg just before the cheap motels closed. Went to bed smilin' a bit. But vowing
to someday traverse the northern leg of Highway 1 from Leggett to Fort Bragg in the daytime. I bet
it's gorgeous.
To be continued . . .
My Mount Hermon Adventures Part 6
So. It's now April Fool's Day, 2004. And I'm no fool. This was a serious road trip. And I was
serious about seeing the sights. The day could not have been more beautiful; my car could not have
performed more perfectly. But, I'll have to admit, I did get tendonitis in my wrists, elbows,
shoulders, and neck from all the steering. Those of you who know . . . know. Highway 1 in
northern California is a positively gorgeous drive. But when the sign says to take the next turn at
15 mph, you do what the sign says.
I'm cruisin' along, twisting and winding across the countryside, lining up sites where I want to stay
and live forever. The miles slowly roll out under me. San Francisco looms. I was expecting to
see billion-dollar homes lining the east side of the road as I closed in on the city. Hah. Proved
what I knew about California.
So I'm coasting down the twisty-windy narrow two-lane road called 1 and the next thing I know,
I'm on the superhighway called 101. That was easy. I started thinking about making a pit stop, so I
could dig out my camera before the Golden Gate Bridge.
I'd never seen the Golden Gate Bridge up-close-and-personal-like.
I was about to. Oh, man, was I about to.
To be continued . . .
My Mount Hermon Adventures Part 7
It wasn't like I wanted to make a pit stop; it was more like I needed to make a pit stop. But, then,
all of a sudden, butta-bing-butta-boom, I was on a six-lane superhighway staring at HUGE red
pillar thingees—
Hey, I'm not a genius, mind you, but it didn't take me long to realize there would be no pit stop. My
wee car and I were ON the Golden Gate Bridge.
My camera was still in my bag.
Well, hey. No problem, you know? Just before I first merged onto 101, it so happened that I found
a radio station that was playing raucous classical music. So, with March-Militaire-type fanfare
blasting from my stereo, warm San Franciscian sun bronzing my arm, wind ripping through my hair,
I savored my first trip across the San Francisco Bay on the Golden Gate Bridge. Downtown
gleamed. I spotted Alcatraz, gawked, gaping, at the MASSIVE red pillar thingees flying over my
head—what are they called? Anyway, it was cool.
And then I read this sign. STOP AHEAD. PAY $5 TOLL.
I, my friends, had a serious problem on my hands. Sorta shattered the entire moment into a billion
tiny pieces.
To be continued . . .
I just registered for the 2005 Mount Hermon Christian Writers Conference. It's so strange. And
amazing and wild. It hasn't even been a year. Right now the galleys for Wounded Healer are
sitting on my desk, ready to go back to Zondervan. Tomorrow I'll finish the first revisions for
Warrior's Heart and send that to my content editor. The day after that, I'll start writing Book Three
of the Homeland Heroes Series. (It's due May 1st, so maybe I should get going on that, huh.)
And it hasn't even been a year.
I haven't titled this post yet. Maybe this should be My Mount Hermon Adventures Part 1. Last year
at this time I still had two months to wait until the conference began. So it's only been 10 months
since Karen Ball at Zondervan Publishers turned my world inside out on April 2nd, 2004. Four
hours after I arrived at Mount Hermon. Seven years after I had first written the story. Four years
after I had burned everything that had anything to do with my writing.
All in the Lord God's perfect timing. All in His perfect plan.
To be continued . . .
My Mount Hermon Adventures Part 2
Last year, when I received the brochure for the Mount Hermon Christian Writers Conference, I
threw it in the garbage. Too expensive. Too much time to take off work. Couldn't afford it. The
brochure sat in my garbage the rest of that night.
But I knew the MHCWC was one of, if not the best Christian writers conference in the world. If
there was any hope for my brand-new little editorial services business to amount to anything, I
needed to go and be seen by the crowd at MH. The question that nagged me was, "Can you afford
not to go?"
I took that brochure back out of the garbage and gave it a further look-see. In other words, I looked
past the dollar signs. I saw a host of cool people I wanted to meet and learn from. I saw a host of
cool classes I needed to take. And I saw an opportunity that seemed too good to be true. I could
submit a mini-proposal for my novel in advance to not one, but two aquisition editors from major
houses. Tyndale would be there. Harvest House. WaterBrook. RiverOak. WestBow. Bethany
House. Broadman and Holman. Baker/Revell. And Zondervan. Senior Acquisition Editors were
willing to lay their eyes directly on my stuff.
Well, hey. I know a deal when I see one.
Needless to say, I registered for the conference. I submitted my two proposals. I told my boss I
needed to take ten days off work. Told my checking account to hang in there. Told my car to be
ready, 'cause I wasn't planning on flying the 700 miles to Mount Hermon. And then, I sat back and
waited for April.
To be continued . . .
My Mount Hermon Adventures Part 3
Another cool thing about the 2004 MHCWC that I noticed in the brochure that I pulled back out of
the garbage was that they were offering an advanced-level fiction mentoring/critique session as a
comprehensive tract, led by novelist Gayle Roper. The plan was for all those who wanted to
attend this tract to send their stuff to the rest of the group in advance, and then everyone would read
a nice-sized chunk of everyone else's stuff and would be prepared to comment on it at the
conference. It worked out that everyone would receive almost 45 minutes of intense
critique/feedback from everyone else in the group.
Finally. This was how it should be done.
I quickly signed up for the tract, then soon began receiving everyone else's stuff. In the weeks
leading up to the conference, I critiqued and line-edited twelve novel excerpts . . . and had a great
time doing it. Seemed like my decision to start my own editorial services business was a good
one. I actually enjoyed it! Whew!
