Who Is Driving?

Writing – A strange Affair

            Writing is a journey. An author starts out with an idea, knowing where the characters are going. We get in a car, aka favorite chair, start the engine and slowly go on down the road with an acute sense of where we are headed and journal the scenes for the reader as we go along on this wonderful trip of creating a story.

            While working on my most recent writing project I learned something I’d never known before. This is what happened:

            Recently I had finished a 3-book series with, what I thought, was a little heavier subject matter than I usually write about. I was exhausted and extremely happy when the series was done. I felt I had earned a timeout and took a short break.

            But a writer must write, so I said to myself, “I’m going to write something fluffy -- something fun and light-hearted and short on this next trip.”

            I get into my writer’s seat and begin the story, knowing pretty much where I’m headed. A good driver always knows their destination. Right?

            So, with a light heart I begin. The story is moving along. I’m making headway down the road at a pretty good clip, thinking I should arrive at my destination in one-third of the time it took me to write three books.

            When I think it’s about time to wind the journey up, the driving starts taking me further than my planned destination. And further. I’m hanging onto the wheel now.  The trip is taking longer than I expected. Then suddenly I feel the characters take over. They are not so quick to let me drive all of a sudden.

              In the middle of the night, as I was tooling along, before the thought patterns in my head changed, I was heading in a different direction. How did that happen?

I thought I was driving!

I thought I knew my destination!

My story was taking turns. This was not on the itinerary. Where was I going?

About three quarters into the story, my hero and heroine had changed. The “other” guy who was a secondary player flew right up and became the hero. What?

            Shocked, I let the characters drive. I followed their lead and soon enough I realized my destination was not theirs.

            How does an author explain that? Or even understand.

            I knew then that writers are sometimes just the holders of the pen or tappers of the keyboard, and the destination is in the hands of the characters.

            The story went on so long but it wasn’t time to stop. Remember I wanted to write something fun and fluffy and short? None of that happened.

            The word count was big enough that I had to break the story into two books.

            Three months after I started my journey, I finally reached my destination. Collectively tired, fiercely happy that the story ended the way it was supposed to, and glad to let the characters drive, I typed THE END.

           

            As a writer, it is our job to make sure our characters reach their destination. And sometimes we don’t always know where that is.

            When you’re tooling down the road, let them drive. They know where they’re going. Right? 

____________________________

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Coming Soon:

 

Word Pictures

Life is busy isn’t it? I’m tempted right at the beginning to make a list of everything we do, but I am going to refrain.

Because I would like to paint a word picture for you.

What do you notice as you walk through your daily routine?  

Our minds have the ability to process. Our eyes to see things. Even from our busy viewpoint, 

we choose what we notice. Then we make assumptions.

Word pictures help us see life. I tend to notice things. Everything. Nuances. The obvious.  Innuendo (implications, overtones). And then I process them and come up with a conclusion based on what I see. Here are a couple of examples. 

I tend to notice body language. I see a restaurant patron, crumpled shoulders, no eye contact, eating slowly, alone. And begin to paint a word picture. Here are two: first one is, gosh, something terrible must have happened, maybe he lost his wife to cancer this week, or maybe no one loves him, or I wonder where he’s going from here, what kind of life he has. It must be really sad. Another is maybe he’s really a rich guy with a ton of money, and he wants to stay incognito because if people knew, he’d be paying through the nose for his breakfast.

I watch him, get up slowly, pay the cashier who greets him with familiarity and then as he walks outside and climbs into a rusty old truck with a wheelbarrow in back and slowly drives away.

Do you ever stop to wonder about people as you go about your daily routine?

I’m sure you noticed a young mother who is quietly “screaming” at her misbehaving child so people won’t dislike her? Her lips are tight, she is so distraught that she is about to burst, and the child she’s correcting jerks his arm from her tight hold, as she jerks it back making her even madder?

Instantly, at this last word picture, I’m mad. Mad at her for not being in control. Mad at her for being the adult and not acting like one.

Are you getting the picture?

Okay, here are a couple more scenarios. The guy in the creamy white Lexus  is driving above the speed limit and jerks into your lane for no apparent reason, causing you a near heart attack trying to avoid an accident. Yes, I know, you were probably driving a little too slow in the center lane but he was a jerk because he just drove on without a worry, and he came close to wrecking your vehicle. Mad? Oh yeah.

In those few seconds you noticed he had on a suit and figure he is some rich guy who owns four cars and a four-car garage to park them in. Probably born into a wealthy family and thinks everybody should get out of the way when he gets on the road.

