New Blog, New Website, and Downton Abbey!

I am setting up a new website, which in future will host my blog. It's still under construction, but I'm excited about the progress. The new website is:

http://www.robinjohnsgrant.com

My first blog post contains my reflections on last Sunday night's Downton Abbey episode--particularly something Lady Mary said about grief. Something I found particularly true in my experience over the past year.

Check it out if you will. There's also a nifty email sign-up box on the page so you won't miss any future blog posts.

Thanks!

Catching Up and a Preview of Coming Attractions

Wow, I haven't posted in quite awhile. I have a good reason. Actually, a lot of good reasons.

Except for the fact that I follow a "loaves and fishes" God who can multiply anything and make it enough--including my time and energy--I don't know how I would have managed everything I did over the past few weeks.

The photo at the top is Pete. He's one of the reasons I've had very little time. Or money, come to think of it. Pete is a stray pit bull puppy. He showed up the week of August 19. I remember the date well, because that's when everything else started happening, too!

I'm a college librarian, and that was the first week of fall term--the busiest, most stressful time of the year on my job. And then I had a conference to attend that week. And then Pete showed up.

You wouldn't believe all the twists and turns the story with this dog has taken. A work colleague told me I had to write it up as a short story--or a novel. I think I'll at least give it to you as a couple of blog posts. So stay tuned for Pete's story.

And then...during all this, while working full time and helping take care of my elderly mother, I started the process for publishing Summer's Winter. I had no idea what all I would need to do for that. And then...two traditional presses requested either a proposal or full manuscript of my next book, Jordan's Shadow. And I decided to apply to teach at some conferences. And I had to set up my website. And, and...

And I haven't been blogging much! But I will. I'm drawing a breath again, and I really have to tell you Pete's story. And about the Kirkus review I got for Summer's Winter. And the book's publication progress.

In the meantime, I'm participating with helping launch several books for incredible Christian authors. First I'm going to introduce you to Linda Rondeau, the writer of a feel-good Christmas romance called A Christmas Prayer. Then I'm going to participate in something new for me--an excerpt tour. On December 6, 8, and 9, the Queen will be part of a tour for three different authors sharing excerpts of their new novels. You could get to read up to 25 percent of these books for free, just by following the tour.

Oh, and by the way, I have a post today over at a devotional blog called Life to the Fullest. It's a Thanksgiving piece called "Thankful for Fleas." Head on over and see what the heck I meant by that.

And I'll be back soon! Thanks for hanging in there with me.

Help Me Look Important and Maybe Win a Prize!

I feel like a star! Keli Gwyn is featuring me on her blog called Romance Writers on the Journey. Well, that's appropriate. If anyone has been on a writing journey--a long, long writing journey--it's me.

So if you can't get enough of me talking about myself here, come on over to Keli's blog and check it out. Even if you feel you know more about me than you ever wanted to, I'd love it if you'd still visit the blog and leave a comment, so I won't appear boring and friendless. As incentive, Keli is holding a drawing with some cool prizes involved, and you only have to leave a comment to enter.

Good luck--and thanks!

My Miracle Notebook, Part 2

Here's the conclusion of the story I started yesterday:

The drive home from the conference took a couple of hours, and something interesting started happening in my heart and in my mind. Recently, I had been trying to sell my work in the secular market. But years before, I had been aiming for the Christian fiction field. I started to remember with great nostalgia the Christian conferences, the Christian editors. Oh, I got rejected there, too—but at least the people were kind. At least they provided fellowship and spiritual support.

I remembered a couple of rejections on my current novel that said it was “too traditional,” or something similar. Did that mean too Christian? Could it possibly be fitted for a Christian market? I could hardly believe it, but within two hours, I was already thinking of trying again. Could it be that instead of telling me to quit, God wanted to redirect me? To direct my path?
I prayed all the way back to my neighborhood, and when I was almost home I made a decision. One more try. I would do some rewriting on this novel, try it in a Christian market, and let God show me once and for all whether this door in my life had truly closed.

