Category Archives: Writing

Mother’s Day Daily Book Giveaway

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Mother’s Day Daily Book Giveaway

Next week is going to fun here at www.gillianmarchenko.com!

It’s hard for me to believe that my memoir will be published by the end of 2013. All that work, all that time away from my kids, all that rejection … it makes me want to showcase other talented authors and find out more about how they balance writing and motherhood.

Which is how I came up with the idea of a Mother’s Day book giveaway.

A stunning group of authors graciously agreed to answer questions about writing and motherhood.

And guess what?

They each are donating a signed copy of their book!

Here’s the line up for the interviews and book giveaways:

MONDAY: Jennifer Grant, author of Love You More, a moving memoir about adoption,  and MOMumental, an honest, fun, and introspective look at motherhood. I’ve read both books. You don’t want to miss this interview! Jennifer is giving away a signed copy of each!

TUESDAY: Shauna Niequist is the author of Cold Tangerines, Bittersweet, and the newly released Bread & Wine. This book is beautiful. Shauna writes about the importance of community around the table, and in life. Shauna is giving away a signed copy of Bread & Wine!

WEDNESDAY: Kate Hopper, author of Use Your Words, and the upcoming memoir Ready For Air, is giving away a signed copy of Use Your Words, a writing guide for Mothers. I own a copy of Use Your Words, and recommend it for any mom thinking of picking up the pen. I cannot WAIT for Kate’s memoir to come out!

THURSDAY: Claire Bidwell Smith is the author of The Rules of Inheritance, a moving memoir about grief, family, and “how to overcome some of life’s devastating tragedies.” I devoured this book. The prose is breath-taking, and I identified, and learned from Claire’s grief journey. One lucky reader will win a signed copy of Claire’s book as well.

FRIDAY: Jena Morrow’s memoir Hollow, An Unpolished Tale is an honest narrative about one woman’s struggle with anorexia nervosa. I loved reading this book, and can’t wait to read her next book, Hope for the Hollow: A Thirty-Day Inside-Out Makeover for Women Recovering from Eating Disorders. Jena is giving away a signed copy of Hollow.

SATURDAY: Suzanne Kamata is a writer mama living in Japan with her Japanese husband and kids. You have to try for the amazing book Suzanne edited entitled Call me Okasaan: Adventures in Multi-cultural Mothering. A seasoned author, Suzanne’s most recent book published is Gadget Girl, the art of being invisible. She is going to talk about writing and motherhood, and yes, she is also giving away a signed copy of Call Me Okasaan.

For a chance to win the book of the day you have to:

1. Leave a comment ON THE DAY the author is interviewed.

2. Tweet, share on Facebook, Pin, etc … for ONE MORE CHANCE to win (again ON THAT DAY) and leave another comment letting me know what you did (note, it’s just one more chance regardless of how much you share :) .

So that’s TWO CHANCES per person if you are so inclined!

Winners will be announced for each day (Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday, Friday, Saturday) on Mother’s Day and chosen randomly from randomnumber.org.

There are so many wonderful books out there by mothers. I contacted the first five that popped in my mind. But now I am thinking of so many more, I’m going to have to do this again!

The book giveaway starts MONDAY!!

Help spread the word!

The Next Big Thing Writer Blog Hop

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The Next Big Thing Writer Blog Hop

I was tagged by Kelley Clink to participate in something called The Next Big Thing Blog Hop. Just what is a blog hop, you ask? Well, this is a blog chain that originates from She Writes. Each person tagged answers a series of interview questions and posts them on his/her blog or website while also linking to five other writers. Those writers then answer the questions, post and include links to five other writers and so on and so on.

Here we go!

What is the working title of your book?

KRASATA, A memoir of Motherhood, Down syndrome, and Surprising Beauty.

Where did the idea come from for the book? 

I am a lifelong journal keeper, but after the birth of my third daughter and her diagnosis of Down syndrome, writing became a necessity. The first year of her life I wrestled a hallowing grief over the child I expected and the mother I was to become, on the page.