Ever think that way? I do.

How about this. You see a beautiful woman in an upscale store you can’t afford to shop in and she is making noise at the cashier. She is dressed exquisitely , probably walked straight out of the beauty shop, her blond hair swept up in a perfect classic do, her electric blue dress and four inch heels that match perfectly, and she is actually, and you really hate to admit this, but she’s beautiful.

What do you know about these people?

Nothing.

So, why do we  feel we know everything about a person just by looking at them?  I ask myself that question all the time.

Here is the rest of the story.

Remember the guy eating breakfast and driving the old truck with the wheelbarrow? His son is a congressman. He has two daughters who adore him. Why? Because he’s a nice, quiet guy who works hard and loves his children. His wife adores him too, but knows he enjoys eating alone at the restaurant and she lets him.

Remember the woman who’s grabbing her child in anger?  She just learned that her husband is having an affair and the reason she married him was because he said marriage was forever and he would be faithful. 

Her husband turned out just like her father who ruined her family’s life because of his affairs. The thing is, she made sure to marry the man who said he’d be faithful to her. Now he’s leaving her too. Promises broken. Her son was jerking his arm from her, feeling the same hurt as she did when her father left.

Now for the man who cut you off this morning on the way to work in his beautiful creamy white Lexus, acting like he owned the road?

He is a jerk. His father raised him to be one. Taught him that if you weren’t first in life you were nothing. Oh yeah, he’s got the Lexus, the nice suit, the business that is successful, but his wife hates him, his kids have nothing to say to him, but by golly he’s got the nice house and perfectly trimmed yard.  

It’s what his father calls success.

Funny, but he doesn’t feel it. He was thinking about life as he was driving down the road, wondering why he wasn’t happy. Why he didn’t have any friends. He knew how to function as a boss, but had no idea how to be a friend. He actually envied guys at work who went home to wives and kids who loved them. But he didn’t know how to love his family.  No one showed him.

And for the beautiful woman. Now which of us ladies think she couldn’t possibly have any problems with those looks, those clothes, those shoes that matched that electric blue dress, for heaven’s sake?

Remember the guy in the Lexus? She’s his wife. When she married him, he was a young man striving to grow a business. She loved him for that. He worked hard and even though they started with a small house, she was happier back then.

Now she rarely sees her husband and when she does he wants her to look the part of “the boss’s wife.” Which means she has to be made up all the time. She was returning a dress her husband said made her look dumpy.

He wants to impress a potential client he is wooing at dinner tonight at the best restaurant  in town and no matter what she shows him she is wearing he dismisses as not good enough. To the world she is gorgeous, to him she is never enough. No wonder she was stressed at the cashier that day.

All she ever wanted was a close family. Mostly because her dad was the owner of a huge manufacturing business and she hardly ever saw him as a child. She thought she’d married a better man, but alas, to her ever-growing realization, she married someone like her father and her children felt the same way about their father as she had about hers.

Making quick judgments is easy. Truly understanding a person means getting to know them before you paint a word picture that isn’t true.

It may take a little time, but we can change how we see people, even if just a little at a time.

* * *

Here’s one more word picture. Several years ago I met a man as I waited in a train station.

He came in rather disheveled and yelling at the clerk behind the window, upset because he had missed his ride. When he turned around something inside me said to speak to him.  I did and he sat down on the bench

We exchanged first names and he began to tell me about his life. He talked about his hurts and failures, things that made him happy.  He needed someone to listen. For over an hour we talked, then as the conversation came to an end, I offered him an unopened bottle of iced tea I had in my bag, figuring he would be headed back to the streets.

That evening I rode the train home praying for the man I’d met and told my son about the encounter later that night, including the name of the band the guy played in.

My son gasped and said, “No way.”  

I had never heard of  the group so didn’t know the man’s face or name.
When I look back I believe God did not want me know his name or who he was. I might, because of his status in the world, looked at him differently.

Instead I just saw the man.

Word pictures. They can mean so many things. When you walk through life, notice things. Notice people. But don’t judge them. You don’t know where they’ve been or how many times they’ve been hit by invisible sticks and stones. How many verbal or physical beatings they’ve taken. How many rejections.

Look deeper instead. God will show you something in people if you just look a little deeper. You’ll find truth if you are willing to listen instead of forming a word picture in your mind.

~ Patricia Strefling

www.patriciastrefling .com

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Stay In Your Lane

         Being a people-pleaser and someone who loves to encourage people, I recently found myself plagued with a reoccurring malady: overwhelming requests and not enough time. Add to that my penchant for needing to process life at a slower pace and think things through, I found myself in a race I couldn’t win.