Finally. The day came for me to pack my wee car and head south. For logistics' sake, I'll tell you
that I live on the Oregon coast and drive an '85 Honda CRX that has over 200,000 miles on it.
Anyway, when that day came, armed with a bazillion I'll read it! Editorial Services brochures, the
stack of critiqued excerpts, my Bible, credit card, and various munchies for the trip, I pointed my
wee car south and headed for Santa Cruz, California. The one thing I did not take with me was
expectation. I honestly headed south without one clue as what to expect. Didn't even give it a
thought, really. All I knew for sure was that I was long overdue for a road trip.
This road trip turned out to be the most amazing road trip of my life.
To be continued . . .
My Mount Hermon Adventures Part 4
March 31st, 2004. Heading south on Highway 101, I'm sure I had a goofy grin on my face. There's
just something about getting away from the house, from work, from the everyday routine, and hitting
the road. On this day, the road I traveled just happened to skirt the Pacific ocean, offering
magnificent vistas of surf and sand. It's also a familiar road for me, and heading south that day, I
savored each small town along the way: Depoe Bay, Newport, Seal Rock, Waldport, Yachats . . . I
stopped in my hometown (gorgeous Florence, Oregon. Go Siuslaw Vikings!) and saw a good
friend. I told her I was heading south for a conference. Told her I had submitted my novel to two
editors, and if I heard anything promising, I'd stop in on the way home and let her know.
She said that sounded like a plan.
Continuing on, the trip could not have been more perfect. The sun glowed in a brilliant blue sky,
my car ran perfectly, I felt great, the munchies tasted great—Coos Bay, Bandon, Gold Beach,
Brookings, Crescent City, Eureka. I gawked at the scenery and talked with my Heavenly Father the
entire way. Had an absolute blast.
And then it started to get dark.
To be continued . . .
My Mount Hermon Adventures Part 5
So it's getting dark, see . . .
I'm cruising through Eureka thinking about whether or not I should stop for the night but I keep right
on cruising . . . right on out of town. No problem. My plan was to spend the night in Leggett
anyway, then when the sun arose on April Fool's Day, I'd head west on Highway 1 and do some
really serious sightseeing. I had traveled the northern leg of Highway 1 from Leggett to Fort Bragg
before, at night, driving my then-employer's brand-spankin'-new Lexus LS 430 sedan. Talk about a
fun trip. But this time I wanted to see the splendor with the sun up.
Well, I had completely forgotten that there was absolutely NOTHING in Leggett, California.
Sorry, Leggettians, but you could sure use a Motel 6. So, without options, I headed west on
Highway 1 again at night and traversed the splendorous terrain all the way to Fort Bragg with only
the moon to guide me. But what an amazing moon it was. What a trip. I mean, hey. With a little
sports-car-wannabe like mine and plenty of high-beam notice to announce approaching vehicles,
we, that is, my wee car and I, treated the adventure like any wannabe Richard Petty would.
We carooooozed. And had a flat out rockin' good time.
Arrived in Fort Bragg just before the cheap motels closed. Went to bed smilin' a bit. But vowing
to someday traverse the northern leg of Highway 1 from Leggett to Fort Bragg in the daytime. I bet
it's gorgeous.
To be continued . . .
My Mount Hermon Adventures Part 6
So. It's now April Fool's Day, 2004. And I'm no fool. This was a serious road trip. And I was
serious about seeing the sights. The day could not have been more beautiful; my car could not have
performed more perfectly. But, I'll have to admit, I did get tendonitis in my wrists, elbows,
shoulders, and neck from all the steering. Those of you who know . . . know. Highway 1 in
northern California is a positively gorgeous drive. But when the sign says to take the next turn at
15 mph, you do what the sign says.
I'm cruisin' along, twisting and winding across the countryside, lining up sites where I want to stay
and live forever. The miles slowly roll out under me. San Francisco looms. I was expecting to
see billion-dollar homes lining the east side of the road as I closed in on the city. Hah. Proved
what I knew about California.
So I'm coasting down the twisty-windy narrow two-lane road called 1 and the next thing I know,
I'm on the superhighway called 101. That was easy. I started thinking about making a pit stop, so I
could dig out my camera before the Golden Gate Bridge.
I'd never seen the Golden Gate Bridge up-close-and-personal-like.
I was about to. Oh, man, was I about to.
To be continued . . .
My Mount Hermon Adventures Part 7
It wasn't like I wanted to make a pit stop; it was more like I needed to make a pit stop. But, then,
all of a sudden, butta-bing-butta-boom, I was on a six-lane superhighway staring at HUGE red
pillar thingees—
Hey, I'm not a genius, mind you, but it didn't take me long to realize there would be no pit stop. My
wee car and I were ON the Golden Gate Bridge.
My camera was still in my bag.
Well, hey. No problem, you know? Just before I first merged onto 101, it so happened that I found
a radio station that was playing raucous classical music. So, with March-Militaire-type fanfare
blasting from my stereo, warm San Franciscian sun bronzing my arm, wind ripping through my hair,
I savored my first trip across the San Francisco Bay on the Golden Gate Bridge. Downtown
gleamed. I spotted Alcatraz, gawked, gaping, at the MASSIVE red pillar thingees flying over my
head—what are they called? Anyway, it was cool.
And then I read this sign. STOP AHEAD. PAY $5 TOLL.
I, my friends, had a serious problem on my hands. Sorta shattered the entire moment into a billion
tiny pieces.
To be continued . . .
Enjoy.