My journaling delved deeper as my daughter grew. Images, situations, and details bobbed up to the surface of my consciousness. A fear of brokenness – broken people, broken things, and ultimately, my own broken heart, had been tucked inside me since childhood. I wrote, and a thought nagged. Perhaps these words were meant to be read by others? A memoir emerged.

What genre does your book fall under?  Memoir, Literary Creative-Nonfiction

Which actors would you choose to play your characters in a movie rendition?  Seriously? I HAVE NO IDEA. So I asked my writer friend Kelley. She suggested:

Tom Hardy Picture

Tom Hardy for my husband Sergei. (Although I think his picks would be the guy who plays Ron Swanson or Steven Segal).

Claire Danes or Drew Barrymore for me.

What is the one-sentence synopsis of your book?

KRASATA (“beauty” in Russian) starts with a mother whose faith nearly breaks by the birth of her daughter with special needs and ends with the unexpected beauty of an unwanted child redirecting her life and pointing her back to what matters most.

Will your book be self-published or represented by an agency?  I am currently represented by WordServe Literary Agency. God willing, we’ll go through traditional publishing, but I am open to other avenues as well.

How long did it take you to write the first draft of your manuscript?  Three years. Then I spent two more years re-writing it twice with the help of hired professional editors.

What other books would you compare this story to within your genre?  

Yeah, I got this answer because of all the work I had to do to put together a book proposal!

A Good and Perfect Gift: Faith, Expectations, and a Little Girl Named Penny by Amy Julia Becker, Bethany House Publishers

The Shape of the Eye: Down Syndrome, Family, and the Stories We Inherit (MEDICAL HUMANITIES SERIES), Southern Methodist University Press by George Estreich.

Expecting Adam, A True Story of Birth, Rebirth, and Everyday Magic by Martha Beck, Three Rivers Press

There are several more books in this group, and also others dealing with humor and faith.

A Story for those who have faith and for those who don’t, think of this book as Anne Lamott’s Traveling Mercies (only not as well-written, and my pastor husband won’t let me use all the cuss words I want to :) ) meets Amy Julia Becker’s A Good and Perfect Gift.

Who or what inspired you to write this book?

My daughter Polly.

Don't be afraid of Ds

What else about your book might pique the reader’s interest?  

What else? Let’s see … A boy with one leg stuck between the bathroom door and a wall, having a baby on foreign soil, the love scene with my pastor husband, a missionary hiding out from her family and numbing her hurt with Chardonnay, God chasing me down, eventually seeing past Down syndrome and falling in love with my child, returning to Ukraine to adopt another child with Down syndrome three years later.

OK, I’m tagging:

Annette Gendler

Kim Van Brunt

Deanna Smith

Ellen Stumbo

 

 

A Bah Humbug Writer’s Wish List (and a giveaway!)

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A Bah Humbug Writer’s Wish List (and a giveaway!)

(This post is part of a blog parade! Check out other writers marching along at www.wordservewatercooler.com.)

The assignment to write a blog post in the form of a writer’s wish list for the WordServe Water Cooler, a community of agented authors encouraging, engaging, and enriching each other through their writing journey, as a part of the WordServe Literary Agency (the wonderful agency that represents my work) couldn’t have come at a worse time.

Why, you ask?

OK, I’ll tell you.

It’s a bad time for a writer’s wish list because I am feeling a bit bah humbug about the modern-day writing life lately. When it comes to putting pen to paper (or in my case finger to keyboard) I recently have started to morph into a female, 2012 version of the crab master himself,  Ebenezer Scrooge, minus the stellar financial prowess, the extensive facial hairs (although I do have a couple), and the ability to make young children cry (again, my children may object to this last one).

Why so crotchety?

Because I am tired of all the extraneous work required to become a published author.

These days, it seems that men (and women) will not be published by writing alone.

