The Entire Adventure Part 50
Let's digress in our discussion of books and writing for just a second. Allow me, please, to fill you
in on my "real" life from 1997 to 2000, as I wrote, rewrote, submitted, and ran to the mailbox every
day to receive and collect my rejections.
: )
In May 1997, just after "finishing" Tender Heart, I left my little home on the beach and went back
to live with my brother again. Why? He had the computer. And the printer. I computed and
printed manuscripts up one side and down the other for the next two years. The summer of '97 I
worked part time on a new-construction cleaning crew. We scrubbed plaster drippings and wiped
up drywall dust from a bazillion new apartments that were springing up in massive complexes
around town. Wow. Hot, almost unbearable work. But with praise and worship music blasting as
we worked and the sweet Christian fellowship going on, what a cool job. Had it for a few months.
Until I desperately needed to find a full-time job.
Found one as a parcel delivery driver. (Think UPS. Only my company colors weren't brown.) I
shouted for joy when I saw that help-wanted ad. They needed someone for the brand-new Salem-
to-the-coast route. $9 an hour. The van I'd be driving was small and would rarely be filled with
packages. (At first.) : ) I'd be seeing the beach every day . . . and getting paid for it! Yep, I let out
a "Woo-hoo!" when I started that job!
After a year and a half, they moved me to the coast, north of Lincoln City, to work out of the new
center in Tillamook. I spent six months living on a new Oregon beach between Netarts and
Oceanside. Wow. Gorgeous. Oceanside? You should see that town!
One time that winter, on Netarts Beach, I found thirty sand dollars in a hurricane-force storm. A
few months later, my co-worker and I each found about ninety on the spit at Cape Lookout. We
could barely lug the five-gallon buckets we carried. I'll never forget that day.
Still rewriting. Still conferencing. Working a great job. Making $9 an hour. Living on sand
dollar beaches.
I was in heaven. For a little while.
To be continued . . .
The Entire Adventure Part 51
Hah! I got this thing in the mail yesterday for a writing magazine that said, "The Start of a Great
Story: The Writing Adventures of Donna A. Fleisher." It went on to say, "Finish that story by
buying our magazine!"
Nah. Think I'll finish that story right here. : )
So let's get on with it, shall we?
So. The heavenly job. Ahh, yes. Great job. I kept that job for about two years. Until my back
gave out. And my patience. With all the working, driving, scenery gawking, sand dollar hunting,
and living, I was also submitting proposals to every publishing house listed in the Christian
Writers Market Guide as accepting women's fiction. I started sending new and improved
proposals with new and improved cover letters to the same publishers who had rejected the old
ones.
Oh, man. Harvest House and Multnomah. I must have submitted proposals for both my novels to
them at least a dozen times. Harvest House was in Eugene! Home of the Oregon Ducks! And
Trapped On Deception! Deception Creek, where all the mayhem in the story took place was only
45 miles east of Harvest House's main office! And Multnomah. In Sisters! Deception was about
100 miles southwest of them. Didn't they realize this? Why were they both still rejecting this great
story?
From 1997 to 2000, I know I sent both my novels to this one particular acquiring editor at
Multnomah at least three times each. Maybe more.
Give you one guess who that acquiring editor was—the one who sent me back a form rejection
letter every single time.
To be continued . . .
The Entire Adventure Part 52
Yep, you guessed it. Karen Ball. (But more about her later.) : )
After quitting the delivery job and feeling all hope of becoming a published novelist drifting away
like smoke on the wind, I needed to go home. No, not back to my brother's house, even though
anywhere our dog, Mario, and my brother and his family are, that will always be home for me. No,
in 1999, I needed to go back to my home. To my little place by the beach. To air out. Once again.
Just like deja vu.
And they took me back. : ) I went back to work at the motel but, this time, part of my job included
caring for the owner's mentally disabled daughter. Now, I've had some good jobs, but this was a
precious job. I mean, how often does one get to care for an angel? She just had a birthday, by the
way. She's 28. And still a precious angel. She'll always be a precious angel. But we all know
one day she'll be running through Heaven laughing and singing and praising her King. Woo-hoo!!!
Can't wait for that day!!! (You go, Melsie!!!)