I stopped in a Christian bookstore close to my house. I hadn’t read Christian fiction for awhile and didn’t know who was publishing what. I browsed and looked at the prominently displayed fiction, the bestsellers, the ones that seemed closest to my writing. That’s when I took out the notebook.

I had bought this cheap little thing at the last minute to take notes during all the wonderful sessions I planned to attend at the conference. So it was, of course, blank. Now, on page one, I wrote down two authors’ names for future reference. One of them was Terri Blackstock. I didn’t buy anything that day, but soon afterward I started reading her books. I was impressed not only by her work, but by how far Christian fiction had come since I last read it. I felt encouraged to start my rewrite.

Not too long after that, my husband returned from a trip to visit his family in another state and asked, “Have you ever heard of Terri Blackstock?”

Dave had told a friend of his family about my writing woes, and she mentioned she knew Terri, who might be able to give me some advice. To make a long story short, that’s exactly what happened. Terri read a sample of my work and encouraged me to keep going. She suggested I might need an agent to help me find the right market, and she referred me to someone. I signed with an agency a few months later.

Now, does this story have one of those magic happy endings, in which I sign a contract and become a best-seller overnight? No. Things have still been agonizingly slow. In fact, it's been about four years since I signed with that agent. But God has provided the strength and direction to keep me going and wait for his timing.

I had frankly forgotten about the notebook until one day when my patience was once again wearing thin and I was starting to question everything. I pulled out the notebook to scribble down a phone number or something trivial, and there it was on the front page—Terri Blackstock’s name. Written as I stood in that bookstore on the darkest day of my writing life. Written at the very time when I wanted to quit. God knew things were moving when I thought everything had come to a crashing halt. He even had me write myself a reminder of that fact!

Sometimes I take out this notebook and look at it, just to remind myself of his love and his presence. And when things feel so unbearably slow or uncertain and I can’t feel anything happening at all, I think about the notebook and ask myself, “I wonder what He’s up to today?”

My Miracle Notebook, Part I

Reading Sharon K. Souza's words last week put me in mind of a story I wrote up a couple of years ago, telling about my darkest day in my writing journey--and the incredible turnaround that God brought out of it. So I decided to share the story with you. I'm posting Part I today, which ends on sort of a discouraging note. Tune in tomorrow for Part 2--the part where God steps in and does something amazing.

I have a miracle notebook. It looks pretty ordinary. In fact, it’s a dollar-store special. But to me it’s a treasure, absolutely awe-inspiring. God used it to show He was right beside me on a day I would have sworn He was hanging out on the far side of the universe. It reminds me He was working out his plan for me at the very time I was ready to give up.

I started that fateful day full of optimism—which is not to say I wasn’t also nervous. It was the beginning of yet another writers’ conference, and my quest to become a published novelist had gotten a bit long. When I was only seven years old and discovered the magic of reading, I decided I wanted to write books for a living. At eighteen, I sent my first full-length novel manuscript (co-authored by my cousin) off to a publisher and discovered the magic of rejection. No problem. I was only eighteen. Then nineteen. Then twenty. . .

Now I was forty-three. Yes, that’s right. Twenty-five years since I put that first manuscript in the mail. I had learned the value of writers’ conferences for learning and for networking, but I have to admit that conferences were getting pretty tough for me. There I’d be, packed in with a herd of bubbly, excited writers seeking their fortune—none of whom, I suspected, had experienced twenty-five years of rejection. Normal people who go through that sort of thing quit and stay home. But not me. I always came back for more.

Without fail, the other writers I met fell into two categories. First came the helpful , friendly type who had just decided to become a writer eighteen months ago. Since then, she had published several articles in her church newsletter and was therefore a professional and would be happy to share her secrets of success with me. I wished I could share newsletter-lady’s contentment and enthusiasm, but doggone it, I wanted to be a novelist!