Oh no, we need to Tweet, and have a Facebook Fan page, blog (and of course, this ravenous writer eager to be entitled author has cleverly linked you to all of her social media addresses), and get pictures of ourselves leaning against brick walls, attempting to look intelligent, yet kind, knowing, capable. Something like this …

Thanks to my lovely friend Christine from Christine Kay Photography for achieving a suave writing look for me.

I’m tired. And I am not doing a good job of balancing all this platform hoopla with the thing I actually love to do: write.

You caught me on an off day (shocker, I know. I never have off days!). Therefore, here is my not so encouraging, enriching, engaging writer’s wish list:

Ahem …

My writer’s wish list includes:

1. Introversion. If you want to be a serious writer, then you must abstain from copious amounts of people for the majority of your life. Hide in a cave somewhere and write. Spend so much time by yourself that you actually develop a head twitch if you are with people for too long.

2. Stacks of real life, honest to goodness books. I must admit, I own a Kindle Fire and I actually love it … A lot. But this is my writer’s wish list, and if space, time, and money weren’t an issue, I would own oodles of books, beautifully written, astounding books, and on hard days, create a little book nook to hide out in until the storm passed.

3. The implosion of Facebook, Twitter, Pinterest, and any other social media medium that sucks away my writerly time. (Insert: It is the social media’s problem, not mine. I repeat, not mine.) Don’t get me wrong. I frequent these venues. I appreciate catching up with friends from high school and finding out what some lady I would rather not friend but was too polite to ignore had for supper last night, but just imagine. Back to a world where you had to call someone on the phone, or get in the car and see them, or write a postcard.

Sigh. I know we aren’t going backwards, that social media double and triple lives are probably here to stay, but in my bah humbug writer days, I’d just assume be done with it all and just, well, write.

4. A martini shaker and a corkscrew. Come on! This is a writer’s wish list. Guess I better include a bottle opener.

5. A publisher stumbling upon my rather pithy and witty blog posts, or tweets, or Facebook stati and finding my cell number, calling me right away, and offering me a three book contract with a hefty advance that would pay off my family’s bills (read: twelve-year old’s braces) and leave me enough every month to hire someone else to clean the toilet.

6. And Jesus. I am a Christian, and I really do love God and am flabbergasted that he loves me, so I’ll include Jesus. I’ve learned that in Christian circles, whenever you are asked a question and don’t know the answer, just say Jesus. You can’t go wrong with that name.

OK, so that’s it. I could come up with more on my list, but pro-bloggers claim that a good blog post should be around 500 words, and I am already over 700 which probably messes up some algorithm somewhere on the internet.

Bad blogger.

But hopefully, one day, God willing, good writer.

Here’s my giveaway:

Leave a comment, link up to this fantabulous post, tweet, you know, do all that stuff I just ragged on, and get a chance to win an  Ebenezer Scrooge box of writer stuff (stationary, nice pens, a worthwhile read, perhaps a corkscrew, and whatever else flips my lid at Home Goods.)

The giveaway ends at MIDNIGHT on December 24. The winner will be announced on Christmas Day through randomnumbers.org. Have fun!

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Wanna see other WordServe Literary Agency Author’s lists and their giveaways?

1. Lucille Zimmerman
Blog Link: http://www.lucillezimmerman.com/2012/12/10/ape-author-publisher-entrepreneur-how-to-publish-a-book-by-guy-kawasaki-shawn-welch-a-book-review/
Prize: A chance to win a free copy of APE: Author, Publisher, Entrepreneur

2. Janalyn Voigt
Blog Link: http://janalynvoigt.com/one-authors-christmas-wish
Prize: A chance to win scrap booking software and an autographed copy of DawnSinger.

3. Kimberly Vargas
Blog Link: http://www.kimberlyvargasauthor.com/?p=241
Prize: A chance to win one of ten autographed copies of Gumbeaux.