Can we just end today on that happy note?
: )
Our story . . . will be continued . . .
The Entire Adventure Part 53
Where were we? Well, how would you know, huh? I've been bouncing all around in those years:
1996-2000. Pretty amazing four years for me. Too bad I'm doing such a lousy job of sharing that
amazement with y'all. But I think you're getting the gist of it. I think most of you have heard other
novelists tell their (true) stories—pretty much the same overall story I'm telling (or trying to tell)
here.
It's never easy. We've all "paid our dues" one way or the other. (And so will you, fellow writer,
so hang in there while your paying them!) It's just part of the process. Jesus never said it would be
easy. (Don't we just love saying that?) : )
Anyway . . .
I don't know what keeps us going when we've been bitten by the novel-writing bug yet collect
rejection letters like dust on a fine piano. Well, now, I do. And I probably shouldn't describe the
way the Lord asks us to take on this particular task for Him as being "bitten by a bug." Sorry,
Lord. No, we've been tapped on the shoulder and alerted to the fact there's a big huge box on the
floor in our living room. Well, at least that's how it happened to me. No, that box was out on the
porch. I had to carry it inside. Then I just stood there looking at it for a while. Wondering what to
do with it.
Once I bellied up the nerve to look inside, I saw a bunch of people gazing back up at me. I pulled
them out one by one. First: Jessie. Then: Drew. But they quickly went back into the box. Then I
pulled out Stacie and Melissa. They gave me their story to tell. I told it. Then looked back inside
the box.
Hah! I want to say the box was empty, because I can just imagine Chris and Erin sneaking out of it
while I wasn't looking. I imagine them crawling out and planting themselves comfortably on my
couch while I finished up Stacie and Melissa's story.
But who knows. My mind is drifting here.
Like smoke on the wind . . .
Anyway, Chris and Erin gave me their story to tell. And I told it.
So . . . what?
Right! So what was the problem? Why wasn't anyone interested in my stuff?
To be continued . . .
The Entire Adventure Part 54
So. Here we are again. It's a new day, and the sun is shining bright. No, really. It is! Today is
the most amazing day. The waves are blue and crashing on the beach. But that's okay. Cuz I like
being here with you. I'll go out later and see the sunset. But right now, let's get on with our story,
shall we?
I guess if we don't get on with it, it'll never end! Well, I know my adventure will never end, but if
we at least get to today's present adventures someday, then, well, at least we'll be able to talk in the
present tense—not just about the past.
Oh, my. That didn't make any sense.
But I think you know what I mean. : )
Anyway . . . here we go. Back to Y2K. The happy new year of 2000. Chaos and mayhem
threatening to explode across the world. Computers revolting to toss the globe into utter havoc.
Well, we all know how that turned out, don't we? I mean, talk about anticlimactic!!
Oops, no, wait. Let's not go there, not quite yet. Please allow me to linger just a few minutes
longer in the years leading up to Y2K. (As you can tell, 2000 was a big year for me. Hang in
there—I'll soon tell you why. You won't want to miss it!)
Anyway . . .
Allow me to share a few experiences I savored (and still do) that occurred in the middle of my
writing/rewriting/working/submitting/racing to the mailbox/collecting rejection letters/running up
my credit card on writing related items/attending conferences/trying to become a published novelist
adventure. I call them my "confirmations." Why? Because they were miracles—plain and simple
supernatural miracles—that confirmed to me (and still do) that God wanted me to endure
everything I was enduring at the time because He had a plan for me and for the stories I had created
(with His help every step of the way).
Confirmations.
Tomorrow.
: )
To be continued . . .
The Entire Adventure Part 55
Confirmations. That's a nice word. And notice the "s" on the end. That means there were more
than one. And there were.
I think the best way for me to share with you how cool those moments were is for me to just copy
bits of my journal from those moments and share them with you. Keep in mind, that even though I
am a fiction writer, everything you are about to read is totally non-fiction. If I had made these
stories up, you never would have believed they were true. You'd say, "Sounds too good to be true."
They do. But they are. True.
Let's start with the first realization—the first confirmation that proved I was on the right track.