Then there would, of course, be the authors who had accomplished everything I wanted to. Usually with great ease. Need I say more?

I approached each conference with increasing desperation. Look here, Robin. Do you know how much this thing is costing? You won’t be able to afford another conference for two or three years. You must sell a manuscript NOW! With that kind of pressure, plus my previous track record, is it any wonder I found it hard to bubble and smile along with the other writers?

But this time would be different. First, I had spent serious time in prayer, offering to God to give up the whole notion of being a novelist if that wasn’t what He intended for me. I truly felt he had answered that I should go forward. Second, I shored up my confidence by remembering how close I had come to success in the past, the positive reactions I had received from editors and agents about my writing. Above all, I reminded myself I had never had a bad experience at a conference, never had anyone tell me my writing just wasn’t good enough.

Well, never say never.

I bubbled, I schmoozed, I collected email addresses from editors and invitations to submit my work. I was bolder and more confident than ever before. Unfortunately, this all occurred during the first half hour of the conference.

Immediately afterward, I met with the editor assigned to critique my sample chapters. This woman worked for a publishing company and also had a business “doctoring” people’s writing. Ironically enough, I had hired this woman’s doctoring partner to work on this very manuscript a few weeks earlier, and she had been very enthusiastic about my work. Another good sign. Maybe this would be the day when the editor would take off her glasses, lean toward me, and declare, “Forget the critique. My company wants to publish your novel. Sign here!”

She did indeed take off her glasses and lean toward me. But then she frowned and sighed. “I’ve found some problems with your work.”

My heart sank a little. Okay, it dropped to my ankles. “Really?”

“You see, stories must have conflict. Do you understand what I mean by that?”

After thirty-something years of writing and an English degree? Aloud I said, “You’re saying my story doesn’t have conflict?”

She lowered her voice to a whisper, as though she hated to say it. “I think you tried, but it’s very. . .shallow.”

The whole interview only got worse from there. She asked if I had ever considered taking a writing class so I would understand the process. I asked her (yes, I admit, I was not taking this in the proper humble spirit) if my graduate work in the Master of Professional Writing program at the University of Southern California counted. She even started to point out specific sentences that were awkward and showed poor writing skills—the very sentences her “doctoring” partner had helped me rewrite.

Finally I made it out of there, absolutely crushed. I crawled into my car in the parking deck and sat there, stunned, for ages. I thought that eventually, I would start to recover and be able to go back inside.

But what was the point? Obviously, when I prayed about giving up on writing, I misunderstood God’s answer. He had been trying to tell me to quit, but I hadn’t listened. I heard what I wanted to hear. So now he was shouting at me. And I heard Him. This was the end. I cranked up the car and started home.

On a More Personal Note

When my now-husband-Dave and I got engaged, we had a long-distance relationship. Boy, was it long distance! He lived in Baton Route, LA, and I lived in Atlanta. And yet, here we are together, happily married and living in my hometown, a smallish place a couple of hours from Atlanta. Here's the amazing part. Although having both Dave and my family all in one place was one of the desires of my heart, I did absolutely nothing to arrange it.

When we got engaged, we didn't know for sure where we would be living, but Dave was able to get a transfer to Atlanta and we lived there for about 10 years. That was fabulous, but it gets better. He became interested in another job in his organization--sort of a one-man office that served a large part of the state. The job would require a move to a small town in the northern part of Georgia. I said that if he managed to get the job, I would move there, but I wasn't particularly excited about it. I would be a little further away from my family, away from my Atlanta friends, and would miss out on a lot of the fun things Atlanta has to offer.