4. Cheryl Ricker
Blog Link: http://www.cherylricker.com/2012/12/smells-and-whistles/
Prize: A chance to win one of three copies of A Friend in the Storm.

5. Jordyn Redwood
Blog Link: http://jordynredwood.blogspot.com/2012/12/wishing.html
Prize: A chance to win one of three personalized copies of Proof.

6. Melissa K. Norris
Blog Link: http://melissaknorris.com/?p=1351
Prize: A chance to win an electronic copy of Pioneering Today.

7. Gillian Marchenko
Blog Link: http://wp.me/p2Ds6m-zA
Prize: An Ebenezer Scrooge box of writerly accoutrements.

8. Dr. Rita Hancock
Blog Link: http://edensfreedomsisters.ning.com/profiles/blogs/the-eden-diet-joins-a-blog-parade-find-out-how-to-win-dr-rita-s-b
Prize: A chance to win one autographed copy of Radical Well-being–A Biblical Guide to Overcoming Pain, Illness, and Addictions and a chance to win one of three electronic copies of The Eden Diet.

9. Karen Jordan
Blog Link: http://karenbarnesjordan.com/a-writers-wish-list-grace-gifts
Prize: A chance to win a copy of Heavenly Company: Entertaining Angels Unaware by Cecil Murphey and Twila Belk.

10. Kelli Gotthardt
log Link: http://www.kelligotthardt.com/1/post/2012/12/writers-wish-list.html
Prize: A chance to win one of three Christian yoga DVDs from Yahweh Yoga.

11: Jan Dunlap
Blog Link: http://jandunlap.com/2012/12/the-wishlist-of-a-writer/
Prize: A chance to win “Cozy Moment” gift pack: a Christmas mug, notepad and pen, a signed copy of my newest mystery A Murder of Crows, and two Murder of Crows tea towels.

12: Cindy Dagnan
Blog Link: http://cindydagnan.com/cindy-sigler-dagnan/2012/12/14/one-writer%E2%80%99s-wish-list/
Prize: A chance to win a copy of Hot Chocolate for Couples, and some gourmet hot cocoa.

13: Anita Brooks
Blog Link: http://brooksanita.com/a-writers-fantasy-wish-list
Prize: A chance to win one of three signed copies of Moments of Grace.

And WordServe Literary Agency is giving away three packages at the Water Cooler:

Prize Package #1:
Kathi Lipp
1. The Husband Project
2. The Me Project
3. The Marriage Project

Prize Package #2:
1. Bees in the Butterfly Garden: Maureen Lang
2. Pieces of Silver: Maureen Lang
3. The Falcon and the Sparrow: M.L. Tyndall

Prize Package #3:
Tim LaHaye and Craig Parshall: The End Series
1. Edge of Apocalypse
2. Thunder of Heaven
3. Brink of Chaos

Be sure to leave a comment on any blog where you would like a chance to win the prize. If you leave a message here at gillianmarchenko.com, you’ll be entered in the Ebenezer Scrooge Writer box of fun.

Merry Christmas!

An interview with Jenny Lee Sulpizio about my life as a Writer Mama

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An interview with Jenny Lee Sulpizio about my life as a Writer Mama

Have you ever wondered how I got into writing, or how I find time to write in the midst of therapy, doctor visits, school homework, kids freaking out daily over every little thing.

OK, deep breaths.

Today I am over at Jenny Lee Sulpizio’s website talking about juggling life as a mother and as a writer.

Here’s a little bit:

Realize that to write, at some point you will have to put yourself out there. A lot of mothers aren’t used to feedback and adult interactions in their daily lives with their children. It has been difficult for me to switch roles and step back out into the professional world. But progress in my career comes through working on my craft, querying, attending writing classes and conferences, and entering contests; all things which require leaving the house periodically without wearing a stained up shirt.

Stop by, say “hi” and read the rest of the interview.

And tell me, are you a writer mama? And if so, how do you do it?