Writing Trapped On Deception. Stacie and Melissa's story. Two best friends. Helping me learn
to love my Best Friend more than I ever had before. Teaching me to fully imagine the love that
reaches into the hearts of two best friends. The love I needed to have for my Lord.
August 1996.
. . . and now, things are close. I am confident. Simple. Not over-confident. Not worried or
afraid. Someone will pick my "little project" up. It's in Your hands, Lord. I'll leave it there.
I'm amazed and humbled at the potential you have given me.
But now, right now, at this very moment, I am thankful to You for using my "little project" to
help me love You more. That's what I need. To love You with all my heart and soul and
strength. Commandment Numero Uno. And I'm finally learning how. For TOD, that is enough,
Lord. For that alone . . . I thank You.
To be continued . . .
The Entire Adventure Part 56
December 12th, 1996 (with my clarifying comments).
The story about the story (Trapped On Deception). Why? Because it's a miracle. At least it is
to me.
(I rented a car and headed to the Lowell Ranger Station to let my old supervisor know I had written
a novel about my YCC trail crew supervising experiences. But it was December. I didn't call
ahead to see if he'd even be there. If you know anything about the Forest Service, you know the
winter is a seriously down time for them. Anyway . . .)
So. I'm in Lowell, haven't seen (my supervisor) in like what, five years? Just walk in off the
street on a Monday around lunchtime, don't even know where Recreation (the office) is
anymore. Fire's there now! (In the office complex.) Ran into (Fire's main guy) and he had to
point it out to me! (They had completely swapped office space since I worked there. Hah!)
Across the driveway, nothing's the same. Well, yes it is. Walk in the office and see (a lady I used
to work with all those years ago). Nobody else. But she says he's here. This is his only day to be
here this month, he has so much leave time saved up. There's a huge meeting in the conference
room. Can you wait for him?
I can wait. So I look around. It's still Lowell. And I'm probably grinning like a stupid fool. (I
positively loved the time I spent working there.) I sit in his office. At his desk. And wait. Look
up and see a list of district employee names hanging on the wall. So I copy the names. Didn't
want to duplicate any names anyway (in the story). Good thing that list was right there . . .
So, I'm sitting there, waiting. Pull out a book on the district's shelters (which I needed to
research anyway!) and who walks in—and out of all the places to sit in all of Recreation,
chooses the ONE empty chair beside mine in (my supervisor's) office? (The same handsome
young man that was on my crew all those years ago—the same handsome young man I practically
made into the main teenage character of the story.) I kid you not. (This kid. My character.
Completely. Totally.) Amazing. And he remembers me. Immediately. We talk. I am definitely
grinning now, like a stupid fool.
Two minutes later, (my supervisor) walks in. And says the book sounds good! Can't wait to read
it. We talk. It's great. He asks me to take the crew this summer!
Unbelievable.
Part one of this amazing day. Part two tomorrow.
To be continued . . .
The Entire Adventure Part 57
December 1996. (I'll paraphrase this part of my journal.)
For research's sake, on the way home from Lowell that day, I headed three miles up Enterprise
Road in Pleasant Hill, Oregon, just to see what was there. That's where I set Stacie's house. I
pictured her living in a small house up on a hill surrounded with huge fir trees and a nice yard. But
I had no idea what actually sat three miles up Enterprise Road in Pleasant Hill, Oregon.
This is from my journal: And what's there? Perfection. Three miles back there's a house under
a great stand of fir trees, not big, but perfect for Stacie's house. And down a hundred feet from
that—a street on the left named Russell Oakes Lane. Yes. Again, I kid you not. Go there. See it
for yourself.
(Stacie's last name is Russell.)
Part three of this amazing day tomorrow. (This was all just in one day!)
To be continued . . .
The Entire Adventure Part 58
December 1996. (Again with my comments.)
So, I'm heading west again. Toward home. Toward Eugene. On I-5. Thinking . . . should I try
to find (a friend I hadn't seen in a long time)? It's 4:35 pm. She'd be home by now. Wouldn't
she? But Lane Community College is just right there . . . okay. So, we go into Lane. I figure—
where am I gonna find her/my old car? (I gave her my car and she drove it for years before it
finally clunkered out.) Why not start looking in the place where I always parked? (I used to
attend Lane.) And that's exactly where it was. I parked right beside it. (In my rental car.) Went
into the school, walked down the basement PE hallway (she was on the track team and had just
finished practice), and into the lockerroom. And there she was. Just standing there at her
locker. Getting ready to leave. Another ten minutes and she would have been gone. I would've
missed her. But I didn't miss her. She was standing right there. Amazed to see me (it had been a
long time and we had completely lost touch). Yep, she was. It was amazing.