          As I was thinking about this a word picture came to mind.

          I was down at the local high school track running in my lane, others in front of me, beside me, behind me. We were all running through life each looking ahead to the purpose we had inside of us.

         Then I pictured myself changing lanes. Doing something that was not me. When I found myself trying to run in someone else’s lane, I created chaos on the track. We were tripping and running into each other in a ball of tangled humanity. I instantly lost my focus.

      It became increasingly clear that every time I listened to someone’s voice telling me I should be doing this or that, I risked losing my place. We can be good people in a messed up world but if we try to be everything to everybody all the time, we lose the most important point in life -- knowing what we were created for.

       Staying in my particular lane meant writing. I love to write, create things, encourage people. When I stepped outside my box because of fear, guilt, or jealousy, trying to do things that people thought I should be doing, I was knocking everyone else out of theirs.  When I tried to be like them, I was stealing their purpose and trying to make it mine. Suddenly the word picture became clear in my mind.

        I began to feel less pressure to perform and stay where God had placed me. I no longer feel like I have to be anything more than what I am. And I’ve learned to enjoy running at my pace, doing my work.

        There are days we need to stop running, get off the track, smell the roses, take a long walk or check out our surroundings; let the wind lift our hair, take in a deep, full breath, and see other places and other people, before we get back on the track.

 

       Some of us run a little slower, enjoying the views that others might miss. For others their calling may require them to be “eyes straight ahead.” That’s okay too. But for me, I want to notice when the wind is blowing through the fields bending the wheat, when the leaves on the trees are bursting with color, when someone falls by the wayside and needs a hand.

                  When I stay in my lane,  I encourage others to do the same . . . to stay in the place they were born for. We don’t have to be everything to everyone. Just be ourselves and while we’re at it, become really good at what we do. Then we will achieve what we were born to do. Life can be a lot simpler. Just stay in your lane. I can’t think of a greater place to be, can you?

By : Patricia Strefling

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Journaling in England

A familiar sight. Sheep on the green hillsides. This one is from the window at Near Sawrey B&B right next door to Beatrix Potter’s Hilltop Farm. You can understand why she wanted to keep the area the way she found it.  A large portion of the area is under the Trust Foundation she established to protect the land. And yet today we are recipients of the beautiful sights and sounds we viewed, thanks to her.

The land has many paths that run alongside the curving roads allowing people to walk through the areas that look today like they may have looked in Beatrix Potter’s day. While Debbie and I walked this one (heading to Far Sawrey) we found this little scene upon a fence post! We passed it the first time, but thankfully spotted it on our way back.

This photo was taken inside Near Sawrey B&B where we stayed. The windows from the big house right next door to Beatrix’s farm was beautifully decorated inside. This is the view from the window!

We met two very nice people at Beatrix’s Farm who offered us a ride to Hawkshead, suggesting we visit the quaint town. The two-mile jaunt down winding roads led us to a very scenic area. Way above on a high hill overlooking the town where Mr. Heelis (Beatrix’s husband) kept his office, and where William Wordsworth went to school, we found an ancient church. This was the view from inside looking out.

This picture shows where we stayed in Stow-on-the-Wold in the Cotswald area. Sheep were brought for buying and selling. There were many “hallways” leading out from the town center so sheep could be divided and taken away as they were sold.

Behind our B&B in Stow-on-the-Wold was a huge old church, St. Edwards. As I walked around to the back of the church I saw a beautiful old door with two trees growing on either side. I could only think C.S. Lewis may have liked this scene!

Humbled by One Simple Deed

Do you ever feel compelled when something visible grabs you? When you know it’s not you making the plan. It’s an overpowering feeling of knowing you must do this thing?

I pulled up at a Wendy’s drive-through in my hometown today and while waiting saw a homeless man sitting on the sidewalk outside the door. He was neat, had a large backpack sitting next to him. He was almost invisible until I looked again.

Suddenly I knew what I had to do. No thought. Just a knowing. I ordered my food and an extra meal. My heart was beating fast. By now I was on the other side of the building and prayed that when I pulled back around I’d find him still there.

My heart felt joy when I saw him. I pulled up, not knowing what to say, handed him the food and said, “God bless you.”

He took the bag and standing next to my window, thanked me more than once. I was compelled to say something like, “Jesus, it’s Jesus.”

Then looking me in the eye he said, “Give me 30 seconds?”

I said okay, thinking a pitch for money was coming.