A little fiction for your weekend enjoyment

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A little fiction for your weekend enjoyment

I dabble in fiction, although I am mostly a non-fiction writer. Here’s a piece I wrote a couple years ago about a family dealing with a new diagnosis. It was published in a small journal on-line, but I don’t think it exists any longer.

Malcolm

“Are we there yet?”

“Lucy! You have to wait five minutes before asking again,” Chris said.

My husband choked up on the steering wheel and leaned in towards the dashboard. We had been lost for an hour. Lucy needed the bathroom. Malcolm, our newborn son, was asleep.

“Chris, stop at a gas station and ask for directions.”

“Jane, we just have to backtrack and find the cross street. If Lucy didn’t talk incessantly, we’d already be there.”

“Not that it matters,” I whispered. This wasn’t my idea. Malcolm was only nine weeks old.  A baby. Why was my husband making me do this?  It’s Saturday, our day off. I wanted to go to the park and push Malcolm in a swing. Watch Lucy go down the red, twisty slide.

“Jane, I found a support group for families with kids, well, kids like Malcolm,” Chris stated while my hands were in a sink of sudsy water Monday evening. I switched to Palmolive because the commercial said it makes your hands look younger.

Younger.

I never should have wanted another child. Lucy was perfect, beautiful, smart.

“But daddy!” Lucy called out.

“Damn it, Lucy!”

“Chris!”

“What?  I’m sorry.  Lucy, I’m sorry,”

Lucy hunched down into her seat. Cars passed. I imagined people on their way to do something usual on a Saturday; stop by Wal-Mart for a few items or on their way to vacuum out the car.

Malcolm sighed in his sleep. Lucy hid in the back seat. I looked over at my husband, his knuckles white as he held the wheel, as if he let go the street would crack open and our family would fall into a giant abyss.

That didn’t sound half bad to me.

“We’re not that late,” Chris said. “The lady on the phone was nice. She said the group meets the first Saturday of every month and we were welcome anytime, even if it’s just to stop in for ten minutes. And did I tell you this, Jane? Before we hung up, she told me congratulations. Congratulations on the birth of your son,” Chris’s voice cracked.

Just then a car swerved over into our lane. Chris darted off the road to avoid a collision.

“Dammit,” Chris laid on the horn. Malcolm woke up and started to cry.

“Mommy, I’m scared.”

I scooted over to look at Lucy in the rear view mirror. Honey, we’re OK.”  I said as tears ran down my cheeks. “I’m OK. Daddy’s OK. You’re OK. And, Malcolm, … Malcolm’s OK. We’re all OK.”

“That guy almost slammed right into us”, Chris seethed.

Malcolm shrieked and cried. It was time for him to eat. The milk in my breasts tingled as it dropped down, filling me up like two summer water balloons.

Our car was stopped on the side of the road.

I looked down at my hands.

“Swanson Street.”

“What?”

“This is Swanson Street. This is the cross street we need.”

Malcolm settled now that we were still. Lucy whimpered.

Chris checked his mirror and turned on the left blinker.

Tutu much

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 Tutu much

Last Saturday morning, I waited in a crowded Chicago Park District auditorium. My oldest daughter rested her head on my lap. I vigorously fanned her face with a white and pink colored program. A silhouette of a ballerina danced across the program’s page.

The air was thick. It was the kind of day when your shirt drenches simply from sitting. A drum beat kept time somewhere deep within my head. I was worried about our youngest daughter, the latest victim of the nasty flu that recently rushed through our little family. She was at home with my husband sipping water and watching Signing Time videos.

I thought about all the other things I could have been doing on a Saturday morning.