. . . So. That's it. Five months. My first novel is done. Almost. Chris (my brother) is printing it
up even as we speak. It'll be close to 130,000 words. Too long? Yep. But absolutely perfect.
And absolutely amazing.
(Hah!! 130,000 words!!)
Amazing.
To be continued . . .
The Entire Adventure Part 59
Now, I realize as I try to share this stuff with you, that you probably have no idea what I'm talking
about. The "just so happens" and the "can you believe thats" are amazing, but they're definitely
"had to be there" experiences for one to fully grasp their significance. But hey. That's okay. I don't
wanna waste your time, but I think you're getting the "gist" (I love that word!) of what I'm trying to
say. So I'll continue.
This isn't exactly a confirmation or a "just so happens," but it's a moment I'd like to share. This is
from my journal in September 1997. Tender Heart is done. I've been submitting it along with
Trapped all over the place. And starting to collect rejections.
Square one. Pen and paper.
For the past few weeks my prayers have been empty and forced. Almost as if I don't know what
to say anymore. I know You hear my heart, dear Lord. I know You know. I hope my heart is
open to You.
I've been almost numb this past few weeks. Moving, working, waiting . . . but what does it all
matter, Lord? What really matters but my love for You? And my obedience?
You have provided. A new house—my own room! (I lived with my brother at this time.) And a
great new job. (The delivery job.) You're giving me strength. And someone to lean on. But how
can I lean on You when I push You away? How can I hear unless I listen? How can I listen
unless I be still? How can I be still without falling asleep? That's been the question.
I love You, Lord. I trust You. I've fallen, but I know You're lifting me back up. I'm so weak, but
I know You've got all the strength I need. I'm pitiful without You. I'm desperate without You.
So why would I want to be without You? I need You, Lord. And I trust You.
(Part of the process. Part of my "paying my dues.")
Thank You, Lord.
To be continued . . .
The Entire Adventure Part 60
December 1998
Okay. So. Well, here we are. It's been 2 1/2 years. Not quite what I thought it would be. Huh.
So now what? Give up? Fight on? Have I ever fought for anything before? Have I ever wanted
anything as much?
But God's still looking out for me. See? (In my journal, beside this one word, I taped the "room
for rent" ad I found in the Tillamook paper when I was desperately looking for a place to live.)
Pretty amazing. Again.
That ends my journal entry that day, but let me explain why that little ad completely blew me away,
and became a "confirmation" for me.
First, when the delivery job took me to the Tillamook area (about 75 miles northwest of where I
had been living with my brother), I was thrilled. I love my brother, but I needed a place of my
own. And back on the beach! Yay! Tillamook is totally a farming town—home of the Tillamook
Creamery Association (and about a bazillion farms and milk cows. One has to like cows to live in
Tillamook.) I love cows, but I wanted to live back on the beach. That meant the town of Netarts.
Due west of Tillamook.
Oh, but at that time, any affordable place where I could live would have to work. I wasn't making
demands. I needed: cheap, clean (for the most part), and dry. That was it. But this is what I found:
a furnished room with a private bath for rent in the basement of a house in Netarts (that sat on top of
a hill, so from the room's window, I had an incredible view). Cheap, clean, perfect. I mean,
absitively perfect in every way. Down to the old-fashioned telephone I had wished I could have
someday. You know the type—the black, rotary dial phones that weigh a ton but fit perfectly
against your ear so you can hear perfectly. And a desk that was actually a smooth door resting on
two saw horses—perfect space for a writer who wanted to spread all her stuff out. And a bed so
comfortable . . . four-inch clean foam pad on top to sink into. And a tub. And the view. Wow.
All this for $200 a month, utilities included.
Confirmation. My Father had His hand on me. And on the work of my hands.
I had no clue what He had in mind. But I was His.
To be continued . . .
