Tuesday, September 30, 2014

Meet my character: Laney Odell

            Thank you, Carrie Anne Noble, for inviting me to blog hop. Carrie recently entered and won The Young Adult Fiction category of the ABNA contest with her novel the Mermaid’s Sister (originally titled Seashell, Stork and Apple Tree). I read the fantastic first three chapters during the contest, and I’m itching to grab the rest when it’s released on February 24, 2015. Go to Carrie’s blog to learn more about the Mermaid’s Sister and to see Carries answers to the Seven Questions. http://www.carrienoble.com/

            Now it’s my turn to answer the Seven Questions about my main character in Surviving Jamaica.

1) What is the name of your character? Is he/she fictional or a historic person?
Fictional character Laney Odell lives with her quirky puppeteering grandmother, Meemaw, and attends a small Christian school while Daddy serves in Afghanistan and Mama continues inpatient therapy following a suicide attempt—details learned in Surviving Meemaw, the first book in the series.

2) When and where is the story set?
Surviving Jamaica tells the story of the senior class mission trip to the northeastern part of Jamaica, where the students mix sweaty work projects, puppet performances in schools and churches, and touristy fun.

3) What should we know about him/her?
Laney is confused and skeptical about the Baptist style Christianity practiced by Meemaw and the other students. She was raised Roman Catholic and usually feels on the outside. Laney entered puppetry reluctantly, but is now one of the best. She has late night conversations with Puppet Baby.

4) What is the main conflict? What messes up his/her life?
Laney feels the zing any time she’s near her witty, immature, artistic boyfriend Calvin, but also cares deeply for her wise, solid, geeky friendboy Josh. Preventing public humiliation by virtue of being Meemaw’s granddaughter is an ongoing conflict.

5) What is the personal goal of the character?  
Laney wants Daddy to return safely from Afghanistan and Mama to return to mental health so her family can be reunited. She wants her classmates to accept her, and she wants Calvin to kiss her. 

6) Is there a working title for this novel, and can we read more about it?
Surviving Jamaica is hopefully the permanent title for the second book in Laney’s trilogy. Follow Roberta Brosius, Author on Facebook to read updates.

7) When can we expect the book to be published?
Surviving Jamaica should be ready for your Kindle or Nook in time for Christmas. In the meantime, get ready by reading Surviving Meemaw. To order an autographed print copy, contact me. Go to Amazon to order the electronic version and to read reviews. http://www.amazon.com/Surviving-Meemaw-Roberta-Brosius-ebook/dp/B00G5FXB64/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1412097911&sr=8-1&keywords=surviving+meemaw

            Now it’s my turn to nominate two more West Branch Christian Writers and to ask you to hop over to their blogs next Tuesday to meet their main characters.

            Susan Rainey Lower has written in many fiction genres, including romance, children’s, and speculative fiction. She will answer the Seven Questions about her intriguing Work in Progress Troll Hunter. You can find Susan at https://susanlower.wordpress.com/.

            Kathie Mitchell has written biblical nonfiction for Barbour. I am enjoying the laugh out loud excerpts from her Work in Progress, which she classifies as “hen lit.” Read her blog posts at http://countrygrandmother.wordpress.com/.

Tuesday, August 26, 2014

Sparrow Lessons

            It’s been a rough summer. When my school closed, I lost my ministry teaching teens and the income that paid for my family’s health insurance. Soon after that, my close friend and coworker of fifteen years died suddenly and unexpectedly. I would rather not be experiencing redirection and sorrow.

            I argue with myself about the weight of these losses:

            They are nothing compared to what many in the world are going through.

            But they still hurt.

            They don’t measure up to Ebola, beheadings, genocide, or Ferguson.

            But I’m still heartbroken.

            I should be glad to have many other friends and now a new job.

            But I feel like a refugee there, a displaced person.

            Refugee? More like a wimp.

            I can go on, being adept at arguing with myself and others, but then I remember the words of Jesus to his twelve followers two thousand years ago.

Are not two sparrows sold for a penny? Yet not one of them will fall to the ground outside your Father’s care. And even the very hairs of your head are all numbered. So don’t be afraid; you are worth more than many sparrows. (Matthew 10:29 – 31, NIV)

            My Father cares about the huge things like war and human rights and hunger and disease. But he also cares about the piddling things like one person’s losses and resulting anxiety and grief.

            My Father’s care is not limited by a tight budget and decreasing tax revenues. It’s not limited by not-enough-hours-in-the-day. God’s love, care, power, grace, and mercy are unlimited.

            That’s a good lesson for this half-penny sparrow.

Sunday, August 24, 2014

A Silly Song

Dear Reader,

Now it's time for silly songs without Bob and Larry.

Sow, sow, sow the seed gently on the ground,
Patiently, prayerfully, faithfully for the King.
Harvest will abound.

Maybe it's not so silly if it helps me remember what God wants me to do.

XOXO Roberta

P.S. I hope it gets stuck in your head.

P.P.S. Can I play this on the ukelele?