But it’s a performance. Your kid signs up for an eight week class at the park district. At the end of the class there is a show. You go. That’s what you do even if it is stifling hot in the beginning of June. You go begrudgingly, stand in line way too long, fight other doting parents for aisle seats and worry that your daughter will be the only one in pink ballet shoes instead of white. You think about how you drove around Chicago to buy those pink shoes before the instructor decided to change the costumes, again. Black ballet shoes are now tucked into a gray shoe box and placed up high in the closet at home. Maybe, hopefully, they will be useful for a future child or a future class.

So there I was armed with the digital camera, the video camera, two cold bottles of water, gum, and a pen for when the child sitting with me got utterly tired of waiting for the show to start. I was angry that I caved to the pressure of busyness and being seen as a good mother, making sure that my kids had their fill of the extra-curricular like everyone else they knew.

I guess you could say I had a bad attitude.

And then the music started. The room cooled. My daughter sitting next to me quieted down, mesmerized by sight and sound.

What is it about a four year old in a tutu?

There were these little children, dressed up, hair slicked to the side, tapping their feet to a famous love song and it took all my power not to break down and sob. Looking around, my eyes mirrored other parents. We all watched with tenderness and awe and pride as these little people twirled around the stage on a hot Saturday morning, many going the wrong way, forgetting what comes next, stopping altogether just to wave to grandma.

My mouth had turned downward when I read that my daughter’s group performed second to last. But, really, it was an hour and a half well spent. I laughed out loud and clapped along with the beat.  I didn’t even know these children and my mascara was running down my face.

Life happens so quickly.

Thankfully, once in a while I am caused to stop and appreciate something simple like a class of three and four year olds dancing to Josh Groban’s You Raise Me Up.

There is no place else I would have rather been.

This post was originally at Chicago Moms Blog in 2009.

When a Mother Leaves, By Kim Van Brunt

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(I welcome my dear friend Kim Van Brunt. Savor her words, learn from them, and share. Thanks for your gorgeous post, Kim. Traveling mercies.)

When a Mother Leaves, By Kim Van Brunt

Today, I am over the Atlantic.

I’ll be here for hours, flying through the silent deafening darkness, and when tomorrow dawns too early I’ll land in another continent, then fly to another. When tomorrow is done, I’ll set foot in Africa again, and it will be so far away from familiar, and it will be like coming home again.

When I look over my shoulder, my three beautiful children will be nowhere I can reach.

I will count the hours at first, wonder after them, it’ll take a while to shake plate-balancing mode but then I will begin to forget them, for a moment, for longer. The work and stories and faces in front of me will blur the ones back home.

How can a mother do this to her children?

* * *

We talk about Africa all the time.

(“Ag-a-kah,” Benjamin calls it.) They know where I’m going and why, and I know this time apart stretches us, all of us, into a wild unknown, but then, we’ve done it before. When I tell the older two that I was gone nearly a month to get Benjamin, they don’t believe me. It’s shrunk down to a moment in their minds, a fun afternoon with grandparents, a flash and it was over.

To me, it’s an eternity, a shift so drastic and complete in my life it’s like the lights were off, and now they’re on.

And that’s why I have to go back.

And this is how I can do this to them: Because I want them to go, too. I want them to try and search and ask.

I want to show them what to do when you’re afraid.

They will watch me through their childhoods, and I have vowed that I will be worth watching. They will see me write books, fly to Africa, take risks big and small, they will witness me daring greatly and saying yes and making no earthly sense.

I promise them this. With trembling hands and an unsure heart, I promise.

While they sleep, when they’re dreaming their big dreams, I whisper, I promise to be brave. I promise to live this wild beautiful life in a way that makes you proud. It’s the life God calls us to live, little loves.

* * *

I’m terrified, of course. But I’ve learned the opposite of bravery isn’t fear. Being brave is diving straight into the fear, going all the way in. I’ve learned it begins with turning to face that Thing You Could Never and taking the first step towards.

I go for them.  I go for more than them, because I am more. Because God is more.

“Our family cares about this. This is our mission field, and you are our missionary,” my husband told me three days ago, strong and sure, in the middle of my afternoon meltdown when the baby was sleeping, when I didn’t know how I could do it either.