Let's digress in our discussion of books and writing for just a second. Allow me, please, to fill you
in on my "real" life from 1997 to 2000, as I wrote, rewrote, submitted, and ran to the mailbox every
day to receive and collect my rejections.
: )
In May 1997, just after "finishing" Tender Heart, I left my little home on the beach and went back
to live with my brother again. Why? He had the computer. And the printer. I computed and
printed manuscripts up one side and down the other for the next two years. The summer of '97 I
worked part time on a new-construction cleaning crew. We scrubbed plaster drippings and wiped
up drywall dust from a bazillion new apartments that were springing up in massive complexes
around town. Wow. Hot, almost unbearable work. But with praise and worship music blasting as
we worked and the sweet Christian fellowship going on, what a cool job. Had it for a few months.
Until I desperately needed to find a full-time job.
Found one as a parcel delivery driver. (Think UPS. Only my company colors weren't brown.) I
shouted for joy when I saw that help-wanted ad. They needed someone for the brand-new Salem-
to-the-coast route. $9 an hour. The van I'd be driving was small and would rarely be filled with
packages. (At first.) : ) I'd be seeing the beach every day . . . and getting paid for it! Yep, I let out
a "Woo-hoo!" when I started that job!
After a year and a half, they moved me to the coast, north of Lincoln City, to work out of the new
center in Tillamook. I spent six months living on a new Oregon beach between Netarts and
Oceanside. Wow. Gorgeous. Oceanside? You should see that town!
One time that winter, on Netarts Beach, I found thirty sand dollars in a hurricane-force storm. A
few months later, my co-worker and I each found about ninety on the spit at Cape Lookout. We
could barely lug the five-gallon buckets we carried. I'll never forget that day.
Still rewriting. Still conferencing. Working a great job. Making $9 an hour. Living on sand
dollar beaches.
I was in heaven. For a little while.
To be continued . . .
The Entire Adventure Part 51
Hah! I got this thing in the mail yesterday for a writing magazine that said, "The Start of a Great
Story: The Writing Adventures of Donna A. Fleisher." It went on to say, "Finish that story by
buying our magazine!"
Nah. Think I'll finish that story right here. : )
So let's get on with it, shall we?
So. The heavenly job. Ahh, yes. Great job. I kept that job for about two years. Until my back
gave out. And my patience. With all the working, driving, scenery gawking, sand dollar hunting,
and living, I was also submitting proposals to every publishing house listed in the Christian
Writers Market Guide as accepting women's fiction. I started sending new and improved
proposals with new and improved cover letters to the same publishers who had rejected the old
ones.
Oh, man. Harvest House and Multnomah. I must have submitted proposals for both my novels to
them at least a dozen times. Harvest House was in Eugene! Home of the Oregon Ducks! And
Trapped On Deception! Deception Creek, where all the mayhem in the story took place was only
45 miles east of Harvest House's main office! And Multnomah. In Sisters! Deception was about
100 miles southwest of them. Didn't they realize this? Why were they both still rejecting this great
story?
From 1997 to 2000, I know I sent both my novels to this one particular acquiring editor at
Multnomah at least three times each. Maybe more.
Give you one guess who that acquiring editor was—the one who sent me back a form rejection
letter every single time.
To be continued . . .
The Entire Adventure Part 52
Yep, you guessed it. Karen Ball. (But more about her later.) : )
After quitting the delivery job and feeling all hope of becoming a published novelist drifting away
like smoke on the wind, I needed to go home. No, not back to my brother's house, even though
anywhere our dog, Mario, and my brother and his family are, that will always be home for me. No,
in 1999, I needed to go back to my home. To my little place by the beach. To air out. Once again.
Just like deja vu.
And they took me back. : ) I went back to work at the motel but, this time, part of my job included
caring for the owner's mentally disabled daughter. Now, I've had some good jobs, but this was a
precious job. I mean, how often does one get to care for an angel? She just had a birthday, by the
way. She's 28. And still a precious angel. She'll always be a precious angel. But we all know
one day she'll be running through Heaven laughing and singing and praising her King. Woo-hoo!!!
Can't wait for that day!!! (You go, Melsie!!!)
Can we just end today on that happy note?