Still, I was ready for a change. I had recently made a career move that wasn't making me particularly happy. In fact, I had gone from a small mom-and-pop firm that was like family to a huge, stressful, tense corporate environment. At the end of a day at that place, I would often be at the point of tears. That year, God kept bringing me over and over to Psalm 126, and these verses would jump out at me as though God were speaking them right into my ear:

"Those who sow in tears will reap with songs of joy. He who goes out weeping, carrying seed to sow, will return with songs of joy, carrying sheaves with him." (v. 5-6, NIV)

Psalm 126 is about people in bondage being set free, and returning to their homeland. Every time I read it, I felt God was assuring me he was going to release me from that job and bring me to something better. But I had no idea just how literal his promise to me was. Dave put his application in for the new job--and we discovered that the one-man office was being moved from the small town in north Georgia...to my home town! When I found that out, I could feel God smiling down on me, as though saying, "See, I told you!"

Of course, like David in yesterday's post, even while God was behind the scenes working all this out, I had occasion to wonder if anything was ever going to happen. Particularly when, after it seemed that Dave had the job, we were notified that the position was being abolished and it seemed that everything had fallen through. But then, a few weeks later, everything fell back into place. They managed to keep the position, and Dave got the job.

So here we are, seven years later. And these have been seven of the best years of my life, with Dave and my parents and sister and my nice little town all here together. Some days, when things aren't so wonderful, I try to remind myself of what God has done. Because if I had TRIED with all my heart and energy to arrange all this, I would have gotten nowhere. But God had no problem with it at all.

Eight Indications I Need Help

I just discovered I've been tagged by Sally Bradley to tell you eight random things about me. After that, I'm supposed to tag eight other people. (See last paragraph if you've been tagged.) Well, at least Sally didn't specify "amazing" or "fascinating" things about me. That would be really hard. Random I can possibly do.

1. Have you ever seen Nancy Grace, who has a show on CNN? I grew up with her. Went to school with her first grade through twelfth, plus one summer college class.

2. I never used a digital camera until March of this year.

3. I've told you about two of my cats, Wendy and Cera. I had another Himalayan named Tegan who died a couple of years ago. She was 20 years old!

4. I am possibly the biggest Star Wars fan in this or any other galaxy, even those far, far away.

5. This is related to number 4, but I refuse to put them together. This is hard enough as it is. I used to go to science fiction conventions. That's right, I was one of those geeks, and yes, I once wore a Star Trek uniform. (I didn't like Star Trek as much as Star Wars, but they had those really cool uniforms in the movies. If I had dressed as Princess Leia, I would have had to put my hair in those tacky buns on the side of my head. And this was way back, before Padme and all those gorgeous clothes in Attack of the Clones...okay, I'm starting a whole other post here. Plus I'm sounding slightly demented. I'll move on.)

6. I'm kind of depressed this week because I just discovered there's only one more episode of Gilmore Girls.

7. I once worked for a private investigator.

8. I remember seeing the Beatles live on the Ed Sullivan show. I remember a lot of other things about the Ed Sullivan show, including a puppet sketch in which the puppets devoured each other. A caterpillar puppet grabbed some kind of bug, and then a big bird grabbed it, etc. It scared me to death. I'm still slightly uncomfortable watching the Muppets.

Well, this was great. Very good for me, because after reading back over my list, I now realize I am in severe need of psychotherapy! Thanks, Sally!

Now comes the really hard part. I'm new at this, and I barely know eight other bloggers. But here are the ones I decided to inflict this--uh, honor with--naming them: Miralee, Melanie, Judy, Shirl, Robin B., Jess, Terri T., and Angie.

Those of you tagged should post eight random things about yourself on your blog. At the end, tag eight other people and list their names. Leave a comment on their blog telling them they're tagged and to come read your blog for more info.

By the way, I didn't mean for this blog to be as much about me as it has been this week. I will try to get back on track next week, I promise!

Attracting Natural Disasters

On the American Christian Fiction Writers email loop this week, people are discussing creative ways to make extra cash to help pay for the annual conference. I just thought of one. I can tell folks that unless they send me large sums of money, I will bring my family to camp near them.