And so I go trembling, because that’s the only way to go. I’m afraid to leave my children. I’m afraid to have my heart-broken apart by the women I’ll meet and the lives that will change me. I’m afraid to see my poverty, my brokenness of spirit, all the bullshit in my heart and my head that seems so big now— I’m afraid to see it shrunk down, afraid of what will be left of me after.

But I dive in anyway.

I go for me. I go for them. I promise to be brave.


Kim Van Brunt is a writer, wife, mother and world-changer. Follow her blog to read the inspirational stories of Ugandan women, which she’ll be writing over the next 10 days during the trip. She’s also writing a book on the importance of honesty during adoption, which is currently under consideration at several publishing houses. Follow her on Twitter @kimvanbrunt or like her on Facebook.

Telling the whole truth; trading ugly for glory

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( Here’s a post from the archives. Still right here today, prodded by God to tell the whole truth in my life for his glory. Fall for me means kids in school, speaking engagements, writing assignments, and the continual journey towards publication of my memoir. This old post encouraged me today. I hope it does something for you, too.)

Telling the whole truth

These last two weeks, I actually sensed God’s desire for me to open up more about my personal life. I’ve written about my struggle in telling the whole truth in the memoir I recently finished writing, and about the severity of my experience with post-adoption depression after we brought our daughter Evangeline home from Ukraine.

A little bit of electricity zapped my fingertips as I hit the publish tab on both posts.

What would people think if I put myself out there? I should just keep these things to myself.

This year, in addition to therapy and after school activities and church and writing and querying agents for my book, I’ve also had the privilege to speak to a handful of MOPS groups in the Chicago land area. I talk about the birth of my daughter in the former Soviet Union and her diagnosis of Down syndrome and about the grief that ensued for almost a year after the loss of the child I expected.

I have other presentations about how to teach our kids to be good friends to those around us with special needs, and about loss and grief in motherhood.

Every time I speak, there is a part of me that is afraid of judgement. Maybe I shouldn’t share all of me. Maybe I should just share the good Christian/ pastor’s wife/ missionary parts of me and tuck away the other parts: the mom who didn’t want her child. The mom who went to a bottle of Chardonnay instead of to the Lord. The mom who adopted another child with Down syndrome; a quasi stab at redemption, only to find that she, of course, was still the one who needed redeeming.

But each time, and I’m serious when I say this, I can almost hear God’s voice saying “tell the truth.”

“Share all of you, Gillian. Because in the hard parts, in the times you made bad choices, in your brokenness and lack of faith, I was there. And that’s MY story in you.”

 

Before I speak, I usually run to the bathroom and grab a wad of toilet paper to sop up the sweat underneath my arms. I smooth my hair, and look at myself in the mirror.

I think of God’s voice telling me not to waste the life he’s given me. I think of one mom who may be struggling.

If my voice encourages her to speak up to someone about her struggles, then sharing the ugly parts of me is more than worth it.

And I think of Polly’s voice, chattering in my ear non-stop throughout the day. I think about her reciting the Star Spangled Banner with her class in the morning at school. I think about when she tells me that she loves me, and how it fills me up to the brim of my existence with thanks and praise that I get to be her mom.

I think about Evangeline. Oh, how I long to hear her voice. I anticipate it. I wait for it. And until then I stand up for her as her voice.

So, I step out in front of strangers and tell them my story, and I keep querying publishers for my book, and I keep writing down my rambling thoughts here.

I include the embarrassing parts for sure. But I also include the best parts, how Polly and I are crazy in love now. How thankful I am to be Evangeline’s mom.

How awed I am that God knew I needed to be broken in such specific ways in order to be used for his purposes and for his glory alone.