: )
Our story . . . will be continued . . .
The Entire Adventure Part 53
Where were we? Well, how would you know, huh? I've been bouncing all around in those years:
1996-2000. Pretty amazing four years for me. Too bad I'm doing such a lousy job of sharing that
amazement with y'all. But I think you're getting the gist of it. I think most of you have heard other
novelists tell their (true) stories—pretty much the same overall story I'm telling (or trying to tell)
here.
It's never easy. We've all "paid our dues" one way or the other. (And so will you, fellow writer,
so hang in there while your paying them!) It's just part of the process. Jesus never said it would be
easy. (Don't we just love saying that?) : )
Anyway . . .
I don't know what keeps us going when we've been bitten by the novel-writing bug yet collect
rejection letters like dust on a fine piano. Well, now, I do. And I probably shouldn't describe the
way the Lord asks us to take on this particular task for Him as being "bitten by a bug." Sorry,
Lord. No, we've been tapped on the shoulder and alerted to the fact there's a big huge box on the
floor in our living room. Well, at least that's how it happened to me. No, that box was out on the
porch. I had to carry it inside. Then I just stood there looking at it for a while. Wondering what to
do with it.
Once I bellied up the nerve to look inside, I saw a bunch of people gazing back up at me. I pulled
them out one by one. First: Jessie. Then: Drew. But they quickly went back into the box. Then I
pulled out Stacie and Melissa. They gave me their story to tell. I told it. Then looked back inside
the box.
Hah! I want to say the box was empty, because I can just imagine Chris and Erin sneaking out of it
while I wasn't looking. I imagine them crawling out and planting themselves comfortably on my
couch while I finished up Stacie and Melissa's story.
But who knows. My mind is drifting here.
Like smoke on the wind . . .
Anyway, Chris and Erin gave me their story to tell. And I told it.
So . . . what?
Right! So what was the problem? Why wasn't anyone interested in my stuff?
To be continued . . .
The Entire Adventure Part 54
So. Here we are again. It's a new day, and the sun is shining bright. No, really. It is! Today is
the most amazing day. The waves are blue and crashing on the beach. But that's okay. Cuz I like
being here with you. I'll go out later and see the sunset. But right now, let's get on with our story,
shall we?
I guess if we don't get on with it, it'll never end! Well, I know my adventure will never end, but if
we at least get to today's present adventures someday, then, well, at least we'll be able to talk in the
present tense—not just about the past.
Oh, my. That didn't make any sense.
But I think you know what I mean. : )
Anyway . . . here we go. Back to Y2K. The happy new year of 2000. Chaos and mayhem
threatening to explode across the world. Computers revolting to toss the globe into utter havoc.
Well, we all know how that turned out, don't we? I mean, talk about anticlimactic!!
Oops, no, wait. Let's not go there, not quite yet. Please allow me to linger just a few minutes
longer in the years leading up to Y2K. (As you can tell, 2000 was a big year for me. Hang in
there—I'll soon tell you why. You won't want to miss it!)
Anyway . . .
Allow me to share a few experiences I savored (and still do) that occurred in the middle of my
writing/rewriting/working/submitting/racing to the mailbox/collecting rejection letters/running up
my credit card on writing related items/attending conferences/trying to become a published novelist
adventure. I call them my "confirmations." Why? Because they were miracles—plain and simple
supernatural miracles—that confirmed to me (and still do) that God wanted me to endure
everything I was enduring at the time because He had a plan for me and for the stories I had created
(with His help every step of the way).
Confirmations.
Tomorrow.
: )
To be continued . . .
The Entire Adventure Part 55
Confirmations. That's a nice word. And notice the "s" on the end. That means there were more
than one. And there were.
I think the best way for me to share with you how cool those moments were is for me to just copy
bits of my journal from those moments and share them with you. Keep in mind, that even though I
am a fiction writer, everything you are about to read is totally non-fiction. If I had made these
stories up, you never would have believed they were true. You'd say, "Sounds too good to be true."
They do. But they are. True.
Let's start with the first realization—the first confirmation that proved I was on the right track.
Writing Trapped On Deception. Stacie and Melissa's story. Two best friends. Helping me learn
to love my Best Friend more than I ever had before. Teaching me to fully imagine the love that
reaches into the hearts of two best friends. The love I needed to have for my Lord.