My family's camping trips have always attracted natural disasters. We've long been accustomed to heading out in tornado warnings or flash floods. Usually things clear up by the time we get where we're going--at least enough for us to cope.

I was already a grown woman when my dad got a motor home. Family vacations for us had usually consisted of visiting relatives in other states, but now we intended to go play! We planned a camping trip to the beach in Florida, even though it was a little early in the year and the wind was howling. We didn't care. All of us----my parents, my sister and her family (including my niece and nephew) and me--loaded into that RV and headed out.



We basically lay on the beach in a sandstorm. My father still teases my sister about the sand that stuck in her lip balm in the perfect shape of her lips. But we had a blast. The first time my fiancee (now my husband, Dave) met my family was on one of those camping trips. We had a long distance relationship, and he drove over from Louisiana to meet us on yet another beach in Florida.

For years now, we camp every summer at one of my favorite places in the world, Hunting Island State Park in South Carolina. The woods and the shady trees with moss stretch all the way down to the beach. So I can park a beach chair in the shade from the trees, lie there and watch the waves, and not worry so much about burning this glaring white skin. In fact, I once had a squirrel come down out of an oak tree right onto the beach to beg for potato chips, which he took out of my hand.

Hunting Island is so popular that it's very hard to get a reservation, but about three years ago, I snagged one. I planned that trip four months in advance--and managed to choose a week when not one but THREE hurricanes went up the coast. We were evacuated, which is a good thing, or we probably would have just sat there and waited for it to blow over.

We tried again the next year. I know you won't believe this, but as I left the library to start my vacation, one of my colleagues said, "At least there are no hurricanes predicted this year." That was the week Katrina hit. We traveled other places for a few days first, but by the time we reached Hunting Island, boy was there a hurricane predicted! Katrina didn't make landfall in our area, but we got the residual effects, mostly in wind. I had mentioned to Dave and my dad that I wanted one of those screen tents to put around our picnic table. We sat in the motor home and watched other people's screen tents go blowing past, rolling over and over like a ball. Daddy told me to just go out and grab the one I wanted as it went by.

All of this is leading up to this past weekend. I'll tell you about that tomorrow, in part 2 of this fascinating story.

How Do I Dare?

How do I dare crown myself "queen"? Well, if there's one thing God has tried to teach me in life, it's how to wait. I started dating embarrassingly late. I was thirty-one when I married. (And you were worth every minute of the wait, honey!) Having a baby? Still waiting on that one, thirteen years after deciding to start a family.

And then there's my writing career. I knew I wanted to be a novelist when I was seven. When I was eighteen, I sent away my first novel manuscript. Now here I am, still on that elusive road to publication thirty years later. (Yes, you can do the math. I don't mind.)

After thirty years in this game, I have a lot to share--although frankly, sometimes I've been hesitant to do it. Will people be encouraged by my story--or run screaming in hysterics, thinking of the long, difficult road that might lie ahead? Will readers just dismiss me as a loser, thinking I obviously have no talent if I've been at it that long?

I hope you don't react either way. First of all, I played around a lot of those years, and was clueless for more than I care to mention. I've learned lessons that could help you cut time off your writing journey. And as I learned those lessons, I finaled in a contest, drew encouragement and support from two well-known authors, and signed with an agent!

God has also shown me so much about the process of waiting, itself. He's taught me that sometimes you hold on and keep working--and sometimes you let go. I know now I'll probably never have children. That was one of my dreams I had to relinquish.

Does that mean this site will be sad and whiney? Not at all! God has blessed me beyond belief, and I've discovered how well He knows me--what I'm ready for, and what I'm not. I'll share more about all that later.

Also, because I had to pay bills while pursuing this writing thing, I became a librarian. I teach research skills to college students and answer reference questions. Along the way, I've discovered tricks and resources that are perfect for novelists--beginning, multi-published, or whoever. I want to share those resources, too. So I hope you'll check here often. Or better yet, use the email button in the right-hand column to subscribe.