Last night, I got an email from someone who attended one of my talks in September thanking me for my willingness to be vulnerable and for sharing my dark moments, thoughts and actions in my presentation. She is a mother to a child with special needs. Here’s a little bit of what she wrote:

What you said made me feel “normal”, connected and accepted.  (I’m tearing up as I write this to you, even now, because it meant so much to me and I understand how difficult it is to be honest like that with others… even if they are “strangers”.)

That’s really the point of why I do what I do.

I have a voice, and I am learning how to use it.

I’m telling the whole truth.

What about you? How are you using your voice?

A place in the publishing world for my book about Down syndrome?

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Photo by Christine Kay Photography

A place in the publishing world for my book about Down syndrome?

(WARNING: I wrote this post for me because I needed the reminder today.)

(Note: This post would pair well with Michael W. Smith’s Place in this World circa 1990 (come on, you know you love that song!) or a more sophisticated choice, Somewhere from West Side Story.) 

I wrote a memoir about the birth of my daughter Polly, and her diagnosis of Down syndrome while our family lived in Ukraine as missionaries.

And now I am trying to get it published.

I spent four years writing the book. I had to learn about the craft and grow my writing muscles. During those years the manuscript was professionally edited twice.

Then it took nine months, a lot of prayer, and support from my husband and kids, research, countless emails and blog posts, Facebook updates, tweets, and two writing conferences to land an agent.

Currently, the book is being pitched to publishers. There is interest in the project, and there has been rejection.

I live in the tension of trusting God, writing other things, and picking at my fingers because of nerves.

When I lie still and close my eyes, if the kids aren’t around, and my world is silent for a moment, I find the nerve to ask myself:

Is there a place in the publishing world for my book about Down syndrome?

Memoirs are hard sells in the industry.

In the last few years several books about Down syndrome have been published (Amy Julia Becker’s “A Good and Perfect Gift,” Kelle Hampton’s “Bloom,” George Estreich’s, “The Shape of the Eye ”.)

When an editor sees my book proposal, he or she may be hard pressed to understand how another memoir about Down syndrome would be worthwhile to acquire when other great books cover this topic.

But my memoir is different, because it is mine.

I believe each of the books listed serve a felt need. I am glad they exist.

But my memoir is different because it is mine. It doesn’t grapple with the notion of perfection. It does not kick butt. It doesn’t portray a person who has it all together. It does not ponder the historical significance of Down syndrome.

It’s about a mother falling on her rear after the birth of her daughter with Down syndrome, and about a God who picks her up.

Is there a place in the publishing world for my book about Down syndrome?

If I am feeling even more brave, I dig way down to  whisper the same question to God.

Here’s what I think God is telling me:

There is a place in the world for your book about Down syndrome.

But know this.

The story isn’t really about Down syndrome.

It’s about motherhood.

It’s about messing up.

It’s about a missionary, a Pastor’s wife, a “professional Christian” (yuck, hate even writing that) who should have handled her daughter’s diagnosis better.

It’s about hiding from your family and your faith in a bottle of Chardonnay.

It’s about your misguided opinion that it was your turn to get off of the professional Christian hamster wheel and hang out in a corner licking your wounds.

It’s about a lifelong fear of brokenness.

Your book isn’t really about Down syndrome.

Your book is about your failure.

And failure is universal.

Your book is about what I do with failure.

Is there a place in the publishing world for my book about Down syndrome?

I think that God is telling me “yes.”

Because there is a place in the publishing world for honesty.

There’s a place in the publishing world for real life to be read on the page.

There is a place in the Christian publishing world for vulnerability and imperfection.

There is a place in a mother’s world to know that others mess up, That it’s OK. That there may even be purpose in that.

There’s a place in my heart to fess up to my mistakes, to learn from them, to laugh at them, and share them with others.

There’s a place in the world that will benefit from the ultraviolet rays my daughter exudes each day.

And so now that I’ve preached this sermon to myself, I’ll get back to work.

(Do you have something you are working on that you are unsure of? I’d love to hear where you are in the process, and what you think God is telling you when you are quiet enough to listen.)