August 1996.
. . . and now, things are close. I am confident. Simple. Not over-confident. Not worried or
afraid. Someone will pick my "little project" up. It's in Your hands, Lord. I'll leave it there.
I'm amazed and humbled at the potential you have given me.
But now, right now, at this very moment, I am thankful to You for using my "little project" to
help me love You more. That's what I need. To love You with all my heart and soul and
strength. Commandment Numero Uno. And I'm finally learning how. For TOD, that is enough,
Lord. For that alone . . . I thank You.
To be continued . . .
The Entire Adventure Part 56
December 12th, 1996 (with my clarifying comments).
The story about the story (Trapped On Deception). Why? Because it's a miracle. At least it is
to me.
(I rented a car and headed to the Lowell Ranger Station to let my old supervisor know I had written
a novel about my YCC trail crew supervising experiences. But it was December. I didn't call
ahead to see if he'd even be there. If you know anything about the Forest Service, you know the
winter is a seriously down time for them. Anyway . . .)
So. I'm in Lowell, haven't seen (my supervisor) in like what, five years? Just walk in off the
street on a Monday around lunchtime, don't even know where Recreation (the office) is
anymore. Fire's there now! (In the office complex.) Ran into (Fire's main guy) and he had to
point it out to me! (They had completely swapped office space since I worked there. Hah!)
Across the driveway, nothing's the same. Well, yes it is. Walk in the office and see (a lady I used
to work with all those years ago). Nobody else. But she says he's here. This is his only day to be
here this month, he has so much leave time saved up. There's a huge meeting in the conference
room. Can you wait for him?
I can wait. So I look around. It's still Lowell. And I'm probably grinning like a stupid fool. (I
positively loved the time I spent working there.) I sit in his office. At his desk. And wait. Look
up and see a list of district employee names hanging on the wall. So I copy the names. Didn't
want to duplicate any names anyway (in the story). Good thing that list was right there . . .
So, I'm sitting there, waiting. Pull out a book on the district's shelters (which I needed to
research anyway!) and who walks in—and out of all the places to sit in all of Recreation,
chooses the ONE empty chair beside mine in (my supervisor's) office? (The same handsome
young man that was on my crew all those years ago—the same handsome young man I practically
made into the main teenage character of the story.) I kid you not. (This kid. My character.
Completely. Totally.) Amazing. And he remembers me. Immediately. We talk. I am definitely
grinning now, like a stupid fool.
Two minutes later, (my supervisor) walks in. And says the book sounds good! Can't wait to read
it. We talk. It's great. He asks me to take the crew this summer!
Unbelievable.
Part one of this amazing day. Part two tomorrow.
To be continued . . .
The Entire Adventure Part 57
December 1996. (I'll paraphrase this part of my journal.)
For research's sake, on the way home from Lowell that day, I headed three miles up Enterprise
Road in Pleasant Hill, Oregon, just to see what was there. That's where I set Stacie's house. I
pictured her living in a small house up on a hill surrounded with huge fir trees and a nice yard. But
I had no idea what actually sat three miles up Enterprise Road in Pleasant Hill, Oregon.
This is from my journal: And what's there? Perfection. Three miles back there's a house under
a great stand of fir trees, not big, but perfect for Stacie's house. And down a hundred feet from
that—a street on the left named Russell Oakes Lane. Yes. Again, I kid you not. Go there. See it
for yourself.
(Stacie's last name is Russell.)
Part three of this amazing day tomorrow. (This was all just in one day!)
To be continued . . .
The Entire Adventure Part 58
December 1996. (Again with my comments.)
So, I'm heading west again. Toward home. Toward Eugene. On I-5. Thinking . . . should I try
to find (a friend I hadn't seen in a long time)? It's 4:35 pm. She'd be home by now. Wouldn't
she? But Lane Community College is just right there . . . okay. So, we go into Lane. I figure—
where am I gonna find her/my old car? (I gave her my car and she drove it for years before it
finally clunkered out.) Why not start looking in the place where I always parked? (I used to
attend Lane.) And that's exactly where it was. I parked right beside it. (In my rental car.) Went
into the school, walked down the basement PE hallway (she was on the track team and had just
finished practice), and into the lockerroom. And there she was. Just standing there at her
locker. Getting ready to leave. Another ten minutes and she would have been gone. I would've
missed her. But I didn't miss her. She was standing right there. Amazed to see me (it had been a
long time and we had completely lost touch). Yep, she was. It was amazing.