Saturday, August 16, 2014

"The greatest adventure is what lies ahead..."

            I’m beginning a new adventure. 

            I should know better, having been warned decades ago by Bilbo Baggins that adventures are “nasty disturbing uncomfortable things” that “make you late for dinner.” Still, I find God’s call even more compelling than Gandalf’s, which Bilbo couldn’t ignore.

            So I will pack up all my teaching tricks (after I figure which boxes I packed them in less than a month ago and unpack them) and take them and me to Sunbury Christian Academy, where I will be a smaller fish in a bigger pond. 

            I’m pleased to announce I can now find SCA on Route 11, although I’m not confident I can locate my classroom after entering the building. Hopefully one of the kind bigger fishes will point a fin in the right direction. 

            What will the first day of school be like? I suspect it may be like the first chapel of my fifth year of school at WCA, in August 2003.

            My first ever homeroom, my kids from freshmen through senior year, had graduated in May. I had a new homeroom to get to know. I thought I was okay with that until we had our first high school chapel. 

            The music started, and as I stood up to sing, I looked at the worship team, and it was all wrong. D.J. wasn’t playing piano. Cammie and Sherrill weren’t singing together at a microphone. Other musicians from the Class of ’03 were conspicuously absent. 

            I couldn’t sing. I bawled.

            So it’s entirely possible that I may tear up when I survey my new class of juniors and the Maccabees (my WCA homeroom boys) are missing. I may sniffle when the seniors come in lacking the familiar faces and voices of McKayla, Tessa, Caitlyn, and Tyler.

            But I know I’ll be okay:  In 2003 I learned my love could expand to include new students while praying for the older ones embarking on their next adventures.

Tuesday, July 29, 2014

Another Mountain for Moses

               Speak to the rock.

            In the thirty-ninth year of my two-week journey from Sinai to Canaan, I was beyond calm speaking. I wanted to strike something or someone…better the rock than one of God’s complaining chosen.

            Water exploded from the rock, God honoring his promise. God had always called me his friend, but now I had dishonored him and there was a price to pay: The covenant he had sworn to Abraham God now snatched from my hands. I would never homestead in Canaan. Though I had successfully pleaded for other offenders, the Holy One would not consider my case.

            So he stood with me on Mount Nebo, two old friends who had traveled countless dusty miles together, and we looked toward the horizon:  fields green with new barley, olive groves and vineyards, hills and valleys—a breathtaking panorama, a fertile land that would soon be a home for my people. God dried my bittersweet tears, and I slept with my fathers.

            But I’m awake now—though I can’t understand how or why—standing again on a mountain. No longer distant, the green fields and lush groves seem close enough to touch, a promise returned to my trembling hands.

            I turn and shade my eyes from the white-hot brilliance of the man before me, but he grasps my shoulders and pulls me close. Gazing into his eyes, I recognize the holy fire I had first glimpsed in a burning desert bush.

            Welcome home, Old Friend.

           (I wrote this several years ago and just rediscovered it in my files. It is based on events in Numbers 20 and Mark 9.)

Tuesday, July 22, 2014

Magnetic Vocabulary

            My classroom desk is a melting pot of magnetic words. 

            Fueled by my love of all things Star Trek, I bought a set of space words years ago. It contains astronaut, asteroid, accelerate, and android, plus dozens more.

            Fed by my love of all things Jewish, I sprung for the Yiddish words some time later. Klezmer, klug, klutz, and kvell join a multitude of vaguely familiar words.

            I don’t know where the other three sets came from. The pet words showed up like a stray cat. There’s a set of school words, including homework. And a set of generic English words. And some more English words that seem to be geared toward emotional health. Gutt, I could use some.

            And they’re all mixed together on the front of my metal desk because bored madelas and pishers like to create silly sentences combining words from multiple sets. Problem is, the school has closed, not just for summer but forever, so I must pry my words off my desk and take them home, along with everything else that’s been mysteriously multiplying in my classroom for the last fifteen years. Feh!

            But I must sort them into the correct packages first. The space words blessedly are white print on black background, immediately distinguishing them from the other sets. I don’t have to read them, but I end up reading some anyway. Cargo bay. Planet. Meteor. I noticed yesterday that several smaller words have lodged themselves into the seam of the desk. I will have to bring tweezers since I can’t transport them out, and I don’t want them to be Lost in Space.

            The pet words are larger and orange. The set includes a picture of a dog and a cat and a fish skeleton. I suppose the stray cat ate the fish. I think I will send them to a friend, so she and her newly adopted kitten can bond while they play with them on the refrigerator.

            This sorting would have been a good activity for my young fraynds during final exams week; we could have kibitzed while they purged my desk. But I didn’t know the first week of June would be my last final exams week at WCA. Oy vey!

            I’m fairly certain I will not find all the words that settled into the crevices and crannies of the classroom. Even the industrial vacuum cleaner will likely not locate them all. That’s okay. I gladly (and sadly) leave little pieces of myself behind to bless the space that has so blessed me..