Instead he bowed his head, took my hand and prayed for me. It went something like this, “Jesus I thank you for this lady, praying over her, her health, her safety, and her faith. Amen.”

I, who thought I was helping him, found out that a man that I did not know was so grateful for being seen, given food, for whatever reason, took the time to pray for me.

I asked his name and told him mine.

What came to mind was this:

“Do not forget to entertain strangers, 

for by so doing some people have entertained angels without knowing it.”

 Hebrews 13:2 NIV

I met a man named James, today, who I sense I will see again in heaven. And  I met him by one simple act of obedience in that compelling moment when God allowed me to choose.  To bring him food or ignore him.

Truth: When you feel compelled, throw away fear, and do it.



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--Patricia Strefling  copyright© 2012                                  

Dancing at Midnight

Okay, so I dance the dance. Fool around, think about writing, then go clean the closet, think about writing again and whoops, got to get supper, then must do laundry.

What is this? I put off cleaning the closets, don’t like to cook as much as I used to, and laundry is done while I’m watching television any other night of the week.

So why the big push to do stuff I don’t like to do? Because it’s time to write. That’s why.

It’s the strangest phenomenon. 

And I have no explanation. Until I talked to my writer friend tonight at 2:45 am as we are checking in to report word counts and plot ideas.

What? At that hour? Well of course, what do you expect? After cleaning a closet, making dinner and putting two loads of laundry into the machine, I finally give up and sit down to write.

And what time is it?

Midnight. And I’ve known all day I wanted to write.

So, I am formally dubbing myself Midnight Writer.

And that’s that.

If I have to start at that hour, I may as well own up.

Writers are crazy. Crazy about what they do. Love what they do. Avoid the process like the plague but glory in the results. Go figure.

Midnight Writer….strikes again.





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Travel - A Writer's Inspiration

England is calling our name. A friend of mine and I are traipsing over the pond to visit in a few weeks. My friend, who loves all things Victorian, even has her own shoppe with a distinctly Victorian accent, is going over for the first time.

We are both thrilled. Although I have been once, there’s nothing like taking a good friend who will see castles and visit tea rooms, not to mention the English countryside and B &B’s we hope to experience, for the first time.

Her excitement and anticipation has sent me flying to the local travel office for some concrete plans.  It has taken three years, working at a local B&B and selling crocheted baby items at craft shows to save the money. And it’s almost time to actually fulfill the dream. Hers and mine.

Our plan is to arrive in London, then take the train to the Lake District, visit Beatrix Potter’s farm, then off to The Cotswalds, hopefully for a stay in Stow-on-the-Wold, a quaint, historical town. After 3 days at each of those places, we plan on riding the rails to our next stop. Alton. To visit Jane Austen’s homeplace and museum in Chawton.

Then back to London and fly home, star-struck, and planning our next visit!

Where is your dream location?  And why do you want to go there?

Patricia Strefling

www.patriciastrefling.com

Mustang Owners

When your three sons find work on two different coasts and your eldest son and his wife, take themselves and your grand-kids 3000 miles away what do mom and dad do?

Buy a 1965 Mustang of course!

For four years my husband, a local letter carrier walked by homes with old cars sitting in garages. And every time he saw a Mustang…anything older than a 1970, he would ask about it.

But nobody wanted to sell -- until we saw a 1981 Mustang sitting on a corner near our house and stopped to take a look. We quickly went home and dragged our neighbor down to the corner and take a look at it for us.

Our neighbor can tear down a car and have it looking brand new in no time.  He looked at it, declared it would take a lot of work and mentioned that there was a pretty little 1965 sitting down at a local tattoo shop. Would we like to drive by?

Would we like to drive by????

Of course we would. We went in to the tattoo shop, met a nice young man who said he had to sell his Harley or his Mustang for a down-payment on a home. Thankfully he chose the Mustang.

He even took us for a ride in her. When we got out we knew were going to buy that car. And we also knew we had better get it quick. It was hot-shot red, with a 289 engine in it and boy did it roar up good. Ten inch tires on the back kicked us into high gear.

We could hardly sleep that night. Since my husband had to work the next day, my neighbor rode along to make sure I could get the car home.

Neighbor said, “You’d better be there when he opens at noon with cash in your hand. That car is going to go fast.”

So, I rushed to the bank. Got the cash and we were waiting when the owner drove up to open his store the next day.

As I was counting out the cash on the counter some young guy came in and said, “My boss wants to buy that Mustang for his son.”

The owner looked at me, hooked his thumb my way and said, “She just bought it.”
   