. . . So. That's it. Five months. My first novel is done. Almost. Chris (my brother) is printing it
up even as we speak. It'll be close to 130,000 words. Too long? Yep. But absolutely perfect.
And absolutely amazing.
(Hah!! 130,000 words!!)
Amazing.
To be continued . . .
The Entire Adventure Part 59
Now, I realize as I try to share this stuff with you, that you probably have no idea what I'm talking
about. The "just so happens" and the "can you believe thats" are amazing, but they're definitely
"had to be there" experiences for one to fully grasp their significance. But hey. That's okay. I don't
wanna waste your time, but I think you're getting the "gist" (I love that word!) of what I'm trying to
say. So I'll continue.
This isn't exactly a confirmation or a "just so happens," but it's a moment I'd like to share. This is
from my journal in September 1997. Tender Heart is done. I've been submitting it along with
Trapped all over the place. And starting to collect rejections.
Square one. Pen and paper.
For the past few weeks my prayers have been empty and forced. Almost as if I don't know what
to say anymore. I know You hear my heart, dear Lord. I know You know. I hope my heart is
open to You.
I've been almost numb this past few weeks. Moving, working, waiting . . . but what does it all
matter, Lord? What really matters but my love for You? And my obedience?
You have provided. A new house—my own room! (I lived with my brother at this time.) And a
great new job. (The delivery job.) You're giving me strength. And someone to lean on. But how
can I lean on You when I push You away? How can I hear unless I listen? How can I listen
unless I be still? How can I be still without falling asleep? That's been the question.
I love You, Lord. I trust You. I've fallen, but I know You're lifting me back up. I'm so weak, but
I know You've got all the strength I need. I'm pitiful without You. I'm desperate without You.
So why would I want to be without You? I need You, Lord. And I trust You.
(Part of the process. Part of my "paying my dues.")
Thank You, Lord.
To be continued . . .
The Entire Adventure Part 60
December 1998
Okay. So. Well, here we are. It's been 2 1/2 years. Not quite what I thought it would be. Huh.
So now what? Give up? Fight on? Have I ever fought for anything before? Have I ever wanted
anything as much?
But God's still looking out for me. See? (In my journal, beside this one word, I taped the "room
for rent" ad I found in the Tillamook paper when I was desperately looking for a place to live.)
Pretty amazing. Again.
That ends my journal entry that day, but let me explain why that little ad completely blew me away,
and became a "confirmation" for me.
First, when the delivery job took me to the Tillamook area (about 75 miles northwest of where I
had been living with my brother), I was thrilled. I love my brother, but I needed a place of my
own. And back on the beach! Yay! Tillamook is totally a farming town—home of the Tillamook
Creamery Association (and about a bazillion farms and milk cows. One has to like cows to live in
Tillamook.) I love cows, but I wanted to live back on the beach. That meant the town of Netarts.
Due west of Tillamook.
Oh, but at that time, any affordable place where I could live would have to work. I wasn't making
demands. I needed: cheap, clean (for the most part), and dry. That was it. But this is what I found:
a furnished room with a private bath for rent in the basement of a house in Netarts (that sat on top of
a hill, so from the room's window, I had an incredible view). Cheap, clean, perfect. I mean,
absitively perfect in every way. Down to the old-fashioned telephone I had wished I could have
someday. You know the type—the black, rotary dial phones that weigh a ton but fit perfectly
against your ear so you can hear perfectly. And a desk that was actually a smooth door resting on
two saw horses—perfect space for a writer who wanted to spread all her stuff out. And a bed so
comfortable . . . four-inch clean foam pad on top to sink into. And a tub. And the view. Wow.
All this for $200 a month, utilities included.
Confirmation. My Father had His hand on me. And on the work of my hands.
I had no clue what He had in mind. But I was His.
To be continued . . .
| page five of my entire adventure |
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