The young man howled out loud, “Darn.”

And I tell you I could not help it. I smiled.

Take a look at the photo and tell me we didn’t get a good deal.

My husband spent a couple summers adding, adjusting, redoing, rewiring, and all sorts of things to make our girl, whom we dubbed, Ruby (she is red and she is a jewel after all) look really good.  Step on the gas and everyone knows Ruby is around!

He shined her up and we took her out to our downtown car show and parked her near all the other oldies but goodies.

An investment. That’s what we said when we bought it. And sure enough we are the proud owners of a 1965 red Mustang.

And when the sons and grandsons come home…well, you know they like to lay that accelerator down.

Patricia Strefling

Random Acts of Kindness

Random Acts of Kindness

Christmas is the time when many acts of kindness are distributed throughout the world. It’s a magical time of year.

Since we are entering a new year, why not spend it looking for ways to give little gifts all year long? Sounds great, but how do we do this?

Here’s one idea we came up with. When we find ourselves in a drive-through we ask the cashier if we can pay for someone’s order that is two cars behind us. They usually have their order on computer by then and that way we have a car between us so we can perform our “getaway” before they know who we are.

When my grandsons came for the holidays we decided each one would have a one-on-one with grammy and we would look for a way to give a gift without the receiver knowing who we were.

Our first day out Connor  (age 13) and I delivered a trunkload of food collected at a recent family party to our local Salvation Army just two days before Christmas. We drove away remembering the happy faces as they unloaded box after box. Although we were known, it blessed us to see the workers inside the building smiling as the boxes and cans kept coming in.

Second day out Calvin our youngest at (age 8) and I went to Wal-Mart to wire money to a family friend who had no Christmas gifts for their children. As I was about to tell the cashier an amount, Calvin said, “Grammy, give more.”  I looked at him and upped the amount! A child knows things we don’t!

Third day out our eldest (age 15) knew what he was looking for: to buy lunch for someone since we were eating out. He looked around the restaurant and did not see an opportunity, so decided we should get in the car and go our local McDonald’s drive-through and buy someone’s order behind us.  We pulled in but the drive-through was empty. So we parked and when we saw cars coming in, quickly maneuvered into the drive-through. Sure enough there were two cars behind us. We pulled up to the window and told the cashier we wanted to pay for the second car back.  The cashier rang it up and alas the lady had bought only a Coke. We were a little disappointed at first, for this was Christmas, we were looking for GREAT gifts. Then we realized maybe this WAS the greatest gift to this lady…one simple act of kindness. The fun part was we gunned the gas pedal and got out of there before she could see us!

Fourth day out Cameron (age 11) chose McDonalds as his favorite place to eat. So we went inside looking for a way to use his random act of kindness. Since he didn’t see an opportunity we decided to head downtown for some candy at Veni’s our local chocolate shop. We bought turtles for Cameron’s mom and his favorite chocolate-covered marshmallow with pecans.

Then got an idea. We purchased a gift certificate from the cashier and gave it back to her with this request: “Give it to the next person who walks in the door!”  Excitedly she said, “What? You’re giving this away to a stranger?”

We smiled and said we were. She got a bit teary-eyed and said, “As long as I’ve worked here this has never happened before.” We hurried out before someone could catch us, Cameron and I smiling because the cashier was bubbling over with excitement as to who it would be. Two people were touched this time.

A few days later after all the boys had flown home with their parents, I went into Veni’s again and the same cashier was there. She told me excitedly that the next person to come in that day was from out of town. The receiver asked to give the gift certificate to a family member.

Then the cashier said the most amazing thing. “You know what else?  A lady came in here the other day and said someone had paid for her order at McDonalds.”

I just looked at her. The cashier knew our other grandson’s story about the drive-though Coke.

We looked at each other. There is no way of knowing who did this random act of kindness, but it sure made us feel all goose-bumpy, just thinking about it.

This was the gift that just kept giving.

Amazingly strange stories can come from just one act of kindness.

It was a wonderful week! Our “acts” cost us very little, but the excitement was overpowering as each gift began to include more and more people along the way.

I don’t think the boys nor I will soon forget. If they begin to perform acts of random kindness in their city just think how each gift will ripple outward.

Once people know how to give they, too, can find ways to change one person’s day, to let someone know there is still love and kindness in a world that is full of trouble.

Why don’t you try it one day and see what happens?

We would love to hear your story.  If you want to share, just hit reply, or visit https://www.facebook.com/patricia.strefling.author and let me know. 

January 17, 2012

© by Patricia Strefling